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Authors: Orson Scott Card
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hacking to death anywho escaped the blades that whirred on the hubs of the chariot wheels.
“What portal do you guard?” asked Moozh.
The man looked startled, and he glanced back at Plod.
Plod only laughed. “No one told him anything, poor man. Did you think you could face General Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno and keep anything secret from his eyes?”
“My name is Smelost,” said the soft soldier, “and I bring a letter from Lady Rasa of Basilica.”
He spoke the name as though Moozh should have heard of it. That’s how these city people were, thinking that fame in their city must mean fame all over the world.
Moozh reached out and took the letter from him. Of course it was not written in the block alphabet of Gorayni—which they had stolen from the Sotchitsiya centuries ago. Instead it was the flowery vertical cursive of Basilica. But Moozh was an educated man. He could read it easily.
“It seems this man is our friend, dear Plod,” said Moozh. “His life isn’t safe in Basilica because he helped an assassin escape—but the assassin was
also
our friend, since he killed a man named Gaballufix who was in favor of Basilica forming an alliance with Potokgavan and leading the Cities of the Plain in war against us.”
“Ah,” said Plod.
“To think we never guessed how many dear and tender friends we had in Basilica,” said Moozh.
Plod laughed.
Smelost looked more than a little ill at ease.
“Sit down,” said Moozh. “You’re among friends. No harm will come to you now. Find him some ale to drink, will you, Plod? He may be a common soldier, buthe brings us a letter from a fine lady who has nothing but love and concern for the Imperator.”
Plod unhooked a flagon from the back tentpole and gave it to Smelost, who looked at it in puzzlement.
Moozh laughed and took the flagon out of Smelost’s hands and showed him how to rest it on his arm, tip it up, and let the stream of ale fall into his mouth. “No fine glasses for us in this army, my friend. You’re not among the ladies of Basilica now.”
“I knew that I was not,” said Smelost.
“This letter is so cryptic, my friend,” said Moozh. “Surely you can tell us more.”
“Not much, I fear,” said Smelost, swallowing a mouthful of ale. It was far sweeter than beer, and Moozh could see that he didn’t like it much. Well, that hardly mattered, as long as Smelost got enough of the drug concealed in it that he’d speak freely. “I left before anything had come clear.” He was lying, of course, thinking that he ought not to say more than Lady Rasa had said.
But soon Smelost overcame his reticence and told Moozh far more than he ever meant to. But Moozh was careful to pretend that he already knew most of it, so that Smelost would not feel he had betrayed any secrets when he thought back on the conversation and how much he had told.
There was obviously much confusion in Basilica at the moment, but the parts of the picture that mattered to Moozh were very clear. Two parties, one for alliance with Potokgavan, one against it, had been struggling for control of the city. Now the leaders of both parties were dead, killed on the same night, possibly by the same assassin, but, in Smelost’s opinion, probably not. Accusations of murder were flying wildly; a weak man now controlled one group of hired soldiers who wouldnow wander the streets uncontrolled, while the official city guard was under suspicion because this man, Smelost, had let the suspected assassin sneak out of the city two nights ago.
“What should we expect of a city of women?” said Moozh, when the story was done. “Of course there’s confusion. Women are always confused when the violence begins.”
Smelost looked at him warily. That was the sweet thing about the drug that Plod had given him—the victim was quite capable of believing that he was still being clever and deceptive, even as he poured out his heart on every subject. Moozh, of course, had immunized himself to the effects
“What portal do you guard?” asked Moozh.
The man looked startled, and he glanced back at Plod.
Plod only laughed. “No one told him anything, poor man. Did you think you could face General Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno and keep anything secret from his eyes?”
“My name is Smelost,” said the soft soldier, “and I bring a letter from Lady Rasa of Basilica.”
He spoke the name as though Moozh should have heard of it. That’s how these city people were, thinking that fame in their city must mean fame all over the world.
Moozh reached out and took the letter from him. Of course it was not written in the block alphabet of Gorayni—which they had stolen from the Sotchitsiya centuries ago. Instead it was the flowery vertical cursive of Basilica. But Moozh was an educated man. He could read it easily.
“It seems this man is our friend, dear Plod,” said Moozh. “His life isn’t safe in Basilica because he helped an assassin escape—but the assassin was
also
our friend, since he killed a man named Gaballufix who was in favor of Basilica forming an alliance with Potokgavan and leading the Cities of the Plain in war against us.”
“Ah,” said Plod.
“To think we never guessed how many dear and tender friends we had in Basilica,” said Moozh.
Plod laughed.
Smelost looked more than a little ill at ease.
“Sit down,” said Moozh. “You’re among friends. No harm will come to you now. Find him some ale to drink, will you, Plod? He may be a common soldier, buthe brings us a letter from a fine lady who has nothing but love and concern for the Imperator.”
Plod unhooked a flagon from the back tentpole and gave it to Smelost, who looked at it in puzzlement.
Moozh laughed and took the flagon out of Smelost’s hands and showed him how to rest it on his arm, tip it up, and let the stream of ale fall into his mouth. “No fine glasses for us in this army, my friend. You’re not among the ladies of Basilica now.”
“I knew that I was not,” said Smelost.
“This letter is so cryptic, my friend,” said Moozh. “Surely you can tell us more.”
“Not much, I fear,” said Smelost, swallowing a mouthful of ale. It was far sweeter than beer, and Moozh could see that he didn’t like it much. Well, that hardly mattered, as long as Smelost got enough of the drug concealed in it that he’d speak freely. “I left before anything had come clear.” He was lying, of course, thinking that he ought not to say more than Lady Rasa had said.
But soon Smelost overcame his reticence and told Moozh far more than he ever meant to. But Moozh was careful to pretend that he already knew most of it, so that Smelost would not feel he had betrayed any secrets when he thought back on the conversation and how much he had told.
There was obviously much confusion in Basilica at the moment, but the parts of the picture that mattered to Moozh were very clear. Two parties, one for alliance with Potokgavan, one against it, had been struggling for control of the city. Now the leaders of both parties were dead, killed on the same night, possibly by the same assassin, but, in Smelost’s opinion, probably not. Accusations of murder were flying wildly; a weak man now controlled one group of hired soldiers who wouldnow wander the streets uncontrolled, while the official city guard was under suspicion because this man, Smelost, had let the suspected assassin sneak out of the city two nights ago.
“What should we expect of a city of women?” said Moozh, when the story was done. “Of course there’s confusion. Women are always confused when the violence begins.”
Smelost looked at him warily. That was the sweet thing about the drug that Plod had given him—the victim was quite capable of believing that he was still being clever and deceptive, even as he poured out his heart on every subject. Moozh, of course, had immunized himself to the effects
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