Her reflection smiled, but with less mockery and a trace more sympathy than it had been showing. “Do you know the story of the Judgment of Solomon?” it asked.
“Of course.” Two women had fought over a baby, and Solomon had threatened to divide the child; the real mother had withdrawn her claim. Why was that relevant?
“I am wiser than Solomon,” The Oracle said, “and I can execute his Judgment. What does the story tell you of the nature of love? What is love, Ariadne?” She wiped her eyes and forced a laugh which sounded as false as a brick bell. “I fear we shall stand here for years, if I must answer that . If the happiness of the loved one is more important than one’s own would that be love?” The woman nodded, smiling. “That’s not bad! Does it help?” Yes, it did. If she believed the Oracle, then she had no reason at all to go back, for Carlo would kill her that night. But she was not quite certain she did believe the Oracle.
But love She thought of Lacey struggling with piano lessons. She thought of Lacey hugging Maisie. Even of Lacey and Peggy. She looked at Jerry’s anxious face and knew that she wanted him to be happy.
“I love you,” she said.
True.
She turned back to the mirror. “I shall stay in Mera.”
True again.
Sixteen
“Ariadne Gillis, will you marry me?”
“No.”
Oracle, mirror, table— all had gone now, and the two of them stood within the small circle of columns, decently dressed once more.
His shock was painful. “No?”
“Ask me in a year,” she said. “If I am to swear fidelity for ever, then I must be sure.”
“Oh!” he said, downcast.
And she must somehow settle with Killer. Perhaps, as Jerry had hinted, all Killer wanted was to carve another notch. But perhaps not, and she would not commit herself to Jerry if she was doomed to be Killer’s mistress, ever available upon demand. The thought made her shiver with physical revulsion, but she could also see that Killer was in some ways astonishingly reminiscent of Graham, certainly another man who knew what he wanted, another man who liked his women malleable. Even that hypnotic charm— Graham had possessed that in his youth, and she had found it as potent as gin. Until the Killer threat was exorcised, she would make no promises to Jerry.
When they reached the top of the steps, she stopped and stood for a minute, looking at the rose-red city below and North Gate and the stormy sky of outside glooming over the sunny hills. Forever— it would take a long time to adjust to that idea. Those storms could touch her no more; she was safe in Mera. By her side was a fine and honest man whose love for her had been authenticated by the Oracle— and if she was settling in for eternity, there could be no more trustworthy or truer man than this. She looked up at the worried expression on that gaunt face… a man strangely slow to find himself, the sort of man who comes late to love, then falls hopelessly and irrevocable for one woman, and never cares for another.
“You could stay with Helga,” he suggested tactfully.
She shook her head. “I would rather we went to your house and admired each other’s personalities,” she said.
He nodded. “I shall sleep in the bathtub, of course.”
She laughed. “Don’t you dare!” she said. “You may think you don’t have much to offer, but you looked very interesting this morning, and as often as you care to offer it, Jerry Howard, I shall be quite eager to accept.” He grinned and took her in his arms, and they kissed— tentatively, gently, then with growing joy and meaning. She had forgotten how long a kiss could last, how maddeningly sweet it could be, how intoxicating. Killer’s kiss had been deliberate technique; this was mutual discovery, and perhaps the rejuvenating magic of Mera was working through her already, for when they, finally separated she felt like a giddy adolescent on her first date. But Jerry looked every bit as delirious and scarlet and starry-eyed as she felt.
“My darling!” he said. “I have waited forty years for you.”
She knew her eyes were flooding. “And I could jump up on that balustrade and run all the way around it shouting ‘He wants me!’ No one has wanted me in years, Jerry.”
“Mera will be sweeter still with you,” he said.
“I would not have taken it without you.”
Then they joined hands again and walked down the steps, and she saw that probably they had not been gone very long, hardly longer, perhaps, than that kiss had taken.
And yet…
And yet there was something missing, something worrying. A dripping tap at the back of her mind. Something overlooked, or someone…
“Killer!” Jerry said firmly. “Let’s deal with him first!”
Killer, at least, was recovered, leaning against the stone balustrade, watching them with a little-boy grin. It was to him they went first.
“So the pretty lady is staying?” he said. “And my friend Jerry is in love at last! I am a very good best man, and the best good man, too.”
“Just make sure you leave it at that, then!” Jerry said.
Killer eyed Ariadne thoughtfully. “I love my friend Jerry, and this sweet lady of his shall have my love also.”
“Keep it Platonic!” Jerry snapped, flushing, but there was a curious twinkle in Killer’s eye.
“He doesn’t trust me!” Killer mourned, and he took her hand and kissed it tenderly. She thought that a true courtier would have removed the green cap from the cobalt curls before trying such a gesture.
“Now,” Jerry said, firmly changing the subject, “I was told to guide the Gillises to the harbor. Carlo is remaining.”
“The maggot?” Killer snarled and turned to look. “Then I have an excellent job for him.” He marched over towards Carlo, who was leaning against the rail by himself, watching them; Jerry and Ariadne went in pursuit.
“I hear you are staying in Mera?” Killer said.
Carlo waited a moment, looking him up and down, and then said, “So?”
“When I left here, with Jerry,” Killer said, “we were planning a game. It has had to wait a long time, but now it will go ahead. It is called mayhem. Would you care to join my team— or Sven’s, if you prefer? I am sure he would welcome you.”
“I don’t play games,” Carlo answered.
Killer tried to look disappointed. “Pity. I admit it is rowdy; the teams are as big as possible, and there are very few rules. Perhaps, it would be too rough for you?”
“Sounds very childish.” Carlo was not to be baited, obviously.
Killer started to turn away, then stopped as though he had just thought of something. “Wait! We shall need a referee, and you are a stranger. Would you consent to be referee?” Carlo’s eye flickered to Jerry and back to Killer like a snake’s tongue. “Possibly. I’ll think about it.”
“Great!” Killer said with enthusiasm and offered a hand.
It was ignored. “I have a question, Mr. Howard,” Carlo said, keeping his eyes on Killer. “This party swaggers around a lot. Is there any law against cutting him down to size?” Killer went very still.
“There are no laws in Mera,” Jerry said cautiously. “But Killer is not an easy man to cut down.”
“Watch me!” Carlo said, very softly. He eased himself off the rail and stepped forward. Killer’s shoulders drooped slightly as he edged into a crouch.
Carlo spat. Killer sprang.
Carlo rolled over on his back, one leg straight, lifting Killer, who struck the balustrade and vanished out into space. Ariadne screamed, rushed to the rail with Jerry, and looked down. Killer was sprawled on a rocky bank about fifteen feet below them, apparently unconscious.
Carlo was back on his feet, half-crouched, ready for Jerry… Jerry started to laugh. He roared, howled, and bellowed with laughter, leaned on Ariadne to recover himself, and had to wipe tears away before he could speak. She did not think it funny at all— more pain for Killer, who had suffered so much? She bit back an angry comment.