Now he recollected that he had ordered the unconscious girl to be placed in the next room. He pushed open the door and entered. Simeon was in the room, standing by the bed, which was underneath the window, and cutting the spider silk from the girl’s body with a huge pair of scissors whose blades must have been over a foot long. As the snapping steel reached her feet, Simeon pulled open the silk with a jerk. The girl was not wearing shoes, and Niall observed that there were marks around her ankles, as if they had been tied. He asked Simeon: “What are those?” and Simeon shook his head and said: “Damned if I know.” The phrase was quite uncharacteristic of Simeon, reminding Niall that this was a dream.
And now, to Niall’s surprise, Simeon began cutting off the slave uniform, starting at the top near the neck. The big shears sliced through the coarse gray cloth until they reached the bottom of the garment, which fell apart, revealing that she was naked underneath. The first thing that struck Niall was that her body was unusually pale, and that faint blue veins showed in the skin of her thighs, which were delicately curved. But he was puzzled by fragments of some brown substance that was sticking to the small, flat breasts; there were also traces of it on her belly and thighs. Niall reached out and peeled off one of the larger pieces; it was dry, like a fragment of leaf mold.
He looked down at the sleeping face. “I wonder what she’s called?”
“Charis.”
“How do you know?”
Simeon made the curious reply: “It’s written on her heart.”
A sound from the street drew Niall’s attention, and he looked out the window. In the square below, a gang of workmen led by the overseer Dion were pulling a large cart on which there was a wooden packing case; he recognized it as being one of those from the corner of the warehouse. He turned to Simeon. “One of your cases has arrived.” Simeon looked out the window and said with enthusiasm: “Good! Let’s go and unpack it.” Niall asked: “What are you expecting to find?” “What does it matter? It’s sure to be interesting.” He pulled the bedclothes up over the naked girl, and hurried to the door. As they stepped into the corridor, Niall turned the key in the door and dropped it into his pocket. Simeon looked surprised. “Why lock the door? She won’t escape.” Niall lowered his voice. “I don’t trust Jarita any more than I trust Skorbo.” At that moment he glanced toward his own chamber and saw that Jarita was, in fact, looking through the partly open door. His certainty that she must have overheard made him feel guilty and apologetic. Then, to his surprise, she wrinkled her nose at him and stuck out her tongue. He was so startled that he woke up.
The sun was shining through the half-closed curtains; from its position on the wall he guessed that it was about seven o’clock. From outside he could hear the sound of birds. It was then that he realized that he was lying with his left arm on the coverlet of the bed, and his right hand under the pillow, just as he had seen himself in his dream. The realization startled him; he usually slept on his left side or his right. Was it possible that the strange dream contained some element of reality?
He yawned and stretched, then climbed out of bed. He winced when he accidentally touched the red spot in the middle of his chest — the bruise caused by the thought mirror during his encounter with the bull spider; the skin was peeling from it, as if it had been subjected to intense sunburn. It made him aware that a certain feeling of weariness still lingered in his muscles. He slipped into the sheepskin mantle that he used as a dressing gown and went out into the corridor, closing the door quietly behind him in case he woke Jarita, who slept in the next room. On the other side of his chamber was the room to which the girl had been taken. As he reached out to the handle, he noticed that the brass key in the keyhole was the same key he had seen in his dream.
But the room itself was different. It contained more furniture, and the bed was against the right-hand wall, not under the window. He half-expected to find Simeon there, and felt oddly relieved to find it empty. Even now, his tiredness created a faintly dreamlike sensation, so that for an absurd moment he found himself wondering if he was still asleep.
The girl was lying on the bed; she had been covered with a blanket that left only her face visible. When Niall pulled this back, he saw that she was still encased in a cocoon of spider silk. Her breathing was scarcely visible, and when he touched her forehead the flesh felt cold. As he looked down at her, he experienced again the sensation of his dream — a feeling of being on the verge of some interesting discovery. Like an empty house, her sleeping mind seemed to invite him to investigate its secrets. Yet even as he placed his hand on her cold forehead, he experienced an oddly uncomfortable sensation as if he was being observed.
He crossed to the window, which was closed — in the dream, it had been open. It cost some effort to open it — the brass screw that controlled the sliding opener was thick with dust and the hinges were rusty. But even before he forced it open, he was aware that the dream had been incorrect in another particular: the view from this window was not of the square, but of an empty building next door.
When he pushed open the casement to its limit, a small portion of the square in front of the palace became visible. He breathed deeply, enjoying a fresh breeze. As he did so, he heard voices in the square and the sound of laughter. Suddenly, he knew with absolute certainly what he was going to see next. A moment later, four men came into view, dragging a baggage cart by the shafts. Then, as the cart itself became visible, he saw that it contained one of the large packing cases from the warehouse. Another four men were pushing from behind, and the overseer Dion was walking beside it. For a moment, the dreamlike sensation intensified, and he shook his head to get rid of it, pulling the sheepskin closer round his throat.
The door behind him opened; Jarita stood there in her night clothes — a knee-length tunic of thin cotton-like material. She looked embarrassed to find him there.
“Is my lord ready for his bath?” She spoke with eyes on the ground, but Niall observed that she had stolen a glance toward the bed. He was glad that the girl was covered with the blanket.
“Yes, in a moment.” He spoke curtly, vaguely annoyed that she had interrupted him. She withdrew in silence.
The square was now empty; at this time of the morning, there were few people about. Jarita’s interruption had somehow destroyed the curious sense of anticipation. After another glance at the unconscious girl, he realized that the desire to probe her mind had evaporated. As he closed the door behind him, he turned the key in the lock and dropped it into his pocket.
Niall’s bathroom was less elaborate than the equivalent room in Kazak’s palace, in which the circular bath was tiled with white porcelain, and was the size of a small swimming pool. This bath was a square stone tub, about six feet wide, sunk into the floor; a furnace underneath kept it perpetually warm. Neither was the water in this tub scented; to the bafflement of his womenfolk, Niall preferred plain water.
As he descended slowly into the water — which was a little too hot for comfort — Jarita came in with bath towels. She placed them on a wooden bench, then stood waiting. He knew she was hoping to be asked to join him in the water, but he wanted to be alone.
“Shall I bring the oil of roses, my lord?”
“No, thank you.”
When the door had closed behind her, he sat down in the warm water — it came up to his shoulders — and leaned back against the wall of the tub. Then, in the relaxation that followed, he set out to recall his dream. Unlike most dreams, this one had not faded, and he was able to go over it step by step, from the moment he had found himself standing outside the palace in the falling snow. The sensation of floating up the stairs had been quite clear; so had the curious experience of standing and looking down at his own body as it lay asleep. This struck him as oddly significant, yet he was unable to understand why. He also recollected the size of the pair of scissors that Simeon had used to cut off the girl’s clothes; they were so large that they seemed almost comic. But when he recalled standing at the window, and watching the baggage cart go past, he remembered that there had been no snow on the ground. That seemed to prove that it was nothing more than a dream. In which case, what was the significance of its strange symbolism? What were the brown, leaflike fragments on the girl’s body? Why had Simeon said that her name was written on her heart? (He tried hard to recollect her name, but was unable to do so.) And why had he told Simeon that he would not trust Jarita any more than Skorbo? This seemed typical of the stupid, irrational statements made in dreams. Yet although the whole thing had the absurdity of a dream, he still felt that it concealed some deeper meaning.