Inversions

"No, sir!" the guard shouted.

"Where is he?"

"Sir, he went to the harem, I think, sir! He said you need not be informed, sir!"

DeWar looked at the closed door for a moment. He began to turn and move away, then stopped. "When did he go there?"

"About a half-bell ago, sir!"

DeWar nodded, then moved away. At the corner, he started ru

The double doors to the three-domed receiving room slammed back against the walls on either side. There were a couple of concubines in the softly lit hall, talking to members of their families and sharing a light breakfast with them. All fell silent when the doors crashed open. The chief eunuch Stike sat like a sleepy white mountain in his pulpit raised near the middle of the room. His face cleared of sleep and his brows met and creased as the doors swung slowly back from their twi

"No!" bellowed the chief eunuch. He rose and started to wobble down the steps.

DeWar reached the harem doors, wrenching at them. They were locked. Stike came lurching over the floor towards him, wagging his finger. "No, Mr DeWar!" he cried. "You do not go in there! Not ever, in any event, but especially not when the Protector himself is in there!"

DeWar looked at the two guards who had followed him. "Hold him," he told them. Stike screamed as they tried to take hold of him. The eunuch was surprisingly strong, and each of his legthick arms knocked over the guards once each before they could secure him. He cried out for help as DeWar tore at his white robes, looking for and finding the set of keys he knew was there. He cut the keys from the struggling giant's belt, tried one, then another, before the third key slipped in and turned and the doors opened.

"No!" wailed Stike, almost pulling himself free from the two guards. DeWar looked around quickly, but there was nobody else who could help. He pulled the key out and took the full set with him as he entered the i

DeWar had never been here before. He had, however, looked at the layout of the place on drawings, so knew where he was, even if he did not know where UrLeyn was.

He ran down a short corridor to another set of doors, Stike's anguished cries and entreaties still ringing in his ears. There was a round internal courtyard beyond, gently lit by a single translucent dome of plaster high above. The glowing space rose on three colo

"The lady Perrund," DeWar said quickly. "The Protector."

The eunuch stared as though hypnotised at the tip of the sword, for all that it was a couple of strides away from him. He raised one shaking hand towards the pale dome above.

"They are in," he said in a quiet, shaking whisper, "the top-most level, sir, in the small court."

DeWar looked around and saw the stairs. He ran for them, then in a spiral up them, to the top. There were ten or so doors arranged all around the highest level, but across the well of the courtyard he could see a wider entrance which formed a truncated corridor with double doors at its end. He ran, breathing hard now, round the gallery to the short hallway and the twi

He found himself in another domed internal courtyard. This one had but a single level, and the columns supporting the roof and the translucent plaster dome were of a more delicate turn than those in the main court. There was a fountain and a pool in the centre of this yard too, which at first sight appeared to be deserted. The fountain was in the shape of three intertwined maidens, delicately sculpted from pure white marble. DeWar sensed movement behind the pale carvings of the fountain. Behind this, on the far side of the court, beyond the columns, one door lay ajar.

The fountain splashed, tinkling. It was the only sound in the wide, circular space. Shadows moved on the polished marble of the floor, near the fountain. DeWar glanced behind him, then walked forward and round.

The lady Perrund knelt before the fountain's raised pool, washing her hands slowly and methodically. Her good hand massaged and wiped at the wasted hand, which lay floating just under the surface of the water like the limb of a drowned child.

She was dressed in a thin gown of red. It was semitransparent, and the light from the glowing plaster dome above fell down across her dishevelled blonde hair and picked out her shoulders, breasts and hips within the gauzy material. She did not look up when DeWar appeared round the side of the fountain. Instead she concentrated on washing her hands, until she was satisfied. She lifted the wasted limb out of the water and placed it gently by her side, where it hung, limp and thin and pale. She rolled the flimsy red sleeve down over it. Then she looked slowly round and up at DeWar, who had approached to within a few steps, his face pale and terrible and full of fear.

Still she did not say a word, but looked slowly round at the door which lay open behind her, opposite the double doors through which DeWar had entered.

DeWar moved quickly. He pushed the door open with the pommel of his sword and looked into the room. He stood there for some time. He backed away, until his shoulder hit one of the columns supporting the roof of the room. The sword hung loose in his hand. His head lowered until his chin rested on the white shirt over his chest.

Perrund watched him for a moment, then turned away. Still kneeling, she dried her hands as best she could on her thin gown, looking at the rim of the fountain's bowl, a hand or so in front of her eyes.

Suddenly DeWar was at her side, standing by her wasted arm, his bare feet by her calf. The sword came slowly down to rest on the marble rim of the fountain's bowl, then slid with a grating noise near to her nose. It dipped, and the blade went under her chin. The metal was cold on her skin. A gentle pressure lifted her face until she was looking up at him. The sword remained pressed against her throat, cold and thin and sharp.

"Why?" he asked her. There were, she saw, tears in his eyes.

"Revenge, DeWar," she said quietly. She had thought that if she could speak at all, her voice would quiver and shake and quickly break and leave her sobbing, but her voice was steady and unstrained.

"For what?"

"For killing me, and my family, and for raping my mother and my sisters." She thought her own voice sounded much less affected than DeWar's. She sounded reasonable, almost unconcerned, she thought.

He stood looking down at her, his face wet with tears. His chest was coming and going inside the loosely tucked and still unbuttoned shirt. The sword at her throat, she noticed, did not move.

"The King's men," he said, his voice catching. The tears continued to stream.

She wanted to shake her head, though she was worried that the slightest movement would cut her skin. But then he would be doing that soon enough anyway, if she was lucky, she thought, and so, tentatively, she did shake her head. The pressure of the sword blade across her throat did not waver, but she avoided cutting herself.

"No, DeWar. Not the King's men. His men. Him. His people. He and his cronies, those closest to him."