Her defiance must have shown. Although Tizbe’s amusement continued unabated, her expression did change. “Well, captivity doesn’t seem to have hurt you, Maia. Not where it counts. You’re positively blossoming.”
“Go to Earth, Tizbe. Take your Jopland and Lerner friends with you.”
The cloneling feigned a moue of shock. “Such language! Keep this up, and you’ll be too rough for polite society.”
Maia laughed curtly. “You can shove your polite—”
But Tizbe got the better of her again, simply by stifling a yawn and waving a hand vaguely in front of her. “Oh, not now, if you don’t mind. It’s been a hard ride and I have to leave bright and early. We’ll see though. Before that, I might have a chance to drop in again and say goodbye.”
Then, to Maia’s shock, she turned to go. “But… aren’t you here to—”
Tizbe looked back from the door. “To question you? Torture you? Ah, that would be just the thing for one of those trashy novels I’m told you’ve been reading. Villains are supposed to gloat and rub their hands together, and talk to their poor victims a lot.
“Sorry to disappoint you. I really would try to fit the role if I had the time. Honestly, though, do you have any information I could possibly want? What material benefit would I gain by questioning one more Venturist spy?”
Maia stared at her. “One more what?”
Tizbe reached into one of her sleeves and drew forth a tattered, folded sheet of heavy paper. After a moment, Maia recognized the leaflet she had accepted in Lanargh, from the hand of that earnest young heretic wearing eyeglasses. So, her captors had gone to Holly Lock and sifted through her things. She did not even bother acting offended.
“Venturist… you think I’m one of them, because of
Tizbe shrugged. “It did seem unlikely for a spy to carry around blatant evidence. Throw in your comm call from Jopland, though, and it’s reason enough to take precautions. You’ve turned official eyes this way sooner than expected, for which you’ll pay.” She smiled. “Still, we have things well in hand. If it weren’t for more urgent matters, I’d not bother coming all this way.
“As it is, I felt behooved to check on you, Maia. Glad to see you not all wrapped in self-pity, as I expected. Maybe, when everything’s settled, we’ll have a talk about your future. There may be a place for a var like you —”
Maia cut in. “With your gang of criminals? You…” She searched for phrases she had heard over Thalia’s radio, at Lerner Hold. “Inheretist exploiters!”
Tizbe shook her head, grinning. “Showing our radical colors at last? Well, solitude and contemplation can change minds. I’ll have some books sent to you. They’ll show the sense in what we’re doing. How it’s good for Stratos and all womankind.”
“Thanks,” Maia replied sharply. “Don’t bother including
“Oh yes?” Tizbe’s eyebrows lifted. “And?”
Maia hoped her smile conveyed indulgent pity.
“I think Lysos would have liked to study sickies like you under a microscope, to see what she did wrong.”
For the first time, the other woman’s reaction wasn’t another tailored mask. Tizbe glowered. “Enjoy your stay, var-child.”
The guards followed her out, trying not to meet Maia’s eyes as they closed the door, then fastened it with a hard, metallic clank of Lerner steel.
It was just one more blow to Maia’s pride, confirming what she already knew about her insignificance in the world.
Maia realized with sudden certainty—
The possibility of danger to her friend terrified Maia. She rushed to the wall, where the game board was already plugged in, but then made herself stop. The distance between their cells was not great. Tizbe could be at Renna’s door by the time Maia tapped a warning, and if Tizbe heard the clicking, it would let on that the prisoners had a way of communicating. Maia imagined what life might be like, if she found herself cut off yet again. The gaping sense of threat and emptiness felt like when she had first come to realize that Leie was gone.
Sitting in front of the game board only enhanced Maia’s feeling of impotence. She got up and climbed her pyramid of boxes to crawl into the window, where she poked her head beyond the rocky lip to peer toward the front gate. There Maia glimpsed several figures tending a string of tethered horses. The Beller’s escorts, presumably.
She clambered down again. To avoid pacing uselessly, Maia sat down and resumed plaiting her rope, keeping her pencil handy nearby and anxiously hoping for the clicking sounds that would tell her Renna was all right. The long, hard quiet stretched on and on, until a rasp of keys caused her to throw a rug over her work once more. She stood up as the guards entered and put her dinner on the rickety table. Maia ate silently, hurriedly, as eager for her jailers to leave as they were to be gone..
When they left, she hated the return of solitude.
Several times, Maia interrupted her work to go to the window. The third time she looked, the horses and escorts were gone. A panicky chill arrested when she saw no traffic on the road. As twilight settled and temperatures dropped, they must have all gone inside, where the empty halls offered plenty of room for women and mounts.
Maia climbed down and resumed worrying, while her fingers plaited fibers together.
The first clicks from the wall plate sent her heart leaping.
Maia threw her weaving aside and picked up her notebook. Soon it was clear that Renna wasn’t sending any ornately planned Game of Life scenario, but a rushed series of simple Morse dots and dashes. The message ended. Concentrating, Maia had to guess at meanings for several of the letters and words. Finally, she cried out. “No!”
MAIA. DONT ANSWR. THEY R TAKNG ME AWAY. WILL REMBR U ALWYS. GOD KEEP U SAFE. RENNA.
It can get bitterly cold on the high plains, especially on early winter evenings, to one lying perched up high along a precipice, exposed to the wind.
There was barely room to stretch prone in the window niche, whose gritty, chill surface rubbed Maia’s shoulders on both sides. Using a plank from the broken box as a sort of fishing rod, Maia still had to lean out so the rope hung properly, to keep its burden from scraping against the rough cliff face. The leverage helped as she rocked the plank gently left to right, back and forth, pumping gradually until the rope began to swing like a pendulum.
It took concentration not to let her shivering interfere. Nor was the shaking due entirely to the cold. By moonlight, the ground looked awfully far away. Even if she had a rope long enough—one made by master craftswomen, not hand-twined by an inexperienced fiver—she would never have been able to get herself to climb
