Cybele's Secret - Juliet Marillier - Cybeles Secret Страница 21

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I muttered, pulling back. “How embarrassing for you. I can’t believe I did that. It may be hard for you to believe, but I’m actually not the crying sort of girl. In your company, I seem to have been doing it regularly. Please don’t tell Father I was so upset. He’d be worried.”

“As you wish.” Stoyan had withdrawn to a safe distance. His face was in the shadows, and I had no idea what he thought of my inappropriate behavior or my attempt at an apology. “Master Teodor is not the only one who worries,” he went on. “With your ankle injured, you are still more vulnerable. I cannot teach you what I planned to; not yet. But I can show you a trick that you may use even when not at your full strength. Let me demonstrate….”

So it was that, in the middle of the night, I learned a way of getting out of someone’s grasp by cunning rather than by physical strength. We even practiced it, in a modified form that would not strain my ankle. It kept me so occupied that there was no chance to brood on anything else. When the combat session was over, I felt obliged to deliver a lesson in return. By the light of a candle, I made Stoyan practice the letters of the Greek alphabet. He had a remarkably steady hand; I had observed that with our tree exercise. All the same, his fingers holding the twig trembled as he wrote in the sand tray, as if this task were something of which he was deeply fearful. It seemed to me he expected to fail, and the prospect terrified him. I realized I would have to take it more slowly than I had planned. Would a month be long enough to convince him that he could do this? Could he find the will to continue after I was gone?

“We must try to sleep,” I said when we were done and the implements of the lesson were neatly packed away. “Tomorrow is a big day.”

“Today,” said Stoyan. “Thank you, Paula. I hurt you. You responded with kindness. What can I say?”

I smiled. Didn’t he realize he was a very model of kindness? “You can just say good night and sweet dreams,” I told him. “Or no dreams, that might be better. We’re friends, Stoyan. Friends do this sort of thing for each other; it comes with the job.”

“Good night, Paula.” His voice was almost inaudible. “I am honored to be your friend.”

I was in the library, the real one this time, with a second box of manuscripts beside me and my mind darting from one thing to another. I was on my own. Perhaps my pale face and shadowed eyes had alerted Irene to my need for time alone this morning.

If it hadn’t been for the dream, I might have preferred a quiet day at the han waiting for Father to do his deal with Barsam the Elusive and bring Cybele’s Gift safely back. Once we had obtained it, we planned to lock it away and not to take it out again until we were due to board the Stea de Mare in a few weeks’ time. But if there was any chance I might see Tati again, if there was even the slightest possibility I could tell her that I missed her just as much as she missed me and that I would do everything I could to help her win the right to visit us, then I was bound to be in the library waiting for her today.

I began sorting through the contents of the box, hoping the unseen hands that were guiding my mission might provide me with the document I’d been studying in my dream, with its apple-picking girl. I was willing Tati to appear again today with clues for me. I certainly didn’t have enough information yet to perform any sort of quest. Besides, Cybele’s Gift was to be sold today, almost certainly to my father. Once he had acquired it, all that lay ahead was the voyage home. What was it the folk of the Other Kingdom needed me to do?

Make me whole, said a voice in my mind, and a chill went through me. They couldn’t want me to seek out the missing half of the statue myself, surely. The other part could be anywhere. It would take immense resources and unlimited time to mount such a search, with no guarantee of success. If that was what needed doing, they had chosen the wrong person.

It was hard to concentrate. My eyes were on the papers, but my thoughts kept returning to last night and the sensations that had passed through me as Stoyan’s big hands worked so gently on my ankle. I remembered embracing him as I wept and how good it had felt to have his arms around me, tender and comforting. I must not let such a thing happen again. He and I were a world apart. To imagine any future for us beyond the Stea de Mare’s next sailing was pointless.

“Forget it, Paula,” I muttered to myself. “Where men are concerned, you’re not exactly an expert.”

That was certainly true in Duarte’s case. I had no idea how to deal with the man. Everything he did broke the rules. I was obliged to admit that this was one of many things I liked about the Portuguese. He could be guaranteed to surprise me every time I set eyes on him. Not that I was likely to do so again now that the competition for Cybele’s Gift was almost over. I caught myself imagining going home to Piscul Dracului accompanied by the dashing pirate and the dramatic impression this would make on my sisters. I firmly ordered myself to stop acting like a silly girl of thirteen. I must start concentrating on these papers or Irene would think I was simply using her library as a bolt-hole where I could hide and feel sorry for myself.

I went right through the second box, but there were no pages there to match the two I had from the Persian manuscript. The exercise had been a waste of time. Worst of all, Tati had not come. I kept glancing up, hoping to see her black-robed figure seated opposite me, with the embroidered figure of Stela on her handiwork, but there was nothing. Women came in and out of the library, their voices muted, though I thought I caught an undercurrent of excitement in their tone today. Some new item of gossip, no doubt. I probably wouldn’t hear what it was, since I did not intend to visit the hamam with Stoyan away.

Irene came to fetch me for coffee late in the morning. I had been sitting awkwardly and my neck hurt. So did my ankle. It was a relief to accompany her out to the colonnade, where a dainty repast had been laid out for us.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Paula?” Irene asked as she poured the coffee into tiny cups patterned with rich swirls of color and handed one to me.

I shook my head. “I don’t seem to be very efficient today; I’m tired. Maybe another time.”

“Of course.” She sounded calm, but I sensed the same kind of restlessness in her that had been present in the other women, as if she were anticipating some diversion of great interest. But all she said was, “You seem upset, Paula. Is something wrong? You can talk to me. I am the soul of discretion.”

“It’s nothing.” I would not tell her the story of Tati. What if, after all this, my sister never reappeared? What if the puzzles and clues came to nothing? “I twisted my ankle; it is painful after the walk and then keeping still for so long.”

“You poor girl,” said Irene. “You know, the hamam is the perfect thing for relaxing an injured limb and helping with other kinds of hurt as well.” Her eyes were shrewd as she scrutinized my face. “Why not give up on work for the morning and allow Olena to tend to you? Not her usual vigorous massage, of course. She is expert in a gentler form of treatment, which will ease the pain and relax you at the same time. You seem very much on edge this morning.”

“I’m fine.” I took another sip of coffee. The cup shook in my hand.

“You’re not fine at all.” Irene leaned forward, her tone solicitous. “You are stretched as tight as a bowstring. Let me guess. Perhaps your father has gone out on another visit, and you are anxious as to whether it will be successful? Worried that Duarte Aguiar may get there first or bid higher?”

I stared at her.

Irene laughed. “I’m only guessing, Paula. Wasn’t it extraordinary that, here in my library, you found that image exactly matching the artifact? I could hardly believe my eyes when we saw the piece. Your father spoke to Barsam after the viewing—after you had announced Cybele’s Gift was not as it should be. I deduce that Master Teodor did not plan to back out of the deal altogether but had perhaps asked for more time. Maybe he thought himself the only bidder left, in which case he might obtain the item for a much lower price. I could not fail to notice that one guest remained at the blue house after we left: Duarte Aguiar.”

“You probably know him better than I do. Do you think he’ll still bid?” There didn’t seem much point in pretending ignorance.

Her eyes went cold. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Duarte will bid. Tell me, why is your father still interested in Cybele’s Gift? Won’t his buyer be disappointed? Or do the two of you plan to search for the missing half before returning home?”

“Hardly. We haven’t the resources to mount a search across the whole region from here to Tabriz. That’s supposing the fellow who sold it to Barsam ever had the other half.”

“I have a theory, Paula.”

“Oh?”

“You heard Duarte say he planned to return the piece to its place of origin, wherever that may be? I believe that once he has obtained the half statue we saw last night, he will go straight after its other half if he knows where it is. If he doesn’t know, he will search for it. That man has the instinct of a migrating bird; he wings direct for his destination.”

“He could only do that if he was the successful bidder,” I said. “Father has years of experience in the merchant business. And he was going early. I’m certain he will bring the piece back.” I had not intended to state quite so baldly what Father was doing this morning, but it was too late to make any difference now. In all probability, the transaction was already concluded and he and Stoyan on their way home.

“Duarte will stop at nothing, Paula. I did warn you. You saw how he behaved last night—rude, presumptuous, in complete disregard of social niceties. You should have left me to deal with him.”

“Maybe I should go back to the han,” I said, not wanting to pursue this topic. In fact, I thought I had handled Duarte quite well. “I don’t know when Stoyan is coming for me; it depends on how things go this morning. Could Murat escort me back?”

“Unfortunately, Murat is away from home this morning, Paula. Why not take a bath and let Olena tend to your ankle?” Irene rose to her feet. “I cannot allow you to keep working when you are in pain and upset. Come, you’ll feel so much better for a massage.”

I gave in. My ankle was not up to spending the rest of the day in the library, and I could not go home before Stoyan came, so it made sense. There were several women in the hot room, sitting on the benches, lying on the slab, or washing at the basins. As we entered, they were talking animatedly, a fast chatter in Turkish, but at a word from Irene, they fell silent. Perhaps she had told them that I was tired and that the noise might disturb me. It was a little disconcerting. I had not understood any of what they were saying.

Irene and I sat in the steam for quite some time, long enough for me to start feeling extremely sleepy. Then Olena worked on my ankle. By the time she was finished, all the others had gone. I woke myself up by taking a plunge in the deep pool. We settled in the camekan, where Ariadne brought us fresh coffee. I judged it was about time for the midday call to prayer.

“If you wish to lie down,” Irene said, “you may do so here on one of the divans. I can wake you when it’s time to go—”

There was a sound of running footsteps on the path outside, and a moment later the door from the camekan out to the garden crashed open and there was Stoyan, fully dressed, fully armed, and wearing an expression that made me spring to my feet in alarm, completely forgetting that I was clad in only a skimpy length of fine silk. He was as white as linen, and there were dark blotches like bruises under his eyes. His scar stood out vividly against the pallor of his face.

“What?” I took a step, grasping at the silk as it slid precariously downward. “What’s happened?”

“You must come now, Paula. Right away. Get dressed and come quickly.”

Irene was on her feet, her expression furious. “Out!” she commanded. “Turn your eyes away and walk back through that door before I call my men to throw you out!”

“Father, is Father all right?” I babbled, reaching around for my clothes.

“He is safe. Come now, please.” Stoyan was leaving as he spoke. I dropped the silk wrapping and began to scramble into the things Ariadne had set out for me.

“Outrageous,” muttered Irene. “What was my gate guard thinking, to allow this? Paula, that young man is not welcome here in the future. You should dismiss the fellow from your service immediately….”

I was hardly listening, scarcely aware of the garments I was flinging on, another set of this household’s spare clothing. My own things had been bundled up for me; I threw a veil over my hair and seized the package. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Something’s happened to Father; I can tell. I must go.”

Outside, Stoyan was pacing just beyond the door. Farther down the garden, I caught a glimpse of the women from the hamam, fully dressed now, laughing together as they carried bundles and boxes along a pathway.

“Young man,” my hostess said severely, “account for yourself! What is so vital that it warrants a violent intrusion into a private realm of women?”

Stoyan did not so much as glance at her. His eyes were on me. A flush of red now softened the unhealthy pallor of his cheeks. “We must go now,” he said. “Do you have all your things?”

I nodded. “Tell me,” I said. “What’s happened?”

He shook his head and reached to take my arm. “Come,” he said. “Now.”

“I’m sorry, Irene,” I said over my shoulder as he hustled me along the colonnade to the main gate. “I will explain later. Thank you for your hospitality.”

We made our way down the street toward the square with the flowering tree.

“Stoyan, say something!” I hissed.

He was walking very fast. My ankle, which had felt almost normal not long ago, began to throb with pain.

“I can’t keep up,” I gasped. “My ankle hurts. Stoyan, please tell me.” Tears of pain and frustration welled in my eyes.

“I will tell you. We must be where nobody can hear us. The corner of the square, there, by the public fountain.” It was quiet; the call to prayer must have sounded while I was in the hamam. We paused in a spot where the trickling water of the fountain masked our words. “Sit down,” Stoyan said. “I am sorry. I did not know you were in pain. Paula—”

“Just say it, whatever it is, Stoyan. What my mind can invent will be far worse than the truth. What’s happened to him?”

“While we were walking to the Greek lady’s establishment this morning, a guard was sent to the han, from Barsam the Elusive, offering to escort your father to the blue house. Master Teodor should have waited for me.”

I went cold all over. Salem bin Afazi had died in the street. “You said he was safe,” I whispered.

“He is safe. Master Teodor is back at the han but injured, Paula.”

“Injured? How?” I half rose from my perch on the rim of the fountain, and my ankle reacted with a stab of pain.