"One thing more, saiyett. Lord Randronoth is well aware that to entertain well, to give presents and to make reliable friends costs money. He's sent you some, to use as you think fit for the advancement of your cause-our cause."
"Money?" she said. "What do you mean, money? How much?"
"Forty thousand meld; later, of course, there can be more, if it's needed."
"Forty thousand meld, U-Seekron? You can't be serious!"
"Saiyett, I have it here." He touched the Canathron scrip at his belt.
"Oh, great Shakkarn!"
Forty thousand meld! she thought: and apparently, from what Seekron had said, this represented only part of Randronoth's total efforts so far in various quarters. He must be throwing virtually the entire resources of the Lapan treasury into the plot. She had no idea how provincial governors settled accounts with the Beklan Council, but
obviously there must be some sort of day of reckoning, and Randronoth would not be able to meet it. So unless there was something she did not know about, he was at this very moment past recall as a rebel against Kembri.
Well, but it might not come to rebellion. After all, merely to support a girl as a candidate to become Sacred Queen did not in itself constitute rebellion-though pretty obviously there was more at the back of this lot than just her becoming Sacred Queen. But anything could happen. Meanwhile, and immediately, a fraction of the huge sum she was being offered-a mere eight or nine thousand meld- would be enough to put her straight and get her out of her money difficulties. Yes,
"Would Lord Randronoth expect me to render him accounts?" she asked.
"He said nothing to that effect, saiyett, but I hardly think so. After all-" he smiled again-"the expenditure might be rather difficult to itemize, don't you think?"
Forty thousand meld! Once she had learned from Sednil where Zen-Kurel was, she would be able to go to him like an arrow; go to him, too, with a dowry more than fit for a baron's daughter. And once out of the empire-
"I see," she said. "Well, you'd best come with me, U-Seekron. I've got a strong-box under the floor in the cellar. Give me the names: and you may tell Lord Randronoth that I'll do all I can to help him."
Two nights later, after supper, Maia was giving instructions about the money to be sent to Morca. It was a right old lot, too; more than Morca would have seen in her whole life, Maia felt sure of that. Sarget, whom she had consulted (though without mentioning Tharrin), had recommended one of his agents, a steady, middle-aged man who regularly traveled the fifty miles to Thettit-Tonilda with consignments of wine. The journey usually took three to four days
or even longer-loaded ox-carts being slower than an unencumbered man on foot-but Sarget thought it feasible enough for his agent to break off from the convoy at Hirdo and visit Lake Serrelind. A day should be quite enough for the business, and he could easily overtake the oxen before they reached Thettit. It was understood, of course, that Maia would make the detour worth his while.
Since Morca (like Maia herself) could more or less read simple words if she put her mind to it (her husband had taught them both as much as he himself knew of the tricky business) Maia had engaged a professional scribe to write a letter to be handed over with the money. When she came down to it, however, she could not find a great deal to say. Assuming that the family had already given Tharrin up for dead, she simply assured Morca that she knew he had died quickly and painlessly (why say more?) and that she herself had paid for his rites. She forgave Morca for what she had done and assured her that she bore no grudge. She sent her love to Kelsi, Nala and Lirrit and her blessing to the baby girl she had never seen. Then, on impulse, she added at the end, "Tharrin told me about my real mother, so now I understand you-and everything-better."
She had just handed over this letter to the man, together with the money, explained to him for the second time how to find Morca's hut and begged him to be sure to bring back word of how the girls were looking, when Ogma came running into the parlor, plainly frightened.
"Oh, miss!" she cried, not only interrupting Maia in mid-sentence but almost throwing herself into her arms as well, "Oh, miss, have you seen it? Oh, Cran, what's to become of us all, what's to-?"
"Ogma!" said Maia sharply. She felt thoroughly put out by the interruption. Ogma, for all her limitations, knew perfectly well the importance of keeping her place in front of visitors and strangers. "Pull yourself together! I don't know what you're on about, but whatever it is, just tell me sensibly."
