"This place is filthy," said Occula, "and so are you. We'll stick to boiled eggs and fruit, and boiled milk to drink."
"Why, you little bitch," retorted the old woman, "you just wait till they sell you up in Bekla! They'll soon teach you to mind your tongue there, you black-faced tart--"
"You were a tart once," replied Occula calmly. "But you mustn' judge me by yourself, you know. I'm goin' to be much more successful and finish up a lot better off. When I'm your age I shan' be crawlin' about in a pile of shit, slicin' brillions for slave-traders."
"Basting hell!" shouted the old woman, rushing at her and swinging back her arm. Occula caught her by the wrist, gripped it for a few moments and then pushed it gently back to her side.
"It's no good, grandma," she said, not unkindly. "Just do as I ask you and let's have no trouble, shall we? Come on, now; eggs, milk and fruit."
"There's no fruit," snapped the old woman, turning away.
"The garden's full of it," said Occula. "Ripe, too. Banzi, go out and pick some, will you?"
"No, she won't!" cried the old woman. "Think we let you little whores go wandering about outside just as you like? D'you know what 'slave' means, miss, eh?"
"You'd better go yourself, then," said Occula. "You used to be a whore--and a slave. I'm goin' to be a shearna--and in the upper city, too."
"D'you think I'm running your errands, miss?" screamed the old woman. "You'll eat what you're given or else go without, you black cow--"
In a flash Occula had snatched up the peeling-knife. At the same moment Megdon, entering the room, reached her in three strides, plucked it out of her hand and threw it into a corner.
"Easy now, Occula," said the slave-trader. "You're getting a lot too handy with knives, you know. What's the row?"
Occula stood impassively beside the table as the old woman began a shrill tirade of explanation and abuse. It was plain, however, that Megdon was only half-listening. At length, shrugging his shoulders, he said, "Well, if she wants some fruit you'd better go and get her some. I'll stay here with them till you come back."
The old woman seemed about to argue: then, muttering, she took up a basket and shuffled out of the room.
Megdon turned back to Occula, who had flung back her leather jacket and, her hands behind her on the table, was leaning backwards, her body arched from the hips. As he took a step towards her she said, "Do you want this little girl to watch? Is that what you like?"
"It would be easier to go upstairs, wouldn't it?" answered Megdon. "What are you charging this time, Occula? Too much, if I know anything about it."
"You bugger, I haven' charged you a meld yet," said Occula.
"Not money, no," replied Megdon, never taking his eyes off her. "But a slap-up dinner--and it was slap-up, Occula; you can't say it wasn't--and two bottles of Yeldashay at. the best place between here and Thettit. And that gold stud in your nose."
"Which you took off some other poor girl," said Occula. "You're lucky, you know. Six months from now and you woan' be able to get me for five times that. In fact, you woan' be able to get me at all, so you'd better make the most of it while you can."
"Well, for your own sake, I hope you're right, Occula," answered Megdon. "To tell you the truth, I wish we had to handle more girls like you: life would be a lot easier."
"There's no one like me. What's happened to that little bastard I sorted out last night?"
"Gone to Zalamea on a collecting job. Won't be back till tonight. There's only Perdan, and he's still asleep."
"All right; you want to know the price," said Occula. "I'll tell you. You'll send us on to Hirdo today; me and this banzi here. And you'll fit her out with some decent clothes. And that's all: cheap, isn't it?"
"I can't do it, Occula," answered Megdon. "I can give the girl a dress; three, if you like. That's easy enough. But I can't send you on to Hirdo today, because there's no one to take you."
"There's you."
"Genshed's bringing five girls on foot from Zalamea. They'll have done fourteen miles. I've no idea what they'll be like. You know how it is: some may be violent, some may even try to kill themselves. Me and Perdan have both got to be here. You'll go up to Hirdo tomorrow, on foot, with the rest of them. You're part of Lalloc's consignment, you see: I can't alter that. Sorry."
To Maia's surprise Occula made no retort whatever, merely turning away and sitting down on the bench on the opposite side of the table. Megdon, coming round behind her, fondled her shoulders and then, bending his head, murmured, "All right, then, Occula? Not my fault, you know. Anything else--"
"When I've had some breakfast you can baste yourself silly if you want to," interrupted the black girl.
"For now, jus' let me be." And thereupon, the old woman at this moment returning with her basket full of plums and apricots, the talk broke off.
At least the old woman did not stint them. Maia, in spite of everything, made a hearty meal and, as is often the way in trouble, began to feel the better for it. Also, it raised her spirits a little to perceive that Megdon at least seemed to show some consideration in dealing with Occula and herself. He spoke a few kindly words to her, said he was sorry about Genshed, assured her that nothing of the kind would happen again and told her to ask him for anything she needed.
"Just because I'm a slave-trader you mustn't think I'm a brute," he concluded.
"Who are you foolin'?" asked Occula. "Besides yourself, I mean?"
"No, honest, I won't let her come to any harm," said Megdon. "Not if she's a friend of yours, Occula. Let her go and choose herself some clothes. Come on, Shirrin," he said to the old woman. "Wash your hands and show her what's in those cupboards down the passage."
If the old woman had shown her any warmth or kindness while they were alone together, no doubt Maia would have given way to more tears. Her surly indifference, however, only went to prove the soundness of Occula's advice. Maia, to the best of her ability, preserved her detachment and said as little as possible. The clothes were fully as good as any she had ever been used to, and anyway she was too much upset to be hard to satisfy. Twenty minutes later she returned to Occula's room, which she found empty.
She had just taken off the scarlet cloak and folded it across the bed when the black girl strolled through the open door, wearing her shift and carrying the rest of her clothes over one arm.
"Just doan' talk to me, banzi," she said, flinging herself prone across the bed. "O Gran, I'm just about ready to throw up! That dirty little stinker--I thought when it came to the big moment I'd get what we want out of him, but did I hell? He's still sayin' it can' be done. I've just given him a baste for nothin', that's what it comes to."
"You mean, about going to Hirdo today?" said Maia. Occula made no reply and after a moment Maia asked rather hesitantly. "Why's it so important? I don't want to go to Hirdo--I don't want to go anywhere--'ceptin' home."
Occula rolled over, looking up at her with half-closed eyes and compressed lips.
"D'you think I'm goin' to go trampin' to Hirdo in a slave-gang--three-quarters of them pot-drabs and scullery-girls--very likely chained--and that bastard Perdan in charge, probably with a whip? And who's goin' to carry, this box of mine? D'you suppose I'm goin' to arrive in Bekla in a herd, lookin' like some Deelguy drover's ten-meld bang-bargain? Banzi, you just doan' know what it's all about, do you? We've got to try to arrive at Bekla in style, my girl! This blasted man Lalloc's got to feel we're the biggest catch this side of the Telthearna--the sort of girls he can sell into some really wealthy household. You doan' want to be flogged off to some bloody knockin'-shop in the lower city, do you, where you start bad and go right on down? We've got to start four or five rungs up the ladder, and go up another three before next year. Now doan' interrup' me. Jus' let me think."
She turned on her belly and for some time lay unmoving, her face buried in her arms. Maia went across to the window and resumed her silent contemplation of the overgrown garden. There came back to her the words of an old song her father ha
d sometimes sung.
Would to Cran we were the geese,
For they live and die at peace--
She choked back a sob, and in a few moments would have been crying in earnest, had not Occula at that instant suddenly sprung up like a hare from the fern, clapped her hands and cried, "Banzi!" so sharply that Maia jumped.
"This is risky and it may not work," said the black girl, kneeling in front of her chest and rummaging under a jumble of gaudy clothes and brightly-colored knick-knacks, "but we'll try it. Stands to reason a slave-trader's agents in a place like this have got to be bone-stupid. Now, listen, banzi--ah, here it is!--you got to get this right, 'cos we can't do it twice and anyway I've only got one of these bastin' things. A Deelguy from up north gave it to me last year, after I'd made sure he'd really enjoyed himself. I've never seen it used yet, but he said for Gran's sake doan' use it unless you mean business, because it's god-awful. Let's hope it is!"
She handed to Maia a gray-colored object about as big as an apple, the covering of which was a kind of coarse canvas. It was not entirely firm, but gave slightly under the fingers. Maia could feel, inside, a gravel-like sliding and crunching of granules.
"Hide this somewhere under your clothes, where you can get it out quickly," said Occula. "All right? Now: this is Kantza-Merada. Take a good look at her."
Drawing the strings of a cloth bag, she took out of it a figure carved in polished black wood. It was about nine inches high, squat, big-bellied, the conical breasts pointed like weapons, the slit-mouthed face a level, tilted plane broken only by nostrils and by slant, black-pupilled eyes of white bone. Meeting their gaze Maia shuddered, making the sign against evil. Indeed, the figure seemed to manifest overpoweringly something far beyond the mere image of a woman. It was not like a work of art created by the carver from experience and imagination, but rather a kind of revelation--for those who could endure it--of the true nature of the world; transcendentally malevolent, pitiless and savage.