"I am a beggar, actually. I don't particularly like coming to ask you for money, but I've no alternative. The man insists on a down payment tonight. I don't know where he thinks we might disappear to, I'm sure. I nearly refused, but it would have been more trouble than it's worth."
"How much, Anda-Nokomis?"
"Three hundred meld."
"You'd best take three thousand, and give some of it to Zenka. Then you needn't either of you go short or be caught without. Come on, now--" as he hesitated--"that'll be best for all of us. You don't want to look silly or short of money in front of these people."
"But will that leave you with enough?"
"Did ought!"
"Are you sure?"
"I'll count it out in front of you if you like, Anda-No-komis."
This time he did smile as he shook his head. She gave him the money and they were silent for a little while, watching the glow fade from the breadth of the river below.
"Did you resent--well, anything that happened last night?"
She looked round at him quickly. "Oh, no, Anda-No-komis, never!"
Yet evidently he was expecting her--waiting for her-- to say more. She sought for something--anything--to smooth over the situation. He deserved all the kindness of which she was capable. "How could I resent it?"
"Why, as I said, because I've treated you badly and insulted you. I misjudged you, Maia."
"And I said, didn't I, as that was all over? No, Anda-Nokomis, of course I didn't resent you asking me to marry you. And I believe you when you say you love me. I reckon we both understand each other better now than what we ever have, don't you?"
"And yet--I don't have to ask for my answer, do I? If I'd known earlier how you feel, I might not have spoken. But you'd succeeded in keeping your feelings very well concealed until the moment when you actually thought Zenka had gone to his death last night. I had no idea."
Would he ever make a ruler, she wondered; a man capable of perceiving so little?
"But Anda-Nokomis, at that rate why ever did you think I got him out of the gaol in Bekla?"
"Why, you could have had several reasons: because you'd learned he'd been my closest friend in Dari-Paltesh, because you knew it would please Santil-ke-Erketlis, or sim-ply because you weren't going to leave a man like that to the mercy of Forms."
That was the trouble about Anda-Nokomis, she thought. To himself he made perfectly good sense and you couldn't really argue with it. And it was all rubbish; it missed the only real point. Her feelings had been plain both to Zirek and to Clystis: probably to Meris, too. Fortunately, however, she didn't have to say this. While she was still wondering what she could say, he spoke again.
"But Maia, I'm afraid that at that rate it must be very disappointing for you."
"Unless," she said suddenly, as the idea came into her head "--I've only just thought--unless I wasn't altogether dreaming."
"Dreaming? When?"
"When he said about it being my turn to know what it felt like."
He frowned. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't--"
She dropped on her knees beside him, put her arms round his neck and kissed him--the first time she had ever done so.
"My lord--my cousin--my dear friend: I'll tell you one thing, anyway--I've never been paid a greater compliment in my life, and I'm sure I never shall be again. I mean that with all my heart!"
"There's nothing more to be said, then?" he replied.
"There can't be: I'm so sorry."
"But Suba, Maia--your safety--"
She threw back her head and laughed as gaily as once she had in the fishing-net. "Occula used to say 'Stuff it!' Look, Anda-Nokomis, we're here, the three of us, something like eighty miles from Katria and Suba, and no real idea yet how we're going to get there. You said--and don't think I don't feel it very kindly--that you wanted to relieve my anxiety. Surely the best way to relieve everybody's anxiety is to put all this by just for now, and stick to the job of getting ourselves downriver. 'Cos tell you the truth, I reckon 'tain't going to be all that easy. If you really want to do something for me, do that."
He was silent for what seemed a long time. "Perhaps you're right," he said at last. "We'll do as you say."
He stood up. "Where's Zenka,
do you know?"
"No; I thought you did."
"Let's go and find him--have a drink--order a good supper---anything you like. And then tomorrow we'll see about getting a boat."
98: AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
When Maia woke the following morning--not quite so badly bitten as she had expected--it was to the certainty that the rains were imminent. Since "The White Roses" lay halfway down the western slope of Nybril, there was no view to the east even from its roof, but nevertheless she could sense the oppression, the piling-up of the clouds far away beyond Tonilda, beyond Yelda and Chalcon. Soon the wind would begin and the white mist would come rolling. Everyone would be glad of the rains, glad of the reliefs the release; everyone but themselves, stranded on this rock in the Zhairgen. What if they were forced to spend Me-lekrilhere?
She said nothing of her apprehensions, however, either to Anda-Nokomis or to Zenka. It was plain that they had not seen the place and its limitations so clearly as she. They thought they were going to go out, much as they might go to a market, buy a boat and go down the river. Well, possibly they would: she wasn't going to start discouraging them or letting them think she was trying to show how clever she was.
She'd come along and see what happened.
After breakfast they set out together, down the steep lane winding between hovels, stone walls and hedges of gray-leaved keffa-kolma--the only thing that'll grow here, I suppose, thought Maia: back home we used to pull it up and burn it.
At length they emerged on to the quay-side. A few boats were out fishing. As she had expected, they were all anchored--or perhaps foul-anchored--well within the area of calmer water above the meeting-point of the two streams. One or two had masts, but not a sail was hoisted in the still air. None had either deck or cabin or was what you'd call, she thought, a traveling craft.