by Jean Lorrah
Here also roamed many of the more unsavory people of the city. Despite the chill, Astra was glad she was wearing her black Magister’s cloak instead of her heavier gray one, for her position as a Reader would be respected even in this disreputable part of Tiberium. Without such indication, a woman who walked these streets alone risked insult, or worse.
Seven months before, she had walked through these same streets to Morella’s House of Pleasure for the first time. Licensed and taxed by the government, the bordello required a monthly health inspection of its employees by a Reader. Like the gladiatorial games, it was a task given to a Reader who had fallen into disfavor with Portia. That time, Astra had argued with Portia, and knew she deserved the punishment duty. Still, she disliked it.
Morella hadn’t made the job easy. A large, buxom woman of about fifty, she ran her establishment the way Portia ruled the Academy. But Astra had refused to be bullied into the superficial job other Readers must have done. She had thoroughly checked the fifteen prostitutes for communicable diseases or pregnancy-and then insisted on Reading Morella, even though she no longer “entertained. “
It didn’t take Astra long to find what the bordello owner was trying to hide: pain in her abdomen and opiates in her bloodstream. Further examination revealed not the cancerous tumor Morella had feared, but merely polyps which any surgeon could easily remove.
That good news brought tears of relief to Morella’s eyes and a great change in her attitude toward Astra.
After the operation and her release from the hospital, Astra had visited her often, both to check on Morella’s recovery and to cultivate the only friendship she had been able to gain since becoming a Magister Reader. Morella was, Astra had to admit, closer to a motherly counselor than Portia had ever been to her.
So close had Morella and Astra become that Morella had called for Astra some three months ago, to help treat one of her women whom Astra had never met before.
“Clea worked for me for almost a year,” Morella explained, “but she always complained that she didn’t make enough money. She loves jewelry-or she did. She has nothing left now.”
“What happened to her?” asked Astra, Reading the pale and silent woman on the bed. The bones of her face suggested that Clea had been beautiful, but now her skin was gray and taut, her face skeletal, her hands clawlike.
“Archobus lured her away,” explained Morella. “He’s an aristocrat who gambles with Vortius. He gave Clea all the silks and jewels she wanted-until he got tired of her. Then she became a hanger-on of Vortius’ crowd down at his villa in the southlands… and someone addicted her to white lotus.”
And that was how Astra came to recognize that particular taint in a person’s blood.
“Morella,” Astra said, “there’s no herb I can give her, nothing that will cleanse the drug from her body. At the hospital at Gaeta, all the Readers can do for someone addicted, whether to opiates or to one of these rarer drugs, is to lock the person up while his body purges itself.”
“I know that,” said Morella. “That is why Clea came to me. She wants me to restrain her-but she’s so weak, Astra! Can she survive?”
Although painfully thin, Clea was still in reasonably good health. Her heart was sound, and amazingly she had no disease. “Yes, I think she can survive,” said Astra, “but we should take her to the infirmary at the Academy, where better healers than I-”
“No!” said Morella. “She trusts me. She would see it as betrayal if I turned her over to strangers. I don’t suppose you know much about drug addiction, Magister… but I see it often here in The Maze. Clea has found the determination to cleanse the drug from her blood-but it will not last once the pain begins. And afterward…”
“Afterward, she is likely to go right back to the drug at the first disappointment in her life,” said Astra. “At Gaeta, too, people go through all that suffering, only to return to their drugs.”
“Because there are always vultures waiting to control them,” said Morella. “But Clea will be safe with me.
You’ve examined my girls often enough to know I will have no drugs here.”
The woman on the bed groaned and opened her eyes. “Morella!” she gasped on a wave of pain. Astra gritted her teeth against it.
Morella took Clea’s hand. “I’m here, child. You’re going to be all right.”
The young woman’s eyes slowly focused on Astra. “You… you are the healer?”
“Yes.”
“Morella says… you can be trusted. Please-please help me.”
Astra took Clea’s other hand, Reading her determination to be free… and the reason for it. Although the identities of the people were obscured in a drug-induced haze, the content of the scene that had sent Clea fleeing from her life of luxury was clear.
It was not the first time she had been given instructions just when the white lotus had taken over her will.
Without hesitation, she had read documents belonging to various lovers, and reported their contents. She had stolen keys, delayed men from appointments, and even deliberately destroyed a marriage. Everything had seemed to be her own desire-until the day when someone had handed her a vial of poison and instructed her to seduce another man, then slip the poison into his wine.
Perhaps the man who instructed her had misjudged the timing of the weakness of will white lotus produced, or perhaps Clea’s tolerance had so increased that the dose was not enough to make her accept such an order. Whatever the reason, she had resisted-had run away, back to Tiberium, where she could disappear into The Maze. There she had sold her jewels, and her body, for drugs to feed her craving and erase the memory of that command to murder-that command she had almost obeyed out of mindless compulsion!
Finally, she had realized that she could not escape the memory… and that unless she escaped the drug her body craved more and more of, one day she might be willing to kill just as she had robbed and exploited.
And so she had come to Morella, the one person in The Maze she could trust.
Now she turned to the older woman. “Morella-please. Lock me up. It’s starting. I’ll run away if I can escape!”
“The door is locked, child,” Morella assured her. “Phaeru has the key, and she will not open the door unless / tell her to.”
As the hours passed, Clea’s resolve melted as she had foretold. She screamed and raved, reviling Morella and Astra, threatening, even trying to climb out the tiny window that would not have admitted a cat.
Astra suffered the cramps, the vomiting, the stabbing pains along with her, sweating and shaking as time and again she helped Morella restrain their wild patient and force herb tea into her to combat dehydration.
It seemed to go on forever, until Clea passed out one last time, and then drifted into true sleep. So did an exhausted Astra, to be awakened some time later by Morella. “Come. Look.”
Clea was awake, weak but without pain-and her mind was clear and under her own control. Her eyes glowed in her ravaged face as she took Astra’s hand. “Thank you,” she whispered, tears of weakness coursing down her cheeks. “May all the gods bless you, Magister!”
To the pleasant surprise of both Morella and Astra, Clea remained free of her addiction. She regained her beauty, and was once again one of Morella’s favorites. She also regained her love of jewelry, especially rings-and when her customers found out what pleased her, she soon had a ring for every finger-and even some for her toes!
The incident with Clea had brought Astra and Morella closer yet, but even so, Morella wouldn’t be happy to see Astra at her door after sundown on this last day of the blood-sport season; a Reader in the place during business hours would send customers scurrying away! Aware that she was racing the setting sun, Astra increased her pace. She Read ahead before she turned the corner, not that she expected to encounter another Reader in this part of Tiberium-To her surprise, the scarlet of a Master Reader’s cloak met her inner vision. He was male, and very old, accompanied by a boy who hobbled on a wooden leg. The boy was a
Reader in training, wearing a plain white tunic under a brown wool cloak. Neither he nor the old man was Reading.
They did not have to; it was Astra’s duty to avoid meeting the Master Reader, male to female, as he outranked her. Even if she were a Master herself,
his age would make it the duty of every female Reader short of Portia herself to keep out of his way.
But what is he doing here? she wondered.
Astra realized that if she remained where she was, the two male Readers might see her when they reached the street corner. She ducked into a narrow passageway between buildings, annoyed at being thus delayed.
She knew who the Master and the boy were: Master Clement, formerly of the Adigia Academy on the northern border, and one of his students. Astra let her annoyance take the form of Reading them-after all, they were talking openly.
“But Torio was my friendl” the boy was protesting. “He wasn’t a traitor. I know it!”
“Although that is possible, Decius,” said the old man, “for your own safety you must not say so. No talk of Torio or Master Lenardo, no matter what the other boys say.”
“But-”
“You are old enough to know that sometimes it is best to keep silent-and that includes Reading.
Especially Reading. Nothing is accomplished by defending Lenardo or Torio. Suspicion already falls on their friends.”
They were talking about the traitor Lenardo, the renegade Reader who had turned against the Aventine Empire and now styled himself a lord among their enemies, the savages! Astra had heard that he had learned the savage sorcery, and could perform their vile tricks himself.
The old man and the boy reached the corner… and turned into the street Astra had been walking. This she had not expected. But the narrow passage she had taken refuge in paralleled the street she had meant to take. Time was flying, and the wind was less strong in here, so she turned and hurried along the alley, pressing herself against the wall to get past a cart.
Obviously, Master Clement feared that the boy Decius would be branded a traitor if he defended Torio.
Torio had been a traitor, Astra knew, but she also understood adolescent loyalties. When she was ten or twelve, she would have said or done anything to defend Helena, the only true friend she had ever had in the Academy. Helena was nearly four years her senior, and a weak Reader, but their differences hadn’t prevented them from becoming close.
When Helena had failed to pass her test for the rank of Magister, Astra had taken it upon herself to plead with Portia for Helena to be retested. But the Master of Masters had refused to listen, and Astra had been separated at age twelve from Helena, who had been as dear to her as any sister. Furthermore, Portia had punished Astra for trying to help Helena by forbidding her the Academy’s musical entertainments for two months.
Had she been a mere spectator, Astra could simply have Read the entertainments from her own room.
But she was a performer, skilled enough with her lute to be a professional musician were she not a Reader. So she had practiced alone, and brooded-and never again formed a close friendship, knowing that most of the other students either envied her strong powers or shunned her because of her mother.
Morella’s place was only two streets away now, and Astra speeded her steps. Up ahead, the passageway was blocked by empty scaffolding, but Astra Read that she could walk beneath it. She began to thread her way through-The earth shook! Astra was flung to her knees, thrown against one of the support rods. Pain lanced through her right shoulder, her scream drowned by the rumblings all around her. This was not another of the frequent tremors of the past few weeks-it was a full-fledged earthquake!
Astra gripped two crisscrossing rods as the quake’s ferocity increased. The structure groaned, and she could feel the metal’s strain as well as Read it. The whole thing could collapse on her!
Somehow she pulled herself to her feet, but it was all she could do to stay on them. The ground rippled like ocean waves. As the scaffolding’s groans became a death rattle, the Reader closed her eyes and braced herself, ready to leave her body in the face of serious injury or-Powerful hands grabbed hers, pulling her free of the rods. A thick arm squeezed her diaphragm as she was lifted off her feet and through the iron forest just as it was collapsing. She and her would-be rescuer fell to the cobblestones, his body sheltering hers. Astra heard wood and metal crash thunderously near their heads… but they weren’t touched.
The tremors were subsiding, as was the dust that had been flung up all around them. Astra breathed a prayer of thanks to all the gods as her savior slowly stood, tall and broad-shouldered. He reached down and easily pulled her to her feet, but still she looked far up into clear blue eyes set in a granite-carved face-a pleasant face despite its scars. A rough-hewn face crowned by tousled red hair.
Zanos the Gladiator.
“Are you all right?” he asked with a smile. Something in his deep voice sent a shiver down her spine.
“Except for a few bruises, yes… thank you,” she heard herself reply. “It’s a miracle we weren’t crushed-”
Recognition finally lit his eyes. “You’re the Reader I met in the stadium this afternoon, aren’t you?” he asked softly. “Magister…?”
“Astra.”
“I’m sorry for the way I acted today,” he said. “I was upset at the death of Clavius… and at what his death has cost me. Later I realized you had to have been telling me the truth about the white lotus.”
Astra said nothing, surprised at the unexpected apology.
“I’d like to talk with you,” he said. “Can I escort you to wherever you’re going?”
“My errand… wasn’t important,” she stammered. Thanks to the quake, Morella would be putting her place back together now, in no mood to answer questions. “It can wait until tomorrow. I must get back to my Academy-Readers will be on call to locate people buried in the earthquake damage and to treat the injured.”
She turned to head back up the passageway-and found the wreckage of the scaffolding blocking her way.
“Allow me, Magister!” Zanos said as he swept her up in his arms. Startled by his boldness, she was still groping for words of protest after the gladiator had easily carried her over the debris and set her on her feet.
“Do you always give such ‘help’ to people?” she asked disapprovingly.
“Only to my friends.” He smiled as he took her arm and began to lead the way. “I’ll come with you-there may be other places like this. I’ll help you back to your Academy, and you tell me how Clavius got that white lotus. He certainly didn’t have money to pay for it.”
As they walked, Astra collected her thoughts. “You didn’t give me the chance this afternoon to tell you exactly what I found. There was only a trace of white lotus in Clavius’ blood. If he used the drug regularly, he could not have had any in the past few days.”
Zanos nodded. “Everybody in the stadium was watching the match, but I was concentrating on Clavius.
He had a habit of dropping his guard when he got overconfident. But his actions just before he died could have been like those of someone craving white lotus…”
“Like an addict who had been deprived of it,” Astra mused, “and was just beginning to become irrational. Yes, that would make sense… provided Clavius was taking only small amounts.”
“I don’t think he was ‘taking’ it,” Zanos insisted. “I’ve been in the games for a long time, Magister.
Athletes are sometimes stupid enough to take drugs they think will help them win. Painkillers, to participate despite an injury. Stimulants. But white lotus is not something a gladiator would take willingly-it does nothing at all to improve performance, and taking it for happy dreams means the risk of having it wear off at a crucial moment, leaving the user helpless.”
“Then-?” Astra prompted.
“Somebody drugged my man-or addicted him to the drug and then used him against me. Maybe he was supposed to throw the match today and refused-and his supplier cut off hi
s drugs.” He looked down at her, his eyes earnest. “I do not want to think Clavius was disloyal to me… and now there is no way to question him. “
“The amount in his bloodstream was very small,” said Astra. “He could not have been taking it for long.
You could be right that it was slipped to him without his even knowing it. It’s tasteless.”
Zanos nodded. “Oh, yes-there’s nothing unusual about someone buying a gladiator a cup of wine.
Clavius won four days ago; those who had won on him bought him so much wine at the celebration that he passed out. The drug could have been slipped to him then.”
“But by whom?”
“I don’t know. I thought you might.”
Astra caught flickering images of various faces from Zanos’ mind. All of them were unknown to her, except one-the face of Vortius.
“Do you think your other men are in danger, Zanos?”
“Good question,” he replied grimly. “Fortunately, I have ways of finding out. Perhaps I don’t know everything that goes on in The Maze, but I keep informed. I live near here, you know,” he said, suddenly changing the subject. Astra had expected him to ask her to Read his men. Strange. What was he afraid she would find?
“Let me show you my house,” Zanos continued smoothly. “Should you need it, you will know where you can always find help in this part of town.”
Astra did not miss the hopeful tone in his voice, and Read his intention as sincere-yet he had adroitly steered away from the obvious. She reassessed her earlier opinion of him as stupid, but what was he hiding?
Zanos’ home was a small villa, the most impressive dwelling in the area. “I didn’t know that a retired gladiator could live in such grand style, ” she commented.
Zanos gave a short, rueful laugh. “I may soon lose this ‘grand style’… the villa, my fighters-everything. I lost a lot of money today, and if certain people have their way I could lose a lot more.” An angry look crossed his face, and Astra suppressed a shiver-she couldn’t Read his thoughts at that moment.