She looked back, with a sudden frightened pity. “I … I … don’t know why you’re doing this, my lady, but thanks– What’s going to happen to Uncle Homir?”
“I don’t know,” wailed the other. “Can’t you leave? Go straight to the spaceport. Don’t wait. He may be looking for you this very minute.”
And still Arcadia lingered. She would be leaving Homir; and, belatedly, now that she felt the free air about her, she was suspicious. “But what do you care if he does?”
Lady Callia bit her lower lip and muttered, “I can’t explain to a little girl like you. It would be improper. Well, you’ll be growing up and I … I met Poochie when I was sixteen. I can’t have you about, you know.” There was a half-ashamed hostility in her eyes.
The implications froze Arcadia. She whispered: “What will he do to you when he finds out?”
And she whimpered back: “I don’t know,” and threw her arm to her head as she left at a half-run, back along the wide way to the mansion of the Lord of Kalgan.
But for one eternal second, Arcadia still did not move, for in that last moment before Lady Callia left, Arcadia had seen something. Those frightened, frantic eyes had momentarily – flashingly – lit up with a cold amusement.
A vast, inhuman amusement.
It was much to see in such a quick flicker of a pair of eyes, but Arcadia had no doubt of what she saw.
She was running now – running wildly – searching madly for an unoccupied public booth at which one could press a button for public conveyance.
She was not running from Lord Stettin; not from him or from all the human hounds he could place at her heels – not from all his twenty-seven worlds rolled into a single gigantic phenomenon, hallooing at her shadow.
She was running from a single, frail woman who had helped her escape. From a creature who had loaded her with money and jewels; who had risked her own life to save her. From an entity she knew, certainly and finally, to be a woman of the Second Foundation.
An air-taxi came to a soft clicking halt in the cradle. The wind of its coming brushed against Arcadia’s face and stirred at the hair beneath the softly-furred hood Callia had given her.
“Where’ll it be, lady?”
She fought desperately to low-pitch her voice to make it not that of a child. “How many spaceports in the city?”
“Two. Which one ya want?”
“Which is closer?”
He stared at her: “Kalgan Central, lady.”
“The other one, please. I’ve got the money.” She had a twenty-Kalganid note in her hand. The denomination of the note made little difference to her, but the taxi-man grinned appreciatively.
“Anything ya say, lady. Sky-line cabs take ya anywhere.”
She cooled her cheek against the slightly musty upholstery. The lights of the city moved leisurely below her.
What should she do? What should she do?
It was in that moment that she knew she was a stupid, stupid little girl, away from her father, and frightened. Her eyes were full of tears, and deep down in her throat, there was a small, soundless cry that hurt her insides.
She wasn’t afraid that Lord Stettin would catch her. Lady Callia would see to that. Lady Callia! Old, fat, stupid, but she held on to her lord, somehow. Oh, it was clear enough, now. Everything was clear.
That tea with Callia at which she had been so smart. Clever little Arcadia! Something inside Arcadia choked and hated itself. That tea had been maneuvered, and then Stettin had probably been maneuvered so that Homir was allowed to inspect the Palace after all. She, the foolish Callia, has wanted it so, and arranged to have smart little Arcadia supply a foolproof excuse, one which would arouse no suspicions in the minds of the victims, and yet involve a minimum of interference on her part.
Then why was she free? Homir was a prisoner, of course–
Unless–
Unless she went back to the Foundation as a decoy – a decoy to lead others into the hands of … of them.