A silence fell. Occula, having waited for Genshed's reply long enough to make it clear that there would be none, turned her back on him. The candle, already burned low, began to gutter.

"Right," said the girl at length, "Megdon, will you please bring two fresh candles into my room? As for you-whatever your name is-I could make you wash this girl and clean her up, only she wouldn't care to be touched by a disgustin' worm like you; so I'll just oblige you and do it myself. Go and get me some hot water with herbs in it, and a clean towel. And doan' be long, either."

"Fire's out," muttered Genshed. "Middle of the night, ennit?"

"Then light it again, baste you," replied the black girl, without turning round. "And you, banzi," she said, turning to Maia with a sudden flash of white teeth, "you'd better come in next door with me; come on!"

She held out a pale-palmed hand. Maia, hardly knowing what she did, grasped it and went where she was led.

7: A FRIEND IN NEED

The room across the passage-what little Maia could see of it in the candlelight and her own shocked and exhausted condition-was larger than the one she had left, as was the bed. There were two or three stools, and near the door a small wooden chest with two bronze handles and some lettering branded over the lid. Occula, releasing Maia's hand, ran her own forefinger over the first two or three characters.

"Can you read, banzi?" she asked.

Maia shook her head. "Precious little. Can you?"

"Sort of," answered the black girl. "Anyway, that's my name. Old Domris gave me this, for my clothes an' things, 'fore I left Thettit-Tonilda. You can put your own things in it if you like. There's enough room."

Before Maia could reply, Megdon came in with two fresh candles, a towel and a wooden pail, the steam from which gave off a pleasantly herbal smell.

"Didn' I tell that other bastard he was to bring the hot water?" asked Occula.

Megdon, lighting the new candles from the other burning by the bed, shrugged his shoulders.

"I shouldn't push it too far, Occula, if I were you. He's a very funny lad, is Genshed. You get them in this business, you know."

The girl shrugged her shoulders. "He'll be a lot funnier when I've finished, tell you that. I'm goin' to speak to Lalloc as soon as I get to Bekla."

"D'you know Lalloc?" replied Megdon, grinning. "Ever met him?"

Occula, without replying, opened the chest and took out a sheet of reed-paper, which she held up for a moment before putting it back and closing the lid.

"See that?" she said. "That's a letter from Domris to

Lalloc; as well as her bill for me. Doan' you start thinkin' Lalloc woan' listen to me, because he will. Your friend Genshed's as good as out."

"But why, Occula?" asked Megdon. "This young girl doesn't belong to anyone yet. Far as I can make out she's some sort of lucky dip. I didn't even know she was here until you started the row."

"I started the row?" retorted Occula, rising to her feet and turning to face him. "Some lout of yours goes in for rapin' stock-in-trade and you say I started the row? I doan' give a baste how you came by her: once the likes of him start rapin' stock, there's not a girl's goin' to be safe. You know Lalloc's rules as well as I do. A little banzi like that, knows nothin', never seen anythin'-what good's she goin' to be to Lalloc or anyone else when your friend Genshed's finished with her? You're a damn' fool, Megdon. Go back to bed. And doan' wake me in the mornin'. I'll come down when I'm ready."

As soon as the man had gone Occula threw back her cloak, knelt beside the pail and dipped one end of the towel in the steaming water.

"Come on, banzi," she said. "Sit on this stool; and lean forward, so I can get at those shoulders and arms. Who knows where that bastard's filthy knife has been?"

Her hands were surprisingly gentle. None of the scratches and pricks was deep, though one continued to bleed despite repeated stanching with the towel.

"Leave it," said Occula at length. "It'll clean out the cut, and we can see to it in the mornin'. Doesn' hurt much, does it?"

Maia smiled faintly. "Not now. You've been-oh, thank you for what you've done! I don't know what I-"

"So now we can both get back to sleep," interrupted the black girl, carrying the pail into the further corner of the room."This bed's big enough for two." she grinned. "You used to someone else in bed?"

Maia grinned back. "My little sister."

"What a shame!" replied Occula unexpectedly. "You poor banzi! Well, you can tell me all about it tomorrow."

She waited as Maia climbed into the bed and then, blowing out the candles, got in on the other side. Maia was

asleep almost as soon as her companion had settled herself beside her.

Often, when we have fallen asleep in an unaccustomed place, we wake in the momentary belief that we are back at home, or wherever we have recently been used to sleeping, so that we have to suffer the initial grief of disillusion even before trying to face up to whatever trouble, known or unknown, the coming day may have in store. This, however, Maia was spared. Waking smoothly from several hours of profound sleep, the first thing she saw was Oc-cula's brown arm lying across the pillow. At once she recalled where she was and all that had happened the previous day.

For a little while she lay still, watching the black girl's face and the rise and fall of her breathing. Her lashes, under the silvered lids, were very long and thick and her hair, like none that Maia had ever seen, curled close about her head like some miraculous cap. Seeing her now, in repose and daylight, Maia felt that although she was certainly not what most people would have called beautiful, her appearance was so unusual and striking that the question scarcely applied. Suppose, she thought, that somewhere in the world there was a race of people who'd never seen a cat. Then if a cat was to appear, they wouldn't hardly stop to argue about whether or not it was beautiful, would they? Everyone would want to look at it and touch it-yes, and keep it for themselves, too, if they could.

Who was this strange girl, and what was she doing here? Was she going to sell fine clothes in rich Tonildan houses? Yet she had spoken of arriving in Bekla. Little as Maia had really taken in of her scalding words to Genshed, she remembered that. The girl had been very kind. Perhaps she would help her to return home?

It was still early-not long after dawn, as she could tell by the strength and lie of the light. Supping quietly out of bed, she stole across to the barred window.

The sun was out of sight to her left, but the late summer wilderness below her was already full of light; the tangled, dew-drenched grass glittering, the trees looped and netted with shadow, spiders' webs iridescent among the brambles. In the silence she could hear the intermittent murmuring

of a pigeon. The place, she could see, had once been a garden, for there were fruit-trees and rose-bushes half-buried in undergrowth, while further off a broken fountain stood in the center of its empty basin.

Half out of sight, beyond a grove of zoans, she could make out the ruins of a big house. Roofless it was, its stone walls streaked black with fire, weeds trailing from window-spaces that framed only the sky. Why then, she thought, this place where she had spent the night must indeed be the servants' quarters, or some such, of that house. She wondered how it had come to grief, and what might have befallen its lord and his followers when the flames roared up and the roof fell in. How long ago had it happened? Some time, by the look of the place.

How far was she from home? If it were not for these bars on the windows she would have risked jumping down into the long grass, found some way out and been off before anyone knew she was gone. She bent forward, trying to see what lay on either side of the window.