The Call of Earth: 2 (Homecoming) (20 page)

She laughed a little and stepped toward him, offering her hand. “I’ll take you in, if you’re really Mebbekew.”

He withdrew a pace from her. “Don’t touch me! I’m filthy. Two days’ traveling in the desert isn’t the best perfume, and if my body’s stench didn’t kill you my breath would.”

“I didn’t expect you to be a bouquet,” she said. “I’ll risk taking your hand to lead you in.”

“Then you have courage to match your beauty,” he said, taking her hand. “By the Oversoul,” he whispered, “your hand is cool and soft to touch.”

She laughed again—an actress with as much experience as Dol had had, back when she was famous, could never be fooled by flattery. But Mebbekew figured that it had been years now since anyone had bothered to flatter her at all, so the very fact that he thought it was worth trying would be a sort of meta-flattery against
which she wouldn’t be able to protect herself. And, indeed, it seemed to be working quite well.

“You don’t have to say such things,” she said. “Aunt Rasa left instructions for you to be admitted as soon as you—how did she say it—as soon as you ’bothered to show up.’”

“If I had known I’d find you here, ma’am, I’d have come much sooner. And as you say, I don’t have to flatter anybody to get into Rasa’s house this morning. So what I say to you now isn’t flattery. It’s my own heart. When I was a boy I fell in love with the image of Dolya on the stage. Now I see you with a man’s eyes. I see you as a woman. And I know that your beauty has only increased. I never knew you were one of Rasa’s nieces or I would have stayed in school.”

“I
was
her niece. I’m a teacher here now. Comportment, that sort of thing. I’ve been teaching Eiadh in particular. You know, the one your brother Elemak is wooing.”

“It’s just like Elemak to woo the pale copy, while he ignores the original.” Mebbekew deliberately kept his eyes on her face, but not on her eyes—instead he studied her lips, her hair, all her features knowing that she would see how his eyes moved, how he was drinking her in. “Elemak’s only my half-brother, by the way,” said Mebbekew. “When I’m all cleaned up you’ll see that I’m much better looking.”

She laughed, but he knew he had won her interest—he had long since learned that flattery always works, and that even the most outrageously dishonest praise is believed, if you repeat it and elaborate on it enough. In this case, though, he really didn’t have to lie. Dol
was
beautiful, though of course nowhere near as lovely as she had been when she was an ethereal child of thirteen. Still, she had grace and poise and a smile
that dazzled, and, now that he had been working on her for a few minutes, her eyes were bright and wide whenever she looked at him. It was desire. He had kindled desire in her. It wasn’t the desire for passion, of course; rather it was the desire to hear more of his praise for her beauty, more of his verbal petting. Yet he knew from experience that it would be easy enough to get from here to there, if he wasn’t too tired after breakfast and a bath.

She showed him to her own bedroom—a good sign—where the servants ran a bath for him. He was still in the water, luxuriating in his cleanliness, when she came back in with a tray of food and a pitcher of water. She had brought it with her own hands, and they were alone. All the time she chattered—not nervously, either, but comfortably. That was Mebbekew’s greatest talent, that women so easily became comfortable with him that they talked to him with the kind of candor they usually had only with their girlfriends.

As she talked, he rose up out of the water; when she turned around from setting the tray on her dresser, she saw him toweling himself down, quite naked. She gasped prettily and looked away.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It didn’t occur to me that you’d be startled. You must have seen so many men in your days as an actress—I’ve been on the stage, too, and no one is shy or modest backstage.”

“I was young,” said Dol. “They always protected me in those days.”

“I feel like some kind of beast, then,” said Mebbekew. “I didn’t mean to shock you.”

“No,” she said. “No, I’m not shocked.”

“The trouble is that I haven’t anything to wear. I don’t think it would be helpful to put my dirty clothes back on.”

“The servants already took your clothes to be washed. I have a robe for you, though.”

“One of yours? I doubt it will fit
me.”
All this time, of course, he had continued toweling, still making no effort to cover himself. And as they talked, she had turned back around and now was looking at him quite frankly. Since things were going so smoothly and he anticipated making love to this woman very soon, his body had become quite alert. As soon as he caught her looking at his crotch, he pretended to notice for the first time and made a show of putting the towel in front of himself. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been alone on the desert so long, and you’re so beautiful—I meant no insult.”

“I’m not insulted,” she said. And he could see the desire in
her
eyes, too. She wanted more than pretty words from him now. As he had guessed, she probably didn’t get many suitors these days. With her beauty, she’d have had no lack of lovers in Dolltown, but as a teacher in Rasa’s house the opportunities would be much more limited. So she was almost certainly as eager as he was.

This was what he had come back to Basilica for. Not those frightened, hungry women in Dolltown, who needed him to be strong and dependable, but
this
woman, who needed him only to be passionate and flattering and fun. Dol felt herself to be safe and comfortable enough in Rasa’s house that she could still be what Basilican women were
supposed
to be—self-supporting providers for men, needing nothing more from their lovers than a little pleasure and attention.

She brought him her robe. It probably could have fit well enough, but he made a show of jamming his arm so far in the sleeve that it barely passed his elbow. “Oh, that won’t do,” she said.

“It hardly matters by now,” he said. “I don’t exactly have any secrets from you anymore!”

Of course, he had dropped the towel to try on the robe. He bent over to pick it up, even as he was taking the robe off his arm. But when he stood again, she took both the towel and the robe away from him. “You’re right,” she said. “There’s little point in trying for modesty now.” She tossed the robe and towel into a corner and then brought him a handful of grapes from the food tray on the dresser. “Here,” she said.

She held out the grape, not to his hand, but to his lips. He leaned forward farther than he needed to, and got her fingers into his mouth along with the grape. She let her fingers linger in his mouth as he slowly pulled the grape away. At last he bit down on the grape and felt the juice of it squirt inside his mouth. It was tart and sweet and delicious. He sat on the bed and she fed him another, and then another. But the rest of the grapes ended up on the floor.

Moozh had waited with great anticipation to meet Lady Rasa at last, and she did not disappoint him. He had installed himself in Gaballufix’s house—the symbolism was deliberate—and he knew that she would certainly see the true meaning of his residence here. Lady Rasa would not be a
complete
fool, that much he was sure of, from what he had heard about her. All that remained now was to see which of several plans he ought to follow with her. She might be turned into an ally. She might be turned into a dupe. She might, of course, be an implacable enemy. No matter which, he would make use of her.

She did not carry herself with any particular majesty; she made no attempt to entice or intimidate him. But that was just about the only way a woman could impress
him anymore. He had been worked on by the finest court women in Gollod, but it was plain that Rasa had no interest in working on him. Rather she spoke with him as with an equal, and he liked it. He liked
her.
It would be a good game.

“Of course I want to accept the invitation of the city council,” he said. “We are only too happy to help this beautiful city maintain order and security while rebuilding from these unfortunate events of the past weeks. But I have a problem that perhaps you can help me with.”

He could see from the look on her face that she had expected more demands from him—and he knew, too, that she had no illusions about the fact that he was in a position to make demands, and make them stick, too.

“You see,” he said, “the traditional way for a Gorayni general to reward his men after a great victory is to divide up the conquered territory and give them land and wives.”

“But you have not conquered Basilica,” said Rasa pointedly.

“Exactly!” he said. “You see my dilemma. My men performed with extraordinary heroism and discipline in this campaign, and their victory over the ruffians and rioters was complete. And yet I lack a means to reward them!”

“Our treasury is deep,” said Rasa. “I’m sure the city council can make each of your thousand men as rich as you please.”

“Money?” asked Moozh. “Oh, you hurt me deeply. Me and my men alike. We are not mercenaries!”

“You accept land, but not the money with which to buy land?”

“Land is a matter of title and honor. A landed man is
a lord. But
money
—that would be like calling my soldiers
tradesmen.”

She gazed at him for a moment, and then said, “General Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno, does the Imperator know that you call these men
your
soldiers?
your
men?”

Moozh felt a sudden thrill of fear. It was delicious indeed—it had been a long time since he had sat across a table from someone who knew how to take the initiative away from him. And she had struck immediately at his weakest point. For not only had he defied the Imperator’s orders about not making any offensive maneuvers, he had also left behind the corpses of the Imperator’s public and private spies to come here. His greatest danger at the moment came from the Imperator, who would surely by now have heard of his venture. Moozh knew the Imperator well enough to know that he would not act rashly—indeed, that was the Imperator’s primary fault, that he was terrified of risk—but already a new intercessor would certainly be on his way southward, and not without temple troops to back him up. Either Moozh would be able to put a good face on things and win back the Imperial trust, or he would have to commit himself to open rebellion with only a thousand troops and a hundred kilometers deep in hostile territory. It was not a good moment for him to face an opponent who understood exactly what his weakness was.

“When I call them mine,” said Moozh, “of course I recognize that they are mine only as long as the Imperator permits me to be his servant.”

“I notice that you don’t deny that you
are
Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno.”

He shrugged. “I recognize that you are far too clever for me. Why should I try to conceal my identity from
you?”

She frowned. His flattery and his frank admission had
set her back a bit. Now she would no doubt be wondering why he so willingly admitted his true name, and why he was calling her clever. She would assume that because he called her clever, it must mean she had
not
been clever at all. Thus she would no longer trust her belief that the way to get at him was by exploiting differences between him and the Imperator. He had long since learned that one of the best ways to disarm a genuinely clever opponent was to make him mistrust his own strengths, and it seemed to be working well enough with Rasa.

“Cleverness doesn’t enter into it,” she said. “Truth is what matters. I don’t believe there’s a word of truth in what you say. You don’t usually reward your soldiers with land, or you’d have no soldiers left. Your officers, perhaps. But this talk of land is just your first bid in an effort to destroy the land law of the city of women. Let me guess how the game goes: I return to the council with your humble request, and they send me back with an offer to settle your men outside the city. You praise our generosity, and then point out that your men could never be content as second-class citizens of a land they had rescued from destruction. How could he explain to Gorayni soldiers that they could never own land inside the city? Then you would propose a compromise—just to allow them and us to both save face. Your compromise would be that Gorayni soldiers who married Basilican women would be allowed to hold half-ownership with them of their land inside the city. The women would, of course, remain completely in control of the land, but your soldiers could keep their self-respect.”

“You have a gift of prescience,” said Moozh.

“Not so—I’m only improvising,” she said. “Half-rights in property would lead within weeks to a series of opportune marriages, and then there’d be pressure for
an equal vote—especially since you will have proved that your men are meek and obedient husbands who make no effort to control the property in which they have a titular half-interest. How many steps from there to the day when women have
no
vote, and all the property of Basilica is owned by men?”

“My dear lady, you misjudge me.”

“You don’t have much time,” said Rasa. “Your Imperator will certainly have representatives here within two weeks at the latest.”

“All Gorayni armies travel with Imperial representatives.”

“Not yours,” said Rasa. “Or the city guard would know it. We’ve read accounts here of how your army works, and there is no intercessor’s tent. Some of your soldiers feel the lack of confession quite keenly.”

“I have nothing to fear from the coming of an intercessor.”

“Then why did you try to fool me into thinking you had one here already? No, General Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno, I think you have to move swiftly indeed to consolidate your position here before you face the challenge of the Imperator. I think you don’t have time to deal with any kind of uprising, either—it has to be settled peacefully and at once.”

So she had not been deflected at all by his flattery. The thrill of fear once again pulsed through him. “Ma’am, you are wise indeed. It is possible that the Imperator will misconstrue my actions, even though my motive was purely to serve him. But you’re mistaken to think it will take many gradual steps to consolidate my position here.”