The 22 Letters by Richard; Clive; Kennedy King Page B

“Same orders,” and the soldier marched away. Beth looked at the relief guard. It was the handsome young man who had let her in before. She waited until the first soldier was out of sight, then she went slowly up to the other. She did not bother to wipe the tears of frustration out of her eyes, but looked up at the soldier.
    â€œGood morning, Sergeant,” she said. She knew he was not a sergeant.
    â€œHullo, girl,” said the soldier.
    â€œI am the servant of Resh, the overseer.”
    â€œHe knows how to pick them, then. What’s your name?”
    Quickly she thought for a name. “Aina,” she said. “I am a slave, a captive. But I was not a slave in my own country.”
    â€œYou don’t look like one,” said the soldier gallantly.
    â€œI must see my master,” said Beth.
    â€œImpossible,” said the soldier. “No one’s allowed in. Special orders.”
    Beth was going to ask “Why?” but decided against arguing. Instead she turned away sorrowfully. “They will beat me if I don’t carry out my errand,” she said.
    The soldier looked uncomfortable. “They flog me, too, if I disobey orders.”
    Beth turned back quickly. “Oh no!” she exclaimed. “Would they? Then I must go away. It is better for me to be beaten than you.”
    The young soldier had been made to appear less than heroic. “I’m not afraid what they’ll do to me,” he said. “Look, maybe there’s no harm in you just nipping in and out again. I’ll take the responsibility,” he added proudly.
    Beth gave him a look of gratitude and admiration. “Oh, thank you, Captain,” she said. “You are kind,” and leaving him a smile, she darted past before he could change his mind. That worked, too, she thought to herself, pleased with the success of her wiles, though what her father would have said …!
    Things in the palace yard seemed quieter than they had been last time. The gangs of laborers were not there. The great stone had been set up on end and there was a handful of men working on it, perched on wooden scaffolding. Beth crept closer to see what they were doing. There was no clanging of heavy stone-mason’s tools now, only a tapping and tinkling of little hammers and fine chisels. The men who were working were not muscular slaves but priestly looking men with intent faces. On one surface of the stone an elderly man was working with a pen and black ink. On the other sides, men were following the outlines he had made, cutting them into the stone. Beth stared, fascinated: there were birds and bees and beetles, snakes and fishes, little men walking and kneeling, and other signs which meant nothing to her, all neatly arranged in lines and columns. How she wished she could join them, and pass the time usefully drawing little creatures! But she knew that was impossible: this was the sacred writing of the priests, the secret of kings and gods. Aleph might learn it some day, if he was still alive. But she never could.
    The men went on working without speaking or looking up. But as she stood there one of them dropped his mallet, almost at her feet. Without thinking, she picked it up and handed it back. The man muttered a word of thanks, then gave her a look of outraged astonishment. He had not expected to see a girl there, Beth thought. She glided away as quickly as she could without attracting any more attention.
    She could not see her father anywhere; indeed, the whole place seemed strangely deserted. The paved court, too, looked as if it had been swept and tidied for some important occasion. And what was that great square object, standing half in the shadow of the wall, half in the dazzling noonday sun, wrapped and swathed in heavy cloth?
    Beth heard measured footsteps approaching round a corner. Suddenly afraid, she ran and hid behind the swaddled Thing that stood against the wall, pulling a loose corner of the