Then she raised her eyes to the heavens, to the thin sliver of dying moon above. She saw no prospect of help there.
She knew she could not hide here forever. What would she eat? Where could she sleep? The air was cold, and she did not think she could bear it for long.
But if she came out of the chasm the eunuchs would find her, and chop off her head with their great curved swords. In fact, in time they would undoubtedly find her and drag her out and behead her even if she did not emerge; the river and fountain were not that greatly feared. She could scarcely expect them to not find her; all of Xanadu was but ten miles around.
She could not hope to escape from great Kubla's pleasure garden entirely; it was girdled with walls and towers. She was trapped.
And this, simply because Zubaidah thought that her lord Walter Bayard was a demon, rather than a man!
Dunyazad did not believe that; she was quite sure that he was a mortal. That black-bearded magician might be an ifrit, but surely not Walter!
She remembered how the magician had called to Pete Brodsky and pulled him from Xanadu into that other world, and wished she could summon her lord back to her side, so that he could prove to the eunuchs and the other women that he was only a man, and not a demon.
A thought struck her. Perhaps she could summon him, just as the black-bearded enchanter had. After all, the Alph was sacred and therefore magical, and perhaps that magic would allow her lord to hear her.
There could be no harm in trying.
"Walter!" she cried. "Oh, my lord Walter Bayard, return to me! Come to me, I beg you!" She could scarcely hear her own wail over the roaring torrent of the river-but still, she received an answer.
"Who calls?" a man's voice asked.
It was not the voice of Walter Bayard, nor that echoing voice from nowhere, but Dunyazad was not so foolish as to waste any opportunity. "It is I, Dunyazad," she cried.
"Dunyazad? I know no Dunyazad," the voice replied. "Who are you?"
"I am but a dancing girl in the service of the Great Khan, Kubla."
"A dancing girl?"
"Indeed, your most humble slave. Pray, to whom am I privileged to speak?"
"Why, none other than the Khan you serve."
Dunyazad's eyes widened, and she dropped her head, pressing her forehead against the grassy slope. "Your pardon, noble Khan! I did not mean to disturb you!"
"Nonetheless, you have done so-and I am in truth disturbed that I hear your voice, but cannot see you. Where are you, my slave Dunyazad?"
"I… I am in the chasm where the sacred river rises from the earth, O Great Khan."
"Indeed! That is almost a mile from where I sit; surely, this is magic at work. And why are you in this place? For surely, you know it has been forbidden you."
"Of a certainty, O dread master! Yet I bethought me I had nothing to lose, for my own sisters in your harem have risen against me, and condemned me to death-and have made the gravest of errors thereby, I assure you, O Light of the World!"
"Have they? Tell me your tale, O Dunyazad, that I may see how you came to be where you should not, and perhaps why the magic of this place allows me to hear your voice-though in truth, yours is not the first voice I have heard thus. But a few days ago I thought I heard my grandfather's voice, prophesying war… " His voice trailed off, and Dunyazad hesitated, but then the Khan spoke again.
"Tell me your tale, woman!"
Dunyazad did her best to gather her wits, and then began.
"Some days ago, O lord, there appeared among us four men, clad in strange garb. In accordance with our customs and your instructions, the household made them welcome with song and dance, and fed them upon honeydew…»
She went on to describe how a great voice had spoken, whereupon Harold Shea and Vaclav Polacek had vanished, never to return, and how she and the other women had tried to comfort the remaining two, Walter Bayard and Pete Brodsky, upon the loss of their companions. She explained that she had found her breast broadened in the company of Walter Bayard, and that she had served him as best she could during his stay-and how when he, in turn, had been snatched away by magic, she had been taken with him, but only briefly, before being sent back in exchange for Pete Brodsky.
And she admitted how this had been seen as demonic by her compatriots, and how she had fled to the chasm, where the magic of the place had carried her voice to the Khan.
"Surely, O Khan," she concluded, "this is a sign from the heavens. Why would my voice be heard by the lord of all Xanadu, emperor of China and Asia, if not because you alone have the power to make right what is wrong, and rescind the sentence of death my sisters have passed upon me?" Sudden inspiration struck, and she added, "Perhaps this is in some way connected with your grandfather's prophecy. Perhaps my death will bring about this war, and sparing me will avert the catastrophe! I have dealt with strange lords and powerful magicians, and they may have caught me up in their schemes. Why risk angering them by slaying me?"
"Why, indeed?" the Khan mused. "In truth, your story concerns me, and I am inclined to let you live-but how are matters best put right? Perhaps there will be war if you die-or perhaps if you live! And if I allow you to live, can I send you back to the harem without stirring discontent among the women there? Perhaps a squabble among my concubines is the promised conflict, and no more than that."
Dunyazad started to speak, but before she could get a word out the Khan continued, "I do not pretend to omniscience; that is not within the sphere of mortal men. I think we must consult another. I have sent my court magician, my aide de camp, a mighty sorcerer, to find you. Let us ask him what he would suggest."
A new voice spoke, and Dunyazad looked up at the sound to see a trim, white-haired man in a fine robe standing over her. He wore a small triangular beard and an elegant mustache.
"Ah, my pelagic young spark, cast up on a strange shore in this dark valley," he said. "We must choose your destiny wisely, lest darkness fall upon Xanadu, eh?"
"As you say, my lord," Dunyazad replied, though she did not understand all the words he had used. This man was oddly reassuring; his expression seemed kind and full of humor.
"You say your name is… Dunyazad?"
"Yes, O master."
"Whatever is someone named Dunyazad doing in Kubla Khan's Xanadu?"
Dunyazad blinked in surprise. "I am told I was born here. Where else should I be, O lord? Surely not in that strange wooden house…»
"No, of course not. You're clearly more suited for a marble palace-but Xanadu? I would say you would be more at home in perhaps Samarkand-in-Asia, don't you think?"
"I… I do not know, O learned master."
"Well, I know, and I'd like to see things put right. I think we can find a better home for you."
"As my lord desires."
"Are you happy in your role as a dancing girl? You certainly have the figure for it, but you speak well-might you do better in another line of work?"
"I live but to please my master." She prostrated herself again.
"Yet you had the spunk to run out here to the chasm, didn't you?"
"As you say, O moon of wisdom."
"I can see that someone's been flinging people hither and yon through other worlds-the black-bearded magician, these four men, these are clearly not any of the Khan's subjects! Perhaps you belong in another realm entirely. Sending you to one would remove you from Xanadu, so that you could create no more disturbance, but would not require your death-which I'm sure would please you!"
Dunyazad did not dare reply to this.
«Hmmm…» the magician said, clasping his hands. "A beautiful young woman named Dunyazad who can tell a story when the need arises, and who dares to speak even to a king in order to preserve her life-where can we find a place for you?" He closed his eyes thoughtfully, then opened them and smiled. "My dear," he said, "I think I know exactly where you belong."