The Watched

V

More petals had appeared in the cell in his absence. Ordier brushed them away from the slit with his fingers, then turned his binoculars towards the Qataari camp, which lay on the far side of the shallow valley. On this day, as on all days, the high screens surrounding it were drawn tightly together. The breeze was stirring them, and great slow ripples moved laterally across the canvas blinds. His glasses did not have the necessary magnification, but Ordier nevertheless felt a sense of intrigue, hoping that the wind would momentarily lift the skirt of screens so that he might glimpse what lay behind. In front of the camp, spreading across the floor of the valley, was the plantation of Qataari roses: a sea of scarlet and pink and green. So closely were the bushes planted that from this elevation Ordier could see the yellow, clayey soil only at the edge of the plantation. He stared for a few minutes, relishing the privilege he was stealing. It was the workers in the rose plantation he had first watched from this cell. Last night, listening to the dinner conversation, he had heard Parren speak of the possibility of seeing the Qataari at work in the roses; remembering his own excitement of discovery, Ordier had for the first and only time felt a trace of sympathy with the man. There was a small group of Qataari men standing amongst the roses and talking volubly. After a while, two of them walked away and picked up large panniers. They walked slowly between the rosebushes, plucking the largest, reddest flowers. They were quite unaware of his silent watching. Ordier found this undetected intrusion into the Qataari privacy to be deeply exciting and satisfying. The weeks he had been spying on the Qataari had taught him to be systematic, and Ordier looked with the binoculars at each of the rose-pickers in turn. Many of them were women, and it was at these he looked most carefully. There was one woman in particular he was seeking; she had been amongst the rose-pickers the first time he noticed her. He knew her, quite simply, as the one. He had never given her a name, not even a familiar one as shorthand for his recognition of her. She did remind him, in some ways, of Jenessa, but with the abundant opportunities he had had to watch her he now acknowledged that whatever similarities he had once discerned were the product of guilt. She was younger than Jenessa, taller, undeniably more beautiful. Where Jenessa was dark in hair and complexion, with an attractive combination of sensuality and intelligence, the Qataari woman, the Qataari girl, had fragility and vulnerability trapped in the body of a sexually mature woman. Sometimes, when she was near the folly, Ordier had seen a captivating expression in her eyes: knowingness and hesitation, invitation and wariness. Her hair was golden, her skin was pale; she had the classic proportions of the Qataari ideal. She was, for Ordier, the embodiment of Vaskarreta’s avenging victim. And Jenessa was real, Jenessa was available. The Qataari girl was remote and forbidden, forever inaccessible to him. When he had made sure the girl was not in the rose plantation, Ordier lowered the binoculars and leaned forward until his forehead was pressing against the rough rock slab, placing his eyes as near as possible. He looked down toward the arena the Qataari had built at the foot of the folly wall, and saw her at once. She was standing near one of the twelve hollow metal statues that surrounded the leveled area. She was not alone—she was never alone—and the others, although apparently paying little attention to her, were circling her. They were tidying up and preparing the arena: the statues were being cleaned and polished, the gravelly soil of the arena floor was being swept, and handfuls of the Qataari rose-petals were being scattered in all directions. The girl was watching this. She was dressed as usual in red: a long, enfolding garment that lay loosely and bulkily on her body like a toga, but which was made up of many different panels of fabric, lying one on top of the other. Silently, slowly, Ordier raised the binoculars to his eyes, and focused them on her face. The magnification at once lent him the illusion that he was nearer to her, and as a consequence, he felt much more exposed to her. Seeing her as closely as this, Ordier noticed at once that the garment was tied loosely at the neck, and was slipping down on one side. He could see the curve of her shoulder, and just beneath it the first hint of the rise of her breast; if she moved quickly, or leaned forward, the garment would fall away to expose her. He stared at her, transfixed by her unconscious sexuality. There was no noticeable signal for the beginning of the ritual; the preparations led imperceptibly to the first movements of the ceremony. The two women scattering the rose petals turned from casting them across the sandy floor to throwing them over the girl. Twelve of the men, until then apparently still cleaning the statuary, pulled open the hinged backs of each figure and took up their places inside, and the remaining men began to circle the arena as the girl stepped forward to take her place at the center.

This much was familiar to Ordier; soon the chanting would begin. Each time he saw this ritual unfold, Ordier was aware that it had been minimally advanced from the time before. Each time there was a renewed sense of the dual possibilities of the girl’s sexual role. The chanting began: soft and low, inharmonious. The girl turned slowly where she stood, her garment swinging about her limbs: it slipped lower on her shoulder, and as the panels lifted Ordier saw glimpses of ankle, elbow, stomach, hip, and he knew she was naked beneath it. As she turned she was looking intently at each man in the circle, as if trying to select one. More petals were thrown, and as the girl turned in the arena her feet trampled and crushed them. Ordier fancied he could smell them from where he stood, although he knew that the fragrance probably came from the petals he had found in the cell. The next stage was also one Ordier had witnessed before. One of the women who had been throwing the petals suddenly tossed aside her basket and stepped directly toward the girl. As she stood before her, she raised her hands to her bodice and pulled aside the cloth to bare her own breasts. She thrust out her chest. The girl responded by raising her hands to her chest and running them tentatively and exploratively across herself. She had at once the innocence of an adolescent and the sensuality of a woman. No sooner had her hands cupped her breasts through the fabric of the toga than one of the men left the others and ran into the arena. He knocked aside the woman with the bared breasts, and she fell across the ground. He turned, and went back to his place in the circle. The woman got to her feet, closed her bodice, and found her basket and threw more petals. A few minutes later the whole incident was repeated when the second woman went forward to the girl. Ordier watched this happen seven or eight times, wondering, as he always wondered, where it was to lead. He was impatient for a further development, because apart from his having had the briefest glimpses of the girl’s naked body accidentally revealed on occasions in the past, the ceremony had never proceeded beyond this. He lowered his binoculars and leaned forward again, watching the whole scene. He was obsessed with the girl; in his fantasies he imagined that this ceremony took place here, beneath the wall of his folly, for his own exclusive benefit… that the girl was being readied in some mysterious way for him alone. But those were the fantasies of solitude; when he was here, watching the Qataari ritual, he was always aware of his role as secret intruder on their world, an observer as incapable of affecting the proceedings as the girl herself seemed to be. Ordier’s passivity, though, went only so far as a lack of direct action; in another way he became deeply involved, because as he watched he always became sexually aroused. He could feel the tightness in his groin, the swelling of physical excitement. Suddenly the girl moved, and Ordier’s attention returned. As one of the women went across to her, already pulling at the strings of her bodice, the girl moved to meet her, snatching at one of the long panels of her toga. The woman cried out, and her large, sagging breasts swung into view… and simultaneously the girl tore her own garment at the front, and let the cloth fall from her hands. Ordier, looking again through his binoculars, saw an infuriatingly brief glimpse of the nakedness beneath, but then the girl turned away and her voluminous garment swung across her. She took two steps, stumbled, and fell forward, lying across the place where the rose petals lay deepest. At this, one of the men went into the arena, brushed the woman aside, and stood over the girl. He prodded her with his foot, then pushed her, turning her over on to her back.

She appeared to be unconscious. The toga was in disarray, riding up her legs. Where she had torn part of it away a strip of diagonal nudity was revealed. It ran between her breasts, across her stomach, across one hip. Through his binoculars Ordier could see the aureole of one nipple, and a few strands of pubic hair. The man stood over her, half crouching, rubbing his hands across his genitals. And Ordier watched, surrendering to the exquisite excitement of sexual pleasure. As he came to physical climax, releasing wetly into his trousers, he saw through the shaking lenses of the binoculars that the girl had opened her eyes, and was staring upward with a dazed, delirious expression. She seemed to be looking directly at him… and Ordier moved back from the crack in the wall, ashamed and embarrassed.

Two days later, Jacj and Luovi Parren came to Ordier’s house in the early morning, and after they had shared a token breakfast, the two men set off toward the ridge, leaving Jenessa to entertain Luovi. As Ordier had suggested to him the day before, Parren had equipped himself with stout boots and old clothing. They climbed roped together, but even so Parren slipped before they had gone very far. He slithered down the crumbling face of a huge boulder, brought up short as Ordier took his weight on the rope. Ordier secured the rope, then scrambled down to him. The portly little man had regained his feet, and was looking ruefully at

grazes on his arm and leg, showing through the torn cloth. “Do you want to go on?” Ordier said. “Of course. It’s not serious.” But the challenge of the climb seemed to have receded, if only temporarily, for he was in no hurry to continue. He looked to the side, where the folly loomed high on the ridge. “That’s your castle, isn’t it?” “It’s a folly.” “Couldn’t we climb up to the battlements? It looks a lot easier that way.” “Easier,” Ordier said, “but actually more dangerous. The steps are reinforced only part of the way. Anyway, you’ll see better from the ridge, I assure you.” “So you have been up to the battlements?” “Just once, the first time I came here. But I wouldn’t go up there again.” Ordier decided to take a chance: “But you could go alone, if you liked.” “No,” Parren said, rubbing his arm. “Let’s do it this way.” They struggled on, Ordier leading the way across the brittle slabs of rock. It was an ascent that would have posed no problem to practiced rock climbers, but to two amateurs it was perilous enough. Shortly before they reached the summit, Parren slipped again, and cried out as he fell backward against a boulder beneath him. “You’re making too much noise,” Ordier said when he saw that the man was unhurt. “Do you want the Qataari to hear us before we reach the top?” “You’ve done this before… It’s different for you.” “I climbed alone the first time. I didn’t make as much row.” “You’re younger than me.”

The recriminations ceased when Ordier climbed away from him, and resumed his position with the rope. He sat down on a slab and stared at Parren waiting for the climb to continue. The anthropologist continued to sulk for a few more minutes, then seemed to realize that Ordier was doing his best for him. At last he climbed up toward him, and Ordier took in the slack of the rope. “We’ll head for that dip there,” Ordier said quietly, pointing up. “It was where I went last time, and if the Qataari haven’t changed their guard-line you’ll find that the guards are some distance away. With any luck, you’ll have several minutes before they spot you.” He crawled forward, placing his feet on the best holds he could find, pointing them out mutely to the other man. At last he was lying face down across a broad slab, just beneath the summit. He waited until Parren was beside him. “If you’ll take more advice from me,” Ordier whispered, “don’t use your binoculars at first. Take in the general view, then use your glasses on the nearest objects.” “Why’s that?” “Once they see us the cry will go up. It radiates outward from here.” Ordier was wondering what had been going on at the arena since the day his watching had aroused him to the point of orgasm. Disturbed by the degree to which he was becoming involved in the ritual, he had kept away for two days, trying again to rid himself of his obsession. But he was failing, and this climb up the ridge was making the failure more certain. Parren had his binoculars out, and Ordier took his own from their case. “Are you ready?” he said. Parren nodded, and they inched forward, peering over the ridge. Three Qataari guards stood in the valley immediately beneath their vantage point, staring patiently up at them. Ordier instinctively ducked down again, but in the same instant he heard the Qataari shouting, and knew they had been noticed. When he looked again he saw that the warning was rippling outward. The guards along the valley side of the ridge were turning their backs on Ordier and Parren… and in the rose plantation, along the banks of the narrow river, on the approaches to the camp, the Qataari were halting in whatever they were doing. They stood erect, waiting and waiting. Parren was holding his binoculars awkwardly, trying to see but trying to keep his head down too. “You might as well stand up, Parren,” Ordier said. “You’ll see better.” Ordier himself sat up and settled himself on the edge of the slab. In a moment, Parren followed. The two men looked across the valley. Ordier had no idea what Parren could now hope to see, but he had his own interest in the valley. He scanned the rose plantation systematically, looking with the powerful glasses from one Qataari to the next. Most of them stood with their backs turned, and from this distance it was difficult to see clearly. There was one female that Ordier lingered on; it might have been the girl, but he was not sure. He made certain that Parren was busy with his own observations, then turned his glasses toward the foot of the folly wall. The arena itself could not be seen from here, but two of the hollow statues were just visible. He had had no hope of seeing if a ritual had been in progress, but he wanted to see if there were any people about; apart from one of the guards standing near the folly, though, there was no apparent sign of activity. Ordier did not know whether he was relieved or annoyed. Their silent observation continued for several more minutes, but then even Parren admitted that there was nothing further to be gained. “Would it be worth waiting beneath the ridge for an hour or two?” he said. “I have the time.” “The Qataari have more. We might as well go back.” “They seemed to be expecting us, Ordier.” “I know.” He glanced apologetically at the man. “That’s probably because I came up to this part of the ridge last time. We should have tried somewhere else.” “Then we could do that another time.” “If you think it’s worth it.” They began to make their way down, Ordier taking the lead. The sun was higher now and the morning wind had stilled, and by the time they were halfway down both men were feeling the heat. It was Parren who called a halt first, and squatted down in the shade of a huge boulder. Ordier went back up to him, and sat beside him. Below them, deceptively near, Ordier’s house stood like a brightly colored plastic toy in a field. After a while, Parren said: “Jenessa tells me you once worked with scintillas.” Ordier looked at him sharply. “Why did she tell you that?” “I asked her. Your name was familiar. We both come from the north, after all.” “I’ve left all that behind me.”

“Yes… but not your specialized knowledge.” “What do you want to know?” Ordier said resignedly. “Everything you can tell me.” “Parren, you’ve been misinformed. I’ve retired.” “Then that wasn’t a scintilla detector I noticed in your house.” “Look, I don’t see why you’re interested.” Parren was sitting forward, away from the rock, and his manner had changed. “Let’s not prevaricate, Ordier. I need some information from you. I want to know if there is any law in the Archipelago prohibiting the use of scintillas. I want to know if scintillas could be used to observe the Qataari. And lastly, if you think the Qataari would have any way of detecting or jamming scintillas.” “Is that all?” “Yes.” “There’s no law against using them. I can tell you that much. Only the Covenant of Neutrality, but it’s never enforced.” “And the rest?” Parren said. Ordier sighed. “The scintillas could obviously be used against the Qataari, if you could think of some way of planting them without them knowing.” “That’s easy. They can be sown from an aircraft at night.” “I see you’ve worked it out. But your last question interests me. Why do you think the Qataari would be able to jam scintillas?” “They’ve had plenty of experience of them.” “How do you mean?” Ordier said.

“Both sides were using them during the invasion of the peninsula. The military work on saturation principles… scintillas must have been ankle-deep. A race who so obviously dislike being watched would have realized what they were for.” “I was under the impression you thought the Qataari were primitive.” Parren said: “Not primitive… decivilized. Their science is a match for anything we’ve got.” “How do you know that?” “An intelligent guess. But what’s your opinion, Ordier? Do you think they could jam scintillas?” “No one else can, so far as I know. But technology is always advancing.” “Qataari technology?” “I don’t know, Parren.” “Look at this.” Parren reached into a pocket, and pulled out a small box. Ordier recognized it at once: it was a scintilla quiet-case, identical to his own. Parren opened the lid, reached inside with a pair of tweezers he took from a mounting in the lid. “Have you seen one of these before?” He dropped a scintilla into the palm of Ordier’s hand. Ordier, guessing, said: “It hasn’t got a serial number.” “Right. Do you know why?” “Do you?” “I’ve never encountered it before.” “Neither have I,” Ordier said. “Except here on Tumo. My guess is that they’re military.” “No, I’ve checked. They’re required by the Yenna Convention to mark them. Both sides abide.” “Then a bootleg?” “They’re usually marked too. A few of the pirates might leave them blank, but these little devils are all over the place. I’ve seen hundreds since I’ve been on Tumo.” “You’ve checked them all?” Ordier said. “No, but every one I have checked has been blank.” Parren picked up the scintilla with the tweezers, and returned it to the quiet-case. “Then whose are they?” “I was hoping you’d tell me, Ordier.” “You’ve already revealed that you’re better informed than I am.” “Then I’ll tell you what I think. They’re connected with the Qataari.” Ordier waited, expecting more to follow, but the other man was looking at him in a significant way as if waiting for a response. He said in the end: “So…?” “Someone,” Parren said with ponderous emphasis, “is spying on the Qataari.” “With what purpose?” “The same as mine.” And Ordier heard again the edge to Parren’s voice he had heard at Jenessa’s dinner party. Personal ambition was strong in the man. For a moment Ordier had felt a guilty suspicion growing in him, that Parren had somehow guessed that he had been spying on the Qataari from the folly, and that he was about to accuse him. But Ordier’s own guilt was as nothing beside Parren’s ambition, which was so bright it blinded him.

“Then you must clearly join forces with whoever it is, or compete.” “I intend to compete.” “You have your own scintillas?” Ordier had intended his question sarcastically, but Parren said at once: “Yes, a new version. They’re a quarter the size of existing scintillas, and to all intents and purposes are invisible.” “Then there’s your answer. You would clearly have the edge.” Ordier’s urbane reply gave no clue to his thoughts. He had not known that scintilla technology had advanced so much. “That’s not my answer, Ordier. Do you think the Qataari could either detect or jam my scintillas?” Ordier smiled grimly. “I’ve told you I don’t know. You’ve seen how sensitive they are to being watched. It’s like a sixth sense. They might or might not have the electronic means of detection, but my guess is that they’d sense your scintillas somehow.” “Do you really think so?” “Your guess is as good as mine,” Ordier said. “Probably better. Look, I’m thirsty. Why don’t we talk about this back at the house? It’s too hot out here.” Parren agreed, reluctantly it seemed to Ordier, and they continued their clumsy descent of the rocks. When they reached the house half an hour later, they found the place empty. Ordier fixed some cold drinks for them both. He left Parren on the patio, and went in search of the women. A few moments later he saw them in the rough ground behind the house, walking from the direction of the gate in the courtyard wall. He waited impatiently until they reached him.

“Where have you been?” he said to Jenessa. “You were gone so long, I took Luovi to see your folly. The gate was unlocked, so we assumed it would be all right.” “You know it’s not safe up there!” Ordier said. “What an interesting building it is,” Luovi said to him. “Such eccentric architecture. All those concealed faults in the walls. And what a view there is higher up!” She smiled at him patronizingly, then shifted the strap of her large leather bag on her shoulder, and walked past him toward the house. Ordier looked at Jenessa, hoping for some explanatory expression, but she would not meet his eyes.