Var continued clipping, his back to the walk. The girls passed so close he could smell their fragrance. They did not stop. After a while they were guided inside, and Var was both relieved and saddened. It would have been folly to speak to Soli-but the urge had been almost unbearably strong.
Regret it as he might, he knew that the school was honoring the agreement they had made. He could not be the first to break it.
That night, as the oldster lay in the heat ready to sleep, a hooded visitor came to the cellar. The old man went to investigate, was given something, and stood aside. The figure came to stand over Var's bunk.
Jarred out of his reverie, Var looked up.
It was Soli. Her eyes were luminous under the hood.
"You did it," she said softly.
Var just looked at her, struck by the beauty of her features. Already the training had had its impact on her bearing, and the cosmetics had enhanced her splendor.
"I saw you in the garden," she murmured, continuing to look down on him with an expression he did not understand.
Then her hand came from under the cloak,' holding a slipper. Down it came against his stomach, stingingly.
"I thought you were dead!" she cried, and now he recognized her emotion: fury. Then she turned and left.
She had thought him dead. He had never suspected that, but in retrospect it was obvious. Attacked in the night, captured, hauled away to a strange institution without sight of him-what would her natural interpretation have been, except that he had been killed in the same, fracas? So she had resigned herself. .. and discovered, suddenly that it was a lie.
Why had he meddled? He had never intended to have it come out that way.
The old man returned, chuckling. Obviously he had now made the connection between the spitfire and the handyman. Would he keep the confidence? It didn't matter, since the arrangement was legitimate and Soli knew the truth.
Var lay awake a long time, not certain whether to be pleased or saddened by Soli's attitude. The sudden sight of her had been a shocking stimulus. So lovely, so angry! Did she hate him for deceiving her? Or would she recognize the advantage he had arranged for her? Surely she could see' that they could not have wandered endlessly across the continents of the world. A beautiful girl and an ugly man. Such a life would not hurt him, of course, for he had no higher potential; indeed. It would be easy for bins to revert to the wild state and range the badlands. But Soli- Soli could be the Lady, graceful and cultured. He owed it to her to make that life possible.
He still felt guilty. He still longed for her free companionship, as it, had been in the early days, before New Crete. It was impossible, for she would never be young again, but still he wished, and suffered.
Two weeks later, as he gathered fallen wood in the forest and loaded it on a hand wagon for hauling, she came to him again. This time she was dressed in boy's clothes, with her hair concealed and artful smudges on her face. She looked like a marauding urchin-a guise she had long been versed in, as he knew.
"I'm running away," she said. "Come with me, as you used to."
Var grabbed her and carried her back toward the school enclosure. She could have disabled him in a number of ways, but she offered only token resistance.
"I know you're paying for me," she said. "I hate you."
He knew she didn't mean it, but the words stung just the same.
"Why do you want me here?" she asked pitifully. "Why can't we tour the countryside together? That's all I want."
Var shifted his grip and continued carrying. She was lithe in his arms, all curve and tension.
She drew her head up and kissed him on the lips, as a woman might. As Sola, her mother, had. "Just to be with you, Var."
Temptation smote him savagely. It was the child he remembered, but the woman had hold on his longing too. Yet he walked, unanswering.
"Do you want me to cry?" But she didn't cry, though it would have broken him. And when he didn't answer, she murmured: "I'm sorry I hit you with my slipper." And then, when they came in sight of the buildings: "It should have been a star"
And had she had a morningstar mace, he reflected, she might very well have bashed him with it, such was her momentary fury.
He turned her over to a matron. As he tromped dejectedly back to the forest he heard her beginning screams, part agony, part rage. They were beating her for the infraction. The instrument was padded, so as not to leave any disfiguring mark, but he knew it hurt. And they both had known the penalty. The matron had made that clear at the outset: discipline was her watchword.
But Soli, veteran of stick combat, could not be made to scream through pain. She was merely letting Var know, and satisfying the matron, who of course was not fooled. The ritual had to be complete, lest the other girls grow similarly wilful.
Var was given one day off in every ten, though he was willing to work. The head matron, fair-minded, insisted on this too. There was a town near by, and his second holiday he went there to look about. But he was not comfortable and a number of the natives treated him with subtle disrespect, not desiring his company. It was so hard to know when to smile and when to react, when no circle marked the boundary between courtesy and combat. Once a young rowdy laid a hand on him and Var struck him to the ground, but it changed nothing.
No-for him the badlands were best. He understood neither this' culture nor the American nomad culture, and was better off alone. Once he bad seen Soli through the training; he would doff civilization of any type and become completely, happily wild.
But he remembered Soli, and knew that he was deceiving himself. He would never be happy without her, child or woman.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"I have found out whose men have been assembling here the past month," the oldster said.
In the course of nearly a year Var had learned to converse with him, though he had never had occasion to learn his name. The man was always full of gossip, and Var was not interested. He bad observed the troops and known them to be the advance guard for some royal personage. Most of the girls of the school were high born, and it was a mark of distinction to graduate and de$rt in style with an armed retinue, even if one had to be hired for the purpose. Often the men assembled in advance, waiting for their masters to appear, so that as the end of term approached the school grounds resembled a battle camp. Var had jousted familiarily with some, showing off his ability with the sticks. But most were armed with handguns.
"The ones in gold livery," the oldster said, perceiving the waning attention of his limited audience. "Who speak to no one and drill on a private field."
Those were intriguing. No one seemed to know which lord they served or what girl would be honored by them- but over a score were present, in beautifully matched uniforms. And they were crack troops; Var had covertly observed their practice maneuvers and firing.
Seeing that he had Var's interest at last, the oldster Continued: "They serve the emperor of Ch'in. He must have chosen another bride."
Var was impressed. Ch'in controlled the largest of the rival kingdoms of the south, and through political intrigue and judicious force of arms had expanded his sphere of influence considerably in the last generation. Just as the Master had controlled an empire in America, this man had built one here in China-though it was not as large as the Master's and did not extend into the region this school was located in. He had at least thirty wives already, but was always on the lookout for attractive girls or politically expedient unions. Evidently his eye had fallen on one of these here, and he intended to see that nothing happened to her before he arrived.