The Call of Earth: 2 (Homecoming) (26 page)

“He’s such a weak man,” said Rasa, “I’m sure you can persuade him to come along.”

In the meantime, Mebbekew had turned to Elemak. “Your
wife?”
he asked.

“Lady Rasa is going to perform the ceremony for Eiadh and me tonight,” said Elemak.

Mebbekew’s face betrayed some powerful emotion— rage, jealousy? Had Mebbekew also wanted Eiadh, the way poor Nafai had?

“You’re marrying her
tonight?”
demanded Mebbekew.

“We don’t know when Moozh will lift our house arrest, and I want my marriage to be done properly. Once we’re out in the desert, I don’t want any question about who is married to whom.”

“Not that we can’t change around as soon as our terms are up,” said Kokor.

Everyone looked at her.

“The desert isn’t Basilica,” said Rasa. “There’ll only be a handful of us. Marriages will be permanent. Get used to that idea right now.”

“That’s absurd,” said Kokor. “I’m not going, and you can’t make me.”

“No, I can’t make you,” said Rasa. “But if you stay, you’ll soon discover how different life is when you’re no longer the daughter of Lady Rasa, but merely a young singer who is notorious for having silenced her much more famous sister with a blow from her own hand.”

“I can live with that!” said Kokor defiantly.

“Then I’m sure I don’t want you with me,” said Rasa angrily. “What good would a girl with no conscience be on the terrible journey that lies ahead of us?” Her words were harsh, but Rasa could taste her disappointment in Kokor like a foul poison on her tongue. “I’ve
said all I have to say. You all have work to do and choices to make. Make them and have done.”

It was a clear dismissal, and Kokor and Sevet got up and left at once, Kokor sweeping past, her nose in the air in a great show of hauteur.

Mebbekew sidled up to Rasa—couldn’t the boy walk naturally, without looking like a sneak or a spy?—and asked his question. “Is Elya’s wedding tonight an exclusive affair?”

“Everyone in the house is invited to attend,” said Rasa.

“I meant—what if I were to marry someone, too. Would you do the ceremony tonight?”

“Marry
someone?
I assure you, Dolya may have been indiscreet, but I’ll be surprised if she takes you on as a husband, Mebbekew.”

Meb looked furious. “Luet told you.”

“Of course she told me,” said Rasa. “Half a dozen servants and Dolya herself would have told me before nightfall. Do you actually imagine anyone can keep a secret like
that
from me in my own house?”

“If
I can persuade her to accept a piece of unworthy slime like myself,” said Meb, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “will you condescend to include us in the ceremony?”

“It would be dangerous to bring you out into the desert without a wife,” said Rasa. “Dolya would be more than enough woman for
you,
though she could hardly do worse for herself.”

Mebbekew’s face was red with fury. “I have done nothing to deserve such scorn from you.”

“You have done nothing
but
to earn it,” said Rasa. “You seduced my niece under my own roof, and now you contemplate marrying her—and don’t think I’m fooled, either. You want to marry her, not to join your
father in the desert, but to use her as your license to remain in Basilica. You’ll be unfaithful to her the moment we’re gone and you have your papers.”

“And I swear to you in the eyes of the Oversoul that I will bring Dolya out into the desert, as surely as Elya is bringing Eiadh.”

“Be careful when you make the Oversoul the witness of your oath,” said Rasa. “She has a way of making you hold to your word.”

Mebbekew almost said something else, but then thought better of it and stalked out of Rasa’s private receiving room. No doubt off to flatter Dolya into proposing marriage to
him.

And it will work, thought Rasa bitterly. Because this boy, who has so little else going for him,
is
good with women. Haven’t I heard of his exploits from the mothers of so many girls in Dolltown and Dauberville? Poor Dolya. Has life left you so hungry that you’ll swallow even the poor imitation of love?

Only Elemak and Nafai remained.

“I don’t want to share my ceremony with Mebbekew,” said Elemak coldly.

“It’s tragic, isn’t it, that we don’t always get what we want in this world,” said Rasa. “Anyone who wants to be married tonight, will be. We don’t have time to satisfy your vanity, and you know it. You’d tell me so yourself, if you were giving me impartial counsel.”

Elemak studied her face for a few moments. “Yes,” he said. “You’re very wise.” Then he, too, left.

But Rasa understood him, too, better than he imagined. She knew that he had sized her up and decided that, while she might be powerful in Basilica, she would be nothing in the desert. He would bow to her rule tonight, but once they got out into the desert he would delight in subjugating her. Well, I am not afraid to be
humiliated, thought Rasa. I can bear much more than you imagine. What will your torments mean to me, when I will feel the agony of my beloved city, and know that in my exile I can do nothing to save it after all?

Only Nafai was with her now.

“Mother,” he said, “what about Issib? And Gaballufix’s treasurer, Zdorab? They’ll need wives. And Elemak saw wives for all of us, in his dream.”

“Then the Oversoul must provide wives for them, don’t you think?”

“Shedemei will come,” he said. “She had a dream, too. The Oversoul is bringing her. And Hushidh. She’s part of this, isn’t she? The Oversoul will surely bring her. For Issib, or for Zdorab.”

“Why don’t you ask her?” said Rasa.

“Not
me,”
said Nafai.

“You told me that the Oversoul said you would lead your brothers someday. How will that happen, if you haven’t the strength inside yourself to face even a sweet and generous girl like Shuya?”

“To you she seems sweet,” said Nafai. “But to
me
— and asking her such a thing—”

“She knows you boys came back here for wives, you foolish child. Do you think she hasn’t counted heads? She’s a raveler—do you think she doesn’t already see the connections?”

He was abashed. “No, I didn’t think of that. She probably knows more than I do about everything.”

“Only about some things,” said Rasa. “And you’re still hiding from the most important question of all.”

“No, I’m not,” said Nafai. “I know that Luet is the woman I should marry, and I know that I will ask her. I didn’t need your advice about that.”

“Then I have nothing to fear for you, my son,” said Rasa.

* * *

The soldiers brought Rashgallivak into his room and, as Moozh had instructed them beforehand, cast him down brutally onto the floor. When the soldiers had left, Rashgallivak touched his nose. It wasn’t broken, but it was bleeding from its impact with the floor, and Moozh offered him nothing to wipe the blood. Since the soldiers had stripped Rashgallivak naked before bringing him here, there was nothing for Rashgallivak to do but let the blood flow into his mouth or down his chin.

“I knew I’d see you sooner or later,” said Moozh. “I didn’t have to search. I knew there’d come a time when you imagined that you had something I’d want from you, and then you’d come to me and try to bargain for your life. But I can assure you, I need nothing that you have.”

“So kill me and have done,” said Rashgallivak.

“Very dramatic,” said Moozh. “I say I
need
nothing that you have, but I might
want
something, and I might even want it enough not to put your eyes out or castrate you or some other small favor before you are burned to death as a traitor to your city.”

“Yes, so deeply you care for Basilica,” said Rashgallivak.

“You gave me this city, you poor fool. Your stupidity and brutality gave it to me as a gift. Now it’s the brightest jewel in my possession. Yes, I care deeply for Basilica.”

“Only if you can keep it,” said Rashgallivak.

“Oh, I assure you, I’ll keep this jewel. Either by wearing it to adorn me, or by grinding it to powder and swallowing it down.”

“So fearless you are, brave General. And yet you’ve got Lady Rasa under house arrest.”

“I still have many paths that I can follow,” said
Moozh. “I can’t think why any of them lead to anything but your immediate death. So you’ll have to do better than tell me what I already know.”

“Like it or not,” said Rashgallivak, “I
am
the legal Wetchik and the head of the Palwashantu clan, and while no one has much love for me right now, if the disfranchised men outside the walls saw that I was in your favor and had some power to bestow, they would rally to me. I could be useful to you.”

“I see that you harbor some pathetic dreams of being my rival for power here.”

“No, General,” said Rashgallivak. “I was a steward all my life, working to build and strengthen the house of Wetchik. Gaballufix talked me into acting on ambitions that I never had until he made me feel them. I’ve had plenty of time to regret believing him, to scorn myself for strutting around as if I were some great leader, when in fact what I am is a born steward. I was only happy when I served a stronger man than myself. I was proud that I always served the strongest man in Basilica. That happens to be yourself, and if you kept me alive and used me, you would find I am a man of many good gifts.”

“Including unquestionable loyalty?”

“You will never trust me, I know that. I betrayed Wetchik, to my shame. But I only did it when Volemak was already exiled and powerless. You will
never
weaken or fail, and so you can trust me implicitly.”

Moozh couldn’t help laughing. “You’re telling me that I can trust you to be loyal, because you’re too much of a coward to betray a strong man?”

“I’ve had plenty of time to know myself, General Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno. I have no desire to deceive either myself or you.”

“I can put anyone in charge of the rabble of men who
call themselves Palwashantu,” said Moozh. “Or I can lead them myself. Why would I need you alive, when I can gain so much more from your public confession and execution?”

“You’re a brilliant general and leader of men, but you still don’t know Basilica.”

“I know it well enough to rule here without losing the life of a single man of mine.”

“Then if you’re so all-knowing, General Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno, perhaps you’ll understand immediately why it is important that Shedemei bought a dozen drycases from me today.”

“Don’t play games with me, Rashgallivak. You know that I have no notion of who this Shedemei is, or what his buying drycases might mean.”

“Shedemei is a woman, sir. A noted scientist. Very clever with genetics—she has developed some popular new plants, among other things.”

“If you have a point . . .”

“Shedemei is also a teacher in Rasa’s house, and one of her most beloved nieces.”

Ah. So Rashgallivak
might
have something worth learning. Moozh waited to hear more.

“Drycases are used to transport seeds and embryos across great distances without refrigeration. She told me that she was moving her entire research laboratory to a faraway city, and that’s why she needed drycases.”

“And you don’t believe her.”

“It is unthinkable that Shedemei would move her laboratory
now.
The danger is clearly over, and ordinarily she would simply bury herself in her work. She is a very focused scientist. She barely notices the world around her.”

“So her plan to leave comes from Rasa, you think.”

“Rasa has been faithfully married to Wetch—to
Volemak, the former Wetchik—for many years. He exiled himself from the city several weeks ago, ostensibly in obedience to some vision from the Oversoul. His sons came back to the city and tried to buy the Palwashantu Index from Gaballufix.”

Rashgallivak paused, as if waiting for Moozh to make some connection; but of course Rashgallivak would know that Moozh lacked the information necessary to make this connection. It was Rashgallivak’s way of trying to assert Moozh’s need for him. But Moozh had no intention of playing this game. “Either tell me or don’t,” he said. “Then I’ll decide whether I want you or not. If you continue to imagine you can manipulate my judgment, you only prove yourself to be worthless.”

“It’s clear that Volemak still dreams of ruling here in Basilica. Why else would he want the Index? Its only value is as a symbol of authority among the Palwashantu men; it reminds them of that ancient, ancient day when they were not ruled by women. Rasa is his wife and a powerful woman in her own right. Alone she is dangerous to you—in combination with her husband, they would be formidable indeed. Who else could unite the city against you? Shedemei would not be preparing for a journey like this unless Rasa asked her to. Therefore Rasa and Volemak must have some plan that requires drycases.”

“And what kind of plan would that be?”

“Shedemei is a brilliant geneticist, as I said. What if she could develop some mold or fungus that would spread like a disease through Basilica? Only Rasa’s and Volemak’s supporters would have the fungicide to kill it.”

“A fungus. And you think this would be a weapon against the soldiers of the Gorayni?”

“No one’s ever used such a thing as a weapon, sir,”
said Rashgallivak. “I could hardly think of it myself. But imagine how well your soldiers would fight if their bodies were covered with an excruciating, unbearable itch.”

“An
itch,”
echoed Moozh. It sounded absurd, laughable. And yet it might work—soldiers distracted by an itching, ineradicable fungus would not fight well. Nor would the city be easily governed, if people were suffering from such a plague. Governments were never less imposing than when they showed themselves impotent against disease or famine. Moozh had used this fact against the enemies of the Imperator many times. Was it possible that Rasa and Volemak were so clever, so evil-hearted, that they could conceive of such an inconceivable weapon? To use a scientist as a weapon maker—how could God allow such a vile practice to come into the world?

Unless . . .

Unless Rasa and Volemak have, like me, learned to resist God. Why should I be the only one with the strength to ignore God’s efforts to turn men stupid when they attempted to walk on the road leading to power?