"Come. We are returning to the cloister right now," Grauel said. Her tone brooked no argument. Marika did not protest, though she did not want to go back. She did have to cling to the goodwill of Grauel and Barlog. They were her only trustworthy allies.
Chapter Seventeen
I
Marika went from the gate to her tower, where she sat staring toward the tradermale compound. Several dots soared above the enclave, roaming the sky nearby.
Grauel came to her there. She looked grim. "Trouble," she said.
"They have registered their protest already? That was fast."
"Not that kind of trouble. Home trouble. Somebody got into our quarters."
"Oh?"
"After we turned in the weapons they gave us, we went up to clean up. My rifle was gone."
"Anything else?"
"No. The Degnan Chronicle had been opened and moved slightly. That is all."
"The most senior should spend more time here instead of talking about spending more time here."
Marika had noted that in Gradwohl's absence she was treated far more coolly. She wished that most senior would move into Maksche in fact as well as name. Despite declarations of intent, she just visited occasionally, usually without warning.
"I will not tolerate invasions of my private space, Grauel. No one else in the entire Community has to suffer such intrusions. Back off and give me a few minutes of quiet."
She slipped down through her loophole and cast about till she found a ghost she thought sufficiently strong. She took control and began roaming the cloister, beginning in places she thought were most likely to reveal the missing weapon.
Finding it took only minutes. It was in the cloister arsenal, where some sisters argued it belonged anyway. A pair of silth were dismantling it.
Marika returned to flesh. "Come."
"You found it? That quickly?"
"It is not hidden, actually. It is in the arsenal. We will take it back."
"And I was right there a few minutes ago."
The arsenal door was closed and locked now. Marika had no patience. Rather than scratch, wait, ask permission to enter, and argue, she recalled her ghost and squeezed it down as she had done when she had destroyed the electronic box belonging to the tradermale. She shoved the ghost into the lock and destroyed the metal there.
That made enough noise to alert the silth inside. They peered at her with fear and guilt when she stalked into the room where the parts of Grauel's weapon were scattered upon a table. One started to say something. Marika brushed her soul lightly with the ghost. "Grauel. Put it back together. You. Where is the ammunition? I want it here. Now."
The sister to whom she spoke thought of arguing, eyed Marika's bare teeth, thought better of it. She collected the ammunition from a storage box. After placing it upon the table, she retreated as far as the walls would allow. She choked out, "The orders came from Paustch. You will be in grave-"
"Ask me how much I care," Marika snapped. "This is for you to remember. And perhaps even share. The next meth who enters my quarters without my invitation will discover just how vicious a savage I really am. We invented some truly fascinating tortures to get nomads to tell us things we wanted to know."
Grauel cursed under her breath.
"Is it all there?"
"Yes. But they have mixed things up. It will take me a few minutes."
Marika used the time to glare at the two sisters till they cringed.
She heard Grauel slam the magazine home and feed a round to the chamber. "Ready?"
"Ready," Grauel said, sweeping the weapon's aim across the silth. Her lips pulled back in a snarl that set them on the edge of panic. "I do suppose I should thank them for cleaning it. They did that much good."
"Thank them, then. And let us be gone."
Gradwohl might not have been present in Maksche, but her paw was firmly felt. Darkships began arriving, bearing Reugge whose accents seemed exotic. They paused only to rest and eat and further burden their flying crosses. Some of the darkships lifted so burdened with meth and gear they looked like something from the worst quarters of the city.
"Everyone that can be spared," Barlog said as she and Marika and Grauel watched one darkship lift and another slide in under it. "That is the word now. The cloister is to be stripped. They have begun soliciting workers from the city, offering special pay. I would say the most senior is serious."
There had been some silth, at the evening meetings Marika attended, who had thought Gradwohl's plans just talk meant to form the basis for rumors that would reach the Serke. Rumors that would make that Community chary of too bold interference. But the lie had been given that view. The stream of darkships was never ending. The might of the Reugge was on the move, and impressive might it was.
Mistresses of the Ship could be seen in the meal halls almost all the time. Bath-the sisters who helped fly the darkships from their secondary positions at the tips of the shorter arms-sometimes crowded Maksche silth out of the meal lines. Scores seemed to be around all the time. Marika spent all her free time trying to get acquainted with those bath and Mistresses. But they would have little to do with her. They were an order within the order, silent, separate beings with little interest in socializing and none in illuminating a pup.
Three small dirigibles, contracted to the Reugge before the Brown Paw Bond elected not to support the offensive, appeared over the cloister and took aboard workers and silth and construction equipment. The cloister began to have a hollow feel, a deserted air. A shout would echo down long, empty halls. No one was there to answer.
The dirigibles would all make for Akard, which the most senior wanted rebuilt and reoccupied. It would become the focal point of a network of satellite fastnesses meant to interdict any nomad movements southward.
"I do not think she realizes how many nomads there are," Marika told Grauel. "Or really how vast her northern provinces are. All that might is not a tenth enough."
"She knows. I believe she is counting on the nomads having spent the best they had in the past few years. I think she expects it to be a job of tracking down remnants of the real fighting bands, then letting next winter finish the rest."
"I think she would be wrong if that is the basis of her strategy."
"So do I."
"We shall see, of course. Let us hope the answer is not savages in the cloister."
The early reports from the north told of a big harvest of nomads, of kills far more numerous than anyone expected. The numbers caused a good deal of uneasiness. They implied other numbers that might prove troublesome. For everyone agreed that there would be a dozen live and concealed nomads for every one dead.
II The dream was a nightmare Marika had not known for several years, but it was old and familiar.
She was trapped in a cold, dark, damp place, badly hurt, unable to call for help, unable to climb out.
The dream had tormented her every night since her return from the tradermale enclave. She had told no one, but Grauel and Barlog sensed that something was torturing her.
Marika wished she could go visit Braydic. The last time the dreams had come, soon after her arrival at Akard, following the destruction of the Degnan packstead, she had shared her pain with the communications technician. Braydic had been unable to interpret the dream. Eventually, she had agreed it must be Marika's conscience nagging her because the dead of the Degnan pack had not gone into the embrace of the All with a proper Mourning.
After the return of the dreams, she had asked Grauel and Barlog where they stood in regard to that unsettled debt.
"We can do nothing now," Barlog told her. "Someday, though, we will take care of it. Perhaps when you are important and powerful. The score is not forgotten, nor considered settled."