33: AN ODD BUSINESS

Despite her anxiety on behalf of the High Counselor, Terebinthia, during these days as the rainy season began to draw to its end, was not without cause for satisfaction. In the licentious society of the upper city, every säiyett hoped for profit from the girls in her charge and, insofar as their master would permit, encouraged them to become popular with rich men. Occula, returning from Elvair-ka-Virrion's party, had told Maia that she thought she had succeeded in interesting some of the young Leopards and their friends. The next few days proved her abundantly right. Despite the universal fear of Sencho, lying like some bloated spider in the midst of his web of spies and secrets (a spider which might at any moment turn dread to terror by suddenly moving very fast to seize and clutch), a number of wealthy young men—respectful and open-handed—having heard, perhaps, through the network of rumor, that the High Counselor was indisposed and in no condition to be told of their interest or to give it his personal attention, called at the gate, asking to speak to Terebinthia, and if they got as far as an audience invariably asked whether it might be possible—for an appropriate consideration, of course—to make the closer acquaintance of the black girl who had literally ensorcelled more than sixty people together in the Lord General's hall. Occula's performance, it now appeared, had not only frightened and fascinated her spectators but had also—after the manner of shocking experiences, from whippings to earthquakes—had an aphrodisiac effect, leading to a general, orgiastic release of tension, highly exciting and pleasurable, which some supposed she might be able to repeat on demand. Terebinthia, who had been told nothing about the affair either by Occula or Maia, was puzzled but pleased enough. Occula, she replied to the young men, was no ordinary girl. She was particular about her admirers—she could afford to be—and accustomed to receive a generous lygol.

Furthermore, she was not often available, being, as one might suppose, in great demand with her master.

However, she would see what she could do—that was to say—er—if the young gentleman really felt it—er—worth his while. Most of the young gentlemen did, and showed it, but Terebinthia, though she had never had such a pearl in her hands before, was too clever and experienced to make Occula freely available, even to the wealthy. For one thing, she wished if possible to keep the matter (and the money) from Sencho. This, of course, was perilous, but his present condition made it a chance worth taking.

Again, she had assessed Occula as a girl of exceptional style, with far more than the kind of short-term basting appeal of a beauty like Meris, and she did not mean to let her attraction burn up and blaze out like a fire-festival bonfire. It had already occurred to her that if the High Counselor were to die, as now seemed a possibility, she might be able to arrange Occula's sale, or even marriage, to her own profit.

Finally, there was the hard fact that in practice she had less control over the black girl than she allowed people to think. For one thing, Occula was not only spending many hours each day with the High Counselor: she was clearly— and this was mysterious—-content to do so. On certain days she was with him from morning till night, and did not even show any particular haste to be done. If she found her task burdensome she never said so. In the second place, she clearly had her own ideas on how best to pursue her career in the upper city. Terebinthia felt herself to be acting as bawd to an old head on young shoulders—a head which it would probably be more profitable to take into part-nership than try to order about. Occula, in short, wielded the same kind of power as a highly talented dancer or singer. Self-willed and wayward though she might appear, she yet possessed an authority firmly grounded upon her ability to land the prizes if left to do it in her own way.

It soon became plain that she was more interested in the powerful than the merely wealthy. Despite every opportunity which Terebinthia could make for her, the hours she apparently felt able to spend away from Sencho were few and these—since she was in a position to exercise her own choice—she used almost entirely in meeting men of consequence. When one of the wealthier cloth-traders in Herl-Belishba, having heard of her fame while on business in Bekla, asked her to dine with him, she suggested to Terebinthia that perhaps they might pass the invitation on to Dyphna, since she herself felt she could not leave the High Counselor. Yet the following afternoon she spent with a close friend of Elvair-ka-Virrion and the next with Kerith-a-Thrain, the commander of the Beklan regiment, an officer of no great wealth but much standing as one of the staunchest supporters of the Leopards throughout the army. Sometimes she would accept an invitation to a party, but on these occasions, though always pressed, she never consented to repeat her act as the jungle huntress. Although the refusal disappointed her hosts—one or two of whom complained to Terebinthia that this slave-girl ought to do as she was told and stop telling her betters what she might or might not have a fancy to perform—-she possessed other erotic accomplishments so remarkable that requests for her company continued to pour in unabated.

Maia felt no jealousy, Occula being the only person in the world whom she sincerely loved. Besides, she well remembered the black girl's genuine pleasure when she herself had been preferred to go to the Rains banquet and subsequently summoned to gratify the Lord General. No; any difference in success between her and Occula, she felt, could only be for herself to adjust. As Occula had said, in the upper city mere beauty was not enough; she had to develop a distinctive style of her own. Stories began to filter back to her, through Terebinthia, through Ogma and the other servants, of Occula's prowess—how she sometimes terrified her lovers in bed, snarling like a beast in transports of savage pleasure and sinking her teeth and nails in their naked flesh; of an extraordinary kura that she had performed with three young men simultaneously; of a wager she had won that she would drink half a gallon of wine on a tight-rope; of how, to make up for the night when she had won his two hundred meld, she had led half a dozen girls in stripping naked and playing a game of blind-man's buff with Ka-Roton and two other Urtans, the understanding being that they should then and there enjoy anyone whom they might succeed in catching.

Occula, relaxing for an hour in the pool, or returning after midnight to find Maia waiting up for her, never recounted these exploits herself, and if Maia asked for corroboration of what she had heard, would merely make some such reply as "Randy bastards pay best" or "Which blind man told you that?" Often she would bring back forty or fifty meld over and above her sealed lygol, and this she invariably split with Maia, the two girls hiding the money, wrapped in old rags, under the floorboards. Maia felt that she would do anything in the world for Occula.

Quite early one morning, towards the end of the month Thakkol, Eud-Ecachlon's servant appeared at the gate with a letter for Occula. This was brought to her personally in the women's quarters, since Terebinthia was not yet up and would have bitten the head off any household slave who had ventured to disturb her. Occula, however, uncertain of the Urtan handwriting, made no bones about waking Dyphna to read it. Eud-Ecachlon wrote that owing to the illness of his father, the old High Baron, he had been called back to Urtah urgently, would be leaving Bekla next morning and earnestly begged Occula to spend a last afternoon or evening with him.

"That one-balled Urtan goat!" said Occula, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and pulling up her night-shift to scratch her ribs. "Thanks, Dyphna. He can't even do it— he jus' enjoys tryin'."

"I expect you can get him up to it, can't you?" asked Maia.

"Cran and Airtha, banzi!" answered the black girl. "You talk as if he'd been on and off me like a crow on a roof! I doan' spend any more time with the Urtans than I've got to, you know. All the same," she continued, as they left Dyphna and strolled back to the pool room, where Ogma was waiting for the reply, "I'll have to go, little as I fancy it."

"Why, dearest?" asked Maia.

"Because," replied Occula, whispering, "Elvair-ka-Virrion told me at a party the other night that if we got the chance, one of us—you or me—must do all we could to spend more time with Eud-Ecachlon before he left Bekla and report anythin' he might say about Suba: that's why. Ogma, will you tell Lord Eud-Ecachlon's man that I'll have to speak to the säiyett as soon as she's up, but I'll probably be able to come this afternoon?"

An hour after mid-day, however, she slipped down from the garden room, where Sencho was dining—after a fashion—with the help of Terebinthia and herself, and interrupted Maia's dancing-practice.

"I'm not goin', banzi," she said. "Doan' ask me why; I'll tell you another time. I've told Pussy and she's agreed that you're to go instead."

"Me?" said Maia, astonished.

"Yes, you!" replied Occula impatiently. "Doan' look so damn' surprised, as if you didn' know a zard from a par-snip. Get your deldas pulled up and your dress on. And look sharp too—the jekzha's here."

The next moment Terebinthia appeared to corroborate Occula. "The High Counselor says he can't spare her this afternoon," she said. "He's still not himself, I'm afraid. Your powder-blue dress will do very well, and as it's an Urtan you'd better wear plenty of jewels—that always impresses them."

"Now listen, Maia," she added later when she had given her her cloak and was walking with her to the courtyard, "Eud-Ecachlon's lodgings are in the lower city—somewhere near the Tower of the Orphans, I believe. You're to go straight there and come straight back, and you're not to get out of the jekzha on any account, do you understand? A slave-girl of the High Counselor has a position to maintain, and if I hear that you've been racketing round any shops or bazaars by yourself there'll be serious trouble. If Eud-Ecachlon chooses to take you, of course, that's another matter. You shouldn't be away more than four hours at most—the High Counselor may want you at sup-per-time. I'm sure we all hope he will."

It so happened that, as sometimes occurred during Melekril, the rain had let up for a few hours. Maia set off in high spirits. This would be the first time she had been out of the upper city since Lalloc had sold her to Sencho. In her restricted life to go out at all was an excitement, but to be bound for the lower city—smoky, pungent, clamorous, spread out before her like a sunset sky full of rooks-was exhilaration itself. As soon as they were well outside Sencho's gate she began chaffing the jekzha-man, giving as good as she got all the way down the walled road to the Peacock Gate. Going through the Moon Room by herself—for the jekzha-man, of course, was known and required no scrutiny from the guards—was somewhat daunting, but once back in the jekzha and trundling comfortably down the steep Street of the Armorers towards the Caravan Market, she quickly recovered her vivacity, gazing about her with delight.

At the entrance to the paved market they had to stop while a string of pack-oxen plodded by, their bales covered in rain-soaked sacking. An apothecary's 'prentice, standing at the door of his master's shop, gazed at Maia admiringly.

"Where are you off to, sweetheart?"

Maia, leaning round the side of the jekzha, let her cloak fall open for his benefit and gave him a warm smile.

"To see a friend from Urtah."

"Urtah?" said he, tossing his head. "You'd much better come in here. I'll teach you all about pestles and mortars, if you like."

"My friend's a champion javelin-thrower!" retorted Maia as the jekzha moved on: at which the young fellow roared with laughter and stood watching her out of sight.

They found the house without difficulty and Maia paid the man while the porter's boy went up to Eud-Ecachlon's rooms. The Urtan came down at once: his face, when he saw Maia standing at the foot of the stairs, fell all too plainly.

"Maia?" he said, stopping short on the lowest step. "But I thought—Occula—-"

Maia had already anticipated this. At least he remembered her name, which was better than she had expected. Taking three quick steps forward, she put a hand on his arm, looking up at him and smiling as she unfastened her cloak.

"Occula's so sorry, my lord. Sometimes things happen when girls aren't quite expecting them—you know? But I'll tell you something else if you like." She looked round, then stood on tiptoe and whispered "I wouldn't let anyone else come instead; only me. At the party—that night— when I first saw you, I felt—oh, can't we go somewhere where I can say what I really mean? It's not just by accident I'm here, tell you that." And with this she half-closed her eyes and took another step upward, so that she was standing beside him. Eud-Ecachlon, without a word, led her up the staircase.

Thereafter there was not much that he or any other normal man could have done to resist her, for Maia entered upon their business with a fervent, happy confidence that carried all before it.

The occasion proved more successful than she had dared to hope. She surprised even herself. Indeed, it was during this same afternoon that Maia came to realize that she had the luck to possess not only exceptional beauty but also an exceptional erotic aptitude. Occula, she knew, despised Eud-Ecachlon and had formed a poor opinion of his virility. Very well: it took all sorts to make a world; if Occula couldn't get the bull through the gate, she'd just have to do it for her, wouldn't she? Sharp-set after her recent, frustrating days, she was eager for pleasure and by no means disposed to be critical. Her forthright ardor was something for which Eud-Ecachlon, rather impassive and a little slow off the mark by nature, was quite unprepared. Despite being the heir of Urtah, he was not really very self-confident, and in his dealings with girls had become all-too-used to tepid acquiescence. This tended to make him nervous and often barely successful—as with Occula; but no one could have felt nervous of a happy-go-lucky, frisking childlike Maia. With a kind of rapturous astonishment, Eud-Ecachlon suddenly found himself giving as good as he got. The afternoon took on an unreal, extravagant quality, with after-play imperceptibly turning into fore-play and pleasure becoming uncoordinated, to everyone's enjoyment and no one's frustration. Kembri had been accurate in judging Maia's artless charm capable of exercising a strong appeal. The essence, of course, lay in her being as yet a stranger to dissimulation.

At length, roused out of sleepy contentment by the gongs of the clock towers sounding for the sixth hour after noon, she sat up in panic.

"O Lespa! That's never the time? Oh, I'll just about have to fly! No, don't try to stop me, my lord" (as he put his arm round her), "you'll only get me into trouble. But next time you're in Bekla—oh, soon soon soon!"

"It can't be too soon for me," he answered. "I'll let you know in good time, Maia, when I'm coming back. To tell you the truth, I like you better than Occula."

Occula's sophisticated expertise might perhaps have been a little too much for him, she thought. Indeed, now that she had got to know him for herself, she could sense as much. So she, Maia, could actually manage something Occula couldn't! Eud-Ecachlon was the better for her, and she was the better for knowing it. He wouldn't forget her: that she was sure of. (Nor, as will be seen, did he.) Dressed—more or less—and climbing into the jekzha for which the porter's boy had run out into the rain, she leaned back in a state of delightful self-satisfaction, fingering the lygol in her pocket (which felt heavy) and with her other hand fanning the humid air before her face.

It was not Maia's way—as it is many people's—to cool down excitement or gratification by searching for snags. (If only it had been, of course, she would probably never have become a slave-girl at all.) On the contrary, she normally gave full rein to every mood, one way or the other, until the fit was out. Now, triumphant in the waning light, she pulled aside the rain curtain and rode down the street like a princess, gazing from side to side and even, once or twice, happily waving to those passers-by (and there were more than a few) who chanced to look at her.

Thus gazing about her, she noticed a sweet-shop a little way up the road. Its lamps, which had already been lit, glistened invitingly on ju-jubes, crystallized fruits, slabs of toffee and honey-nut thrllsa like that which Tharrin had given her in the fishing-net. After all her romping activity, Maia was hungry (and to do him justice, Eud-Ecachlon would probably have done something about this, if only she had given him time). At the mere sight of the confectionery her mouth began to water, and a moment later, as the jekzha moved nearer, she caught the spicy, nutty smell of the shop, warm from the lamps.

Oh, bugger Terebinthia! she thought. Who did she think she was, anyway? When Terebinthia was an old hag with rotten teeth, she, Maia, would be a golden shearna and the friend of princes. And talking of teeth—

"Stop a moment!" she said to the jekzha-man. "I'm going into that sweet-shop; I shan't be a minute!"

Taking his hand to help herself down, she crossed the paved, well-drained footway—it still delighted her that in Bekla the rains were mudless—and went in under the propped-up, penthouse shutter of the shop.

Beside the scales, with their pile of little, brass weights, an old woman, black-clad, was sitting on a stool, while near-by a sturdy young fellow, holding a stick, leant against the wall. Maia could guess well enough what his job was, for in cities of the Beklan Empire sweet-shops had an effect no different from that which they had always had on penniless urchins.

"Good evening, mother!" she smiled, throwing back the hood of her cloak and giving the old woman the full benefit of her happy elation. "Would you like to sell me some thrilsa?"

The old woman, who knew all the local shearnas by sight, stared to see such a young, pretty girl out by herself. At all events, she thought, the customer looked well-dressed and prosperous.

"Is it the best you'd like, my dear?" she said. "There's two or three kinds, but this one's made with serrardoes, look—very nice."

She held up a piece between a none-too-clean finger and thumb.

"Oh, yes that does seem nice," said Maia, bending forward and sniffing. The smell vividly recalled Tharrin and the net. "It looks even nicer than the kind the High Counselor usually has. D'you reckon p'raps I ought to take him some back for a treat?"

In her high spirits, the idea of standing treat to the High Counselor struck her as exquisitely funny, and she roared with laughter.

The old woman stopped hitting the slab of thrilsa with her little hammer and looked round at her sharply.

"Are you the girl from the High Counselor's?" she asked.

"Yes, I am," answered Maia, in a tone that meant "and proud of it, too!"

The old woman put her face close to Maia's.

"Why have you come here yourself?" she whispered. "D'you want to get us all killed?"

"What—whatever do you mean?" gasped Maia, stepping back in astonishment and alarm. Presumably the poor old thing must be a little touched.

The old woman paused, uncertainly it seemed, as though in her turn wondering what to make of her visitor. Then, turning back to the tray of thrilsa, she said, "Oh, just my little joke, my dear: you mustn't mind me. Oh, look over there, now! There's my old cat coming in, see? Need a sharp cat in a sweet-shop, you know: Colonna, we call her."

This brought to Maia's mind the recollection of Zirek and Occula chaffing each other about the pottery ornament. She had never understood the joke, whatever it might be. All the same, perhaps she could make use of it for a bit of light conversation to turn what had seemed to be going to be an awkward corner. For all she knew the point might be something quite clever and amusing.

"Well, you call her Colonna, mother, and I'll call her Bakris, and let's see which one she answers to, shall we?"

In an instant the old woman had grabbed her by the wrist and half-dragged her into the back of the shop. Maia, really frightened now as she remembered the jewels she was wearing, was beginning "Let me go! The High Counselor—" when the old woman, speaking low and quickly, said "You little fool! Why did you come yourself? Thought you had more sense! We'd have found a way to let you know. But since you're here, listen! The night of the New Year festival, in the zoan grove at the far end of the Barb gardens. Repeat it!"

Maia, stammering, did so, and the old woman released her.

"Now get out quick! And put your hood up, too."

Now that she knew she was not going to be robbed or hurt, Maia began to feel angry. "My thrllsa—"

"Oh, take it! Take it!" cried the old woman, grabbing up a slab and thrusting it, unweighed, into her hand. "And don't you never come back here no more, d'you see? O Cran have mercy!—" and with this she disappeared through some dark recess between the store cupboards.

Maia, utterly bewildered, dropped a two-meld piece into the scales and returned to her jekzha.

Arrived back, she found Occula alone by the pool, gently plucking the hinnari and running through the ballad—a favorite with shearnas called upon to sing—of U-Deparioth and the Silver Flower. Seeing Maia come in, she broke off.

"Cran's teeth, banzi, we've had quite a time since you left! How'd it go? Could he do it?"

"Oh—yes, fine, thanks," replied Maia rather absently. "What's up, then?"

"Oh, Piggy finally remembered about Milvushina," said Occula. "We had to take her up to him."

"What happened?"

"Well, he made her do one or two things—nothin' to hard cases like you and me, but no fun for her, of course. She took it very well, really: I'd had a word with her outside, you see. 'More fuss you make,' I said, 'more he'll enjoy it. Just pretend you're milkin' a cow or somethin'.' And d'you know what she said? "I've never milked a cow in my life!" So I said—"

"Occula, there's something I want to tell you about; something queer as happened when I was coming back—"

At this moment, however, Terebinthia appeared and, being in a good mood on account of the improvement in the High Counselor's spirits—a mood which improved still further when she had opened Maia's lygol—remained chatting for some little while. Later, at bed-time, Maia slipped into Occula's room and told her what had happened at the confectioner's.

"Whatd' you say she said?" asked Occula, her mouth full of thrilsa. " 'The zoan grove at the far end of the Barb gardens?' Sounds crazy to me: but then a lot of those old dears get a bit that way, you know."

Maia told her how the old woman had bolted out of sight without waiting to be paid.

"Nutty as the thrilsa," said Occula. "Can only be! Well, that's all right, anyway: give us another bit, banzi: thanks. I shouldn' tell anyone else about this if I were you," she went on, munching. "Not Dyphna or Milvushina, I mean. They'll only let it out, and if Pussy gets to hear, you'll be in the shit for goin' into a sweet-shop at all, woan' you? Anyway, tell me about Eud-Ecachlon. You say he was hot stuff? I'd never have believed it! You doan' know your own strength, banzi, that's what."