by Sharon Lee
Today, however, he hesitated.
"No one else has been here, have they? Asking questions? Trying to buy the Trident? Have they?"
There was fear in the moist eyes. Witness brought his hand up in the gesture of Truthtelling. "No one."
The fat man stared, long and hard, finally nodded his head and moved to the door. "All right then. But you keep an eye out, all right? It'll go bad with you, if somebody steals that thing from under your nose."
Mere sound, signifying nothing. Witness bowed and the fat man slipped out the door, looking both ways with a stealth clumsy enough to make a fond father laugh.
Sighing, Witness turned back to the larger room, eyes straying to the magnificence of the Smiter, reposing in its Center. He checked for a moment, and his private heart rose, singing, in his breast.
Crouched upon Shlorba's Smiter, Mighty Weapon of the Mightiest Warrior, Destroyer of God; and undisturbed by any of the magics that warded lesser creatures and left their small husks in a litter on the floor beneath the Center, was a spider.
Witness for the Telios walked slowly backward across the room, eyes on the Smiter and on the spider sitting there, so bold. So bold.
He walked backward until his knees touched the study-chair, and then he sat, prepared to Witness all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The room was below ground level, windowless and large. Whether it was in UpTown, DownTown, near the Port or by the river Corbinye prayed Number Fifteen knew, for the only certainty she held was that they remained upon Henron.
The car windows had been opaqued; and the driver had exerted some ingenuity to confuse her sense of direction, so that they drove for more than an hour, east and west, north and south. When they finally came to rest, he of the scowling brows made a sign to another of the troop, who snapped forward in the crowded passenger bay and pinned Corbinye's arms to her side. She gritted her teeth and made no struggle against this indignity, though she nearly cried out when the blindfold came down over her eyes.
Sightless, she was dragged along by both arms, led stumbling up three short steps and quick-marched down a long expanse of carpeting. There was a brief, downward ride in a lift, another march, this time over a floor that rang with their footsteps—tile or stone, Corbinye thought—and the hiss of a door mechanism.
Her guards pushed her then, and the body failed her, so she crashed to her knees upon plush and cried out even as her hand came up and tore the blinders away.
Uninterrupted white walls; carpeting like a field of snow, stretching away in all directions. Pale blue chair; white lacquer desk; silver reading lamp on a white wood table. A silver tray holding four blue mugs painted with dainty white flowers, and a crystal decanter.
Pillows—pale blue, rose, dark white—heaped like barrows above the snow.
Corbinye came slowly to her feet, caught a glimmer of movement from the corner of the eye and spun.
The other woman spun, as well, dropping cleanly enough into the crouch; flipping the long braid behind her back with a head-jerk as her hand dropped toward right boot-top and the knife she no doubt wore there. A competent opponent, but slow, and handicapped doubly—once, by heavy Grounder bones; twice, by the very voluptuousness of her figure.
The black eyes were opened wide, betraying concern; yet the face showed cool determination. Well enough.
It was only then that she recognized the clothes, the braid, the face—and snapped erect, went a dozen steps forward, reached out and touched her own mirrored hand, cool and very smooth.
"Aiiee . . ." she breathed and let her hand drop away. Number Fifteen stirred in her pocket, spider claws pricking skin comfortingly through fabric. She made as if to bring him out; checked at the slight sound and spun once more, this time toward the door.
Saxony Belaconto came with none to guard her, a plain silver band held in one hand. At the room's center, she stopped and bowed, very slightly.
"Corbinye Faztherot. I trust I find you well?"
"Well," she said uncompromisingly.
Amusement showed in the aquamarine eyes. "I hear from my captain that the escort I sent you was deemed insulting. Accept my apologies, for I did not intend it so."
"No," said Corbinye; "you merely did not believe that a barbarian could keep her word." She shifted. "Where is my cousin?"
Exquisite eyebrows rose. "About the business for which he was hired, I do most sincerely hope." She smiled, coldly. "And you must hope so, as well, for if he does not come to me with the item I have commissioned by tomorrow, First Dawn, your life is forfeit."
Corbinye frowned. "You tie us both with the same cord, Saxony Belaconto—I to die if he does not do as you wish; he to die if I do not."
"Are the knots undone?" The other shook her head, and held out the hand with the silver circlet. "Enough pleasantries. I have brought you this, which you are required to place upon your wrist. Do so now, and do not remove it."
She hesitated and Saxony Belaconto laughed and threw, lightly, but with enough accuracy so Corbinye was forced to fling a hand up and catch the thing to prevent it striking her face.
"Look." Saxony Belaconto had pulled one of her sleeves up, displaying the dull sheen of a bracelet very like the one Corbinye held.
"The main computer tracks all members of my household via these links. Any organic life in the house which is unlinked, the computer believes to be an enemy. And disposes of accordingly." She shoved her sleeve down. "It also registers pulse, blood chemistry, respiration—so we may be assured of your continued good health. Put the bracelet on and remove it for nothing while you are a guest here. Do you understand?"
"I understand." She slipped it over her hand, pushed—and the circlet sealed firmly around her wrist.
"Good." Saxony Belaconto turned to go. "The bedroom is through that door. You will find clothing in the dressing room; a shower and other facilities just beyond. Meals will be served here when the rest of the house dines." Her hand on the doorplate, she turned back, her smile like the thrust of an ice-knife. "I hope your stay here is extremely comfortable. Forgive me, that I cannot visit longer, but times are very busy, just now." Then she was gone.
Corbinye went over to the door and laid her hand against the plating, hissing in surprise at the slight electric shock. She went back through the white room and into the bedroom, which was all shades of gray and black, with a blood-red cover for the bed. Cautiously, she slipped Number Fifteen from her pocket and sat on the edge of the bed for a long time with the spider cupped in her hand, looking deep into its golden eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The door opened, gently as a prayer. The spider on the Smiter and Witness in the chair turned their eyes toward the slowly-widening portal. Witness, at least, held his breath.
Barely had he chided himself for this breach of duty and regained the proper distance from his heart than the door stopped its movement and a person slipped into the room.
Stealthy he was, and silent as a shadow's shadow; yet he moved with surety, with no trembling fingers or fumbled movements in the heartbeat he required to close the door and seal it.
He turned, with purpose though without haste, and looked about him—studying the place, so it seemed to Witness, and perhaps tasting of the power. His eyes—enormous and blue in a face as austere as a chief's—touched Witness; stayed for a moment; moved on. Only when he had surveyed the room entire did he go forward—quietly, calmly—to stand before the Smiter.
One slim hand beckoned the bold little spider, which jumped, scurried up the arm and vanished beneath the collar of the plain white shirt. The Seeker then stood, head bent, studying the bracelet on his right wrist. After a short time of this, he reached into a pocket, pulled out a stubby black rod, took it between both hands and stretched it until it was a slender black stick. This he passed back and forth over the Smiter, coming closer and ever closer—so close that Witness felt his private heart begin to fail—and then pulled back, nodding as he squashed the stick back into rod and r
eturned it to his pocket.
From the left sleeve came yet another spider, larger than the first, eyes vividly purple. It spun itself a silken lifeline down and, still spinning, commenced to cover the Smiter's area—over, under; over, under—in fine black silk.
The Seeker divided his attention between his wristlet and the spider's progress; nodded once more and glanced over his shoulder.
"The evening is cool and rather damp," he said neutrally, as a man may speak to a man. Witness for the Telios inclined his head.
"I hear you, O Seeker, and give thanks for the news you share."
Thin golden brows arched above those luminous, large eyes. "Just so." He returned his attention to the Smiter and the changes being wrought there.
The spider completed its last circuit and jumped to its master's hand, trailing thread behind. It paused for a moment on the man's palm, cut the silken strand and vanished beneath a sleeve-cuff.
The Seeker took the strand and carefully attached it to one of the many studs upon his bracelet; touched three others in rapid sequence—
Witness for the Telios hurled to his feet, so far forgetting duty that his heart's cry escaped his lips, and the Seeker turned, mild surprise on his grave, cool face.
"Yes?"
Witness took breath—and another—sternly chastising his private heart even as he stepped away from events, turning knowledge of the moment over to eyes and memory.
The Seeker frowned slightly; glanced over at his handiwork and then back.
"You are disturbed," he said gently, though in a tone that acknowledged such things occurred, even to those Tested and Tried. "I mean no—disrespect—to the Goddess or to her Instrument. You may tell me if I have offended."
A direct request for information could be answered—must be answered! Witness felt his private heart ease as he raised his arms in the sign of Answering Truly.
"Offense in the past has been shown by lightnings, by earth-tremor, by loss of breath and the stopping of the heart of the offender."
The Seeker glanced down at his slender self; glanced over at the blurred space of air where Shlorba's Smiter had, until a moment ago, lain; and looked back at Witness for the Telios.
"I assume offense has not been taken," he said dryly, glancing at his wrist. "It is time to be gone."
So saying, he turned and bent; the rectangle of blurred air rose in his hand and, as he stopped by the door to undo the seals, leaned against his side.
Witness for the Telios went softly to the Place where the Smiter had been; satisfied his eyes and his hands and his private heart that the place was now merely a place, and turned to follow Shlorba's Smiter, wherever and however it might go.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Seeker moved through the darkness like a lyr-cat, passing silently down the court and up a set of shallow steps. At the top, he paused to do certain things, and the door slid open before him.
He stepped within, Witness coming after.
It was less dark inside, though nowhere near light. The Seeker walked on, past the scant furnishings, through a short hall and down a long flight of stairs, bearing Shlorba's Smiter invisibly in his right hand.
As his feet touched the carpet of the room below, he called out "Light!" and light there was, illuminating every corner of a place full to overflowing with devices, instruments, keyboards and others of the diverse tools used by those who were not Bindalche.
Witness for the Telios felt his feet slow as his private heart took in this treasure-house of knowledge, near quivering in its desire; then he sternly picked up the pace, following the Seeker and the Smiter across the room to the far wall.
This was uniformly gray and set with a mosaic of tiny lights, dials, and key-studs. The Seeker stopped before the wall, rested the blurred air that was the Smiter against his hip and worked carefully at his wristlet.
The blurring writhed abruptly—and there all at once was the Smiter itself, all wrapped in spider silk, leaning nonchalant against the Seeker's side.
"Ah . . ." the Seeker murmured, and reached to touch certain keys in that mosaic before him. Carefully, then, he laid the Smiter before the wall and took the single strand of silk that had recently been attached to his bracelet and knotted it about a gray metal protrusion.
Shlorba's Smiter blurred out of existence once more.
The Seeker turned from the wall and Witness for the Telios was before him, fingers touching eye-corners, then temples, in the ages-old request.
Large eyes regarded him calmly with no flicker of understanding in their cool blue depths. Witness composed himself for speech.
"It is necessary that I understand what I have Witnessed," he said, crossing his arms over his chest; "for the Memory to rightly serve the ones who Witness after."
Understanding dawned, and a certain thoughtfulness crossed the chiefly face. He turned and gestured toward the Place that hid the Smiter.
"The computer is scrambling the light waves in the Trident's immediate area, making it difficult for human eyes to see. A limited ruse, but effective enough in the dark. If we had passed through a scanner-beam, the Trident would have been—noticed—immediately."
Witness considered. "I understand that machines have eyes which see more deeply in some instances than the eyes of men," he acknowledged, recalling his study of the fat man's culture. "In what manner does the spider silk serve?"
"As a conductor for the computer's energy."
So. The silk was the road by which the machine's thought traveled, to the confounding of the Seeker's enemies. It was well. Witness lowered his arms.
"I thank you, O Seeker. The Witnessing is made more full by your words."
Humor glimmered through the blue eyes, though the face did not warm. He bowed slightly. "I am delighted to assist." He straightened and gestured about him. "These things are not to be touched—here . . . here . . . here. You may sit on the carpet, on yon stool, or on the edge of that table. Later, if your duty permits, I will show you where food is to be found."
Witness felt his private heart sing hosanna as he copied the other's bow. Better, O twelves better! than the fat man was this young slim Seeker, with his cool face and knowing eyes! Almost, Witness allowed words of well-wishing to cross his lips, and was unaccountably dismayed that his duty did not permit him to speak so to this one.
"If you have no further questions. . .?" The Seeker waited a courteous moment, then nodded and turned away, moving smooth and sure through the wilderness of devices to a certain keyboard and screen. He hitched a hip onto the stool set before these, one foot hooked behind a rung, the other braced stoutly against the floor, reached forward and flipped switches.
The screen glowed cream, blue lines multiplying there like crystals in a salt-storm. Witness saw the Seeker frown, touch keys; nod.
"So, then . . ."
More keys touched by clever fingers—the blue lines shifted, reformed into arcane patterns of words and numerals. The Seeker snapped a toggle from left to right and the screen shimmered then steadied into a gridwork of absolutely equal squares, stretching to infinity.
Deliberately, the Seeker's fingers played the keys, drawing letters within the grid. Paused. Played again, briefly.
"Anjemalti?" The woman's voice was bright, fevered; gladness sheathing fear like gold over lead. "They have brought me to her house."
The keys clicked. I KNOW, Witness read in the screen.
"Yes," the woman said, slowly; "I suppose that you do." There was a pause. Then, rapidly, as fear overtook all: "Anjemalti—do not come here. She means to kill you, whether you fulfill her task or no. My ship is on Hotpad Sixteen—Hyacinth. She's a sweet ship, cousin, I swear to you—equal and better to any! Palm-sealed to my ID, but certainly you can contrive—"
CORBINYE, the Seeker wrote across the screen. COUSIN DO NOT
"Anjemalti, it is to throw your life away! Surely honor cannot compel you to deal as an equal with a rogue Grounder! There is nothing for you to gain by completing—"
"I am half-dead in any case!" the woman's voice cried and the Seeker shouted, "No!" as his fingers flew over the keys.
NO NO NO LIVE CORBINYE TRUST ME IT WILL BE WELL YOU MUST LIVE CORBINYE SWEAR IT
Silence.
CORBINYE SWEAR TO ME THAT YOU WILL LIVE
"Corbinye?" the Seeker murmured and leaned forward, eyes piercing, as if he would make of the grid-covered screen a window into whatever place the woman was kept prisoner.
"I swear that I will try to live, Anjemalti." Infinite shades of sadness echoed in her voice. "I beg you will do the same."
I AM NOT A SUICIDE he assured her. ONE MORE NIGHT CORBINYE HAVE COURAGE
"Take care, cousin. Remember Hyacinth, should madness pass."
The Seeker smiled slightly, hands flickering over the keys. THE CREW WERE EVER SINGLE MINDED
The pause this time was charged with something undefined and powerful. "So we are," the woman agreed. "Ship and stars guide you, Anjemalti."
SHIP AND STARS CORBINYE
The grid went dark.
The young Seeker sat a moment, shoulders sagging. Then he straightened and rose, bustling here and there among his instruments and devices.
Witness for the Telios sat carefully on the edge of the table, dividing his attention between the Smiter, invisibly asleep. the restless Seeker, and the wonder of his private heart.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The spider ceased spinning, blinked its golden eyes twice and began to backtrack over the white rug, swallowing black silk words.
Corbinye whirled, going from knees to feet in a vicious snap. The woman in the mirror performed the move with grace, body eloquent of snarling, efficient energy. Corbinye glowered at her, strode forward three heavy, Grounder strides—and spat.
"Dirt-grubber!" she shouted, watching pink, and then red, mantle the fair cheeks, as the black eyes widened in a parody of true, Crew eyes. "Worthless, heavy, bundle of meat! No muscle, no speed, no finesse—you make me sick!" She caught her rage, grappled with it as if with a live thing, no little dismayed at its strength.