Maia полностью

"The star-" "Unlucky-" "What's it mean?" "-unlucky-" "Where are you going, then?" "-quarrels among the gods, that's it-" "-we'll have to pay for it-" "What d'you make of it?" "Unlucky-"

"It isn't unlucky!" she cried, raising her two fists. "It isn't! That's where I'm going-" she pointed ahead, downhill-"to tell them not to be afraid! There's nothing to be afraid of! It isn't bad luck, it's good luck!"

"How d'you know that, eh?" asked the big fellow. "A bit of a girl like you-"

"Ah, and a pretty one an' all," said someone else.

"Because Lespa told me in a dream!" shouted Maia at the top of her voice.

"A dream, eh?" said a red-haired man in a short, sacking smock, who reminded Maia horribly of the Sacred Queen attired for her pleasure. "What's dreams?-just a lot of rubbish-"

"Then I s'pose you reckon it was all rubbish when Lespa told me King Karaat's battle-plan in a dream, do you?" said Maia.

This came out with the greatest conviction. In the moment that she was saying it she believed it herself. "And I s'pose you'll say next that it wasn't Lespa who brought me safe across the river? D'you want to make her angry, talking like that? I tell you-this star's the sword of Bekla, come to destroy her enemies!"

"Is that the rights of it, saiyett?" asked the big man. "Honest?"

"Of course it is!" answered Maia. "Give me patience! Lespa sends you the best sign for a thousand years, and you stand there wondering whether it's good or bad-"

It was not only her beauty-that clear and patent sign of the favor of the gods-but her whole manner, her air of joyous confidence in the midst of their anxiety, which they found more convincing than any words.

"I believe her!" shouted an older man. "Well, stands to reason, don't it? If the goddess was going to tell anyone, it'd be the Serrelinda she'd tell. Hasn't she had the goddess's favor all along?-and damned lucky for all of us, too! She's right, the star's good!"

By this time a considerable crowd had gathered round the jekzha, and Brero and his mate were fidgeting uneasily in the shafts.

"Where d'you want to go, then, saiyett?" asked the big smith. "You want to go down the Market and tell the lot of them, is that it?"

"Yes, Baltis, yes!" cried Maia; at which there was a roar of laughter, while someone called out "She even knows his name!" Smiths throughout the empire were generically called Baltis, but evidently this had been a rather luckier shot than that.

They opened up the way for her, calling out "Maia! Maia!" and striding along beside the jekzha as the soldiers pulled it down the hill and into the sandy expanse of the Caravan Market. Here all manner of people-slaves, stall: keepers, shearrias, beggars, merchants, tradesmen and their wives-were gathered in groups, gazing northward at the comet and talking together; some among themselves in low voices, others loudly and excitedly, arguing and gesticulating. A few booths were open and one or two hawkers were also seizing the opportunity for business. In the half-darkness it was difficult to tell how many people might be there altogether, but Maia guessed perhaps a thousand.

"Are you going to the Scales, then, saiyett, or where?" asked Brero over his shoulder.

When Maia, prompted by the words of Sarget's man, had first set out, she had simply had it in mind to go down to the lower city, walk about among the people and show them that at any rate she, a popular public figure, was not afraid. As so often, she had acted on impulse and without any clear idea of what she thought was likely to ensue. In the Street of the Armourers she had answered spontaneously. Now-or so it appeared-she seemed expected to make some kind of speech. Yet she had no idea what to say.

The plinth of Fleitil's bronze Scales-those same onto which Selperron had climbed to get a look at the Serre-linda-was not infrequently used as a rostrum, both by official and unofficial public speakers. Possibly the smiths and armourers had not thought of the Scales until Brero spoke, but they did now all right.

" 'Course she is, soldier!" shouted Baltis. "Why don't you pull her up the ramp? Then she needn't even get down."

At one end of the plinth was a long, gently-inclined ramp, and up this (in the absence of any instruction to the contrary from the dazed Maia) the soldiers now drew the jekzha. Seconds later she found herself some six or seven feet above the sandy market-place, looking down on bobbing heads, flaring torches and everywhere faces, young and old, male and female, all unconsciously revealing their common anxiety and disquiet.

They had something else in common, however; they all knew her. She was their Serrelinda, their swimmer, the girl who had raised nine thousand meld in twenty minutes and given the lot (so they supposed) to the Chalcon expedition. She'd come for some purpose or other-that much was plain. They crowded round the Scales expectantly.