Nightside the Long Sun

Blood’s bellow surprised them all. “What’s going on here?” Thick-bodied and a full head taller than most of the women, he strode into the courtyard with something of the air of a general coming onto a battlefield.

When Orchid did not answer, the raspberry-haired girl said wearily, “Orpine’s dead. She just killed herself.” She had a clean sheet under her arm, neatly folded.

“What for?” Blood demanded.

No one replied. The raspberry-haired girl shook out her sheet and passed a corner up to Crane. Together, they spread the sheet over the dead woman.

Silk put away his beads and went down the steps to the courtyard. Half to himself he muttered, “She didn’t—not forever. Not even as long as I.”

Orchid turned to look at him. “No, she didn’t. Now shut up.”

Musk had taken the dagger from her. After scrutinizing it himself, he held it out for Blood’s inspection. Orchid explained, “A cully they call Cat comes here sometimes. He must’ve given it to her, or left it behind in her room.”

Blood sneered. “Or she stole it from him.”

“My girls don’t steal!” As a tower long subverted by a hidden spring collapses, Orchid burst into tears; there was something terrible, Silk felt, in seeing that fat, indurated face contorted like a heartsick child’s. Blood slapped her twice, forehand and backhand, without effect, though both blows echoed from the walls of the courtyard.

“Don’t do that again,” Silk told him. “It won’t help her, and it may harm you.”

Ignoring him, Blood pointed to the still form beneath the sheet. “Somebody get that out of sight. You there. Chenille. You’re plenty big enough. Pick her up and carry her to her room.”

The raspberry-haired woman backed away, trembling, the roughed spots on each high cheekbone glaring and unreal.

“May I see that, please?” Deftly, Silk took the dagger from Musk. Its hilt was bleached bone; burned into the bone with a needle and hand-dyed, a scarlet cat strutted with a tiny black mouse in its jaws. The cat’s fiery tail circled the hilt. Following the puffy-eyed brunette’s example, Silk reached under the railing and retrieved his handkerchief from beneath the sheet. The slender, tapering blade was highly polished, but not engraved. “Nearly new,” he muttered. “Not terribly expensive, but not cheap either.”

Musk said, “Any fool can see that,” and took back the dagger.

“Patera.” Blood cleared his throat. “You were here. Probably you saw her do it.”

Silk’s mind was still on the dagger. “Do what?” he asked.

“Kill herself. Let’s get out of this sun.” With a hand on Silk’s elbow, Blood guided him into the spotted shade of the gallery, displacing a chattering circle of nearly naked women.

“No, I didn’t see it,” Silk said slowly. “I was inside, talking to Orchid.”

“That’s too bad. Maybe you want to think about it a little more. Maybe you saw it after all, through a window or something.”

Silk shook his head.

“You agree that this was a suicide, though, don’t you, Patera? Even if you didn’t see it yourself?” Blood’s tone made his threat obvious.

Silk leaned back against the spalled shiprock, sparing his broken ankle. “Her hand was still on the knife when I first saw her body.”

Blood smiled. “I like that. In that case, Patera, you agree that there’s no reason to report this.”

“I certainly wouldn’t want to if I were in your place.” To himself, Silk reluctantly admitted that he felt sure the dead woman had been no suicide, that the law required that her death by violence be reported to the authorities (though he had no illusions about the effort they would expend upon the death of such a woman), and that if he were somehow to find himself in Blood’s place he would leave it as rapidly as possible—though neither honor nor morality required him to say any of these things, since saying them would be futile and would unquestionably endanger the manteion. It was all perfectly reasonable and nicely reasoned; but as he surveyed it, he felt a surge of self-contempt.

“I think we understand each other, Patera. There are three or four witnesses I could produce if I needed them—people who saw her do it. But you know how that is.”

Silk forced himself to nod his agreement; he had never realized that even passive assent to crime required so much resolution. “I believe so. Three or four of these unhappy young women, you mean. Their testimony would not carry much weight, however; and they would be apt to presume upon your obligation afterward.”

Under Musk’s direction, a burly man with less hair even than Blood had picked up the dead woman’s body, wrapping it in the sheet. Silk saw him carry it to the door beyond the entrance to Orchid’s office, which Musk opened for him.

“That’s right. I couldn’t have put it better myself.” Blood lowered his voice. “We’ve been having way too much trouble here as it is. The Guards have been in here three times in the past month, and they’re starting to talk about closing us down. Tonight I’ll have to come up with some way to get rid of it.”