To the High Redoubt (42 page)

The streets grew more crowded, and among the throng were merchants in strange Eastern garments, leading Bactrian camels and asses laden with goods for trade. Arkady threaded his way toward the square his informant had indicated, trying hard not to dawdle and stare at the city around him.

“We're being followed,” Surata warned him softly when he paused to let a band of scrawny children run ahead of them. “There are three men who are coming after us as if coming after…prey.”

Arkady felt a twinge of worry but said to her, “Surata, we've been out in the wastes by ourselves for a long time. We have seen almost no one. In such a place as this, it would be an easy thing to assume that all those around us are trying to follow us.” He patted the flank of his gelding as if this simple gesture would make them all relax.

“They are following us,” she insisted. “They are the Bundhi's men, and they have been sent to find us for him.” Her hands were white-knuckled with emotion, and she set her jaw. “It is a trap, Arkady-immai.”

“It's only the main square of Samarkand,” he corrected her, then tried to soften his blow. “Even if the Bundhi has sent men to watch for us, what can they do here? They might want to denounce us, but for what?” He patted the gelding as the noise around them grew louder. “We've been so isolated, Surata, that so many people are…troubling. It isn't just you, it's the horse and me as well. The city is unfamiliar, and that makes it worse.”

“That isn't what I sense, Arkady-immai, it is the presence of the staves.”

Arkady shook his head and shouldered past a tinworker and his donkey. “We are almost to the square, and once we arrive, we can purchase food and grain and water, for us and for the horse. You're tired and you've let your fear get hold of you,” he admonished her, trying to be pleasant in his manner.

“You are certain?” she challenged him. “Why not look behind you for two men in tan silken robes? One is carrying a tall bamboo staff. You know what that bamboo is.”

“Surata,” he said with a greater show of patience, “you're being…impulsive.” He had nearly said arbitrary, but he was determined to make full allowances for their arduous journey and their fatigue. To satisfy her, he turned around, and saw a mass of men, none of them looking like the agents of the Bundhi. “There are merchants all around us, but I see no one with a bamboo staff. If you still think we're being followed after we've had a meal and the gelding's been stabled, then there might be reason to be on guard, and I promise you I'll take every precaution.”

“This
isn't
hunger and exhaustion talking, Arkady-immai; it is certainty. I know the Bundhi, what he is, and I can scent him, though we were in a jungle of animals and men. Believe me, I beg of you. I know that you have reason to doubt when I…when I lost us as I did. This is different.”

Arkady did not know what to say to her, and he was inclined to admit his doubts. “We're coming to the marketplace. They say it is part of a garden.”

She looked defeated. “That is delightful,” she said tonelessly.

“There are men everywhere.”

“I can hear them,” she conceded.

“We're almost there,” he said, wanting to cheer her.

“And the Bundhi's men are almost upon us. But do not let that deter you. The horse does need grain and we're both hungry. We ought to take care to eat enough, for the Bundhi might not want to feed us, once he has us.”

The narrow street opened onto a large sandy square, flanked on two sides by large buildings, one of which was the famous Madrasah of Ulug-Beg. The central massive gate was flanked by two tall towers, and the whole was ornamented with white, gold and blue mosaic tiles. At right angles to it, an ancient mosque of crumbling stone rose in majestic decay. There were fountains, the largest of which provided water for camels, horses and asses. The air was alive with the cry and chatter of the merchants who brought their goods to this enormous marketplace.

“What place is this?” Surata asked nervously.

“The market square,” Arkady said in relief. “I'm going to get water for the horse and then we can see about food.”

“And perhaps take the time to find out if we are being watched,” she suggested.

“We're foreigners, Surata. Undoubtedly someone will be watching us.” He said this easily enough, but as he spoke he realized that there would be few places in the city that were better suited to watching them. Here no one would think another stranger unusual, and any odd behavior would be ignored. In a place where so many merchants from so far away gathered, a few more foreigners would mean nothing. He shook his head as he brought the bay to the fountain to drink.

“There are three men,” Surata repeated in an undervoice. “If only you'd look, you'd find them.”

“Surata,” Arkady said, making her name a rebuke. “When we've eaten, we can discuss this,” he declared, wiping his brow with his grimy sleeve. “For the moment, I don't care.” He knew as soon as he had spoken that he had gone too far; she looked as if he had struck her. “Surata, I didn't mean it that way,” he protested.

“Naturally not,” she said in a strained tone.

“I
didn't
.” He tried to find the right explanation. “I'm worn out. That's all.”

“And you don't believe me.” There was a quiver in her words that shocked him. “Oh, Arkady-immai, don't you understand that the Bundhi wants to deceive you? Don't you know that he thrives on deception? He could not be more pleased, because you cannot accept he is really here, and really chasing us. We are in the place of lions.” She clamped her jaw shut, her face stark with lonely terror.

“The place of lions,” he repeated, remembering the mosaic he had seen on the side of the mausoleum.

“I told you that there was a place where lions walked with the sun on their backs. This is that place, I know it. You may not see the lions, but I know—
I know
—they are there.”

Arkady frowned thoughtfully, watching his horse drink. “There was a tomb, back in that narrow street. There was a lion on it, with the sun on his back.”

“Arkady-immai,
please
. Get us away from this place!” She reached out and fumbled for his hand. “Now.”

“We need food and water, Surata, and rest. Neither you nor I can do much until we have restored ourselves.” His frown deepened to a glower. “Food first, I think. Without that, we'll be too worn to go on.”

“Quickly,” she urged him. “And then we must find a safe place, where the Bundhi would hesitate to come.”

“What place would that be?” He had not seen a church anywhere and could not bring himself to enter a mosque.

“I don't know. A place that's guarded, a place where there are men who watch such things.” She was clearly at a loss, and her voice rose in desperation. “Arkady-immai, I don't know what place it would be, but I want to find it.”

He looked around the marketplace. “Your Bundhi isn't going to try to attack you here, with so many people about.”

“I am a slave,” she reminded him. “He need only say that he is reclaiming his property.”

“He would have to argue with me, and I would insist that we take it to the local magistrates. The Islamites aren't so lost to honor that they would give away a man's slave for nothing.” As he spoke, he brought his horses's head up and started away from the fountain, taking care to keep Surata close to him. “Would you rather ride? I'll boost you up, if you want.”

“I don't…yes,” she decided. “Yes. If I am on your horse, they will see me more easily, but it will be harder for them to reach me unnoticed.” She accepted his help to mount, getting into the saddle rather than behind it. “Do not go far, Arkady-immai. Stay where there are many men.”

He had already spotted where the grain-sellers had their stands, and he was heading toward them through the milling crowd. “I'll stay in the square, don't worry about that. And I have my swords and my maul.” He did not mention his cinquedea which was, as always, tucked under his belt against his back. “If they try anything, they'll have to make a real effort.” In some part of his mind, he wished they would attack. He longed to fight flesh and bone instead of things of light and air that so frustrated him in that other place. It would be satisfying to hack at a man, or to chop one of those pernicious bamboo staves into bits.

“They are getting nearer, Arkady-immai,” she warned with an effort at calmness. “Two men, the ones who followed me when I was sent into slavery. I…do not know about the third.”

“The Bundhi?” Arkady asked as he approached the nearest grain-seller and gestured that he wished to buy oats.

“No. But a very advanced student of his, I think. He has the feel of one who has learned much and is…eager.” She shifted in the saddle, as if trying to make herself less accessible to those around her.

The merchant smiled, showing toothless gums, and held out large, flat baskets of grain, nodding and holding up his fingers to indicate the price, obviously prepared to haggle.

“I want three large sacks of grain,” Arkady said, pointing out what he had in mind and indicating what he was willing to pay for them.

The merchant chuckled and made a counteroffer.

“What lies on the street to the northeast of here?” Surata asked.

Arkady glanced in that direction. “There are towers, probably another mosque.” He motioned to the merchant and pointed toward the tops of the spires he had noticed.

“Ahie!” the merchant cried out and went on, pointing to the building. “Bibi-Khanym!” He then expostulated further and grinned at Arkady.

“He tells you that this is the Ulug-Beg Madrasah, here on the square, where the great man taught and worshipped. But the place where he went to study the stars is in that building, beyond the mosque.” She put her hand to her forehead. “He says that all wise men come here to learn from what Ulug-Beg recorded.”

“How fortunate,” Arkady said, returning the merchant's grin and bowing. “What does he want for three large sacks of grain?”

“Four gold pieces. He will take half that. It is more than he usually charges, but you are a foreigner, and therefore you are expected to pay more.” She cocked her head. “They are coming nearer.”

“In this mess, how can you tell?” Arkady asked lightly. “Half of the Grand Turk's army could be in this marketplace and I wouldn't notice them.” He held up two fingers to the merchant, and dug into his pouch to bring out the gold pieces.

The merchant smiled and nodded, holding up three fingers and launching into another tirade, this time not quite as cordial.

“He says that you are an ignorant foreigner trying to cheat him and that if he accepts so little money his family will starve. He says that you are to be forgiven because you are ignorant.” Surata twisted her hands nervously. “Be swift, Arkady-immai. We should not linger.”

“He'll demand the three pieces of gold,” Arkady said, clinking the coins in his hand.

“Tell him this,” she said and then softly recited a phrase to Arkady. “He will be offended, but he will let you have the grain for the two coins.”

Dubiously Arkady repeated the unfamiliar sounds, and saw the merchant draw back, making a sign with his fingers. He nodded several times in a deprecating way, and bowed deeply to Arkady, then began to fill one of his large sacks with oats.

“What in the name of the Saints did I say to him?” Arkady asked Surata as the merchant hastened to his work, continuing to bow in a most self-effacing manner.

“You said that you had the power to make his manhood dry up and fall off if he did not charge you a reasonable price for the grain,” she answered. “It was harsh, but he would have taken half the afternoon settling on a price, just for the amusement.” Her words grew swifter. “We do not have that much time, Arkady-immai. We have hardly any time at all.”

“They are getting nearer?” He glared at the merchant, pointing to the next large sack. “Hurry up,” he said, trusting that the merchant would get his meaning from his manner.

“Arkady-immai, look for a man, a tall man, without a turban, who carries a bamboo staff. He is near us, very near.” She reached down and plucked at his sleeve. “He is walking with others, so that you will not know him.”

“How would I know him, in any case?” Arkady asked, trying to soothe her.

The merchant handed Arkady the first of the three sacks of grain, lowering his head and speaking in a placating tone as he did.

“They saw you when you bought me. You might have noticed them, since they were foreigners,” she said.

“
Everyone
in that town looked strange to me, Surata. I wouldn't have known one foreigner from another.” He looked up at her. “Except you. You were unlike anyone I had seen, ever.”

Her smile was fleeting and unhappy. “Do not let him touch you with his staff. You know what it will do to you.”

He busied himself tieing the sack to the fender of his saddle. “I saw what one of those staves can do,” he said softly, thinking first of the youth in the deserted village, and then of the shattered stained-glass window in that other place. “I won't let it touch me.” He fiddled with the edge of his worn saddle pad while he watched out of the corner of his eye, hoping to catch some unexpected movement. “I can see no one with a bamboo staff.”

“Look for men with burdens on poles. Perhaps they are water carriers, or men bringing more of the colored stones.”

The merchant demanded Arkady's attention; the second sack of grain was ready.

Arkady bowed slightly as he accepted the sack, and patted his gelding as the bay nickered, his nose twitching. “There aren't any water carriers nearby,” he said as he made certain there were not.

“But he
must
be close. I would not feel him so if he were not.” She narrowed her eyes in a fruitless effort to pierce her darkness, then hissed with vexation. “I can tell he is coming. Do not think me crazed, Arkady-immai.”