Just when I had been wholly distracted from my search, a slender woman of twenty or a little more came out of one of the dark shops to unfasten the gratings. She wore a pavonine brocade gown of amazing richness and raggedness, and as I watched her, the sun touched a rent just below her waist, turning the skin there to palest gold.
I cannot explain the desire I felt for her, then and afterward. Of the many women I have known, she was, perhaps, the least beautiful—less graceful than her I have loved most, less voluptuous than another, less reginal far than Thecla. She was of average height, with a short nose, wide cheekbones, and the elongated brown eyes that often accompany them. I saw her lift the grating, and I loved her with a love that was deadly and yet not serious. Of course I went to her. I could no more have resisted her than I could have resisted the blind greed of Urth if I had tumbled over a cliff. I did not know what to say to her, and I was terrified that she would recoil in horror at the sight of my sword and fuligin cloak. But she smiled and actually seemed to admire my appearance. After a moment, when I said nothing, she asked what I wanted; and I asked if she knew where I might buy a mantle. “Are you sure you need one?” Her voice was deeper than I had expected. “You’ve such a beautiful cloak now. May I touch it?”
“Please. If you wish to.”
She took up the edge and rubbed the fabric gently between her palms. “I’ve never seen such a black—so dark you can’t see folds in it. It makes my hand look as though it’s disappeared. And that sword. Is that an opal?”
“Would you like to examine that too?”
“No, no. Not at all. But if you really want a mantle…” She gestured toward the window, and I saw that it was filled with articles of worn clothing of every kind, jelabs, capotes, smocks, cymars, and so on. “Very inexpensive. Really reasonable. If you’ll just go in, I’m sure you’ll find what you want.” I entered through a jingling door, but the young woman did not (as I had so much hoped she would) follow me inside.
The interior was dim, yet as soon as I looked about I thought I understood why the woman had not been disturbed by my appearance. The man behind the counter was more frightening than any torturer. His face was a skeleton’s or nearly so, a face with dark pits for eyes, shrunken cheeks, and a lipless mouth. If it had not moved and spoken, I would not have believed he was a living man at all, but a corpse left erect behind the counter in fulfilment of the morbid wish of some past owner.
17. THE CHALLENGE
Yet it did move, turning to look at me as I came in; and it did speak. “Wery fine. Yes, very fine. Your cloak, optimate—may I see it?” I walked across a floor of worn and uneven tiles to him. A slash of red sunshine alive with swarming dust stood stiff as a blade between us. “Your garment, optimate.” I caught up my cloak and extended my left hand, and he touched the fabric much as the young woman had outside. “Yes, very fine. Soft. Wool-like, yet softer, much softer. A blend of linen and vicuna? And wonderful color. A torturer’s vesture. One doubts the real ones were half so fine, but who can argue with a textile like that?” He ducked beneath his counter and emerged with a handful of rags. “Might I examine the sword? I’ll be extremely careful, I promise you.”
I unsheathed Ternunus Est and laid her on the rags. He bent over her, neither touching her nor speaking. By that time my eyes had become accustomed to the dimness of the shop, and I noticed a narrow black ribbon that stretched forward a finger’s width from the hair above his ears. “You are wearing a mask,” I said. “Three chrisos. For the sword. Another for the cloak.”
“I didn’t come here to sell,” I told him. “Take it off.”
“If you like. All right, four chrisos for the sword.” He lifted his hands and the death’s-head fell into them. His real face, flatcheeked and tanned, was remarkably like that of the young woman I had seen outside. “I want to buy a mantle.”
“Five chrisos for it. That’s positively my last offer. You’ll have to give me a day to raise the money.”
“I told you, this sword is not for sale.” I picked up Terminus Est and resheathed her.
“Six.” Reaching across the counter, he took me by the arm. ‘That’s more than it’s worth. Listen, it’s your last chance. I mean it. Six.”
“I came in to buy a mantle. Your sister, as I would assume she was, said you would have one at a reasonable price.”
He sighed. “All right, I’ll sell you a mantle. Will you tell me first where you got that sword?”
“It was given me by a master of our guild.” I saw an expression I could not quite identify flicker across his face, and I asked, “You don’t believe me?”
“I do believe you, that’s the trouble. Just what are you?”
“A journeyman of the torturers. We don’t often get to this side of the river, or come this far north. But are you really so surprised?” He nodded. “It’s like encountering a psychopomp. Can I ask why you’re in this quarter of the city?”
“You may, but it’s the last question I’m going to answer. I’m on my way to Thrax, to take up an assignment there.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I won’t pry any more. I don’t have to, really. Now since you’ll want to surprise your friends when you take off your mantle—am I right?
it ought to be of some color that will contrast with your vesture. White might be good, but it’s a rather dramatic color itself, and terribly hard to keep clean. What about a dull brown?”
“The ribbons that held your mask,” I said. “They’re still there.” He was dragging down boxes from behind his counter and did not reply. After a moment or two we were interrupted by the tinkling of the bell above the door. The new customer was a youth whose face was hidden in an inlaid close helmet, of which downcurving and intertwined horns formed the visor. He wore armor of lacquered leather; a golden chimera with the blank, staring face of a madwoman fluttered on his breastplate.
“Yes, hipparch.” The shopkeeper dropped his boxes to make a servile bow. “How may I assist you?”
A gauntleted hand reached toward me, the fingers pinched as though to give me a coin.
“Take it,” the shopkeeper said in a frightened whisper. “Whatever it is.”
I extended my own hand, and received a shining black seed the size of a raisin.
I heard the shopkeeper gasp; the armored figure turned and went out. When he was gone, I laid the seed on the counter. The shopkeeper squeaked, “Don’t try to pass it to me!” and backed away.
“What is it?”
“You don’t know? The stone of the avern. What have you done to offend an officer of the Household Troops?”
“Nothing. Why did he give me this?”
“You’ve been challenged. You’re called out.”
“To monomachy? Impossible. I’m not of the contending class.” His shrug was more eloquent than words. “You’ll have to fight, or they’ll have you assassinated. The only question is whether you’ve really offended the hipparch, or if there’s some highly placed official of the House Absolute behind this.”