21: THE PEDLAR

Upon the city the heat lay like a thick, soft filling between one building and the next. In the half-deserted Caravan Market the porters sat idle on their haunches. The very dogs lay panting along the shady flanks of the fly-buzzing, tinder-dry laystalls. The level of the Barb had dropped six feet and more, and the cracked mud looked like a huge, meshed net spread to dry by the waterside. The leaves hung limp and motionless and not a bird was singing in the gardens beside the northern bank.

The highest room in the Barons' Palace, which overlooked the Barb, caught, as the sun sank, the faintest of breezes—barely enough to stir the muslin screens fixed across the window embrasures. The door had been left open and below, at the foot of the spiral stair, one of Kembri-B'sai's personal bodyguard stood posted to ensure that no chance servant or other passer-by should come within earshot.

Durakkon, High Baron of Bekla, having filled his cup from a porous, moisture-beaded wine-jar standing behind the open door, carried it across to the window and, drinking, stood looking out towards the brown, motionless water three hundred yards away at the foot of the Leopard Hill. Kembri was seated at the table. Sencho lay sweating on a couch, fanned by a deaf-mute slave whose eyes never wandered from the floor.

"What it comes to is this," said Durakkon at length. "We can tell Karnat as often as we like that Suba's his and that the Leopards have never been at war with him: but as long as the Urtans are continually sending raiding-par-ties over the Valderra to cut up his men, he can call us liars. Suppose he were to make that a pretext to cross the Valderra himself and try for Dari, what's to stop him?"

"That's what the fortress was built for," said Kembri. "It's impregnable, and Karnat knows that as well as we do. Anyway, the rains are coming any day now, so even Karnat won't be able to move for at least two months."

"I know that," answered Durakkon. "I was thinking of next spring; but I suppose it'll have to wait." He turned, facing into the room as the faint clangor of the clocks' gongs came up from the lower city. "There are more urgent matters. According to Sencho, we've got difficulties that won't keep through the rains."

Sencho began to speak of the latest reports from his spies in Tonilda. Even after nearly seven years of Leopard rule, several parts of that province had by no means lost their sense of allegiance to the fallen house of Senda-na-Say. The former High Baron's estates had, of course, been sequestered by the Leopards, and Enka-Mordet, Senda-na-Say's nephew, now farming an estate in northern Chalcon, south-east of Thettit, was kept under constant surveillance. Though he had, to all outward appearances, always taken care to avoid becoming a focus for local disaffection, he had recently gone so far as to protest on behalf of his tenants against the increasing incidence of kidnapping and slaving raids in the neighborhood. Similar protests had come in from other parts of Tonilda. Sencho was apprehensive of collusion and the possibility of a concerted insurrection.

"But if we arrest half-a-dozen landowners," said Kembri, "that may only lead to worse trouble. It's only smoldering now. Why not tell the dealers to go easy on Tonilda for a year or two?"

Sencho, motioning impatiently to the slave to place fresh cushions under his belly, pointed out that the problem would be solved when the new farms began to supply the market, thereby enabling the provincial quotas to be diminished. This, however, could not take place for another few years, since as yet the children born on the farms were not old enough to be sold.

"There are too many slaves, that's the truth of it," said Durakkon shortly. "There never used to be these armies of slaves in rich households, eating their heads off, most of them doing far too little, retained for nothing but show—"

"Turning heldro, are you?" asked Kembri, smiling up at him, chin on hands. (Heldril, meaning "old-fashioned people," was a colloquial term for those in the provinces— particularly nobility—not in agreement with the Leopard regime.)

"I'm well aware there's money in the slave-trade," said Durakkon. "It's made fortunes and Bekla's profited by it; but you can't deny that in some ways it's turned the empire into a marsh where there used to be firm ground. The whole place is becoming lawless and dangerous. Every lonely stretch of road's infested with gangs of escaped slaves preying on travelers, terrifying villagers, even fighting each other—"

"Districts with troubles like that know their remedy," said Kembri. "If they're ready to pay for soldiers we'll supply them. And they only have to pay by results, too. You may remember how we cleared the highway between Herl and Dari three or four years ago. That cost Paltesh and Belishba far less than they used to have to pay in taxes for the upkeep of regular highway patrols."

"It cost them less money, I dare say," said Durakkon.

Sencho broke in. The merchants were not complaining, and they were the class who made most use of the highways. The general principle of Leopard rule was an excellent one: provinces, like citizens, paid Bekla on the nail for whatever they needed. The Leopards had ended the war with Terekenalt, reduced taxation and enabled hundreds, if not thousands, to enrich themselves by trade and merchandise.

"I dare say," said Durakkon again, stepping round the High Counselor's panting bulk as he crossed the room to fill his wine-cup once more. "And you, as a merchant yourself, ought to be able to tell a high price when you see it. The price is that the peasants hate us; and that nobody dares to travel alone along any lonely road in the empire." He paused a few moments and then said deliberately, "I've often felt myself to be nothing but the Leopards' hired assassin. Senda-na-Say may have been an antiquated blockhead, but at least he knew the most important thing was public safety: law and order."

"But he couldn't keep it," sighed Sencho, his hand disappearing to the wrist as he scratched his sweating buttocks. "That's why we're ruling now. We—"

"No point in talking like this," broke in Kembri. "You sent for us, sir, as I understand it, to discuss three things. First, stopping Urtah from continuing to provoke Karnat; secondly the state of affairs in Tonilda; and finally the problem of escaped slaves turned outlaw. I'll tell you my answers. As to Urtah, I think we should do nothing until after the rains. We could demand hostages from them now, but as there'll be half a dozen Urtan nobles staying in Bekla during the rains—including Eud-Ecachlon, the High Baron's heir, as well as that Bayub-Otal fellow—that hardly seems necessary. Let it wait for two months, and then warn Urtah that if there's any more raiding across the Valderra they'll be in trouble with us —not just with Karnat. As for Tonilda, I'll tell the governor that we'll lower the slave quota if the province will pay the difference in money. And I'll confirm once again, to every governor and baron throughout the empire, that the army's ready to rid any area of outlaws upon request—at the usual rates, of course. And now if that's all, sir, I must ask you to excuse me. I'm asked to supper with the Sacred Queen, and as you know she doesn't like to be kept waiting. Shall I send up your slaves to carry you down?" he added to Sencho.

Durakkon, his hand clenching on his wine-cup at the disrespect in the Lord General's voice and manner, placed himself in the open doorway, impeding him in the act of departing. "The Sacred Queen?" he said quietly; then looked down at the floor, pretending reflection. "That's another matter I wish to mention before I give you leave to go." Kembri said nothing and he went on, "As you know, it's over two and a half years now since Form's began her second term as Sacred Queen. In less than eighteen months that second term will end. She'll be thirty-four. Apart from anything else, for a woman of that age to be Sacred Queen would be an insult to the god. What's to be done with Fornis when she ceases to be Sacred Queen?" Kembri, who had been listening with his eyes on the ground, looked up. "I think it may very well be, sir," he replied, "that when the time comes, that's one matter on which you and I will find ourselves in complete agreement. I have certain ideas; we'll discuss them later." Craning past the High Baron towards the stairhead outside, he called down to the sentry, "Karval! Send up the High Counselor's slaves!"

"No, no, banzi! Doan' try to take it all at once like that. Take a little at a time, and get used to that before you try to take any more."

"It keeps choking me. I'll never do it!"

"Yes, you will. It's like the hinnari. You think you'll never be able to hold six strings down with one finger, and then one day you find you can. Come on, now, try again."

"M'm—m'm—m'm!"

"Fine! Now just rock your head. That's right! You'll find you can take the whole lot just for a moment before you come up again. Once more! Right, that'll do for now. There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"But when there's someone else pushing too?"

"Then you have to close down a bit tighter. You're the one in control, remember, even if you never say a word. It's astonishin' how they accept what you do if only you do it the right way. If you doan' like whatever he's doin', you can pretend you're simply dyin' for him to do somethin' else and get him to go on to that—oh, yes, he will, if he thinks he's making you enjoy yourself. It plays on a man's vanity, you see. Flattery gets you everywhere, as long as they doan' realize what it is."

"You'll have to open a school, Occula." Both girls looked round to see Terebinthia leaning against one of the columns near the entrance. They wondered how long she had been there.

"Is there anything I can have the pleasure of doing for you, säiyett?" asked Occula.

"Not at the moment," replied Terebinthia, yawning and stretching her arms above her head. "There's a pedlar here, selling perfumes—soaps—jewelry—things like that. He's been talking with the High Counselor; but he's finished now. If you'd like him to come in here and show you what he's got, I have no objection."

"Shall we, banzi?" asked Occula. "It'll pass the time and we might pick up some gossip and news, even if we doan' buy anythin'. Where's he from, säiyett, do you know?"

"From Tonilda, I think," replied Terebinthia.

"Oh, well, that settles it," said Occula. "Have you got any money, Meris?"

"Some: but Dyphna's got more," said Meris, sliding off the couch where she had been dozing in the heat.

"I'll go and ask her whether she's interested."

Dyphna, the fourth girl in Sencho's household, was a tall, graceful, rather superior girl from Yelda, whom Sen-cho occasionally made use of himself, but really kept by way of trying to convince Beklan aristocrats that his enjoyment of women was capable of going beyond the merely physical. So far, Occula and Maia had seen little of her except at meals, when she spoke seldom but seemed friendly enough. As the senior concubine she had her own, larger room, where she spent most of her time. Maia had become nervous of her upon discovering that she could read and write and apparently—according to Meris—possessed all manner of other accomplishments; but as Occula pointed out, she had done nothing by way of pushing these down their throats or trying to make them feel small.

She came in now, following Meris and fastening a cloak over her transparent muslin shift. The airless heat in the women's quarters was hard enough to bear even without clothes, and Maia, who felt little interest either in the pedlar or in any news there might be from Tonilda, hoped Occula and the others would not keep him long. She had just slipped into her robe and was running a comb through her hair when Terebinthia returned, holding the bead curtains aside for a tall young man who ducked his head as he came through the doorway.

Pedlars licensed to travel throughout the empire under the protection of Bekla wore a traditional costume to de-note their occupation. Maia had often seen such men as this in the streets of Meerzat or tramping the lakeside road. His round, hard hat of scarlet leather, too hot to wear at this time of year, hung at his back by a loop, and the sleeves of his green shirt, dark with sweat, were rolled above the elbow. His jerkin, with its white stripe back and front and colored ribbons at each shoulder, was slung over one arm, while on the other he was carrying by its straps his canvas pack, from the top of which protruded three or four colored feather dusters on sticks. Coming to a halt in the middle of the room, he pulled out one of these and tickled Meris under the chin.

"Well, well, well," said the pedlar cheerfully. "Keeping nice and warm, young ladies, are we, this weather? Not too cold in bed, I hope?"

The eye with which he winked at Maia was sharp and bright as a jackdaw's. He looked about twenty-three or -four, and everything about him, from his sunburned face to the dust on his shoes, suggested a life spent out of doors and a man used to give-and-take with all comers.

"Is that all you've come to sell us?" asked Meris, grabbing for his hand and missing it. "Feather dusters?" She had let her cloak slide down from her shoulders, exposing as much as she dared with Terebinthia in the room.

"Oh, no, no!" said the pedlar, tickling her again. "By no means! But I always begin by tickling—that's the style, don't you think, to get things going? I'm sure she knows more about tickling than I do," he remarked to Maia.

Meris squealed with laughter. The young man unslung his pack, put it down on the floor and then turned to look more closely at Maia. "Where you from, lass?"

"Lake Serrelind," said Maia, her eyes pricking in spite of herself.

"Then you ought to be back there, that's all I can say," answered he, in a more serious tone. "You're far too young to be here. How did they come to steal you?"

Terebinthia spoke languidly from the opposite side of the room.

"Do you know where you are, my good man? You're in the upper city, in the house of the High Counselor. If you have any goods fit to show these girls, you'd better get on with it, and stop wasting their time and mine."

"Why, certainly, säiyett," replied he. "But I was waiting until all the young ladies were present. Isn't there one more somewhere?"

Maia, looking round, realized that Occula was not in the room. She had not seen her leave it.

"What do you know—?" Terebinthia was beginning, when Occula came in from the corridor leading to the bedrooms wearing her gold nose-stud, orange metlan and hunting-jacket. The pedlar, who had been crouching be-side his pack to open it, stood up again.

"Hello, Zirek," said Occula. "Did you know I was here?"

"I heard at Lalloc's," answered he. "I knew you'd gone to Bekla, of course, for Domris told me: to better yourself, she said. I hope you will. They miss you at the Lily Pool, I'm told."

"Oh, do get on and open your pack!" cried Meris. "I mean, if you're both from Thettit that's wonderful, I'm sure, but I want to see what you've brought."

"Why, I've got rolls of silk," said the pedlar, "and veils, all fine fartaa-work—see, here—if that's your style. And just try this perfume, now. That's real kepris, that is, from up the Vrako. Let me put a drop on the back of your hand. The whole flask's only a hundred meld to you. Well, say ninety, but I couldn't let it go for less."

Meris's face fell. "I can't manage that much."

"Well, here's a nice soap, now, scented with roses, and that's only four meld for a big one like this; and the same in scent, only that's thirty meld. And then I've these necklaces, see: topaz this one; and this one's onyx. Only they're dear. I don't really know why I risk my life carrying them about, but one day some lady'll put up the money, I dare say."

"Got any ornaments?" asked Occula suddenly. "My room's as bare as a cell."

The pedlar turned and looked at her for a moment.

"Why, yes, quite a few. They're all just pottery, animals and birds, you know, but they're nicely painted."

He laid out a couple of dozen bulls, bears and leopards; pigeons and terracotta cockerels—all the same size and painted in gaudy colors. "How about this cat, now? She's Yeldashay, she is. It's one of their tales down that way, you know—the Cat Colonna."

"I thought they called her— Bakris?" replied Occula, with a certain emphasis.

"Why, so they may, perhaps," said the pedlar. "I see she's got a bit chipped, so you can have her for nothing, if you like." He handed her the rather clumsy little figure with its curving, erect tail. Occula took it from him with a curtsey and a flash of her white teeth.

"Oh, she'll brighten up the place no end: I like a bit of plain pottery. Everything gold and silver here—'cept me, of course—you get tired of it."

"And what are you?" asked the pedlar.

"Black marble," said Occula. "Polished, too. Can' you tell?"

At this moment Dyphna entered into the conversation by enquiring the price of a carnelian ring laid out beside the necklaces. The pedlar, having told her rather shortly that it was eighty-five meld, was turning back to Occula when Dyphna quietly offered him seventy in ready money. Clearly surprised, he suggested seventy-five, but the girl merely smiled, shrugged her shoulders and seemed about to go when he accepted her offer, remarking that it would be a pleasure to be ruined by such a beautiful girl.

Thereupon Dyphna, fetching from her room a bronze casket, unlocked it and paid him on the spot.

"I'll bet she's got a damned sight more than that, too, banzi," whispered Occula as Dyphna, having evidently concluded business for the day, smiled graciously at the pedlar and left the room. "Makes you realize the possibilities, doesn't it? How long's she been at it, d'you suppose? Five years? Six?"

"Oh, it's the noblemen who fancy her," said Meris, glancing round to make sure that Terebinthia, who was examining the necklaces, was out of earshot. "You've only got to see the way she lays it out at one of these banquets. She can sing and tell stories and play the hinnari and dance and—oh, she's got a lot of style, has Dyphna. She can make herself very good company. And as for business, she's got it all arranged. Terebinthia takes a good, big cut, but Dyphna'll have enough to buy herself out soon and set up as a shearna. Or she might even get married, I suppose."

"But would Sencho let her go?" asked Maia.

"He'll have to, if she offers the price: that's the law, you see. If a girl can put up twelve thousand meld five years or more after she was first bought, her master has to let her go. But that's nearly always to his own advantage, anyway. He's had the girl for five years, you see. She must have lost value, but he can always get another for twelve thousand or less."

"Not one like me he can'," said Occula. "I'll wipe her eye, you see if I doan'."

At this moment Ogma, the club-footed servant-girl who looked after the women's quarters, came in, raised her palm to her forehead and stood silently by the entrance, waiting for Terebinthia to give her leave to speak. It pleased the säiyett to keep her waiting for some little while. When at length she beckoned her over, it was to be told that Sencho wished to see her at once.

She left hastily and with none-too-well-concealed apprehension.

"Ah, well," said Zirek, returning his wares one by one to the pack. "It's always nice to have a chat with a bunch of pretty girls, even if you don't sell much. I'll have to be getting along now, though. I'm glad we met, Occula: I'll see you again." He paused a moment. "Tell us what you can, won't you? There's various ways, as I dare say you know; but I'll be back myself as soon as I can."

"I'll buy your flask of kepris, if you like," said Meris suddenly. "I'll give you a damn' good price, too. Here it is."

Placing herself squarely in front of him, she unclasped her cloak and let it fall to the floor. Except for her shoes and a silver bracelet on one arm she was naked, and in the warm, still room her body gave off a faint perfume of lilies. As she held out her arms to him, smiling, the young man stared at her without a word.

"There's a room through there," she said, "but we'll have to be quick. She'll be back soon."

Occula, stepping forward, picked up her cloak.

"I'm only new roun' here," she said to Meris, "and Cran knows I hate to spoil a bit of fun. But even more would I hate to see you both hangin' upside-down; and make no mistake, that's what it'll be if she comes back and catches you. Come on, Zirek, get your pack in one hand and your zard in the other and get out of here."

"Damn you, Occula!" shouted Meris. "What the basting hell's it got to do with you?"

As Occula held her by the shoulders she struggled fiercely, twisting her head round and trying to bite her hand. "Why can't you get her off me?" she cried to the pedlar, stamping her foot. "Don't you want to baste me? There's plenty'd like to who can't, I'll tell you that!"

"O Cran preserve us!" said Occula. "Meris, haven't you got any blasted sense at all? She'll be back any minute, you little hot-tairth idiot! Zirek, get out, go on, or I'll go and fetch the porter myself, damned if I doan'!"

At this moment Meris, who seemed completely beside herself, swung back one of her shod heels and kicked Occula on the shin. Occula, cursing with pain, slapped her as hard as she could, and as the girl sank to her knees once more gripped her under the shoulders.

"It's the heat," said the black girl, rubbing her bleeding shin against her other calf. "Come on, banzi, help me get her into her bedroom. For the last time, Zirek, will you get out?"

The two girls carried Meris bodily out of the room. Once they had put her on her bed she lay there quietly, her head thrust between two cushions. When they returned the ped-lar had gone.

"Now that just shows you, banzi," said Occula, "how easy it is to go on your ruin just because you itch and mustn' scratch. That girl's pretty enough to make a fortune, but she'll come to a bad end, you mark my words! Can you imagine what would have happened if old Terebinthia had come back just in time for a nice, private kura?"

"What's a kura?" asked Maia.

"Oh, give me patience!" said Occula. "A kura's when boys and girls are set to do it openly, at a party or a banquet, to amuse the ladies and gentlemen and get them going. Doan' worry, you'll see plenty before long. But if we'd had to admit that we knew what Meris was doin' and hadn' tried to stop her, we'd have been lucky to get off with a whippin'; and as for Meris herself—"

The beads clicked: Terebinthia was once more in the room. As the girls turned to face her she picked up a towel to wipe her sweating face and neck.

"The pedlar's gone?" she asked at length.

"Yes, säiyett."

"And where is Meris?" Terebinthia's tone was rather sharper.

"Gone to lie down, säiyett: the heat, you know."

Terebinthia paused. Her silence exuded a kind of suspicion and menace. Maia, realizing that very little escaped her and that that was one reason why she had risen to her position in this world where she herself must now live, felt afraid.

"Well," said Terebinthia, with a certain air of deciding on balance to leave something unsaid, "that will be—quieter, I dare say."

She paused again: the girls waited silently.

"I've just been talking with the High Counselor," she resumed at length. "He tells me he has been advised from the temple that the rains are almost certainly going to set in before morning."

"Good news, säiyett," said Occula.

"And if they do," continued Terebinthia, ignoring her, "the Lord General will be holding his customary banquet tomorrow night. The High Counselor will be attending, of course. He wishes Meris to accompany him, and also you, Maia, so that you can gain some experience."

"Me, säiyett? But—"

"And now I wish to see Meris," said Terebinthia. "No, Occula, you needn't bring her here: I'll go and talk to her in the bedroom. Perhaps by this time she'll be finding the— er— heat less troublesome."

"Oh, we'll take good care to keep on the right side of her, banzi!" said the black girl, holding the pottery cat up to the light and turning it this way and that. "If she was jus' to take a dislike to one of us, I doan' believe she'd stop at anythin', do you?"