Mountain of Black Glass (109 page)

“The other soldiers stirred, nervous and uncertain, but the leader was not so easily swayed. ‘No woman can tell me to open the gate, king's daughter or not!'

“I looked at !Xabbu, then realized I did not trust him to act without question. To my shame, I did not even pause, but turned to T4b instead and said, ‘Kill this man.'

“Even young Javier hesitated, but only for an instant—his blood was high with excitement and fear. As the soldiers looked on in stunned disbelief, T4b rammed his spear into the leader's stomach. The man fell to the ground, but did not die quickly. As he lay moaning, I knew I could not give the others time to think. ‘There is no time—open the gate!'

“As if in a dream, the other soldiers began to heave on the ropes that would draw the mighty bolt, throwing frightened glances over their shoulders at their leader, who was still scrabbling in his own blood on the dusty ground. When the bolt had slid away, we all dragged back the gate, which swung open on screeching hinges.

“ ‘Now go and rescue Hector!' I said, thus adding five less direct but just as certain murders onto my conscience as the soldiers stumbled out into the teeth of the Greek attack.

“My friends and I had only moments to get away. Together we managed to drag over a large stone and shove it under the bottom edge of the gate to make sure no one could close it again easily, then we sprinted toward shelter. Behind us we could hear the shrieks of the Trojans on the walls and in the street as the first Greeks plunged through the open gates.

“I can talk no longer, even if this is my last journal. The fire is weakening the wall of our hiding place. The air is so hot our clothes are smoking. We must take our chances in the streets. We will try to find the others, but if we do not, we will try to make our way through to the Temple of Demeter. It is a slim hope, but there is no other.

“I can hear the Greeks baying like wolves outside, laughing, drunk already on murder and revenge. And I have done this. To save my friends, I have set the fall of Troy in motion—men, women, and children being slaughtered all across the city, as though by my own hand.

“I could think of nothing else to do. Oh, but the cries are terrible! Florimel is weeping too, I can hear it, but I cannot bear to look at her, even shielded by blindness. In any case, I can almost feel her thoughts, her horror at what I have done.

“The Greeks are inside the walls. Troy is burning, dying.

“And, God help me, I am the Trojan Horse.

“
Code Delphi.
End here.”

P
AUL and Renie found Fredericks crouched over Orlando's body, weeping.

The Achilles sim had collapsed facedown across the legs of dead Hector, whose head was a bloody ruin that Paul could not look at for long. Instead, he tipped Orlando's face to the side, then bent over and held the polished surface of one of his armguards to the mouth of the fallen hero. “He's still breathing,” Paul told Renie. “So what do we do?”

“Do? We have to get inside, find the others. I guess we carry him.” Only a few hundred meters away the Greeks had already forced their way into the city via the gaping Skaian Gate. Paul could hear howls of anguish above the shouting of the victors, and the first flames were beginning to rise from the houses just inside the walls.

As Renie kneeled to take a grip on Orlando's feet, Fredericks seemed to notice the newcomers for the first time. She slapped at Renie's hands. “Who are you? Leave him alone.”

“It's me, Fredericks—Renie Sulaweyo.”

“But you're a man now . . .” Fredericks' eyes widened; a moment later, Renie had been dragged into a desperate embrace. “Oh, Renie, it's my fault! He came out after me, but I did it so they'd leave him alone, because . . . because . . .” As Fredericks began to cry again, Renie took a fold of Fredericks' own garment and began cleaning blood from the tear-swollen face.

“You've got a head wound, but it's shallow,” Renie said gently. “They just bleed a lot.”

“Orlando's still alive, but we need to get him inside the city.” Paul made his voice harsh, trying to shock Fredericks into attention. “We need your help—he's going to be too heavy to carry otherwise. Pull yourself together. He needs you.”

Fredericks paused, sniffling, then crawled back to Orlando's side and touched the handsome face. “He's dying.”

“We know,” Renie said.

“But he could have lasted longer, if I hadn't been so stupid! I was . . . I thought it was my time. To . . . to do something.”

“You did the best you could,” Paul said. “You're a good man.”

Fredericks' sudden shriek of laughter caught Paul and Renie by surprise. “That's perfect! That's so . . . this is all so scanny! I'm not even a boy, not really. I'm a girl.”

Renie seemed startled, but it made little difference to Paul. “That doesn't change what we need to do,” he said. “Now come on—let's get rid of this bloody armor, then you can help us get him up.”

Laughing and weeping in quiet alternation, Fredericks peeled away the gold-plated greaves while Paul and Renie unfastened the armor on his upper body. As they got ready to lift him, Fredericks paused. “He'll want his sword,” she said softly. She uncurled Orlando's fist from the hilt, then slid the blade through her own belt. Paul and Renie got under Orlando's arms and lifted; Fredericks took his feet. The unconscious boy groaned once as they staggered toward the gates. Paul felt it rather than heard it, because the death cries of Troy were growing very loud now.

 

It was bad, even worse than Paul could have imagined. Children and old people were being chased out of their houses and speared like animals, or burned to death in their homes by laughing Greeks. It was hard for Paul to understand how in only a matter of moments the grave, honor-bound soldiers of Agamemnon could turn into demons like these.

“Try not to look,” he told Fredericks, whose pale, shocked expression grew ever more alarming, as though she were slipping away from them, headed for some other place. “And if anyone stops us—Greeks, anyway—just let me talk. They all know who I am.”

One group of new conquerors had formed a taunting circle around an old man, throwing the corpse of a small child back and forth above his head while he staggered from one to another, beseeching them to stop. The ghastly spectacle was blocking the street. Paul and Renie backed against a shadowed wall to catch their breath and wait for the Greeks to get bored and clear the way.

“Where are we going?” he asked Renie. He was struggling to remind himself that none of this was real, but it was not helping much. “Any idea?”

She looked like she was close to collapse herself. “When we first came through, we wound up in one of the palace courtyards. I suppose we should head for the palace.”

Paul grunted. “Yes, along with every other Greek here.”

“I killed him,” Fredericks said mournfully.

Paul checked Orlando's breathing. “You didn't kill him—he's still alive. And you just tried to do your best.” He winced. “God, I'm running out of ideas.”

A figure suddenly leaped out of an alley behind them and clutched Renie's arm. She screeched; Paul's heart thudded to what seemed like a permanent stop, then sped on. He fumbled for his sword.

“!Xabbu!” Renie threw her arms around the ash-smeared apparition. “Oh, it's . . . it's so wonderful to see you.”

“Like the Short-Nosed Mouse looking for Beetle, I will always find you, Renie.” The man was smiling, but his face showed much strain. “Like the honey-guide looking for his friend the honey-badger, I will call out to you as I come.” He quickly looked at Orlando, then turned his attention to Fredericks. “And is this Fredericks, after all this time? I am guessing only because you are slightly the smaller of the two, as you were before.”

Fredericks looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, a line of dried blood that Renie had not managed to clean surrounding her features like the edge of a mask. “It's me, !Xabbu. But you used to be a monkey.”

He took a step forward and threw his arms around her. “It is such a goodness to see you, young fellow. How is Orlando?”

“He's dying, !Xabbu. He came after me—but I was trying to save him! And he killed that guy Hector!” She fought to hold back more tears. “And I'm not a fellow . . . I'm a girl!” This appeared to shatter the dam. She covered her eyes with her arm, chest heaving.

“You can be whatever you want, Fredericks,” !Xabbu said softly. “A fellow or a girl. It is a happy thing just to see you again.” He turned to Renie and put a hand on her arm. Paul could not help admiring how neatly he moved from one emotional situation to another. Paul knew almost nothing about Bushmen, but it was fascinating to see how the man's resilient calm translated through the Trojan soldier sim.

He wouldn't have made a very good Greek hero,
Paul thought absently.
Not enough love of drama. Not enough self-obsession, perhaps.

“Martine and the others are waiting for us,” !Xabbu reported, “or were when I left, but this city is a very dangerous place now. Martine thinks she may know a way out.”

Renie nodded wearily. “Then let's hurry.”

!Xabbu led them off the main street and up the hill at an angle. They did not go quickly—Orlando's limp body was too awkward—but the Greek invaders were largely following the path of the main roads and were encountering many tempting distractions as they spiraled up toward the palace. Although the wind had already brought the fires to much of the city, and some streets were blocked by burning debris, Paul and his companions met Greek plunderers only in small groups; these took one look at him in his guise as King of Ithaca, waved merrily, and continued on about their business.

Orlando began to wake as they struggled up a hillside. He fought against his friends' grip in a detached, dreamy way, muttering and moaning.

“We can't carry him like this,” Paul said after a dozen clumsy paces. He and Renie lowered Orlando to the ground. “The hill's too steep.”

!Xabbu came and kneeled at Orlando's side. He put one hand on his chest, the other on Orlando's forehead. “What is his full name?” !Xabbu asked Fredericks. “I have forgotten.”

“Orlando G-Gardiner.”

“Can you hear me, Orlando Gardiner?” !Xabbu leaned close, so that his lips almost touched the restless youth's ear. “Orlando Gardiner, your friends need you. We cannot carry you, and we are fleeing for our lives. Come back to us, Orlando. We need you. Come back to us.”

A chill ran up Paul's spine. It was so much like what the bird-woman had said to him, like the time-honed words to some magical spell. “Do you think he can . . . ?”

!Xabbu raised a hand, asking for silence. “Come back to us, Orlando Gardiner,” he said, slowly and distinctly. “Your friends are here.”

Orlando's eyelids flickered. He groaned. !Xabbu stood up.

“We will have to support him, but I think he will walk now. It is not his legs that are hurt, I think—his spirit is exhausted.”

“Don't make him walk,” said Fredericks miserably. “He's sick!”

!Xabbu spoke gently. “I think he would rather walk, no matter how sick his body is.”

“Lean on us, Orlando.” Renie got under his arm again, this time facing him forward. Paul took the other side. After a moment Orlando straightened his legs, and with their support took a few stumbling steps. Just below, a figure rippling with fire rushed shrieking down a narrow street, chased by laughing Greeks with torches. “Right,” Renie said tightly. “Just go and try not to think about it.”