The Grand Ellipse Part 54

She paid half in advance, then waited while two grey horses were harnessed to the light barouche she had hired. Minutes later the carriage was brought around and she took her seat. The driver shut the door, raised the collapsible top, lit the lanterns, and ascended to the box. His whip snapped and they were off.

Luzelle settled back in her seat. The tripart.i.te domes and triple-forked spires of Lis Folaze sped by unnoticed. Girays's semiparalyzed face filled her mind's eye. She came within a breath of ordering the driver to turn north toward Wolktretz, and only with an effort of will managed to contain the command.

He wouldn't die, he'd promised he wouldn't.

But he wouldn't finish the race, either-or at least, he wouldn't win it-and neither would she, unless she took care. Whoever had doctored the food at Wolktretz Station, presumably aiming for both Vonahrish Ellipsoids, had partially failed through happenstance. That individual was still out there and would probably try again, perhaps with better luck the next time. Beyond doubt a Grewzian sympathizer, someone supporting Karsler Stornzof's victory. Karsler himself she did not suspect for a moment.

Lost in her comfortless thoughts, she scarcely noted the alteration in the pa.s.sing scenery, but eventually looked out to find that the city of Lis Folaze had given way to fog-smothered fields and hills. She could barely see anything out there, and there was nothing worth seeing, anyway. She did not care about Upper Hetzian scenery, she did not care about anything beyond Girays's safety and winning the race.

There came the inevitable rest stop to breathe and water the horses, and grudging every lost minute, she did not bother to set foot from the barouche. Fog crept in the window. She watched the swirling eddies illumined by the coach lanterns, and hated Upper Hetzia.

Progress resumed. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but her mind revolved unstoppably and Girays's face was with her always.

She shouldn't have left him. No matter what he had said.

He would be all right. And if not, all the more reason to win.

The hours pa.s.sed indistinguishably until at last the carriage veered from the Dhreve's Highway into the driveway of a vine-covered old inn, where the driver pulled up beneath the porte-cochere.

Shaken from her unhappy reveries, Luzelle stuck her head out the window to demand, "Why do we stop again?"

"We have reached the outskirts of Groeflen, madame," the driver replied. "See, there is the town before us."

She followed his pointing finger and made out a cl.u.s.ter of lights winking in the middle distance.

"Well, the train station, then," she commanded.

"Pardon me, madame," he returned, "but it is only just eleven o'clock. This inn, the Three Beggars, offers a good table. Will you not eat and rest comfortably until dawn?"

She considered. She was not hungry, but she had not touched food since breakfast and she should eat. With appropriate caution. And rest? Far better to spend the remainder of the night, however brief, lying in a comfortable bed, as opposed to sitting upright on a wooden bench in the station waiting room.

"Very well," she consented, "provided you're ready to leave by four o'clock sharp."

"My word on it, madame."

Valise in hand, she alighted from the barouche and walked into the inn.

The evening was well advanced, but the place was still well lighted and well peopled. The innkeeper-a rotund, round-faced, amiably innocuous-looking young man-advanced at once to greet her.

"Welcome to the Three Beggars, madame. Klec Stiesoldt, proprietor." He bowed, all smiles. "How may I serve you?"

No animosity, no disapproval, no disguised or undisguised suspicion of an unescorted female traveler arriving by night. A certain natural curiosity, but nothing offensive in that. Luzelle returned the smile, liking him at once. "Dinner, if you're still serving," she told him.

"We are, madame. Rabbit stew with fennel, lorbers, and my wife's special herbs. My Gretti is the finest cook between here and Lis Folaze. You will be pleased."

"I'm sure I will. And a room, private, and a knock on the door at three forty-five."

"Three forty-five A.M. A.M.?"

"Please."

"It will be done, madame. My Gretti will see to it herself. I myself will be soundly asleep at that inhospitable hour. Three forty-five-A.M.! You're for the four forty-eight southbound express, I expect."

She nodded. "You've memorized the train schedule, Master Stiesoldt?"

"Not I, madame. This poor head could scarcely contain so many numbers. Gretti's head, now-that head holds endless endless numbers, you ought to see her with the account books, it's like magic-but mine does not. But I note the four forty-eight southbound, because you are the evening's second guest to request an appalling predawn awakening for the sake of that particular train. Your fellow traveler-a Grewzian military gentleman, you know-is easier on himself, practically a hedonist. He doesn't ask to be awakened until four." numbers, you ought to see her with the account books, it's like magic-but mine does not. But I note the four forty-eight southbound, because you are the evening's second guest to request an appalling predawn awakening for the sake of that particular train. Your fellow traveler-a Grewzian military gentleman, you know-is easier on himself, practically a hedonist. He doesn't ask to be awakened until four."

"Grewzian military, did you say? Is he tall and blond?"

"Aren't they all?"

"Well-"

"Believe me, I know. Those Grewzian peacekeepers are everywhere, and I tell you I've never seen so many tall blond beings in my life. I think they must drown the small dark ones at birth."

"Peacekeepers?"

"That's what those ruffians choose to call themselves. But we Hetzians have a different name for them." The innkeeper's voice dropped. "We call them-"

"Master Stiesoldt, the topic is unsuitable."

"Listen, the Grewzian presence in Upper Hetzia is unsuitable, the Grewzian att.i.tude toward the townsmen is unsuitable, the entire so-called peacekeeping force is unsuitable. unsuitable. The-" The-"

"Perhaps you could show me to the dining room?" she cut him off, alarmed at the danger resident in this Hetzian's unguarded tongue.

"Oh, certainly. Forgive me, madame. Sometimes my Hetzian heart gets the better of my head, at least that's what Gretti says. Here, let me take your bag." He relieved her of her burden. "This way, if you please."

She followed him to a pleasantly old-fashioned common room with a vast stone fireplace, dark-beamed ceiling, and unevenly worn stone floor, where he bowed and left her. She spotted Karsler Stornzof the moment she crossed the threshold. He was sitting alone at a small table in the corner, the light from the old iron chandeliers overhead glancing off his bright hair. He looked up as she entered, their eyes met, and she was struck as always by his appearance, but tonight there was a difference. Karsler was splendid as ever, but this time the image of Girays haunting her throughout the day did not vanish at sight of him.

She went straight to his table. His eyes never left her face as she approached, and something in his expression troubled her, a certain dark intensity of emotion much at odds with his usual serenity. Disappointment, chagrin that she still kept pace? Somehow she did not think so.

He rose politely as she drew near, and smiled at her. Her heartbeat quickened as always, but somehow Girays stayed put in her mind.

"Luzelle. I am glad to see you here, very glad." Voice and eyes conveyed the same unaccountable depth of feeling. "You are well?"

"I am. Girays isn't," she announced flatly. They seated themselves and she continued, "He was poisoned or drugged, around noon today at the Wolktretz Station. His limbs went dead, he couldn't stir, his face was twisted, and he could barely speak. It was horrible. It was-" Her voice broke.

"He is alive?" Karsler asked.

She nodded, and saw him draw a sharp breath.

"A physician was summoned?"

She swallowed hard. "Yes."

"His diagnosis?"

"I don't know. I didn't stay. My train was pulling into the station, and I ran for it. I left him there. Girays told me to go, but I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have." Tears spilled from her eyes.

He watched her in silence for a moment, then observed quietly, "That choice was difficult. I am sorry."

"So am I. I chose wrongly."

"I do not think so, nor do I believe that v'Alisante would think so."

"He wouldn't, but I know better. I wish I'd decided differently, I wish now that I'd stayed with him. That's easy to say after the fact, but it's the truth."

"And if you had stayed, then you would have sacrificed all hope of victory."

"There are more important things."

"Never have I heard you speak so."

"About time, then. It's Girays who ought to have heard me speak so. But he didn't, because I wanted to go and he knew it. Now I only wish I had another chance."

"Ah." He regarded her with perfect comprehension. "Matters have altered with you. In more ways than one, I think."

"I'm seeing some things more clearly."

"As you come to know yourself better. I have thought from the start that you might. It was a feeling that I had."

"A little late for self-knowledge, if Girays dies. He might be dead already." The tears were streaming again, and she fumbled for a handkerchief.

"He is not. He will recover fully. You must believe this."

"I wish I could." She clenched her teeth, forcibly containing a sob.

"You are fatigued and distraught. Probably famished as well. When did you last eat?"

"I don't know. Breakfast, I think. I'm not hungry."

"But you must maintain your strength, or you will make yourself ill." He caught the eye of a waiter who flew the length of the room as if magnetized.

Once again almost resentfully marveling at the power of a Grewzian uniform, she watched while Karsler ordered a meal. The waiter withdrew and he turned back to her to request gently but quite firmly, "And now, if it does not too greatly distress you to speak of it, please tell me all that happened at Wolktretz Station."

Her tears had ceased and her voice was back under control. She told him everything, noting as she spoke that he listened with obvious concern, together with something stronger and deeper, perhaps anger or disgust; but no surprise-not a jot of surprise. Nothing she said seemed to strike him as unexpected, and for the first time, suspicion winged across her thoughts. She looked across the table at Karsler Stornzof, willing herself to disregard deceptive externals; she probed his eyes, scrupulously ignoring their color, and despite all mental reinforcements her suspicions died at once. She knew beyond question that this man had never raised a hand against Girays v'Alisante.

Yet there was something there. Karsler himself bore no guilt, but perhaps he knew who did. Into her mind popped the words he had spoken weeks ago in the midst of the Aveshquian monsoon, concerning his Uncle Ice Statue: Preferring to shorten the tedium of the journey, he has proceeded directly to Lis Folaze, where I shall meet him next. Preferring to shorten the tedium of the journey, he has proceeded directly to Lis Folaze, where I shall meet him next.

Lis Folaze. The Grandlandsman Torvid? Whatever his personal opinions, Karsler would never betray or incriminate his kinsman; the head of House Stornzof, no less.

The food arrived. Luzelle hardly noticed what was on her plate. She ate mechanically, without tasting, but the nourishment must have done her some good, for the sense of lachrymose weakness was pa.s.sing.

She looked up from her plate to meet Karsler's eyes. "It's not too late," she said. "I could still go back to Wolktretz."

"You could." He nodded. "But is that what v'Alisante would want? Do you think he would be altogether glad to see you? He would be honored no doubt, but would he not also mourn this destruction of your hopes on his account?" There was no answer, and he observed, "The end of the race is very near. Barring unforeseen obstacles, we shall reach Toltz the day after tomorrow. To the best of my knowledge, you and I presently share the lead, and your chance of victory is real. Will you throw it away now?"

The day after tomorrow. As close as that, and it would all be over. Karsler's point was well taken, it would make no sense and do no good to give up now.

"You and I share the lead." She did not answer his question directly. "Do the rules of the Grand Ellipse include provision for a tie?"

"I do not know. You point out an interesting possibility, however. We two shall board the southbound train together in a few hours' time. We shall change trains in Tophzenk, and the following day step forth onto the platform in Toltz. After that, whoever is first to cover the short distance between the railroad station and the city hall will win the race. It will be a very close thing indeed-but not quite a dead heat, I think."

"Astonishing, isn't it? After all this time, all this distance, all this desperate effort-that it should all boil down in the end to a brief dash through a few city streets, to get back to where we began? I suspect there must be something philosophical in that, somewhere."

"You are beginning to feel better, are you not?"

"Yes. You were right, the food is helping. You were right about finishing the race, too. I wish I could undo what happened in Wolktretz, and other places, but chucking the Grand Ellipse two days from the finish isn't the way to atone."

"You have nothing to atone for. It is the hand and mind behind the poisoned meal that bear the guilt. The hand fouled with crime; the mind barren of moral sense, devoid of honor-"

Luzelle glanced at him in surprise. Karsler might almost have been talking to himself, blue gaze turned inward upon manifestly unpleasant visions. She reached across the table and touched his hand lightly. "Karsler, won't you tell me what is it that you-"

The entrance of a Grewzian military squad cut her query short. Falling silent at sight of the half-dozen soldiers, Luzelle tensed despite Karsler Stornzof's rea.s.suring proximity. She had nothing to fear from the Grewzians so long as she was with him. And the greycoats had probably just come in for a harmless late drink, anyway. Nevertheless her mouth was a little dry, her heartbeat a little quick. Her eyes roamed the common room and she saw that every other patron had fallen similarly silent.

The voice of the Grewzian captain was effortlessly audible as he commanded, "Master Klec Stiesoldt, stand forth."

All eyes shifted to the kitchen door, where the innkeeper stood conferring with the cook. Stiesoldt stood stock-still for a moment, eyes wide and guileless as a frightened child's. He swallowed visibly, stepped forward, and said, "Here."

The captain crooked a finger. "Come."

A brace of customers occupying a table at the front of the room rose and made for the exit. Two soldiers moved to block the doorway, and the customers quietly returned to their seats.

Klec Stiesoldt advanced as if to execution. Halting before the captain, he inquired palely, "May I serve you, sir?"

"Easily enough," the officer returned in practiced Hetzian. "We are told you are a loyal citizen. I trust these reports are accurate?"

"I am a good Hetzian, sir."

"Willing to serve your country?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. And you understand, do you not, that the interests of Upper Hetzia and her allies of the Grewzian Imperium coincide?"

"That's as may be, sir."

"The Imperium has need of your talents."

"I have no talents, sir. Unless the Imperium has need of a good innkeeper."

"You jest, Master Stiesoldt?"

"Not I, sir."

"Then your modesty is excessive, for it has come to our notice that you are quite the local celebrity."

"Many people know me, sir. The Three Beggars offers generous measures and a good table."