Maia

On certain evenings, when the other girls were on duty in the bath or the dining-hall and she was alone, Maia would sit pensive at a window, her hands in her lap, looking out at the falling rain; neither fretting nor melancholy but, country-fashion, letting her thoughts stray where they would. Sometimes she would choose the long, northern window looking down towards the wall bounding the upper city, the Peacock Gate and the vista of descending streets beyond, from among which soared the lower city's tall, slender towers. These she could now recognize and name at a glance. Or again, she would sit at the west window, with its prospect across the green, dripping garden and bordering grove of birches to the shore of the Barb. A mile away, on the further side of the water, rose the Leopard Hill, crowned by the Palace of the Barons with its twenty symmetrical towers. Once, when the rain chanced to cease for a short while at sunset, the western clouds parted briefly to reveal a huge, crimson sun; a heavy, glowing sphere floating as though half-submerged, borne up, dipping and rolling in a fluid sky-swimming down, she thought, among far-away lands; Katria, Terekenalt and further yet-perhaps over that city of Silver Tedzhek which Occula had spoken of, out beyond the Govig. "Happen it's shining on that Long Spit up the river, where they hold the fair," she thought. "It must just about look pretty, with that red sun

setting." For of course it did not occur to Maia that the time of day would be different in a far-off land-that in Tedzhek it would still be afternoon.

She would recall that drudging childhood she was glad to think she had left behind; of no further interest, remnant as a discarded dress or a faded bunch of flowers. Only for the rippling solitude of Lake Serrelind, and for her happy waterfall, did she still feel a pang of regret, and-yes! for Tharrin, that strolling, smiling, rather seedy adventurer. He was shallow, a rascal, of no account-this she could now see plainly. While she was daily before his eyes he had not been able to resist her; indeed, it had never occurred to him even to try-no, indeed, rather the reverse. Yet once she was gone, he had let that be the end of it. Too bad, but these things happened, didn't they? At least, they always had-to him. Easy come, easy go. "Wonder what mother said when he came back?" she thought. "Ah, and what he said an' all. Just about nothing, I dare say. All the same, he was kind and good-natured; he liked a good time; he made you laugh; we had a bit of fun. I wouldn't say no to him, not even now. Leastways he wasn't one to bite and pinch and set you crawling over the floor. Oh-" and here she gazed down pleasurably at her clothes and the jewels on her fingers and arms-"wouldn't I just about like to rub his face in this lot? 'See?' I'd say. 'This is what I've got out of you not being man enough even to try to get me back. 'Fraid I can't stop now-I've got to go and be basted by the Lord General of Bekla, for more than two hundred meld. Ta-ta!' "

Ah! The Lord General of Bekla. And thus her thoughts came sharply back to the present. Mostly, during the day, she was successful in keeping her anxiety at arm's length. Sometimes she was able to persuade herself that nothing at all would follow from what the Lord General had offered (or demanded of) her. Yet alone, in the rain-scented evening, with the thrushes singing in the green silence, the recollection of what he had said about danger would come trickling back into her mind like water under a door- indisputable evidence of worse outside. What sort of danger? When? Where? From whom? "If you survive." This, for all she knew, was probably the sort of thing generals commonly said to their soldiers. She wished Kembri had not said it to her.

Yet here, if the Lord General was to be trusted, lay the

hope of greater and quicker gain than she could expect from any other quarter. To be free, and set up as a Beklan shearna, and that before she was much older! This was the thing to dwell upon, this was the thing to hope for. "When I'm a shearna, I'll-" and as the clouds closed once more across the red sun and the rain returned, Maia's thoughts ran buoyantly on towards an indistinct but glorious future; for she was young and healthy and, like most people until they have met catastrophe face-to-face, had a vague idea that it could never really happen to her. She was lucky! Lucky Maia! Had not her very enslavement turned out, all in all, a big change for the better? As Terebinthia came in to summon her to the dining-hall she would dismiss her fears, turning from the window and unfastening her bodice to lie half-open in the way she knew the High Counselor liked.