The Wraeththu Chronicles (109 page)

was right; it did sound corny.

I smiled. "Do you think I'll like life in Mojag?"

"Anything's better than this, surely!"

I lay back on the rug and stretched. I made him wait for as long as possible before saying, "Alright, if you're sure you mean it. This isn't going to be retracted after tonight, is it?"

Outher stood up. "Now you've said yes, there won't be a tonight," he said. "When we take aruna together, it will be when this place is far behind you!"

"Fine," I said, thinking, you get away from that door, idiot; you don't get away that easily. "Look, you don't have to go just because we're not going to leap in the bed or runkle the carpet! Let's get to know each other a little, shall we? Tell me about Mojag. Come on, sit down. I've got all this wretched food now and there's some wine chilling on the window-sill." I snuggled up against him again and let him bore me stiff rambling on about Mojag, a place that seemed tedious to the point of incredibility. I made a mental note never to go there. I've met many hara who are more masculine than they should be; sometimes they can carry it off pretty well. Mojags reminded me of the worst type of men who were probably (and thankfully) the first to be removed neatly from the face of the earth when Wraeththu rose up and splatted the humans. Mojags are a complete waste of harish time. Sorry Outher, you've been put together very nicely physically but your brain would be more at home floating, chopped up, in soup. After he'd exhausted himself talking, we sat quietly and watched the fire. He thought we were sharing a peaceful, silent moment together, but my mind was racing, planning, trying to take advantage of this incredibly fortuitous event. Outher was my key for Panthera's locked room. "What do you do in the evenings?" I asked.

"Drink mostly!" He laughed and I tittered impishly, flapping my eyelashes in what Kruin would have thought was a demented manner. "There's little entertainment to be found here," he continued woefully. "Most nights we have to listen to what goes on in Panthera's room. You have to get drunk to put up with that!"

"Ah, but you have me now," I said, nuzzling his face. His rapture at this behavior was laughable. Even an imbecile could see I was hamming it up so much you could virtually taste the salad too. "Do you have the same nights off as Panthera?"

He looked sour. "In a way. We take it in turns. Jafit won't ever let Panthera stay unguarded."

"How many nights off a week does Panthera get?" "Only one, and he never knows which one that will be."

"Do you?"

"Yes, of course. We have to organize our duties around it."

"And when's the next one?"

"Four days' time. Why? What is it to you?" He didn't have an ounce of suspicion in him, however.

"I just want to know, because that night, I'll send you a present. I don't want you having to be all alert and on duty while you're enjoying it."

"You're lovely," he said tenderly. "Deadly," I replied and he laughed.

So, tonight is the night. No more waiting. Goodbye vulgar clients, hello freedom. When I write again, it will be to state whether our plans were successful or not. If they're not, I may not be able to write again! A less than cheering thought. The Mojags are to be drugged with the Diamanda, which will be diluted in the large carafe of expensive wine that I'm sending to Outher for him to share with his companions. Once they're asleep, Kruin will scale the wall outside and try to remove the bars. He has obtained a corrodant which takes about fifteen minutes to work. Panthera and myself will leave Piristil through the window, into the yard, where Kruin will have the horses waiting, loaded with supplies. This venture has cost Kruin and myself nearly all the money we have. Kruin, to get rid of his duty toward the merchants, even had to hire another guide to get them safely back to Natawni. The planning is all finished; we'll just have to pray we're successful. It all hangs on Outher's trust in me and whether he's generous enough to share the wine as I'll suggest. I've had to endure four days of his dull wooing, made more vile by the fact that it required

convincing responses. Imagine, we've even been discussing names for children! Every moment he has, he swears undying love to me; I have to take it all in without laughing. The fool's so easy to deceive it's embarrassing to take advantage of it. I could almost serve him a dose of Acridil for being such a stupid bore. People have died for less, as they say.

Flight toward Hadassah

"Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

And leaden-eyed despair."

—John Keats, Ode to a Nightingale

Dampness, warmth, rising steam. The sound of moisture dripping from leaf to leaf. Birds are silenced; our horses pushing through greenery. Ahead of us the trees are thinning. Pell is in front of me. I am filled with feelings that I cannot describe. It is as if Fate himself is looming above the trees, filling the sky. At the time, I am not afraid nor even do I try to fight it. A town has appeared. It is quiet, no smoke rising, no movement; the trees have peeled back to reveal it. The town is red, the trees are green. We walk our horsesupon the road. "Pell," I say, "let me go first. It might be dangerous. " Pell shakes his head. We are both powerless, but we know nothing, only that we love. We do not realize that all the time something has been following us, leading us, directing us. I should have known. God, I should have known. Love blinds me. Now the time for such teasing has come to an end. Pell can play at life no more and my time of sanity is over. Back to the time of blood. The end.
 
We are not aware of what controls us because, for a time, we were innocent and incapable of thinking about, let alone comprehending, a thing so lunge, so terrifying, so corrupt. We can only see each other and that is enough. The bullet, when it comes, surprises me only by its sharp, exploding sound. Pell is killed instantly. I see him jerk, fall from the trembling horse. What's happened? It takes a moment to sink in. My face is stinging. Why? Has a sharp twig snapped up and scratched me? What is it? Pell, what's happened? He doesn 't answer. He can't. Never again. Never. I watch my life explode in a spray of blood and a scream; a horse's scream. Then madness takes me and everything is cold, cold, cold. I look at him lying there, his fingers twitching. Screaming horses. Death. The smell of burning. There is light above the trees, taking him from me. A cold light. I am crying out because I'm sure it is the end. If only it had been.

Jaddayoth is near. We are high up in the hills and the sharp, chill air is free of the stink of Fallsend, which is now far behind us. A fox with silver fur was watching me some moments ago as I wrote in the light of our campfire. His eyes were disks of gold. He watched me. Was he really a fox? Kruin and Panthera are asleep, rolled uncomfortably in blankets under the canopy of rock behind me. I have to take my gloves off to write and it is bitterly cold, but if I don't get it down on paper soon, I will begin to forget and the narrative will lose its edge. We have been traveling for a week, with, as yet, no sign of pursuit. I should have begun this before.

I'd been worried that some of the others in Piristil were suspicious of me, perhaps anticipating my plans—Flounah especially. For days I'd had to try and behave normally, not let anything slip, no matter how trivial, endure Outher's plodding and serious attempts at wooing me, prevent myself from packing away my belongings too soon. We weren't as prepared as I'd hoped we could be. There were too many areas in our plans where things could go drastically wrong, that we had no control over. I was concerned that we had so little Diamanda. It would be so much safer (and would improve our chances of success) if most of Piristil's occupants were slumbering peacefully as we made our getaway. On the actual night, obstacles arose like the fingers of a corpse who would not stay dead. It had taken careful machinations to nudge our time of escape onto a night when neither Panthera or I would be working. Suddenly, after dinner, Jafit told me he wanted me to see a client; a last minute arrangement. Flummoxed for a

moment, I had to pretend to be ill, which also meant that Jafit relieved me of my duty of taking Panthera his dinner that night. Panicking furiously.

I imagined Panthera would think our plans had been discovered if anyone else took my place of attending him. He might even do something rash. I thought it would be too risky and too suspicious to try and get a message to him. I'd just have to trust his faith in me and try to sneak into his room later. The drugged wine had already been delivered to Outher and his friends with a suitably simpering note. Timing was crucial. After the wine knocked them out, we had about half an hour to get out. I knew that Outher and the other Mojags usually ate their dinner about nine o'clock on nights when Panthera wasn't working. They would drink the wine after that. That gave me about two hours to get in there. I shut myself in my room and paced it from end to end for half an hour. Then Flounah knocked on my door and asked if I was alright. He'd heard the floor creaking. Irritably, I answered that I'd just got a stomach-ache; I'd be alright soon. He asked if I needed anything and I tried to calm myself by answering slowly. No, I didn't need anything, thank you. I would go to bed very shortly. I could sense him waiting on the landing outside my door for several minutes before he padded off. Did he suspect anything? Then Jafit came up, knocked and demanded to be let in. Feverishly, I opened the door.

"You look ghastly," he said, touching my face. "You should be lying down. Should I fetch a physician? Would you like one of the others to sit with you?"

I shook my head. "No, I'll be fine, honestly. I get this complaint sometimes." Once, such things would have been utterly plausible. But that was when I'd been human. Physical illness is not as common in Hara. Perhaps I'd been foolish expecting that they'd leave me alone. Jafit continued to fuss and I could barely restrain my temper. The thought, "Look, will you just fuck off!" was dangerously close to becoming a spoken reality. Eventually, after I'd uttered more than enough reassurances that I would be fine in the morning, he left.

I locked the door again and sat down on the bed. I turned off the light and stood up again, crept to the window, gazed over at Panthera's dim lights. I tried to see if Kruin was lurking in the yard yet, but of course, it was too early for that. I fretted the time away, checking and rechecking the clock as its hands crawled lazily around the dial. I smoked seventeen cigarettes, but refrained from consuming either of the bottles of wine standing on the windowsill. I would be needing a clear head. My bags were packed and standing together on the carpet. I regretted having to leave the rugs behind.

Twenty minutes past nine o'clock, I put my ear to the door. All seemed silent outside. Working kanene would be busy in their rooms. Those who were off duty would either be in Fallsend or in one of the sitting rooms on the ground floor. Jafit, as far as I knew, was conveniently visiting a friend down town. I opened the door, looked out, and there was Flounah advancing down the corridor. (Quickly, throw bags, coat behind me)."Oh, Calanthe," he said, "are you feeling better now?" I hoped the stricken feeling of horror inside me had not manifested on my face.

"A little," I said weakly. "I was just going to the bathroom."

"The bathroom's that way," Flounah said, pointing behind me.

"And to get a drink of milk from the kitchen," I added stonily. Flounah smiled and walked past me. Seething with annoyance, I had to walk past the corridor that led to Panthera's wing and go downstairs. Now I would have to go back to my room to pick up my luggage. Nuisance, nuisance; damn these stupid whores! Lurking in the shadows of the hall, waiting to see if Flounah should come back again, I was surprised by Ezhno.

"Calanthe, are you alright?" he asked, as I physically jumped about two feet. Perhaps he thought I was delirious, standing there in the dark, peering up the stairs.

"Oh fine!" I said, "Much better."

"What are you doing here? Why have you got your outdoor clothes on?"

"I was cold," I answered. "I just came down to get a drink of water."

"Why didn't you get one from the bathroom?" (Thank the Aghama my room didn't have its own water tap; what excuse could I have given then?)

"There was somebody in the bathroom!" I said, through gritted teeth. I longed to turn and smack him in the jaw, but knew he'd make too much noise.

"Why are you looking up the stairs?" He joined me, peering.

"That's none of your business, Ezhno!"

"What are you up to?"

I sighed, turned and looked at him for a few moments, sifting, discarding desires of murder. "Ezhno, come with me,"

"I'll tell you."

Putting my arm around his shoulders, I led him up the stairs. He said nothing as I went back to my room, hoisted my bag, grabbed my coat and silently closed the door. Said nothing, but stared at me all the time. I think he'd realized that I wasn't (nor had been) in the least bit ill, but had perhaps lost my sanity. Wise in the more cunning avenues of self-preservation, Ezhno, dumb little tart, kept his mouth shut. Luckily, there was no further sign of Flounah. Panthera's corridor was in darkness. There didn't appear to be a Mojag in sight, but the shadows seemed alive with potential adversaries. With panicking heart and a desperate urge to flee struggling inside me like a startled, cornered horse, I knocked on Panthera's door. Softly, briskly, Panthera called out, hissed out, "Who is it?"

"Cal," I answered, forgetting the new form of my name in my urgency. I think that was the moment when Calanthe disappeared into oblivion for ever. Some disguise. To the people I tried to hide from, names mean nothing. I heard a key turn in the lock and the door opened, spilling yellow light into the corridor. I dragged a protesting, wide-eyed Ezhno into the room with me quickly and Panthera closed the door behind us, turning the key in the lock. Panthera, thrumming with an energy that had bleached his face, turned his eyes to dark, animal disks, looked at Ezhno with distaste.