Текст книги "At the Edge of Space (Brothers of Worlds; Hunter of Worlds)"

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 36 страниц)

Hours passed. The injured man slept, after a drink they had given him. Kurt occupied himself with trying to work the knots loose. They were not fully within his reach. He tried instead to stretch the cords. His fingers swelled and passed the point of pain. The ache spread up his arms. His feet were numb. Breathing was an effort.

At least they did not touch him. They played at bho,a game of lots, and sat in the light, an unreal tableau suspended in the growing blackness. The light picked out only the edges of bales and crates.

From the distance of the hill came the deep tones of the Intaem-Inta.The gamers stopped, reverent of it, continued.

Outside Kurt heard the faint scuff of sandaled feet on stone. His hopes rose. He thought of Kta, searching for him.

Instead there came a bold rap on the door. The men admitted the newcomers, one in Indras dress, the others in Robes of Color; they wore daggers in their belts.

One was a man who had watched outside Elas.

“We will see to him now,” the Indras-dressed one said, a small man with eyes so narrow he could only be Sufaki. “Put him on his feet.”

Two men hauled Kurt up, cut the cords that bound his ankles. He could not stand without them holding him. They shook him and struck him to make him try, but when it was evident that he truly could not stand, they took him each by an arm and pulled him along with them in great haste, out into the mist and the dark, along the confusing turns of the alleys.

They tended constantly downhill, and Kurt was increasingly sure of their destination: the bay’s dark waters would conceal his body with no evidence to accuse the Sufaki of his murder, no one to hear how he had vanished—no one but Mim, who might well be able to identify them.

That was the thought which most tormented him. Elas should have been turning Nephane upside down by now, if only Mim had reached them. But there was no indication of a search.

They turned a corner, cutting off the light from the lantern-carrier in front of them, which moved like a witchlight in the mist. The other two men were half carrying him. Though he had feeling in his feet again, he made it no easier for them.

They made haste to overtake the man with the lantern, and cursed him for his haste. At the same time they jerked cruelly on Kurt’s arms, trying to force him to carry his own weight.

And suddenly he shouldered left, where steps led down into a doorway, toppling one of his guards with a startled cry. With the other one he pivoted, unable to free himself, held by the front of his robe and one arm.

Kurt jerked. Cloth tore. He hurled all his weight into a kick at the lantern-bearer.

The man sprawled, oil spilling, live flame springing up. The burned man screamed, snatching at his clothing, trying to strip it off. His friend’s grip loosened, knife flashing in the glare. He rammed it for Kurt’s belly.

Kurt spun, received the edge across his ribs instead, tore free, kneed the man as the burning man’s flames reached something else flammable in the debris of the alley.

He was free. He pivoted and ran, in the mist and the dark that now was scented with the stench of burned flesh and fiber.

It was several turns of the alleys later when he first dared stop, and leaned against the wall close to fainting for want of air, for the gag obstructed his breathing.

At last, as quietly as possible, he knelt against the back steps of a warehouse, contorted his body so that he could use his fingers to search the debris in the corner. There was broken pottery in the heap: he found a shard keen-edged enough, leaned against the step with his heart pounding from exertion and his ears straining to hear despite the blood that roared in his head.

It took a long time to make any cut in the tight cords. At last a strand parted, and another, and he was able to unwind the rest. With deadened hands he rubbed the binding from the gag and spit the choking cloth from his mouth, able to breathe a welcome gasp of the chill foggy air.

Now he could move, and in the concealment of the night and the fog he had a chance. His way lay uphill—he had no choice in that. The gate would be the logical place for his enemies to lay their ambush. It was the only way through the defense wall that ringed the upper town.

When he reached the wall, he was greatly relieved. It was not difficult to find a place where illicit debris had piled up against the ancient fortification. Sheds and buildings proliferated here, crowding into narrow gaps between the permitted buildings and the former defense of the high town. He scrambled by the roofs of three of them up to the crest and found the situation unhappily tidier on the other side. He walked the wall, dreading the jump; and in a place where the erosion of centuries had lessened the height perhaps five feet, he lowered himself over the edge and dropped a dizzying distance to the ground on the high town side.

The jolt did not knock him entirely unconscious, but it dazed him and left him scarcely able to crawl the little distance into the shadows. It was a time before he had recovered sufficiently to try to walk again, at times losing clear realization of how he had reached a particular place.

He reached the main street. It was deserted. Kurt took to it only as often as he must, finally broke into a run as he saw the door of Osanef. He darted into the friendly shadow of its porch.

No one answered. Light came through the fog indistinctly on the upper hill, a suffused glow from the temple or the Afen. He remembered the festival, and decided even Indras-influenced Osanef might be at the temple.

He took to the street running now, two blocks from Elas and trusting to speed, not daring even the other Indras houses. They had no love of humans; Kta had warned him so.

He was in the final sprint for Elas’ door before he realized Elas might be watched, would logically be watched unless the Methi’s guards were about. It was too late to stop. He reached its triangular arch and pounded furiously on the door, not even daring to look over his shoulder.

“Who is there?” Hef’s voice asked faintly.

“Kurt. Let me in. Let me in, Hef.”

The bolt shot back, the door opened, and Kurt slipped inside and leaned against the closed door, gasping for breath in the sudden warmth and light of Elas.

“Mim,” said Hef. “Lord Kurt, what has happened? Where is Mim?”

“Not—not here?”

“No. We thought at least—whatever had happened—you were together.”

Kurt caught his breath with a choking swallow of air and pushed himself square on his feet. “Call Kta.”

“He is out with Ian t’Ilev and Val t’Ran, searching for you both. Ai,my lord, what can we do? I will call Nym—”

“Tell Nym—tell Nym I have gone to get the Methi’s help. Give me a weapon,—anything—”

“I cannot, my lord, I cannot. My orders forbid—”

Kurt swore and jerked the door open again, ran for the street and the Afen gate.

When he reached the Afen wall, the great gates were closed and the wall-street that led to the temple compound was crowded with Sufaki—drunken, most of them. Kurt leaned on the bars and shouted for the guards to hear him and open them, but his voice was lost in the noise of the crowds, with all Sufak Nephane gathered into that square down the street and spilling over into the wall-street. Some, drunker than the rest, began also to shake at the bars of the gates to try to raise the guards. If there were any on duty to hear, they ignored the uproar.

Kurt caught his breath, exhausted, far from help of Kta or Djan. Then he remembered the other gate, the sally port in the far end of the wall where it touched Haichema-tleke, and opened onto the temple square. That would be the one for them to guard, that nearest the temple. They might hear him there, and open.

He raced along the wall, jostling Sufaki in his exhausted weaving and stumbling. A few drunk ones laughed and caught at his clothing. Others cursed him, trying to bar his way.

A cry began to go up, resentment for his presence. Jafikn-wearing Sufaki barred his path, turned him. Someone struck him from the side, nearly throwing him to the pavement.

He ran, but they would not let him escape the square, blocking his way out,—t’Tefur’s men, armed with blades.

Authority, he thought, sensible authority would not let this happen. He broke to one side, racing for the temple steps, sending shrieking women and cursing men crowding out of his way.

Hands reached to stop him. He tore past them almost all the way to the very top of the long temple steps before enough of them seized him to hold him.

“Elas’ doing!” a hysterical voice shrieked from below. “Kill the human!”

Kurt struggled around to see who had shouted, looked down on a sea of alien faces in the torchlight and the haze of thin mist. “Where is Shan t’Tefur?” Kurt screamed back at them. “Where has he taken my wife?”

The babble of voices almost hushed for a moment: the nemet held their women in great esteem. Kurt drew a great gasp of air and shouted across the gathering. “Shan t’Tefur! If you are here, come out and face me. Where is my wife? What have you done with her?”

There was a moment of shocked silence and then a rising murmur like thunder as an aged priest came from the upper steps through the men gathered there. He cleared the way with the emblem of his office, a vine-wreathed staff. The staff extended till it was almost touching Kurt, and the priest spat some unintelligible words at him.

There was utter silence now, drunken laughter coming distantly from the wall-street. In this gathering no one so much as stirred. Even Kurt was struck to silence,—the staff extended a degree further and with unreasoning loathing he shrank from it, not wanting to be touched by this mouthing priest with his drunken gods of earth. They held him, and the rough wood of the staff’s tip trembled against his cheek.

“Blasphemer,” said the priest, “sent by Elas to profane the rites. Liar. Cursed from the earth you will be, by the old gods, the ancient gods, the life-giving sons of Thael. Son of Yr to Phan united, Aem-descended, to the gods of ancient Chteftik,—cursed!”

“A curse on the lot of you,” Kurt shouted in his face, “if you have any part in t’Tefur’s plot! My wife Mim never harmed any of you, never harmed anyone. Where is she? You people,—you! that were in the market today—that walked away—Are you all in this? What did they do with her? Where did they take her?—Is she alive? By your own gods you can tell me that at least. Is she alive?”

“No one knows anything of the woman, human,” said the aged priest. “And you were ill-advised to come here with your drunken ravings. Who would harm Mim h’Elas, a daughter of Sufak herself? You come here and profane the mysteries—taught no reverence in Elas, it is clear. Cursed be you, human, and if you do not leave now, we will wash the pollution of your feet from these stones with your blood.—Let him go, let go the human, and give him the chance to leave.”

They released him, and Kurt swayed on the steps above the crowd, scanning the faces for one that was familiar. Of Osanef, of any friend, there was no sign. He looked back at the priest.

“She is lost in the city, hurt or dead,” Kurt pleaded. “You are a religious man.—Do something!”

For a moment pity or conscience almost touched the stern old face. The cracked lips quavered on some answer. There was a hush over the crowd.

“It is Indras’ doing!” a male voice shouted. “Elas is looking for some offense against the Sufaki—and now they try to create one! The human is Elas’ creature!”

Kurt whirled about, saw a familiar face for the first time.

“He is one of them!” Kurt shouted. “That is one of the men who was in the market when my wife was taken. They tried to kill me and they have my wife—”

“Liar,” shouted another man. “Ver has been at the temple since the ringing of the Inta.I saw him myself. The human is trying to accuse an innocent man.”

“Kill him!” someone else shouted, and others throughout the crowd took up the cry, surging forward, young men, wearing the Robes of Color. T’Tefur’s men.

“No,” cried the old priest, pounding his staff for attention. “No, take him out of here, take him far from the temple precincts.”

Kurt backed away as men swarmed about him, nearly crushed in the press, jerked bodily off his feet, limbs strained as they passed him off the steps and down into the crowd.

He fought, gasping for breath and trying to free hands or even a foot to defend himself as he was borne across the courtyard toward the wall-street.

And the gate was open, and men of the Methi’s guard were there, dimly outlined in the mist and the flaring torches, but about them was the flash of metal, and bronze helmets glittered under the murky firelight, ominous and warlike.

“Give him to us,” said their leader.

“Traitors,” cried one to the young men.

“Give him to us,” the officer repeated. It was t’Senife.

In anger they flung Kurt at the guardsmen, threw him sprawling on the stones, and the guards in their haste were no more gentle, snatching him up again, half dragging him through the sally port into the Afen grounds.

Hysterical outcries came from the crowd as they closed the door, barring the multitude outside. Something heavy struck the door, a barrage of missiles like the patter of hail for a moment. The shrieking rose and died away.

The Methi’s guard gathered him up, hauling his bruised arms, pulling him along with them until they were sure that he would walk as rapidly as they.

They took him by the back stairs and up.

13

“Sit down,” Djan snapped.

Kurt let himself into the nearest chair, although Djan continued to stand. She looked over his head toward the guards who waited.

“Are things under control?”

“They would not enter the Afen grounds.”

“Wake the day guard. Double watch on every post, especially the sally port. T’Lised, bring h’Elas here.”

Kurt glanced up. “Mim—”

“Yes, Mim.” Djan dismissed the guard with a wave of her hand and swept her silk and brocade skirts aside to take a chair. No flicker of sympathy touched her face as Kurt lifted a shaking hand to wipe his face and tried to collect his shattered nerves.

“Is she all right?” he asked.

“She will mend. Nym reported you missing when you failed to return; my men found her wandering the dock. I couldn’t get sense out of her; she kept demanding to go to Elas, until I finally got through to her the fact that you were missing too. Then Kta came here saying you’d come back to Elas and then left again to find me; he was able to pass the gate in company with some of my men or I doubt he’d have made it through, given the mood of the people out there. So I sent Kta home again under guard and told him to wait there,—and I hope he did. After the riot you created in the temple square, finding you was simple.”

Kurt bowed his head, glad enough to know Mim was safe, too tired to argue.

“Do you even remotely realize what trouble you caused? My men are in danger of being killed out there because of you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What happened to you?”

“T’Tefur’s men hauled me out of the market, held me in some warehouse until dark and took me out—I suppose to dispose of me in the harbor. I escaped. I—may have killed one or two of them.”

Djan swore under her breath. “What else?”

“Those who were taking me from the temple, if your men recognized them—one was in the market. T’Tefur’s men. One was a man I told you used to watch Elas—”

“Shall I call Shan here? If you repeat those things to his face—”

“I’ll kill him.”

“You will do nothing of the sort,” Djan shouted, suddenly at the end of her patience. “You caused me trouble enough, you and your precious little native wife. I know well enough your stubbornness, but I promise you this: if you cause me any more trouble, I’ll hold you and all Elas directly responsible.”

“What am I supposed to do, wait for the next time? Is my wife going to have to go into hiding for fear of them and I not be able to do anything or lay a hand on the men I know are responsible?”

“You chose to live here, you begged me for the privilege, and you chose all the problems of living in a nemet house and having a nemet wife. Now enjoy it.”

“I’m asking you to do something.”

“And I’m telling you I’ve had enough problems from you. You’re becoming a liability to me.”

The door opened cautiously and Mim entered the room, stood transfixed as Kurt rose to his feet. Her face dissolved in tears and for a moment she did not move. Then she cast herself to her knees and fell upon her face before Djan.

Kurt went to her and drew her into his arms, smoothing her disordered hair, and she turned her face against him and wept. Her dress was torn open, buttons ripped to the waist, the pelansoiled with mud from the streets and with blood.

“You’d better do something,” Kurt said, looking across at Djan. “Because if I meet any of them after this I’ll kill them.”

“If you doubt I’ll do what I said, you’re mistaken.”

“What kind of place is this when this can happen to her? What do I owe your law when this can happen and they can get away with it?”

“H’Elas,” said Djan, ignoring him, “have you remembered who did this to you?”

“Please,” said Mim, “do not shame my husband.”

“Your husband has eyes to see what happened to you. He is threatening to take matters into his own hands, which will be unfortunate for Elas if he does, and for him too. So you had better find it convenient to remember, h’Elas.”

“Methi,—I—only remember what I told you. They kept me wrapped in—in someone’s cloak, I think, and I could hardly breathe. I saw no faces—and I remember—I remember being moved, and I tried to escape, but they—hit me—they—”

“Let be,” Kurt said, holding her. “Let be, Djan.”

“How long have you lived in Nephane, h’Elas?”

“F-four years, Methi.”

“And never heard those voices, never saw a face you knew, even at the beginning?”

“No, Methi. Perhaps—perhaps they were from the country.”

“Where were you held?”

“I do not know, Methi. I cannot remember clearly. It was dark,—a building, dark,—and I could not see. I do not know.”

“They were t’Tefur’s men,” said Kurt. “Let her alone.”

“There are more radical men than Shan t’Tefur, those who aim at creating complete havoc here—and you just gave them all the ammunition they need, killing two of them, defiling the temple.”

“Let them come out into the open and accuse me. I don’t think they’re the kind. Or if they try me again,—”

“I’ve warned you, Kurt, in as plain words as I can use. Do nothing.”

“I’ll do what’s necessary to protect my wife.”

“Don’t try me. Don’t think your life or hers means more to me than this city.”

“Next time,” said Kurt, holding Mim tightly to his side, “I’m going to be armed. If you don’t intend to afford me the protection of the law, then I’ll take care of the matter, public or private, fair or foul.”

“My lord,” pleaded Mim, “please, please, do not quarrel with her.”

“You’d better listen to her,” said Djan. “Women have survived the like for thousands of years. She will. Honor’s cold comfort for being dead, as the practicalities of the Tamur surely taught—”

“She understands!” Kurt cried, hugging Mim to him, and Djan silenced herself quickly. Mim trembled. Her hands were cold in his.

“You have leave to go, h’Elas,” said Djan.

“I’ll see her home,” said Kurt.

“ You’regoing nowhere tonight,” Djan said, and shouted in Nechai for the guard, who appeared almost instantly, expecting orders.

“I’ll take her home,” Kurt repeated, “and I’ll come back if you insist on it.”

“No,” said Djan. “I made a mistake ever putting you in Elas, and I warned you. As of this moment you’re staying in the Afen, and it’s going to take more than Kta’s persuasions to change my mind on that. You’ve created a division in this city that words won’t settle, and my patience is over, Kurt.—T’Udein, see h’Elas home.”

“You’ll have to use more than an order to keep me here,” said Kurt.

Mim put her hand on his arm and looked up at him. “Please, no, no, I will go home. I am so very tired. I hurt, my lord. Please let me go home, and do not quarrel with the Methi for my sake. She is right: it is not safe for you or for Elas. It will never be safe for you. I do not want you to have any grief for my sake.”

Kurt bent and touched his lips to her brow. “I’m coming home tonight, Mim. She only thinks otherwise. Go with t’Udein, then, and tell your father to keep that door locked.”

“Yes, my lord Kurt,” she said softly, her hands slipping from his. “Do not be concerned for me. Do not be concerned.”

She bowed once to the Methi, but Djan snapped her fingers when she would have made the full obeisance, dismissing her. Kurt waited until the door was securely closed, then fixed his eyes on Djan, trembling so with rage he did not trust himself.

“If you ever use words like that to my wife again—”

“She has more sense than you do. Shewould not have a war fought over her offended pride.”

“You held her without so much as a word to Elas—”

“I sent word back when Kta came, and if you had stayed where you belonged, the matter would have been quietly and efficiently settled. Now I have to think of other matters besides your convenience and your feelings.”

“Saving t’Tefur, you mean.”

“Saving this city from the bloodbath you nearly started tonight. My men had rocks thrown at them—at a Methi’s guards! If they’ll do that, they’ll cut throats next.”

“Ask your guards who those men were. Or are you afraid they’ll tell you?”

“There are a lot of charges flying in the wind tonight, none of them substantiated.”

“I’ll substantiate them—before the Upei.”

“Oh, no, you won’t. You bring up that charge in the Upei and there are things about many people,—your little ex-slave wife included—that are going to be brought up too, dragged through public hearing under oath. When you start invoking the law, friend, the law keeps moving until the whole truth is out, and a case like that right now would tear Nephane apart. I won’t stand for it. Your wife would suffer most of all, and I think she has come to understand that very clearly.”

“You threatened her with that?”

“I explained things to her. I did not threaten. Those fellows won’t admit to your charges, no, they’ll have counterclaims that won’t be pretty to hear. Mim’s honor and Mim’s history will be in question, and the fact that she went from the Tamurlin to a human marriage won’t be to her credit or that of Elas. And believe me, I’d throw her or you to the Sufaki if it had to be done, so don’t push me any further.”

“T’Tefur’s city isn’t worth saving.”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He had started for the door. He stopped and faced her. “I’m going to Elas, to my wife. When I’m sure she’s all right, I’ll come back and we can settle matters. But unless you want more people hurt or killed, you’d better give me an escort to get there.”

She stared at him. He had never seen her angrier; but perhaps she could read on his face what he felt at the moment. Her expression grew calmer, guarded.

“Until morning,” she said. “Make your peace there. My men will get you safely to Elas, but I am not sending them through the streets with you twice in one night, dragging you past the Sufaki like a lure to violence. So stay there till morning. And if you cause me more trouble tonight, Kurt, so help me you’ll regret it.”

Kurt pushed open the heavy door of Elas, taking it out of Hef’s hands, closed it quickly upon the Methi’s guards, then turned to Hef.

“Mim,” said Kurt. “She is here, she is safe?”

Hef bowed. “Yes, my lord,—not a few moments ago she came in, also with the Methi’s guard. I beg my lord, what—”

Kurt ignored his questions, hurried past him to the rhmeiand found it empty, left it and raced upstairs to their room. There was no light there but the phusa.That light drew his eyes as he opened the door, and before it knelt Mim. He let his breath go in a long sigh of relief, slid to his knees and took her by the shoulders.

Her head fell back against him, her lips parted in shock, her face filmed with perspiration. Then he saw her hands at her heart and the dark wet stain on them.

“No,” he cried, a shriek, and caught her as she slid aside, her hands slipping from the hilt of the dragon blade that was deep in her breast. She was not dead; the outrage of the metal in her flesh still moved with her shallow breathing, and he could not nerve himself to touch it. He pressed his lips to her cheek and heard the gentle intake of her breath. Her brows knit in pain and relaxed. Her eyes held a curious, childlike wonder.

“ Ei,my lord,” he heard her breathe.

And the breath passed softly from her lips and the light from her eyes. Mim was a weight, suddenly heavy, and he gave a strangled sob and held her against him, folded tightly into his arms.

Quick footsteps pounded up the stairs, and he knew it was Kta. The nemet stopped in the doorway, and Kurt turned his tear-stained face toward him.

“ Ai,light of heaven,” Kta whispered.

Kurt let Mim very gently to the floor, closed her eyes and carefully drew forth the blade. He knew it then for the one he had once stolen and Mim had taken back. He held the thing in his hand like a living enemy, his whole arm trembling.

“Kurt!” Kta exclaimed, rushing to him. “Kurt, no! Give it to me. Give it to me.”

Kurt staggered to his feet with the blade still in his hand, and Kta’s hazy form wavered before him, hand outstretched in pleading. His eyes cleared. He looked down at Mim.

“Kurt, please, I beg you.”

Kurt clenched his fingers once more on the hilt. “I have business,” he said, “at the Afen.”

“Then you must kill me to pass,” said Kta, “because you will kill Elas if you attack the Methi, and I will not let you go.”

Kta’s family: Kurt saw the love and the fear in the nemet’s eyes and could not blame him. Kta would try to stop him; he believed it, and he looked down at the blade, deprived of revenge, lacking the courage or the will or whatever impulse Mim had had to drive it to her heart.

“Kurt.” Kta took his hand and pried the blade from his fingers. Nym was in the shadows behind him,—Nym, and Aimu and Hef—Hef weeping, unobtrusive even in his grief. Things were suspended in unreality.

“Come,” Kta was saying gently, “come away.”

“Don’t touch her.”

“We will take her down to the rhmei,” said Kta. “Come, my friend, come.”

Kurt shook his head, recovering himself a little. “I will carry her,” he said. “She is my wife, Kta.”

Kta let him go then, and Kurt knelt down and gathered up Mim’s yielding form into his arms. She did not feel right any longer. It was not like Mim—loose, like a broken doll.

Silently the family gathered in the rhmei:Ptas and Nym, Aimu and Kta and Hef, and Kurt laid down his burden at Ptas’ feet. Ptas wept for her, and folded Mim’s hands upon her breast. There was nothing heard in the rhmeibut the sound of weeping, of the women and of Hef. Kurt could not shed more tears. When he looked into the face of Nym he met a grim and terrible anger.

“Who brought her to this?” asked Nym, so that Kurt trembled under the weight of his own guilt.

“I could not protect her,” Kurt said. “I could not help her.” He looked down at her, drew a shaken breath. “The Methi drove her to this.”

Nym looked at him sorrowfully, then turned and walked to the light of the hearthfire. For a moment the lord of Elas stood with head bowed and then looked up, lifted his arms before the holy fire, a dark and powerful shadow before its golden light.

“Our Ancestors,” he prayed, “receive this soul, not born of our kindred; spirits of our Ancestors, receive her, Mim h’Elas. Take her gently among you, one with us, as birth-sharing, loving, beloved. Peace was upon her heart, this child of Elas, daughter of Minas, of Indras, of the far-shining city.”

“Spirits of Elas,” prayed Kta, holding his hands also toward the fire, “our Ancestors, wake and behold us. Guardians of Elas, see us, this wrong done against us; swift to vengeance, our Ancestors, wake and behold us.”

Kurt looked on, lost, unable even to mourn for her as they mourned, alien even in the moment of her dying. And he watched as Ptas took from Kta’s hands the dragon blade. She bent over Mim with that, and this was beyond bearing. Kurt cried out, but Ptas severed only a lock of Mim’s dark hair and cast it into the blaze of the holy fire.

Aimu sobbed audibly. Kurt could take no more. He turned suddenly and fled the hall, out into the entryway.

“It is done.” Kta knelt where he found him, crouched in the corner of the entry against the door. He set his hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “It is over now. We will put her to rest. Will you wish to be present?”

Kurt shuddered and turned his face toward the wall. “I can’t,” he said, lapsing into his native tongue. “I can’t. I loved her, Kta. I can’t go.”

“Then we will care for her, my friend. We will care for her.”

“I lovedher,” he insisted, and felt the pressure of Kta’s fingers on his shoulder.

“Is there—some rite you would wish? Surely—surely our Ancestors would find no wrong in that.”

“What could she have to do with my people?” Kurt swallowed painfully and shook his head. “Do it the way she would understand.”

Kta arose and started to leave, then knelt again. “My friend,—come to my room first. I will give you something that will make you sleep.”

“No,” he said. “Leave me alone. Leave me.”

“I am afraid for you.”

“Take care of her. Do that for me.”

Kta hesitated, then rose again and withdrew on silent feet.

Kurt sat listening for a moment. The family left the rhmeiby the left-hand hall, their steps dying away into the far places of the house. Kurt rose then and opened the door quietly, shutting it quietly behind him in such a way that the inner bar fell into place.

The streets were deserted, as they had been since the Methi’s guards had taken their places at the wall-street. He walked not toward the Afen, but downward, toward the harbor.