reach the roof. ‘Slay the Ubara!’ called a man, holding tarn reins, to Seremides. ‘Show thus your allegiance to Ar!’ Seremides drew his sword. But then the strangeness took place, which I doubt that you will believe.”
I addressed myself again to the broth.
“It could only have been the intervention of Priest-Kings,” she said.
I did not speak.
“There was a sudden darkness,” she said, “as though a dark cloud had suddenly enveloped the cylinder, or its roof. We cried out in consternation. Two of the tarns screamed and one broke away, in flight. ‘Where is the Ubara?’ cried Seremides. He seemed to be casting about. It could have been a moonless midnight, suddenly precipitated. I felt my robes seized, wildly, and sensed a blade at my cheek. ‘I am Flavia!’ I cried. ‘Flavia!’ I was thrust back down. Then there was a sudden blast of light, obliterating the darkness, blinding us, and it seemed, when we could see, that a large metal object, I think thick and circular, was disappearing in the distance.”
“And the Ubara?” I asked.
“Gone,” she said.
I have attained to the Second Knowledge, but this made little sense to me. It seemed obvious that such an ensuance could be explained, if at all, only in terms of a sky ship, and, such, if it existed, would presumably emanate from the Sardar, allegedly the abode of Priest-Kings. Her story was so untoward and bizarre I thought it not likely she would be lying. If it were a lie, it would be a most improbable lie. Too, such as she could be punished severely for lying. They are not free women, who may lie with impunity. Too, to such an event, there must have been a number of witnesses, not only on the roof, but in the sky, tarnsmen, others in cylinders and on bridges, the crowds in the street below, and such.
“When it became clear that Talena was gone,” she said, “Seremides and his men, finding their situation critical, took to desperate flight. I reached for the mounting ladder of Seremides’ tarn, but it was jerked away, and, in a moment, I was in the shadow of those great beating wings, the bird lifting itself, scarcely able to keep my footing, my robes and veils whipping about me, and then the monster was in flight, and Seremides, and his men, were streaking away, scattering, pursued by tarnsmen.”
“Did Seremides escape?” I asked.
“I do not know,” she said.
“How is it that you are here?” I asked. “How did you escape from Ar?”
“I found myself alone on the roof,” she said. “The other women, knowing themselves not so highly placed as I, the high confidante of the Ubara, and thus less likely to be borne to safety, and there being no tarn baskets, as noted, had fled the roof, descending into the cylinder to meet whatever fates might be theirs. I resolved to put into action a bold plan, one I had conceived as a last, fearful resort, if all seemed lost, to be executed before the upper levels of the cylinders were attained. I descended to my apartment, but two levels below. I summoned my five sandal slaves, ordered them into an open side compartment, and had them bind, gag, and blindfold one another, I attending to the last. They would not be able to see what I did, nor would they be able to speak, until relieved of their gags. I then went to a small panel in my chamber of couching, slid back the panel, and removed from it a tiny, secret chest, which I feverishly unlocked. Within this chest, as a last, desperate resort, I had placed a slave tunic and collar, the key to which I might conceal in the tunic’s hem. I shuddered to even touch such things, the garment tiny and flimsy, the collar light but so imminently practical and efficient, with its tiny, sturdy lock, which went at the back of the neck. I removed the small handful of jewels from my pouch, which treasure I had intended to bear with me in my escape, and concealed them, together with the collar key, within the tunic, in a specially prepared, interior sleeve. I
I addressed myself again to the broth.
“It could only have been the intervention of Priest-Kings,” she said.
I did not speak.
“There was a sudden darkness,” she said, “as though a dark cloud had suddenly enveloped the cylinder, or its roof. We cried out in consternation. Two of the tarns screamed and one broke away, in flight. ‘Where is the Ubara?’ cried Seremides. He seemed to be casting about. It could have been a moonless midnight, suddenly precipitated. I felt my robes seized, wildly, and sensed a blade at my cheek. ‘I am Flavia!’ I cried. ‘Flavia!’ I was thrust back down. Then there was a sudden blast of light, obliterating the darkness, blinding us, and it seemed, when we could see, that a large metal object, I think thick and circular, was disappearing in the distance.”
“And the Ubara?” I asked.
“Gone,” she said.
I have attained to the Second Knowledge, but this made little sense to me. It seemed obvious that such an ensuance could be explained, if at all, only in terms of a sky ship, and, such, if it existed, would presumably emanate from the Sardar, allegedly the abode of Priest-Kings. Her story was so untoward and bizarre I thought it not likely she would be lying. If it were a lie, it would be a most improbable lie. Too, such as she could be punished severely for lying. They are not free women, who may lie with impunity. Too, to such an event, there must have been a number of witnesses, not only on the roof, but in the sky, tarnsmen, others in cylinders and on bridges, the crowds in the street below, and such.
“When it became clear that Talena was gone,” she said, “Seremides and his men, finding their situation critical, took to desperate flight. I reached for the mounting ladder of Seremides’ tarn, but it was jerked away, and, in a moment, I was in the shadow of those great beating wings, the bird lifting itself, scarcely able to keep my footing, my robes and veils whipping about me, and then the monster was in flight, and Seremides, and his men, were streaking away, scattering, pursued by tarnsmen.”
“Did Seremides escape?” I asked.
“I do not know,” she said.
“How is it that you are here?” I asked. “How did you escape from Ar?”
“I found myself alone on the roof,” she said. “The other women, knowing themselves not so highly placed as I, the high confidante of the Ubara, and thus less likely to be borne to safety, and there being no tarn baskets, as noted, had fled the roof, descending into the cylinder to meet whatever fates might be theirs. I resolved to put into action a bold plan, one I had conceived as a last, fearful resort, if all seemed lost, to be executed before the upper levels of the cylinders were attained. I descended to my apartment, but two levels below. I summoned my five sandal slaves, ordered them into an open side compartment, and had them bind, gag, and blindfold one another, I attending to the last. They would not be able to see what I did, nor would they be able to speak, until relieved of their gags. I then went to a small panel in my chamber of couching, slid back the panel, and removed from it a tiny, secret chest, which I feverishly unlocked. Within this chest, as a last, desperate resort, I had placed a slave tunic and collar, the key to which I might conceal in the tunic’s hem. I shuddered to even touch such things, the garment tiny and flimsy, the collar light but so imminently practical and efficient, with its tiny, sturdy lock, which went at the back of the neck. I removed the small handful of jewels from my pouch, which treasure I had intended to bear with me in my escape, and concealed them, together with the collar key, within the tunic, in a specially prepared, interior sleeve. I
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