Sideshow (31 page)

“I brought these things,” said Boarmus, dumping the contents of his pockets onto the table before him while carefully avoiding looking directly at Sepel794DZ. He had nothing against dinks. It merely distressed him to look at them.
“Sensory recordings,” said Sepel794DZ tonelessly. “Old ones, from the look of them. Where did you get them?”
“Down near the Core. Not in the communications room itself, but in the corridor nearby. There are cabinets full of them. I couldn’t bring many, so I picked the ones done by the faction leaders, and by someone called Jordel of Hemerlane. He shows up in the old … well, accounts, I guess you’d say.” Did one call children’s rhymes “accounts”? And why not. Tradition was tradition, no matter who maintained it.
“You haven’t accessed them?” asked Sepel794DZ. “You don’t know what’s in them?”
“I couldn’t access them without using Files, and I can’t do that without whatever’s in the Core knowing. It … they know everything I do, every breath I take!” He jittered, feeling
the sweat dripping down his neck, under his arms, on his chest.
“Sit down, Boarmus,” said the dink in a dry metallic dinka-jin voice that somehow managed to sound kindly. “I had a chair brought in for you.”
Dinks didn’t need chairs. Dinks didn’t need much, Boarmus thought. Except answers. Dinks liked answers.
“I need help,” he begged as he sank into the chair, which was too small but no less welcome for that.
The dink tipped one of its boxes. It took a moment for Boarmus to recognize the gesture as a nod. “We’ve been monitoring the physical effects, just as you have, ever since Chadra Hume brought the matter to our attention. We feel the effects originate in the Core. We’ve postulated various ways they might be accomplished. Most of us believe there must be some kind of network coming from the Core and extending over wide areas. We’ve looked for it. Either we’ve looked in the wrong places or it’s shielded in ways we can’t even recognize.”
“You can’t … identify it?”
“We haven’t yet. And we may be wrong.”
Boarmus mused. “You postulate a network?” He tried without success to imagine what kind of network.
“It would have to extend over most of the planet, actually.
It would have to include miniature devices, tiny but synchronized….
“Devices that can make footprints in rock? Devices that can make imaginary things real? Devices that can tear off real arms and legs, kill people really dead? Devices that can hear everything, see everything….”
The dink twitched. “I know it sounds illogical. Of course, we may be wrong.”
“You keep saying that!”
The dink didn’t reply.
“If it emanates from the Core, what if we isolate the Core. We can’t get into it, but what if we dig it up? Suspend it? Cut it off?”
Sepel794DZ made a noise like a snort. “Chadra Hume asked that same question. From what we know, we can’t touch the Core; it’s too well protected from outside interference.”
“Well then, suppose we concentrate on finding this network. When we do, can we destroy it?”
“Yes. Given time. We could destroy it, if we could find it,
but while we were destroying part of it, another part could be building. Besides, as I said, we could be—”
“Wrong!” shouted Boarmus. “I know, I know. Stop saying that!” He simmered, thinking.
“The power must come from the Core,” he offered.
“Probably.”
“Can we shut off the power?”
“Not from outside the Core, no.”
“So what do we do?” he cried, feeling tears of frustration gathering.
“Provost, we’ve been working on that for years! Ever since your predecessor came to us and told us what he suspected.”
Boarmus made a hopeless gesture toward the cubes he had brought with him. “Maybe there’s something in there that will help.”
The dink wagged one of its boxes, a gesture only remotely resembling a doubtfully shaken head. “Perhaps. My colleagues and I will go through them. Even if they don’t tell us what’s happening now, perhaps they’ll give us accurate background.”
“What a comfort! We’re all going to be dead, but we’ll know the background.”
“We don’t need to bother if you think it’s futile.”
“How do I know what’s futile. Do whatever you think might help.” Boarmus made himself look directly at Sepel794DZ. So very plain. So very … boxish. Without even any decorations on it, just a few lights and sensors. “How long will it take you to do that?”
“Who knows?” Did the dink actually sound weary? “It may take some little time. I know these are sensory recordings, but I don’t know how to access them. It may take a while to find out. We don’t feel fatigue, but I know you must be tired. I had a bed brought in for you. It’s over there, under the auxiliary files, where it’s quiet. There are foodstuffs there as well, and liquids if you need them. Perhaps you’d like to refresh yourself while we get on with it?”
Boarmus sighed again. He couldn’t remember when the last time was he had slept soundly, without waking, without lunging up, heart pounding, terrified, thinking the ghosts were about to eat him—or already had. “Thank you.”
The box blinked a light beam, showing him the couch against the far wall. It was hard, and too narrow, but Boarmus didn’t care. He collapsed upon it, shutting his eyes firmly. He
had done everything he could do. Jacent was still back in Enarae, pretending that Boarmus was there with him, entering Boarmus’s credit code at one establishment or another, ordering food and drink in Boarmus’s name. Perhaps it would be enough. Maybe the thing in the Core was very busy right now. Trying to kill Danivon, maybe. Trying to kill Fringe Owldark. Maybe it was so busy it wouldn’t detect the subterfuge. Maybe it wouldn’t come looking for him for a while.
When he slept, however, he groaned in his sleep, dreaming of being torn apart by something he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t avoid, couldn’t understand.
Upstream from Molock, Nela and Bertran found the captain walking along the deck, repeatedly hanging over the side to stare at the hull, shaking his head the while as he had done now and then since leaving Salt Maresh. He was obviously anxious about something.
“What’s the matter?” Bertran asked him.
“We’re riding lower than we should,” he muttered. “Ever since Shallow. I’ve had the men down in the hold searching for a leak, but we find no water coming in. I thought some monster gaver might be hanging on the bottom. They’ll do that sometimes….”
“Monster gaver? How big?”
“Girl, I’ve seen them come rearing sail-high out of the river, the length of ten men laid end to end. Once, when I was a mere boy, I saw one take the top watch off the mast with its teeth. Seldom they get that size, true, the young ones being hunted as they are for their hides, but I’ve seen it happen. Howsoever, we’ve run ropes under the hull, and there’s no gaver there, monster or otherwise. I’ve taken this old lady up and down the river for half my life, and I know how she rides depending on what we’re carrying. It’s as though something in the cargo is heavier than it should be, but I supervised the loading myself and nothing seemed out of the usual.”
He was more annoyed than anxious, but still he continued his search, leaning over to peer at the waterline. It seemed a small matter to the twins despite his obvious concern, and eventually he seemed to agree for he threw up his hands and made a note in his pocket file.
He pointed to the shore they were approaching, saying: “After this next tack, as we come near the south shore, we’ll
turn back downstream to Du-you, the main Derbeckian port. It’s near impossible either to go straight across the Floh this time of year, or to come into the harbor from downstream. Coming from upstream is far easier on the men at the sweeps.”
“Why do we have to stop at Derbeck at all?” asked Nela as they joined the others at the bow.
“Cargo,” the captain said, shrugging.” Sorry for the delay, but it’s business. I have grain and fiber from Shallow and dried fish from Salt Maresh for my factor in Houmfon, and we’ll pick up preserved fruit from the highland orchards.”
“We had to stop here anyhow,” said Danivon. “Not long ago I got a message from Boarmus. We’re to investigate something or other in Derbeck. Unofficially.”
“We’re not going to show ourselves as Enforcers, are we?” asked Fringe.
“No. Molock was the last official visit. From here on, we’re only showmen.”
They separated, he silent, she silent, both of them concentrating (though for different reasons) on the snap and billow of the sails, the rattle of chain, the whistle of the wind in the lines, both of them hearing words, what he had said to her, what she had said to him; what he (she) should have said, instead; what she (he) would not say again.
The high Molockian shore receded behind them, its red-clay banks dark as blood above the leaden ripples of the river. Slowly the Derbeckian shore drew nearer, swampy and grown up with waving sedges and taller reeds as far inland as they could see.
When the reed beds were only an arrow’s flight away, the ship turned lazily on the current and went downstream, held bow-on by the six men plying the two long sweeps at the stern. “Hauuu,” they cried as they pushed hard against the weight of the river. “Lah,” as they raised the blade high. Then silence for two beats as the sweep was swung wide for another stroke. It became an endless slow march, full of pauses. “Hauuu-lah.” Three, four. “Hauuu-lah.” Quiet, quiet.
The top-mast watch first saw the boat, almost a gossle boat so round and clumsy it was, lurching out at them from among the reed beds.
“Boat ho,” he cried.
They crowded the rail to see the tiny craft spinning crazily toward them, like a water beetle, rowed by two uncoordinated
paddlers sitting either side of a female passenger. One man was squat and dark, the woman and the other man were lean and sandy-skinned, with something familiar seeming about them. It was the dark man who waved at them, shouting words they could scarcely hear over the river sounds.
“Ho … stop … ’mergency….”
“That’s Ghatoun, sir,” said the deck officer to the captain. “Head of an encampment along here. We traded fruit and grain for reed mats, last trip.”
“I see him, deckman. Tell the men to drop anchor.”
“Aye, sir.”
Jory and Asner were speaking together urgently, leaning so far over the rail Fringe thought they would fall. She grasped Jory’s shirt, holding the old woman down. Came a clangor of chain as the aft anchor went down, a rattle of sweeps brought aboard, the softer rustle of a rope ladder against the side. Then Ghatoun came clambering over the rail near where they stood, murmuring urgently to the captain.
“Scouts say … chimi-hounds scouring the reeds…. These two … not Derbeckian. Border crossers, maybe…. Supervisors, maybe. Don’t want trouble….”
Fringe cocked her head at Nela and Bertran. The other man and the woman were wearily climbing over the rail, moving like old people or folk tired to the point of exhaustion.
“Cafferty!” cried Jory. “And Latibor!”
“Jory,” whispered the man with a ghost of a smile.
“These people belong to you?” asked the captain, turning to the old woman.
“Oh, my, yes,” said Jory. “Our dear friends! Come to such a pass. Fled for their lives, I’ve no doubt.”
The two nodded hesitantly, their eyes roaming over the others on deck but returning always to Jory with mingled wonder and satisfaction. They had not expected to find her here, so much was obvious.
“How fortunate we came along!” Jory cried. “You two come below with me. You need to lie down. You need some food.”
“They’ve had food,” complained Ghatoun. “And a lie down. Some days of both, they’ve had, and some days more they no doubt need, but I can’t keep them in the village with the chimi-hounds about. Old Man Daddy’s dead, and there’s some big hoofaraw going on that brings the hounds out, beating the riverbanks.”
Jory gave Asner a significant look as she escorted the two strangers below.
“Your good sense and kindness shouldn’t go unrewarded,” said Asner. “What do you think? A hundred derbecki? A thousand?”
Ghatoun flushed. “A hundred would more than pay for their keep. A thousand would likely get me killed.”
“A hundred then.” Asner rummaged in his pockets and brought forth a handful of metal, all shapes, all sizes. He plowed the pile with a fingertip, at last finding two silvery coins that suited him. These he handed to Ghatoun.
“Will your people say anything when the chimi-hounds come?”
“And run the risk of getting slaughtered! Don’t be a fool, man. We wouldn’ta lasted a year if we had people so silly as that!”
“That’s good to hear,” Asner said with a smile. “Peace and joy, Ghatoun.”
“An unlikely hope with chimi-hounds abroad!” commented the headman. “On your way, now, lest someone see you anchored here and ask why! And keep those folks hid while you’re in Du-you, just in case any in Derbeck are interested in them.”
Ghatoun was back in his awkward craft and halfway to the reed beds before the anchor was hauled up and the sweeps deployed. The little boat disappeared into the reeds as the
Dove
moved again downriver toward Du-you.
Asner confronted the three Enforcers, all of whom were glaring at him.
“Border crossers?” demanded Danivon. “Were they border crossers, Asner?” Danivon felt himself close to panic. He smelled something, something dreadful and maimed and old. He smelled death and didn’t know what to do about it.
Asner shook his head. “Well, now, can’t quite say, can I? Last time I saw them, they were headed downriver toward Shallow. Shallow’s a freeport, so they could go there. Possibly they were castaways, that’s all. Nothing illicit about being a castaway.”
“Downriver from where?” asked Fringe. “When you saw them last.”
“Downriver from upriver,” said Asner. “Obviously. Since that’s where we were at the time.”
“Thrasis? Beanfields?” demanded Curvis.
“A bit farther up than that.”
“In the unexplored region?”
“Well, that’s what you say. We don’t think of it as unexplored. We know pretty much what’s there, don’t you know, having been there for some time.”
“What place?”
“Noplace. That’s what I said before. Noplace. Has no name. Why do people all the time have to go about naming places? Impudent, that’s what it is. How do you know what the name of a place is?”
“Whatever it’s called, it has no supervision from Tolerance,” said Curvis. “No monitors, no systems, no Enforcers assigned duty there….”
“No doubt true,” agreed Asner, nodding his head in a not-at-all-sympathetic manner. “Which isn’t our fault. Not mine, not Cafferty’s. Or Latibor’s. Or Jory’s. With all you’ve got to worry about on the rest of Elsewhere, I don’t see why you’d be eager to lay your hands on noplace.”
Danivon smoldered, but Fringe said, “He’s right, Danivon. Your nose told you they were to go along, and this is why. They already know what’s up there.”