A hand fell on her shoulder and she started. Occula, wrapped in her red cloak, was standing behind her, yawning like a cat and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes together with what remained of the silver paint on her eyelids.

"Oh! You frightened me!" said Maia. "I didn't know you were awake."

"I'm not," replied the black girl, stretching her arms above her head. "Just walkin' in m' sleep." Again she put her hand on Maia's shoulder, caressing and stroking. "Want to come back to bed?"

Maia laughed. "I just want to get out of here, that's all. What's more, I'm going to, soon as I can: this very morning."

Occula frowned a moment, as though puzzled: then she looked up sharply. "You doan' mean-kill yourself? It's never that bad, you know, banzi. That little bastard woan' try anythin' again, believe you me."

"Kill myself?" answered Maia, puzzled in her turn. " 'Course not; why should you think that? I just mean I don't want to work for these people and I'm going back home."

"But how?"

"Well, very like I'll have to walk, but it can't be more than ten or twelve miles, I suppose."

Occula sat down on the nearest stool. For about a quarter

of a minute she remained looking down at the floor, tapping her knee with the fingers of one hand. At length she asked, "Banzi, do you know where you are and who these people are?"

"No, I don't," answered Maia, " 'ceptin' I don't like 'em."

"You'd better tell me how you come to be here. You talk and I'll listen."

Maia gave an account of what had happened the previous day, omitting only any mention of what had passed between herself and Tharrin.

"-so then, last night, I got up from the table, 'cos I was going to go straight out and start off back in the dark, see?" she concluded. "Only I was that done up, what with being in that cart and everything, I must 'a gone right off on the floor, 'cos next thing I remember's being woken up by that man and then you coming in."

Occula, taking both her hands in her own, looked gravely up at her from the stool.

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"Just a banzi. What's your name?"

"Maia. My mother's Morca. We live near Meerzat, up along the lake."

"Well, listen, Maia. I've got to tell you somethin' you doan' know-somethin' very bad, too. Are you ready for it?"

Maia stared. "What you mean, then?"

"Tell you what I mean. These men are slave-traders. They're employed by dealers in Bekla-mostly by a man called Lalloc. He buys and sells girls-and little boys too. And from what you've just told me, I'm certain as I can be that your mother sold you to them yesterday."

Like a great work of art, really bad news-enormous loss, ruin, disaster-takes time to make its full impact. Our first reaction is often almost idle, as though by trifling with the business we could reduce it, too, to triviality.

"What would she do that for?" asked Maia.

"You tell me," replied the black girl. " 'Cos that's what she did, and it's no good pretendin' she didn'; not if what you've told me's right. So what have you left out?"

Suddenly it dawned on Maia why Morca should have done it. Thereupon she felt like one who, having woken from sleep but still half-awake, realized that the dully-perceived

object swaying a foot or two from her head is in fact a deadly snake. All was clear on the instant: everything fitted. There was no way in which what had happened could be otherwise explained. Shuddering, she sank to the floor, burying her face in her hands and moaning.

"The pretty dress-that's an old trick to get a sight of a girl naked," went on Occula matter-of-factly. "They'd have been hidin' somewhere, of course, where they could watch you. And then she sent you off on some errand or other while they worked out the price. And what was in the wine, I wonder?-yours, of course; no one else's. Tes-sik, most likely. They'd not risk theltocama on a banzi like you-might 'a killed you. And the padded cart-well, some girls throw themselves about, you know, when they realize what's happened-bang their heads and so on."

Maia lay sobbing hysterically on the wooden boards. There was a knock and the door opened.

"Get out, Megdon," said Occula. "Go on, piss off."

"Brought your breakfast," said the man, in an injured tone. "Hot water, too. Don't you want it?"

"Yes, when I say," replied the girl. "Just leave the hot water and get out." The door closed.

Taking her stool over to the window, she sat looking out through the bars. At last she said, "Banzi, listen to me. I've seen a lot of girls this has happened to. I know what I'm talkin' about."

As Maia, prone on the floor, continued sobbing, she went across to her, turned her over bodily and then sitting down beside her, took her head in her lap. "Listen to me; because this may very well save your life, and I'm not jokin'. Save your fife! Understand this-from now on you're in danger; as much as a soldier on a battlefield. But if your mate-that's me-stands by you and if you can keep your head and make good use of what you've been taught- that's to say, what I'll teach you-you've got a good chance of stayin' alive."

Maia, with another burst of tears, tried to struggle from her arms.

"O Kantza-Merada give me patience!" cried the black girl, holding her down by force. "All right, you're not a bastin' soldier, then! But I've got to make you see it, banzi! How? How? Here-answer me-can you swim?"

The simple question penetrated Maia's hysteria.

"Yes."

"In the lake? You've always swum, have you? You swim well?"

When we are plunged in desperate trouble, often it affords some slight relief to give what we know to be the right answer to a question-any question-even one that seems to have no bearing on our misery. Perhaps this is due to superstition-in some unforeseeable way the answer, being correct, may help. Certainly it can do no harm, and the mere giving of it grants a little respite.

"I've swum three miles before now. Anything an otter can do, I can do it."

"Good," said Occula. "Well, now, banzi, understand this. You're out in deep water, and it's a bastin' long way to the land. Never mind how you got there. No good thinkin' about that now; that woan' keep you afloat. You're there, in the water, got it? What you goin' to do? Tell me, because I'm no swimmer."

"Take it steady," replied Maia without hesitation. "No good losing your head, start splashin' about; only wear yourself out, start swallowing water an' then very likely that's it."

"Anythin' else?"

"Well, say you're making for somewhere as you can see, you got to watch ahead-make out if you're drifting one way or t'other. Then you can alter according, see, with the drift."

"Fine! You've just given yourself better advice than ever I could. Now you just keep afloat and stop strugglin', because I'm goin' to tell you where we are. Right?"

Maia, biting her lip, stared at her.

"You're a. slave now," said Occula deliberately. "A slave bought and sold. You can't go home. If you try to escape, they've got ways of hurtin' you that doan' show. Now go on listenin' to me, because it's important. Tell me, where is this place, d'you know?"

"Puhra, isn't it?"

"Yes, about a mile outside Puhra. Ever heard of Senda-na-Say?"

Maia nodded. "He used to be High Baron of Bekla. He's dead, isn't he?"

"He was murdered by the Leopards nearly seven years ago. That out there-" she nodded towards the window- "that's what's left of one of his great houses. They burnt it, and most of his household, too. This used to be the

grooms' quarters, but after the big house was burned, Lal-loc and Mortuga and one or two more of the big slave-dealers in Bekla turned it into a sort of depot. They've got their agents out all over the eastern provinces, you see, and this makes a convenient collectin'-place for slaves being sent up to Bekla.