“I think,” I said, “you do not really know what is going on.”
“Oh?” she said, archly.
“No,” I said.
“Give me the candy,” she said. “Just for a little bit. I will not keep it. If it is hard, as you say, it will last a long time. I will give it back to you.”
“It has a soft center,” I said.
“No matter,” she said.
“Very well,” I said, and I freed the small candy from its wrapper, the candy and wrapper extracted from a tiny sleeve inside the hem of my tunic.
Antiope looked about.
We were the only slaves at the troughs now, and it was late afternoon. In an Ahn or so the curfew bar might sound.
Our laundry was piled to the side.
I shivered a little, as it seemed to be cooler now.
“You know about the killings?” asked Antiope.
“Very little,” I said.
“Some beast, or beasts, is in the city,” she said. “Eight or ten men, some women, have been torn to pieces, in different places, in different districts.”
“Could a larl be in the city,” I asked, “or a wild sleen?”
“Unlikely,” she said. “The work does not suggest the attack of such beasts.”
“Something different?” I said.
“What is wrong?” she asked.
I must have turned white, for I thought of the beast, Grendel. Such a thing would be fully capable of such work. How did I know the beast remained on the roof of the dwelling of Epicrates? It would be easy for something of its size, agility, and power to descend to the street. I knew it tended to leave the domicile only at night.
Antiope, holding the candy delicately, touched her tongue to the candy, her eyes closed.
“The bodies were not robbed,” she said. “They were partly eaten.”
“A larl then,” I said, “or a sleen?”
“No,” she said, “the larl, the sleen, kill in their own ways. Some of the bodies were crushed, others had the neck broken.”
“You thought it came from the sewers?” I said.
“It is thought so,” she said.
The candy disappeared into Antiope’s mouth. “Good,” she said.
“Make it last,” I said. I wanted some of it back.
“I will,” she said. She then removed it from her mouth, and again savored it, tongue-wise. In this way it would last a very long time, as it would not too soon melt away. It is a trick of slaves.
“Then tharlarion,” I said.
Some tharlarion, usually found in rivers, or along shores, are squat, heavy, sinuous, patient, and capable, under certain conditions, of brief bursts of speed.
“It does not seem so,” she said.
“Why do they think the sewers?” I asked.
“Where else?” she said. “Too, some thieves, some well known, in broad daylight, even within view of the praetor’s platform, pushing aside a grating, rushed from a sewer, to be shortly apprehended by rings of spear- bearing guardsmen. Shortly were the thieves manacled and neck-chained.”
“Why did they so emerge?” I asked.
“Something in the sewers they feared, and never saw,” she said.
“It was the beast, or beasts?” I said.
“Perhaps,” she said.
“Guardsmen, with lanterns, have surely traversed the sewers,” I said.
“It seems they found nothing,” she said. “Two never returned.”
I conjectured then that two had apparently found something, or had been found by something.
“There is one thought, but much rejected,” she said, licking at the candy.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Some months ago,” she said, “hunters in the Voltai, seeking larl, found an unusual beast in their net, almost man-like, but larger, covered with hair, large-jawed, fanged and clawed, fierce, twisting, and howling. Such a beast had never been seen. It was returned, caged, to Ar, and purchased for a carnival.”
I immediately recalled the faded, half-torn poster, the remains of which were affixed to the wall opposite one of the rear entrances to Six Bridges.
“It was a large, dangerous, stupid, simple thing,” she said, “and, as it proved, at least at the time, untrainable, it was kept for exhibition.”
“It was irrational?” I said.
“Clearly,” she said.
I was not sure of that.
“It then seemed docile, and bided its time,” she said. “Then, one day, when it was to be fed, it reached through the bars and seized a keeper’s arm, and broke him against the bars, and tore at his belt, where dangled his keys, but others intervened with spear butts, striking at the beast, and it, roaring, tore away the keeper’s arm, and fed on it, and the keeper died moments later, of shock and loss of blood.”
“It was reaching for the keys,” I said.
“No,” she said, “it only seemed so, as it was naught but a mindless, violent beast.”
“It later escaped?” I said.
“Its danger was recognized, and the owner of the carnival, who was also its chief trainer, to neutralize and pacify it, had it blinded, with hot irons.”
“What then?” I said.
“Weeks went by,” she said. “Then it was noticed one evening that the blinded beast was turning about, and moving, in time to the carnival music, when the kaiila were performing, and later, the striped urts. This was brought to the attention of the owner, the chief trainer, who brought a flautist to the vicinity of the cage, and, behold, the beast danced to the music of the flute. Thereafter this was one of the attractions in the carnival. Further, this suggested to the chief trainer that the beast might now prove susceptible to training. Apparently this proved to be the case, and, eventually, the beast, led on a leash, was brought regularly, in its turn, to the area of performance, surrounded by the crowd. There it performed simple tricks, to the snapping of a whip, jumping up and down, rolling over, turning about, climbing on boxes, and such. Then one evening, it turned on the chief trainer and tore out his eyes, and then, blindly, awkwardly, rushed through the crowd. Guardsmen, and others, were about, and the beast was wounded, cut, and slashed time and time again. Then it disappeared, bleeding, and limping, into the darkness.”
“Then it escaped,” I said, uneasily.
“In its flight,” she said, “it killed four, and injured several others.”
“It escaped,” I said.
“It is thought not,” she said. “It was struck many times. It is thought nothing could long live so grievously wounded, so copiously bleeding.”
“The body was not recovered,” I said.
“Blood led to the sewers,” she said. “It doubtless died in the sewers.”
“But that is not known,” I said.
“No,” she said, “that is not known.”
“One is then left with the mystery of the killings,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“What sort of beast was it?” I asked.
“Of an unusual sort,” she said.
“What was it doing in the Voltai?” I asked.
“I do not know,” she said.
