Glory Season (71 page)

The group halted at the first of several metal-bound doors, where stood another pair of guards. This time, one of them was armed with a vicious-looking firearm, the likes of which Maia had seen only once before in her life. This was no hunting rifle, being misused in pursuit of human beings. Rather, it was an automatic killing machine, built for spraying death in mass doses.

There was low conversation, a rattling of keys. As the door flung open, Maia glimpsed figures within, stirring in surprise. Her sister was shoved through. A reaver laughed. “Be nice to yer new friends, virgie. Maybe you can shuck your nickname b’fore drownin’ with ’em!”

“Shut up, Riss,” Baltha said, while Togay locked the door. Then, all except for the second pair of guards, they filed twenty meters or so down the hall, into the chamber next door. From an angle, Maia saw ranks of benches
lining one wall of the room. Baltha and the others could be glimpsed walking around inside, frustration evident on their faces each time they reappeared in view. Shouts of anger and recrimination could be heard. One time, Baltha’s voice rang out loud enough for Maia to make out clearly, “—ack in the city aren’t gonna be happy about this. Not happy t’all!…”

Maia was concentrating so hard, she only noticed the sound of footsteps after they echoed behind her for some time. Her hackles shot up when she realized, turning around quickly, ready to run. A single form could be seen approaching, entering and leaving succeeding pools of light. It soon manifested as a heavyset woman with a pocked complexion, whose reddish hair was bound by a like-colored bandanna. She carried a bucket in each hand, and wore a broad grin along with a stained apron. The smile kept Maia stationary, frozen with indecision.

“Zooks, you don’t haveta perch so close, ya little query-bird. I could hear ’em arguin’ all th’ way to the main hall! What’re they up to now? Found their man o’ smoke, yet? Or do they plan t’keep us up all night, lookin’?”

Maia forced a smile. Pretending to be her sister would work only until word of Leie’s arrest spread … a matter of minutes, at best.

“All night it is, I’m afraid,” she answered with what she hoped was the right note of blithe resignation. “What’s in the buckets?”

The reaver shrugged as she drew near and set the pails down with a sigh. “Supper for th’ vrils. Late ’cause of the excitement. Some say what’s the point, given the luck planned for ’em. But I say, even a man oughta get fed ‘fore joinin’ Lysos.”

Maia’s nostrils flared. Time was even shorter than she had thought. As soon as the scullery drudge entered the prison cell and saw Leie, all would be lost.

“I know why yer here,” the older woman confided, moving a little closer.

“Oh yes?” Maia’s hand crept toward her belt.

A wink. “You’re hopin’ for clues. Peep on th’ boss women, then off quick, after the reward!” The middle-aged var laughed. “S’okay. I was a younger, too—full o’ frosty notions. Ye’ll get yer clanhold yet, summer-child.”

Maia nodded. “I … think I already found a clue. One all the others missed.”

“S’truth?” The scullery wench leaned forward, eyes glittering. “What is it?”

“It’ll take two of us to lift it,” Maia confided. “Come, I’ll show you.”

She gestured toward the nearest dark doorway, motioning the bluff, eager woman ahead. As she followed, Maia’s right hand slipped the cudgel from her waistband and brought it high.

Afterward, despite all her valid reasons for acting, she still felt guilty and mean.

The dim room wasn’t quite empty or devoid of hints at its past life. Bare rock shelves and flinders of ancient wood planking testified that once upon a time, a substantial library might have stood here. Except for curled bits of former leather bindings, all that remained of the books was dust. After dragging the cook’s unconscious body inside, and hurriedly fetching the buckets, Maia swapped coats and borrowed her victim’s bandanna, which she tied low, almost over her eyes. She finished in time to hear muttering voices and footsteps approach. From the shadows, Maia counted figures moving past, back toward the foyer of stairs. Six women, still arguing. From close range, Maia glimpsed seething anger in Baltha’s eyes.

“… won’t be happy to get nothin’ out o’ this but a little box full of alien shit. Some bugs taken from an outsider’s
vrilly gut may help knock down a clan or two, but we needed a political deal too, for protection! Without his tech-stuff, it won’t matter how many smuggy clones die …”

Their voices faded. Still, Maia forced herself to wait, though she knew there was little time left. Soon, the first group—that had found her aboard the Manitou—would report “Leie” missing. That would set folk wondering how a fiver could manage to be two places at the same time.

With a pounding heart, Maia pulled the bandanna down further, picked up the food pails, and stepped out of the dim room. She approached the corner, turned, and made herself shuffle at a droopy, desultory pace toward the two burly vars guarding the sealed door. Trying to calm her frantic pulse, Maia reminded herself that she had one advantage. The wardens had no reason to expect danger in the form of a woman. Moreover, her arrival so soon after the leaders’ departure implied she must have passed them on the way here. That, too, should reduce vigilance.

Nevertheless, she heard a wary click, and glimpsed the warrior with the automatic weapon lift it in the sort of tender but firm embrace women usually reserved for their own babes. Maia had only heard rumors of such mass-killing machines, until she was four, when she had first learned how much lay hidden in the world.

Unbeckoned—a brief, recollected image of a stone portal, grinding open at long last to reveal what the Lamai mothers and sisters wanted no one else to see. In light of so many things Maia had witnessed since, what had seemed so awful on that day had been, in fact, dreary, mundane. The irony was enough to make one laugh. Or cry.

Maia had no time or concentration to spare for either. She trudged forward, keeping her head down, and in a low voice muttered, “Grubbstuff for th’ vrils.”

Laughter from the one cradling the gun. “Why’re we still botherin’?”

Maia shrugged, rocking from side to side, as if in fatigue. “Why ask me? Just lemme get rid o’ the stink.”

The second guard laid her trepp bill across one shoulder, and with her free hand took up jingling keys. “I dunno,” she commented. “Seems a shame to waste all these boys. There oughta be frost, sometime soon. We can pass it ’round, then make a big, pretty fire …”

“Oh, shut up, Glinn,” the guard with the assault rifle said, as she positioned herself behind and to Maia’s left, ready to spread fire at anyone who tried breaking out. “You’ll just get yourself all worked up and—”

Maia had been rocking in anticipation. As the door pushed open, she took a step, then swung the righthand pail in an arc, passing in front of her and then toward the guard with the gun. The riflewoman’s eyes barely registered surprise before it drove into her gut, doubling her over without a sound.
One down!
Maia thought elatedly.

And prematurely. The tough reaver, stunned and unable to breathe, nonetheless steadied on one knee and fought to bring her weapon toward Maia … only to topple when the second pail clipped the back of her head with a deep clunking sound.

Maia accelerated her return swing, releasing the bucket to fly toward the second guard. The second warrior was already swiveling, lifting her trepp bill. With the agile grace of a trained soldier, she dodged Maia’s hurled pail, which struck the door, spewing brown glop like a fountain. Maia charged, taking a glancing blow to her shoulder before plowing into the pirate’s midriff and driving both of them into the room.

Second by stretched second, the fight was a blur of continuous buffets in which her own blows seemed ineffective, while her opponent was expert. Desperately, Maia grappled close but was soon thrown back, giving the
reaver room to swing her trepp. Dazzles of exquisite pain swept Maia’s left side. Another lancing coup ripped just below her knee.

Dimly, Maia was aware of figures nearby. Haggard men clutched outward, reaching to help, but were bound by chains to rows of benches lining the sloping walls. Meanwhile, the pirate’s hot breath seared Maia’s face with onion pungency, spraying her with spittle as they wrestled over the trepp.
I can’t hold on
, she realized despairingly.

Suddenly, another set of hands appeared out of nowhere, wrapping around the reaver’s throat. With a howl, Maia’s foe flung her away. The sharp bill barely missed in a frenzied swing, then flew off as the bandit let go to claw at her new assailant, a much smaller woman who clung to her back like a wild cat. Though her drained body tried to refuse, Maia forced one final effort. Sobbing with fatigue, she launched herself forward, and in a series of fierce yanks, she and her ally finally brought the thrashing, heaving guard within reach of Captain Poulandres and his men.

When it was over, they lay together on the ground, wheezing. Finally, Maia’s sister took her hand and squeezed.

“Okay …” Leie said between gasps, the expression on her face more contrite than Maia had seen in all their years growing up together. “… I guess my plan didn’t … work so good. Let’s hear yours.”

The nearby corner from which Maia had spied on Baltha and Togay would prove a handy enfilade looking the other way. Still, at first Poulandres was reluctant. He and his men were brave, angry, and fully aware of their fate should they be recaptured. Yet not one of them wanted to touch the automatic rifle.

“Look, it’s simple enough. I’ve seen the type before. You just slide this lever—”

“I can see how it operates,” Poulandres snapped. Then he shook his head and lifted a hand placatingly. “Look, I’m grateful.… We’ll help any way we can. But can’t one of you two operate the thing?” Revolted, he looked away from the metal machine.

Before she had met Renna, Maia might have reacted differently to this display—with incomprehension, or contempt. Now she knew how patterns established by Lysos had been reinforced over thousands of years, partly through myth and conditioning, as well as deep within their genes and viscera, all so that men would tend to loathe violence against women.

Still, humans are flexible beings. The warrior essence wasn’t excised, only suppressed, patterned, controlled. It would take strong motivation to persuade a decent man like Poulandres to kill, but Maia had no doubt it could be done.

Nearby, the rest of the male crew rubbed their ankles, where chains had bound them to rank after rank of stone benches, arrayed in a bowl-shaped, enclosed arena. Three groggy, half-conscious women now languished in their place, mouths gagged. A few of the men were picking distastefully at one of the spilled buckets. Someone ought to get to work conserving the stuff, Maia thought. They might be in for a long seige.

Other matters came first. “I haven’t time for this,” she told Leie. “You explain it to him. And don’t forget to look for other stairs leading to this level! We don’t want to be flanked.”

“All right, Maia,” Leie answered, acquiescent. There hadn’t been time for more than a moment of reunion, while recovering from the fight. Nor was Maia ready for complete reconciliation. Too much had happened since that long-ago storm separated a pair of dreamy-eyed summer
kids. In time, she might consider trusting Leie again, providing her sister earned it.

Gingerly toting the horrible firearm, Leie escorted Poulandres and several crewmen down the hall. Maia, too, had an errand. But as she started to go, she was halted by a curt tug at her leg.

“Just a minim!” the ship’s physician commanded as he finished tying strips of torn cloth around her gashed knee. “There, that’s the worst of it. As for the rest o’ your dings …”

“They’ll have to wait,” Maia peremptorily finished the sentence, shaking her head in a way that cut short protest. “Thanks, Doc,” she finished, and hurried, limping, out of the arena-prison. At the doorway, she turned left toward the second large room, where she had earlier glimpsed Baltha and the other reaver commanders, arguing. One male accompanied her—the cabin boy who had been part of the opposing Game of Life team, back on the Manitou. It was his self-chosen job to bring Maia up to date on what had happened since she was marooned with Naroin and the women crew, on Grimké Island.

“At first the starman was kept with us,” the boy explained. “We was all put together in a different part o’ the sanctuary, nearer the gate. But he kept makin’ a fuss about needin’ the
game.
Always the game! S’prised the scutum outta us, ’specially as he still had that ’lectric game board o’ his! Claimed it wasn’t good enough, tho. He needed more. Wouldn’t eat nor talk to the reavers less’n they moved us all down here, where the old tournament courts were.”

Maia stopped at the entrance to the second room. She had expected another chamber like the first—a large oval amphitheater surrounding an expanse of crisscrossing lines. But this volume was different. There were benches all right, descending in ever-smaller, semicircular arcs from where she stood. Only this time their ranks faced one
huge bare wall with a platform and dais in front of it. The chamber reminded her of a lecture or concert hall, like in the Civic Building, in Port Sanger.

“We all thought he was crazy,” the cabin boy continued with his story about Renna. “But we played along, on account of his act vexed the guards. So the cap’n told ’em we also needed the game, for religious reasons.” The boy giggled. “So they fetched our books an’ game pieces off the ship, an’ brought us all down to the arena where you found us.”

“But then Renna was taken over here,” Maia prompted.

“Yeah. After a couple days, he started complainin’ again—about our snorin’, about our company. Actin’ like a real wissy-boy whiner. So he got put next door. Heard no trouble after that, so we figured he must be happy.”

“I see.”

Inwardly, Maia cursed. Upon hearing that Renna had vanished in a fashion none of the reavers could fathom or duplicate, her first thought was that he must have found another of the red-metal sculptures, covered with arcane, hexagon symbols. Such a puzzle door would fit the bill—just the sort of thing to stump pirates, yet allow Renna to escape. And, naturally, her own experience would give
her
an edge, as well.