‘No,’ Cianna answered.
‘You will, soon enough!’ he laughed. ‘Remain here, you have a lesson to learn in humility. Presently I will return, and you may fight me, yes, me, the Exquisite Ulourdos, with swords! And when I have defeated you, and put a few swats across your impudent behind, I will fuck you. Once fucked by me, be assured you will be begging for more, and naked.’
He strode from the room, leaving them together.
‘What I am supposed to do?’ Cianna hissed.
‘Do?’ Babalyn demanded. ‘Nothing! You are supposed to get beaten and fucked!’
‘But swords!’
‘He wishes only to humiliate you. To show the gulf which exists between him, a man of Makea, and you, a barbarian slave girl.’
‘He does not seek to slay me?’
‘No, although he might inflict a cut or two, enough to leave you begging for mercy on the floor. He will then use the flat of the sword to spank your bottom, down across his knee. This is the way it is done.’
Cianna nodded doubtfully, entirely unsure what to do, expect that nothing would make her take her necklace off. Putting her hand to her necklace, she squeezed a tooth, a fang from the one grandfather she had known. It seemed to pulse between her fingers, throbbing, like a heartbeat.
Ulourdos returned, closing the door behind him. He was carrying two short swords, one of which he passed to Cianna with a mocking bow, then stood back to make an elaborate flourish in the air with his blade. Cianna looked at her sword, which was blunt and so light she wondered if it was hollow, nothing more than a toy. A glance at his showed that it was the real thing, sharp and well made. He made a pirouette, spinning to push out his blade towards her.
‘Ha!’ he cried. ‘There I could have had you, and so easily. Come, defend yourself, learn what it means to fight a man, I, the Exquisite Ulourdos!’
Cianna braced herself as Babalyn made a hasty retreat to the furthest corner of the room. Ulourdos came forward, with a prancing, flamboyant step. Cianna gave back, still hesitant, and he rushed forward, eyes blazing, mouth wide to drive the sword at her shoulder. She danced aside, dodging his body, reluctant to make contact. He wheeled on her, his sword low, ready for a cut. She put out her hand, the palm flat towards him, a pacfic gesture. Low, mocking laughter seemed to run through her head.
Ulourdos slashed out at her fingers, which she snatched back an instant before the blade would have cut through them. Anger flared, the laughter in her head rising to become cruel, taunting. Ulourdos pranced forward, his sword thrust out. Cianna gave back, hurled her sword into his face, snatched his arm as it came up by instinct, twisted, dragging him forward, her mouth coming open to catch his neck, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh. He screamed once, she felt the spurt of hot blood in her mouth, and as her teeth met, she heard her grandfather’s laughter, clearly, just as she remembered it from before his death, now joyous, revelling in her act.
Ulourdos clutched at her, shuddering, his sword dropping to clatter on the floor. He gave a single, choking gasp, then went limp in her arms. She dropped his body, spitting blood from her mouth as she stood back. His face was still frozen in horrified surprise, his eyes wide and staring. Cianna stood looking down on him, filled with elation, the blood hammering in her veins, her breathing hard. Across the room, Babalyn was making little whimpering noises, but she stepped forward as Cianna stood to her full height, stretching.
‘Do you wish a trophy?’ Cianna enquired.
‘A trophy!?’
‘Some hair? Perhaps a tooth?’
‘No, I do not!’ Babalyn exclaimed.
‘You are right,’ Cianna admitted. ‘He was no warrior, to be slain so easily. It would not be fitting to take trophies. Still, he was a man of some rank…’
‘Just leave the horrid thing!’ Babalyn cut in. ‘We must run, now!’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’ve killed him!’
‘I was supposed to fight. He said so himself.’
‘You were supposed to lose! Will you ever get that into your head!’
‘But…’
‘You have killed an Exquisite! You, a slave girl! What they will do to you does not bear thought! To me also!’
‘Do you think so?’
‘I know! What would they do in your country, if some… some serving girl killed a noble?’
‘Nothing, if it was in fair combat. A noble so weak would not deserve his rank.’
‘Well that is not the way in Makea! Look, I know a way to get out of the mansion. There is a trick, played on slave girls to make them look stupid. Say we are sent for chicken’s milk.’
‘Chicken’s milk? But…’
‘Just follow me! Quickly.’
‘I had to fight,’ Cianna protested as she followed Babalyn, wiping blood from her mouth. ‘He would have made me take my necklace off, and with it part of my soul would go.’
Babalyn didn’t answer, unfastening the door and peering outside, then beckoning Cianna to follow. Nobody was in the outer chamber, with only one guard at the bottom of the staircase. He rose at their approached, with a questioning glance.
‘We are sent to buy chicken’s milk,’ Babalyn said quickly. ‘With a whipping if we fail. Please tell us where we should go?’
‘The market, naturally,’ the guard answered, and laughed. ‘Be sure to choose a good quality!’
The guard’s laughter followed them down the stairs. As they reached the bottom he called out to share the joke with his comrades at the door. They gave sweeping bows as Cianna and Babalyn hurried out, and added suggestions as to how the girls should go about their errand. Beyond were the gates, which they passed with no greater difficulty, out into the streets of Kea.
‘We are as good as dead,’ Babalyn moaned. ‘It is only a matter of time! They will take us!’
‘Then we fight, and die,’ Cianna responded.
Babalyn merely looked at her as if she was mad, then once more hung her head. They were in deep jungle, some way to the south and east of Kea, having run and walked until finally Babalyn had been able to go on no longer and sat down, weeping on a decaying log.
‘We must at least go on!’ Cianna urged.
‘Why?’ Babalyn wailed. ‘Where to? Already the dogs will be on our scent. They will find us, for all your tricks at the irrigation ditches. They are wise to such things! I should have stayed, with the guards at least it would have been quick.’
‘What of sanctuary?’ Cianna suggested. ‘We might loop around the city, following the ditches, come in along the shore at night. Jelkrael would shield us, surely, if we can only reach the Five Moons, the wagons even.’
‘The first place they’ll look,’ Babalyn sighed.
‘Julac then,’ Cianna said. ‘Administrator Bulzar is an Elite, and not easily cowed.’
‘Why would he help us?’ Babalyn demanded.
‘He has loved me…’
‘Loved you!’ Babalyn broke in. ‘He has fucked you, Cianna, that is all, because you are beautiful and exotic and it brings him prestige to have a leading fighting girl as his plaything.’
‘Perhaps, but always he sought me out, and would have had me more often, had the chance offered. After the victory parade he demanded that I be sent to him.’
‘So he wants to fuck you again. Do you think that would make him take the risk of sheltering you, who have murdered an Exquisite!’
‘I did not murder him…’
‘I have heard your explanation! It won’t stand! What can I do!?’
‘We stand, or we try Julac,’ Cianna insisted. ‘Or the hills, if we can reach them. There is a way to hide, for girls, if they truly must. In a goblin burrow.’
‘A goblin burrow! Do you know what they do to girls?’
‘Of course, but none will follow. It is awful, I know, but…’
Cianna broke off. From somewhere far off had come the sharp, staccato bark of a dog.
‘Julac,’ Babalyn said suddenly, jumping to her feet. ‘We can
surrender ourselves to Bulzar. At least we avoid the dogs.’
She ran with new energy, Cianna following.
For hours they pushed through the jungle, splashing through the shallow, muddy ponds when they could, heedless of leeches and the scratches of twigs and thorns. At sunset, more by luck than skill, they came out above the lake beside which the road to Ajad ran. Two hours later, after what seemed an eternity of groping and stumbling in the semi-darkness, they reached the low ridge which looked down over the four squat grey buildings that made up the powdermills, each within its high wall. Nearer to them, a scattering of other buildings showed dull pewter in the moonlight, two with lights in their windows.
‘Bulzar has a villa,’ Cianna said quietly. ‘Which do you think it might be?’
‘That highest up the slope,’ Babalyn answered. ‘Where the smell is least offensive. It is also the largest, surely fitting for the administrator?’
Cianna nodded in agreement. Moving carefully forward, they made their way down the slope. Reaching the garden of the villa, they went more carefully still, creeping into the garden on all fours, to peer in at one of the lit windows. Inside was a large, square room, sparsely furnish with heavy wood and a few thick drapes. Nobody was visible, and Cianna ducked down again, to whisper to Babalyn, only to freeze as a vast shadow loomed over them.
Babalyn screamed and went abruptly silent. Cianna kicked out, only to meet a leg that felt like a tree trunk. A great hand came down, snatching her up by her waist and lifting her without effort, Babalyn also. Realising that it was the troll, Voqual, Cianna forced herself to go limp, allowing him to carry her into the villa, to be dumped on the floor. As she pulled herself up on one elbow Bulzar appeared.
‘Cianna?’ he demanded. ‘And Babalyn too? This is not the orthodox way to visit me, nor the time. You’re covered in mud, and scratches! Did you lose the road?’
Cianna shook her head, prodding Babalyn with her foot to make her come round. Babalyn’s eyes opened and she crawled quickly back into a corner, staring at the troll.
‘Do not be alarmed by Voqual,’ Bulzar said. ‘Cianna has told you about him, surely?’
Babalyn shook her head in terror.
‘I didn’t mention it,’ Cianna admitted, blushing.
‘He is quite tame,’ Bulzar said. ‘Voqual. Leave.’
The troll lumbered off. Both girls got to their feet, slowly, Cianna sitting on a couch, Babalyn hastily coming close beside her. Bulzar gave them a quizzical look.
‘There is much to explain,’ Cianna said. ‘Babalyn, you are better with words.’
‘She has killed somebody,’ Babalyn said. ‘We seek shelter from you, Elite Master.’
‘Killed somebody? Who? In a contest?’
‘No. An Exquisite, Ulourdos.’
‘Ulourdos, the King’s nephew!?’
Babalyn nodded her head. Bulzar blew out his cheeks.
‘Spare us,’ Babalyn said weakly. ‘For mercy?’
‘Tell me what happened, exactly,’ he demanded.
Babalyn began, relating every detail from their purchase in the Five Moons to their escape. Bulzar listened wordlessly, his face set, emotionless.
‘Were you seen, coming here?’ he demanded as she finished.
‘No,’ Cianna answered.
‘You are certain?’
‘It is dark, we came through the jungle. A dozen times we have followed drainage ditches, doubled back through ponds. We have not heard dogs in hours, and when we did they were distant.’
Bulzar grunted, then spoke, more to himself than the girls.
‘I should give you to the authorities, but I ask myself, why should I? They will be looking for scapegoats, and I am unpopular with certain cliques among the Exquisites. It is well known that I took you to my house in Kea, Cianna, and it is not impossible that I would be accused of hiring you as an assassin. By coming here you compromise me seriously, you realise this?’
‘No,’ Cianna answered. ‘I sought only protection.’
‘Such an accusation would be an absurdity!’ Babalyn exclaimed. ‘Ulourdos bought us of his own choice!’
‘Such inconvenient pieces of logic are easily overlooked,’ Bulzar answered.
‘What will happen?’ Cianna asked.
‘Scandal, outcry, accusation. The public adore such things. Still, for all the outcry, the death of Ulourdos will not be greatly mourned.’
‘No?’ Babalyn queried.
‘By the public perhaps, for whom he was something of a model,’ Bulzar went on. ‘To the Elite and the other Exquisites he was an embarrassment, vain and confident to the point of insanity. You met him, can you imagine him in charge of a fleet or army? It would be a calamity, and yet he had the rank to command just such a post, and expected to.’
‘Then I should go back to Kea and claim him for my escutcheon,’ Cianna stated. ‘As my reward I can demand freedom for Babalyn and myself.’
For a moment Bulzar looked astonished, then laughed and continued.
‘In your savage land this might be the case. Not in Makea. Yes, the Exquisites would be grateful for his death, and the more grateful for your return. That way they could provide a dramatic public execution, calming the public anger, and all would be well.’
‘Why?’ Cianna demanded. ‘He demanded that I fight. I killed him, fairly. I am innocent!’
‘Innocent indeed!’ Bulzar laughed. ‘He was an Exquisite, you a slave girl, his property. You are his to do with as he pleases, including kill. Not surprisingly this does not work in reverse!’
‘And you call me savage!’ Cianna answered. ‘You Makeans have no more honour than trolls!’
‘Barbarians!’ Babalyn spat. ‘In Blue Zoria she would be given a fair trial, and might claim self-defence.’
Bulzar laughed again and shrugged, taking up his goblet of wine.
‘What of my title?’ Cianna demanded. ‘I was popular also.’
‘Indeed you were. So was Moloa. The crowd are fickle, and would relish nothing more than the drama of your execution. It would be the talk of Kea for years! Many would sympathise, perhaps, but they would still come to watch. Still, given the character of Ulourdos, I for one drink a toast to you. Long may he rot!’
He swallowed his wine.
‘You will shield us then?’ Babalyn queried.
‘I will,’ he answered. ‘Why not? This is my Domaine. None come here without good reason. No Exquisite has set foot in the works for twenty years. Why should they, with the stink and the danger? My Supervisors come, but by invitation, and never to the upper story of the villa. My little Vendjomois pretties will know, but there is no harm in that, while I will be able to take my full enjoyment of both of you, freely given, which I personally prefer. For now, under the house with both of you. If dogs come on your trail, I had no knowledge of you. If they have not come by noon tomorrow, then we may safely assume they never will.’
Lying on her pallet in the attic space of Bulzar’s villa, Cianna peered down through a grill at the powdermills below. Since the first night spent huddled beneath the pilings that supported Bulzar’s house, she had done her best to discover what happened there. It had been her initial intention in singling Bulzar out for her attention, and despite her situation she was determined to continue. After so much time it seemed more than likely that Sulitea and Aeisla were either dead or in close captivity, yet she clung to hope, and she knew that abandoning her quest would mean abandoning part of that hope also.
For three days they had remained in the roof space of Bulzar’s villa, firmly out of sight, with his two Vendjomois slave girls providing for them. Bulzar had travelled to Kea, returning with the news that the city was in uproar, that Jelkrael had been arrested, but released, and that her endless detours along irrigation ditches and through ponds had paid off. Dogs were still out, criss-crossing both fields and jungle, but on the second night there had been heavy rain, finally destroying the chances of being followed to the mills.
Day after day she had
watched, following the movements of the slow, methodical men who worked there, and of the great covered wagons that came and went. Some she had identified, including the Supervisor of the mixing mill, Maerdrhen, who was second in authority only to Bulzar. Despite that, all she had learnt was that a great deal of water and wood was needed, but the various activities, buildings and machines were entirely meaningless to her. Finally, she had abandoned her obedience to Sulitea’s demand for secrecy and explained what she was doing to Babalyn, who now lay beside her. Babalyn’s response had been surprise, even disbelief, but that had not stopped her offering any help that did not risk punishment.
Below them, the river was clearly visible, and the road beyond, on which they had travelled to Kea. Nearer were the four mills, each with its high stone wall and cluster of subsidiary buildings. Two of the mills had chimneys, from one of which smoke was still rising, in a thin white tendril.
‘The building which stands alone, with the ponds behind, is where the powder is mixed,’ Babalyn said.
‘How do you know?’ Cianna asked.
‘I have been watching the wagons,’ Babalyn answered. ‘They never come in to that building, but they always leave from it. Hence it must be where the finished powder is made. Also, there are no slave houses and thus no slaves. Mixing is a task too dangerous from any but the most careful and dedicated.’
‘That is clever,’ Cianna answered.
‘Simple logic,’ Babalyn said. ‘So, there are three other buildings, each apart, and in each an ingredient must be made, or processed. Which do most wagons go to?’
‘The largest,’ Cianna said, ‘with the chimney that is not smoking.’
‘Then that is your nitre plant. A lot of dung is needed. At home it was always a joke, because the officials would urge us to make more.’
‘I see,’ Cianna replied doubtfully.
‘The smallest, with no chimney, will be for brimstone,’ Babalyn went on, ‘or so I imagine.’
‘Why?’
‘Brimstone comes from volcanoes. There are only two in Makea, Ura and Agura, at the far end of the island. The last wagons to arrive there came in a convoy, and so may have travelled a long way. No wagons go to the third plant. Also, brimstone must be kept away from fire, and I imagine none is needed in its preparation, it being so combustible anyway. Thus there is no chimney.’
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