Megdon, lighting the new candles from the other burning by the bed, shrugged his shoulders.
"I shouldn't push it too far, Occula, if I were you. He's a very funny lad, is Genshed. You get them in this business, you know."
The girl shrugged her shoulders. "He'll be a lot funnier when I've finished, tell you that. I'm goin' to speak to Lalloc as soon as I get to Bekla."
"D'you know Lalloc?" replied Megdon, grinning. "Ever met him?"
Occula, without replying, opened the chest and took out a sheet of reed-paper, which she held up for a moment before putting it back and closing the lid.
"See that?" she said. "That's a letter from Domris to Lalloc; as well as her bill for me. Doan' you start thinkin' Lalloc woan' listen to me, because he will. Your friend Genshed's as good as out."
"But why, Occula?" asked Megdon. "This young girl doesn't belong to anyone yet. Far as I can make out she's some sort of lucky dip. I didn't even know she was here until you started the row."
" I started the row?" retorted Occula, rising to her feet and turning to face him. "Some lout of yours goes in for rapin' stock-in-trade and you say I started the row? I doan' give a baste how you came by her: once the likes of him start rapin' stock, there's not a girl's goin' to be safe. You know Lalloc's rules as well as I do. A little banzi like that, knows nothin', never seen anythin'--what good's she goin' to be to Lalloc or anyone else when your friend Genshed's finished with her? You're a damn' fool, Megdon. Go back to bed. And doan' wake me in the mornin'. I'll come down when I'm ready."
As soon as the man had gone Occula threw back her cloak, knelt beside the pail and dipped one end of the towel in the steaming water.
"Come on, banzi," she said. "Sit on this stool; and lean forward, so I can get at those shoulders and arms. Who knows where that bastard's filthy knife has been?"
Her hands were surprisingly gentle. None of the scratches and pricks was deep, though one continued to bleed despite repeated stanching with the towel.
"Leave it," said Occula at length. "It'll clean out the cut, and we can see to it in the mornin'. Doesn' hurt much, does it?"
Maia smiled faintly. "Not now. You've been--oh, thank you for what you've done! I don't know what I--"
"So now we can both get back to sleep," interrupted the black girl, carrying the pail into the further corner of the room. "This bed's big enough for two." she grinned. "You used to someone else in bed?"
Maia grinned back. "My little sister."
"What a shame!" replied Occula unexpectedly. "You poor banzi! Well, you can tell me all about it tomorrow."
She waited as Maia climbed into the bed and then, blowing out the candles, got in on the other side.
Maia was asleep almost as soon as her companion had settled herself beside her.
Often, when we have fallen asleep in an unaccustomed place, we wake in the momentary belief that we are back at home, or wherever we have recently been used to sleeping, so that we have to suffer the initial grief of disillusion even before trying to face up to whatever trouble, known or unknown, the coming day may have in store. This, however, Maia was spared. Waking smoothly from several hours of profound sleep, the first thing she saw was Occula's brown arm lying across the pillow. At once she recalled where she was and all that had happened the previous day.
For a little while she lay still, watching the black girl's face and the rise and fall of her breathing. Her lashes, under the silvered lids, were very long and thick and her hair, like none that Maia had ever seen, curled close about her head like some miraculous cap. Seeing her now, in repose and daylight, Maia felt that although she was certainly not what most people would have called beautiful, her appearance was so unusual and striking that the question scarcely applied. Suppose, she thought, that somewhere in the world there was a race of people who'd never seen a cat. Then if a cat was to appear, they wouldn't hardly stop to argue about whether or not it was beautiful, would they? Everyone would want to look at it and touch it--yes, and keep it for themselves, too, if they could.
Who was this strange girl, and what was she doing here? Was she going to sell fine clothes in rich Tonildan houses? Yet she had spoken of arriving in Bekla. Little as Maia had really taken in of her scalding words to Genshed, she remembered that. The girl had been very kind. Perhaps she would help her to return home?
It was still early--not long after dawn, as she could tell by the strength and lie of the light. Supping quietly out of bed, she stole across to the barred window.
The sun was out of sight to her left, but the late summer wilderness below her was already full of light; the tangled, dew-drenched grass glittering, the trees looped and netted with shadow, spiders' webs iridescent among the brambles. In the silence she could hear the intermittent murmuring of a pigeon. The place, she could see, had once been a garden, for there were fruit-trees and rose-bushes half-buried in undergrowth, while further off a broken fountain stood in the center of its empty basin.
Half out of sight, beyond a grove of zoans, she could make out the ruins of a big house. Roofless it was, its stone walls streaked black with fire, weeds trailing from window-spaces that framed only the sky.
Why then, she thought, this place where she had spent the night must indeed be the servants' quarters, or some such, of that house. She wondered how it had come to grief, and what might have befallen its lord and his followers when the flames roared up and the roof fell in. How long ago had it happened? Some time, by the look of the place.
How far was she from home? If it were not for these bars on the windows she would have risked jumping down into the long grass, found some way out and been off before anyone knew she was gone.
She bent forward, trying to see what lay on either side of the window.
A hand fell on her shoulder and she started. Occula, wrapped in her red cloak, was standing behind her, yawning like a cat and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes together with what remained of the silver paint on her eyelids.
"Oh! You frightened me!" said Maia. "I didn't know you were awake."
"I'm not," replied the black girl, stretching her arms above her head. "Just walkin' in m' sleep." Again she put her hand on Maia's shoulder, caressing and stroking. "Want to come back to bed?"
Maia laughed. "I just want to get out of here, that's all. What's more, I'm going to, soon as I can: this very morning."
Occula frowned a moment, as though puzzled: then she looked up sharply. "You doan' mean--kill yourself? It's never that bad, you know, banzi. That little bastard woan' try anythin' again, believe you me."
"Kill myself?" answered Maia, puzzled in her turn. " 'Course not; why should you think that? I just mean I don't want to work for these people and I'm going back home."
"But how?"
"Well, very like I'll have to walk, but it can't be more than ten or twelve miles, I suppose."
Occula sat down on the nearest stool. For about a quarter of a minute she remained looking down at the floor, tapping her knee with the fingers of one hand. At length she asked, "Banzi, do you know where you are and who these people are?"
"No, I don't," answered Maia, " 'ceptin' I don't like 'em."
"You'd better tell me how you come to be here. You talk and I'll listen."
Maia gave an account of what had happened the previous day, omitting only any mention of what had passed between herself and Tharrin.
"--so then, last night, I got up from the table, 'cos I was going to go straight out and start off back in the dark, see?" she concluded. "Only I was that done up, what with being in that cart and everything, I must 'a gone right off on the floor, 'cos next thing I remember's being woken up by that man and then you coming in."
Occula, taking both her hands in her own, looked gravely up at her from the stool.
"How old are you?"
"Fifteen."
"Just a banzi. What's your name?"
"Maia. My mother's Morca. We live near Meerzat, up along the lake."
"Well, listen, Maia. I've g
ot to tell you somethin' you doan' know--somethin' very bad, too. Are you ready for it?"
Maia stared. "What you mean, then?"
"Tell you what I mean. These men are slave-traders. They're employed by dealers in Bekla--mostly by a man called Lalloc. He buys and sells girls--and little boys too. And from what you've just told me, I'm certain as I can be that your mother sold you to them yesterday."
Like a great work of art, really bad news--enormous loss, ruin, disaster--takes time to make its full impact. Our first reaction is often almost idle, as though by trifling with the business we could reduce it, too, to triviality.
"What would she do that for?" asked Maia.
"You tell me," replied the black girl. " 'Cos that's what she did, and it's no good pretendin' she didn'; not if what you've told me's right. So what have you left out?"
Suddenly it dawned on Maia why Morca should have done it. Thereupon she felt like one who, having woken from sleep but still half-awake, realized that the dully-perceived object swaying a foot or two from her head is in fact a deadly snake. All was clear on the instant: everything fit-ted. There was no way in which what had happened could be otherwise explained.
Shuddering, she sank to the floor, burying her face in her hands and moaning.
"The pretty dress--that's an old trick to get a sight of a girl naked," went on Occula matter-of-factly.