The Mirror of Her Dreams (13 page)

'Very good, my lady.' Saddith gave a polite bow and started to leave the room.

But at the door she paused, one hand on the latch. With a roll of her eyes, she indicated Ribuld and Argus. Then she showed Terisa the bolt which locked the door, and pantomimed pushing it home.

Terisa smiled her relief and gratitude. Thanks. I'll remember that.'

Saddith replied with her own arch smile and made her exit, closing the door quietly after her.

At once, Terisa went to it and bolted it. Through the heavy wood, she could faintly hear Saddith, Ribuld, and Argus bantering with each other. She was tempted to listen, simply because she didn't understand how any woman could have that kind of relationship with men. Nevertheless she withdrew towards the table where her food waited for her; and in a step or two the laughing voices became inaudible.

She was alone.

In an odd way, she was grateful for the presence of Argus and Ribuld outside her door. They weren't exactly reassuring in themselves; but they-she realized this slowly-were the first people in this impossible situation to reappear after an absence. Geraden had lured her out of her own life into a room full of Masters, but in a short time they had all gone away. He had then taken her to the King, and he had been sent away. Next she had been put in Saddith's charge, and King Joyse and Adept Havelock had fallen into the past. Each new person she met might have been created solely for that meeting; might have ceased to exist as soon as she moved on to someone else.

It was conceivable that none of this was real at all.

Ribuld and Argus, however, spoke of Geraden as though he had a continuous existence of his own, apart from her. They were substantial enough to have a relationship with Saddith which didn't include her, Terisa. Therefore they implied that what was happening to her had continuity, solidity, a dependable fidelity to its own premises and exigencies. They implied that if she were able to retrace her steps she would find the King's suite and the Masters' chamber where she had left them; that Geraden was alive and active somewhere not too far away, trying to do something about his concern for her; that however crazy her circumstances seemed they could be trusted as much as she had ever trusted her own world.

This was rather a large conclusion to draw from a small fact. Nevertheless she accepted it provisionally. It made her a little less afraid.

An entirely un-metaphysical concern impelled her to walk through her rooms again to verify that there were no other entrances. Then she sat down and ate her meal with at least an approximation of pleasure.

By the time she was done eating, the wine had made her slightly drowsy. But she was still too restless to consider going back to bed; so she decided to sample some of the clothes Saddith had brought for her.

Many of them frustrated her: they hooked or laced or buttoned so inconveniently that she couldn't put them on without assistance. Despite that, however, they struck her as finely made and elegant. And the robes and gowns she was able to don for herself made her long for a mirror, so that she could see what she looked like. Was it possible that this exposure of breast or slimness of waist, these billowing sleeves or that intricate lace, would make her beautiful? Immersed in what she was doing, she didn't notice the passage of time.

She was wearing a floor-length burgundy robe, made of deep velvet, with a wide, black sash and a hood she could have pulled over her head to hide her face, and had just decided to take it off and return to bed for some more sleep, when the wooden backing of the wardrobe in front of which she stood shifted and began to move aside.

Scraping against each other, the back panels opened on a well of darkness.

From the darkness a figure emerged.

If his advance was intended to be silent, it failed significantly: he made bumping and shuffling noises all along the way. Hanging gowns and robes that blocked his path he thrust unceremoniously aside.

She could hear him muttering to himself. 'Softly, softly.' His voice was old and thin, unsteady when he whispered. 'Sneaking into the bedchambers of beautiful women. Hee hee. Oh, you're still a devil, you are. Mirrors are only glass, but lust and lechery last forever.'

Only then did he notice that the front of the wardrobe was open-that Terisa stood staring at him with her hands over her mouth and a look in her eyes which might have been either terror or hilarity.

'What're you doing here?' she breathed. 'What do you want?'

His thick lips shaking, Adept Havelock flinched as if she had threatened to strike him.

In spite of the alarm pounding in her throat, she felt forcibly the conflict between his ascetic nose and sybaritic mouth, the disfocus of his hot eyes. His self-contradictory visage made him look wild-an appearance aggravated by his few remaining tufts of hair. And yet he seemed to be doing his best to calm her. His hands made reassuring gestures: his whole stance was unthreaten-ing, even deferential.

'Luscious,' he said as though he meant, Forgive me. 'All women are flesh, but you are its perfection.' I didn't mean to frighten you. 'Ha ha, sneaking into bedchambers.' I'm not going to hurt you. 'Lust and lechery.' You can trust me.

He was a madman: that much was unmistakable. Unfortunately, the knowledge wasn't much help. So he was crazy: so what was she going to do about it? She had no idea. Studying him warily, she retreated a step or two to give herself more space. Then she said, 'There are two guards outside my door. They're both big, and they've got longswords. If I shout'-she faltered, almost panicked, when she remembered that the door was bolted

-'they'll be here before you can touch me.'

Palms towards her, his hands continued to make placating movements. Part of his face expressed a fear of which other parts were ignorant: his eyes rolled, and his lower lip drooped, exposing crooked, yellow teeth; but his nose and cheekbones looked too determined to admit fear.

This winter chills my bones,' he told her as if it were a high secret. 'No one understands hop-board.'

Though they were speaking softly, he put a finger to his lips. Then he turned back towards the wardrobe and beckoned for her to follow.

'You want me to go in there?' Tension made her voice jump like his. The darkness behind the clothes was too deep to be measured. 'Why?'

As persuasively as possible, he replied, The King tries to protect his pieces. Individuals. What good are they? Worthless. Wor-r-r-r-rthless. It's all strategy. Sacrifice the right men to trap your opponent.'

While he spoke, he kept beckoning, urging her towards him.

'No, I'm sorry.' The idea of entering the unknown place behind the wardrobe was even more frightening than the Adept's unexpected appearance. 'I can't go in there.' She was familiar with dark, closed spaces. Despite her best efforts to forget them, she remembered every detail of the times her parents had punished her by locking her into a lightless closet. She had learned a great deal about her own unreality during those times. In that closet she had first starting feeling herself fade, drifting out of existence into the effacing black. 'It's too dark.'

'Ho ho ha,' he responded in a tone of supplication. He could only look at her with one eye at a time, and the lines of his face twisted into a plea. 'Dark and lust. We snuff the light so no one will see how we revel. You don't need light to see flesh.'

Reaching into a pocket of his surcoat, he pulled out an irregular piece of glass about the size of his palm. He held it so that she couldn't look into it; but she had the impression it was a small mirror.

He murmured something, passed his hand over the glass; and a beam of warm, yellow light as bright as sunshine shot straight out of the surface.

He shone it around the wardrobe. It showed her that the darkness was a stone passage angling downward inside the wall of the room.

Havelock flashed his light down the passage to demonstrate that it was safe. Then he beckoned to her again vehemently, at once asking and demanding that she go with him.

'
No,' she repeated. 'I can't. I don't know what you want. I don't know what you're trying to do to me.' Groping for some response which might penetrate his demented intentions, she asked, 'Does King Joyse know you're here?'

That was evidently the wrong thing to say. At once, Havelock became the furious old man who had thrown his checkers at the ceiling and stormed around the King's chamber. 'Bother Joyse and all hisscruples!'the Adept raged, so angry that he was barely able to keep his voice down. His face turned an apoplectic red. And yet he did keep his voice down: he retained that much self-awareness. 'He plays as badly as his daughters! Women and foolishness.'

Flailing his arms, he made gestures that practically shouted, Come with me!

To defend herself, she replied, 'Geraden warned me that the King has enemies. Are you trying to betray him?'

At once, Havelock stopped: he stared at her as though he had been stung. For a second, his whole face expressed nothing but astonishment and dismay.

Then a look of cunning came into his eyes.

She seemed to feel danger pouncing towards her. But it was imprecise: she didn't know how to react. So she stood where she was, helpless as a post, while he raised his glass and shone it directly into her face.

It was as bright as the sun; it made her throw up her hands and reel backward to protect her eyes.

She stumbled against the bed, nearly lost her balance. But before she could either fall or jump aside, Havelock clamped one bony hand around her wrist and jerked her towards the wardrobe.

He wasn't as strong as he seemed. If she could have planted her feet, found some leverage, she would have been able to break his grip. He was too quick for that, however. Keeping her off balance, he impelled her across the floor, into the wardrobe and the opening of the passage.

WITH HER FREE HAND, she clutched for something to hold her back. But suns of blindness exploded back and forth across her vision: she couldn't see anything to grasp. Then she hit the stone of the passage, and cool air breathed up at her out of the unseen depths. Havelock slowed, giving her feet time to fumble for the downward stairs.

Argus and Ribuld would probably have been willing to rescue her from this madman. Unfortunately, her door was locked, and she didn't have time to shout for help.

Her sight cleared quickly, however: Havelock's glass hadn't done her any real damage. In a moment, she stopped bumping against the walls, stopped lurching on the stairs. The Adept pulled her after him as firmly as he could; but now she was able to exert some control over her rate of descent.

His glass revealed all there was to see of where they were and where they were going. The passage was narrow and low: if she had been any taller, she would have been forced to stoop. There were sharp turns and branchings whenever the stair had gone down another ten or fifteen feet. At a guess, the branchings led to other hidden entrances in other suites and chambers. But the main passage continued downward.

The absence of cobwebs and accumulated dust implied that these stone tunnels were used with some frequency.

The air became slowly cooler as Adept Havelock dragged her after him.

Unaccustomed to such exercise, her knees began to tremble. She felt she had been labouring down the stairs for a long time when the Adept arrived at a heavy, iron-bound wooden door that blocked his way. It had been left unbolted; but he didn't open it immediately. Instead, he tugged her close to him. Then he released her wrist.

Shining on the door and the stone blocks of the wall, his light cast comic shadows across his face. 'Remember hop-board,' he whispered intensely. 'Nothing else signifies.'

A gesture and a murmur snuffed his glass. In the sudden dark, she heard his surcoat rustle as he returned the small mirror to his pocket. Then he pushed open the door and walked into the lamplight beyond it as if he didn't care whether she followed him or not.

From the doorway, she looked out at a large, square room.

It was furnished-and cluttered-like a study of some sort. A heavy pillar thrust down through the centre of the floor, the flagstones of which weren't softened or warmed by any rugs or coverings. Around the pillar, however, stood a number of tables, some of them tilted like an artist's worktables, others flat and piled with papers and rolls of parchment. Stools waited at all the tables, although most of them were being used to hold stacks of old books or layer after layer of loose documents. Under the tables, the floor was furred with dust. Opposite Terisa, an entry-way without a door led, apparently, to other rooms. Near the entryway was a rumpled bed, with several blankets tossed haphazardly over the stained, grey sheets, and no pillow.