Now he tried again to warn Orb. He caught her arm and squeezed, somewhat harder than would ordinarily have been necessary. She paused, looking at him, realizing that something was amiss. He made a motion with his head, signaling toward the region from which they had come.
"Time to go home?" she asked, and he nodded affirmatively.
"Very well," she said. "Just let me find one more thing."
He tried to signal no, but she didn't understand. Rather than make a scene, he waited, though the ring was pulsing warning.
Orb completed her purchase, and they started back. Mym guided her along a route they had not taken before, hoping to give the thuggees the slip, but soon he saw the subtle pursuit developing. They were watching, closing in-three, four, five of them. They wanted the money the woman evidently had to spend and her body, and they were not the type to leave witnesses behind. The Kingdom had made an effort to eliminate the criminal class, now called the thuggees, though these were not actually connected to the original guild of assassins. They were just common cutthroats, always on the prowl for vulnerable wealth, not trained killers but dangerous when they banded together.
Mym's teeth bared in an unconscious snarl. He hated the thuggees, of whatever stripe! But he had not brought a weapon, for complex reasons that now seemed invalid, and the fact that Orb was the obvious target made it worse. Alone, he could have given them the slip, but there was no way she could do that. This was going to be ugly.
What way? he demanded of the ring in his pocket. Then he ran through a mental list of alternatives, beginning with straight flight and ending with mayhem. The ring squeezed at mayhem. Where? he thought next.
The ring signaled as they passed a deserted alley. This was the best place to meet the thuggees.
Mym did not question this; he trusted the ring. He took Orb by the elbow and guided her into it.
The thuggees were jubilant at this break. This was exactly what they wanted-the prey secluded, so that the dirty work could be done without witnesses. Killing could be accomplished quickly, but it took longer to rape a living woman-and it wasn't any fun when she was dead-because they had to take turns. Here in the alley, setting two of their number as guards for the occasion-
They closed, one of them blocking off the far exit, the other four advancing from behind.
Mym took Orb to a niche between buildings, where some dilapidated crates were piled. "Hide!" he directed, his stutter not manifesting during his distraction. Seeing the tough-looking men, she obeyed, frightened. Now Mym stood before the crates, holding a board with a nail protruding, facing the thuggees.
The five closed in. As one, they laughed, pointing at his inadequate weapon. They were armed with knives of various descriptions, and their leader had a short sword.
Mym bit his tongue, deliberately. In a moment he tasted the blood. His eyes glazed, his breathing quickened, and his dark skin paled.
"Hey, he's freezing!" one of the thuggees exclaimed in the native tongue.
"Trying to imitate a berserker," another said, unconcerned.
The blood in Mym's mouth continued to flow. His body began to shake. The breath whistled out through drawn lips.
"Well, I'll berserk him!" the leader said, stepping forward and raising his sword. "He's shaking in his boots!"
A thin line of reddish froth appeared at Mym's mouth.
"Hey, I don't know-" another thuggee began, worried.
Then Mym moved. The board dropped.
The leader saw no more than a blur, before his sword was expertly .wrenched from his grasp. Then that sword whirled demonically, slicing at the thuggee to the right. A line appeared at his neck, below the left ear, and he collapsed. The sword lifted and came down on the head of the thuggee farthest to the left, splitting his face open from forehead to nose.
The leader, disarmed, gaped. "He is-" he began. Then the sword whistled across with such force that his head lifted from his neck and tumbled to the ground before the body fell.
The two remaining thuggees tried to turn and run, but one was caught by a thrust to the bowel, and the other, starting away, got the point of the sword through his skull from the rear. The tip of the point showed through at the front as he fell.
Mym glanced back at the crates, where Orb still hid. He pondered a moment, then reached for his ring again. Can she handle this?
The ring squeezed twice.
Best way to get her through? He ran through several notions in his mind and stopped when the ring squeezed once. He had his plan.
Mym drew out a silk handkerchief he normally used in his mime act. He went to the woman. Orb's head was ducked down, and she was shivering, evidently afraid of the violence and of what was about to happen to him and to her.
"V-v-v-v-veil," he got out, giving her the handkerchief. She glanced up. "You mean-to hide my face? That won't fool the robbers!"
She did not know they were dead. "Qu-qu-quickly," he said. "Ey-ey-eyes too."
Frightened and mystified, she tied the handkerchief across her face, covering even her eyes. Then he urged her up and out of the crates and guided her from the alley.
Once they were clear of it, he removed the veil. "But why didn't they follow?" she asked, perplexed anew.
He shrugged, allowing her to think that the matter was too complicated for an immediate stuttering explanation. They hurried on back to the group's camp.
There was an ugly taste in Mym's mouth, and not from the blood he had invoked. He had deceived Orb, and he did not like that one bit. But he believed the ring; she was not ready for the truth. He had done what was necessary to save her life; that knowledge had to suffice.
2 - PRINCE
They returned safely, and Orb secluded herself in her wagon to recover from the shock of the near escape. Mym got busy on routine tasks, helping organize for the evening's show.
They had several shows at different sites in Ahmadabad, because in this city a few blocks put them into an entirely new neighborhood, generating a fresh audience. The take was excellent, and news of Orb's singing spread so that the master received an invitation to do a private showing for a noble. Stunned, the master accepted.
All were delighted-except Mym. He went privately to the master. "Sir, I cannot perform before nobility," he said, though not nearly as smoothly as rendered.
The master heaved his paunch about and focused directly on Mym. "Do you know, I had a visit from the police," he said. "There has been a particularly bad bunch of thuggees operating in this region, leaving a messy trail of dead. Some officers even checked this group, a while back, but of course we harbored no thuggees."
Mym nodded, knowing what was coming. How much had the master pieced together?
"It seems that a beautiful woman had an encounter with them recently, but she managed to escape," the master continued. "The police realized from the description that she was from our group, so they came to inquire. Indeed it was our Orb, and she confirmed that the encounter had taken place. Five brutish men, armed with knives and a sword. But it seems that you managed to dissuade them and escape unharmed."
Mym nodded again, for once glad that he was unable to speak with facility.
"The five were found slaughtered in an alley. The pattern of their bodies is typical of that left by a berserker warrior. You know-the kind who tastes blood and goes crazy."
Mym shrugged.
"But something doesn't match," the master said. "A true berserker would have slaughtered the woman too, then gone out through the city and killed and killed until overwhelmed by a force of twenty armed, trained men.
This did not happen."
Mym waited.
"Orb reports that you had her don your handkerchief to hide her face and that you led her out of that alley. She doesn't know how you persuaded the thuggees not to follow. There was no one else-just you."
Again Mym shrugged.
"Now I never heard of a temporary berserker," the master said. "Obviously you are not one; you weren't even armed. So I must
assume that either a berserker happened upon the premises at that moment, destroyed the thuggees, and expired from a lucky return-thrust before he got to you-which makes no sense, as no other body was found-or that a highly trained warrior who hated thuggees did the deed."
He had obviously caught on. Mym's hand went to his inner pocket, and his finger found the ring. Lost? he thought.
The ring squeezed twice.
"You are very handy with knives," the master was saying. "But I have never seen you juggle anything except weapons. This suggests that you were never an entertainer before. You merely have learned to handle weapons with an extraordinary facility. I can think of only one class of person who would have access to training like that a noble."
Still Mym waited.
"And now you tell me you cannot perform before a noble. Because you would be recognized?"
Mym nodded.
"Well, let me tell you something about concealment," the master said briskly. "The best concealment is that which the observer never suspects. That is the secret of the legerdemain I practice. Misdirection. The very last place any noble would expect a noble to be hiding would be onstage before other nobles. I want you to do your act; I guarantee you will be secure from discovery."
Mym shook his head negatively.
"Ah, but there is the stutter," the master said, as if just remembering it. "Now it occurs to me that that might indeed be an identifying trait. I have no deep knowledge of the nobility here; I travel too much to keep current. I have heard of no stuttering noble, but that may be just my ignorance. Suppose we were to add some words to your mime act? Under your mask and makeup, no one can see your mouth move. If at key points a voice-mimic behind the stage were to throw his voice, so that it seemed to emanate from you . . .?"
Mym, vastly relieved, reached out and clasped his hand.
"But though there is no need for me to know details that do not concern me," the matter concluded, "I think there is one who must be advised. I would not have her hurt for all the world, and nobles are notoriously casual about romantic liaisons. I think, before things proceed further-"
Mym nodded affirmatively. It was indeed time.
They talked, as the caravan waited out one of the monsoon downpours north of Ahmadabad. It was pleasant in Orb's wagon as the sound of the rain beat loud, for her covering did not leak the way some of the others did. First she told him her history, for she wanted him to know about her. She had been born in Ireland twenty years before and raised with a kind of sister she called Luna. Mym wasn't quite clear on the relationship, but it seemed that Orb's parents were Luna's grandparents, and that the two girls seemed very like twins. Luna painted with a magical brush she had received from the Mountain King, and Orb sang with the harp from the same source. It was the golden harp that extended her power, so that the audience could experience it. Her father had had the same talent, but it only manifested when he was touching the person to whom he sang.
But what was she doing here in India? Mym wanted to know. For it was obvious that she could enchant audiences anywhere in the world and had no need to wander in such uncivilized reaches as these.
Well, she was looking for a song, she explained. It was titled the Llano, and it was the most marvelous song ever to be sung on Earth, but it was highly elusive. For one thing, it was very challenging to sing, so that only a few people in each generation could perform it successfully. She thought she might be able to sing it well enough and wanted to try. For another thing, it was said to be the most compellingly lovely song that the human voice was capable of rendering, and that intrigued her too. But mainly, she believed that her destiny lay with the song, for whoever traced it to its source would discover the avenue to a wholly new fulfillment. Orb, dissatisfied with her mundane existence, sought that fulfillment.
"I have heard of it," Mym said haltingly. And he explained how the manifestation of the Llano had been said to accomplish miraculous things. Once a young woman had loved a great warrior, but she was of lesser birth, and the warrior was not aware of her. So one day she sang him a segment of the Llano, and he was instantly captivated and loved her from that moment.
Orb adored the story. "Of course it couldn't happen in real life," she said regretfully.
"It could happen," he assured her.
She looked at him, understanding. "I-but of course you're not a prince." She was trying to mitigate the possible cruelty of the situation. '^Not that that matters, Mym. I-have been growing very fond of you. Even-"
He cut her off before she could say anything she might prefer to retract later. "I-I-I-I-" But the stutter overcame him completely; he could not get the words out.
Orb put her hand on his. "It doesn't matter, Mym."
He shook his head. It did matter! But he couldn't say it.
Then she brightened. "I have heard that sometimes Mym, can you sing?"
"S-s-s-sing?" he asked blankly.
"It invokes a different portion of the brain, as I understand it. So some stutterers can sing clearly, even though they can't talk. Come, try it; sing with me." And she launched into one other Irish songs: "0 Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling, I From glen to glen, and down the mountain side."
Doubtfully, he joined her: "And from the trees, the leaves, the leaves are falling, it is you, 'tis you must go and I must bide."
They both paused, astonished. He had not only managed to sing it without stuttering, he had sung it clearly and well.
"You could make it as a singer!" she exclaimed. "I-I-I-I could!" he agreed, awed.
"No-sing it," she urged him. "You don't need a song; just hold the note, any note."
"I can!" he sang in a level note.
"Now you can say anything you want to!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Mym, I'm so pleased!" And she flung her arms about his neck and kissed him.
He let her do it, but did not respond. First he had to acquaint her with his own history, and he wasn't sure she would be pleased.
"I am not what I seem," he sang on a single note, reveling in this sudden new ability while he dreaded what he had to say. "I am a prince."
Orb sobered rapidly. "Go on," she said with sudden reserve.
In singsong, he did. He was the second son of the Rajah of Gujarat and had been raised in a palace, his every whim obliged. His older brother was slated to become the new Rajah when their aging father died. Mym's real name was a complex construction that translated, loosely, as "Pride of the Kingdom." Of course, he explained ruefully, he had been named before it was realized that he had a speech impediment. He was of course no pride, and the name had become an irony, one that he never used. His confinement to the palace had been as much to conceal him from public awareness as to cater to his needs, for indeed his father was ashamed of him.
But a prince remained a prince, and care was taken to bring him to the necessary level in every princely art. For if anything should happen to his brother, before there were issue, Mym would, to the consternation of all who were in the know, still assume the throne. How he could do this, when he could not even give a cohesive directive, no one dared speculate. It was vital that his brother be married early, so as to alleviate the possibility of disaster. His brother had married early-but both his wife and his leading concubine had proved to be infertile. This was an embarrassment of another nature. They were maneuvering to obtain a fertile wife, but such matters were complex. Meanwhile, Mym-and the kingdom-remained at risk.
Mym had finally had enough of this. He did not want to assume the throne any more than his father wanted him to. He wanted only one thing-to be able to talk normally. But neither magic nor science had been able to help him; stuttering simply wasn't properly understood. So he had run away.
It was perhaps a signal of the family's degree of concern, he sang wryly, that his escape had been accomplished so readily. It was true that he was an accomplished infiltrator, who could slide past guards as if almost invisible-that was one of the talents useful to a Rajah, when rebellion threatened-but he was aware
that only the most cursory attempt had been made to locate him. The truth was that his family knew that it would be better off without him. With luck, his older brother would carry the line on through, and the stutterer could be expunged from the records.
And so he had slipped about and spent his money cautiously, learning how to merge with the population and get along without having to speak. For a time, the challenge of surviving had kept him occupied, but then the tedium had begun to encroach. Skulking around the streets of Ahmadabad had not been much more rewarding than being waited on as a prince. He had not dared show his princely skills, lest he betray his nature, and he lacked non-princely skills. He had ranged beyond the city, seeking what he could not define. A magic charm had helped guide him and keep him from serious mischief.
Until he had seen and heard Orb sing and play. Then all the rest had faded away, becoming unimportant, and he had known the face and form of his ideal. And so he had come to her, revealing to her his handicap at the outset so that she would not be deceived, and had taken service with the group.
Orb, amazed at first, was evidently acclimatizing as his narrative continued. "So you are a prince," she said.
"Not by choice," he sang. "I desire nothing more than to remain here and be with you."
"But I am not a regular part of this tour," she protested. "I joined at Calcutta and will leave at Karachi, in Sind, where a ship will take me elsewhere in the world. It is the song I seek, the Llano."
"Then I would go with you and be your bodyguard," he sang.
That reminded her. "Those thuggees-as a prince you must hate them."
"They are a bane to our fair kingdom," he agreed.
"They are vermin, to be exterminated wherever found. Most particularly when they threaten a woman like you."
"You-trained in weapons. You can juggle five knives in the air without cutting yourself. Surely, then, you could-"
This was the other thing he had dreaded to tell her. "I could kill them," he agreed. "And I did-and blindfolded you so that you would not see their bodies."
Her face stiffened, and she turned away. He got up and went outside, knowing that the thing he had feared had come to pass. Orb was a lovely and somewhat innocent woman; she was revolted by physical violence. She was not temperamentally equipped to understand why or how a prince would master the secret art of controlled berserkery, the ability to kill swiftly without losing his sanity. Yet the master had been right-he had had to tell her, before she began to share the emotion he had for her. There was no way he could bear to hurt her-and if her interest in him hurt her, then it had to be abolished.
Incarnations of Immortality Page 109