Glory Season

Maia nodded. "I . . . think I already found a clue. One all the others missed."

"S'truth?" The scullery wench leaned forward, eyes glittering. "What is it?"

"It'll take two of us to lift it," Maia confided. "Come, I'll show you."

She gestured toward the nearest dark doorway, motioning the bluff, eager woman ahead. As she followed, Maia's right hand slipped the cudgel from her waistband and brought it high.

Afterward, despite all her valid reasons for acting, she still felt guilty and mean.

The dim room wasn't quite empty or devoid of hints at its past life. Bare rock shelves and flinders of ancient wood planking testified that once upon a time, a substantial library might have stood here. Except for curled bits of former leather bindings, all that remained of the books was dust. After dragging the cook's unconscious body inside, and hurriedly fetching the buckets, Maia swapped coats and borrowed her victim's bandanna, which she tied low, almost over her eyes. She finished in time to hear muttering voices and footsteps approach. From the shadows, Maia counted figures moving past, back toward the foyer of stairs. Six women, still arguing. From close range, Maia glimpsed seething anger in Baltha's eyes.

"… won't be happy to get nothin' out o' this but a little box full of alien shit. Some bugs taken from an outsider's vrilly gut may help knock down a clan or two, but we needed a political deal too, for protection! Without his tech-stuff, it won't matter how many smuggy clones die . . ."

Their voices faded. Still, Maia forced herself to wait, though she knew there was little time left. Soon, the first group — that had found her aboard the Manitou — would report "Leie" missing. That would set folk wondering how a fiver could manage to be two places at the same time.

With a pounding heart, Maia pulled the bandanna down further, picked up the food pails, and stepped out of the dim room. She approached the corner, turned, and made herself shuffle at a droopy, desultory pace toward the two burly vars guarding the sealed door. Trying to calm her frantic pulse, Maia reminded herself that she had one advantage. The wardens had no reason to expect danger in the form of a woman. Moreover, her arrival so soon after the leaders' departure implied she must have passed them on the way here. That, too, should reduce vigilance.

Nevertheless, she heard a wary click, and glimpsed the warrior with the automatic weapon lift it in the sort of tender but firm embrace women usually reserved for their own babes. Maia had only heard rumors of such mass-killing machines, until she was four, when she had first learned how much lay hidden in the world.

Unbeckoned — a brief, recollected image of a stone portal, grinding open at long last to reveal what the Lamai mothers and sisters wanted no one else to see. In light of so many things Maia had witnessed since, what had seemed so awful on that day had been, in fact, dreary, mundane. The irony was enough to make one laugh. Or cry.

Maia had no time or concentration to spare for either. She trudged forward, keeping her head down, and in a low voice muttered, "Grubb stuff for th' vrils."

Laughter from the one cradling the gun. "Why're we still botherin'?"

Maia shrugged, rocking from side to side, as if in fatigue. "Why ask me? Just lemme get rid o' the stink."

The second guard laid her trepp bill across one shoulder, and with her free hand took up jingling keys. "I dunno," she commented. "Seems a shame to waste all these boys. There oughta be frost, sometime soon. We can pass it 'round, then make a big, pretty fire . . ."

"Oh, shut up, Glinn," the guard with the assault rifle said, as she positioned herself behind and to Maia's left, ready to spread fire at anyone who tried breaking out. "You'll just get yourself all worked up and—"

Maia had been rocking in anticipation. As the door pushed open, she took a step, then swung the righthand pail in an arc, passing in front of her and then toward the guard with the gun. The riflewoman's eyes barely registered surprise before it drove into her gut, doubling her over without a sound. One down! Maia thought elatedly.

And prematurely. The tough reaver, stunned and unable to breathe, nonetheless steadied on one knee and fought to bring her weapon toward Maia . . . only to topple when the second pail clipped the back of her head with a deep clunking sound.

Maia accelerated her return swing, releasing the bucket to fly toward the second guard. The second warrior was already swiveling, lifting her trepp bill. With the agile grace of a trained soldier, she dodged Maia's hurled pail, which struck the door, spewing brown glop like a fountain. Maia charged, taking a glancing blow to her shoulder before plowing into the pirate's midriff and driving both of them into the room.