Norton, Andre - Novel 23 (30 page)

 
          
 
"Therefore, take these into your
hand,
let them fall upon this surface. And while you still
hold them, do think about that which troubles you and clouds your way—"

 
          
 
She held out the bundle of ivory sticks and
Saranna found herself taking them. In this time and place, it seemed entirely
natural that she should obey this regal woman who had about her the air of one
who had never had any order she had given put to question.

 
          
 
Saranna held the wands. But her mind was a
chaotic whirl of bits and pieces. She could not think of anything else but
troubles, yet those were difficult to place in any order.

 
          
 
Then she dropped the ivory sticks. The music
on the terrace had ceased. In the silence of the room, the clatter of the ivory
pieces as they struck the lacquered surface of the table seemed almost as loud
as a drum.

 
          
 
"It is Yi," the Princess inclined
her head a fraction to better read the pattern. "
Which
denotes advantage in every movement.
"

 
          
 
The tip of one of the nail
casings tapped by the rod farthest from Saranna.
A solid one:

 
          
 
"The first nine
undivided—for you to make some great movement.
The
second nine—oracles which cannot be opposed if you stand firm—good fortune.
The third six, divided—increase through that which means you evil— with no
blame to you. The fourth six, you can be relied upon in the air you will give
others. The fifth nine, undivided—you are of sincere heart and this will lead
you to such fortune as you have not dreamed. The sixth nine— undivided—ah, here
stands one to whom no one shall join, while the evil in that heart will deliver
judgment."

 
          
 
For a moment she was silent, her attention
given entirely to the wands in their supposedly random pattern before her. That
she utterly believed in what she said was manifest. And that belief began to
influence Saranna. The confidence of this dweller in the hidden garden was so
assertive that she could not deny this as mere superstition and folly.

 
          
 
"It is well. The Old Ones have
spoken." The Fox Lady gathered the ivory sticks together, fitted them once
more into the fox-patterned box. "Now, younger sister, attend to what I
say to you. We have seen what may be, and the reading of the wands was in all
ways auspicious. But a faint heart may put to naught the brightest of
foretellings. I say this—
be
strong of heart, trample
down your fears even as a Bannerman spurs his horse to trample down the
barbarians of the outer Hordes. She who you must strive against is strong of
will; therefore, your will must be as steel to the iron of hers.

 
          
 
"There advances soon
upon us an hour of judgment.
At that time, do you come to
me.
For scattered forces defeat a general before he does
battle. Do you understand?"

 
          
 
"Yes," for the first time Saranna
spoke. And then she added in a rush of words. "They—Mrs. Whaley has sent
for men to come from the city. They want to shoot the foxes, destroy this
garden, all that is in it."

 
          
 
There was no change of expression in the
lady's face, which might have been carved from the same flawless and aged ivory
as fashioned the wands she had cast to foretell the fortune.

 
          
 
"Rumors of such madness have already been
reported, younger sister.
Remember,
fear you must hold
from you as you would avert a sword pointed to your throat when you have a
shield in your hand to raise between. When the time comes you shall know it;
then you and the younger one must come hither. I have certain powers which are
the heritage of the women of my mother's ancient clan. But in times of great
danger one standing alone may be as a too-lightly rooted tree facing a storm of
wind. I would not be uprooted before my time, and thus you can help in another
way—

 
          
 
"Now," she clapped her hands
together and out of the shadows beyond the bed the old serving woman came
bearing a tray on which were two handleless cups, covered.

 
          
 
The Fox Lady took up one, motioned for Saranna
to lift the other. As the girl set aside the saucer lid, she sniffed again that
flowerlike odor of the tea.

 
          
 
"Let us sip to fortune and an hour when
all debts shall be settled," the Fox Lady said.

 
          
 
Saranna sipped,
then
drank more deeply. The red and gold, green, blue, all the color of that
magnificent room beyond the moon door began to swirl around her. Did that
ivory-skinned face before her suddenly
sharpen,
nose
and jaw become another shape, russet fur covering that muzzle, or was that only
some fantastic flight of imagination?

 
          
 
Saranna had a confused dream. She was in her
own chamber at Tiensin but there were two people there with her and the room
was poorly lighted. They pulled and tugged at her, and, against her will (which
seemed dulled so that she could not summon any resistance) they were clothing
her in that same drab and shabby dress in which she had traveled from
Sussex
. Then, when she was fully clothed, one of
them supported her while the other pushed a cup so tightly to her lips, that,
in sheer discomfort, she opened her mouth, to be choked by a bitter tasting
liquid swiftly poured therein.

 
          
 
Between them they then led her, or rather
half-dragged her toward the doorway. There was another dusky figure waiting in
the hallway. Dimly she heard a buzz of whispering amongst the three now
surrounding her. Then that dream ended abruptly after the manner of dreams.

 
          
 
Saranna was first aware of a slight rocking of
her bed. The sway reminded her of something else from long ago. But it was so
hard to think, to remember. Above her closed eyes was an area of pulsating pain
and she felt wretchedly sick. She turned her head on her pillow. The wave of
pain answering that movement, slight as it was, made her gasp and then moan.
She was so ill—

 
          
 
Mother—where was Mother? She could help—

 
          
 
Now that her head remained still, the pain was
not quite so acute. Slowly, Saranna opened her eyes. The bed in which she lay—
Where
was she? This was not her small chamber in the
Sussex
cottage. No, the area was even more
cramped. And
Sussex
—she had left
Sussex
, hadn't she?

 
          
 
Mother— Mother was dead!

 
          
 
Memory was returning in bits and pieces and
with it stalked fear. She could already guess that this was no normal
awakening. She had gone from
Sussex
to a ship—

 
          
 
A ship! The foul odors she could smell now,
the swing of the narrow bed on which she lay—she was on a ship!

 
          
 
But how could that be?
Because
there had been houses after the ship—one in—in a city.
And then
one—Saranna's dulled wits strained to piece together those bits of memory.

 
          
 
Tiensin!

 
          
 
The recalling of that name might have turned a
key. Because now flooded back the days—and nights—at Tiensin— with all their
perplexities and threats of danger.

 
          
 
This was not Tiensin, and it was certainly not
the room behind the moon gate which was her last clear recollection. She had
drunk tea with the Fox Lady.
After that had followed that
queer dream.
And now she awoke here. Where was she?

 
          
 
The throbbing pain in her head, those waves of
queasiness which rolled over her with every movement were so weakening it was
hard to think clearly. But she could use her eyes.

 
          
 
They told her that she lay on a very narrow
bunk in what must be a small ship's cabin. There were the smells of an unclean
place to further upset her uneasy stomach. Such light as there was came from a
hooded lantern pegged to a low beam overhead.

 
          
 
There—there was her sea chest!
Draped over it her shawl, her bonnet, the creased ribbons dangling.
In spite of her sickness and the pain in her head, Saranna began to believe in
the reality of what she saw.

 
          
 
Then that queer dream of hers. Someone or ones
had half-roused her from a very deep sleep and dressed her. Who were they? Not
the Fox Lady and her people, of that Saranna
was
certain. And why was she on a ship? Where were they taking her—and why?

 
          
 
There was a mug standing on a shelf at the
other side of the cabin. Her mouth was so dry—if she only had a drink! Could
she reach that? And if so, did it hold something which would alleviate her
thirst? She ran her tongue tip over her lips as she stared at the mug.

 
          
 
Thirsty—so thirsty— On board a ship—
Though
she must have gone to sleep somehow in the house
behind the moon door. She began to listen intently, trying to pick up the sound
of wind and wave as she had heard it when she had come south.

 
          
 
There were instead small creakings, the slosh
of water. And Saranna thought that, though she was clearly afloat, the ship in
which she now lay was making no headway. Were they docked? The small spark of
hope that thought brought made her move.

 
          
 
As she struggled upward, pain in her head
intensified, to bring a moan from her lips. But she had swung her body half off
the bunk, clawed at the edge to steady
her, that
she
might not fall to the floor. Nausea surged to wrack her.

 
          
 
Only that fear which bolstered her
determination got her somehow to her feet. So low was the cabin that she had to
bend her
head
a little. She lurched to the shelf,
reached out one hand for the tantalizing mug as she kept the other in a tight
hold to balance her on her feet.

 
          
 
Liquid did cover the bottom of the mug, but as
she raised it to her mouth the sourish fumes of the stuff made her stomach
twist once more, and she dropped it to the floor.

 
          
 
Air—if she could only get into the fresh clean
air, that
might do her good. Holding on as best she
could to the cabin wall, Saranna took four or five small steps which brought
her to what was plainly the door. Against that she put her flattened palm,
pushed with what little strength she had.
To no purpose.
She must be locked in!

 
          
 
Why?

 
          
 
Her head hurt so that she could not keep her
feet. Now she half-stumbled, half-fell, aiming for the bunk, and landed on her
knees, her arms across the stained and rumpled covering upon which she had lain
earlier. She was a prisoner here—but why? And who had done this?

 
          
 
It would be very easy to claw her way back up
on this noisome shelf, lapse back into unknowing, uncaring unconsciousness. But
that she must not do. She rested her head on the surface of the bunk and tried
to think in a clear and logical way.

 
          
 
Now she could most vividly recall all which
happened in the hidden garden, every word and gesture of the Fox Lady, how she
had thrown the wands in that strange manner of foretelling Damaris had called I
Ching. And what had been then her urging? Stand firm, hold fear from her—come
with Damaris when danger arose.

 
          
 
"But I can't," Saranna whispered.
"I can't."

 
          
 
Stand firm, hold fear from her—

 
          
 
She straightened her shoulders, levered
herself up and away from the bunk. Now she looked down at her crumpled dress.
She forced one shaking hand into the front of her chemisette. It was still
there! Whoever had dragged her hither had not taken the fox pendant.

 
          
 
Dragging that out of hiding, Saranna centered
her gaze upon it. She was moving by instinct alone, yet there was that which
suggested that this was what she must do. Cupping the pendant in her hand, she
raised it to her forehead, the seat of that sickening pain. And there she held
the piece of jade between her sweating palm and her head.

 
          
 
She began to breathe slowly and evenly. What
she was attempting she could not have explained, it was as if her body rather
than her mind, obeyed some unconscious order. Now Saranna closed her eyes,
tried to picture the Fox Lady as she had seen her first, dancing before her followers,
her furred and pointed face turned up to the moon.

 
          
 
Clearer and clearer
came
that vision. Now the head of the dancer was turned directly to face Saranna.
The eyes of the Fox Lady met hers and held, grew larger, larger—filled the
whole of the world—

 
          
 
Did the girl make some plea during that
meeting of eyes —perhaps even of minds? She was not consciously aware of doing
so. Nor was she now still plagued by the miseries of her body. It was as if
what she, Saranna Stowell, really was, the element of her true identity,
assumed command and the body was fully subject to her.

 
          
 
She arose from her knees. But she still held
the pendant in one hand, her left. Now she looked around the room with purpose,
knowing just what must be done, and seeking for the tool with which to do it.

 
          
 
Nothing—nothing of what she needed. She turned
to her sea chest, threw its contents out upon the floor. Her hand closed upon
her second pair of stays. She dropped the pendant, letting it swing from its
cord. Her workbox was not there she noted, nor either of the dresses she had
worked upon the past few days. She had only her teeth and her fingers.

 
          
 
Working with haste but carefully, she ripped
and chewed at the tough cloth. At last that gave in a tear large enough for her
purpose and she drew out the wide front busk, the thickest and strongest of
those whalebone ribs.

 
          
 
She paid no more heed to the tangle of
clothing lying on the dirty floor but gained again the cabin door. With
infinite care and all the skill she could bring to bear on the task, she began
to force the narrow, but strong strip of whalebone, between the jamb and the
edge of the door itself.

 
          
 
Time and dampness were on her side. The wood
was warped enough to let the busk slip through the narrow crack. With that much
of her purpose achieved, she crouched to listen. There was nothing to be heard
but the murmur of water. She was sure she was on a river sloop, and one now
docked. Was there some guard on board, or had she, in her drugged state, been
deemed so safely captive she was left alone?

 
          
 
She could not continue to wait; time might be
of the utmost importance. Now she began to wriggle
the busk
upward, seeking contact with the bar which bolted her in here. From her journey
on Mr. Fowke's sloop she knew such fastenings were simple. She could only hope
that this would prove to be of the same nature.

 
          
 
There!
The busk
had
encountered opposition. She had touched the bar. Slow, steadily, using all the
pressure she could obtain from the pliant length of whalebone, Saranna began to
lever that sealing bar up out of its holders.

 
          
 
This action seemed to take all the time in the
world. The girl was wet with perspiration, weak with the effort she was forcing
from her body. Then—suddenly, the bar rattled loose!

 
          
 
There was a clatter from without as it fell,
sounding to Saranna nearly as loud as the thunderclaps on the night of the
storm. She tensed; if there were any guards on
board, that
would bring them running. However, when she heard no thud of boots or feet
along the planking of the deck,' she gave a quick shove and had her door to
freedom.