The Call of Earth: 2 (Homecoming) (4 page)

Aunt Rasa was waiting in her room, but she was not alone. There was a soldier with her. Not one of Gaballufix’s men—his mercenaries, his thugs, pretending to be Palwashantu militia. No, this soldier was one of the city guards, a gatekeeper.

She could hardly notice him, though, beyond recognizing his insignia, because Rasa herself looked so . . . no, not frightened, really. It was no emotion Luet had ever seen in her before. Her eyes wide and glazed with tears, her face not firmly set, but slack, exhausted, as if things were happening in her heart that her face could not express.

“Gaballufix is dead,” said Rasa.

That explained much. Gaballufix was the enemy in recent months, his paid tolchoks terrorizing people on the streets, and then his soldiers, masked and anonymous, terrifying people even more as they ostensibly
made the streets of Basilica “safe” for its citizens. Yet, enemy though he was, Gaballufix had also been Rasa’s husband, the father of her two daughters, Sevet and Kokor. There had been love there once, and the bonds of family are not easily broken, not for a serious woman like Rasa. Luet was no raveler like her sister Hushidh, but she knew that Rasa was still bound to Gaballufix, even though she detested all his recent actions.

“I grieve for his widow,” said Luet, “but I rejoice for the city.”

Hushidh, though, gazed with a calculating eye on the soldier. “This man didn’t bring you
that
news, I think.”

“No,” said Rasa. “No, I learned of Gaballufix’s death from Rashgallivak. It seems Rashgallivak was appointed . . . the new Wetchik.”

Luet knew that this was a devastating blow. It meant that Rasa’s husband, Volemak, who
had
been the Wetchik, now had no property, no rights, no standing in the Palwashantu clan at all. And Rashgallivak, who had been his trusted steward, now stood in his place. Was there no honor in the world? “When did Rashgallivak ascend to this honor?”

“Before Gaballufix died—Gab appointed him, of course, and I’m sure he loved doing it. So there’s a kind of justice in the fact that Rash has now taken leadership of the Palwashantu clan, taking Gab’s place as well. So yes, you’re right, Rash is rising rather quickly in the world. While others fall. Roptat is also dead tonight.”

“No,” whispered Hushidh.

Roptat had been the leader of the pro-Gorayni party, the group trying to keep the city of Basilica out of the coming war between the Gorayni and Potokgavan. With him gone, what chance was there of peace?

“Yes, both dead tonight,” said Rasa. “The leaders of both the parties that have torn our city apart. But here
is the worst of it. The rumor is that my son Nafai is the slayer of them both.”

“Not true,” said Luet. “Not possible.”

“So I thought,” said Rasa. “I didn’t wake you for the rumor.”

Now Luet understood fully the turmoil in Aunt Rasa’s face. Nafai was Aunt Rasa’s pride, a brilliant young man: And more—for Luet knew well that Nafai also was close to the Oversoul. What happened to him was not just important to those who loved him, it was also important to the city, perhaps to the world. “This soldier has word of Nafai, then?”

Rasa nodded at the soldier, who had sat in silence until now.

“My name is Smelost,” he said, rising to his feet to speak to them. “I was tending the gate. I saw two men approach. One of them pressed his thumb on the screen and the computer of Basilica knew him to be Zdorab, the treasurer of Gaballufix’s house.”

“And the other?” asked Hushidh.

“Masked, but dressed in Gaballufix’s manner, and Zdorab called him Gaballufix and tried to persuade me not to make him press his thumb on the screen. But I had to make him do it, because Roptat was murdered, and we were trying to prevent the killer from escaping. We’d been told that Lady Rasa’s youngest son, Nafai, was the murderer. It was Gaballufix who had reported this.”

“So did you make Gaballufix put his thumb on the screen?” said Luet.

“He leaned close to me and spoke in my ear, and said, ’And what if the one who made this false accusation was the murderer himself? Well, that’s what some of us already thought—that Gaballufix was accusing Nafai of killing Roptat to cover up his own guilt. And
then this soldier—the one that Zdorab was calling Gaballufix—put his thumb on the screen and the name the computer displayed for me was Nafai.“

“What did you do?” Luet demanded.

“I violated my oath and my orders. I erased his name immediately and let him pass. I believed him . . . that he was innocent. Of killing Roptat. But his passage from the city was recorded, and the fact that I let him go, knowing who he was. I thought nothing of it—the original complaint came from Gaballufix, and here was Gaballufix’s own treasurer with the boy. I thought Gaballufix couldn’t protest if his man was along. The worst that would happen is that I’d lose my post.”

“You would have let him go anyway,” said Hushidh. “Even if Gaballufix’s man hadn’t been with him.”

Smelost looked at her for a moment, then gave a little half-smile. “I was a follower of Roptat. It’s a joke to think Wetchik’s son might have killed him.”

“Nafai’s only fourteen,” said Luet. “It’s a joke to think he’d kill anybody.”

“Not so,” said Smelost. “Because word came to us that Gaballufix’s body had been found. Beheaded. And his clothing missing. What should I think, except that Nafai got Gaballufix’s clothing from his corpse? That Nafai and Zdorab almost certainly killed him? Nafai’s big for fourteen, if that’s his age. A man in size. He could have done it. Zdorab—not likely.” Smelost chuckled wryly. “It hardly matters now that I’ll lose my post for this. What I fear is that I’ll be hanged as an accomplice to a murder, for letting him go. So I came here.”

“To the widow of the murdered man?” asked Luet.

“To the mother of the supposed murderer,” said Hushidh, correcting her. “This man loves Basilica.”

“I do,” said the soldier, “and I’m glad that you know
it. I didn’t do my duty, but I did what I thought was right.”

“I need advice,” said Rasa, looking from Luet to Hushidh and back again. “This man, Smelost, has come to me for protection, because he saved my son. And in the meantime, my son is named a murderer and I believe now that he might be guilty indeed. I’m no waterseer. I’m no raveler. What is right and just? What does the Oversoul want? You must tell me. You must counsel with me!”

“The Oversoul has told me nothing,” said Luet. “I know only what you told me here, tonight.”

“And as for raveling,” said Hushidh, “I see only that this man loves Basilica, and that you yourself are tangled in a web of love that puts you at cross-purposes with yourself. Your daughters’ father is dead, and you love them—and him, too, you love even
him.
Yet you believe Nafai killed him, and you love your son even more. You also honor this soldier, and are bound to him by a debt of honor. Most of all you love Basilica. Yet you don’t know what you must do for the good of your city.”

“I knew my dilemma, Shuya. It was the path out of it that I didn’t know.”

“I must flee the city,” said Smelost. “I thought you might protect me. I knew of you as Nafai’s mother, but I’d forgotten that you were Gaballufix’s widow.”

“Not his widow,” said Rasa. “I let our contract lapse years ago. He has married a dozen times since then, I imagine. My husband now is Wetchik. Or rather the man who used to be Wetchik, and now is a landless fugitive whose son may be a murderer.” She smiled bitterly. “I can do nothing about that, but I
can
protect
you,
and so I will.”

“No you can’t,” said Hushidh. “You’re too close to
the center of all these mysteries, Aunt Rasa. The council of Basilica will always listen to you, but they won’t protect a soldier who has violated his duty, solely on your word. It will simply make you both look all the guiltier.”

“This is the raveler speaking?” asked Rasa.

“It’s your student speaking,” said Hushidh, “telling you what you would know yourself, if you weren’t so confused.”

A tear spilled out of Rasa’s eye and slipped down her cheek. “What will happen?” said Rasa. “What will happen to my city now?”

Luet had never heard her so afraid, so uncertain. Rasa was a great teacher, a woman of wisdom and honor; to be one of her nieces, one of the students specially chosen to dwell within her household—it was the proudest thing that could happen to a young woman of Basilica, or so Luet had always believed. Yet here she saw Rasa afraid and uncertain. She had not thought such a thing was possible.

“Wetchik—my Volemak—he said the Oversoul was guiding him,” said Rasa, spitting out the words with bitterness. “What sort of guide is this? Did the Oversoul tell him to send my boys back to the city, where they were almost killed? Did the Oversoul turn my son into a murderer and a fugitive? What is the Oversoul doing? Most likely it isn’t the Oversoul at all. Gaballufix was right—my beloved Volemak has lost his mind, and our sons are being swallowed up in his madness.”

Luet had heard enough of this. “Shame on you,” she said.

“Hush, Lutya!” cried Hushidh.

“
Shame
on you, Aunt Rasa,” Luet insisted. “Just because it looks frightening and confusing to you doesn’t mean that the Oversoul doesn’t understand it. I
know
that the Oversoul is guiding Wetchik, and Nafai too. All this will somehow turn to the good of Basilica.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Rasa. “The Oversoul has no special love for Basilica. She watches over the whole world. What if the whole world will somehow benefit if Basilica is ruined? If my boys are killed? To the Oversoul, little cities and little people are nothing—she weaves a grand design.”

“Then we must bow to her,” said Luet.

“Bow to whomever you want,” said Rasa. “I’m not bowing to the Oversoul if she’s going to turn my boys into killers and my city into dust. If that’s what the Oversoul is planning, then the Oversoul and I are enemies, do you understand me?”

“Lower your voice, Aunt Rasa,” said Hushidh. “You’ll waken the little ones.”

Rasa fell silent for a moment, then muttered: “I’ve said what I have to say.”

“You are not the Oversoul’s enemy,” said Luet. “Please, wait awhile. Let me try to find the Oversoul’s will in this. That’s what you brought me here to do, isn’t it? To tell you what the Oversoul is planning?”

“Yes,” said Rasa.

“I don’t command the Oversoul,” said Luet. “But I’ll ask her. Wait here, and I’ll—”

“No,” said Rasa. “There’s no time for you to go down to the waters.”

“Not to the waters,” said Luet. “To my room. To sleep. To dream. To listen for the voice, to watch for vision. If it comes.”

“Then hurry,” said Rasa. “We have only an hour or so before I have to do something—more and more people will come here, and I’ll have to
act.”

“I don’t command the Oversoul,” Luet said again.
“And the Oversoul sets her own schedule. She does not follow yours.”

Kokor went to Sevet’s favorite hideaway, where she took her lovers to keep them from Vas’s knowledge, and Sevet wasn’t there. “She doesn’t come here anymore,” said Iliva, Sevet’s friend. “Nor any of the other places in Dauberville. Maybe she’s being faithful!” Then Iliva laughed and bade her good night.

So Kokor wouldn’t be able to pounce after all. It was so disappointing.

Why had Sevet found a new hiding place? Had her husband Vas gone in search of her? He was far too dignified for that! Yet the fact remained that Sevet had abandoned her old places, even though Iliva and Sevet’s other friends would gladly have continued to shelter her.

It could only mean one thing. Sevet had found a new lover, a real liaison, not just a quick encounter, and he was someone so important in the city that they had to find new hiding places for their love, for if it became known the scandal would surely reach Vas’s ears.

How delicious, thought Kokor. She tried to imagine who it could be, which of the most famous men of the city might have won Sevet’s heart. Of course it would be a married man; unless he was married to a woman of Basilica, no man had a right to spend even a single night in the city. So when Kokor finally discovered Sevet’s secret, the scandal would be marvelous indeed, for there’d be an injured weeping wife to make Sevet seem all the more sluttish.

And I
will
tell it, thought Kokor. Because she hid this liaison from me and didn’t tell me, I have no obligation to keep her secret for her. She didn’t trust me, and so why should I be trustworthy?

Kokor wouldn’t tell it
herself,
of course. But she knew many a satirist in the Open Theatre who would love to know of this, so he could be the first to dart sweet Sevet and her lover in a play. And the price she charged him for the story wouldn’t be high—only the chance to play Sevet when he darted her. That would put a quick end to Tumannu’s threat to blackball her.

I’ll get to imitate Sevet’s voice, thought Kokor, and make fun of her singing as I do. No one can sound as much like her as I can. No one knows all the flaws in her voice as I do. She will regret having hidden her secret from me! And yet I’ll be masked when I dart her, and I’ll deny it all, deny everything, even if Mother herself asks me to swear by the Oversoul, I’ll deny it. Sevet isn’t the only one who knows how to keep a secret.

It was late, only a few hours before dawn, but the last comedies wouldn’t be over for another hour. If she hurried back to the theatre, she could probably even go back onstage and be there for the finale, at least. But she couldn’t bring herself to play the scene she’d have to play with Tumannu—begging forgiveness, vowing never to walk away from a play again, weeping. It would be too demeaning. No daughter of Gaballufix should have to grovel before a mere stage manager!

Only now that he’s dead, what will it matter if I’m his daughter or not? The thought filled her with dismay. She wondered if that man Rash had been right, if Father would leave her enough money to be very rich and buy her own theatre. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? That would solve everything. Of course, Sevet would have just as much money and would probably buy her own theatre, too, just because she would have to overshadow Kokor as usual and steal any chance of glory, but Kokor would simply show herself to be the better promoter and drive Sevet’s miserable imitative theatre
into the dust, and, when it failed,
all
Sevet’s inheritance would be lost, while Kokor would be the leading figure in Basilican theatre, and the day would come when Sevet would come to Kokor and beg her to put her in the starring role in one of her plays, and Kokor would embrace her sister and weep and say, “Oh, my darling sister, I’d love nothing better than to put on your little play, but I have a responsibility to my backers, my sweet, and I can’t very well risk their money on a show starring a singer who is clearly
past her prime.”