Part 43 (1/2)

She sponge-bathed unhurriedly, and the mirror above the washstand reflected a face whose bruises had faded to greenish-yellow. Another day or so, and she would be able to discard the veil. But then, another day or so and she would be clear of the South Ygahro Territory, and it would no longer matter if her face drew notice.

Resuming her orthodox disguise, she marched forth into bustling streets plentifully greyed with uniformed Grewzians. No sign of Karsler Stornzof among them, and she realized that she had been looking for him.

She breakfasted on fried pastries purchased of a sidewalk vendor, then hurried back to the waterfront to book pa.s.sage aboard the steamer Talghya Jeria Talghya Jeria, sailing east under the neutral Strellian flag. Money changed hands and she received her ticket, which vanished into her wallet-belt. Thereafter she was free to explore the shops and booths of the town.

It wasn't Jumo Towne. Dasuneville offered no rich profusion of luxury goods, but the old port was moderately prosperous, and a couple of the local tradesmen stocked ready-made garments of decent quality.

Her purchases were ma.s.sive. Within the s.p.a.ce of a few hours she acquired two new and reasonably well-fitting western dresses, two skirts and blouses, a soft shawl, a couple of muslin nightgowns, shoes, stockings, and linen. There was a hooded rain cloak and umbrella, a miraculously compressible wide-brimmed straw hat, a drawstring reticule, handkerchiefs, a.s.sorted toiletries, a new valise, matches and penknife, a supply of new books printed in Vonahrish, even a tiny jar of rice powder to disguise her bruises.

Only one necessity of civilized life was absent-a corset. She might have purchased one easily enough. She should should have purchased one; it was hardly respectable to go without. Having enjoyed weeks of freedom and comfort, however, she could not quite bring herself to submit once again to the tyranny of steel stays. have purchased one; it was hardly respectable to go without. Having enjoyed weeks of freedom and comfort, however, she could not quite bring herself to submit once again to the tyranny of steel stays.

Later, she thought. In Immeen. Or Rhazaulle. Later. In Immeen. Or Rhazaulle. Later.

A native porter carried her boxes and bundles all the way back to the rooming house. And if the citizens of Dasuneville thought it strange to see an orthodox Iyecktori woman, veiled in mourning and supposedly indifferent to material luxuries, trailed through the streets by a walking mountain of parcels-well, they were free to wonder.

The porter deposited her packages on the floor. She paid him and he left. No sooner had the door closed behind him than she was down on her knees, tearing the wrappings away from half a dozen pasteboard boxes. The contents were hardly remarkable-just a few fresh garments of unexceptional quality, and a collection of ordinary personal items. But they were new, and she had done without for so long that the most commonplace necessities now sparkled like treasures.

When she had done gloating over clothes and toiletries, she turned her attention to the books. One of them, a collection of essays by one of the Exalted wits of prerevolutionary Vonahr, held her attention through the rest of the afternoon.

That evening she dined in her room, read for a while, packed the new valise with care, retired early, and slept soundly.

She woke, rested and genuinely refreshed, in the humid warmth of the dawn. Rising without reluctance, she washed, and studied her face in the mirror. Not too bad. The bruises had paled to faint lemon smudges. When she patted rice powder across her nose and cheeks, the yellow splotches disappeared. She coiled and anch.o.r.ed her hair into a proper chignon, clothed herself in one of the new dresses-serviceable grey broadcloth softened with wine trim-and, for the first time in days, beheld the reflection of a respectable and recognizable self.

Departing her lodgings, she emerged into sea-scented streets already bustling. Even at that early hour it was easy to secure a porter to carry her new valise to the wharves, where the Talghya Jeria Talghya Jeria awaited. The Strellian vessel, carrying both pa.s.sengers and cargo east from the Bay of Zif around the tip of Cape Finality, was large, modern, and clean-looking. Luzelle boarded, and a steward conducted her to the best stateroom she had encountered since the journey began. Ninety minutes later the awaited. The Strellian vessel, carrying both pa.s.sengers and cargo east from the Bay of Zif around the tip of Cape Finality, was large, modern, and clean-looking. Luzelle boarded, and a steward conducted her to the best stateroom she had encountered since the journey began. Ninety minutes later the Talghya Jeria Talghya Jeria steamed out of the harbor, continuing its course toward fabled Aveshq and the eastern extremity of the Grand Ellipse. steamed out of the harbor, continuing its course toward fabled Aveshq and the eastern extremity of the Grand Ellipse.

THIS TIME SHE ACTUALLY ENJOYED the crossing. The s.h.i.+p was well appointed and well managed, the food was good, the accommodations agreeable, the pa.s.sengers and crew congenial. Even the elements cooperated, offering a succession of warm, bright, breezy days and mild moonlit nights. Luzelle spent her time reading, strolling the decks, and playing cards with fellow travelers. She was relaxed, comfortable, and in good spirits. Saving her concern for the safety of Girays and Karsler, she was content. the crossing. The s.h.i.+p was well appointed and well managed, the food was good, the accommodations agreeable, the pa.s.sengers and crew congenial. Even the elements cooperated, offering a succession of warm, bright, breezy days and mild moonlit nights. Luzelle spent her time reading, strolling the decks, and playing cards with fellow travelers. She was relaxed, comfortable, and in good spirits. Saving her concern for the safety of Girays and Karsler, she was content.

The first three sunny days of the voyage were nearly identical, but the fourth witnessed a change. The day dawned grey and dull, and stayed that way. The morning advanced, the wind strengthened, and the skies darkened. By the time a rim of dark coastline appeared on the horizon dead ahead, a light rain had begun to fall.

It was, Luzelle recalled, monsoon season in Aveshq.

The rain continued throughout the following hours, intensifying as the s.h.i.+p neared land. In the early afternoon the Talghya Jeria Talghya Jeria docked at the ancient port of UlFoudh in the princely state of Poriule, where the sacred Gold Mandijhuur emptied into the Sea of Aveshq. Those pa.s.sengers displaying valid pa.s.sports were permitted to disembark in the midst of a downpour. docked at the ancient port of UlFoudh in the princely state of Poriule, where the sacred Gold Mandijhuur emptied into the Sea of Aveshq. Those pa.s.sengers displaying valid pa.s.sports were permitted to disembark in the midst of a downpour.

Blessing the inspiration that had purchased her a rain cloak and umbrella back in Dasuneville, Luzelle stood on the wharf and surveyed her surroundings through curtains of rain. The buildings lining the waterfront were predictably utilitarian, and largely western in style. The signs and placards, she noted with a lift of her heart, were printed in Vonahrish, and the flag of her country dangled wetly above the most imposing edifice in sight, probably the customhouse.

For the state of Poriule, ostensibly ruled by a hereditary ghochallon, was, like so many other native states of Aveshq, a Vonahrish protectorate, tightly controlled by western authorities. The figurehead ghochallon might lament his lot to the skies, the disenfranchised natives might grumble in secret and threaten revolt-perhaps something would come of all that grumbling one day-but for now Vonahrish power remained absolute, unshaken even in these days of Vonahr's imperiled autonomy. The wars engulfing so much of the world had not as yet reached Aveshq.

The wharf teemed with fair westerners and golden-skinned Aveshquians alike, most of them all but lost in the shade of their umbrellas and rain hoods. But she spied not a single grey uniform in the crowd. No Grewzian soldiers. No Endless Fire. No Imperium. Not here. The rain was pelting down in torrents, but suddenly it seemed as if the sun shone. She was smiling as she splashed her way through the puddles lying between herself and the big building she took for the customhouse, where her pa.s.sport might receive the civic stamp of UlFoudh required by the rules of the Grand Ellipse.

It was the customhouse, the Vonahrish lettering above the entrance identified it as such. She went in and found the clerks surprisingly busy. At least a couple of s.h.i.+ps must have reached the port almost simultaneously. A polyglot babble a.s.saulted her ears, a crush of miscellaneously garbed humanity confused her vision, and she hesitated, momentarily bewildered, then spied a placard announcing, or enjoining, VONAHRISH NATIONALS VONAHRISH NATIONALS, and launched herself at it.

The desk below the sign was occupied by a young clerk whom she took for a half-caste by reason of his blue-black Aveshquian hair and eyes, his western nose and lips, and his light skin faintly warmed with gold. He looked bored, and justifiably so, for he was glaringly underemployed. The floor s.p.a.ce before his desk was clear.

The room was filled with men who looked as if they might have been queuing there for hours, and Luzelle marched past them all to be served without an instant's delay. She was, after all, a Vonahrish national in Aveshq. This was the sort of privileged treatment that Karsler Stornzof routinely received throughout the Imperium, but now at last her turn had come to reap the benefits of injustice, and she was enjoying it.

The clerk's look of boredom vanished in the presence of a Vonahrishwoman, and he sat up straight.

”May I a.s.sist you, Esteemed Madame?” he inquired with extreme courtesy verging on servility. The singsong accent of an Aveshquian native colored his perfect diction.

She stated her need, and he stamped her pa.s.sport without question or hesitation, then looked up to inquire with an air of dedication, ”Is there anything more that the Esteemed Madame requires?”

”Why yes,” she replied, welcoming the opening. ”I could do with a little information, if you would be so kind.”

”I am honored to serve Madame.”

”I need to catch a train north to ZuLaysa, in the state of Kahnderule. Could you tell me the fastest way to get to the railroad station?”

”Ah, Esteemed Madame.” The clerk shook his head sadly. ”I regret to inform you that most of the trains throughout Poriule are presently out of service, and likely to remain so for some days or weeks to come.”

”Don't tell me that the railroad workers are on strike here too!”

”They would not so presume, Esteemed Madame. It is the rain, you see. The rains are exceptional this year. The Gold Mandijhuur has risen vastly, there is much flooding, and long stretches of track are properly submerged.”

”I must reach ZuLaysa as quickly as possible. What's the best means of travel?”

”The best means of travel, Esteemed Madame, is currently the only means of travel. A yahdeen-drawn barge will carry Madame up the Gold Mandijhuur into the Ghochallate of Kahnderule, as far as the town of AfaHaal. Soon the railroad will reach AfaHaal-already construction is under way-but that happy day has not yet arrived. In the meantime Madame must make her way east across the plains from AfaHaal to ZuLaysa by hired conveyance.”

”Hired conveyance of what sort?”

”That is as fate may decree, Esteemed Madame.”

”I see. Where shall I go for a yahdeen-drawn barge?”

”The Khad-ji, Esteemed Madame.”

”The what?”

”Khad-ji, Madame. It is the river pier at the north end of the city. There you may strike a bargain with a yahdeeneer, whose beasts will pull your barge through the delta channels into the Gold Mandijhuur River.”

”That sounds easy enough. And this Khad-ji place-accessible by fiacre?”

”No fiacres here in UlFoudh, Esteemed Madame,” the clerk confessed. ”Alas, we enjoy no such advanced western marvels. Here Madame must go by fhozhee. You will find the hurriers waiting beneath the awning at the south corner of the customhouse.”

”I'll go there at once. Allow me to thank you for your help and kindness.”

”It is my very great pleasure and privilege to serve the Esteemed Madame.” A deferential inclination of his head accompanied the declaration.

A little too deferential, Luzelle decided. She was not used to such subservience, which, luscious though it seemed at first bite, would very soon cloy. Nodding a farewell, she turned and made for the exit. Long before she reached it, a familiar voice halted her in her tracks.

”Miss D'vaire! Over here-over here!”

She turned and spotted him at once-a short, damp, but dapper figure clad in an expensive raincoat, standing near the front of one of the longest queues.

Mesq'r Zavune. Here in UlFoudh, running neck and neck with her, when she had thought him far behind. Why couldn't the s.h.i.+p bearing him east from the South Ygahro Territory just have been struck by lightning or something?

What an unsporting, unworthy thought. She genuinely liked Zavune. And genuinely wished him out of the race; nothing fatal, a temporary incapacitation would do.

Producing a smile of adequate warmth, she detoured to greet him. He was looking well, she noted sourly. Rested, alert, and fit. How did he do it?

”How do you do this?” he echoed her thought. ”All this long way we travel, and you are looking like Sherreen fas.h.i.+on.”