Thru nodded. He would have expected no less, and it was good to hear that the officials were lazy. But clearly, he would have to be ready to leave in a hurry. The safety of the great tower was an illusion. Certain preparations would be necessary.
"I see. Thank you for warning me, and again, many thanks for your aid. I owe you my life."
"My friend, I sense that you would have done the same thing for me, were I to show myself at your door, exhausted with hunters on my trail."
"If I ever return to my own land, I will tell everyone about the kind Eccentric who helped me survive."
"That's very good of you, very good."
"And I wonder if I could have the use of a razor?"
The man stared at him for a moment before understanding came into his eyes.
"Oh, why, yes, of course, of course. And if they do actually show up you'll just slip away, will you?"
"Well, it would be best if they did not find me here."
"Yes, probably right about that. Well, they probably won't bother. But if they do, let me say that it's been a pleasure to have you stay here. Truth to tell, I see nobody at all to talk to, and you've been a patient listener." The man grinned, Thru was impelled to reach out, and they clasped hands warmly.
The next day Thru opened up the roof, removed the rotten patches of thatch, and cut out the beam that had rotted underneath. A good selection of tools were kept in the cellar. Axes, adzes of various sizes, good saws and hammers, drills. There were also supplies of wooden pegs and rope, pitch and gum. Metal, of course, was too scarce in the world of Arna to be used for nails.
Before nightfall, he had rigged up a frame to support a cover of canvas for the night. The Eccentric climbed the tower the next morning to inspect the work. He found Thru replacing the beam.
"You have great skill in this kind of work."
"Thank you, but I am not so skilled. I learned it all from my father, who is indeed skilled, and that helps a lot."
"Well, you've done more in a day than I would have expected in three from the workmen they usually send up here."
"Thank you, but aren't those workers slaves?"
"Yes, of course. Free men don't work in this way, not here."
"So they are not working for their own gain in any way?"
"Well, if they don't work they'll be whipped!"
"So they have to work, but I expect they work very slowly."
"Yes, that is the usual complaint." And suddenly the man gave a vigorous nod as if this simple realization had never crossed his mind before.
"Yes," he said. "You are right. They don't work hard because they are slaves."
Perhaps it hadn't, thought Thru, so blind was Shasht to such aspects of its own culture.
In the afternoon Thru put up fresh roofing boards and replaced the canvas cover. Working in that high, lonely spot, with the bare world spread out below him, Thru felt a strange sense of exaltation. He was alone, deep in an alien world, and he was not exactly free from danger. For the moment he felt alive and imbued with purpose. He would survive. He would go home. He would not die in this alien land. Somehow he would get to the sea and steal a boat.
That evening they dined on the usual fare, the hard biscuit, the looga beans, and the hot red paste. As always the Eccentric grumbled to himself as he ate. Thru ignored the Eccentric and thought about the thatching of the roof. He had worked with reed stems before, though his father preferred to thatch with bush stalk. He would need to carefully recall the techniques for stemming and bunching. A different pattern was required than one would use for bush stalk.
Suddenly the Eccentric broke into these thoughts with a question.
"I have been thinking about what you told me about your religion, my fur-covered friend. You said you have no Gods, no Goddesses either."
"We do not have such things. We speak to the Spirit only."
"But how can you speak to something that is only a spirit. If it has no personality."
"'Personality' is only something you invent. The Spirit is everywhere, in everything. It is subtle, but huge. It rules the universe, but we cannot normally sense its presence."
"Hmmmm. The 'Spirit' sounds very vague to my ears. There's nothing to get hold of, no image, no figure of the God."
"It is not necessary to give an image to the spirit."
"Well, I might agree with you. I was never the most religious of men. But our religious thinkers say that men are special, that we are only temporarily part of the world. Free men, that is, not slaves or women. Free men when they die are supposed to go to heaven and sit with the Great God."
Thru shook his head in dismay.
"I do not understand such things. You were born into this world, and you have lived all your life within it. How can you be beyond it?"
"Well, because I am Man and I am blessed by the Gods. The Gods created Man in their image. The Gods look after men and are worshiped in return."
Thru did not tell the man that the mots of the Land had been created by the High Men.
"I have seen your temple in the city. I know what they do there."
After a moment or two of silence, the man shifted, embarrassed, perhaps.
"Ah, yes, well, then you know how it is with us. The cult of He Who Eats fulfills something in the people's heart. The folk love the rituals of the temple. All the seats are always filled."
"You admit then that men enjoy the spectacle of such slaughter?"
"Yes. It is true, there are many who do. But that is not all there is to us. The human spirit is capable of much more. We have advanced all the arts to the highest levels. Can your people match our sculptors? Our painters? Our embroiderers? You should see the great Chorales, when thousands of singers gather to sing the hymns of the Great God. And then there are the theaters! Such comedy, such tragedy, all enacted on the stage."
Thru nodded as he heard this passionate defense of Shashti society.
"We have artists, too. We are not so different in that regard."
"Well, well, well." The Eccentric took another look at Thru. "Well, of course, you are men of a sort, different from us, but still men."
Thru felt his eyes bulge, but he controlled his anger.
"We are not men," he said firmly. "We live within the world, we tend to it and water it, men destroy it."
"Yes, yes, but you produce art. You can speak good Shashti, all of these things indicate that you really are men."
"No, we are not men."
And on this point, Thru would not be swayed.
The next day Thru completed the thatching and was collecting the tools when he heard a noise down below. He looked out the window and saw a group of men at the gate, arguing with the Eccentric.
Thru left the tools where they were and sped down the stairs to the ground floor. He took down the emergency pack he had prepared and slipped out the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The message had come an hour before dusk. A soldier knocking at the door of the house, the whispers in the hallway, and the feet hurrying to her room. Simona was already awake and ready when the serving girl handed the envelope through the door. Everything then took on enormous significance: the huge seal bearing the letter "A," the knife to break the wax, a candle to read by. And Simona already knew what the message must mean.
Aeswiren warned her to leave the city at once. The time of danger that he had spoken of had come. She sensed that it had come sooner than the Emperor had planned. He fought powerful enemies within his own administration and inside the temple. He expected that all would end well enough, but in the meantime he wanted Simona far from the city.
After sending a message up to Shalee, the butler of the house at Shesh, to tell him she was coming, Simona left the city in a plain purdah wagon. She rode with four other women of good family, heading up to the mountains with their maids. The women rode in the main booth, on well-padded seats. The maids were crammed in the back section, sitting on the luggage. Everyone was going up-country for the coming
Festival of First Snow and, of course, the big topic of conversation was whether there would be snow or not. The Almanacs did not agree this year, and that was a big source of comment, even passionate argument, for some of the women were advocates of one or the other Almanac.
Simona tried to pay attention and to keep up her end of this conversation, but she found it hard not to think about more important matters.
First was her overpowering concern for Nuza. She assumed that the Emperor had already taken steps to move Nuza to safety, because Simona understood that Nuza was a target for the ire of the priests. The Emperor had intimated as much, the last time they had met, a few days before.
"Nuza does not sleep here anymore" was all he had said.
Once, Simona would have offered up a prayer to the Great God. But she had lost all her faith in him, if indeed she had really ever had any. She knew of the Older Gods and she thought of them fondly, but she could not believe in them, either. When it came to the Gods, she was lost.
And so she thought of Nuza's face and hoped that she would see her again someday, when the danger was over and the Emperor was triumphant. Simona was certain that the Emperor would triumph. The power of Aeswiren III had always resonated in her life. Even now he retained that aura of strength.
But during the struggle poor Nuza would be alone, without anyone who could speak her language properly. This made Simona feel miserable.
However, she was thankful for her wonderful father. With the dawn light breaking over the city, he had struggled to wake up at her sudden appearance in his room and then had immediately granted her her wish to go up to Shesh Zob. He'd gotten up and embraced his wonderful daughter and told her that he was happy for her to get out of the city for the festival season.
"I cannot go myself, but if you go then it will serve to show that we have not forgotten our friends and relatives. It has been weighing on my conscience. For really we should go this year. Haven't been up to the Zob in years. Many old friends of Chiknulba will be there, they will want to know what happened. But, I cannot leave my work. We have designed the larger instrument, and it is now being built. I have to be there. It will be three times more powerful than the first one. We have done a great deal of work on lenses. There are strange qualities to light, properties that I cannot understand." He tapered off into silence, and she sensed that he was straining against the limits of his time. Never before had she seen the faraway look that his eyes held now.
"I understand, Papa."
"Yes, hmmm. And while you're there, you can visit the elder aunts. In particular, I mean old Lady Piggili. She was Chiknulba's favorite."
"Oh, of course, Papa, I will visit Aunt Piggili. And I will speak to the others and tell them that Mother died bravely in the distant land."
Simona bent and kissed him on the cheek, something that pressed against the line of permissible behavior in the world of Shashti purdah.
"And remember to behave with modesty, darling daughter of mine. Even in Shesh Zob we must keep up the front that we are just as traditional as the next family. We don't want to be singled out by the priests. We certainly don't want any raids by the morality squads. So remember that and be a good girl. No swimming without clothes on."
"Father! It is midwinter. I will be wearing plenty of clothes, and I certainly won't be swimming."
"Yes, yes, of course. I'm sorry, but that last incident caused us trouble in Shesh. The magistrate even sent a note of inquiry."
"Oh, Daddy, those awful people."
"They may be awful, my dear, but they have power. They can order fifty Red Tops into the Zob with the power to search every crevice to root out vice or immorality. We don't want that."
Filek's eyebrows had taken on a paternal frown for a moment.
"Of course not, Daddy."
"Good, now travel safely, offer prayers at the shrines for your mother. And write to me, tell me how everyone is. I want to know everything."
Simona left him then. In truth, she looked forward to seeing Shesh Zob. Four years had passed since she had last taken the purdah wagon to Shesh. The journey took eight or nine days, depending on the weather, even with fresh horses at every stop. And along the way the traveler would encounter a lot of big, cold inns. The worst was at Evkun, which was smoky and had the most awful food.
But, she consoled herself, at the end of the journey she would be in the country, and during the winter festival as well. It had been years since she'd had First Snow at Shesh Zob. She had such warm memories of it when she was a little girl. She remembered her mother during an intimate, mixed-sex family gathering. Because everyone was related, the women wore light veils only for covering their faces. The feasting, the singing, and the dancing! It was marvelous, and all just within the Gsekk clan. Her wonderful uncles and aunts, her favorite, Aunt Piggili, who was closely related to Mother. Aunt Piggili's wonderful high-pitched cackle and her apple pie, they were unforgettable.
And as soon as she was settled in, she was going for a ride. She hadn't ridden a horse in four years. She hoped that Silvery, her favorite mare, was still alive. Silvery had been eleven when last she'd seen her. And she wasn't going to ride sidesaddle, not Simona Gsekk. She would have her legs wrapped around the horse.
Indeed, despite the seriousness of the situation, she wanted to jump up and sing aloud. All the terrors of the tense politics of Shasht seemed left behind in the city.
Her thoughts were interrupted. One of the women was speaking to her. Simona stopped thinking of riding her horse and concentrated.
"Will you be staying in Shesh, then?" said the woman.
Simona was about to answer honestly and then checked herself. Be discreet, the Emperor had said.
"Ah, no, I will go on to the Ramp Valley. I am staying with relatives there."
"Ah, the Ramp," said the woman, dismissively. "Well, I'm afraid I shan't see you during the festival. We will be entirely taken up with festivities in the purple hills."
"Oh, the purple hills are so beautiful. How fortunate you are."
"Yes," said the woman, adjusting her ample flesh. Completely satisfied with the superior accident of her birth.
The wagon rattled on. Simona prepared herself for what she feared would be something of an ordeal.
The first night was at the Old Halt in Shojin, a dilapidated structure, with purdah quarters that were barely habitable. The bare floors had gaps, the wind whistled through the windows, barely slowed by the worn-out shutters. Dinner consisted of a weak broth, some mushrooms, and hot loaves of bread. Simona was cold all night.
In the succeeding days they rattled over the cobbles of the imperial highway. To either side stretched the grim little towns of the valley, an endless expanse of mud-brick houses. Dust rose above the plain, grey clouds swept in, and a cold rain lashed the road.
That night they stayed in much better conditions at Tencourt. The inn was warm and served an excellent farmer's pie for dinner, with good ale and a roaring fire. Simona slept much better that night, though she woke in the morning from a dream about Nuza. Nuza had been waving good-bye, as if she were never coming back. Simona did not know what the dream meant and was afraid to think about the possibilities. But worries about Nuza kept returning.
That day, the third, the ladies in the carriage were quiet. They'd exhausted the conversation in the first two days. Now everyone knew who everyone was and had compared family trees. The hierarchy had been established. For the moment this knowledge inhibited conversation.
The journey continued thus. Most halts were in old pensions where the shutters banged in the wind and rain leaked through the worn-out roofing. Three days in a row it rained, which caused a day of delay at Trelsay, where the road crossed the river and the canal.
Then things improved, until Evkun. Looking out on the bleak rows of ocher brick housing, Simona felt a familiar desolation in her soul. The hinterland was crowded with people, and most of them lived in squalor. In Simona's world these people hardly existed. They were not involved in
the chorales, they did not attend the theaters, they were not part of the society of Shasht. They were but a step away from slavery, ekeing out their existence in these wretched alleys, swarming with their children.
That night she heard the sounds of distant struggles. Men fighting in small groups after drinking fiery bashool. Shouts, cries, sometimes running feet, followed the sounds of beatings. Howls of agony rent the sky, sobbing away to nothing.
Simona slept poorly again and slept sitting up much of the next day.
And then, at last, they were in Shesh, and the lovely spires of the temple rose above the valley in which the town reposed. They crossed the canal again and entered the town proper. The stone buildings with their white plaster facade were an immediate contrast to the mud brick of the river towns below.
They lodged that night at the Oak Tree Inn, a building boasting beams several hundred years old. Fortunately, it was a prosperous place and in good repair. Simona slept well and was up early. She left her companions of the journey behind. They would scarcely miss her, she hadn't said much to anyone for most of the trip. But having said she was going to the Ramp Valley, she had to take a different wagon from theirs to get to the purple hills. So she ordered a two-person carriage, made purdah proper by being completely enclosed with a single door that was easily bolted shut. Lake of the Woods was fifteen miles away, and it would take much of the day to make the trip.
From the narrow window slits she watched the pretty hills of Shesh passing by. Long stone walls flanked the roads, boasting gracious gates. They were in the zobbi countryside now. There was traffic, supply wagons for the most part, and the road was in excellent condition. Indeed, they passed slave gangs working on the roads in several locations. The county administrators were well aware of the high priority required for the roads leading to the grand zobbi and so kept them in good condition.
Bare trees covered the hills, except for the conifers that began to proliferate in the higher elevations. After the treeless plain these were a pleasant sight. Her spirits improved continuously. Simona now trembled with excitement. At Shesh Zob she could stand outside in the open air, under the sun, and twirl and shout and be alive. The whole suffocating burden of purdah would be removed. She could barely restrain her eagerness to be outside and free.
The Shasht War Page 29