Jean Lorrah - Flight to Savage Empire

“Morella!”

The cry brought both women to their feet. One of the prostitutes-a dark-skinned girl named Phaeru-

met them in the doorway, her eyes wide with fear.

“It’s Clea!” she said frantically. “Her door’s locked and she won’t answer when I knock. Something’s wrong!”

Astra followed Morella and Phaeru down the corridor at a brisk pace, opening herself to Reading, no longer concerned about the privacy of possible daytime customers in the nearby rooms. When Morella began pounding on one of the doors, Astra Read past that barrier to the room’s interior.

“Morella,” she said, putting a restraining hand on the woman’s shoulder, “there is no one in that room.”

Morella glanced at her. “But it’s bolted-”

“The room is empty,” Astra said flatly. “She’s gone, and so are her belongings. She must have locked the door and left by the window. The shutters are open.”

A few minutes later, Phaeru hoisted herself through the open window and into Clea’s room. She unbolted the door and admitted Astra and Morella, who told the other girls attracted by the commotion to stay in the corridor.

Astra shivered as she closed the door, cutting off the babble of questions. The room was as cold as the outdoors, the fire of its hearth long dead.

“I don’t understand it!” Morella exclaimed as she closed and locked the shutters. “What could have happened? I thought Clea was happy here.”

There was no sign of a struggle, but the room held

only its furnishings, no sign of personal possessions. It appeared that Clea had left on her own, but-

Something. A feeling… not unlike an odor. Something in the air that Astra’s powers could “smell.”

A sense of fear. No-deeper than fear.

“Clea left here in a great hurry,” the Reader announced, “and in terror.”

“Terror?” Morella asked. “Terror of what? Of whom?”

“Her last customer,” Astra heard herself say, the wild talent of Reading the past of an object or place taking over her mind. To some degree, she had every talent possible to a Reader, but this one rarely manifested. It felt very strange-as if she were inventing what she said as she spoke, yet did not know what words would come next. “Who was the last person to be with Clea?”

Both Morella and Phaeru frowned, trying to remember.

“I’ll have to check my records,” the bordello owner said.

“Another thing,” Astra continued. “Did Clavius have a favorite? Did he always request Clea?”

Morella stared at her.“Yes… every time.”

Astra left Morella’s feeling perplexed. Each question answered seemed to raise a dozen more.

Corruption, she supposed, was to be expected in The Maze, but the mental atmosphere of the brothel was terrify-ingly like the feelings she had Read from Tressa. Could there be a connection-?

“Changing professions, Astra?”

She jumped, startled, as Zanos materialized from the alley next to the bordello. “I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Why, I thought it was impossible to sneak up on a Reader,” he said in mock surprise.

Indeed, the only people invisible to a Reader’s inner sight were the savage Adepts-when that chill-ing thought touched her, she focused her powers on him. As before, she could easily Read his surface thoughts and emotions. No, he was not an Adept. Whatever secret he hid, that was not it.

“I–I guess I had my mind on other things,” she said as he fell in step beside her. “I was on my way to your villa-but- You were waiting for me, weren’t you?” Could the man be an unidentified Reader? It was theoretically possible for someone of very limited powers to slip through the screenings given every child in the empire, developing a minor talent at a later age.

Zanos merely smiled.

“All right-how did you know I was in there?”

His smile became a grin. “I told you-I keep informed about everything in The Maze. You were seen going into Morella’s, so I decided to escort you back-in case you walk under some more scaffolding,”

he added placatingly.

So much for special powers . “Very funny,” she said, swallowing with difficulty. Talking in the cold air was irritating her throat. But I’ve never known a male nonReader to be so friendly with me before .

Just then the lowering clouds burst, releasing torrents of cold rain. People in the streets ran for shelter.

The Academy was over a mile away.

“Lets go back to Morella’s,” Astra said, pulling a fold of her cloak over her head.

“No, I have a better idea, ‘ Zanos said, putting a guiding arm around her shoulders. “Come with me.”

His villa was indeed closer, but by the time they reached it-just as the rain stopped, of course-Astra felt the wet penetrating even her woolen cloak.

Zanos’ servants met them at the door. The young woman, Lanna, escorted Astra into a room where a most welcome fire was waiting on the hearth. Brooking no protests, Lanna soon had Astra out of her wet clothes, toweled dry, and wrapped in a warm robe-

but even so, Astra was seized with a fit of sneezing that shook her whole body.

I’m definitely getting my annual cold , Astra thought miserably. Her face was hot, her hands and feet cold, and her throat was getting drier and more painful by the moment.

As if in response to her thought, the manservant, Ard, brought in herb tea. “Zanos will rejoin you shortly, Magister,” he announced as he placed the tray before her.

“Thank you,” she croaked, wishing she had lemon and honey to mix with the tea. Still, the hot drink soothed her throat as Lanna seated her on soft cushions with her back to the fire and unbraided her hair, combing it out to dry.

The luxurious attention felt strange, but Lanna’s touch was unobtrusive, and it was pleasant not to have to fend for herself when she did not feel well.

She looked around the room. It was conservatively decorated in the finest of furnishings and fabrics.

Missing something, she realized that in the home of a gladiator she had somehow expected the outrageous-a stuffed leopard, perhaps, or at least a display of weapons on the wall. Instead, a mural that looked recently painted depicted snow-covered mountains on one wall, and the rest were bare.

In the far corner was a low table, holding several musical instruments. A large wooden flute, a five-string harp, a lute…

“Does your master play those instruments?” she asked Lanna.

“Yes, Magister. Especially the flute. Many of the street musicians come here for music parties, sharing new songs and having fun with old ones.”

Astra felt a twinge of jealousy, for the music curriculum at the Academy left little room for creativity or

“fun.” Portia preferred that only the classics be taught, discouraging experimentation or improvisation until Astra had enlisted the aid of Master Quantus to persuade her that if no one was allowed to experiment, there would be no works from this generation worthy to become classics.

Sorrow at the reminder of her loss made Astra blink, her sore throat tightening for a moment. She took another sip of tea, and then, to get her mind off the dead musician, she asked Lanna if she might examine the lute.

It was a fine old instrument, but sadly out of tune. Astra carefully tightened the strings, each to its proper pitch, and began to play one of her own compositions. It was contemplative, yet simple-something she often played when she was thinking her way through a problem.

When she finished, she looked up to find Zanos watching from the doorway. This time she knew she hadn’t Read him because she had been concentrating on something else-no magic, no mystery.

“Very nice,” he said as he entered. He picked up the flute, then joined her by the fire, reclining on a large pillow. “You never mentioned that you are a musician-and a very good one.”