He paused, reflecting. At length he said, "You know I'm leaving tomorrow to lead the campaign in Chalcon? I'm giving the usual part)?-a
"I ought to: I had to bed with him once at Sencho's."
"Oh, he'd have liked that, Randronoth would. Well, Milvushina will be there, of course, and Otavis and Nen-naunir. Your friend Fordil's bringing his drums and hin-naris along, and everyone's hoping you'll dance. That was what I came for-to ask you particularly. But in the light of what you've been telling me, I've just had another idea that may appeal to you. I think it'll work, provided we can get everyone in the right mood. I'm ready to do everything I can to help you in this business, Maia, I promise you."
She gazed back at him, half-smiling in response to his smile, uncertain, puzzled but intrigued.
"Let's just have another stroll down that pretty garden of yours," said Elvair-ka-Virrion, draining off his goblet and picking up his plumed hat from the table, "and I'll tell you what it is I've got in mind. Cheer up: I think we may beat Fornis yet."
She had sent Ogma down to the prison to say she was coming, and this time was received with the respect appropriate to the Serrelinda. Seen in the bright afternoon sunshine, from the window of Pokada's stuffy little room, the courtyard, like that of a barracks, and the ugly blocks seemed more arid and dismal than ever. Not a bush or bloom, not a blade of grass; even the creeper below the window-sill, she now realized, was dead. The sun, shining from a clear sky into this squalid, bare place served-so it seemed-only to stress its isolation and lack of all natural beauty-tree, flower or bird-song. Nowhere, in the still heat, was there a trace of any animate thing. Why, 'tis like being struck deaf, she thought. Everything's here, 'ceptin' for something missing that's enough to drive you mad.
Pokada, with a singular lack of tact, had asked her, in preliminary conversation, whether she was acquainted with Lalloc; to which she replied merely with a cold stare. This, however, had not been sufficient to discourage the jailer from running garrulously on about his own association with the slave-dealer. After a minute or two it dawned on Maia that he was actually proud of it, and was boasting of his acquaintance with someone who in his world figured as an illustrious citizen. Lalloc, it appeared, was a not infrequent visitor on business at the jail and had often shown himself most affable. "Obf, yes, saiyett; oh yes," went on Pokada, "we're not without our distinguished connections here, you know. Why, one day last year the Sacred Queen herself honored us with a visit."
"What she want to come here for, then?" Maia was momentarily startled out of her assumed composure.
"Oh, to select a man, you know, saiyett; a prisoner- for some purpose connected with the sacred office, she told me. Very conscientious, the Sacred Queen, I've always understood. No, no, you mustn't think of us here as just a bunch of old turnkeys, you know. 'Why, you're quite a civic functionary, Pokada,' U-Lalloc was kind enough to say to me once. Yes, a civic functionary-"
Maia, not without a certain bitter amusement, deliberately copied the detached manner which (not least because of its effectiveness) had so often irritated her in Milvushina; so that after a little more one-sided chat the jailer took
the hint and left her. Sitting on the bench, her arms before her on the table, she let her head droop and fell into a reverie from which she was roused by the opening of the door.
Tharrin was already looking better. For a start he was clean-or as clean, thought the new Maia, as people like him ever were. His hair was combed and she thought it quite probable that it might even be free of lice. He still looked gaunt and ravaged, a man who had undergone a dreadful ordeal, but the eyes that met hers now contained some self-possession-even expectancy-rand after a moment he actually contrived a sort of half-smile as well. He was wearing presentable, if rough and mended, clothes and his nails had been trimmed and were no longer black. As soon as he perceived-which he did as quickly as a dog-that her mind was free of calamity, his manner began to assume a faint, residual hint of the former strolling rascal-ah, there's no real harm in him, to be sure-the tom-cat renowned for always falling on his feet. Oh, of course, it had been the very devil of a scrape, don't you know; worst he'd ever been in, matter of fact; there'd been times when he'd thought it was all up with him, honest. But girls had their uses, and somehow something always seemed to turn up lucky for a lad like him. Wouldn't you just know it?
