Having arrived at the temple precinct and been deferentially handed down from her jekzha by Brero, one of her soldiers, she climbed the broad steps to the portico watched by a small crowd, some of whom had followed her from the Caravan Market. The Tamarrik water-clock was just upon four hours after noon and even as she alighted, the purple-lacquered kynat released its silver ball to roll down the spiral and be caught in his cup by the divine child. Once she would have stopped to watch. Nowadays her public status required an air of more detachment and composure. Without turning her head, she passed between the two center columns and, as the acolyte seated at the bronze doors rose and bowed, gave him her most gracious smile (he was no eunuch, she sensed) and asked to see the chief priest.
Nothing could have been more courteous than her reception. A senior priest escorted her up a staircase to a pleasant, cool room on the south side of the temple, sent a slave for serrardoes, thrilsa and Yeldashay, and sat down to converse with her until the chief priest should appear. Maia, who not unnaturally felt herself to have gained a good deal in poise and self-confidence since the days of Sencho, replied to him with what she hoped was restraint and assurance about her own health, the water-ways of Suba, the iniquities of the Chalcon rebels and the certainty of their early defeat by Elvair-ka-Virrion. At length the bead curtains at the doorway clashed lightly (reminding her on the instant of Terebinthia: she nearly found herself springing to her feet) and the chief priest entered, followed by an attendant, who remained standing by the door. The other priest bowed and left them.
Apart from Durakkon, this was Maia's first encounter, since her return, with any leading representative of the Leopard regime. There was no least trace of hostility, but nevertheless she began almost at once to sense that certain atmosphere of which Nennaunir had warned her. Last year she had been just a little girl for the basting, no one's enemy, a nobody whom there was no reason to harm. Now, the chief priest-who had last seen her trembling, dishevelled and filthy from days of imprisonment-was plainly wondering, behind his careful air of being honored by a visit from the city's beautiful heroine, what she wanted from nim and what her real purpose might be. Quite early on in the conversation he contrived to stress the salutary and beneficial detachment of the temple from imperial politics and the value to the city of a priestly order of integrity which served Cran first and the secular rulers second. Maia could not help wondering whether, if he really supposed that she had wanted to sound out his view about herself as a possible successor to the Sacred Queen, she would have been quite such a fool as to come and do it face-to-face in a formal interview of this kind.
"My Guardian," she said, using the correct and formal style of address to the chief priest by ordinary citizens, "it's only a small matter I've come to ask you about. You'll no doubt remember the black girl, Occula, who was brought here the day before I came myself to be-er-prepared for my journey to Suba. You know, I expect, that she and I were close friends: we were in the High Counselor's household together. Now that I've recovered my health, naturally I want to take up with my friends again. May I ask you whether Occula's still here in the temple, and if not, where she is?"
"Well," he replied slowly. "Well-what do you think yourself-don't you think-while these difficult times last- that's something of a matter-isn't it-which ought to remain, perhaps, between the temple and the Lord General? As you know, the girl-your companion, you tell me- was involved in the murder of the High Counselor, wasn't she?"
"It's not for me to contradict you, my Guardian, but I reckon otherwise. In any case, I beg you to take pity on my anxiety about a dear friend to whom I owe more 'n what I can say. At least please tell me whether you positively know her to be dead-that is, whether she died here
in the temple during the time I was gone from the city."
He made no reply, only looking down at the table, patting it with his fingers in a gentle rhythm.
"If she is dead, my Guardian, surely it can do no possible harm to tell me? It seems-well, a small thing to ask, like."
He evidently thought so, too. She could discern in him a certain feeling of anti-climax. This public idol and acclaimed beauty, this new, unassessed and still uncommitted personality in the upper city's endless currents of power-maneuver, had sought him out for a talk. Yet now it transpired that apparently all she wanted to know was the whereabouts of a black concubine.
For an instant she saw him almost imperceptibly shake his head in perplexity. Then he looked up, smiling.
"If I positively knew her to be dead, Serrelinda, I would tell you as much: I hope that helps you."
"Then she is not?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell you any more."
