Saddith’s mastery of the situation enabled Terisa to unfreeze. Geraden had told her that he meant to try to have these two men assigned to her, for her protection. So far, he hadn’t shown himself to be possessed of especially good judgment. On the other hand, he had been relieved of responsibility for her – which seemed to imply that Argus and Ribuld weren’t here at his request? With an effort of concentration, she found her voice. “What’re they doing here?”
“Those two?” Saddith sniffed disdainfully. “I cannot imagine. That is to say, I know precisely what they are doing. But why they have chosen to do it here, I have no idea. Doubtless King Joyse told the guard captain that you should be warded, either for protection or for honor, and the captain displayed his poor sense by assigning those two the duty.”
In his loud whisper, Argus muttered, “I don’t think we should let her talk about us like that, Ribuld. She would sing a different tune if we had her alone.”
“If we had her alone, you overgrown slophog,” Ribuld replied with equal subtlety, “she wouldn’t need to act like this. You wouldn’t be scaring the lady Terisa with your lewd attentions.” Then he looked at Terisa and changed his manner to a loose approximation of respect. “The truth is, my lady, we’re not on duty.”
“No?” Saddith was moderately surprised.
“The captain doesn’t know we’re here – and I’m sure the King doesn’t. We’re doing this for Geraden. He stopped by the wardroom earlier this afternoon and asked us to look after you. As a personal favor. He didn’t say what he was worried about, but he was obviously worried.”
He shrugged his heavy shoulders. “If you don’t want us around, you can tell us to go away. We might do that. But I think we might want you to explain it to Geraden first. He may be the clumsiest man in Mordant, and too young for his age on top of it, but we don’t like to disappoint him.”
“You might say,” Argus added with an attempt at formal enunciation and pious sentiment which his missing teeth doomed to failure, “he comes from a good family.”
This explanation left Terisa groping. She didn’t know what to do. Helplessly, she looked to Saddith.
The maid considered Terisa, glanced sardonically over at the two guards, then sighed. “Oh, let them stay, my lady. There is less harm in them than they might want you to believe. And I doubt that they would willingly insult Geraden by displeasing you. As this lout says” – she indicated Argus with a toss of her head – “the family of the Domne is well regarded – and especially Artagel, who is said to have the sharpest sword in all Mordant.” She winked knowingly at Terisa. “Among other things.” Then she resumed, “Even a brave man might blanch if he insulted Geraden and had to face Artagel in consequence.”
It was Geraden who had wanted to answer her questions, Geraden who had seemed to care what happened to her. Now he had defied – or at least subverted – King Joyse’s orders by arranging protection for her. As if she were giving him a vote of confidence, she murmured, “All right.”
In response, Argus nudged Ribuld and grinned. “What did I tell you? She wants us. Under those funny clothes, she’s got the itch. She’s just too fancy my-lady-Terisa to show it yet.”
Saddith turned on him and started to unleash a retort, but Ribuld forestalled her by grabbing Argus’ arm and jerking him toward the door, growling, “Oh, shut up, limpwit. There isn’t a woman in Mordant desperate enough to itch for the likes of you.” Argus tried to protest; but Ribuld opened the door and thrust his companion out into the passage. In the doorway, he paused long enough to say over his shoulder, “We’ll be out here all night, my lady” – struggling to sound respectful against his natural inclination – “if you need us for anything.”
The door cut off Argus’ burst of laughter.
Saddith rolled her eyes in affectionate ridicule, then moved to set her tray down on one of the tables. “As I was saying, my lady, if this fare is not to your liking, you need only tell me. The cooks of Orison are an unruly lot, but I am sure they will attempt to provide whatever you wish.
“First, however,” she went on, “you must have light.” Briskly, she went to the hearth, found a twig among the kindling, lit it, and used it to begin lighting the candies and lamps.
As the illumination in the room grew, the glow from the windows seemed to fade to darkness almost immediately, closing away any view Terisa might have had of the world outside. Unexpectedly, she felt a mild disappointment. She had missed an opportunity to look out and see what Orison was, where and how it was situated, what kind of environment surrounded it. Earlier, she had shied away from that knowledge; now she wanted it. Her nap must have done her more good than she realized.
That probably also explained why she did seem to be a little hungry. Dismissing the question of the windows, she went to look at the food.
It was familiar and surprising: as familiar as the language spoken by the people of this strange place; as surprising as the fact that these people spoke a language nearly identical to her own. To all appearances, the plate held a thick slice of ham garnished with borage and accompanied by brown bread, Swiss cheese, and string beans; the goblet contained a pale red wine. And, in fact, the ham was unmistakable, as was the bread. Under closer inspection, however, the borage smelled more like thyme, the beans were of a slightly different shape and color than any she had seen before, and in spite of its firm texture the cheese tasted like tofu. The wine carried a gentle tang of cinnamon.
Perhaps she should have feared that the food of this world would make her sick. In view of Geraden’s belief that she had enemies, perhaps she should have feared that the food was poisoned. But such considerations seemed entirely unreal. The people she had met looked like normal human beings. They spoke her language. And, as far as she was concerned, she certainly wasn’t substantial enough to be an object of malice. With no more hesitation than she had showed walking across the room to look at the food, she sampled the beans and found that they tasted like asparagus. Then she started on the bread and wine.
“Does it please you, my lady?” Saddith had finished lighting the candles and lamps in both the sitting room and the bedroom, and now stood watching Terisa.
“It’s very good,” Terisa replied like an obedient girl.
The maid smiled her approval. “Then I will leave you now, my lady. If you do not wish to rest, and the evening seems long, summon me.” She indicated a bellpull which Terisa hadn’t noticed because it was hidden behind one of the peacock feather displays. “We will find some entertainment for you. Perhaps you will want me to help you try some of your gowns. Several of them will become you nicely, I think. Or perhaps you will want other company. Both the lady Elega and the lady Myste wish to meet you, although they thought to wait until tomorrow so that you could spend tonight recovering from your translation. Both would be fascinated to make the acquaintance of a woman of Imagery.”
Terisa ignored this reference to her purported mastery of mirrors. “Who are Elega and Myste?”
“They are my lord King’s daughters. He has three, of whom Elega and Myste are the eldest and youngest. The second, the lady Torrent, lives with her mother, Queen Madin, in Romish of Fayle. The Queen is the daughter of the Fayle.”
That answered Terisa’s question. She didn’t know what Romish or Fayle were, any more than she understood Domne or even Orison. But she knew now that she didn’t want to meet Elega or Myste tonight. She didn’t want to see anybody who would bring her more questions and no answers. She only wanted Geraden – or possibly (a piquant thought) Master Eremis, who may have considered her lovely. Since she couldn’t ask Geraden to take any more risks for her, she declined Saddith’s offer. “I think I’ll rest tonight.”
“Very good, my lady.” Saddith gave a polite bow and started to leave the room.
But at the door she paused, one hand on the latch. With a roll of her eyes, she indicated Ribuld and Argus. Then she showed Terisa the bolt which locked the door, and pantomimed pushing it home.
Terisa smiled her relief and gratitude. “Thanks. I’ll remember that.”
Saddith replied with her own arch smile and made her exit, closing the door quietly after her.
At once, Terisa went to it and bolted it. Through the heavy wood, she could faintly hear Saddith, Ribuld, and Argus bantering with each other. She was tempted to listen, simply because she didn’t understand how any woman could have that kind of relationship with men. Nevertheless she withdrew toward the table where her food waited for her; and in a step or two the laughing voices became inaudible.
She was alone.
In an odd way, she was grateful for the presence of Argus and Ribuld outside her door. They weren’t exactly reassuring in themselves, but they – she realized this slowly – were the first people in this impossible situation to reappear after an absence. Geraden had lured her out of her own life into a room full of Masters, but in a short time they had all gone away. He had then taken her to the King, and he had been sent away. Next she had been put in Saddith’s charge, and King Joyse and Adept Havelock had fallen into the past. Each new person she met might have been created solely for that meeting; might have ceased to exist as soon as she moved on to someone else.
It was conceivable that none of this was real at all.
Ribuld and Argus, however, spoke of Geraden as though he had a continuous existence of his own, apart from her. They were substantial enough to have a relationship with Saddith which didn’t include her, Terisa. Therefore they implied that what was happening to her had continuity, solidity, a dependable fidelity to its own premises and exigencies. They implied that if she were able to retrace her steps she would find the King’s suite and the Masters’ chamber where she had left them; that Geraden was alive and active somewhere not too far away, trying to do something about his concern for her; that however crazy her circumstances seemed they could be trusted as much as she had ever trusted her own world.
This was rather a large conclusion to draw from a small fact. Nevertheless she accepted it provisionally. It made her a little less afraid.
An entirely unmetaphysical concern impelled her to walk through her rooms again to verify that there were no other entrances. Then she sat down and ate her meal with at least an approximation of pleasure.
By the time she was done eating, the wine had made her slightly drowsy. But she was still too restless to consider going back to bed; so she decided to sample some of the clothes Saddith had brought for her.
Many of them frustrated her: they hooked or laced or buttoned so inconveniently that she couldn’t put them on without assistance. Despite that, however, they struck her as finely made and elegant. And the robes and gowns she was able to don for herself made her long for a mirror so that she could see what she looked like. Was it possible that this exposure of breast or slimness of waist, these billowing sleeves or that intricate lace would make her beautiful? Immersed in what she was doing, she didn’t notice the passage of time.
She was wearing a floor-length burgundy robe, made of deep velvet, with a wide, black sash and a hood she could have pulled over her head to hide her face, and had just decided to take it off and return to bed for some more sleep, when the wooden backing of the wardrobe in front of which she stood shifted and began to move aside.
Scraping against each other, the back panels opened on a well of darkness.
From the darkness a figure emerged.
If his advance was intended to be silent, it failed significantly: he made bumping and shuffling noises all along the way. Hanging gowns and robes that blocked his path he thrust unceremoniously aside.
She could hear him muttering to himself, “Softly, softly.” His voice was old and thin, unsteady when he whispered. “Sneaking into the bedchambers of beautiful women. Hee hee. Oh, you’re still a devil, you are. Mirrors are only glass, but lust and lechery last forever.”
Only then did he notice that the front of the wardrobe was open – that Terisa stood staring at him with her hands over her mouth and a look in her eyes which might have been either terror or hilarity.
“What’re you doing here?” she breathed. “What do you want?”
His thick lips shaking, Adept Havelock flinched as if she had threatened to strike him.
In spite of the alarm pounding in her throat, she felt forcibly the conflict between his ascetic nose and sybaritic mouth, the disfocus of his hot eyes. His self-contradictory visage made him look wild – an appearance aggravated by his few remaining tufts of hair. And yet he seemed to be doing his best to calm her. His hands made reassuring gestures; his whole stance was unthreatening, even deferential.
“Luscious,” he said, as though he meant, Forgive me. “All women are flesh, but you are its perfection.” I didn’t mean to frighten you. “Ha ha, sneaking into bedchambers.” I’m not going to hurt you. “Lust and lechery.” You can trust me.
He was a madman – that much was unmistakable. Unfortunately, the knowledge wasn’t much help. So he was crazy. So what was she going to do about it? She had no idea. Studying him warily, she retreated a step or two to give herself more space. Then she said, “There are two guards outside my door. They’re both big, and they’ve got longswords. If I shout”—she faltered and almost panicked when she remembered that the door was bolted—“they’ll be here before you can touch me.”
Palms toward her, his hands continued to make placating movements. Parts of his face expressed a fear of which other parts were ignorant: his eyes rolled, and his lower lip drooped, exposing crooked, yellow teeth; but his nose and cheekbones looked too determined to admit fear.
“This winter chills my bones,” he told her as if it were a high secret. “No one understands hop-board.”
Though they were speaking softly, he put a finger to his lips. Then he turned back toward the wardrobe and beckoned for her to follow.
“You want me to go in there?” Tension made her voice jump like his. The darkness behind the clothes was too deep to be measured. “Why?”
As persuasively as possible, he replied, “The King tries to protect his pieces. Individuals. What good are they? Worthless. Wor-r-r-r-rthless. It’s all strategy. Sacrifice the right men to trap your opponent.”
While he spoke, he kept beckoning, urging her toward him.
“No, I’m sorry.” The idea of entering the unknown place behind the wardrobe was even more frightening than the Adept’s unexpected appearance. “I can’t go in there.” She was familiar with dark, closed spaces. Despite her best efforts to forget them, she remembered every detail of the times her parents had punished her by locking her into a lightless closet. She had learned a great deal about her own unreality during those times. In that closet she had first started feeling herself fade, drifting out of existence into the effacing black. “It’s too dark.”
“Ho ho ha,” he responded in a tone of supplication. He could only look at her with one eye at a time, and the lines of his face twisted into a plea. “Dark and lust. We snuff the light so no one will see how we revel. You don’t need light to see flesh.”
Reaching into a pocket of his surcoat, he pulled out an irregular piece of glass about the size of his palm. He held it so that she couldn’t look into it; but she had the impression it was a small mirror.
He murmured something, passed his hand over the glass, and a beam of warm, yellow light as bright as sunshine shot straight out of the surface.
He shone it around the wardrobe. It showed her that the darkness was a stone passage angling downward inside the wall of the room.
Havelock flashed his light down the passage to demonstrate that it was safe. Then he beckoned to her again vehemently, at once asking and demanding that she go with him.
“No,” she repeated. “I can’t. I don’t know what you want. I don’t know what you’re trying to do to me.” Groping for some response which might penetrate his demented intentions, she asked, “Does King Joyse know you’re here?”
That was evidently the wrong thing to say. At once, Havelock became
the furious old man who had thrown his checkers at the ceiling and stormed around the King’s chamber. “Bother Joyse and all his scruples!” the Adept raged, so angry that he was barely able to keep his voice down. His face turned an apoplectic red. And yet he did keep his voice down: he retained that much self-awareness. “He plays as badly as his daughters! Women and foolishness.”
Flailing his arms, he made gestures that practically shouted, Come with me!
To defend herself, she replied, “Geraden warned me that the King has enemies. Are you trying to betray him?”
At once, Havelock stopped. He stared at her as though he had been stung. For a second, his whole face expressed nothing but astonishment and dismay.
Then a look of cunning came into his eyes.
She seemed to feel danger pouncing toward her. But it was imprecise: she didn’t know how to react. So she stood where she was, helpless as a post, while he raised his glass and shone it directly into her face.
It was as bright as the sun; it made her throw up her hands and reel backward to protect her eyes.
She stumbled against the bed, nearly lost her balance. But before she could either fall or jump aside, Havelock clamped one bony hand around her wrist and jerked her toward the wardrobe.
He wasn’t as strong as he seemed. If she could have planted her feet, found some leverage, she would have been able to break his grip. He was too quick for that, however. Keeping her off balance, he impelled her across the floor, into the wardrobe and the opening of the passage.
SIX: A FEW LESSONS
With her free hand, she clutched for something to hold her back. But suns of blindness exploded back and forth across her vision: she couldn’t see anything to grasp. Then she hit the stone of the passage, and cool air breathed up at her out of the unseen depths. Havelock slowed, giving her feet time to fumble for the downward stairs.
The Mirror of Her Dreams Page 9
