devil?”
The lackluster eyes turned to look at him. The head gave a forward dip that might have been a stillborn nod.
“The name’s Kazan,” the master-at-arms supplied. “Anonymous orphan; that’s his whole name.”
“Kazan!” Balden said. “What’s it all about? What started this nonsense about you being back from the dead?”
“I am,” Kazan said in a rustling voice, and went on staring into space.
Helpless, Balden hesitated a moment and then switched his attention to the girl. “You there!” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Clary,” she answered. “That’s my whole name, too.”
“Were you here when this began?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you run with the rest of them, then?”
She raised burning eyes to him. They were a little sunken in her face, as though she had been undernourished for a long time. She said with a touch of scorn, “The man who started it was a lumbering fool called Hego, with much more muscle than brain and less guts. I’m from the Dyasthala. I don’t believe in devils. And anyone with an eye in his head could see that he isn’t any more dead than I am. Feel him—he’s warm. He’s got a pulse. Hego must be insane.”
The master-at-arms said puzzledly, “If he is crazy, sir, how come he got through the examinations?”
It crossed Balden’s mind wildly that a parallel question might be, “If Kazan is dead, how did he get past?” But he pulled himself together before he voiced the words. He said, “All right, both of you. Come with me. We’ll take you up to the captain and get it straightened out.”
His impatience mounting visibly, like a needle on a dial ascending towards the red danger mark, Ogric listened to Hego, then to Balden’s gloss on the story, quoted from Zethel, then to the master-at-arms, Clary, and four other workers who said they also knew the story, chosen from at least a hundred.
Halfway through the fourth confirmatory recitation, Ogric slammed his open palm on the arm of his chair with a sound like a firecracker and bounced to his feet.
“Enough!” he barked. “I never heard anything like it! A walking corpse! Devils! Miracles! Lunacy, all of it—half comet-dust and half nightmares! You there sitting like a booby in the corner—what’s your name, Kazan! You’ve listened to this garbage about your coming back from the dead. What have you got to say about it?”
Kazan shrugged. He didn’t seem very interested. He said, “You heard what Hego said. It’s quite true. They threw me in the lake with my hands manacled.”
“Then how by the blaze of Sirius did you get out alive?” Ogric demanded.
A curious look crossed Kazan’s face. He said, “I—I think something bit through the manacles. And something took hold of me, and another creature attacked it, and I found myself in the mud on the beach.”
From Hego, standing by the door with his face sheet-white, a groan like a dying man’s. He could not tear his fascinated gaze from Kazan, not even to blink.
“Quiet, you!” Ogric ordered. He drove fist into palm. “Well, the answer’s simple enough. We’ll put him back on the ground, since most of these idiots won’t ship with him, and we can better afford to lose one man than hundreds.”
“Did he sign the same contract I signed?” Clary said. Her small face seemed to have set like stone, and her eyes burned more fiercely than ever.
“What?” Ogric snapped.
“I can read,” Clary said. “The contract I signed was solid as rock. Bound you, as well as me. I have my eye on cash at the time when I think about marrying. Did you ask him whether he wants to dissolve the contract? Or do I go back down with the rest of the workers and tell them the contracts they’ve signed are so much wrapping paper?”
Ogric lowered himself into his chair again, staring at her. He said, “What’s your interest in this, young woman?”
“None, specially.” She shrugged. “Except I don’t like fools”—she shot a
The lackluster eyes turned to look at him. The head gave a forward dip that might have been a stillborn nod.
“The name’s Kazan,” the master-at-arms supplied. “Anonymous orphan; that’s his whole name.”
“Kazan!” Balden said. “What’s it all about? What started this nonsense about you being back from the dead?”
“I am,” Kazan said in a rustling voice, and went on staring into space.
Helpless, Balden hesitated a moment and then switched his attention to the girl. “You there!” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Clary,” she answered. “That’s my whole name, too.”
“Were you here when this began?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you run with the rest of them, then?”
She raised burning eyes to him. They were a little sunken in her face, as though she had been undernourished for a long time. She said with a touch of scorn, “The man who started it was a lumbering fool called Hego, with much more muscle than brain and less guts. I’m from the Dyasthala. I don’t believe in devils. And anyone with an eye in his head could see that he isn’t any more dead than I am. Feel him—he’s warm. He’s got a pulse. Hego must be insane.”
The master-at-arms said puzzledly, “If he is crazy, sir, how come he got through the examinations?”
It crossed Balden’s mind wildly that a parallel question might be, “If Kazan is dead, how did he get past?” But he pulled himself together before he voiced the words. He said, “All right, both of you. Come with me. We’ll take you up to the captain and get it straightened out.”
His impatience mounting visibly, like a needle on a dial ascending towards the red danger mark, Ogric listened to Hego, then to Balden’s gloss on the story, quoted from Zethel, then to the master-at-arms, Clary, and four other workers who said they also knew the story, chosen from at least a hundred.
Halfway through the fourth confirmatory recitation, Ogric slammed his open palm on the arm of his chair with a sound like a firecracker and bounced to his feet.
“Enough!” he barked. “I never heard anything like it! A walking corpse! Devils! Miracles! Lunacy, all of it—half comet-dust and half nightmares! You there sitting like a booby in the corner—what’s your name, Kazan! You’ve listened to this garbage about your coming back from the dead. What have you got to say about it?”
Kazan shrugged. He didn’t seem very interested. He said, “You heard what Hego said. It’s quite true. They threw me in the lake with my hands manacled.”
“Then how by the blaze of Sirius did you get out alive?” Ogric demanded.
A curious look crossed Kazan’s face. He said, “I—I think something bit through the manacles. And something took hold of me, and another creature attacked it, and I found myself in the mud on the beach.”
From Hego, standing by the door with his face sheet-white, a groan like a dying man’s. He could not tear his fascinated gaze from Kazan, not even to blink.
“Quiet, you!” Ogric ordered. He drove fist into palm. “Well, the answer’s simple enough. We’ll put him back on the ground, since most of these idiots won’t ship with him, and we can better afford to lose one man than hundreds.”
“Did he sign the same contract I signed?” Clary said. Her small face seemed to have set like stone, and her eyes burned more fiercely than ever.
“What?” Ogric snapped.
“I can read,” Clary said. “The contract I signed was solid as rock. Bound you, as well as me. I have my eye on cash at the time when I think about marrying. Did you ask him whether he wants to dissolve the contract? Or do I go back down with the rest of the workers and tell them the contracts they’ve signed are so much wrapping paper?”
Ogric lowered himself into his chair again, staring at her. He said, “What’s your interest in this, young woman?”
“None, specially.” She shrugged. “Except I don’t like fools”—she shot a
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