Yet he certainly was somewhere. The adventures were too real, the pains too persistent, the series too cohesive, for any idle nightmare. It was becoming evident that he was not going to get out of this by himself. He knew too little, and had such slender resources that he had to depend on a mysterious woman.
Was it time to confess his own inadequacy and summon Schön? He had been shying away from this notion, but he knew that Schön would place the historical perspective instantly, and pinpoint not only the year but the exact degree by which this reality differed from Earth’s true history. Schön would know how to reverse whatever circumstances had brought him here, and thus how to bring back Afra and Groton and Beatryx and the Neptune base.
But Schön might very well have his personality destroyed by the ambushing destroyer in Ivo’s memory, before any of the rest of it came to pass. Then he would be gone, not merely buried, and with him that fragment, that waking dream that was Ivo.
Better not to chance it. The pawn was still pinned. This was a problem he had to handle by himself.
As though that decision were catalytic, another notion came to him. He realized what had bothered him about Aia, the first time they had spoken together. “Who are you?” he had demanded, and she had replied immediately, “I am Aia. I don’t worship Melqart or like human sacrifice.” Something like that.
How had she known that he was fleeing the temple, or why?
Certainly it could have been a guess — but she had not been asking him. She had known. She had said the one thing calculated to assuage his suspicions, and had followed it up with enough blandishment and personal motivation to keep them lulled. She had said that she wanted to escape, but it seemed that her real intention was to stick with him, wherever he might go.
He thought back to his interview with Mattan. The man obviously had not been satisfied, yet he had not pursued the matter of Ivo’s origins. Instead he had forwarded his guest to the temple for further interrogation — and the guards had conveniently staged a giveaway dialogue.
Mattan was clever; there could be no questioning that. Suppose he had had firm suspicions that Ivo was a spy who refused to talk, spinning any fantasy to avoid the truth? Would torture be effective? Perhaps — but there was also the risk of reprisals, especially in the event the visitor turned out to be innocent after all, or of powerful connection. Perhaps, even, he had been infiltrated to provoke an embarrassing incident. Why not, then, prompt the spy to bolt for home, and follow him there? What surer method to fathom the truth?
A skilled spy would know many dialects, naturally. A spy would comprehend the dialogue of the mercenaries, and react accordingly. Ivo remembered how handy that sword had been — virtually proffered to his hand, as the guard turned to him at the foot of the temple steps. How slow those men had been to react, though they were obviously long-time professionals, so that even his clumsy efforts had availed.
Of course, the priest had tried to trick him — but perhaps the man hadn’t had the word yet, or was merely cowardly. Then the chase through the city — with all avenues of escape closed off but one, and attractive Aia waiting at the end of that one.
She had been so eager to ingratiate herself with him — but not personally involved enough to stay awake for the romantic denouement. Well, this released him of any obligation he might have felt for her assistance.
What would have happened, had he meekly accompanied the two guards into the temple? Probably nothing. He would have demonstrated thereby his ignorance of the mercenary dialect, his innocence of spylike suspicions, his general naïveté about temple politics. He might then have been treated with the courtesy due a genuine traveler from a distant land. His gift of tongues had betrayed him.
Gift of tongues?
He stopped rowing, and the coracle jerked about as Aia’s stroke met no counteraction. “Careful, lover,” she said.
“It occurs to me that I have nowhere to go,” he told her, watching her as carefully as he could in the dark.
“Nowhere? But—”
“America is much too far away, and I would be no better off at any other local city than I am at Tyre. We might as well go back.”
“But Mattan—”
“What of Mattan? I’m sure I can explain about the mistake to him, and everything will be all right.”
“All right! After he sent you as sacrifice to Melqart?”
“I was only going to the temple to talk with the priests there. Mattan told me so. I suppose the one that met me assumed I was to be sacrificed, but they should have all that straightened out by now. These little errors happen. I should have realized then that it was a common misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding! How blind can you—” She paused. “Well, what about me? Aren’t you going to help me escape?”
“From what?”
“From the temple. I told you how they meant to make me serve as—”
“You told me that there was no harm a man could do you. You could have a good life at the temple, and a nice comfortable sleep every night with a new ship in your port, just the way you like it.”
For a moment he thought she was going to hit him with the paddle; but her words, when they came, were low. “Do you know what Mattan does with an unsuccessful spy?”
“One he catches, you mean? I do have some inkling.”
“One he assigns.”
Now he caught her meaning. “The sacrifice?”
“Bride of Melqart — and our Baal has a fiery member.”
“Suppose we land you on the mainland, then, and I can paddle back by myself. I want to see Mattan and clear this thing up as soon as possible.”
“You couldn’t handle this craft by yourself.”
“Maybe I can find a canoe or something. I’ll make do. You can travel back to Urartu.”
“I didn’t really come from Urartu.”
“Strange. I do really come from America.”
“Stay with me,” she pleaded, setting down the paddle and reaching for him. “I can guide you past the soldiers that are watching us now, and when we are free I promise you I will stay awake until you are exhausted. Until the very hull of your ship is blistered. I will steal valuables for you. I will—”
“Steady,” he said, worried about the equilibrium of the craft as Aia sought to approach and embrace him. She did have a fine body, but her mind appealed to him less and less. “Unfortunately your promises lack conviction. Or are they threats?”
She let go. “What do you want?”
“I want, believe it or not, to go home. It is not a journey you can share. I travel to the stars.”
“I can take you to the finest astrologer!” she said eagerly.
He began to laugh, harshly. Then, as he had done a night ago, he reconsidered. He just might be able to use a good astrologer. Hadn’t Groton told him that they had traditionally been the most educated of men? “Where?”
“It is said that the very best reside in Babylonia, particularly the city of Harran. We can join a trading caravan—
“How long would such a trip take?”
“It is across the great deserts where the nomads raid.”
“How long?”
“Not long. Thirty days, maybe only twenty-five.”
“Scratch Babylon. Who is there in Tyre?”
She considered disconsolately. “There is Gorolot — but he is very old. However, in other cities—”