by Jean Lorrah
Like Zanos, Ard was a Maduran, but about ten years younger, just past adolescence. While Zanos’ red hair flamed, Ard’s was sandy, and his slight build made it unlikely that he could develop into an athlete.
So when Zanos had redeemed his fellow countryman from the auction block, he had had him taught to read and write, and put him to work as chief servant when he bought his villa.
“What are you doing here?” Zanos asked as he picked up his cloak and slung it over his shoulders.
Ard glanced at the wrestling pit, then at his master. “I know it’s not my place to question your judgment-”
“Then don’t,” Zanos said tersely. “I know-humiliating Massos in front of the others could turn him against me-but he’s not the type to hold a grudge. I showed him he’s out of condition. He knows it’s from following the other men on their escapades-and if he toes the line, the others will too. He’s the strongest, if not the smartest-and he’s got a kind of animal wisdom most of us have lost. “
His men needed a leader from among themselves-and better the least likely of them to indulge in clever schemes. Clavius had been their leader. Zanos had never questioned his activities because they had become friends. / can’t afford to let that happen again.
“If we’re ever going to get out of the empire,” Zanos said to Ard, “we can’t afford to lose many more matches. Now, tell me-what are you doing here?”
“You asked to be kept informed of the whereabouts of that female Reader…”
To honor the passing of Master Quantus, all Academy classes had been suspended for the day. Before most of the Readers had left their private meditations, Astra slipped out of the Academy to finish her interrupted journey to Morellas. Bundled up in a gray wool cloak, she walked the streets of The Maze incognito, drawing nothing more than occasional glances.
It was a cold day, threatening rain. The wind through the narrow streets penetrated her cloak, so that by the time she reached her destination she welcomed the wine, roaring fire, and congenial atmosphere of Morella’s sitting room.
Morella was in a talkative mood, and Astra maneuvered the conversation around to the subject of gladiators. She told Morella about meeting Zanos at the arena, ending with, “I understand his fighter Clavius was one of your regular customers.”
The bordello owner didn’t take her cue. Instead, she leaned on the small table between them and studied Astra. Finally she asked, “Just what is it you want to know?”
Astra dropped her eyes in embarrassment. “Was I really that obvious?”
Morella chuckled. “I may not be a Reader, Astra, but in my business we develop an instinct for what someone wants, since he may not know how to ask for it.”
Astra nodded. “Discretion is also an important part of your business.”
“And yours,” the older woman replied. “But there’s discretion and discretion. I have no idea what you’re searching for, or why-but I trust you. Your judgment gave me back my health. Ask your questions.”
“Very well, then.” Astra leaned forward eagerly. “Was Clavius a regular customer here?”
“Twice a week, usually. Especially each night before he was scheduled to fight in the bloodgames. He didn’t believe the myth about such activities sapping his strength. In fact, he claimed it made him fight that much better.”
Astra was puzzled. “Twice a week? How could a slave afford that much… entertainment?”
Morella said, “He was a champion, Astra. The stable owners are very generous to their gladiators who bring in prizes and winnings. Such rewards give the gladiators more incentive-Zanos knows that. True, he didn’t pay for all of Clavius’ visits, but Clea favored him… and I, too, must allow some leeway to those who serve me well.”
“Does… Zanos often come here?”
“Of course he comes in for a drink sometimes, and to tease and talk with my girls. He’s a great favorite, but-” She stared at Astra with a puzzled frown. “You didn’t know? I’m sorry-you don’t live in The Maze, or follow the games, so how would you? It’s common knowledge Zanos can’t enjoy a woman’s favors. In his early arena days, he suffered a sword wound to his vitals. He won the match, but he lost-”
Morella shrugged with a sad smile. “And we, too. Such a beautiful man.”
Suddenly Astra recalled that Vortius had taunted Zanos about being impotent in their argument at the arena. Why had she forgotten that?
“Morella!”
The cry brought both women to their feet. One of the prostitutes-a dark-skinned girl named Phaeru—
met them in the doorway, her eyes wide with fear.
“It’s Clea!” she said frantically. “Her door’s locked and she won’t answer when I knock. Something’s wrong!”
Astra followed Morella and Phaeru down the corridor at a brisk pace, opening herself to Reading, no longer concerned about the privacy of possible daytime customers in the nearby rooms. When Morella began pounding on one of the doors, Astra Read past that barrier to the room’s interior.
“Morella,” she said, putting a restraining hand on the woman’s shoulder, “there is no one in that room.”
Morella glanced at her. “But it’s bolted-”
“The room is empty,” Astra said flatly. “She’s gone, and so are her belongings. She must have locked the door and left by the window. The shutters are open.”
A few minutes later, Phaeru hoisted herself through the open window and into Clea’s room. She unbolted the door and admitted Astra and Morella, who told the other girls attracted by the commotion to stay in the corridor.
Astra shivered as she closed the door, cutting off the babble of questions. The room was as cold as the outdoors, the fire of its hearth long dead.
“I don’t understand it!” Morella exclaimed as she closed and locked the shutters. “What could have happened? I thought Clea was happy here.”
There was no sign of a struggle, but the room held
only its furnishings, no sign of personal possessions. It appeared that Clea had left on her own, but—
Something. A feeling… not unlike an odor. Something in the air that Astra’s powers could “smell.”
A sense of fear. No-deeper than fear.
“Clea left here in a great hurry,” the Reader announced, “and in terror.”
“Terror?” Morella asked. “Terror of what? Of whom?”
“Her last customer,” Astra heard herself say, the wild talent of Reading the past of an object or place taking over her mind. To some degree, she had every talent possible to a Reader, but this one rarely manifested. It felt very strange-as if she were inventing what she said as she spoke, yet did not know what words would come next. “Who was the last person to be with Clea?”
Both Morella and Phaeru frowned, trying to remember.
“I’ll have to check my records,” the bordello owner said.
“Another thing,” Astra continued. “Did Clavius have a favorite? Did he always request Clea?”
Morella stared at her.“Yes… every time.”
Astra left Morella’s feeling perplexed. Each question answered seemed to raise a dozen more.
Corruption, she supposed, was to be expected in The Maze, but the mental atmosphere of the brothel was terrify-ingly like the feelings she had Read from Tressa. Could there be a connection-?
“Changing professions, Astra?”
She jumped, startled, as Zanos materialized from the alley next to the bordello. “I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that!”
“Why, I thought it was impossible to sneak up on a Reader,” he said in mock surprise.
Indeed, the only people invisible to a Reader’s inner sight were the savage Adepts-when that chill-ing thought touched her, she focused her powers on him. As before, she could easily Read his surface thoughts and emotions. No, he was not an Adept. Whatever secret he hid, that was not it.
“I–I guess I had my mind on other things,” she said as he fell in step beside her. “I was on my way to your villa-but- You were waiting for me
, weren’t you?” Could the man be an unidentified Reader? It was theoretically possible for someone of very limited powers to slip through the screenings given every child in the empire, developing a minor talent at a later age.
Zanos merely smiled.
“All right-how did you know I was in there?”
His smile became a grin. “I told you-I keep informed about everything in The Maze. You were seen going into Morella’s, so I decided to escort you back-in case you walk under some more scaffolding,”
he added placatingly.
So much for special powers. “Very funny,” she said, swallowing with difficulty. Talking in the cold air was irritating her throat. But I’ve never known a male nonReader to be so friendly with me before.
Just then the lowering clouds burst, releasing torrents of cold rain. People in the streets ran for shelter.
The Academy was over a mile away.
“Lets go back to Morella’s,” Astra said, pulling a fold of her cloak over her head.
“No, I have a better idea, ‘ Zanos said, putting a guiding arm around her shoulders. “Come with me.”
His villa was indeed closer, but by the time they reached it-just as the rain stopped, of course-Astra felt the wet penetrating even her woolen cloak.
Zanos’ servants met them at the door. The young woman, Lanna, escorted Astra into a room where a most welcome fire was waiting on the hearth. Brooking no protests, Lanna soon had Astra out of her wet clothes, toweled dry, and wrapped in a warm robe-but even so, Astra was seized with a fit of sneezing that shook her whole body.
I’m definitely getting my annual cold, Astra thought miserably. Her face was hot, her hands and feet cold, and her throat was getting drier and more painful by the moment.
As if in response to her thought, the manservant, Ard, brought in herb tea. “Zanos will rejoin you shortly, Magister,” he announced as he placed the tray before her.
“Thank you,” she croaked, wishing she had lemon and honey to mix with the tea. Still, the hot drink soothed her throat as Lanna seated her on soft cushions with her back to the fire and unbraided her hair, combing it out to dry.
The luxurious attention felt strange, but Lanna’s touch was unobtrusive, and it was pleasant not to have to fend for herself when she did not feel well.
She looked around the room. It was conservatively decorated in the finest of furnishings and fabrics.
Missing something, she realized that in the home of a gladiator she had somehow expected the outrageous-a stuffed leopard, perhaps, or at least a display of weapons on the wall. Instead, a mural that looked recently painted depicted snow-covered mountains on one wall, and the rest were bare.
In the far corner was a low table, holding several musical instruments. A large wooden flute, a five-string harp, a lute…
“Does your master play those instruments?” she asked Lanna.
“Yes, Magister. Especially the flute. Many of the street musicians come here for music parties, sharing new songs and having fun with old ones.”
Astra felt a twinge of jealousy, for the music curriculum at the Academy left little room for creativity or
“fun.” Portia preferred that only the classics be taught, discouraging experimentation or improvisation until Astra had enlisted the aid of Master Quantus to persuade her that if no one was allowed to experiment, there would be no works from this generation worthy to become classics.
Sorrow at the reminder of her loss made Astra blink, her sore throat tightening for a moment. She took another sip of tea, and then, to get her mind off the dead musician, she asked Lanna if she might examine the lute.
It was a fine old instrument, but sadly out of tune. Astra carefully tightened the strings, each to its proper pitch, and began to play one of her own compositions. It was contemplative, yet simple-something she often played when she was thinking her way through a problem.
When she finished, she looked up to find Zanos watching from the doorway. This time she knew she hadn’t Read him because she had been concentrating on something else-no magic, no mystery.
“Very nice,” he said as he entered. He picked up the flute, then joined her by the fire, reclining on a large pillow. “You never mentioned that you are a musician-and a very good one.”
“Thank you,” she replied, suppressing a cough. “I didn’t know you played. Lanna tells me you hold music parties.”
“Yes-the professionals put up with my playing,” he said wryly. “As a boy I spent much more time practicing swordsmanship than music, and now that I have time for music I’m too old to develop great skill.”
Lanna put the pins back into Astra’s rebraided hair, and quietly left the room. Alone with Zanos, Astra found herself once again examining her feelings about him. Why should I feel uneasy? she asked herself.
He seems to want to be my friend. Surely I could Read any ulterior motive. But part of the tension she felt was coming from Zanos, she realized. He was smiling at her as she tunelessly strummed the lute, but a part of his mind was studying her with great curiosity.
Would it be wise to tell him what she’d discovered at Morella’s?
Suddenly he put the flute to his lips and began playing a tune she found vaguely familiar. Without thinking, she began to harmonize on the lute. The tension faded as their musical talents merged into a single entity.
On the second go-round, the song took on a vitality of its own, bringing Astra a joy she had never known before. Zanos was wrong to deprecate his talent-he had a natural vigor, a perfect sense of rhythm, and an inventive style.
Astra’s spirit soared with the music’s intensity, and she Read outward almost without being aware of it.
Her powers focused on Ard and Lanna, who were in the hall outside-dancing to the music! Her smile broadened as she “watched’ them and felt their shared pleasure. The movements were a romance for them, expressing love for each other-Other minds intruded. Male Readers!
Astra abruptly stopped playing, causing Zanos to do the same. Her throat tightened painfully as she said,
“You’re about to have two more guests.” She jumped to her feet. “Two male Readers. Magisters. Zanos, we mustn’t see each otherin fact, I’d rather they didn’t know I was here. “
“I understand, ” he said, now also on his feet. “Go into the kitchen. “
Suppressing a coughing fit, Astra merely nodded as she put down the lute and quickly left the room. She shielded her mind as best she could. All she could do now was hope that the two Magisters wouldn’t bother to scan the villa.
Their names were Darien and Primus. Their voices carried from the entry hall to the kitchen just loudly enough for Astra to overhear without Reading. Zanos did not invite them into the comfortable music room, she noted.
“We know you must be looking forward to the wrestling season, Zanos,” Darien was saying. “It will give you a chance to recover from your losses in the gladiatorial games.”
“And what does that have to do with you Readers?” Zanos asked, although his tone of voice suggested he already knew.
“We’re here to protect you from further losses,” Primus said glibly. “You want to be certain all your wrestlers are healthy and fit to compete. Magister Darien and I have the duty of Reading the health of the wrestlers this season.”
So, Astra realized, another part of the corruption puzzle: extortion.
“And just how much would it cost to make sure my wrestlers are judged healthy?” Zanos asked quietly.
“Merely ten marks of gold,” Darien replied.
“For each of us,” Primus added.
Zanos laughed-a loud, hearty laugh that astonished both men. “I hear that when one of you Readers gets injured, any other Readers near you suffer the pain,” he said. “Is that right? Good-then I only have to beat one of you, for both of you to fully understand my answer-”
Astra Read Zanos’ hand grab Primus’ throat, hard enough to terrify him. The gladiator shoved the Reader toward the door. Darien got there first,
opened the door, and fled into the street. Zanos pushed Primus through the open doorway and watched in satisfaction as the Reader fell on the wet cobbles, then scrambled to his feet, following his colleague.
“You’ll pay for this indignity, Zanos!” Primus screamed as he backed away from the villa, shaking his fist.
“You’ll pay dearly!”
The gladiator didn’t reply, just closed the door. But as he bolted it and reentered the music room, Astra Read anger mixed with fear. She rejoined him, noting how grim he looked.
“I knew they’d be coming sooner or later,” he told her. “Lakus, my former owner, told me last year that the Readers wait until a stable owner has tasted
prosperity-and wants to keep it-before they start demanding money.”
Astra blinked. “Did you think I was-?”
“Involved in that? No,” he replied, “or you wouldn’t be trying to help me. You did say earlier that you were coming to tell me something you discovered at Morella’s. What was it?”
“I think I found out how Clavius was given the white lotus,” she told him. “Clea, one of Morella’s girls, was Clavius’ favorite. And now she’s disappeared. Her last customer was someone called Varan-”
Zanos shook his head. “You’re on the wrong trail,” he said firmly. “Varan is a harmless old man who drinks too much. No one could trust him to be sober enough to do his part in a conspiracy. Clea probably got a message after Varan left. I understand what you’re thinking-Clea was paid to give Clavius white lotus in his wine whenever he visited her… until that last time before his final match.”
“Yes,” Astra nodded, coughing. “The exertion of combat used up the last of the drug in his bloodstream.
Then his body failed him at the critical moment, and Metrius was able to kill him.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Zanos said. “Clavius’ death, Clea’s disappearance, two Readers coming here today-all of it is part of the same plot… a plot too big for me to fight.”
“Too big for you to fight alone,” Astra corrected. “You need help from others.”
He looked at her, puzzled. “What others? Vortius and his friends have half the city in their grip.”