Seeker (26 page)

"No," he said. "Each one of us has work to do, that only they can do."

"Who told you that?" She shot the question at him accusingly, as if he had stolen it. "That's the way the Nomana talk."

Blaze blinked, and looked confused.

"He was a Noma once," said Soren Similin.

"You were a Noma—once?"

She laughed. It was the kind of laughter that has more hurt in it than happiness.

"And did they cleanse you?" She looked into his puzzled eyes. "They did, didn't they?"

"I don't know," said Blaze slowly. "All I know is, they cast me out."

"Oh, you poor boy. And you call me good."

"You are good."

"I'm just another exile, like you."

She set off down the passage, suddenly become active. Blaze and Similin followed.

She walked ahead of them, making her way down the steps and onto the path between the trees. She still wore the long, elegant white dress of a lady of leisure, and soft kid-leather pumps that were not at all suitable for the baked earth and grit of the road. But none of this deterred her. She walked as if in a dream, down the track between the tall-standing corn that would now never be picked.

Soren Similin followed, frowning with irritation. He was so close to his goal, and now this foolish, irrelevant woman was distracting Blaze from his destiny. However, she did have her uses. She had provided a timely pretext to do what he wanted, which was to go to Radiance.

"We have to look after her," said Blaze.

"She's a fine lady," said the secretary. "She's not used to walking. How long do you think she'll keep this up? An hour at the most. Then she'll collapse."

"She's beautiful," said Blaze. "She's good. We have to look after her."

Just what I need, thought Similin. Now the big booby's gone and fallen in love.

T
HE CANOE THAT CARRIED
M
ORNING
S
TAR REACHED
the city of Radiance as night was falling, slipping from the river itself into one of the narrow waterways that led into the maze of city streets. Morning Star was no longer covered by the heavy blanket, but she made no sound, because her captors had tied a thick cloth gag over her mouth. She did not move, because her wrists were strapped tight to her waist belt and a second rope tethered her belt to the canoe bench on which she sat. But she was able to sit upright, and she was able to see, so she looked about her all the way and memorized everything she could. She saw the fine streets where the priests passed with their servants and their glittering gold robes. She saw the patrol officers on every street corner. She saw the plump, pampered citizens and the starved yellow cats.

The two tribute traders who had captured her were called by the comical names of Ease and Solace. But Morning Star wasn't laughing. Clearly they knew their business and were expecting to sell her that very night. All the way to the city they were alternately congratulating themselves and bickering over how best to proceed.

"She's a beauty! We shall break the record with her!"

"How much money has our man got, Ease? How high will he go?"

"They say he supplies all the oil for the temple and for the royal household, too. He's got enough."

"Oh, we shall squeeze him, shan't we, Ease?"

"And don't you go softening!"

"When did I ever soften? When it comes to striking a bargain, I'm as unyielding as flint! Why else am I known as the man of flint?"

"You're not known as the man of flint. You're known as Sol the Doll."

"Sol the Doll! I never heard that before in my life!"

"So don't you go softening on me. This one will make our fortune, if we play it right."

"Sol the Doll? Who calls me Sol the Doll?"

"I mean to make the oil seller pay five thousand shillings."

"Five thousand shillings! Oh, Ease! How magnificent! Oh, you dreamer of mighty dreams! Five thousand shillings!"

"You'll see. Just don't go softening on me."

Morning Star sat still and watched and listened. She was extremely frightened, but the fear had the effect of making her concentrate. All her senses were focused on finding a means of escape. Her bonds were well tied. She was quite unable to call for help. The little backwater up which they were paddling was overlooked by the windows of lamp-lit houses, but if anyone was watching as they went by, they showed no sign that they saw anything out of the ordinary. No doubt bound and gagged prisoners were paddled past their windows every night. No, her chance would come later, she knew: when she was at last untied and sold. It was such a strange idea, that she should be sold like a loaf of bread. She understood very well the purpose for which she was to be sold, but it was hard for her to imagine what it meant to be a tribute, so she chose not to think about it. Then, just as the canoe was pulling up to a flight of dark steps and her tether was being loosed, she looked up and saw a distant towering rock. It was far off, and black against the starlit sky, and from this distance, seemed to be not so very high. But her heart went cold at the sight.

The tribute traders pushed her up the steps and through a doorway into a building that smelled of stale beer and frying pig fat. They led her down an unlit passage into an unlit room, and there they sat her on a wooden chair and tethered her once more, this time giving her no freedom of movement. The chair, as she soon discovered, was bolted to the floor. Only when she was securely in place did they light an oil lamp and hang it from a hook in the ceiling. Then they left, and she heard a key turn in the lock of the door after them.

At no point had they spoken to her directly or looked into her eyes. She understood that for them she had become a thing, a package, a promise of wealth. She had watched their colors, searching for any sign of compassion or humanity, a flicker of the softer tones of pink or blue, but all she could see was the crude orange glow of greed. No hope of pity there. They had carried out this same transaction too many times before.

Her thoughts then turned to the one who was to buy her. Surely, if only her gag was removed, she could touch his heart? Surely she could make him feel that she was a living creature like himself? And once he truly felt that, he would not be able to send her to her death.

Cheerful Giver changed his clothes as soon as he received the message. He put on his most humble dress in the hope of convincing the traders that he was not a wealthy man. He crossed the city on foot, without an accompanying servant. However, because he hoped to return with a vital purchase, he instructed one of his men to come after him with his wife's bullock carriage.

So he made his way across the deserted marketplace and down one of the narrow, stinking streets beyond to the hostel called the Ham Bone. Here the traders were waiting to meet him. He felt his heart beating fast. His name day was only three days off, and it was now a matter of urgency that he obtain a tribute. But he tried to make himself calm and to appear indifferent.

This plan disintegrated as soon as the traders told him the price they wanted.

"Ten thousand shillings!"

"For you, sir, being as you're the owner of all the oil fields between the river and the lake, and the supplier of oil to both temple and palace, why, what is ten thousand shillings to you?"

"Ten thousand shillings! Do you take me for a madman?"

"She's a youngster, good sir. An authentic and guaranteed virgin, healthy and plump and pleasant to the eye."

"And quiet," said his companion. "Obedient as a puppy."

Cheerful Giver looked from one to the other and felt nauseated. Why did he have to deal with these smirking parasites? It offended his dignity almost as much as it hurt his wallet.

"My top price is two thousand," he said. "But I must see her first."

"Most unfortunate, good sir. It seems our little arrangement is not to be. What time are we to see the next gentleman, Sol?"

"I believe he said he could be here within the hour, Ease."

Cheerful Giver knew this was almost certainly a fiction. But what could he do?

"I must see her first," he repeated.

"What do you think, Sol? Should we let the dog see the rabbit?"

"How do we know the gentleman is serious?" said Solace.

"That's the question," said Ease. And they both turned their mock-humble eyes on the oil merchant.

"Very well. Three thousand."

This was three times the most he had ever paid before. If the tribute really was a healthy young virgin, it was almost worth it.

"Three thousand gets you onto the racecourse," said Ease. "Ten thousand gets you the rabbit."

Cheerful Giver found this vulgar racecourse metaphor almost more than he could bear. He himself was not in the habit of going to the dog races.

"I never buy unseen." He tried to sound as if the whole affair was a matter of indifference to him.

"And we never shows till we sees the money"

This retort seemed to strike them as neat. They smirked at each other. Cheerful Giver remained stony-faced and silent.

"Tell you what, good sir!" Ease spoke as if inspired. "Give us your assurance that you're open to discussion where the price is concerned, and you shall see the rabbit."

"Open to discussion," agreed Solace. "Well put."

Cheerful Giver hesitated for a long, long moment, in the vain hope that this would strengthen his position.

"Very well," he said at last. "But I haven't raised my offer by a single shilling."

"Understood, good sir. Open to discussion is all we ask."

With a bitter sigh, Cheerful Giver followed the two traders into a back room of the hostel.

Here, firmly strapped to a chair, was a small female figure with the red head-scarf of the hill people. She was gagged, so only the upper half of her face was visible. She sat quietly and turned her eyes towards them as she heard them enter. The tribute traders locked the door behind them. Cheerful Giver examined the girl closely without actually meeting her eyes. He took care to show no sign to the traders, but he was very pleased with what he saw. She was clearly not a spiker. Her skin had none of the sores and abrasions associated with semi-starvation. Her hair, which was just visible peeking out from beneath her head-scarf, was rich and fine. The city of Radiance, to his knowledge, would not have seen so perfect a tribute in years.

"She's too small," he said, turning away. "Almost dwarfish."

"Oh, no, good sir! Remember, you see her sitting down. When she stands—not small, never small. What would you say, Sol?"

"Finely formed," said Solace. "Well-proportioned."

"You always were the one for words," said Ease admiringly.

"Three thousand it is, then," said Cheerful Giver. "And that's three times more than I've ever paid before."

"And if three, why not ten?" said Ease. "Now that the strings are loosened, as you might say."

"Three thousand shillings!" said Cheerful Giver, rapping with his knuckles on the wooden wall in the way he did when bidding for oil fields. "My final offer. Take it or leave it."

So he paid five thousand shillings, and the girl was his. By some mysterious sixth sense, the tribute traders had divined the exact sum he had brought with him, and they made him pay it all. His only consolation was that no one would ever know how much he had paid. The price was so stupendous it would turn him into the laughing-stock of the city if it got out. But he would never tell, and the tribute traders swore they would keep the secret.

"Better for business that way, good sir. No one ever knows for sure what's been paid and what hasn't. After all, who's to say you didn't pay ten thousand?"

Cheerful Giver had to be content with that.

The bullock carriage was waiting outside the hostel, and he and the tribute rode home in it, unseen by all. The carriage was driven into the courtyard of his large house, and the outer gates closed, and the servants dismissed, before he took the tribute out. He carried her himself, in his own arms, down into the windowless cellar room in which, until recently, the escaped spiker had been kept. His wife followed.

"Oh, husband!" she exclaimed. "She's beautiful! How clever you are! Oh, she's perfect! You're a good, good i" man!

"And a poor, poor man now, thanks to you."

"Can we take off the bindings?"

"Let me get her securely on the leash first. I'm taking no more chances with you and open doors."

"I never left the door open. I'm not as stupid as you think. It was that key. It doesn't turn all the way."

"Not if you don't turn it all the way, it doesn't."

He screwed an iron wristband tightly on the tribute's left wrist. A light but extremely strong chain was forged to the wristband at one end and to a ring sunk in the cellar wall at the other. Throughout this process the tribute stood still and offered no resistance.

"Now," said Cheerful Giver, addressing the tribute directly for the first time, though still not meeting her eyes. "I'm going to remove your gag. But if you scream or cause me any trouble at all, it goes back on again. Nod to show you understand."

The tribute nodded.

Cheerful Giver unbound the gag. The tribute licked at her dry lips and wriggled her jaw. Then she spoke to Blessing.

"Thank you, my lady," she said.

"Oh!" cried Blessing. "She's so beautiful!"

Cheerful Giver studied his expensive purchase with a critical frown. He had to admit he had done well. There was an air of innocence about her that would be especially well appreciated on the day.

"What's your name, little one?" said Blessing.

"Morning Star," said the tribute.

"I'm so sorry you had to have your mouth all bound up. We'll get you something to eat and drink. I'm sure you'd like that. My dear"—to her husband—"see to it, will you?"

"She stays on the leash," said Cheerful Giver, and left the cellar.

Blessing stepped forward, and a little nervously she reached out one hand.

"You're such a darling! I just want to pet you and pet you!"

"Who are you?" said the tribute in her dear little voice. "Where am I?"