Skeen's Leap (33 page)

“And then he told the Abar to hustle me back here and collect the watchers and they should all go back to their beds and forget the whole thing as it was a madman's dream not worth talking about.” Skeen sighed. “I know. Once you happened on the Boy there was no way you could leave him there. Doesn't stop me wishing you'd spent your time like the klazits asleep under a watertrough. Listen carefully. In about three breaths I'm going to go see Peg and Timmy. Keep your fingers crossed they've turned up at least one ship heading out before dawn.” She untied the sack from her belt, tossed it to Hal. “See that my things and what Pegwai left are packed and bring them with you. Hal, you settle with the Host. Don't let him charge you more than twice what we agreed in exchange for lost time. Domi, you and Ders make sure the Boy is well hidden. You don't have to worry about searches—every klazit or spy will be looking hard somewhere else. Hm. There's enough for you to carry, makes hiring a handcart reasonable. Yes, do that. It'll be easier on the boy and that'll leave most of you with your hands loose just in case. Stay casual, make jokes if you can; look drunk if you can do that without exaggerating. Go straight to the wharves and sit out at the end by the silk merchant's warehouse, so I'll know where to find you. That's all I can think of. What about you all? Any questions. Suggestions? You see something I forgot? No? Good.” She got to her feet, smoothed her hair down. “Once we get out past the seawalls I'm going to sleep for a week.”

Pegwai and Timka were in the garden with the High Mother. Chulji was crouching in the background, tactfully silent. A sheet had been stretched between two trees and Pegwai was showing the images from the Gather. When Skeen came in, he was explaining a detail of the lighting system. Wanasi left her standing among the neuters while she went to speak quietly to the High Mother.

A flurry of orders from Demmirrmar. The neuters fluttered off, collecting the sheet, clearing away the bottles and plates, diving into bushes, weaving about the High Mother's private garden, making sure it was clear of sleepers, listeners, any one or thing that might disturb the privacy of the conference getting set up. A pair of neuters came in with a steaming teapot and trays of small sandwiches, strips of cheese, and small tart fruits.

When they were alone under the soft glow of candlelamps, the High Mother filled cups for her guests then settled back with a clacking of her mouth parts and sucked at the straw in her drinking globe. She waited until Skeen had gulped down her tea, refilled her cup. “So. What have those young idiots been up to?”

“You don't really want to know.” Skeen cradled the cup between her palms enjoying the heat that passed into her and took a little weariness away. “But I suppose you have to so you can protect yourself. I strongly advise an impenetrable facade of ignorance.” Once again she sketched the events of the night. “So you see, if our departure was urgent before, it's imperative now.”

“Yes. You are fortunate to find the Chalarosh divided, with tension high, Seeker. Were things a bit more at ease, the Doferathapanad would have gathered in the lot of you and handed you over to the Kalakal.” She sucked at the straw, stared out over Skeen's head. “High tide comes in a little over two hours; the night is almost done.” She let out a powerful whistling sound that rapidly rose out of Skeen's hearing range.

Wanasi came in a rush, liveliness and brightness like a cloak about her in spite of the late hour. Her carapace was a pale violet shading to cerulean in the shadows; she was sleek and pretty and perky with coltish grace in the flicker of her six segmented legs. She brought a handful of papers with small neat glyphs printed on them, presented these to Demmirrmar with a song phrase that was filled with her pleasure in having completed her task to her satisfaction well within the time given.

Demmirrmar sang a thank-blessing back to her and waited until she left to glance through the sheets. “Three leaving with tide's turn. All Balayar.” Her lambent eyes twinkled, she made the bowing sway that was the Skirrik equivalent of laughter. “Tipesh Sco, bound for Mai Semang on Lesket Tjin. Tenglan Mil, bound for Untangka on Ekso Beren. Pipin Kers, bound for Matamashak on Bretel Heran.” She flipped through the papers again. “All have cabin space free and have indicated a willingness to carry you all. Not so many who can afford cabin passage want to leave Atsila Vana,” she told Skeen, “odd as you might find that.”

Skeen turned to Pegwai. “Any preference, anyone you know among those?”

Pegwai twisted his face into a scowl. “Not Mil. Neither of us would be happy with a Dih on his ship. The other two I don't know.”

Demmirrmar arched her neck. “Your name was mentioned, Scholar. Mil said nothing of any unwillingness.”

“Tenglan Mil would dice his granny for stew if the price was right.”

“Peg, those destinations. All in the Spray?”

“Yes.”

“Which is the largest busiest most important of the ports?”

“No question. Mai Samang.”

“Then we'll take Sco's Ship. I don't like the thought of a clutch of Ravvayad sniffing along an unbroken trail. We'll change ships in Mai Samang and change again later.”

NASTY NEW ENEMIES. THE FIRST FALSE DESTINATION PUT BEHIND HER, SKEEN STARTS SLOGGING ON AGAIN. AS USUAL THERE'S A LOT OF BORING GROUND TO GET ACROSS (IN THIS CASE A LOT OF BORING OCEAN) WHERE NOTHING MUCH HAPPENS BEYOND THE QUESTERS GETTING ON EACH OTHERS' NERVES. SO—CONSIDER THE OCEAN CROSSED. AND TWO DAMP MONTHS CROSSED OFF. NOW OUR QUESTERS ARE VEGETATING IN A CITY CALLED kulchikan, THE MAIN CITY ON AN ISLAND CALLED the sting, ONE OF THE LARGER ISLANDS TRAILING OFF THE END OF A LONG THIN CURVE OF LAND CALLED the tail.

“I never thought to have so eminent a visitor. Like plucking a butter rose off a dungheap, an unexpected pleasure.” The dark saturnine face turned from Pegwai to Skeen and she didn't need to be a mindreader to get the message in that dull brown gaze: How I'd love the pleasure of taming you, woman; I am Kral of Kulchikan, everything you see is mine to take if I want. Be glad I'm not a man to break the laws I've made; it means you're safe for the moment, but give me the slightest reason, a hairline of an excuse, and we'll see how long you'll resist me. “You must be careful walking the streets in Kulchikan, Seeker. We do our best, but this is a lawless place.”

The Tail was the refuge of rebels, a mix of exiles and outlaws and the incurably restless with representatives from every Wave except the first (no Ykx). Trade here was generally a matter of being a better and often more violent thief than the other thieves. There were a few rules obeyed by everyone who hadn't the power to break them with impunity or wished to stay more than a minute in the settlements and cities along the Tail. Walled towns were truce-grounds, feuds were left outside (the survivors of flare-ups were generally marched beyond the town limits and hung from handy trees); maiming, biting, gouging, anything less than death was a concern only to the individuals involved. Any visitor who shared a meal with residents was safe from attack by those particular residents for exactly three days counted from the first bite of the meal. Services bargained for had to be performed and paid, or the price would be taken from the defaulter's hide—this applied primarily to residents—matters were a lot looser when the transaction occurred between Tailites and visiting traders. Those traders had Truce Havens spread from Sting to Root, guarantees provided by local powers; since these had a habit of skinning or worse those who violated their decrees, the Havens were among the safest spots for travelers, as long as they checked in with the local owners and paid the head tax. Cheating was expected on all deals, the rule of the trade road, but if a trader was fast on his feet, nimble-minded, knew the goods and markets well enough, he could become remarkably wealthy trading along the Tail; among other things, the mountains were rich in gems and metals, especially gold. There were ship-wreckers on the coast, pirates in fleets of small boats (the merchanters had to stay close inshore because of hostile Sea Min), sand bars that shifted with every storm, erratic winds, swarms of wasp-like kirrpitts that could strip the skin from a man between one breath and the next. Land travel was worse. Bands of Mountain Min sniped at miners and swept down on packtrains, though they tended to back off from any guarded by Turlik's rangers; these had a habit of shooting fire shafts and fire was about the only weapon the Min feared. Otherwave bands were generally smaller but just as bloody. No haven in local habitats either. Children were trained in the local ethic from the moment they understood speech. The family is all you have, defend it with body and mind; anyone outside the family is an enemy, attack him or her or whatever without waiting or warning the moment you spot a weakness, guard yourself and back off if he's stronger and knows the land. Attack is always the best defense. The man you kill won't kill you. It's always better to offer a stranger's blood to the gods—that way you increase your chances they won't thirst for yours.

The Kral of Kulchikan moved restlessly in his elaborate chair, looked down at the group kneeling at his feet, turned to the thin dark man standing on the dais beside him. “The tax?”

“Paid, ajja Kral.”

“Did the Scholar say why he is traveling in these waters?”

“No, ajja Kral. Till now you have not required me to ask such things.”

“Till now we've had traders and scum on the run. No need to ask them why they've come.” He waved his long hand and the hangfaced dogrobber moved into the shadow behind the chair. “Scholar, I think you had better explain your presence. We do not want to offend the Tanul Lumat. Someday we might even want to use its services, having an infant daughter with an inquiring mind. But the Lumat is a long way from here and your companions are an odd lot, that you must admit.”

Pegwai composed his face into the smiling courtesy of his business persona, laced his fingers together over the bulge of his paunch. “Travelers must go where they can find ships to take them, oh Kral. Our project is the mapping of the north shore of the Halijara Sea including the river systems inland, a task we will not come close to completing ourselves, but the Lumat endures when man succumbs to the frailty of his flesh; we will do our part and pass on the task to others. We are in Kulchikan only to wait for a ship that will take us south. As to the nature of our company, the Aggitj fetch and carry and serve as guards; when we are beyond the amenities of city life, they'll hunt and do camp work. The Skirrik lad earns his wedding jet working for us, serving as translator when necessary, and most important, serving as go-between; everyone knows the Skirrik and how far they can be trusted. The Chalarosh boy we acquired by accident, a long dull story, but he too has proved useful. The Min is the Seeker's friend and companion and also a scout; you will understand the value of having a friendly Min along. We may seem an odd grouping, but it has proved a useful one thus far. Is there more you wish to know, oh Kral?”

“You intend to stay in the Truce Haven?”

“Yes, oh Kral, it seems best. Our stay depends on the arrival of a suitable ship. It might arrive tomorrow, we might be here a month.” He gave the Kral a broad genial smile.

The Kral looked thoughtfully at him. “Dine with me, Scholar. This evening.” His eyes flicked briefly to Skeen but he did not include her or any of the others in the invitation.

“Honored, oh Kral.”

“I wish to speak of the Lumat, Scholar, some questions about the young sheltered there. Come prepared to discourse on that.”

“With delight, oh Kral.”

Every night after that Pegwai went to the Kralhus, making a face at Skeen each time the escort came for him, shaking his head at Timka when she laughed at him and wished his tongue two ends.

The Aggitj took the boy with them when they went out during the day to do a little trading and pick up some coin by working at this and that. The Beast was useful more than once, stopping trouble before it started when he opened his mouth and showed his fangs. At night Chulji the Min-Skirrik went with them and the Boy stayed to guard Skeen and Timka, contented with that assignment.

A number of ships arrived and left, many of them Balayar who were interested in the vast Market at the center of Kulchikan, with no wish to venture further along the Tail. A few others wandered in, but they were too small and too scruffy. Not that Skeen demanded Balayar standards, but she wouldn't have trusted any of those shipmasters with a mangy dog.

The ninth day came and passed. The Boy was getting nervous. No Chalarosh had come off any of the ships, but time was beginning to work against him. He began walking the walls at night, peering anxiously down into the streets until Timka or one of the Aggitj came to fetch him. He said nothing about his fears, but Skeen saw them and began worrying in her turn. Pegwai was getting edgy, too; the Kral was looking at him with a speculation he had no trouble reading. The Pallah was wondering whether he'd like having a resident scholar about the place, someone to teach his sons and that daughter he was so proud of. It would be the easiest thing in the world for Pegwai to vanish without a trace into the Kralhus, with the rest of the party slipped into the sea to cut off any chance of bother. Skeen started haunting the wharves, glaring out over the polluted waters of the bay as if she could will the right ship into port. She was getting increasingly irritable in this miserable place where she couldn't even go out and get happily soused in a local tavern and maybe find herself an energetic bedmate or two. No one to talk to—nothing to do but sit and brood. And she was brooding far too much about Tibo; she was about ready to scream and claw at the walls in her need to find him and squeeze out of him why he'd stranded her. The easy answers weren't right. She felt that in her bones when she let herself feel. But I could be wrong, Djabo's bloody claws, I could be wrong, and if I'm wrong, everything I think about myself is wrong, everything I thought I knew. Round and round and round, wearing ruts in the floor, wearing ruts in her brain.