03. Gods at the Well of Souls (7 page)

They had built right up to the boundary, too. Space was at a premium in lands  with rigidly fixed borders, and they used it well. Most likely this had always  been an industrial district; it was possible that the whole border with Liliblod  was this way and that all heavy industry was concentrated in a strip. If he had  these kind of neighbors, that was what he would do. He certainly hoped that it  was so. It might mean that the rest of the hex was a lot more livable and  perhaps had trees and forests into which he could disappear. If no one met him,  it would make sense to go right, then left, keeping to the alleyways but off the  trail. That would take him into the hex and away from any sort of activity. The  trail had only ten or so meters in the open before it went into a thin alley  between two tall, smelly structures. It did have to cross a few broader streets,  some with loading docks on either side and a set of rails going down the  center-he had to watch his step in order not to get a hoof caught in the gap.  But the trail mainly kept to the back alleys and side streets until it reached  the one warehouse where things went on after dark that were probably unknown to  those who worked in the area during the day. 

He hadn't seen Campos, there or anywhere else, since the first couple of runs  right at the beginning. Apparently she was satisfied enough by her first visits  and didn't need to see much more. It didn't matter, anyway. Some things of an  emotional nature had not been excised, and one of those, now that the drug had  no more hold, might well cause him to impale a certain person on his horn no  matter what the cost to himself and any future he might have, no matter how  bleak. That might well be worth it. 

I'll bet Mavra spends at least a little bit each day regretting she didn't  listen to us and kill the little turd or at least leave him to the mercies of  the People. 

He ate and slept most of the day, waking up occasionally but not for long and  mostly to eat some more. It seemed like no time before the shadows fell and  night came upon the Well World. 

He went close to the boundary but didn't yet cross. He wanted all the sounds to  vanish into the distance first. 

Maybe this is it, he thought anxiously. Maybe nobody will show this time. But somebody did. No Cloptan except someone expecting him would ever go through  that barrier in this direction, not unless it was on one of the main roads. The  spider bitches would just love a little duck. 

He recognized the little man by his scent. The Cloptan was a decent sort as  handlers went, not too bright and very loyal but not cruel to the mules, either.  He looked like some bastard relative of Gladstone Gander, except that he wore  pants. 

"Ah, it's you, is it?" the man, whose name was Banam commented, although it  sounded like nothing but deep melodic rumblings to Lori. "Well, you can come  along now. It's a holiday here tomorrow and everybody's taken off early, anyway.  I'll just get my pushcart and follow you in as usual." 

Lori was used to people speaking to him when he couldn't understand a word. In a  way, he was even more cut off than a real horse, since even real horses could  pick up a few common sounds or terms. It was the worst part of it all, an utter  loneliness that came from having no way to truly communicate with anyone except,  of course, the absent Campos. 

There was a pronounced difference in air pressure when he penetrated the  boundary and also a marked rise in humidity. He couldn't tell much about the  temperature, though, except that Banam wore only a light jacket, so it probably  wasn't very cold. That was another tiling Lori seemed to have lost; he wasn't  very aware of, or very sensitive to, temperatures of any sort. Early on, Clopta  had been cold enough for him to see people's breaths, but he'd barely felt a  thing. 

His hooves clattered against the paved street, echoing off the close-in walls.  He'd been a bit annoyed that they hadn't shoed him, since there was always the  danger of a split hoof, but now he was glad of it. There wouldn't be any  blacksmiths able to provide the service if he cut out. 

"Your design's been a big hit with the bosses, I hear," Banam commented  chattily, never knowing if he could be understood or not and really not caring  all that much either way. "I watched you change over the past coupla months from  a real mess into a pretty slick-lookin' animal. Heard 'em say they're gonna do  it to anybody who can stand the operation or whatever it is. Ain't for  everybody, of course. They'd need black magic to make me into somethin' like  you, I think." He chuckled at the thought. "Only thing different'11 be that  horn. No horns on the others. Makes some of 'em kinda nervous, y' know. Dunno  why." 

The old fellow just kept chattering as they came up to the warehouse and the end  of the trail. Then Banam walked to the front and pushed a series of numbers on  the security lock. There was a sudden rumble, and the door slid up, allowing  them to enter. 

It was pitch dark inside, as always, but when the door came back down and  settled with a crash, the lights came back on automatically. No sense in shining  a beacon to the world that something was going on here. 

They had a sort of stall for him in the back, reached through a maze of shelves,  boxes, and palettes and well hidden from view even when the day shift was in.  There were a couple of bales of hay there, a tub with water in it, and some  thick straw on the floor. That was pretty much all he required. Banam unhooked the cinch and let the packs drop before he went into the stall  area. He fumbled inside, removed a greasy-looking cube, and put it over on top  of the hay. 'There's your big reward, fella. Enjoy. I gotta get help and get  this up to the boss." 

It was the drug, of course, and now it smelled and tasted as bad as it looked  and did nothing for or to him, but he had to keep eating it just to make sure  that they didn't suspect. 

The one thing that seemed certain was that it would be another round trip before  he could escape. Or was it? Had he been thinking the wrong way, perhaps? They  almost always accompanied him back to the border but no farther. If he hugged  the border and walked down quite a ways, he might well be able to escape on the  way back. It made more sense than the other way, and the thought excited him. If he escaped just after leaving here, then they wouldn't expect him at the  other end for quite a while. They might even write him off as having been  injured and thus made a banquet of by the Liliblodian locals. Now, that seemed  to make real sense! 

He tried hard to remember the maps. Clopta. Liliblod, and Agon were all on the  coast. That meant Liliblod would be the border along this segment of the hex,  going- what?-probably northeast. Southwest would mean the ocean, and that was no  good, and north would most likely take him through the heart of Clopta, not a  good option. In a high-tech hex it would be impossible to remain hidden forever.  If he only knew how far along the border they were! It might well be shorter  going north if they were near the point where three borders came together. Best  not to take that much of a chance, though. Stick close to the border, check  every once in a while, and go when it no longer smelled of spiders. After that it would be time to stop running and start exploring until he came up  against something with an appetite as bad as a Liliblodian that he couldn't  outrun or impale. 

No. Wait a moment. There was a potential destination, wasn't there? The same one  they'd had since the start. That place, that break between the hexes at the  equator where those who knew how might be able to enter the inside of this  strange planet. If anyone got there and could get inside, he wanted to be there.  It was the longest shot in the universe, but it was all he had. If he could just survive, get up there, get to that entrance-way, and wait, no  matter how long it took ... 

It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. It was somewhere to go and  something to do, and it was at least a sliver, no matter how microscopic, of  hope. 

If not this trip, then the next. The first time they gave him an opening, he had  to have the guts to take it. To get away, to get free, that was the first  objective. Then, once safe, use the sun as a guide and head north all the way to  the barrier, which he assumed was much like the barrier that formed the southern  boundary of Erdom. Then west, toward where the sun rose on this backward-turning  world. West until there was a door. 

If not this trip, then the next. Or the next. Whenever it was possible. As  hopeless as it all was, it was the only thing he had. 

Agon 

ALOWI HAD WALKED HOME FROM THE CLINIC FEELING NERVOUS and uncertain about what  she had done. Nearing the place where she and the Dillians were staying,  essentially a huge tent struck on some deserted landfill north of the city, she  began to feel light-headed, and by the time she was inside, she had the start of  a serious headache. Dizzy and sick, with a throbbing head, she lay down on the  pillows in the rear area of the tent and pretty much passed out. More concerned and suspicious of everything were the Dillians, who found her out  cold and decided that there was no purpose to rousing her. Some of this was to  be expected from a radical injection, but as Doctor Drinh had feared, they were  also quite suspicious at what Alowi had told them about the capabilities of the  process. While Tony took care of some business at the port, Anne Marie put in a  call to the capital. 

While embassy operations on the Well World were best handled within Zone, most  hexes had small offices whose function was to pass messages to and from Zone via  Well Gate couriers. Reciprocity gave any race the right to use the service of  any hex at all, and under diplomatic seal. It wasn't beyond being compromised,  but it was effective, and any hex found compromising the system would of course  lose its own rights and privacy. 

Anne Marie had no intention of giving an oral report but used a recording cube  of the type standardized by Zone and put it under a password that was known on  the other end only to the Dillian ambassador. She dispatched the cube via  messenger service on the next train to the capital, where someone alerted by her  call would pick it up and stick it in the next courier pouch. She had no idea  who would ultimately hear the report and no real hope that those bureaucrats  could decide on whether they had to go to the bathroom, let alone anything  important, but it was worth trying. 

In the message she had simply summarized Alowi's experience to date and related  the claims of Drinh and his reputation and voiced her suspicions with hope that  all this would be relayed to the inner council committee that was in charge of  the "immortals problem," as they so euphemistically put it. 

At least the committee had proved honest and reliable. While it had been next to  impossible to sit on the rumor that the ancient and legendary Nathan Brazil  might be back, the fact that Mavra Chang might be an immortal equal to Brazil  had been suppressed to a remarkable degree. The most that seemed to have leaked  was that Chang was wanted because she had known Brazil and might prove useful in  motivating the mysterious man to make a deal. Brazil, however, remained the real  target for all the factions out there nervous about either his possible powers  or his potential; Chang's cover story had been increasingly reinforced to the  point where no one outside the council took her as more than a minor player, of  no great advantage unless one had Brazil and perhaps not even then. Now, with the readily recognizable Brazil missing for so long and the Avenues  well covered, even the mild hue and cry of earlier times had faded. Most  believed him a fable and the missing man simply a man, no more or less, a man  who had caused stupid panic and rumors and who was now probably dead. The  council was doing a nice job of covering up, but it had neither of its own  objects in sight, let alone in hand. Brazil had vanished and was possibly at  least neutralized as far as could be surmised from current information, and  Chang had been abducted by the drug cartel and was undoubtedly a prisoner or  worse by now. The fact that the drug lords had done nothing with her, though,  indicated that they didn't know who and what they had, and it was feared that  any attempt to find her might just tip them off to a key to potentially vast  powers. 

It was for this reason that they had allowed nothing to be done, since that was  what they preferred as a normal course of action, anyway. Now, though, the  report from Anne Marie caused a great deal of concern. If the drug lords had  worked their usual tricks on Mavra Chang, she could literally look like just  about anything; if she really was Brazil's equal, then she could not be killed  and thus eventually had the potential to get free-or, worse, break under the  strain and try to make her own deal with the drug lords out of desperation. If  Mavra Chang no longer bore any resemblance to Mavra Chang, then the guards at  the Avenues had nothing at all to go on, and they could hardly be obtrusive  about barring all and sundry from those equatorial entrances without tipping the  game to everyone. 

If there was a chance of locating Mavra Chang, the committee knew, then it had  to be taken. But patiently and with sufficient safeguards, no matter how  ruthless, to keep the true value and nature of the quarry from those who might  use her. 

Once they decided that they had to move, they wanted to move yesterday, but it  had to be done right. Still, it seemed to them that their long lag time had  finally run out. 

"The Dillians in Agon will almost certainly move on this if we do not," one  councillor argued. 'This cannot be left to amateurs. If they move, they will  certainly fall into the hands of the cartel, who will be merciless in finding  out why they were willing to make such a risky move. If the cartel even suspects  Chang's true value, all could be lost."