the end of the world. Yen Olass knew the shape and size of every missing piece – and saw them often in her dreams.
So now, seeing this fragment, Yen Olass knew she was discovered. She looked at the broken bit of tile, then raised her eyes to find Haveros staring at her with an expression of… rage? Madness? She had seen that look before. What was it? Why had he not denounced her already as a thief, a spy, an enemy of the state? Considering that expression, Yen Olass admitted that she knew what it was: lust. Yet, unlike the text-master, Haveros was not the kind of man to lust after knowledge. What he wanted was…
Yen Olass remembered Monogail. She remembered the soldiers. Their hands scrabbling over her body. The weight of their stinking breath. She could not speak. 'Well?' said Haveros.
Yen Olass did the only thing she could do. She opened her carrier box and took out her Casting Board, slotting the two halves together. She took out the leather bag containing the 365 Indicators; she shook the bag then extracted sixteen tablets and laid them out on the Casting Board, placing four rows of four tablets in a foursquare design.
'These are the quadrants of north, south, east and west,' said Yen Olass, endeavouring to impress Haveros with the mystery, for she was about to give a reading to try and save herself. 'In order, they are the quadrants of snow, sky, sun and moon, or, alternatively, stasis, change, action and thought.’
She thought of telling him more, then saw his sardonic smile. Yen Olass looked down at the cool ivory tablets, each decorated with an exquisite pattern etched in black, blue, red or green. Even though she assigned no occult powers to this apparatus, his mockery still seemed tainted with sacrilege. Yen Olass looked at Haveros and said:
'What's so funny?’
'You look like…’
He was amused. She could hear it in his voice.
'Like what?' said Yen Olass, starting to get angry. 'What do I look like?’
'As if you thought I was going to… to eat you. Or to do something I shouldn't. You don't think I'd touch you, do you?’
It was too much to endure. The urbane, scornful amusement. Years of careful, diplomatic campaigning had allowed Yen Olass to make something of a life for herself, and now, with a tiny bit of broken pottery, this big ugly man was going to abolish her entire world. And – worse! – he mocked her for being proud enough to imagine that he might want to possess her. Carefully, Yen Olass raised one side of the Casting Board. The Indicators shuffled onto the floor. Haveros started to speak:
'You can't get out of it-’
Yen Olass picked up the Casting Board and hurled it at him. He ducked – too slow! The board clipped his head. As it spun away, Yen Olass snarled, her mouth locking open in something which was almost a scream. Haveros stared at her, then reached up gingerly and touched his head. He examined the blood on his fingers. Then smiled – and laughed.
At that laugh, Yen Olass felt her resistance collapse. It was no good. Whatever she did. They were too strong, too sure of themselves. She could never hurt them. This was their city, and she was their slave. But, even in defeat, she would make no concessions. She would not beg. She would not plead. If he was here to bring her death sentence, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her grovel at his feet.
Haveros licked the blood from his fingers, then held up the little -bit of tile.
'Where does this belong?’
'I don't know.' said Yen Olass.
'I saw what happened,' said Haveros.
'So what did you see?’
'Enough to make me think. What would an oracle steal? Plates from the kitchen of Karling Drask? Tiles from the roof? Wall panels from the bathroom in the Riverside Suite? By the time Lord Alagrace let me return to the city, I'd worked it out.’
'Clever,' said Yen Olass, admitting nothing, even though she realized that she had already betrayed herself.
Only the certainty of personal destruction could have set an oracle free to attack a warrior like Haveros; by her own actions, she had demonstrated her guilt, and condemned herself.
'It has to be a text-master,' said Haveros. 'What has to be?’
'No more games now,' said Haveros. 'I know which map has gone missing. The catalogue tells me it's an old, old map with inscriptions in the High Speech. Only a text-master would want a useless thing like that.’
Texts in the High Speech of the wizards of Argan were not in fact without their uses, for the text-masters had spent the last ten years endeavouring to master that language so they would be able to serve as translators when the Collosnon Empire invaded Argan.
'Why should I tell you?' said Yen Olass. 'It makes no difference to me.’
'Why?' said Haveros. 'What do you think I'm here for? To bring you your death warrant? To amuse myself a little at your expense? No, it's not like that at all. Of course, it could be… but I'm sure we can reach an agreement.’
'It's a trick,' said Yen Olass.
And she was sure it was. Once Haveros knew which text-master had suborned her, he could complete his rehabilitation by denouncing her.
'Listen,' said Haveros. 'Listen very carefully, and I'll explain in little little words that even a little mouse like you can understand.’
Yen Olass, who was not little at all, swallowed the insult nevertheless, and listened. And began to understand.
sfc ^ =fc
Eldegen Terzanagel lived in Tangzkez Nesh in the purlieus of the Lutzuke tenament area, just to the east of the horse market. This was one of the oldest parts of Gendormargensis; the streets were narrow, noisome and unfashionable. Nevertheless, Terzanagel had made himself very comfortable; Yen Olass envied his ground floor quarters, for she often grew tired of climbing up and down the stairs in tooth 44, Moon Stallion Strait.
Volaine Persaga Haveros came to Tangzkez Nesh disguised as a beggar. He had no aristocratic beauty to conceal. A little dirt, a lurch, a limp, a shrouding cowl, a mouthful of strong liquor to flush his breath, a mutter, the occasional obscenity – he was perfect. And when he reached the rendezvous, it took only a change of clothes, some clean water and some mintwash to refashion him in the image of love.
The Princess Quenerain, on the other hand, arrived in a closed palanquin, a shabby equipage such as any moderately successful merchant household might have maintained. She came dressed in her finery – silks, perfumes, jewels and gold. When entering Tangzkez Nesh, the princess never said a word to Yen Olass – never acknowledged her existence.
Yen Olass was always there, keeping watch with Nuana Nanalako. The text-master Eldegen Terzanagel, though he had allowed himself to be blackmailed into making his house available for this illicit liaison, always absented himself when the lovers arrived, leaving his slave girl to help the oracle keep watch.
At first these two women attended to their guard duties with scrupulous care, expecting General Chonjara to appear at any moment at the head of a squad of armed men. However, as the days went by their anxieties receded, and curiosity began to dominate fear. One day, Nuana showed Yen Olass a ventilation slit which overlooked the sleeping quarters and allowed them to watch and hear all that took place between Haveros and the Princess Quenerain.
Soon, their guard duties became notional, and they amused themselves by spying on the trysting couple. They watched honey being applied to the most tender places, then licked off; they watched hands grappling with flesh and sweat; they watched two people becoming desperate, straining creatures, biting, groaning, moaning, writhing. Stifling giggles, they listened to the shameless dialogues of infatuation:
'Son-son, is your little medi-vedi weary? Here, let me wake him up… what? Does that tickle? Come on, don't be… yes, he's a brave little soldier, isn't he?… oh, that's quite… ah…’
'Does your little teni like that, Suggy?’
'Oh yes, oh it's so… oh, it's slipped out. Oh, Son-son, it's so slippery… here, let me help you put it back in… ah, that's better… oh… push… oh… oh At which point it was standard for Nuana to open her mouth in an orgasmic 'O',
