Pandora's Genes (2 page)

“She doesn’t want to eat,” he said and took his place again.

His mother started to say something, then stopped, looking up at the loft. When she returned to her own meal, she kept her face lowered. For a moment nobody spoke, then Marson said gruffly, “Pass over the serving bowl, Daiv.”

Zach felt he could not swallow one more bite of this family’s food.

“I’m quite full now,” he said, pushing himself from the table. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” said Marson. Unceremoniously he took Zach’s half-empty bowl and poured its contents back into the serving pot.

“I believe I’ll take a walk,” said Zach. “If you’ll excuse me?”

The man and woman didn’t bother to hide their relief. “We close the house when the sun goes down,” said Marson. “You won’t want to be out then, anyway.”

Hanging his smoking pouch on his belt, Zach stepped outside, then went to his mount, which had been lapping water from a trough in the side yard. He took his short sword from the saddle, then walked toward the woods. He was too tired to do much walking but wanted to give the brewer’s family more time to sort out their troubles. He half expected that when he returned they would announce that they had changed their minds. Of course he could not allow that – the Principal had become obsessed with the project. Zach sat on a boulder and, using his flint and steel, lit his pipe, then he gazed beyond the roof of Marson’s wretched hut. The smoke escaping through the chimney-hole seemed to blend with that from Zach’s pipe; only by focusing could he keep them separate, just as he was able to separate himself from the general misery of humankind by keeping his own wants and expectations so low that he was seldom disappointed.

Whether it was his reluctance to return to the hut or the reverie inspired by new-smoke, sunset crept up on him. It happened so gradually that there was no one minute when he could say, “This is dusk.” Rather, the air changed imperceptibly, becoming more moist and cool; the color of the sky went from blue to bluer, then indigo. The trees began to vibrate with the sounds of insects, and it was only after he had been startled by the bite of a shiny green fly that Zach realized how late it was. He must get back to the cabin.

His mount had already assumed the immobile position of sleep by the time Zach reached the yard. He started toward her, to retrieve his blanket, when he heard the swishing of wings above him. He threw himself to the ground barely in time to avoid the poison-dripping talons of the bat which had found him out at night, unprotected. He rolled over twice to avoid another attack, then rose to a crouch, his sword out defensively. He began to back up slowly, listening for the flapping wings which were invisible in the near-total darkness. He had nearly reached the door when the eerie swishing sound again approached, and he threw himself against the door, fell into the room, and kicked the door shut. A second later he heard the sound of talons scraping wood, a high-pitched squeal of frustration, and then silence. Zach took a deep breath, then slowly stood. His legs were trembling and he felt foolish as the brewer’s family looked at him, the children wide-eyed, Marson and his wife impassive.

“It gets dark quickly here,” said Marson.

“Sit down,” said the woman. Zach sank into the chair and gratefully accepted the tankard of brew she poured for him.

“You had no trouble with bats on the way here?” she asked.

I saw none, though I heard one once,” said Zach.

I heard a bat can kill you in ten seconds,” said Daiv. “Is that true?”

“Quite likely,” said Zach. “The poison is very powerful and fast-working.”

“I saw a bat take a sheep down in half a minute,” said Marson. “It was years ago, before poison-bats were as common as they are now.”

“Enough talk of bats,” said the woman. “It will give us all bad dreams.” Then she flushed, perhaps remembering that there was already reason for bad dreams. “Daiv, go on up to bed,” she said. “Make sure the little ones are settled and see if Evvy wants anything.”

With a show of reluctance, Daiv mounted the ladder. Hushed whispers drifted down and Zach hoped there wouldn’t be another outburst.

“Does the boy know what has been arranged?” asked Zach in a low voice.

“Only that Evvy’s going away to the Capital,” said Marson. He snorted. “He wanted to know why he can’t go too.” The little man looked down at his feet while his wife suddenly busied herself with some mending.

Zach sensed that they would prefer to settle the business tonight, but were hesitant to bring it up. He too would prefer to get it over with, but the Principal had been explicit: he mustn’t turn over any metal until he had the girl secure. But what was the harm? They would leave at daybreak, and she couldn’t go anywhere before then, not with bats hunting. On the other hand, he hadn’t seen her, only heard muffled whispers and some scraping noises. Perhaps it was all a trick. But then Zach remembered the high-pitched “No!” and the hurt and puzzled look on Daiv’s face. Those could not have been faked, nor could the pain and embarrassment of the brewer and his wife.

“We’ll be getting a very early start tomorrow,” Zach said casually. “Perhaps we should settle our business tonight.”

“That might be best,” Marson agreed.

Zach reached into his pouch and brought out a small cloth bag, heavy with metal. Marson’s eyes followed the bag as Zach held it in his hand.

“You both understand that once you take this you cannot change your minds. That you will never see the girl again.”

“I understand,” muttered Marson.

“And you madame?”

There was a long silence, then she nodded.

“Her other fathers?”

“Her first-father is dead.”

“Very well. The Principal wants his citizens to know that he himself observes his laws scrupulously. A few years ago, his men could simply have taken her, whether you agreed or not.”

“That’s so,” said Marson.

“This way, it’s a fair exchange. Value for value. I give you this metal and you give your daughter to the Principal, in my care, forever.”

“We agree,” said Marson.

“Yes,” said his wife. “Only, can you tell us what is going to happen to her?”

“She’s the Principal’s to do with as he wishes,” said Marson. “And he’s an honest man. He obeys his own laws.”

Zach reached for his brew without comment. Yes, the Principal was an honest man, and in most ways a good and kind one. In this one area only he showed a dark side so strong that all of his good intentions and works seemed powerless against it.

“I’ll take good care of her on the journey,” Zach found himself telling the couple. “I’ll care for her as if she were my own daughter. In the Capital, she will be well fed and well clothed.” For the time that she remains with the Principal, at least, he thought privately.

The man and woman seemed overwhelmed, and Zach sensed that they were once again on the point of changing their minds. He spoke: “Why don’t we all have a bit of brew, to seal the bargain?”

“Yes,” agreed Marson. He hopped up and refilled Zach’s tankard, then his own and a drinking gourd for his wife. As she took it, Zach could see that her hands were trembling.

“To our bargain,” said Zach. They drank. He rose and handed the moneybag to Marson, who opened it onto the floor in front of him. He and his wife counted through the shiny round coins, twice.

“It’s so much,” the woman said.

“Value for value,” said Zach. “I advise you to hide it in a very safe place. Even in this remote area, it’s possible I have been seen and recognized.”

“I already know the place,” said Marson. “I’ll attend to it as soon as you’ve left in the morning.”

“I wish you luck,” said Zach.

Marson looked at him, then: “Thank you.” He sounded exhausted. He gathered up the metal and replaced it in the bag, then stood and took his wife’s hand. “Come on, then,” he said. “Let’s go to bed.”

After they had climbed to the loft, Zach finished his brew, looking at the fire. He thought of his blanket still outside on the mount, then spread his cloak and stretched his long frame out on it, resting his head on his hands. He was so tired that he ached, but it was a long time before he fell asleep; when he did, he dreamed that he was lost in a snowbank, hands and feet turning blue, while needles of ice fell from the sky around him.

Z
ACH WAS AWAKENED BY HANDS
gently shaking him. He sat up quickly, startled, then recognized the face of the brewer’s wife.

“Wake up,” she said. “The sun’s just rising.”

Zach stretched, then stood, feeling stiff from head to toe. The fire had burnt down to ashes and the room was cold.

“You can wash outdoors by the shed,” said the woman. “In here we keep only enough water for cooking.”

Zach pulled his cloak over his shoulders and went out into the yard. Shallow footprints in the lightly dewed ground showed that Marson and his wife had both been out earlier. Zach bent over a barrel filled with rainwater and splashed his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, then dried with the edge of his cloak. His mount was whistling softly. He gently stroked her side, then brought her to the front of the cabin in grazing range of some scrub. He stood for a moment gazing at the surrounding woods, orange and yellow in the early morning light, then went back indoors.

The woman was busy at the fire while Daiv and the four young children stood around her, making sleepy sounds.

“Go and wash up, children,” she said. “And Daiv, please see to the cut on Josef’s cheek.”

After a curious glance at Zach, Daiv herded the younger children outside, and presently the door opened again and Marson entered, holding a pail of water and some greens. “It’s bitter cold this morning,” he remarked. “Looks to be another early winter.” He inclined his head toward Zach then. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” said Zach.

“We have a simple breakfast,” said Marson. “Porridge and root tea.” His tone was fairly sarcastic.

“That’s better than I’ve had in many days,” said Zach. Then, realizing what that might portend for Evvy, he added, “I’ve been in such a hurry I haven’t taken much time for food.”

Marson walked over to the fire to warm his hands, then looked into the kettle.

“Hurry that up,” he said.

The woman pushed stringy hair off her forehead with the back of her hand, then turned and looked at him. “The water is just boiling, as you can plainly see.”

“Leave the tea to me. It’s time to prepare Evvy.”

She didn’t answer. A few minutes later she carried the pot of porridge to the table, then without another word ascended to the loft.

“Will you have tea?” asked Marson. Without waiting for an answer, he ladled hot water into a cup and handed it to Zach. Through the steam Zach could see what looked like dried roots at the bottom. Marson went to the door and called out, “Come in, boys. It’s cold.”

Almost immediately the five boys entered, Daiv carrying the youngest.

“I think Josef’s sick,” he said. “He’s hot, and he keeps rubbing the scratch on his face.”

“Give him to me,” said Marson. He took the youngster in his arms, then turned the boy’s cheek to the window. “He’ll be all right,” he announced. He set the baby down, and Zach saw that the wound was red and oozing, with angry little lines beginning to spread from it. He felt a sudden chill and turned to his tea, cupping his hands around it for warmth.

“It might help to clean the wound with soap and water,” he said after a moment.

“That’s old-fashioned nonsense,” said Marson. “Scratches heal or they don’t. Sit down, boys. Daiv, give me the bowls.”

Zach had become aware of a low, urgent murmuring from the loft, then shuffling sounds. He heard the woman and, he presumed, the girl descending.

“Come along, Evvy,” said the woman. She had her arm around a figure who was almost completely hidden by a long blue cloak. Zach looked after them as they went through the narrow door.

“Eat your porridge!” Marson snapped at the boys. The five young faces turned from the door and to Marson. Daiv looked down at his bowl and began to eat. Zach fought the urge to walk out and ride away, as fast as he could, far beyond the borders of the District. He sipped from his cup and nearly choked. The liquid was bitter, heavy, unsavory. He set the cup down. “A strong tea,” he murmured.

“I pick the herbs myself,” said Marson. “It’s not to everyone’s taste, but it will wake you up.”

Marson drank deeply from his own cup, and Zach gave it another try. The bitter warmth spread through his body, calming him. He began to eat the porridge, surprised how rich it was. The four young children ate greedily and unselfconsciously, while the older boy picked at his breakfast, stealing curious glances at Zach. Marson continued to sip tea, the porridge in front of him untouched.

There was a scream from outside, then the sound of a slap.

“What’s the matter with Evvy?” asked one of the younger children. Not receiving an answer, he turned back to his breakfast.

Finally Marson spoke. “You must understand,” he said. “We are very poor.” Zach tried to think what to say in answer, and then the little man added bitterly, “But I’m sure you’ve heard that before. The fact remains. Since Evvy’s first-father died, we have nothing. Not even enough food for our children. And what we manage to earn is taken away almost as soon as we get it. What choice do we have?” He stopped speaking abruptly, looked down at his cup, then drained it.

“Henny wants more, Pa,” said Daiv.

“Give him what’s in my bowl, then,” said Marson, and he got up from the table and went to the fire, where he began to make more tea. The silence was broken only by the noise of the children eating, and Zach was certain he could bear it no longer when the door opened and the woman came in, her face grim, her eyes red-rimmed. Behind her was Evvy.

Zach had been about to drink the last of his bitter tea, but the cup stopped just at his lips, and he set it down again and stared. In spite of dark circles under eyes which had spent many hours crying, in spite of the too-pale skin and dazed expression, this was the most striking girl he had seen in his life. Her long hair, just drying, was the rich brown of freshly turned earth, mixed with golden strands that reflected the feeble morning sun, and her eyes were as dark as plums. She was thin and tall, and moved with a presence which accentuated and was perhaps the basis for her beauty.