She turned to the imprisoned men. "I'm sorry. The only way I can see that we can be safe from you seems to be to allow the foxen to kill you."
"Oh, for God's sake, Lady," cried Steeplehands in dismay. "Take us into Commons and turn us over to the order officers there. We can't do nothing tied up like this."
She held her head, knowing it was a bad idea, but not knowing why. It was a very bad idea. She was sure of it. Inside her mind was an enormous question, waiting to be answered.
Father James was shaking his head anxiously, pleading with her. "Mainoa did tie them up very tightly. And we have to go to Commons eventually anyhow. We can turn them over to the order officers. They're probably no worse than half the port-rabble the order officers keep in check."
Marjorie nodded, though she wasn't convinced. This wasn't a good idea at all. This wasn't what a very small being should do. A very small being should scream danger and drop them from the highest tree..,.
The foxen nearest them twitched, brooding shadow, hatching visions. Light and shadow spun across their minds, stripes of evanescent color, jittering.
"He's dissatisfied," Brother Mainoa offered.
"So am I," Marjorie said, her eyes wild with pain. "Listen to them. All of them. And only a few of them came forward to help us. Maybe they're like I've always been. Full of intellectual guilts and doubts, letting things happen, paying no attention to how I feel."
Her head was in agony. She received a picture of foxen traveling through the trees, going away. She drew a shiny circle around it in her mind. Yes. Why not? They might as well go away. "They're going away. We must wait here for Rillibee," she announced.
A cannon went off in her brain. She crawled to her bedding and lay down to let the quiet come up around her. Gradually the pain diminished. Outside in the trees, the foxen moved away. Pictures fled through her mind: their thoughts, their conversation. She let the symbols and sounds wash through her like waves, lulling her into a drowsy half-consciousness.
The sun had moved to midafternoon before they heard a "Halloo," off in the shadows, low among the trees.
A foxen breathed among the trees, close, threatening.
"Halloo," came the voice again, closer. The threat in the trees diminished.
Marjorie struggled to her feet and went out onto the platform. "Rillibee," she called.
He came into sight below them, moving wearily among the vines. "You look tired out!" His bony face was pale. His eyes were circled with shadow, making them look enormous, like a night-dwelling creature.
"Long climb," he mumbled. "Long, long climb." He pulled himself upward, slowly upward, sliding over the railing at last in an exhausted heap. "Oh, I'm thankful for all that climbing at the Friary. All those spidery ladders, all those bridges … "
"What happened?" Brother Mainoa asked.
"Highbones tried to catch me. He couldn't. I led him off into the forest, a long, long way. Then I hid from him, let him pass me, and came back. I'd have killed him if I could have figured out an easy way to do it. Bastard."
Marjorie touched his cheek. "We can go now. Back to Commons."
Rillibee shook his head. "No. Not yet. We need … we need the foxen. I'm sorry to have wasted so much time on Highbones, but I didn't know what else to do except get them away from here. I thought they'd all come. Highbones usually likes to outnumber his opponents. But you managed to deal with the others."
"One of the foxen did."
"Ah." He sagged wearily. "I have to tell you things, Marjorie. Opal Hill has been burned by the Hippae. There's a Hippae-hound trail half a mile wide leading toward the swamp-forest. The ambassador, your husband, is at the hospital. He's going to be all right, but it was a close thing. Stavenger bon Damfels is dead, him and a dozen or so bons. They've found the bon Damfels girl in there, at the port. Dimity. The one who vanished this spring, just like they found Janetta …
"Both of them were taken by Hippae," Marjorie said in wonderment. "And both of them ended up at the port!"
Rillibee nodded. "Naked. Mindless. Everyone at Commons is frantic over it. Janetta and Dimity got in there somehow. They couldn't come through the trees unless the foxen carried them. If the foxen didn't carry them, then there's some other way in. Has to be. And if girls can get in, maybe Hippae can get in. We have to find how they got there – "
A troubled sound from the trees.
"Now they're upset," said Brother Mainoa, rubbing his head. "They're angry. The foxen have never carried anyone anywhere until they carried you and your companions. Rillibee. The foxen thought the town was safe. They had encouraged men to build the port there, where the Hippae couldn't get at it."
"Encouraged?" asked Marjorie.
"You know." Brother Mainoa sighed. "Encouraged. Influenced. As they do."
She felt the foxen retreating. "Where are they going?"
"They've gone to look for the way Rillibee says must be there. As they went they were thinking of migerers."
"Diggers? They suspect a tunnel, then."
"Something like that." Mainoa gave a weary shudder, putting his head into his hands. "Marjorie, at this moment, I'm a tired old man. I'm incapable of helping to look for tunnels."
Rillibee put his arms around the old man. "I'm a very tired young one, Brother. If the foxen are searching, let's let them do it. I need a little rest. Unless you think they need our help … "
"They'll do it," Brother Mainoa said. Whether they would or not, he could do no more. Marjorie crept back to her bed, feeling the pain ebb once more as she fell into sleep, empty this time of all foxen dreams. Rillibee lay sprawled like a child. Mainoa huddled into himself, snoring slightly. Father James sat by the railing, wondering what had really happened to Marjorie, what she had really seen or dreamed. Long Bridge and Steeplehands sulked and muttered to one another, chafing at their bonds.
Even before First returned late in the afternoon, they knew the way into Commons had been found. When He was yet some distance off, horses and riders swam into their minds, and they knew what He intended. Mounted once more, they were led in a circuitous route as they crossed quiet pools, forded dark streams, and rode down long, splashing alleys. Without a guide, it would have been impossible to find their way. Some pools were shallow water over sucking sands. Some were full of deadly sharp root knees. They knew, because the foxen showed them.
They came out onto the grass near the pool where they had found Stella. Near where she had lain, great sheaves of grass had been torn up, turf had been ripped away to expose a gaping tunnel mouth, wide and dug deep and mortared up as the Hippae caverns were. The grass had hidden it. When they had found Stella, all of them had been within yards of it without seeing it.
"Migerer work," said Brother Mainoa.
Somewhere a foxen cried out, a great, world-freezing cry.
"Devil's work," Mainoa amended. "So say our guides. This tunnel goes deep beneath the swamp. One of the foxen has been through it, all the way to the port."
It was not necessary to ask who had used it before The tripartite hoofprints of the Hippae were everywhere inside it, everywhere except where the trickle of water had washed them away. "In," they were urged "Through! Quickly!"
Marjorie, leading Don Quixote, went into the opening and was immediately soaked by the drip of murky water seeping through the soft stone above. The others trailed behind her, swearing softly at the dank air, the stench of droppings, the sog of the surface beneath their feet. The prisoners cursed and dragged at the ropes that held them. The tunnel top was not high enough for any of them to ride sitting up. It was barely high enough for Irish Lass to walk with her head down, her ears brushing the end of muddy roots which straggled through from above. The lights they carried lit their way, though inadequately. Horse and human feet splashed and sucked at the half-muck, half-rock beneath them.
"Foxen coming behind us," called Rillibee from his position at the rear. "I think. I feel them there. This tunnel isn't even tall enough for Hippae."
"High en
ough if they stalk," said Brother Mainoa. "Like great lions. One at a time. Slowly. But it was not made for them."
Within yards of the entrance the tunnel began to slope steeply down. The trickle of water, which had been running outward, reversed itself and began to flow in the direction of their travel The horses sat back upon their haunches as the steep slope continued, whickering in protest. Something told them to go on, trilling at them, a summoning noise. The floor leveled and the water became deeper. They went on into darkness, water falling, water splashing, the darkness above them seeming to enfold them.
Marjorie flicked her light along the tunnel walls, finding numerous small holes where the walls met the water. "What are those?" she asked.
"I should think drain holes," replied Father James. "All this water has to go somewhere."
"Where? It can't run uphill!"
"We're actually in a hill," Brother Mainoa said, coughing. "All of Commons, including the swamp forest, lies in a rocky basin higher than the surrounding prairie. It's like a bowl on a table. If one drills holes in the bowl, the water will drain away."
"Do you think migerers dug all this?" she asked.
He coughed again, wrackingly. "I think so, yes. I think the Hippae told them to do it."
"Through rock?"
"Partly through rock. This looks like a fairly soft stratum. They can dig in soft stone. I've seen them."
"How much farther?" she wondered aloud.
After a time Brother Mainoa responded. "There's something just ahead."
What was just ahead was a side chamber of the tunnel, one made tight and dry and furnished with a pile of grasses. Marjorie used her light to examine the chamber. The floor was littered with scraps of underclothing, with two left boots, with a much-tattered Hunt jacket. "She was here," Marjorie said, "Janetta."
"And someone else." Brother Mainoa sighed, pointing at the boots. "Two left feet worth of someone. Janetta and Dimity bon Damfels, perhaps."
The tunnel was full of sound, trills and snarls and demands.
"He wants us to go on," said Brother Mainoa. "There is danger behind us."
They resumed to their splashing journey, fear lending speed to all of them. Marjorie looked at Don Quixote and wondered if he might not understand the foxen far better than she herself did. He moved alertly, as though summoned. Al! the horses did.
Far back in the tunnel, something screamed. The echoes went by them – ee-yah, ee~yah, ee-yah – ricocheting along the walls, fading into quiet.
"Hurry," something said in their minds. The Terran word pulsated at them, black letters on orange, large, plain capital letters, underlined, with an exclamation point. "HURRY!"
"What?" Marjorie whoofed. "What was that?"
"He does that sometimes," Mainoa breathed. "He's not much interested in written words, but sometimes he picks one up from me and broadcasts it."
Another picture, this one of all of them mounted and running. It had scarcely faded before they were all on horseback, lying flat while the horses trotted rapidly through the water, blindly moving into darkness as though moving in accordance with some guidance system known only to themselves. The prisoners, hastily thrown across Irish Lass, snarled and complained.
"Shut up, or we'll leave you for the Hippae," Rillibee commanded. The climbers fell silent.
Then there was rosy light, slightly above them and far ahead. The way sloped upward. The horses dug in with their rear legs, pushing. A foxen was silhouetted against the light, then gone. Then they too were out in the world once more. The tunnel emerged on a tiny island. Pools of water surrounded them. Ahead, the trees stopped and the land sloped up toward a red-flushed sunset. Illusory shapes prowled out of the tunnel behind them and took to the trees. "Go," the word said, red on white, imperative. "Go!" They went. The horses walked-swam to the edge of the trees and lunged up onto the long slope. The riders stared back, expecting horror to erupt behind them. Nothing. No sound. Perhaps the foxen had bought them time.
"I'll take these two to the order station," said Rillibee, tugging on the rope that bound the captives. He pointed up the hill. "That's the hospital. Where Stella and your husband are, next to the Port Hotel." Marjorie urged Don Quixote up the slope, covering half of it before she realized that she was actually going to a place where Rigo was. Rigo. She said the word to herself. Nothing resonated. He was someone she knew, that was all. Normally the thought of him brought feelings: guilt and anxiety and frustration. Now she felt only curiosity, perhaps a slight sorrow, wondering how it would feel to see him after all that had happened.
The Port Hotel was packed with people, anonymous groups going here and there, anonymous faces turning to stare curiously at Marjorie and the others. Someone shouted. Someone else pointed. Then Sebastian Mechanic separated himself from the mass and came running toward them.
"Lady Marjorie," he cried. "Your son's here, and your daughter and husband."
She dismounted stiffly, wiping at her muddy face. "Rillibee told me," she said. "I need to see them. I need somewhere to wash." Then Persun Pollut was beside her, leading her in one direction while Sebastian and Asmir led the horses in another.
"Lady Westriding, I'm glad you're here." His heart lay in his eyes, but she did not see it there. "They'll take the horses to the barn. How can i help you?"
"Do you known where Rigo is?"
"In there." He pointed through a door to a crowd of people, seemingly all talking at once. "The doctor let him get up a few hours ago.
They're talking about the plague and whether the Hippae are going to get in and eat us all!"
"The plague!" She could see Rigo's lean form at the center of the mob. He sat in a chair, pale and haggard, but he seemed to be functioning. Still, to be talking about the plague!
"Everyone knows, ma'am. Your husband is there, trying to bring some order out of it all … "
"I'll join them," Brother Mainoa said from behind them. "I have to tell them about that tunnel … something has to be done about it."
"And Stella?" Marjorie asked Persun.
"Through there," Persun pointed toward a hallway.
"I'll go with you," said Rillibee, as Brother Mainoa, leaning heavily on Father James's arm, went in to join the crowd.
Persun guided Marjorie and Rillibee along the building, into it through a small side door and down a corridor to a corner room which was almost filled by a humming box, a Heal-all.
"In there," Persun said.
She peered down through the transparent lid to see Stella lying below, slender wires and tubes connecting her to the box.
"Are you her mother?" The doctor had come in behind them.
Marjorie turned. "Yes. Is she? I mean, what do you … "
The doctor gestured toward a chair. "I'm Doctor Lees Bergrem. I'm not entirely sure yet what the prognosis is. She's been here only a little more than a day. There was no … well, no lasting physical damage."
"They had done something to her … to her body?"
"Something. Something in the pleasure centers of the brain and nervous system, in the sexual connections to it. I'm not yet sure exactly what was done. Something perverse. Sexual pleasure seems to result from obeying commands. I think I can fix that part."
Marjorie didn't say anything. She waited.
"She may not remember everything. She may not be just the way she was. She may be more as she was as a child … " The doctor shook her head. "You know about Janetta bon Maukerden? Had you heard that another one has been found? Diamante bon Damfels. It's as though they were wiped clean, except for that one circuit." She shook her head again. "Your daughter is more fortunate. She hadn't been disconnected yet. Even if she loses something, she'll have time to rebuild, relearn."
Marjorie didn't reply. What was there to say? She felt Rillibee's hand on her shoulder. "It'll be all right." he said. "I have a feeling."
She wondered if she should cry. What she felt was anger. Anger at Rigo. Anger even at Stella herself. Rigo and Stella had done this with the
ir foolishness. And the bons had done this. Forget the Hippae, malevolent though they were. It was human foolishness that had laid Stella in that box.
Mercy, a voice in her mind said softly. Justice. I wouldn't waste my time on guilt.
The doctor interrupted her thoughts. "You don't look at all well yourself. There's a knot on your head as big as an egg. Look here." And she began shining lights in Marjorie's eyes and hooking her up to machines. "Concussion," she said. "Let's set you right while you're here, before you try to do something about this mess and collapse. I'll send someone in to clean you up, as well. Do you have a change of clothes?"
Attendants came and went. There were basins of water and soft towels. Someone loaned her a shirt. Then Marjorie sat beside Stella's box, hooked-through tubes and wires to a box of her own. Gradually the vision she had had in the swamp-forest began to fade. She remembered it, but it lacked the clarity of immediate seeing. The words faded. What God had said to her faded. The doctor came back and sat beside her, talking quietly of her medical education on Semling, of her further education on Repentance, of the young people from Commons who had been recently trained as scientists and were working now on a puzzle Lees Bergrem herself was interested in. "I know," said Marjorie. "I ordered your books."
The doctor flushed. "They really weren't written for the layman."
"I could tell. But I understood parts of some of them, anyhow."
The doctor asked about the swamp-forest, the foxen, and Marjorie answered, omitting her vision but telling about the assailants, telling more than she knew …
"Oh, I would have forgiven them before," she admitted. "Oh, yes. I'd have let them go. I'd have been afraid not to. For fear society or God would have judged me harshly. I'd have said pain in this life isn't that important. A few more murders. A few more rapes. In heaven they won't matter. That's what we've always said, isn't it, doctor. But God didn't say anything about that. He just said we should get on with our work … "