Kori shivered, rubbed suddenly sweaty palms on the linen bunched over her thighs as she remembered the girl in the tavern. “Yes,” she whispered, “I saw a girl. A con-convenience.”
AuntNurse smiled, shook her head. “You terrify me, child. I am delighted you got back safe and rather surprised, if that’s the kind of place you were visiting.”
Kori chewed her lip some more, then she scootched along the bed until she could reach AuntNurse’s hand. She took it, held it tight, shook her head, then gazed at AuntNurse, fear fluttering through her, sweat dripping into her eyes.
AuntNurse nodded, smoothed long cool fingers over Kori’s bruised and sweaty hands. “I see. Unfortunately you face the Lot come the morning, so I can’t let you sleep much longer than usual, Kori. You must eat, you’ll need your strength.” She got to her feet, freed her hand. “If I can help, Kori, in any way, please let me.” She touched Kori’s cheek, left without looking back.
Kori sat for several minutes without moving; in some strange and frightening way she’d crossed a chasm and the bridge had vanished on her. It had nothing to do with Tre or Settsimaksimin and everything to do with AuntNurse. With… with… Polatea, not Aunt-Nurse. Never again AuntNurse. Shivering with more than the early morning chill, she crawled into bed and eventually managed to sleep.
9. Settsimaksimin Watches In His Workroom And At The Court Of Lots In The Grand Yron.
SCENE: 1. Settsimaksimin in his subterranean workroom, idly watching his mirror, Todichi Yahzi back by one wall, noting Maksim’s comments, released for the moment from the onerous task of watching over the machinations of a number of very ambitious men.
2. Settsimaksimin on the highseat at the Court of Lots, in the Grand Yron. Picture an immense rectangular room, sixty meters on the long sides, twenty on the short, the ceiling fifty meters from the floor, utterly plain polished white marble walls with delicate traceries of gray and gold running through the white, a patterned pavement of colored marbles, ebony and gilt backless benches running two thirds the length of the long sides, two doors dressed in ebony and gilt in the short north wall, one at the west end, one at the east. At the short south wall (beneath Settsimaksimin but out far enough so he can see it without straining), a low ebony table with a gilt bowl on it, a bowl filled with what looked to be black eggs. To his left, about ten meters away along the west wall, near the end of the long bench, another table with another bowl, this one red, the pile of black eggs in it is considerably smaller than that in the gilt bowl. To his right, ten meters away along the east wall, a third table with a third bowl, this one blue, its egg pile about the same as that in the red one. A trumpet blares, two lines of children stream in, girls on the east, boys on the west.
Settsimaksimin lounged in his chair, bare feet crossed at the ankles and resting on a battered hassock, he sipped at a huge mug of bitter black tea; he’d discarded all clothing but the sleeveless black overrobe and the heavy gold chain with the dull red stone on it, the talisman BinYAHtii (I take all); his gray-streaked plait was twisted atop his head again and skewered there. The only evidence of his fatigue lay in his eyes, they were red streaked and sunk deeper than usual in heavy wrinkles and folds. He was watching the scenes skipping across the face of the obsidian mirror: the waterfront (he scowled as he saw the Godalau playing in the water and interfering old Thngjii ambling about the wharves,-stopping to talk to a ghostly stranger sitting on a bitt); the tavern where Brann and her entourage were (a place mostly blank because Ahzurdan had learned too-much for Maksim’s comfort from the attack at Kukurul and had tightened and strengthened his wards until there was no way Maksim could tease them apart or find a cranny to squeeze a tendril through; though it was a major complication in his drive to protect himself and his goals, he beamed proudly at the blank spot, a father watching his favorite son show his strength); the Hostel where the Owlyn Valers were settled in and presumably sleeping the sleep of the just and innocent, even the one that plotted against him; a sweep through the streets, flickering over the watchers he’d posted about the tavern, swooping to check out assorted nocturnal ramblers (he chanced on a thief laboring over the lock at the back of a jeweler’s shop, snatched him up and dumped him into the bay). Waterfront again (the man with the blurred outlines was still sitting on the bitt drinking from a wineskin and staring out over the water, singing to himself and getting pleasantly drunk, wholly innocuous except for that odd blurring; Maksim sat up and scowled at him, tried to get a clearer image; there were peculiar resonances to the man and he didn’t like puzzles wandering about his city; he shrugged and let the mirror pass on). Tavern again. He looked through the eyes of his surrogates in there, but nothing was happening downstairs. Hostel again. Dark and sleeping. Streets and those in them. Waterfront. Tavern. Hostel. “Now what have we got here?”
Up on the second floor a small form eased out a window and started down the vine that crawled over part of the wall near that window. A girl it was, skirt tucked up, dropping from branch to branch faster than most folk could negotiate a flight of stairs. He willed the mirror into sharper focus on her, smiled as she reached the grass, put her sandals on, shook out her skirt and smoothed down her flyaway hair. She darted into the shrubbery, moving with assurance through the darkness. Maksim sat up, laughter rumbling round his big taut belly. “Little ferret.” She reappeared in the street and began moving at a steady pace toward the bay. “Aaahhh,” he breathed, “it’s you, YOU, I’ve got to thank for this. Eh Todich, come see. There’s my great enemy, a girl, twelve maybe, a skinny little girl.” She clung to shadow as much as she could, but went forward resolutely, circling
She whipped around another corner and slammed into two men. The taller man grabbed her arm, swung her hard against the wall, while his squat burly companion gaped blearily at her. The tall one laughed, said something, wrapped his other hand in her hair and jerked her head up. Ignoring her struggles, he looked over his shoulder at his friend, his rubbery face moving through a series of drunken grimaces.
The squat man flung himself at the girl, mashed her against the wall. He slobbered at her, began fumbling at the band of her skirt, using one shoulder to pin her other arm as she clawed at him.