Later that evening, Orim left her room and walked quietly along the street. Her head was bent in meditation. The Saprazzans she encountered gave her room to pass and did not speak to her.
After two days in Saprazzo, Orim had determined the city's general geographic structure. Toward the top, nearest the seawall, was a large open-air market, not nearly as extensive as that of Mercadia but impressive nonetheless in the range of goods available. Farther down the descending spiral were the homes of the Saprazzans. As far as the healer could tell, the poorer families lived closer to the top, while the level of wealth and luxury increased the farther down one went. Toward the bottom, one encountered the buildings that housed the Saprazzan government. All were richly decorated. Like the Mercadians, the Saprazzans had a weakness for mosaic, but while the people of the mountain used colored bits of stone and glass, the sea people preferred shells.
Water was ever-present: it cascaded in streams from the top to the bottom of the city, creating a fine mist that shone like diamonds in the morning sunlight. The inhabitants drank water in preference to wine, and to Orim, the water seemed intoxicatingly fresh and strengthening.
The waters of Saprazzo were far different from those of the Rushwood. That water was dark and secret, and its strength lay in its stillness. This water was lively and sparkling, constantly changing and shifting as the sun's rays struck it, turning it to yellow, orange, scarlet, and violet. So too, the Cho-Arrim had been hidden and unchanging, preserving the life they had lived for centuries in the face of a changing world. The Saprazzans, meanwhile, had embraced change and become part of it. The Cho-Arrim had been interested in quiet, inwarddirected philosophies. The Saprazzans were ever watching the horizon for what new adventures the sea would bring.
A short distance from Orim's room was a courtyard. There, graceful columns rose to an evening sky, and fresh greenery lined a small pool of clear, cold water. As the sun dipped behind the seawall and shadows lengthened, Orim sat beside one of the columns and listened to the gurgle of the stream that fed the pool. She could almost imagine she was back in the Rushwood, gazing out over the lagoon, Cho-Manno sitting peacefully at her side.
She knelt by the pool, legs and feet tucked beneath her, in what Cho-Manno had taught her was the proper position for meditation. She sought the inner peace and solitude that ChoArrim called vomannis, but lately she found not peace but pain.
Cho-Manno was dead. That thought haunted her. This time she did not push the thought aside. Instead, she reached out, embracing the pain. Her body shook with sobs. Damp hair clung to her cheeks. Her arms and legs trembled.
In her despair, she thought not of Cho-Manno but of the mystical place they had explored that last night before the attack, the Navel of the World, the Fountain of Cho, and its garden ringed by the lagoon.
Peace washed over her. As if in a trance, she heard the voice of her lover.
After death our souls are joined with the Great River to wind endlessly among the stars. The river has no find destination, just as it has no source. Amid its waters, all souls merge and become one. The river meanders through the heavens, redoubling upon itself until at last it merges with its beginning and the cycle returns. The river becomes the sky, which shelters the earth, embraces it, draws its strength and existence from it. True perfection lies in unity, the unity of all existence. True wisdom begins from the recognition of this unity. True happiness comes from participation in this unity.
As her lover's voice faded, Orim felt herself drifting. The stars wheeled above her. The sound of the stream merged with that of the sea. She reached toward the heavens, seeking to pluck down one of the bright stars that glittered there, to touch it, to taste it, to "No one comes here. We can discuss the plan here-"
Orim started from her dream and straightened. Her limbs were sore, her arms and legs full of pins and needles. She backed away, hiding behind a pillar.
The speaker had been one of the Mercadian ambassadors. There was a Saprazzan with him, clad in the light blue loincloth characteristic of the citizens. His face was in shadow, but Orim could see the moonlight glinting off his light blue skin. The men were speaking Saprazzan, slowly enough that Orim could understand their words.
"We need to act now," the Mercadian said. "They had the vizier in the palm of their hand today. Give them another few days, and she will surrender the Matrix to the foreigners. Our master would be very unforgiving of that outcome."
Orim ventured a glance from behind the pillar. She could see the Mercadian, his white robes gleaming in the darkness. The Saprazzan bent toward him and said something Orim could not hear.
"Of course. Your treachery will be well repaid. You will be the richest Saprazzan in the city and all because of a simple theft. You'll have your money once the Matrix reaches Mercadia."
There was a pause, and the Saprazzan asked some question. The Mercadian shook his head. "It will be simple enough. The foreigners have already expressed great interest in the Matrix. They have been shown its resting place. They will be easy enough to frame."
Orim must have made a sound of which she was unaware, for she saw the Saprazzan half-turn in her direction, peering into the dusk.
The Mercadian turned also. "Who's there?"
She leaped up but was too slow. Out of the starry night, a club descended.
A loud crunch… the smell of blood in her nose… and she fell to the limestone floor. Dark waters closed over her, and she knew no more.
Orim awoke to blades and blood. She sat up and peered about in confusion. Merfolk soldiers surrounded her, their tridents forming a deadly circle. The dark courtyard had been replaced by a bright and ornate room.
"What… what's happening?" she asked in garbled Saprazzan, rising to her feet. "Where am I? Who are you?"
The commander of the soldiers said, "I am Guard Commander Oustrathmer. You are in the royal palace, and you are under arrest."
"Arrest?" Orim asked, clutching her throbbing head. "For what?"
"For murder," the commander said, pointing down beside Orim. A Saprazzan guard lay there, his throat slit. Gesturing toward a small raised room, the soldier said, "And for conspiracy to steal the Power Matrix."
The blood ran from Orim's face. "No. You don't mean-"
"The Power Matrix is gone," Oustrathmer replied flatly.
Only then did Orim recognize the man-he was the Saprazzan conspirator at the pool.
Chapter 14
Keys turned. A pair of doors opened. A visitor was coming to the cell of Gerrard, Tahngarth, and Karn.
"Is anybody home?" came a shrill shout through the final door. "Is any criminals wishing ta see a great magnanimity such as yours truly, eh?"
Standing at the opposite window, Gerrard shouted over his shoulder, "Go away, Squee." To Karn, he whispered, "The little maggot's gone completely over to the Kyren."
Karn shook his head and replied, "No, he's served on Weatherlight a long time. He's not smart, but he's loyal. What he needs is a good talking to. He might even be useful to us right now. He can go anywhere in the city, he can get into any room, he can probably find out more than the rest of us put together."
Gerrard sighed. "All right, all right. I'll talk to him, if you want."
"Does anybody stuck in there gots the smarts ta know they gotta see Squee, seeing as he's Master Squee?"
"Come in, Squee," Gerrard said with a sigh, not bothering to turn around.