by Victor Poole
"You burn your offerings?" Ajalia asked. She had a sudden vision of herself, tied to a wooden stake, burning to death at the bottom of a steep quarry.
"No," the guard said. "We place the offerings in the hands of the Thief Lord, and after the newest gloss is worn off, the offerings are taken to the pit in the quarry, and the fire of the sun eats them up. We don't burn anything."
"I heard of this festival when I was a boy," Philas said suddenly. He glanced at Ajalia. His mouth was stretched down at the corners. "It was called the Feast of Beautiful Things."
"That is right," the guard exclaimed. "Again, good stranger, you have made my heart leap with joy at your familiarity with our ways. I honor your good manners in this." The guard bowed his head respectfully towards Philas.
AJALIA'S FOREBODING
The three of them had come to the edge of the lane; beyond them lay the stretch of stables, and the housing district.
"If you send your wife, or a servant, to the little house where we stay," Philas told the guard, "one of our slaves will show her the scarves that we have."
"I will do so," the guard said. "You have brought much warmth to my heart, good strangers from the East. May the sky bless you." The guard dipped his head respectfully to Ajalia, and went back down the road toward the warehouse.
"Are they going to burn our silk?" Ajalia asked Philas in an undertone.
"I'm not sure. They might," he replied.
"I'm going to ask Chad," she said. "He's bringing me something in the morning." They walked slowly through the streets. The night had become flat and stale; it was stretched over the city of Slavithe like a rind of darkness, and it pressed Ajalia close against the ground.
"Do they kill people at their festivals?" Ajalia asked.
"I don't think so," Philas said. He was no longer touching her, and Ajalia missed the warmth of his skin. She wasn't willing to remind him yet of how ardently he had been kissing her so recently. She was more concerned with preserving the masses of silk that lay folded in the little house.
"Do they burn things on every festival?" she asked. "How many feasts are there?"
"There are a lot," Philas admitted. "I don't know how many. "But I don't think they offer sacrifices very often. I remember hearing about this one, though. My mother said it was a great waste."
"Your mother was queen?" Ajalia asked. Philas looked sideways at her.
"Why are you asking that?" he asked.
Ajalia had a sudden urge to push Philas's body up against a wall, and smash herself against him. "I can't tell if you're lying to me," she said lightly. "Usually I can tell."
"Oh," he said. "Well, she is the queen." She saw that she had hurt his feelings. She tried to be sorry, and could not make herself feel sorry. They walked in silence down the length of the stables, and Ajalia breathed in the honest smell of sweat, and dirt, and horses.
"If you liked that young man," Philas said suddenly, as they turned into a new street, "would you stay here for him?"
"No," Ajalia said instantly. "I would never stay for anyone."
"Not even me," Philas said with a smile. Ajalia felt a wrench at the bottom of her gut. His voice was just the same as it used to be in the old days, lilting, teasing, full of apparent desire, and utterly trivial. "You would never stay for me, would you, Jay?" Philas asked.
Their steps had slowed a little. They were no longer walking in a direct line; their way meandered slightly from side to side. Ajalia was watching Philas's shadow. She wondered what his real name was, and if he was really a prince.
"No one's ever called me that before," she remarked.
"That seems strange to me," Philas said. "It's an obvious nickname."
"I guess not obvious, if no one's ever used it," she said.
Philas almost reached out for her hand; she saw his fingers move out, and then return quickly to where they had been by his side. She realized that she could reach out and take his hand, and make him feel less alone. She didn't want to make him feel less alone. She felt alone enough for both of them.
Ajalia gave herself a mental shake, and sped up. They were still some way from the little house, and she wanted to make sure there was no chance of missing Chad. A nagging, worrying feeling was at the bottom of her heart; something about this festival put her back up, and her mind circled, again and again, to the glistening, pristine piles of silks that lay securely within the little house. She did not know what would happen if she lost those silks to a foreign craze for sacrifice, but she did not want to entertain the possible outcomes. It would not matter to her master if she had not been leading the caravan if such a disaster occurred; all the slaves connected to that caravan would be tainted with the failure. She would lose her position, and she might be sold. Ajalia had no intention of being sold.
"We need to think about leaving the city," Ajalia said, "if we learn that they're likely to take the silks."
"I don't think we need to worry about the silks," Philas said. "They might have sacrificed the silks if we'd sold them, but the silks are ours, and we're strangers. They wouldn't take the silks from us."
"I have a funny feeling about this," Ajalia wanted to say. She wanted to say, "You don't understand these people," but she didn't say that either. She was not sure that she understood these people. She felt very strange; she felt as though she could see into the future; a strange vision of smoldering, ashy silk rose up in her mind. She shivered.
"Are you cold?" Philas asked. Ajalia shook her head. "I could take the silks," Philas said. "I could take them out by sea."
"To your homeland?" she asked.
Philas nodded.
"To get away from me?" she asked. Philas didn't say anything, which she took to mean as yes. "I suppose you could," she said. "Would you sell them?"
"I'd take the slaves as well," he said. "This city is dangerous, if you think they might take the silks."
"You just said you didn't think they would take the silk," Ajalia protested.
Philas shrugged. "I said I didn't think they would, but they might. And in my homeland, we don't burn things."
Ajalia watched the ground pass under her feet. She had thought of taking the caravan back through the desert, if Chad told her the silks were in danger, but she had not thought of the sea.
"Why did you just change your mind?" she asked. They were nearing the little house. Their steps slowed. "You just told me you didn't think the silks were in danger, and now you're asking if I should send you away with the entire caravan. Why?"
She did not ask, why wouldn't I come with you. Philas thrust his hands deeply into his pockets, and stared up at the top of the little house. The air was growing just a little less dark. Ajalia looked at Philas, and Philas looked at the white stone building.
"You don't want to leave," Ajalia said shrewdly. "You're trying to be a booze hound again, and the closest place with a tavern is across the sea."
"That's ridiculous," Philas said, but Ajalia knew that she was right. A deep laugh came up from the bottom of her body, and shook her sides.
"You're trying to get a drink," she told him. "That's what all of this has been about. You're not in love with me, and you don't want to take the slaves anywhere. You miss your liquor."
"I do not," Philas protested. Ajalia looked up at the sky.
"Chad will be here in a few hours," she said. "I'm going to look over Lim's stuff."
"I do too like you," Philas cried, following her into the house. "I like kissing you, and everything." Ajalia waved a dismissive hand in his direction. Philas stayed in the bottom room, and walked around the edge of the walls, while Ajalia ran up the stairs and gathered up all the fine things that could be sold. She left the cosmetics and the jars of oils, but bundled up all the scarves and clothes that were in good condition. Whatever his flaws, Lim was meticulous about his things, and they were almost all pristine.
Ajalia carried a heap of flowing things down the stairs. The house was asleep; it felt muffled up and the air was close up again
st Ajalia's cheeks. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Philas was waiting for her.
"I may miss a drink or two," he admitted, "but that is not what I want. I want you." His voice sounded hollow, even to himself. "I do like you," he said. "I don't know what is happening to me. I meant everything I said before."
"I thought you meant it," Ajalia told him. "You sounded as though you meant every bit of it."
"I did," Philas said. He took the things from her, and laid them out on the furniture. "Lim is a fool," he said meditatively, and Ajalia nodded.
"What do you do with your money?" she asked him suddenly. He shrugged.
"Women," he said. Ajalia stared at Philas, at the way his hands moved over the silk pieces as he laid them out. "We can sell some of these as they are," he said, meaning the robes.
"I don't think you do spend your money on women," Ajalia said. "I don't think you do."
"Of course I do," Philas said irritably. "Everyone knows I do."
"Yes, but I don't believe you," Ajalia said.
"You keep saying that," Philas shouted. "I don't think it's very kind. And anyway, I'm sorry I ever told you anything about myself."
Ajalia sat on the table in the room, and began to pick apart the seams on one of the old robes. She did not reply to Philas. He moved up and down in the room, and his arms fluttered to his sides, and then up to his hair.
"I don't like the things you say," he said. "I don't like the way you make me feel. It's very unpleasant."
"I'm not making you feel anything," Ajalia said.
"Yes, you are," he said. "You say things all the time, just to make me feel bad."
"I don't make you feel anything," Ajalia said. "Anyway, I don't think you spend your money on women. I think you tell people that because you hate yourself."
Philas grimaced at her. "What are you, my mother?"
"How much money do you have saved?" Ajalia asked. Philas's movement stilled. He watched her suspiciously.
"Why?" he asked.
"I don't think you spend nearly as much money as you pretend to," Ajalia said. "I think you save it. Why are you saving it?"
"I'm not saving it," Philas said.
Ajalia's particular boy came down the stairs and into the room. He was rubbing his eyes.
"You're waking everyone up," the boy told Philas. "Good morning," he told Ajalia.
"Do this," Ajalia commanded the boy, thrusting the robe at him. The boy sat down, and blinked sleepily over the seam. "You're not tired, you cheat," she chided the boy, rubbing her knuckles into his hair. The boy grinned at her, and tore the seams apart.
"He's better at that than you are," Philas pointed out.
"I care less," Ajalia said. "And, I don't have to be fast."
"You should listen to Ajalia when she tells you things," the boy said conversationally to Philas. "She's always right."
"She is not right about anything, ever," Philas growled at the boy.
"Philas is upset," Ajalia told the boy.
"Because he has had no liquor," the boy finished.
Philas roared at both of them, but when he reached the end of the sound he was smiling. "It is not fair to gang up on me," he said. A bellow for quiet came from above the stairs. Philas shouted back through the ceiling, and then came and stood near Ajalia. "You do care," he said coaxingly.
"You are drunk," she replied.
"Not drunk," he said.
"Drunk," Ajalia and the boy said in unison.
"How can I be drunk when I have had nothing to drink?" Philas demanded. "And why are you taking her side?" he asked the boy. The boy shrugged.
"Because you're wrong, and she's right," the boy said.
"You're all crazy," Philas complained. "And I'm not drunk."
"How long has it been since you've had that black poison?" Ajalia demanded. Her eyes were flashing.
"Not very long," Philas said. He suddenly seemed to shift under her gaze, like smoke twisting away from light.
"More than a day?" Ajalia asked. Her eyes had narrowed. She felt dangerous.
"Don't look at me like that," Philas said. Ajalia's upper lip wrinkled.
"Go with him," she spat at the boy. "See that he doesn't come home until he's had that awful stuff." The boy hopped up and went to the door.
"I'm not going anywhere," Philas protested. His mouth had turned down at the corners; he was angry. "And you can't tell me what to do," he added.
"You're complaining because you know I'm right," Ajalia said. She looked at Philas, and Philas looked at her. She did not know that he was reflecting on the lovely color of her eyes. She was watching the shape of his mouth, and the rigidity of his chin. She knew he was wrong, because his mouth and chin were drooping slightly, and they only drooped when he was feeling sorry for himself.
"Someday," Philas said, going to the door, "I'm going to be right, and you're going to be wrong, and then you'll know how I feel." He went out, and the boy followed him. When he had left the room, Ajalia felt empty, as though he had taken all of her life with him. The door was shut, and the room felt as dark as it was. Ajalia sat down on the slipshod couch, and lay her head back against the wall. She was tired now, but she had not been so before. She closed her eyes. The black goatskin saddle she had left with the other luggage in the warehouse; she had now only to wait until Chad came with the list of names and debts. She could feel the place where her knife should be tucked, and she missed it.
She wondered briefly if she would have drawn the knife on Philas, if she had had it when he had kissed her the first time. She did not regret kissing him, but she was glad she had stopped him from doing more. She would have hated herself now, if she had not stopped him. She sighed, and folded her arms. She did not want Philas to belong to her, but the world was emptier when he was not filling up the space next to her.
The light outside grew gradually, and when the sun was brushing against the door of the little house, a knock woke Ajalia from her doze. She went to the door, and opened it. Chad was at the door, and Delmar was with him.
Ajalia stared at the young man with sandy hair. She hated him in this moment. She did not know why he had to surface just now. She did not want him to exist.
"Hello," she said to Chad. She looked at Delmar, but did not say anything to him.
"Can I come in?" Chad asked. She pushed the door a little wider, but stepped in front of Delmar before he could follow Chad inside.
"What do you want?" she asked Delmar. Delmar shrugged. "Why are you here?" she asked irritably.
"I went for a walk. Met this guy. He said you asked about me." Delmar's kindly blue eyes flickered benignly over to Chad.
"I didn't ask you to come here," Ajalia said.
"That's very true," Delmar said, and he turned away. "Bye," he said genially to Chad, and walked down the street. Ajalia closed the door with a snap.
"That was very rude," Chad pointed out.
"Thanks," Ajalia said. She put out her hand, and Chad gave her a sheaf of papers. "Do you have my knife?" she asked.
"I didn't forget anything," Chad said proudly. He gave her the knife, and Ajalia put it into its casing again. She sighed. She had not realized how deeply she had missed her knife. She no longer missed Philas.
"Sit down somewhere," Ajalia said. None of the slaves had emerged yet; they could sense the sluggishness of the business, and had gone to ground. They would sleep too much, and eat too much, and quarrel too much with each other, until the trading picked up again. Ajalia wanted to ask Chad about the festival traditions, but the sheaf of papers was heavy and beguiling. She examined the first page, and flipped through the sheaf. Her eyebrows went up as she looked over the numbers that were listed next to each name.
"Gevad is a busy man," she remarked.
"I found my family on there," Chad said. He turned over the pieces of cloth that were laid over the furniture. "What are these for?" he asked.
Ajalia ignored him, and turned over the pages. "Where is the list of houses?" she asked.
Chad pulled another piece of paper out of his robes. "Here it is," he said. "Gevad didn't want to list them out. I think he was hoping to keep a few for himself, because the ones down on the banks of the river have no keys, and he thought that if you used your keys to find the houses, you'd miss those."
Ajalia looked at Chad.
"I worked that out myself," he said proudly. "I did a very good job. I made sure he gave me those as well, on the list. I made him write it out."
"Is the woman's hair gone?" Ajalia asked.
"Oh, it's awful," Chad said, not maliciously. "She's going to have to shave her head, I think. It looks like she fell into a barrel of knives."
"Blood?" Ajalia asked.
"Not any that I could see," Chad said. "Just an awful haircut."
"Do you know that Gevad is violent?" she asked Chad. She looked over the list of houses. Most of them were respectable, if moderate residences. One or two looked as though they sat in the center of the city, near the Thief Lord's house. A cluster of the houses were poor tenements, like the one she had rented a room from, and another handful were no more than shacks down near the quarries. Gevad, Ajalia surmised, owned land there.
"He doesn't seem violent, much," Chad said. Ajalia put the papers together, and tucked them away. Her skin was beginning to itch. She needed a wash.
"When you approach a man like Gevad," Ajalia said, "you have to be prepared for violence."
Chad scoffed a little, under his breath, and grinned at Ajalia. "You're kidding, aren't you?" he said.
"No," she said. "Do you want to know how I got this list out of Gevad? Or how I got his keys?"
Chad glanced uneasily at Ajalia's hands, as though he were afraid she would hit him.
"I don't know," he said. "Was it scary?"
"If I drew a knife on you," Ajalia said, "would you scream?"
Chad laughed, but stopped when he saw that she was serious. "How do you know things about people?" he asked.
"People are all the same," Ajalia said. "I'm going to change, and then you're going to come with me." She began to go up the stairs, and Chad followed her.