Very likely the reason why Husathirn Mueri wanted it done was connected with Nialli Apuilana, too — not the subversion of the children, why would Husathirn Mueri care a hjjk’s turd about that, but the fact that the girl and Kundalimon were lovers. Doubtless Husathirn Mueri found that impossible to take. And had come to him, knowing that he’d be better able to manage the job than anyone else. Who’d suspect the guard-captain of such a crime? Who would even think of it?
He wondered what kind of payment he ought to ask for. He’d be in a strong negotiating position. One word from him and the city would explode with scandaclass="underline" surely they realized that. He’d want exchange-units, certainly. A bushel of them. And a higher rank. And women — not Nialli Apuilana, of course, they could never deliver her to him, no one could, but there were other highborn women who were easier in their ways, and one of them — yes, they could let him have one of them, at least for a time.
Yes.
Everything took shape in Curabayn Bangkea’s mind in a moment.
He rose, donned his helmet, finished his morning’s chores. A wagon of the guard force took him to the stadium, then, and in a light downpour he watched the opening ceremonies and the first few competitions. Taniane presided, with Nialli Apuilana beside her. That made it much simpler for him, her being here instead of with Kundalimon. How beautiful she is, he thought. Her fur was soaked. Every curve of her body showed through. The chronicler Hresh was there with them in the chieftain’s box, slumped down boredly as though he had no wish even to try to hide how bored he was. But Nialli Apuilana sat upright, bright-eyed, alert, chattering.
He stared at her as long as he could, and then he turned away. He couldn’t stand to look at her for long. Too frustrating, too disturbing, all that unattainable beauty. The sight of her made his entrails churn.
After a time the rain let up once again. He left the stadium through one of the underground-level gates and went back into the center of the city. At this hour Kundalimon usually took his walk, down Mueri Way and into the park. Curabayn Bangkea was prepared. He waited at the mouth of a narrow alley in the shadows of the street just below Mueri House: ten minutes, fifteen, half an hour. The street was deserted. Almost everyone was at the games.
And there was the young man now, by himself.
“Kundalimon?” Curabayn Bangkea called softly.
“Who? What?”
“Over here. Nialli Apuilana sent me. With a token of love from her for you.”
“I know you. You are Cura—”
“Right. Here, let me give it to you.”
“She is at the games today. I thought I would go to her.”
“Go to your Queen instead,” Curabayn Bangkea said, and wrapped a silken strangling-cloth around Kundalimon’s neck. The emissary struggled, kicking and using his elbows, but struggle was useless against Curabayn Bangkea’s great strength. He drew the cloth tight. He imagined this man’s hands on Nialli Apuilana’s breasts, this man’s lips covering her mouth, and his grip tightened. For a moment Kundalimon made harsh rough hjjk-noises, or perhaps they were merely death-rattles. His eyes bulged. His lips turned black, and his legs gave way. Curabayn Bangkea eased him to the ground and dragged him deeper into the alleyway. There he left him lying, propped up against the wall like a drunk. He wasn’t breathing. Wrapping the strangling-cloth around his own wrist as though it were an ornament, Curabayn Bangkea returned to his wagon, which he had left three streets away. In half an hour more he was back at the stadium. He was surprised at how calm he felt. But it had all gone so smoothly: a very skillful job, no question of it, quick and clean. And good riddance. The city was cleaner now.
Husathirn Mueri was in one of the grand Presidium boxes near the center aisle. Curabayn Bangkea looked across to him, and nodded. It seemed to him that Husathirn Mueri smiled, but he wasn’t sure of that.
He took his seat in the commoners’ section, and waited to be invited to Husathirn Mueri’s box.
The summons was a long time in coming. They had run the long race, and done the vaulting one, and were getting ready for the relays. But eventually a man Curabayn Bangkea recognized as a servant of Husathirn Mueri appeared. “Guard-captain?” he said.
“What is it?”
“Prince Husathirn Mueri sends me to you with his good wishes. He hopes you’ve been enjoying the games.”
“Very much.”
“The prince invites you to share a bowl of wine with him.”
“It would he an honor,” Curabayn Bangkea said.
After a time he realized that the man didn’t seem to be leading him toward the central row of boxes where the aristos sat. Rather, he was taking him on some route around the far side, to the arched corridor that encircled the stadium.
Perhaps Husathirn Mueri had changed his mind, Curabayn Bangkea decided, about meeting with him in such a conspicuous place as his own box. Maybe he was afraid that the job had been botched, that there had been witnesses, that it wasn’t such a good idea to be seen in public with him until he knew what had actually happened. Curabayn Bangkea felt his anger returning. Did they think he was such a bungler?
There was Husathirn Mueri now, coming along the corridor toward him. Stranger and stranger. Where were they supposed to share that bowl of wine? In one of the public wine-halls downstairs?
He’s ashamed to be seen with me, Curabayn Bangkea thought, furious. That’s all it is. A highborn like him doesn’t ask a mere guardsman into his box. But then he shouldn’t have told me he was going to. He shouldn’t have told me.
Husathirn Mueri looked happy enough to see him, though. He was grinning broadly, as he might if he were going to a rendezvous with Nialli Apuilana.
“Curabayn Bangkea!” he called, from twenty paces away. “There you are! I’m so pleased we were able to find you in this madhouse!”
“Nakhaba favor you, your grace. Have you been enjoying the games?”
“The best ever, aren’t they?” Husathirn Mueri was alongside him now. The servant who had led Curabayn Bangkea to him vanished like a grain of sand in a windstorm. Husathirn Mueri caught him by the arm in that intensely confidential way of his and said, under his breath, “Well?”
“Done. No one saw.”
“Splendid. Splendid!”
“It couldn’t have gone off better,” said Curabayn Bangkea. “If you don’t mind, your grace, I’d like to talk about the reward now, if I could.”
“I have it here,” Husathirn Mueri said. Curabayn Bangkea felt a sudden warmth at his side, and looked down at the smaller man in astonishment. The blade had entered so swiftly that Curabayn Bangkea had had no chance even to apprehend what was happening. There was blood in his mouth. His guts were ablaze. Pain was starting to spread through his entire body now. Husathirn Mueri smiled and leaned close, and there came a second stunning burst of warmth, and more pain, far more intense than before; and then Curabayn Bangkea was alone, clinging to the railing, sagging slowly to the ground.
5
By the Hand of the Transformer
To Hresh the games seemed endless. The crowd was roaring with excitement all about him, but he longed to be anywhere else, anywhere at all. Yet he knew there was no hope of leaving the stadium until the last race was run, the last weight was tossed. He would have to sit here, bored, wet, aching with the knowledge of irretrievable loss and struggling desperately to hide the pain that he felt. Nialli Apuilana sat beside him, completely caught up in what was going on down there on the field, cheering and shouting as each race was decided, just as though their conversation of the night before had never taken place. Just as though she was unable to realize that she had struck him in the heart, a blow from which he could never recover.