Plunder of Gor (44 page)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

“And there was no message?” asked Kurik.

“No,” I said.

“Decius Albus then,” he said, “is in league with Lord Agamemnon.”

“I fear so,” I said.

“You were not followed?” he said.

“No, master,” I said. “But is it not possible that my meeting yesterday with the slave, Paula, was indeed, as it seemed, a coincidence?”

“No,” he said.

“It is possible,” I said.

“No,” he said.

“I detected nothing in Paula's behavior or mien, today or yesterday, that suggested otherwise,” I said. I was upset, in retrospect, with the manner in which I had treated Paula. We had been friends. We had been so happy, or surely had seemed so, yesterday, encountering one another again. I feared I had hurt her.

“The slave,” said Kurik, “is extremely intelligent. She may be a fine actress. But, too, she may be an unwitting dupe in the plans of Decius Albus. That is possible.”

“As I, in your plans?” I said.

“Precisely,” he said.

“If there was no message,” he said, “then the purpose of the rendezvous, in the plans of Decius Albus, was to locate me in Ar.”

“Which plan failed, signally,” I said.

“No,” he said. “You would have been followed. I am certain of that.”

“I was not followed,” I said. “I returned by a devious route, complex and tortuous, and frequently looked about and behind me. No one followed me. I am sure of that.”

“No,” he said. “If there was no message, Decius Albus would be in league with Lord Agamemnon, and he would have had you followed, that I might be discovered. I counted on that, and have prepared.”

“But I was not followed,” I said.

“You must have been,” he said.

“Master is mistaken,” I said.

“Tell me everything that occurred,” he said, “no matter how seemingly unimportant or trivial, following your departure from the fountain of Aiakos.”

“I can think of little, or nothing, nothing of importance,” I said.

“I see you are hesitant, and troubled,” he said. “Perhaps a few strokes of the whip might stir your memory.”

“Nothing of importance, Master,” I said.

“And what then, of unimportance?” he asked.

“My arms were tired,” I said. “The pail was heavy. The journey was much further than usual, my body ached, a kindly kajirus helped me, carrying the pail for much of the distance.”

Kurik, my master, slapped his thigh in amusement, and broke out laughing.

“Master?” I said.

“I see,” he said, “as you said, you were not followed.”

“No, Master,” I said.

“Rather,” said he, “you were accompanied.”

“Master?” I said.

“The slave,” he said, “if he were a slave, was an agent of Decius Albus, and you led him to my doorstep!”

“He was kind,” I said. “He was solicitous, he was helpful.”

“How naive you are,” he laughed. “You were in a collar, and he was a man. Do you think men do not know what to do with slaves, and how to treat them? He will probably dream of you tonight, perhaps well whipped, fearful, chained at his feet.”

“But was he not a slave?” I said, in dismay.

“He might have been, he might not have been,” said Kurik. “But surely it was intended he would seem a slave. Did I not tell you how useful slaves can be, how they tend to be less suspected?”

“Forgive me, Master!” I wept, in horror. “Do not kill me!”

“Why should I kill you?” he laughed. “I might, in a good market, get two silver tarsks for you.”

I lay on the floor, weeping, covering my head with my hands.

“I expected,” he said, “if there was no message, we might soon expect a visit from our friends.”

“Forgive me, Master,” I wept.

“It will not occur until dark,” he said. “What have you planned for supper?”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

“Fire!” whispered Kurik, shaking me.

I awakened suddenly, abruptly, jarred to a sense of peril.

I had not intended to sleep.

Kurik's hand prevented me from springing to my feet.

I conjectured it must be the second or third Ahn. I could smell smoke.

“You thought there would be an intruder, or intruders, did you not?” he said.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“It would be a bold fellow to climb the stairs in the dark, knife in hand, when he might be expected, would it not?” he said.

I, released, rose to my feet, and hurried to the portal, at the head of the stairs.

“Do not go downstairs,” he said.

“We must escape!” I said, turning about.

“They will be waiting,” he said.

“The back way!” I said.

“Would you not have that covered, as well?” he asked.

“Master!” I cried.

“Scream,” he suggested.

But no sound escaped me. “I cannot,” I whispered. I was too frightened to scream. I could not make myself scream.

“Very well,” he said, “Perhaps later.”

“We must depart the building!” I said.

“Into the night,” he said, “framed in a doorway, the fire behind us?”

“We cannot remain here,” I said. “If we remain here, we will perish in the fire.”

“Clearly,” he said.

“Please, Master!” I said.

The boards of the flooring were hot. I could hear the fire raging on the bottom floor. My eyes began to sting. I coughed. Smoke was now ascending the stairwell. I shut the door at the head of the stairs. I could see fire through some of the cracks in the flooring. As I was barefoot, it was painful to stand on the boards. I ran to the wall to my right, and put my hands against it. The wall, too, was hot. I could see smoke curling up through the opening at the bottom of the door at the head of the stairs. I was sure the stairs were aflame. We could not well then descend to the ground floor and attempt to avail ourselves of the rear exit to the building, even if we had wished to do so.

“We cannot remain here!” I wept.

“Perhaps we will not do so,” he said.

“Master, Master!” I cried, in misery, coughing.

“I think we might now signal our distress, and assure our friends that we are well aware of our plight.”

“Master?” I said.

“Surely we would not want them to think we were ignorant of our peril,” he said.

“Master!” I wept.

“That should please them,” he said.

“We must flee the building,” I said.

“And rush through flames to the points of waiting knives, to the greeting of flighted quarrels?”

“Surely we do not want to be burned alive!” I said.

“Certainly not,” he said.

“The flames, the flames!” I said.

“They reflect nicely on the metal of your collar,” he said.

“The building is afire!” I said.

“Perhaps, now,” he said, “you might scream a bit.”

“Master?” I said.

“Surely we owe them some satisfaction,” he said. “What if they fear we might have left the building?”

I saw no hope, now, save in some frantic rushing forth, attempting to descend the flaming stairs and bolt into the night and into whatever might be there, if anything, waiting for us.

“Steady,” he said.

I feared that Kurik of Victoria, seemingly so calm, seemingly so oblivious of the danger, was now deranged, or mad.

“Steady,” he said.

I stood, uncertain, dismayed, in the center of the room. Smoke was about. The floor grew ever more heated!

I coughed.

I was seized by a sudden panic.

I waited! He decided nothing! He gave no command!

How frightful that he should be so inert!

I was wild with terror.

“Steady,” said he, “kajira.”

“Master!” I cried, and I ran to the door at the top of the stairs, and seized the handle, which was hot, and threw open the door, and then staggered back, shielding my face with my arms as a burst of flame and smoke roared into the room. Kurik of Victoria, a step behind me, flung shut the door and drew me back into the room. I was coughing and sobbing. He then stood behind me, holding me by the arms. I could not move. I threw back my head and, sobbing, screamed, piercingly, again and again.

“Excellent,” he said. “That will do, nicely.”

He then swept me up, into his arms, and, shortly thereafter, climbing the narrow stairs leading up, from the kitchen, we had reached the roof.

I could see buildings about, and, in the distance, several of the lofty towers of Ar, lights in many of the narrow windows, not wide enough to admit the passage of a body, and several of the narrow, graceful, lamp-lit bridges that, like delicate traceries, at various levels, linked the towers. I could even see, across the city, the beacon fires of the Central Cylinder. Tarnsmen come and go, during the day and night.

“Forgive me, Master,” I sobbed, in his arms, “I ran.”

“No forgiveness is necessary,” he said. “One expects a frightened animal to run from fire.”

“And I am an animal?” I said.

“Of course,” he said. “You are a slave.”

“Might not even a free woman have run?” I said.

“Quite possibly,” he said. “A free woman is only a slave inappropriately clad.”

“I was afraid,” I said. “I could not help myself! I screamed!”

“I intended that you do so,” he said. “And you did so quite nicely.”

“I see,” I said.

“You may be far less bright and beautiful than your friend, Paula,” he said, “but I doubt that even she could improve on your screaming.”

“A slave is pleased, if her master is pleased,” I said.

“There is no need to be bitter,” he said.

“May I recall to Master,” I said, “that the building is afire. I fear Master has done no more than postpone the inevitable.”

“It certainly seems that way,” he said.

“Perhaps Master might put me down now,” I suggested.

“It is pleasant to hold you in my arms,” he said.

“My feet cannot reach the ground,” I said. “I have no leverage. I am helpless.”

“Very pleasant,” he said. “But perhaps I should limit your gruel, to reduce your weight by two or three minna, and trim your curves a bit, to bring you a little closer to what, for you, would be ideal block measurements.”

“Please, Master,” I said, “put your slave down.”

“You are aware, of course,” he said, “that many masters enjoy keeping their slaves to their ideal block weight and block measurements, so they will look well in their tunics.”

“Yes, Master,” I said. “I am aware of that.”

“Only free women,” he said, “are allowed to be gross, slovenly, and fat.”

“Doubtless that changes,” I said, “when they are collared.”

“Of course,” he said. “They must then become lovely, obedient, and exquisitely feminine.”

“The building is afire,” I said.

“You wish to be put down?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“First,” he said, “snuggle closer to me, lift your head, lick and kiss my neck, and then press your lips to mine, kissing, as a slave.”

“‘As a slave'?” I said.

“Of course,” he said.

I complied.

“Please, Master,” I wept, “do not become excited.”

“Your tunic has slipped up a bit,” he said.

“I cannot help it, as I am carried,” I said.

“As I have often thought,” he said, “your flanks are not without interest.”

“A slave is pleased, if her master is pleased,” I said.

“I thought that would be so,” he said, “even in the office, on Earth, when you dared to conceal them from me.”

“It was my lapse, Master,” I said.

“It is unimportant,” he said. “I can now look upon them when, and as, I please.”

There was a crash from within the building.

“The second floor has collapsed!” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“May I be put down?” I asked.

“Surely,” he said.

It would not do to tell my master, but, in his arms, I began to tremble with need. In pleasing another, one not unoften pleases oneself; in arousing another, one often arouses oneself.

I wondered if masters realized what effect they had on slaves.

We are so different from men!

It is little wonder we treasure our bondage, our helplessness, and collars.

I think a beam fell, below, for there was a crash.

“The roof may collapse any moment,” I said.

“I fear you are right,” he said.

“I am certain of it,” I said.

He then lowered me to the floor of the roof, and went himself to the side. He then turned back, to face me. “By now,” he said, “I expect our friends will suppose us perished in the flames.”

I did not respond. His surmise seemed not unjustified.

“But,” he said, “given the fire, the hot ash, the dangers of collapsing wood, it will take some time for them to make their way into the building.”

“I wish you well, Master,” I said, sobbing.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Master?” I asked.

“You may precede me, or follow me,” he said.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“You cannot see it from where you are,” he said, “but I have fixed a narrow beam in the outside wall, which leads up to the adjacent roof.”

“Master!” I cried, rushing to the wall, then crying out with fear as I almost plunged from the roof to the alley below.

“Where is it?” I asked, drawing back, sick with fear.

“There,” he said, pointing over the edge of the wall, to his right.

“I see it,” I said.

It seemed less a beam than a narrow, springy rod.

“That will not hold my weight,” I said, “let alone yours.”

“Nonsense,” he said, “it is tem wood. In the south it is used for lances, it can bend almost double before snapping.”

“I cannot walk on that,” I said. “It is too narrow.” I was sure it was little more than an inch in width, if that.

“It weighs little,” said Kurik, “and can be handled easily with one hand, as might be a rod.”

“It is black,” I said, “it is hard to see, it is night!”

“All tem wood is black,” he said.

He then, carefully, put one foot on the narrow wood. It was supple. I saw it bend a little beneath the press of his foot.

Meanwhile the fire roared ever more fiercely. I could see flames at the front of the house, where the original blaze must have been set, to seal off the front entrance. The floor of the roof was hot. I heard not only a crackling of flame, nearby, but a snapping sound, almost beneath my feet.

“Carry me!” I begged.

“I thought you wanted to be put down,” he said.

“No, no!” I said.

“A slave is commonly carried over the right shoulder, if one is right-handed,” he said, “but I think that might unbalance me, and the paving stones of the alley are hard, and, I fear, rather far below.”

“You carried me forward upstairs,” I said.

“That is a pleasant way to carry a woman,” he said. “It is often used with naked free women, captured but not yet collared, which preserves their dignity as they are not yet slaves, but also, upon occasion, with slaves whom one wishes to relish in one's arms.”

“But if I am carried so,” I said, “how can you see the pole?”

“One looks ahead, to the destination,” he said. “Too, one feels it with one's feet.”

“I am afraid,” I said.

He then approached me, and lifted me in his arms, and I clung to him, and shut my eyes, fiercely.

I heard the roar of the flames behind me.

I cried out, for the pole dipped down, unexpectedly, given our weight, but, after a few terrifying moments, Kurik had trod the pole upward to the higher roof, across the way. On the new roof, he put me down, and I collapsed, shuddering, unable to stand, to the floor of the roof. He then freed the pole, and pulled it up, and over, onto the roof, so that it could not be seen from below.

“What will we do, where will we go?” I asked.

“While our friends are scouting the ashes,” he said, “we shall descend, into this building, and, shortly, exit from its back entrance.”

“Master has essayed the practicality of this?” I said.

“Certainly,” he said. “We will then go to the new rental I arranged, as I anticipated the possibility that a change in lodging might prove advisable.”

“And you made these arrangements,” I said, “when I was familiarizing myself, so to speak, with the city.”

“Of course,” he said.

“How shall we proceed?” I asked.

“You felt well in my arms,” he said.

We could hear men in the street below, for a throng had gathered. “It is a tragedy,” we heard. “The building is done,” said a voice. “Why was the alarm not given sooner?” asked a voice. “The blaze was not discovered in time,” said another. “There was no opportunity to extinguish the flames,” said another voice. “I trust no one was hurt,” said another voice. “We do not know,” said another. “Perhaps the building was unoccupied,” said another. “Let us hope so,” said another. “How did the fire begin?” asked another. “That is not known,” said another.

At this point there was a cry of awe, and alarm, from the throng, for, with a great crash, the roof of the building we had just abandoned collapsed, and a torrent of smoke, sparks, and flame roared upward.

I could not see the features of my master, but only a dark form, a silhouette, behind which the flames raged.

I sensed I was being regarded.

He was immobile.

I was uneasy.

“Let us flee,” I said.

“Be patient,” he said. “The fire continues to burn, fiercely. Our friends will still be about, and doubtless watching, doubtless in both front and back. Our departure is best postponed until they are otherwise occupied, until they begin their examination, thrusting about in the ashes, in the smoking debris.”