About the streets people were hastening hither and thither, nearly all, so it seemed, concerned in one way or another with the safety of their property. There were not many to take more than momentary notice of a distraught girl in tears, obviously intent on some destination. No doubt she had received bad news. Many had.
Yet all of a sudden Maia, now well past the barracks and less than three furlongs from her own house, found her way blocked by a man standing squarely in front of her. Moving to one side, she tried to walk past him; but he spread his arms, and rather than have him grab hold of her, as he seemed about to do, she stepped backward, looking down at the ground and ignoring him in the hope of being left alone.
"Ah!" he cried. "A shadow will cover the city! A shadow!"
She recognized him then, with the weary resentment of one who, though deep in affliction, understands that nevertheless there is to be no escape from the tedium and vexation of having to deal with an intrusive eccentric. Jejjereth, as he was commonly known (the name had a slightly obscene meaning in Beklan), was a familiar figure in the streets and markets of the lower city; one of those grotesque, half-crazy declaimers and self-styled prophets who always knock about large cities; fantastically clad, of no fixed abode, part laughing-stock and part accorded, by the common people, a kind of rough recognition for having shown themselves to possess at least a crude form of moral courage and sincerity; who stand in public places orating disjointed nonsense about imminent wrath and judgment to such as have nothing better to do than listen untU they weary of it, while wags shout ribald questions over their heads. "A shadow will cover the city" was notorious as one of Jejjereth's favorite utterances. Maia could recall having once seen him in the Caravan Market, his rags fluttering as he was dragged off the Scales and sent packing by two of the municipal slaves. Sometimes he would stand at one or other of the lower city gates, haranguing visiting pilgrims and other passers-by until the sentries, having decided that he had had his fair turn, moved him on. To come upon him in the upper city was all but incredible. At any other time she would have wondered how he could possibly have got in. Now, she merely hoped he would let her alone and go away.
"A shadow!" he cried. "A shadow to enshroud the evil-- the gluttons and their trulls, the liars, the murderers and men of blood!" He made a wide, sweeping gesture, spreading his grimy cloak before her like the wing of some huge, tattered bird.
"The whores! The murderers' whores shall hang upside-down, with their legs apart to let in the blowflies!"
"Jejjereth," she said quietly, as he still blocked her way, "please let me pass. I've never done you any harm and I want to go home."
Now he peered at her closely. "Maia! Maia swam the river!"
"Yes, yes," she replied soothingly (she was only humoring a zany by completing a catch-phrase), "Maia saved the city. Please let me go by."
"Saved the city!" he shouted. "Yes, Maia saved the city for the cruel to commit more murders, for the wicked to enjoy more lust and greed! But a shadow will cover the city--"
By this time several people had stopped--household slaves and the like, to whom the sight of him in the lower city was familiar enough.
"What in Cran's name are you doing up here, old fel-low?" said a night-watchman, taking him by the arm. "Who let you in, eh?"
Jejjereth, having turned to face him, spoke behind his hand in a voice which everyone could hear. "She let me in," he said. "She let me in--to call down vengeance on corruption! Yes, to go even to the Barons' Palace! Jejjereth's not afraid to strike, no, no--"
"What, this girl here? Don't tell me she let you in--"
"No! No! Not her! It was the Leopardess--the swift one, with the green--ah! She let me in, to bring judgement--"
"Which Leopardess, old boy?" asked someone else. "Come up here to baste a few expensive ones for a change, have you?"
"A shadow will cover the city--"
"Yeah, and a bull will cover a cow an' all. And you've been covering a Leopardess, is that it?"
"Perhaps that is it,"put in the night-watchman. "Some of these rich women in the upper city've got peculiar tastes y'know. Now come on, old lad," he said, gripping Jejjereth more firmly. "Never mind about Leopardesses an' that; you just hop it to the Peacock Gate, else you'll know all about it, see?"
Suddenly and frighteningly, Jejjereth drew a long, sharp-pointed knife from under his cloak. "She gave me this," he said, grinning round at them. "She gave me this: she said, 'Take this folda, go to the Barons' Palace and strike down the wicked--' "
"Here, you'd better just give that to me," said the watchman, startled. "That's dangerous, that is. Might hurt someone."
Maia, glad to have avoided further unwelcome attention, left them at it and continued on her way.
Ten minutes later she was walking up to the door of her own house. Although she could almost find it in her heart to hope that he might, she did not believe that Randronoth would kill her. It was more likely that he would still want to do what he had been tricked out of doing. Oh, she thought, if only her ashes were blowing over Serrelind, and Kelsi and old Drigga weeping for her! If only it could all be over!
Suddenly she saw that the door of her house was standing wide open. Lamplight shone from within.
She stopped-- she was about forty yards away--but there was nothing to be heard. As she stared, puzzled, at the open doorway, she began to make out beyond it signs of confusion and disorder. A big, painted vase which had had its place in the porch was fallen and smashed to fragments, and a long, white splinter was projecting from the woodwork of the inner door. Near it, on the floor, she could glimpse something which looked like a bundle of old clothes tossed down all anyhow.
What could this mean? Robbers? Some violence between Randronoth and Eud-Ecachlon, informed of his presence in her house? She approached the door cautiously, but there was nothing more to be seen, and still she could not hear a sound.
Suddenly, at the very foot of the steps, she stopped short with a scream. What had looked like old clothes on the floor of the porch was in fact the dead body of Jarvil. His eyes were fixed, his teeth clenched and the hilt of a knife, which one of his hands was clutching, protruded from his chest.
To Maia's enormous credit her first thought was for Ogma. Sickened and terrified though she was, she did not run away, and hesitated for no more than a moment as she listened once more for any sound from within the house. There was none. As quietly as she could she entered the porch, stepped over the body and opened the inner door into the entrance hall.
Here, as was customary of an evening, three or four lamps were burning. She looked about her in the silence, wondering whether or not to call out to Ogma. Jarvil, she remembered, used to keep a club in his lodge by the door. She went and got it, and with this in one hand stole up to the open door of the parlor.
The room was frighteningly devastated. One of the silken wall-hangings had been ripped down .Both the small tables lay overturned and broken, and the ornaments and artifacts from them were scattered over the floor. A jug and two goblets were lying in a pool of spilt wine. The silver mirror, too, had fallen from the wall: as she moved, it caught the lamplight, flashing a moment in her eyes. Two of the cushions on the big couch had burst open, and their flock stuffing was strewn across the room.
Maia, however, noticed little or nothing of this in detail, for there was worse to be seen. On the far side of the room, in the shadow beyond the lamplight, were stretched the bodies of Randronoth's two soldiers. A dark, glistening expanse of blood, half-dried, covered the tiles around them. One had had time to draw his sword, which lay beside him--a typical Gelt short-sword, the broad blade tapering to a point. The other must simply have been trying to escape: he was stretched prone, one arm extended, the hand apparently dragged or fallen from the latch of the door leading i
nto the garden. His dead face was turned towards her.
She ran out quickly into the hall but then, turning faint, stood leaning dizzily against the newel-post at the foot of the staircase.
Now, after some moments, she could indeed hear a noise--a kind of low, suppressed whimpering and moaning from upstairs. The voice was Ogma's. She listened intently, but could hear no one else. She called out, "Ogma! It's Maia!"
The whimpering stopped on the instant, but there was no reply. She called again, "Can you hear me?"
This time, after a pause, Ogma's voice answered faintly, "Miss Maia?"
"I'm in the hall: can you come down?"
"I'm--I'm hurt, miss," replied Ogma in a weak, tremulous voice.
Maia ran upstairs. Lamplight was shining from her bedroom and she went in. The first thing she saw was the body of Randronoth, dressed in nothing but a pair of breeches, lying across her bed. It was the most appalling sight imaginable. His throat had been cut--the head, indeed, almost severed--while across his chest and stomach were three or more ragged, gaping stab-wounds. Coverlet, sheets, pillows--all were drenched in blood.
Ogma was half-lying near the door, her back against the wall. She was bleeding from eight or nine cuts, each about two inches long, in her shoulders and upper arms. In one hand she held a blood-stained towel, with which she was weakly dabbing at these wounds.
"Oh, Miss Maia," she cried faintly, "I'm that bad!"
Maia knelt, raised the girl to her feet and then, herself desperate to get out of the room and away from the horror on the bed, supported her to the bathroom. Here she set about washing her cuts and binding them up. Although she was scarcely capable of coherent thought, the wounds nonetheless struck her as odd; all were of more or less the same length and depth--almost like surgical incisions--as though inflicted deliberately and, as it were, at leisure. Little as she knew about wounds, these seemed hardly of a kind likely to be inflicted by violent men in an attack.
The cold water made Ogma flinch and cry out, but after a while, when Maia had bandaged her as best she could, she began to recover herself a little.
"There isn't--there isn't anyone else in the house now, miss, is there?" she faltered.