Of Machines & Magics (18 page)

There was a third man who made a point of speaking to no one; he was well-to-do—judging by his dress and his jewels—but whatever he was guilty of or suspected of doing, was a secret known to Mater Karkadee alone.

The seventh prisoner was the most unusual and as mysterious. A woman, wealthy according to Minallo, who had hoisted her strongbox and been rewarded for his trouble. She was also going to Jesm; in fact, she was being returned there by the man she had contracted to wed. Minallo hinted she had fallen short of expectation in some way though it was clear the officer added surmise to the few facts that were available.

Roli was taken into the power house and shown the engines. His job was to add water to the boiler and charcoal to the furnace when either was in danger of running low. Calistrope and Ponderos were added to the guard rota and paired with experienced men during the first few watches.

“There are three hundred people on the caravan,” Roli said to Calistrope as soon as he came off-duty.

“Yes. I remember Captain Minallo saying so.”

“Do you sense any magic?”

“Magic?” Calistrope tipped his head back and smelled the air. “No. A faint trace perhaps, no more than that. Unusable. Why do you ask?”

Roli shook his head. “A thought, nothing more.”

Ponderos also returned in an indignant frame of mind and determined to hold forth. “Do you know, Calistrope,” he said at once, “whatever that woman has done, it does not warrant her being treated in this manner.”

“What sort of treatment?” asked Calistrope.

“Transporting her like a criminal.”

“Well, that is what she is, I presume. Even so, her cell is twice or three times the size of the others, she has privacy, her food is prepared specially. She seems to be treated uncommonly well. Does she complain?”

“Not a word Calistrope. She is a model of self-restraint. But her imprisonment, Calistrope, it is degrading.”

“Her affianced husband has repudiated her, by all accounts. I suppose she must be returning home in disgrace.”

“Her husband is a fool. At the very least, he has overreacted at some imagined slight.”

“How do we know all this?”

Ponderos explained. He explained certain concepts of behavior in a civilized society. He broke his explanations down into details of conduct and the details of conduct into standards and expectations. It was all very clear.

Calistrope gathered that the woman was very beautiful. When he mentioned this as a possibility, Ponderos expounded on her beauty at even greater length.

Several watches went by, both men were paired with a variety of partners in the complicated roster devised by Minallo.

Ponderos divided his spare time between sitting outside the mysterious woman’s cell and wearying his friends with continuing acclamations of her beauty. On duty, Ponderos contrived to spend a substantial part of each watch in guarding the mysterious woman and eventually, she disclosed her name to him. She was called Shamaz, a fact which she had refrained from telling anyone else.

“You see, Calistrope,” he explained, “It shows how she is beginning to care for me. A great pity that Polymorph perished, its talents would have been useful. We have to think of some way of releasing her.”

“Well now;
we
, did you say?”

As much as any of the other guards, Calistrope was grateful for the respite from Ponderos’ paeans of praise granted by duty periods and like them, often reported early for work.

The prisoners’ accommodations were not large—except for those of the Lady Shamaz, who occupied a specially built enclosure with windows larger than the regulation slits and a private area for ablutions and sleeping. The other cells were strongly built of thick timber and free-standing—so they could be craned on and off whenever a prisoner had to be transshipped or put ashore.

The alleyways left between the cells were narrow and gloomy and it was these which had to be checked carefully for here, miscreants bent on freeing a prisoner or even meting out personal justice, would hide.

Calistrope began his first inspection and shortly was certain that he had heard a soft footfall from around a corner.

Calistrope armed himself with his sword and drew a long bladed knife which he held left-handed. He crept to the corner, listened, nodded. There it was again, a stealthy sound, a boot sole on the rough timber decking, furtive.

The Mage leapt around the corner, his weapons ready. A shadowy figure moved as he moved, they feinted, thrust. There was a clash of hardened glass, back and forth went the blades… two, three times. Both of them froze. A sword was touching Calistrope’s throat, pricking it; the most minute of movements would pierce an artery. Calistrope was most careful to make not the slightest movement.

“I am disadvantaged,” he said after some moments, shock making his voice hoarse with emotion. “I am defeated,” he dropped his sword to the deck with a dull thud, the knife followed, clattering against the sword.

“I had supposed…” began the other and administered Calistrope’s second shock. The miscreant who had defeated him so easily was female.
Were there such creatures as female river pirates?
He wondered, coming back to the present to hear her continue. “… that the talk of river pirates was so much drivel. But no. Here we have just such a specimen.”

The woman swaggered.
A decidedly unfeminine female
, Calistrope decided. The sword point dropped to his breast and urged him back to an intersection where more light was available.

“Lady,” he said and was ignored.
The woman’s voice had been husky,
Calistrope thought
. Attractive.
Then quickly qualified the thought,
in a way,
he added.

“More presentable than I had expected,” she said. “Raffish perhaps but well dressed for a pirate.”

“Madam,” Calistrope tried again. “I am no pirate,” he swept an arm about. “I am here to guard these criminals.”

“Clever, too—and plausible. But you see, that is why
I
am here. Come, I must take you before the Captain of the Guard. This way.” And she put pressure on the sword point until he backed out to the carcery’s perimeter area.

Now, for the first time, Calistrope saw his captor properly. He blinked in surprise as he recognized the woman for what she was, one of the Komori, a female order of knights proficient in martial skills and dedicated to recording the histories of Earth’s diverse peoples. “Madam, I do believe you but I really am a guard,”
she is very beautiful
, thought Calistrope.

She looked closely at him. “I don’t recognize you and I have been on this caravan since it left Twinmis. Besides, Lawfock is paired with me on this duty. Come along now, we should not keep the Captain waiting.”

“I am new. We—my colleague and I came aboard a day or so ago. My name is Calistrope.”

“And mine is Anas. It proves nothing.”

So Calistrope was prodded along to the small office—hardly distinguishable from the prisoners’ cells—where his superior worked out his schedules and tallied the hours spent.

“Now, now. What’s this then? Hmm?” he looked up at Calistrope. “Have you been upsetting this young lady.”

“I found him sneaking round the cells,” Anas told the Captain of the Guard. “Just behind the big one, the woman’s.”

“Sneaking a look at her, was he? Like his companion?”

“His companion? No, he was skulking, up to no good.”

Calistrope found a chink between words to make himself heard. “I was carrying out my duties,” he said between his teeth. “I was on guard duty when this…” Calistrope looked at the woman again, her sultry features, the cap of hair like spun silver, her shining eyes… Calistrope was lost. “When Anas mistook me for a criminal.”

“Duties!” Minallo’s eyebrows rose. “Today?” he looked at the roster tacked to the wall of his cabin and shook his head. “Not until the thirteenth hour.”

“I am too early,” groaned Calistrope. “I suppose I misread the time. I was over-anxious to escape my friend’s prating about the wonders of this woman.”

“A mistake we might all make in the circumstances,” allowed Minallo. “I am quite tired of his eulogies. Still,” he tried to look stern but the grin was glued to his face and would not budge. “We must strive,” the grin became a chuckle. “Strive to…” the chuckle hatched a laugh, “be professional at all times. Ha ha ha. Take our duties at the proper hour. Ha ha.”

“Anas,” said Calistrope sometime later, relating his encounter to Ponderos. “One of the Komori, you know of them?”

Ponderos nodded. “I think Shamaz’s people must have come from Amzonea,” he said looking far off along the river where the mountain loomed ever closer, its plume of vapor grey against the nightside sky beyond. “They are the only society I know of where women have such magnificent physiques.”

“A little over-endow…” Calistrope bit his tongue, the remark might be misconstrued and anyway, Ponderos’ predilections were none of his business. “The Komori extol vitality in both mind and body. Anas is very athletic.”

“A trifle on the lean side,” Ponderos nodded, his mind disengaged from his tongue. “Somewhat meager about the chest. A somewhat boyish figure, perhaps,” he smiled. “Shamaz though, a fine example. Bosoms fit to suckle an army.”

Calistrope found the metaphor unappealing. “Intelligent and beautiful,” he said, gazing back the way they had come but seeing Anas in his mind’s eye.

“Oh yes, indeed,” Ponderos heaved a sigh.

“As knowledgeable in her field as I am in mine. Did I say she defeated me with her sword?”

“Her demeanor is regal of course, rightly so. Yet she…” Ponderos smiled at his own thoughts.

“Proud, but as you say, rightly so. She has masteries to be proud of.”

“How do you know?” asked Ponderos, suddenly disquieted. “Have you been disturbing her?”

“Me? Disturbing her? Anas?”

“Shamaz. We were discussing Shamaz.”

“
I
was discussing Anas.”

At this point, Roli, who had been sitting in a corner with a bowl of soup, climbed to his feet and left.
Two men,
he thought,
old enough to be my great, great grandsires at least and each of them so besotted with a woman they can think of nothing else
. Roli shook his head and returned to his duty at the propulsion unit. It was just a little unwholesome that men of such an age should act like rutting youths.

Roli dipped a bucket of water from the boxed-in hole through the hull and topped up the header tank. Water percolated down through the fine pipes over the charcoal bed, it boiled, steam issued from vents at the rear, the raft drove forward.

There were no women of an age to interest Roli, not here, on this raft. He considered it outrageous that others should find ardor when he, himself, was deprived of the opportunity.

Above, out on the deck, Calistrope and Ponderos continued their oblique debate.

“Skin as dusky as the eastern sky, Ponderos. That is why I failed to see her straight away. She moves like a shadow.”

“She does not let her admiration show when others are near,” Ponderos murmured. “It would not be fair. I have told her our intentions. She nods. We cannot discuss the matter openly.”

“Those eyes,” Calistrope stretched and sat back again, “gladly would I drown my soul in their depths.
Our
intentions?”

“Exactly. Timing must be exact.”

“Timing! If only we had met earlier. So little time.”

Ponderos was on watch, Hafool walked the perimeter. Ponderos stood to one side of Shamaz’s window.

“It is all arranged,” he told her.

“All arranged?” Shamaz’s voice was contralto, her enunciation firm, clear. “What is all arranged?”

“What we were talking about. We agreed that being confined like this was bad for your health.”

“Ah that. You have spoken with Minallo about guards?”

“No, no. Not Minallo. Quiet now, Hafool is passing,” they paused, Hafool passed by. “All right. You need not worry about the guards, I and my friend will keep you safe.”

“I do need the exercise, you are quite right. Spending all my time in here is not healthy.”

“I will let you know as soon as it is time. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye… and Ponderos…”

Ponderos turned back.

“Thank you for your concern.”

“More than concern, Shamaz.”

The time came for Ponderos’ arrangements to begin. Calistrope stood just to the side of the window to Shamaz’s rather opulent prison cell. “Shamaz,” he called and tapped lightly against the window frame.

A few moments later, the curtain was twitched a little to one side. “Ponderos. Ah! It is not Ponderos, who are you and how is it you know my name?” her tone was a frosty one.

“I am Ponderos’ friend,” Calistrope explained. “He has a scheme which he wants me to help with. Ponderos tells me you want to leave here and…”

“That is quite true.” Shamaz’s voice was warmer, the curtain opened a little further. “Ponderos had persuaded me that staying in here is not good for my health and he is right. A daily walk around the raft will improve my constitution remarkably.”

“Ha! I see. Exercise. Now, I see. I see I have misconstrued the situation. I thought… well, never mind what I thought. My friend has excellent judgment, I shall see you in due course. Goodbye,” Calistrope bowed and returned to his guard duty before anyone had a chance to see him fraternizing with the prisoners.

Ponderos had scheduled his operation for when both he and Calistrope were on guard duty together. Ponderos took the perimeter watch while Calistrope paced along the inter-cell alleyways. A quarter hour later, when Ponderos was convinced there was no one watching the watchers, he went directly to the cell which held Shamaz. He broke the bumanda-wood lock, drew the locking bar out and opened the door. Beyond the brief sound of wood splintering, there was nothing to draw attention to the break in.

“Shamaz?”

“I am coming.”

Calistrope? Are you there?”

“Right here, Ponderos. What do wish me to do?”

“Take Shamaz to the perimeter walk on the starboard side.”

Shamaz came to the door, pulling a cloak around herself. As Ponderos had hinted, she was—broadly speaking—very well developed. The lady was also very tall; a hand’s breadth taller than Calistrope who was taller than Ponderos by a similar margin. In fact, in proportion to her height, Shamaz was perfectly proportioned, even a little on the slim side.