Voices of Chaos (34 page)

She hoped Magdalena believed her explanation about the masks.
If
they try
to stay unknown, it means there's a chance you'll be let free. It's when they
don't care what you see or hear that you know they...
She couldn't complete the thought just now. Accidents happened. Whoever was directing them could have a change of plans.
No good thinking about it. You do what you
can, Ortovsky.

And things had improved--a little. After a night and most of a day in that dreadful room, they'd each been given a thick, loose robe--something a herder-she would wear. The fabric was scratchy but very warm, and it partly blocked the wind. They'd been fed a bowl of hot soup: red-brown broth and some kind of meat, hardly any taste but filling.

After that, blindfolded and bound, they'd been loaded into a flitter that smelled like one of its hydraulic units leaked. The move took hours (Alexis still had on the watch-patch she normally wore to bed), but the machine was slow and the ride felt erratic. She wasn't surprised that the countryside didn't look very different, once they could see again: more dirt and rocks--and a steep cliff, riddled with shallow caves. They'd been taken to one that had a wall built across the front of it; the faint light had shown an unimproved interior, except for a number of sleep-mats along the back, and an enormous upright pillar.

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***

They'd been here... three days now, Alexis decided after a moment's

thought. She was still afraid but mostly exhausted. They'd been left alone most of the time, though one of their captors brought food occasionally.

The door to the outside was kept closed; there seemed to be no lock.
Hardly
necessary,
Alexis thought sourly, and fingered the synth-plas strap circling her throat. It was fastened to the pillar, which was going nowhere. Alexis didn't try to take the collar off: They'd been warned about tampering, and she'd gotten a nasty shock when it was put on.

Magdalena lay at her side, eyes closed; the interrelator could tell by her breathing that she was awake. For some reason, the collar upset her. She looked ... ashamed, Alexis thought.
That bloody cult, something they did to
her. Talk to her. If she gives up now...
"Magdalena? I--I need to talk."

The dark girl opened her eyes at the English words and sighed very faintly.

"I'm sorry, Alexis. I'm not being any use to you, am I?"

Alexis touched her hand reassuringly. "Of course you are. You were the one who figured out how to let Khyriz know how the bad guys got in."

Magdalena didn't even smile, as she usually did at her companion's ancient American slang--culled from Rob's movies. "I could've thought of it sooner."

"Okay, he didn't get there in time to rescue us. I'd've liked that. But we'll get out of this, you'll see, schweetheart." The translator laughed at that, and Alexis grinned impudently. "Made you smile. Remember, these Imperial Storm Troopers have kept us alive so far."

"Mmmm. So far. Alexis, if the Iron Duke's really behind them, why is he bothering to keep us alive? And if he knew what Khyriz told me...." She swallowed.

"You aren't still blaming yourself for yelling at Khyriz, are you, Magdalena?

I'd have yelled, too. I can't believe they thought they could keep a secret like that! Anyway, you remember what I told those goons while they were Super Gluing us to the standing stone over there."

"I remember. But the CLS wouldn't--!"

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"They wouldn't. But the Iron Duke doesn't know that. I'd like to see the expression on his face when one of those masked goons tells him that if the CLS even
thinks
we're dead, they'll bomb the Arekkhi back into the Stone Age." She shoved unwashed hair off her forehead. "A bunch of poor rebels might not care what happens to the planet, but a filthy rich noble sure would!" She pushed to her feet and stretched cautiously. "Come on, walk around a bit. Remember, if we get a chance to run for it, we've got to be
able
to run."

Zhik shoved the thick door-curtain into place and dropped the long, weighted bolster across the hem, to keep it in place. He hadn't been here in at least a year--not since the last time his father had ... He forced the thought away; not important. Fortunately, the two-chamber building hadn't deteriorated much.

Dusty, but that could be borne. It was out of sight from the air and almost the same color as the surrounding dirt. They should be safe here.

Zhenu might not even bother to search for him; he never had before.

Zhik tugged at his eartufts. He hadn't known where else to go.
Bringing An-Lieye was a mistake.
He knew that now. But he couldn't undo his action ...

and he didn't want to.

The small town of Lho was close by; most of the villagers were kin to his mother. They feared Zhenu, and had no loyalty to him. After dark the first night, he'd slipped down to the back street and found the house where his old nurse's family still lived, returning to the hut sometime later in an ancient ground-cart with food, cushions to fill the shallow sleep-pit, and several thick coverings.

There had been no information about An-Lieye's family. That had been too much to hope for, but there was a chance something could be learned from trusted sources in the nearby villages. It would take time because his contacts would personally seek out those sources; the village corn-centers would be monitored.

Three slow days passed. An-Lieye taught him more of her sign, writing messages when necessary and mouthing the words for him. Finally, late the fourth night came the hoped

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for faint scratching at the wall panel. An-Lieye scooped the hood over her head and retreated into the sleeping area, where she could watch and listen in safety. Zhik scratched a reply, and the near-grown son--third generation from his nurse-- eased through the curtain, automatically repositioning the bolster with his foot. "Rewo my father sends greetings. He spoke personally with our kin in both villages where Asha have been living, and sent a trusted one to the village beyond, where the Fahara-she once lived. The elder in Fajh sends back word that the family of the Fahara-she has moved to a village nearer Ebba, so they could be near her.

"But the
zhez
would not permit the family Asha to go with them, and a moon-cycle ago, the
zhez
had them sent away."

"Sent?" Zhik managed to keep his ears steady. "You are certain of that?"

"Sent. The elder protested the loss of labor--hoping to keep the friends in their protection, you see?--but the guard sent by the
zhez
said they were needed elsewhere." Zhik tried another question or so, but there wasn't any more information, and the youth took his leave. The young noble stared at the door curtain, until he felt movement behind him.

"I had hoped," he said softly. "My father defeats me again, without even trying."

She touched his arm so he would face her and mouthed,
No. Not your fault.

And there is good; you and I... we are together.

He touched her nose with his fingerpads. "An-Lieye," he said suddenly, "I can do something after all. Something Khyriz could not. If your family was sent from Fajh, there will be records. He keeps a record of everything." He was suddenly very afraid, knowing what he would do. "I can get into my father's holding, early, with the clerks. I can locate those records--''

Her fingers gripped his arm, painfully.
No! You must not go into such danger!

"It will be safe, even if he is there. He never goes to his clerks, but I will not attempt the open files. He keeps a locked room for duplicates of all records; no one goes there, except at a certain hour each day to add the new pages."

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She didn't like it; her ears were nearly flat. He had to assure her, over and again; she would be safe here. Nothing would happen to him. "The holding is my home, no one will question why I am there."

You will leave me alone... I am afraid.
Her eyes were dark with that fear--he'd vanish, and she would be alone and utterly helpless, so far from Ebba, from Fahara. "No, An-Lieye. I will always come back to you, I swear it. But to assure you: The youth who just came is a friend of Asha.
My
friend. I have trusted his family with my life before now. Tomorrow, before I go to the holding, I will tell him that he is to come here at full dark tomorrow. If I have not returned, you can trust him, and any he trusts. And there are many like him on my father's lands. They will see you safely returned to Fahara." Her ears remained down. "Nothing will happen, An-Lieye. Nothing will separate us." He touched her chin, then slid his hand behind her near whiskers and flicked them gently forward.

Her ears still quivered near her pale-furred skull, but she moved closer so she could lay her cheek on his.

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CHAPTER 13

***

The greatest difficulty had been getting plain clerks' robes so he could enter the holding unnoticed. He would have to avoid the chief clerks who might know him, or at least realize he wasn't an underling. But it was easy to avoid the masters, since most of them lived on the holding grounds in a converted part of the ancient guard-wall. If he arrived with earliest, uniformly clad clerks, the higher-ranked should still be asleep; if he was able to find what he needed quickly, he'd be able to slip away while the entire staff was having the long break during the hot hours.
With luck,
he reminded himself time and again. So much depended on his father's insistence on a tightly ordered household--but luck would still be a factor.

Still, Zhenu kept such a large staff and had such a high turnover rate that Zhik doubted anyone would recognize him. Certainly not the clerical workers.

But his plan depended on him looking like just another such worker. Rewo finally obtained a garment from a distant but trusted cousin, who also supplied his ident-code and agreed to stay away on the day in question.

Zhik could only hope for all their sakes that no one ever found out.

How to get
to
the holding presented problems as well: Low-ranking clerks from the outlying villages commuted by ground-shuttle, and they all knew each other. They'd wonder about a stranger--or worse, talk about one. But no low-ranked clerk could afford private transport, and he certainly wouldn't have permission to bring it into the holding. And it would draw

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attention if he walked--the nearest village was simply too far away.

Zhik hadn't wanted to involve his benefactor any further, but he had no choice: He'd have to take Rewo's offer of a predawn ride aboard the elderly transport-cart that delivered fruit and grain. Rewo knew a place near one of the old wal s that would be in deep shadow at sunrise, where Zhik could slip from the cart and approach the clerks' doors as if he'd come from the apartments.

His own part of the plan was makeshift, but the best he could devise. He considered it gloomily as he settled his back more comfortably against a grain-basket and wrapped the dark blanket carefully around his shoulders. It was vital that no guard or spy-device of his father's see a clerk mixed in with the produce, where he had no business.

The cart was slow and ancient, the motor spluttering as it rocked along the narrow track. His palms were damp with stress and fear, but his cheek fur still felt warm from An-Lieye's parting touch. His whiskers curved forward.

Such small, delicate hands. Innocent hands.
An innocent himself, he was still surprised how they had been able to come together again and again and give each other so much pleasure.

Rewo roused him with a low word and Zhik blinked; somehow he had lost all track of time. The ancient wall was just ahead, and the rising sun was casting first shadows. The villager stopped his vehicle and climbed out to study something in its clattering works; Zhik eased from between baskets and slipped quietly onto the road, across the old watercourse, emerging in the deserted stone courtyard.

Hundreds of years ago these grounds had been a garden, one of the wonders of all highland Akkherif. But the climate had changed, becoming steadily drier. His father saw no purpose in the expense of gardens, anyway.

The courtyard was dark and deserted when he slipped into the ancient holding by means of a small door between the pantries and the clerks'

chambers. Rumor held that the door was once used by prisoners on their way to the pens below-ground. I
hope that is no omen,
he thought, and paused near a long drape, one he could quickly slide behind if anyone 239

came. Unlikely, even this far from his father's suite; the
zhez
despised noise, particularly in the morning, and his hearing was said to be acute. Most of the enormous staff avoided the halls entirely, and spoke in hushed voices behind shuttered doors until nearly midday. That was when Zhenu was in residence, and more often than not the past years, he was.
And if he is still in
the new palace, Zhikna?
But he'd trust no "if" or "maybe" that might make him feel safe. This was no place to relax his vigilance.

Once his breathing slowed to normal, he blotted his palms on the white robe and moved quickly toward the nearest ramp that would take him down to the first underground level. The locked records-storage was down there. I
hope it
still is. He said often the records would be safer a level lower.
He could only trust in Zhenu's unwillingness to alter anything that worked; he didn't have time for a prolonged search.

But probably nothing had changed. There were still no computers in the holding, and only the most basic of communications devices--including those used for spying. Zhik would have heard about upgraded tech, if only because his father would have carped bitterly about the expense; he'd have heard about moved storage because of the time and trouble incurred.

He'd forgotten how drafty the lower floors were, and the smell of damp in the narrow ramps descending to the cellars nearly made him ill. He finally had to stop, close his eyes, and wait for the dreadful taste in his mouth to ease.