Snare (91 page)

‘Perhaps so.’ Sibyl’s image leaned back in its chair, as if exhausted. ‘But what good will they do you?’

‘I don’t know.’ Arkazo joined in, and suddenly he seemed far from shy. ‘But that’s one of the things we can find out, isn’t it? All right, let’s say we can never get back to the Rim. What if we had better ships – water ships, I mean – to take colonies to the other coast? There’d be plenty of land for everyone then. And what about the children that the Chof lose every cycle? There must be some way to help them survive during their ocean phase – special pens, maybe, if we only knew how to build with flexstone.’

‘I’d forgotten how marvellous it is to be young,’ Sibyl said. ‘And to have enough hope to plan for the future.’

‘So had I,’ Loy said. ‘But I’m beginning to remember. Look, let’s bargain. You teach one of our specialists in this kind of thing how to build another interface. Give us access to the databanks here and on the ships. And then, if you still want to die, tell me how to deactivate you, and I’ll do it.’

‘Would you swear to that, Loremaster?’

‘With any oath you’d like.’

Sibyl’s image flattened, froze into an image painted with light upon air. Arkazo seemed to be about to speak, but Loy waved him into silence. They waited under the glare of the ancient lamps, listened to the hum that marked fans creating an artificial breeze,
waited so long that Loy began to hear voices in the hum, as if distantly someone sang of other worlds.

‘Very well.’ In an instant Sibyl’s image snapped back to three dimensions, and the illusion of life flooded her eyes. ‘I’ll take your bargain.’

‘Excellent! When winter comes, I’ll have to ride back to the Cantons to arrange things, but I’ll leave Arkazo here with you so you won’t be alone. The Chof will feed him if you ask them to.’

‘Yes, they’re a generous people, really.’ Sibyl turned her head to look at Arkazo. ‘Is that acceptable, young man?’

‘Very.’ He was smiling. ‘Thank you.’

‘Good,’ Loy said. ‘Then consider yourself my apprentice.’

Consider the ancient tale of the three princes of Serendip. Though the fourth prophet came to us in a guise that we had never expected, still she brought us many gifts.

From the
Homilies
of Noor, known as the Rift Sage

Rumour reached the Great Khan’s palace long before any actual news of Jezro Khan. As always, it was ‘someone’ who’d heard the khan was alive, and someone else who somehow knew the khan was coming back to Kazrajistan, and yet a third someone whose brother-in-law or his nephew’s best friend had actually seen the khan alive. Lubahva brought the rumours to Nehzaym, but she waited to deliver them until after their friends had left the prayer meeting.

‘Well, we know that the rumours are true,’ Nehzaym said. ‘What I wonder is why everyone’s repeating them.’

‘I’d like to think it’s because he’s back in Andjaro.’

‘Of course, but is he?’

Lubahva could only shrug for an answer. They were sitting in Nehzaym’s blue and green parlour, Nehzaym on a chair, Lubahva on the edge of the marble fountain. She trailed her hand in the water, then wiped the damp onto her cheeks and forehead.

‘It seems so hot in here,’ Lubahva said.

‘That’s probably because of the baby.’ Nehzaym picked up an oil lamp and raised it. ‘Stand up for a minute. Are you showing yet?’

Lubahva stood and pulled her soft grey dress tight over her abdomen. ‘I haven’t been eating very much,’ she said. ‘I’ve been hoping I can keep the bulge down for a while yet.’

‘You need to eat properly.’ Nehzaym studied her silhouette. ‘You’re carrying it high, and you’re tall, so you really don’t look five months along. At least try to eat cheese, something with sheep’s milk in it – for the bones, yours as well as the child’s.’

‘All right.’ Lubahva let the dress hang naturally. ‘But once we get some real news, I’m going to have to tell everyone about the baby, so I can get turned out of the palace in shame and all that. I don’t want to be there if there’s a siege.’

‘Yes, we’ll go to Indan’s. Tell everyone I’m going to help you
place the baby with a family, and that the councillor’s kind enough to let you lie in at his villa.’

‘Provided the Chosen haven’t come for us all by then.’

‘Don’t let yourself think thoughts like that! We’re in God’s hands, and if we have faith, He’ll shelter us.’

We can hope, anyway, Lubahva thought. Ah well, inshallah.

The news came sooner rather than later. On a foggy day when autumn sent a cold sea wind over the city, messengers rode up to the palace, a pair of grim-faced cavalry officers who spoke to no one until they’d seen the Great Khan. Undoubtedly it was odd that officers would ride as messengers rather than enlisted men, and rumours flew through the city. At a formal dinner, Lubahva played the oud in concert with two other musicians behind their usual pierced brass screen. As they nibbled little tidbits to pass the time, five of the most important councillors at court talked as if one of the elite musicians, her drummer, and her flautist simply didn’t exist.

‘Is it true, how could it be true?’ This question mutated into several dozen forms, but it always came down to the same things. ‘Could Jezro Khan really be alive? Could he really be in Andjaro?’

The answer arrived in the person of a high-ranking eunuch who arrived late on a cloud of apologies. The Great Khan had kept him to discuss the officers’ messages.

‘This news cannot leave this room,’ he snapped. ‘Do you understand, gentlemen?’

They understood, and the musicians played softly.

‘Yes, it’s true. The little bastard’s alive, and Andjaro’s rallying behind him. What’s even worse? The cavalry regiment at Haz Evol has deserted to follow him. I –’ Suddenly the eunuch stood up. ‘Shaitan! Get out from behind that damned screen! Get out of here, all three of you! If I find out that one of you has repeated one word of what I’ve just said, I’ll turn you over to the Chosen. Understand?’

They all swore that they understood and fled, clutching instruments in fear-sweaty hands.

In another few days everyone knew the truth. It arrived with contingents of cavalry from the south, called in for reinforcements. Gemet Great Khan’s half-brother was very much alive, and he had an army around him. Reports varied, but most placed the Andjaro private troops at four thousand men, swelled by the eight hundred from Haz Evol. The Great Khan’s army stood at three times that size, but every time a messenger rode in from the north, the

numbers of the loyal shrank. The cavalry, in particular, seemed to be deserting to Jezro like iron filings to a magnet – as soon as he passed by, the men fell into line behind him.

On a day when the fog lay thick over Haz Kazrak’s hills, Lubahva heard the news she’d been waiting for. She and her usual accompanists were playing at an afternoon reception where various townsmen were supposed to receive honours from the Great Khan himself. The townsmen assembled, the afternoon wore on, the musicians played every song they knew, twice, and the buffet dwindled to bits of tabouli and burnt scraps of lamb lying on wilted red lettuce leaves. The Great Khan never appeared. Finally an adviser rushed in to make apologies. The honourable townsmen surrounded him and demanded information about the usurper, as they tactfully labelled Jezro. Without a word needed all three musicians stopped playing to listen.

‘Very bad, very bad, that’s what it is,’ the adviser said. ‘Jezro’s army is marching south. It’s mostly a cavalry force, of course. The infantry’s holding loyal.’

‘For now,’ someone muttered.

The adviser paused to make a harrumphing noise, then went on. ‘I can’t tell you gentlemen anything more, I’m afraid. The Great Khan sends his apologies.’

The musicians gathered their instruments and rushed back to the musicians’ quarters, a long rambling bungalow behind the kitchen house. They put their instruments away, then went to the communal living room to talk. It was time, Lubahva decided, for her announcement.

‘This is awful,’ Marika, the flautist, said. ‘Civil war. Dear God, I never thought I’d see such a thing.’

‘Neither did I.’ Shakut, the drummer, nodded his agreement. ‘Lubahva, what do you think?’

‘I don’t know.’ She sat down hard in a wicker armchair. ‘I’m really frightened. It’s not just me at stake any more.’

‘Hah! I thought so,’ Marika said. ‘You’re pregnant, aren’t you?’

Lubahva nodded, feigning deep weariness.

‘Oh no!’ Shakut snapped. ‘You play the best oud we’ve ever had.’

‘Thank you, but it’s not going to matter, is it, when Aiwaz finds out?’

‘That’s my point.’ Shakut sighed with a shake of his head. ‘Damn it, can’t you just get rid of it somehow?’

‘It’s too late,’ Lubahva said. ‘I must be five months along.’

They both groaned and looked heavenward as if to blame God for their loss.

‘I’m going to go straight to Aiwaz now,’ Lubahva said. ‘I want to get it over with.’

She found the light-skinned eunuch in his little apartment, part of a much nicer building farther from the smoke and smell of the kitchen house. He was lounging on a green divan and eating pickled seabuh from a leaf-lined basket. When she blurted out her news, he nearly choked. He coughed into one of his expensive yellow handkerchiefs, spat horribly, and finally dropped the whole mess into a wastebasket.

‘Why now?’ he wailed. ‘We’re supposed to give that concert for his majesty’s third wife – or wait, I tell a lie. It’s going to be cancelled. You can count on that.’

‘Why?’ Lubahva arranged her face into wide-eyed innocence.

‘Haven’t you heard the news? Jezro Khan’s army is only two hundred miles away.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Well, everyone says so.’ Aiwaz stood up, wagging a finger in her face. ‘Oh God, Bavva, you picked an absolutely miserable time to get pregnant.’

‘I didn’t pick the time at all, or I wouldn’t have.’

‘Well, true enough.’ He licked a fragment of pickled seabuh off his slender fingers. ‘Who’s the father?’

‘I have no idea.’ She held her hands palm upward and shrugged. ‘Could be one of at least three.’

‘Stupid stupid little girl! By rights you should be beaten with a good thick stick!’

‘Just try.’

‘I said by rights.’ He smiled wickedly. ‘By wrongs, I suggest you get yourself out of the palace as soon as you can, by night preferably, so I can pretend you sneaked off without telling me. Do you have somewhere to go?’

‘Yes, a friend’s offered to take me in and help me place the baby when it’s born.’

‘Oh good, then you can come back when you’ve gotten rid of the little nuisance. I’ll pretend the usual pretence – you’re ill and need a complete rest.’

‘Thank you, darling. I knew I could count on you.’

Aiwaz smiled and blew her a kiss.

Lubahva returned to her bedroom in the musicians’ quarters and began to pack. Her various performance costumes she would leave behind, but she did have clothing of her own, and of course, jewellery. She lit two oil lamps and sat down to sew the jewellery inside the clothes. Most of it had come from Idres, as did the baby, despite the lie she’d told to Aiwaz. Once she’d met Idres, she’d lost all interest in other men. She wondered if he’d care one way or another about the child or about her, but she wondered even more if he were alive.

Lubahva found out in a way she never could have imagined. She had just finished packing her things into two cloth satchels when Shakut came to the door of her room.

‘There’s a fellow here to see you,’ he announced. ‘A Captain Rashad of the Wazrakej Fifth Mounted.’

One of the Chosen, the officer who had heard too much from that wretched little Hazro – doubtless he’d been watching them all ever since. The room seemed to turn sharply and blur. Too late, Lubahva thought. I should have left long ago.

‘Are you all right?’ Shakut said.

‘No. Tell him –’

But Rashad was standing right behind him, she realized, a tall man, burly in his red and grey uniform, with dark narrow eyes and a thin, grim mouth. He laid a hand on Shakut’s shoulder and moved him firmly to one side.

‘Good,’ Rashad said to Lubahva. ‘I see you’re packed and ready to go. I’ll carry those bags for you.’

Shakut suddenly smiled. She could guess that he’d drawn the obvious if wrong conclusion that here stood the father of her child. Lubahva hesitated, but she knew that she could never outrun Rashad. Better to go to her death in the prison of the Chosen with some dignity.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll just put on my veils.’

Rashad allowed her to say farewell to everyone in the bungalow, treated her with the utmost politeness, in fact, doubtless to avoid giving away his identity as a member of the Chosen. As they walked outside, she had the brief thought of screaming out the truth, then decided that it would only earn her an extra measure of pain. He shepherded her through the elaborate gardens, past the maze-like paths and the obsidian fountains, along the narrow
walk picked out with star moss, and, finally, out of the palace gates. She glanced back for one last look at the gardens. How long, she wondered, would it be before they burned as the palace fell?

When they reached the street, she looked up and saw the Spider gleaming silver above her. Most likely she was seeing it for the last time. Father, she thought, Mama! You’ll both be avenged. It doesn’t matter now what they do to me. It’s all in motion, and they can’t stop it.

‘We need to hurry,’ Rashad said.

‘Where are we going?’ she said.

‘To Nehzaym’s.’

For a moment Lubahva nearly broke and wept. They had discovered her friend, as well, and she too would be arrested and dragged off to prison. Rashad walked close behind her, ready, she was sure, to drop the satchels and race after her should she try to run. Down the long hill they went, past the guarded houses of the rich, down into the narrow, smelly streets of the poor. At a dark turn of the street, Rashad took a few quick steps to walk beside her.

‘I served with Idres Warkannan out on the border,’ he said. ‘And with Jezro Khan, too. You and the widow Nehzaym need to get out of the city right at dawn. Understand? Be at the gates when they open.’