The Call of Earth: 2 (Homecoming) (24 page)

Bitanke laughed. “I hope you don’t imagine for a moment that
I
would do for that purpose. There are already plenty of people whispering that I must be your puppet for having let you into the city in the first place.”

“I know,” said Moozh. “You were the first one I thought of, but I realized that you can only serve Basilica—and my purposes, too—by remaining where you are, with
no
obvious advantage coming to you because of my influence in the city.”

“Then why am I here?”

“To advise me, as I told you before. I need you to tell me who in this city, if she—or he—were appointed as consul, the guard and the city as a whole would follow and obey.”

“There
is
no such creature.”

“Say this, and you might as well ask me to pour the blood and ashes of the city into the lake of women.”

“Don’t threaten me!”

“I’m not threatening you, Bitanke, I’m telling you what I have done before and what I do not want to do again. I beg you, help me to find a way to avoid that dreadful outcome.”

“Let me think.”

“I ask for nothing more.”

“Let me come to you tomorrow.”

“I must act today.”

“Give me an hour.”

“Can you do your thinking here? Can you do it without leaving the house?”

“Am I under arrest, then?”

“This house is watched by a thousand eyes, my friend. If you are seen leaving and then returning in an hour, it will be said that you make too many visits to General Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno. But if you want to leave, you may.”

“I’ll stay.”

“I’ll have you shown to the library, then, and given a computer to write on. It will help my thinking, if you write down the names and your reasons why they might or might not be good for this purpose. In an hour, come to me again with your list of names.”

“For Basilica I do this, and not for you.” And not for any advantage to myself.

“It’s for Basilica that I ask it,” said Moozh. “Even
though my first loyalty is to the Imperator, I hope to save this city from destruction if I can.”

The interview was over. Bitanke left the room, and was immediately joined by a Gorayni soldier who led him to the library. Moozh had said nothing to this soldier, and yet he knew where to take him. Knew to assign him a computer to use. Either this meant that the general let his junior officers listen in to his negotiations, which was almost unthinkable, or it meant that Moozh had given these orders before Bitanke even arrived.

Could it be that Moozh had planned it all, every word that passed between them? Could it be that Moozh was so good at manipulation that he could determine all outcomes in advance? Then in that case Bitanke might just be another dupe, betraying his city because he had been twisted into believing whatever Moozh wanted.

No. No, that was not it at all. Moozh simply counted on being able to persuade me to act intelligently in the best interest of Basilica. And so I will find candidates for him, if it is possible to imagine anyone serving as consul, appointed because of the Gorayni and yet holding the loyalty of the people, the council, and the guard. If it is possible, I will bring the name to the General.

“I need to speak to my children,” said Rasa.
“All
of them.”

Luet looked at her for a moment, uncertain what to do; this was the sort of thing a lady might say to her servants, giving orders without seeming to. But Luet was not a servant in this house, and never had been, and so she was supposed to ignore such expressions of desire. Yet Rasa seemed not to realize she had spoken as
if to a servant, when no servant was present. “Madam,” she said, “are you sending me on this errand?”

Rasa looked at her almost in surprise. “I’m sorry, Luet. I forgot who was with me. I’m not at my best. Would you please go find my children and my husband’s children for me, and tell them I want to see them now?”

Now it was a request, a favor, and asked directly of her, so of course Luet bowed her head and left in search of servants to help her. Not that Luet wouldn’t willingly have done the task herself, but Rasa’s house was large, and if there was any urgency in Rasa’s request—as there seemed to be—it would be better to have several people searching. Besides, the servants were more likely to know exactly where everyone was.

It was easy enough to find out where Nafai, Elemak, Sevet, and Kokor were, and send servants to summon them. Mebbekew, however, had not been seen for several hours, not since he first came into the house. Finally Izdavat, a youngish maid of more eagerness than sense, reluctantly mentioned that she had brought Mebbekew breakfast in Dol’s room. “But that was some time ago, lady.”

“I’m only sister, or Luet, please.”

“Do you want me to see if he’s still there, sister?”

“No, thank you,” said Luet. “It would be improper for him still to be there, and so I’ll go ask Dolya where he went.” She headed off to the stairs in the teachers’ wing of the house.

Luet was not surprised that Mebbekew had already managed to attach himself to a woman, even in this house where women were taught to see through shallow men. However, it
did
surprise her that Dolya was giving the boy the time of day. She had been worked over by champion flatterers and sycophants in her theatre
days, and shouldn’t have noticed Mebbekew except to laugh discreetly at him.

But then, Luet was quite aware that she saw through flatterers more easily than most women, since the flatterers never actually tried to work their seductive magic on
her.
Waterseers had a reputation for seeing through lies—though, truth to tell, Luet could only see what the Oversoul showed her, and the Oversoul was not noted for helping a daughter with her love life. As if I had a love life, thought Luet. As if I needed one. The Oversoul has marked my path for me. And where my path touches others’ lives, I will trust the Oversoul to tell them her will. My husband will discover me as his wife when he chooses to. And I will be content.

Content . . . she almost laughed at herself. All my dreams are tied up in the boy, we’ve been to the edge of death together, and still he pines for Eiadh. Are men’s lives nothing but the secretions of overactive glands? Can’t they analyze and understand the world about them, as women can? Can’t Nafai see that Eiadh’s love will be as permanent as rain, ready to evaporate as soon as the storm passes? Edhya
needs
a man like Elemak, who won’t tolerate her straying heart. Where Nafai would be heartbroken at her disloyalty, Elemak would be brutally angry, and Eiadh, the poor foolish creature, would fall in love with him all over again.

Not that Luet saw all this herself, of course. It was Hushidh who saw all the connections, all the threads binding people together; it was Hushidh who explained to her that Nafai seemed not to notice Luet because he was so enamored of Eiadh. It was Hushidh who also understood the bond between Elemak and Eiadh, and why they were so right for each other.

And now Mebbekew and Dol. Well, it was another piece of the puzzle, wasn’t it? When Luet had seen her
vision of women in the woods behind Rasa’s house, that night when she returned from warning Wetchik of the threat against his life, it had made no sense to her. Now, though, she knew why she had seen Dolya. She would be with Mebbekew, as Eiadh with Elemak. Shedemei would also be coming out to the desert, or at least would be involved with their journey, gathering seeds and embryos. And Hushidh also would come. And Aunt Rasa. Luet’s vision had been of the women called out into the desert.

Poor Dolya. If she had known that taking Mebbekew into her room would take her on a path leading out of Basilica, she would have kicked him and bit him and hit him, if need be, to get him out of her room! As it was, though, Luet fully expected to find them together.

She knocked on Dol’s door. As she expected, there was the sound of a flurry of movement inside. And a soft thump.

“Who is it?” asked Dol.

“Luet.”

“I’m not conveniently situated at the moment.”

“I have no doubt if it,” said Luet, “but Lady Rasa sent me with some urgency. May I come in?”

“Yes, of course.”

Luet opened the door to find Dolya lying in bed, her sheets up over her shoulders. There was no sign of Mebbekew, of course, but the bed had been well-rumpled, the bath was full of grey water, and a bunch of grapes had been left on the floor—not the way Dolya usually arranged things before taking a midday nap.

“What does Aunt Rasa want of me?” asked Dol.

“Nothing of
you,
Dol,” said Luet. “She wants all her children and Wetchik’s children to join her at once.”

“Then why aren’t you knocking at Sevet’s or Kokor’s door? They aren’t here.”

“Mebbekew knows why I’m here,” said Luet. Remembering the thump she heard, and the brief amount of time before she opened the door, she reached a conclusion about his present whereabouts. “So as soon as I close the door, he can get up off the floor beside your bed, put some kind of clothing on, and come to Lady Rasa’s room.”

Dol looked stricken. “Forgive me for trying to deceive you, Waterseer,” she whispered.

Sometimes it made Luet want to scream, the way everyone assumed that when she showed any spark of wit it must be a revelation from the Oversoul—as if Luet would be incapable of discerning the obvious on her own. And yet it was also useful, Luet had to admit. Useful in that people tended to tell her the truth more readily, because they believed she would catch them in their lies. But the price of this truthfulness was that they did not like her company, and avoided her. Only friends shared such intimacies, and only freely. Forced, or so they thought, to share their secrets with Luet, they withheld their friendship, and Luet was not part of the lives of most of the women around her. They held her in such awe; it made her feel unworthy and filled her with rage, both at once.

It was that anger that led Luet to torment Mebbekew by forcing him to speak. “Did you hear me, Mebbekew?”

A long wait. Then: “Yes.”

“I’ll tell Lady Rasa,” said Luet, “that her message was received.”

She started to back out the door and draw it closed behind her, when Dol called out to her. “Wait . . . Luet.”

“Yes?”

“His clothes . . . they were being washed . . .”

“I’ll send them up.”

“Do you think they’ll be dry by now?”

“Dry enough,” said Luet. “Don’t you think so, Mebbekew?”

Mebbekew sat upright, so his head appeared on the other side of the bed. “Yes,” he said glumly.

“Damp clothes will cool you off,” said Luet. “It’s such a hot day, at least in this room.” It was a fine joke, she thought, but nobody laughed.

Shedemei strode vigorously along the path to Wetchik’s coldhouse, which was nestled in a narrow valley and shaded by tall trees just outside the place where the city wall curved around the Old Orchestra. It was the last and, she feared, the hardest part of her task of assembling the flora and fauna for the mad project of a voyage through space, back to the legendary lost planet Earth. I am going to all this trouble because I had a dream, and took it for interpretation to a dreamer. A journey on camels, and they think it will lead them to Earth.

Yet the dream was still alive within her. The life she carried with her on the cloud.

So she came to the door of Wetchik’s coldhouse, not certain whether she really hoped to find one of his servants acting as caretaker.

No one answered when she clapped her hands. But the machines that kept the house cold inside might well mask her loudest clapping. So she went to the door and tried it. Locked.

Of course it was. Wetchik had gone into the desert weeks ago, hadn’t he? And Rashgallivak, his steward and, supposedly, the new Wetchik, had been in hiding somewhere ever since. Who would keep the place running, with both of them gone?

Except that the machines here
were
running, weren’t they? Which meant
somebody
was still caring for the place. Unless they carelessly left them on, and the plants untended inside.

That was quite possible, of course. The cold air would keep the specialized plants thriving for many days, and the coldhouse, drawing its power from the solar scoops on the poles rising high above the house, could run indefinitely without even drawing on the city’s power supply.

And yet Shedemei knew that someone was still taking care of this place, though she could not have said
how
she knew it. And furthermore, she knew that the caretaker was inside the coldhouse right now, and knew she was there, and wanted her to go away. Whoever was in here was hiding.

And who was it who needed to hide?

“Rashgallivak,” called Shedemei. “I’m only Shedemei. You know me, and I’m alone, and I will tell no one you are here, but I must talk to you.” She waited, no response. “It’s nothing about the city, or the things going on in there,” she called out loudly. “I simply need to buy a couple of pieces of equipment from you.”

She could hear the door unbolting from the inside. Then it swung open on its heavy hinges. Rashgallivak stood there, looking forlorn and wasted. He held no weapon.

“If you’ve come to betray me, then I welcome it as a relief.”

Shedemei declined to point out that betrayal would only be pure justice, after the way Rashgallivak had betrayed the Wetchik’s house, allying himself with Gaballufix in order to steal his master’s place. She had business to do here; she was not a justicer.

“I care nothing for politics,” she said, “and I care nothing for you. I simply need to buy a dozen drycases. The portable ones, used for caravans.”

He shook his head. “Wetchik had me sell them all.”

Shedemei closed her eyes for a weary moment. He was forcing her to say things she had not wanted to throw in his face. “Oh, Rashgallivak, please don’t expect me to believe that you actually sold them, knowing that you intended to take control of the house of Wetchik and would need to continue in the business.”

Rashgallivak flushed—in shame, Shedemei hoped. “Nevertheless, I sold them, as I was told to do.”

“Then who bought them?” asked Shedemei. “It’s the drycases I want, not you.”