here. You’ll be needing it.”
The one called Korush raised his lantern. “Ah, gentlepersons, as my wife says! Come you here and let us tend to you.”
Harsan sidled a pace or two into the cross-tunnel, Tlayesha’s hand gripped so hard in his that her fingers must surely be crushed.
“Go on ahead,” Morkudz answered them. “We need nothing. We will follow.”
“Not so, now…” The female made as though to advance upon Tlayesha, arms out to embrace her.
Itk t’Sa said, “I am told… I have heard… Are you SramuthuV'
Everything stopped. Prince Dhich’une’s ‘Excellent Ruby Eye’ could not have frozen the scene any more completely.
' Sramuthu?” one of the younger males asked slowly. “What be that?”
“Never heard of that clan-such folk-” the female muttered.
The little girl said, “They know us.”
Her voice was no longer childlike and trilling but soft, muffled, and susurrant, like the rasping of an insect.
“Aruja, Mrelur, Siggu, do you go and aid the boy and girl,” the one named Korush said in his pleasant, bass voice. “Tisa and I will wait here with this Pe Choi.”
“Hold!” Itk t’Sa hissed. “Truly, we mean you no harm. I am a Tii Petk, a Speaker sent by my people. Let us talk. I would speak to all of the Underpeople, to all of those who dwell with humankind upon Tekumel.”
“La, that’s very nice,” the female replied. “I do so enjoy a good chat, dears.” She began to edge around to Itk t’Sa’s left. “And I have a loaf of bread here in my bag, fresh-baked, and a little jug of beer. Just let me get them out for you…”
The child stood up on her thick, short legs. “They have no weapons, nothing.” She spread her arms.
Her features cracked, split down the middle. Her left eye and her cheek peeled away to slide down upon her shoulder; her right eye hung oddly suspended in her hair. She wriggled. Her small chest opened, tunic and all, to reveal a tangle of dark, damp limbs within.
“You’re too quick about it, love!” the female scolded, still in her jolly, maternal voice. Then she, too, began to change.
“Will you not hear me?” Itk t’Sa screamed. “Listen!”
Korush’ cloak parted in two at the back with a delicate tearing sound. Wing-casings, black and damp- glistening showed beneath. His voice dropped an octave or two and took on the same dark, burring note.
“Ai, we’ll be happy to heed what you have to say, Mistress Speaker, or whatever you be. Ai, we’ll give full attention to your words…’’He said something else, but his speech had become no more than an unintelligible buzzing mumble.
“Run!” Morkudz shrieked. “Run, Pe Choi!”
They fled into the cross-tunnel. Tlayesha was the fleetest of foot, but the pudgy little Heheganu almost overtook her. Harsan lagged behind, wondering as he ran if he could not somehow aid Itk t’Sa. Weaponless, what could he do? The Pe Choi were a trifle faster than humans; he only prayed that she could take advantage of that!
They panted to a ragged standstill in near-darkness. With horror Harsan saw that a figure stood before them with a lighted torch, no more than thirty paces away. He shouted and almost turned to fling himself back in the other direction. Just in time he recognised Mirure. Taluvaz and Simanuya crouched farther down the corridor behind her.
There was no sound from the direction they had come.
The Heheganu gabbled out his story of the Sramuthu in one long breath. Harsan shushed him to listen. Still he heard nothing.
Something moved up the passageway. They poised themselves. The ruddy torchlight danced upon white chitin.
“Itk t’Sa!” Harsan cried in utter relief.
The Pe Choi stumped forward upon thick, cylindrical legs. “My friends,” her voice warbled between a high soprano and a deep bass. “I managed to get free-”
They fled again. And this time they did not stop until the darkness and several intersections had swallowed up the Sramuthu behind them as surely as a tomb.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Will they follow?” Taluvaz Arrio panted.
“Who knows?” Morkudz answered, then shook his head. “No, I think not. They are not swift, nor are they fond of armed prey who know their tricks. No, Lord, we should be secure here for the moment.”
“Where are we?” Taluvaz guided the Heheganu over to examine the walls of the new cavern into which the tunnel had debouched.
“A section of catacombs, I think. These domes conceal tomb-shafts
…”
“The nobles of the First Imperium, the Age of Queen Nayari of the Silken Thighs, built such. Yes, these appear to be of that period…”
Morkudz showed no interest in ancient history but went off to make a circuit of the chamber.
The Livyani cast a worried glance back at Mirure. She sat near the entrance consoling the physician girl. The priest of Thumis squatted there also, his face blank and numb. Shock did that, the sudden loss of a friend. The Weaver of Skeins would have to add many threads before these memories could be folded away and lost within the fabric of the tapestry.
The glassblower came up beside Taluvaz to squint at the rows of masonry domes lining the uneven floor of the chamber. These resembled nothing so much as the kilns of a potters’ clanhouse, being perhaps a man-height tall and two or three man-heights in diametre. In front of each stood a pentagonal stone stela proclaiming the quality and deeds of the sleeper within.
“I have heard tell of this place,” Simanuya said. “Acquaintances of mine in the Splendid Paradise have returned with tales-”
“Tomb-robbers!” Taluvaz sneered. “The mighty heroes of the Age of the First Imperium now lie helpless prey to petty thieves, burrowers in the earth, looters, eaters of carrion…!”
“As may be, Lord,” the glassblower displayed offended innocence. “Yet what use fine grave-goods to these folk? Who’s to eat from their golden plates or drink from their crystal goblets?”
Taluvaz turned away impatiently. Those who pillaged tombs in Livyanu were handed over to the cold mercies of the Vru’uneb, the intelligence arm of the Temples of the Shadow Gods. He himself had participated in the judgments meted out to such culprits, for Lord Qame'el honoured those who honoured their ancestors.
He walked over for a closer look. Several of the domes showed openings in their smooth casings; someone- likely Simanuya’s friends-had indeed visited here. They had been most assiduous in their willingness to share the wealth of the dead.
Morkudz returned. “No other exits,” he reported. “Either go back to those last intersections or find some hidden way out of here. Or join these notables in their final rest.”
“Do the tombs connect to one another-or to further passages below?”
“Ai, some do, Lord,” Simanuya said. “Some go down to a single guesting chamber where food and drink were left. Beneath the floor-ofttimes a single stone slab a handspan thick-are the crypts proper. Other shafts open out below into several rooms and storage places for the goods of the noble person-ah- honourably reposing there. A few are still larger and join to other sepulchres.”
“An expert upon the burial customs of the ancients!” Morkudz commented acidly.
“We all must live, masters. Never have I duped a rich traveller with a maze of mat walls and lost him beneath Old Town so that he could be caught and ransomed-or killed and plundered-as some I know have done.” He returned the Heheganu look for look.
