On Blue's waters (38 page)

I ought to have said the setting of the Short Sun as seen in and around New Viron-on the coast, in other words. Here the sun comes up out of the mountains late in the morning, and sets among mountains, too, briefly painting their snowy peaks with purple and flame (or is that the brush of Wijzer’s Maker?) and giving us a long twilight.

In New Viron, the Short Sun sinks into the sea, a wonderful sight when the weather is calm. Nettle used to make me go out onto the beach to watch it with her, and I was impatient much too often. I would give a great deal to stand beside her once more and hold her hand while we wait for the momentary flash of limpid emerald that appears as if by sorcery as the last fragment of the Short Sun vanishes behind the swelling waves, a green so pure that it cannot possibly have anything to do with the evil, festering whorl of that name. I, who never saw the sea until I was almost grown, did not come to love it until I left it. So, too, with Seawrack, or so I have reason to believe. The sea did not call to her while she lived in it as the-

I do not know what word to use.

The pet? The adopted daughter? The hook-studded lure of the old sea goddess? Very likely she was all three. Why should the sea call to her then? It had her. Only after she had left it, only when she was trying to put it behind her in that crude and dirty little village on the bank of the great river, did the sea sing to Seawrack as Seawrack herself sings to me tonight.

Up there I wrote that I could close my eyes and see the great river again. I can, and hear it again, too: the nearly stagnant water whispering as it slips past, the narrow little boat that holds only a single paddler, the mournful cries of the snake-necked seabirds (for there were still seabirds aplenty, although we were leagues from the sea), the rising mist, and the distant howl of a felwolf. The vast and empty flatness of it, so lonely and so desolate.

All that has vanished now. When I try to summon it again as I sit here between the lampstands, I see only Seawrack, the long, supple line of her legs, hips, and back.

Only the thrust of her pink-tipped breasts and the whiteness of her flesh, when first she left the sea.

* * *

The head gardener came yesterday after I had stopped writing. He was tired and so was I, yet we talked for over an hour. I believe I can trust him if I can trust anybody; and I have already resolved to trust Chota, so as to have somebody to keep watch. I might not be able to move the stone by myself, and might re-open the wound in my side if I try. Two of us should be able to move it pretty easily.

If I am any judge, Mehman is not one to flinch, but I wish that Krait and Sinew were here with me.

The armorer came this morning with a dozen swords, most far too long, and no needier. He had given all the needlers out to our officers, he said. I told him that he had kept one for himself and ordered him to give it to me, but he wept and groveled, swearing that he had not. One of my guards may have one. I hope so. If not, the short sword and Choora, with Hyacinth’s azoth hidden under my tunic,
to be used only in the gravest extreme
.

Tonight I called a meeting: wives, guards, and servants. I told them that I was going out tomorrow and taking Mahawat and the remaining guards with me. (There are only half a dozen.) Pehla will be in charge, as she was when I was upriver before I was wounded. Mehman and his assistants are to guard the palace. (I solemnly handed out the rest of the swords to the old men and boys he has found to help him.) We leave at shadeup, so I had better get some sleep.

* * *

What a day! What a night, for that matter. I have never been so tired.

I had just gotten into bed and closed my eyes, when here was Evensong slipping under the bedclothes beside me, quite naked except for a good deal of the sandlewood scent I gave her the other day. I thought that she must have hidden in my room when I believed she had gone out, and told her sternly that she must not do it; but she says she climbed in through a window. She wanted to go too, and since I had already told her something about the other matter I said she could. Her gratitude knew no bounds.

We rose before the sun, dressed, got a little fruit to eat on the way, and were off. I had asked Hari Mau to find me a trooper who knew the forest, and he had-but Merciful Molpe, he was only a boy. He had a slug gun and swore that he was fifteen, but I would guess him thirteen at most. It was crowded on the elephant with my six guards (all big men) and their weapons, Evensong, “Trooper“ Darjan, and me. I was glad to get off.

Darjan made a little speech when we reached the forest, inspired by Hari Mau I feel quite sure. How thick the growth, how low and wet the ground, how many thorns-no one could go through. When he had finished, I asked whether he had ever gone through it.

“Not through, Rajan.”

“Well, did you ever go in there?”

“Yes, Rajan, I used to play in there when I was smaller.” (By which he must have meant before he learned to walk.)

I told him to start in, and I would follow him. We would go two leagues north, then turn east and see what we could. He nodded and began to pick his way through the tangle. I told Mahawat to follow me, but to keep some distance.

In the beginning I kept my eyes on Darjan and walked where he had, snagging my tough cotton military tunic at every step and mightily tempted to use the azoth-but also determined not to reveal to anyone, including him, that I had it. After about an hour of that the Neighbors’ gift came back to me, as it had on Green. Perhaps I had never really lost it, but only lost sight of it.

Whether or not that last is true, it became apparent to me that Darjan was not choosing the best way. I took it, and was soon so far ahead that I was forced to stop and wait for him. After that, we both had to wait for my elephant.

I had been of two minds about that elephant. To begin with, on Green I had seen that even the largest animals can penetrate thick cover, as the wallowers we hunted here had. (If elephants can be domesticated, why not wallowers? We must try it.) Their size and strength let them force the heaviest growth, while their leathery skins protect them from all but the worst scratches.

On the other hand you have warts, as my father used to say, the wart in this case being that these large animals are too big to pass between big, solid trunks growing close together. Fortunately this forest has only a few large trees, and a great many bushes and saplings.

It seemed that the elephant had little experience of such places, but he learned his business quickly. After the first hour or so, he was going faster than Darjan, so that Darjan, whom we had brought along to guide us, was in danger of being trodden flat. I had told Mahawat to watch me and go where I did, but the elephant learned how to do that before Mahawat did, keeping the tip of one trunk touching my headcloth and padding along behind me with surprisingly little noise. We had struck the tent before setting out; but Evensong and my guards had a rough time of it just the same, having to lie flat on the platform and fend off the limbs and twigs any way they could.

I had intended to stop at the edge of the forest and wait for one of the Hannese trains of mules and pack horses to pass, then attack it from behind; but in that I had not counted on the elephant. He was so happy to see an open space that he ran past us and out onto the road before Mahawat could get him stopped.

I got back up then, very glad of a chance to sit down after all the walking I had done, and told Mahawat he would have to get us back under the trees where we could not be seen. Mahawat agreed, but the elephant did not. When he realized that we wanted him to go back into the forest, he rebelled, charging up the road like an eight-legged talus while trumpeting with both trunks in a way that I found frightening myself and that absolutely terrified poor Evensong. I suppose I have heard as many women scream as most men have, and I may even have heard more than most men, having heard a good many wounded Trivigaunti troopers when Nettle and I fought for General Mint; but Evensong’s scream is in a class by itself. It is louder and shriller than the scream of any other woman I have ever met with, and it lasts two or three times longer.

Nettle, I know that you will never read this, nor would I wish you to; but I am going to pretend you will. Try to imagine us, my six guards, Evensong, Mahawat, and me (with Darjan lost in the dust behind us), holding on to anything and everything in reach and every one of us about to fall off, as we rounded a turn in the road and found ourselves among three or four hundred Hannese lancers.

A few days ago I wrote that our elephants could not be induced to charge the enemy. I was wrong. This one did, and you have never seen so many shaggy little ponies thrown into such a state of abject panic. Perhaps no one has.

When I think back on it, it seems miraculous that even one of us escaped alive. Riders were being thrown left and right, and few of those who stayed in their saddles seemed to have slug guns or needlers. The road turned again, but my elephant kept running in a straight line, into a sort of cleft between two masses of rock. Before long his sides were scraping and Mahawat got him back under control. A handful of horsemen tried to follow us in, but a few shots from my guards quickly put an end to that. Eventually we found our way onto a gende slope dotted with brambles. It became lower and wetter, trees took the place of the brambles, and we were back in the familiar “impassable” forest.

By that time all of us were very glad to be there, even my elephant.

* * *

Morning, but dark as night with pounding rain. No one came to awaken me-or what is more likely, Pehla did but the guard at my door would not admit her. Very late morning, I ought to have said. I have slept twelve hours at least.

I would like some tea and something to eat, but I wanted to read over what I wrote last night first, and make a few corrections. (I seldom correct anything, as you will have seen, but in this case there were far too many simple errors in spelling and the like. I have recopied one whole sheet, and thrown the old one away.)

But before I tell the guard I am awake and send him for some breakfast, I cannot resist speculating a little. Was what we did of any real value? If it simply shows the enemy that the “impassable” forest is indeed passable, it may have been worse than useless. If it teaches us (and compels them) to watch that flank, it will have been well worth doing. I must see that it does, and that further raids are organized and carried out.

What, you will ask, became of Trooper Darjan? The truth is that I do not know. By the time we had gotten clear of the enemy horsemen, I had forgotten him utterly; and I seem to have been too fatigued last night to spare him a thought, although I was stupidly determined to write down everything before I slept. Silk would have remembered him for the rest of his life.

I stopped writing this long enough to scribble a note to Hari Mau asking about Darjan. I called him “my guide.” Hari Mau should be able to tell me whether he returned safely.

I also asked about the men’s comfort. We knew the rainy season would begin soon and tried to make provision for it. Now that it has begun, I must see that the waterproof cloaks are actually handed out to the men who need them, that they get the meals and hot tea and so on. I will set out for the front this afternoon, assuming I am well enough.

The winter wheat should have been planted before this; now it is too late. Not much was. The shortages will only get worse, although three boadoads of food from Bahar arrived yesterday. Two to the troopers, one sold in the market to help raise money for I more.

We must have an animal of some sort tonight. I meant to take I our milch cow, but with the gardener there I cannot risk it. I should have diought of this sooner. I will have to find something else today if we are to do it tonight. Not my horse, because I cannot spare him. Not the elephant, eidier. We could not control him, and Mahawat sleeps in his stall with him in any case.

No, someone else will have to find a suitable animal for me. I will be too busy, and everything I do is noticed.

Breakfast.

Chandi brought in my breakfast tray, solicitous of my health while trying very hard to keep a scratched cheek turned away from me. I asked her how it happened, expecting her to say she fell. (How long has it been since I thought about old Generalissmo Oosik? Not since Nettle and I wrote, I am sure.) She surprised me by saying she had bent to pick a rose in the garden and the bush scratched her. There is a variety there that blooms almost constantly, so her story was not as absurd as one might think. It was original and imaginative, too.

But not true. She has been fighting with a sister-wife, and I can guess which. I told her to send Pehla in to me, and she went, pale and silent. Chandi thinks she used to be my favorite, so it is easy to see what happened.

* * *

Back again. (I almost wrote
home
.) Two days of rain, wet and mud. My wound throbs and my right ankle hurts, but dry and comfortable otherwise. Evening-nearly eight by the big clock.

Saw the men. It is not as good as I had hoped. I sent a third of them home. Hari Mau objected so violently that I was afraid I was going to have to put him under arrest. He says that if the enemy attacks we are done. I told him the truth, that the enemy will not attack again until the rains end, that in this weather two boys and a dog could hold off a hundred men.

The men I sent home are to come back in a week. (I imagine that at least half will have to be dragged back.) When they return, we will send home another third. I told the men, or at least I told as many as I could reach.

Spoke to the head gardener again before I left. I tried to give him money and asked him to buy a goat. He said a cow would be better, and he would find one. You never know with these people.

Chicken for my supper, chopped up and mixed with fruit and pepper in the usual way. Since I see it like that twice a week at least, it should not have reminded me of anything, but it made me think of the meat pudding we got in the market at Wichote, and I should be writing about that anyway instead of all this day-to-day stuff. Just imagine what this record would be like if I had written about everything in the same way that I have been setting down these daily doings of mine. “I got a splinter in my finger today-left, index-while scraping the third cargo chest on the starboard side, and Seawrack kissed it for me.”