The Shasht War (33 page)

Fortunately, Delp and Gevuv were incurious, to say the least. Riro though, missed very little. This became apparent one day, after a meal of Thru's roast fish with corn bread and sour vegetables. Thru had discovered that cornmeal behaved very much like bushpod meal and could be used in all the same ways. Riro was helping clean up after the meal while Delp went ashore to buy the master a pitcher of ale from a nearby tavern. They'd washed everything and were drying the pans before hanging them back over the little stove.

Suddenly Riro turned to him.

"So, tell me, were you cursed by a witch or something? Is that why you're covered in hair? Or are you a werewolf?"

Thru almost dropped the ladle he was drying. So much for thinking that he'd fooled young Riro.

"No," he said. There was no point in denying it. "I wasn't cursed. What is a werewolf?"

"Oh, you don't know? They are terrible things: men who turn into wolves and eat their neighbors. Everyone is afraid of them."

Thru had never heard of such a thing, but he kept his disbelief to himself.

"No, I am not a werewolf."

"Then, where did you grow the fur?"

"I've just always had it." Thru struggled to explain. How could he tell the youngster that all mots and brilbies were covered in fur? And how could he tell him that the bare skin of humans was a little disgusting to a mot?

Riro's face showed that he was trying to absorb this odd information.

"I have never heard of that before. Are you sure you're not a werewolf? They are said to be covered in fur. But they are also said to have red eyes, offensive breath, and long claws."

"Indeed."

Clearly, Thru did not fit the bill exactly.

"Still, your accent is strange, and you say little of where you come from. You're not a Shashti, that's for sure. All Shashti like to boast about their hometowns."

"True. I am not from Shasht."

"Are there others like yourself in the land you come from?"

"Yes." Thru did not elaborate.

"Perhaps it is very cold there? So this helps to keep you warm?"

"Perhaps, but no one is sure."

"Is this place you come from part of the Empire?"

"No."

"Then, it must be far away indeed."

"Is it against the law for me to work on the boat?" said Thru to steer the conversation away from his homeland.

"No. Gevuv assumed you were a runaway slave. He won't tell the slave catchers, though. But when we reach Shesh he will have new papers written on you. You'll be Gevuv's slave after that. He will also have you castrated."

Thru's eyebrows rose for a moment. He would have to disappear before they reached Shesh, then.

"How long does it take to reach Shesh?"

"About twelve days, depending on the traffic at the lock ladder at Grand Junction."

"And we will reach the locks tomorrow?"

"Yes."

Thru hung up the ladle and put up the knives. When he left he would take the smaller of the kitchen knives. It could be hidden in his coat, yet it was large enough to serve as a weapon in a pinch.

"The truth is that I come from a far distant land. Very different from this one." He didn't have to glance out at the endless vista of two- and three-story houses that covered the treeless plain to know how alien this place was to a mot of the Land.

"The Red Tops were chasing you, but I didn't tell. I hate the Red Tops."

"Yes, I hate them, too."

That night they tied up in the dock at Evkun, another huge village of brown brick that stretched for several miles along the canal.

Other boats lined the wharves. Barrels, crates, and a dozen bales of hay were set along the dock. Carts and wagons took on their final loads and departed. The dockmaster blew the whistle for the end of the day. Men set down tools, locked stalls and warehouse doors.

Riro joined a group of other wharf kids, all slaves to various boat owners. They were rolling dice, and a couple of youths from the boat
Wiggen
had stolen some alcohol and passed the fiery potion around.

Riro didn't care for spirits, but he had a fatal attraction to games of chance. Luck often came his way, and he seemed to know when to bet a few coins.

Thru spent this quiet time working on the old pair of boots Gevuv had given him. They almost fit, and they helped keep his feet warm. Thru had cannibalized some leather from an old piece of hose and sewed it over the broken toe of the right boot.

As he worked, he contemplated his position. Lost in the heart of Shasht as a slave, he was invisible. For a few days he was safe. But he had no way of knowing what had happened to the other mots. He prayed that they had escaped the Red Tops and that Janbur had been able to hide them.

And for himself? He was simply lost in a desert of dusty towns of brick filling the flatland on either side of the canal. When he thought about his predicament, the sense of isolation was oppressive. So he did his best to put that aside and simply survive day by day. He worked hard on making himself useful, yet invisible. He had been able to pass as a human, at least to the insensitive. As long as he didn't spend too much time around anyone, they didn't seem to see through his disguise. Gevuv and Delp had never said a thing. Of course, Delp never said much of anything anyway.

And now he saw the world of Man from a fresh perspective. Before, he had seen it only from the other side of their battle lines, and then in chains from the hold of a ship. Now he saw the rude life of the canal, the villages of the plain, and he felt the desperation of these populations. From the cruel God to whom they sacrificed their captives to the harsh hierarchy that governed their affairs, the men of Shasht were ruled by fear and punishment. When their armies flowed out around the world, they took their fear, their hatred with them.

The starkness and sheer alien quality of these mud-brick towns hit him every day. Endless squalid streets, clouds of dust, swarms of flies, no trees. To Thru it was a landscape from hell.

It brought on a sense of desolation, a withering of hope. No wonder the men drank the fiery spirits of alcohol and fought each other in senseless rage outside the grogshops. Theirs was a life of toil and hunger, deprivation and grief.

At this level of life one never saw the rulers, the wealthy in the carriages and covered wagons. At this level, even the meanest servants of Janbur Gsekk were regarded as lordlings in their own right.

But amid the violence and desolate loneliness, he had one fragile hope to cling to. The
Euchre
rode the canal and they were going all the way to Shesh, which was Gevuv's home. Shesh was the name of both a town and a region known for beautiful countryside. This information he had gleaned from Gevuv one evening. And he immediately put it together with another word that he had learned by accident from Janbur Gsekk. The Shashti word "Zob" was often used for a small country estate. Nobles went to their "zobbi" for periods of relaxation. They usually contained a game park for hunting and a stream for trout fishing. According to Riro, Shesh was surrounded by forest. It was a special place. Riro liked it.

Obviously there would be many zobbi around Shesh, but he knew that Simona of the Gsekk had often mentioned that she had loved to ride in Shesh Zob, a country place belonging to her family with an enclosed parkland where a woman could ride a horse in private, and thus escape the rules of purdah. Simona had often said that if she could she would withdraw to Shesh Zob and stay there forever.

Thru had decided to find Simona's Shesh Zob. Perhaps she would be there. Or possibly he could devise some way of sending her a message. She was the only person that he knew in this hostile land who might befriend him.

Not much of a plan, but it was better than sitting on the
Euchre
until he was taken to be castrated. Then he would be exposed and soon placed in the hands of the priests.

Of course, running off was not without dangers. Riro had told him that Gevuv would notify the authorities, and the slave catchers would take him in time. Slave catchers roamed the cities constantly. Runaways were often blinded and sold down as animal-slaves. Thru had seen plenty of animal-slaves, too. They often worked in the locks, chained to the capstans used to raise the doors of the lock. Their faces were usually broken by a brand.

Although this was a terrible fate, if he was captured he would be sacrificed on the altar of the Great God.

So he had to run, and stay in hiding in the woods around Shesh until he could identify Simona's Zob. Not an easy task, for a strange slave could not just walk into a fine house and ask questions. He'd be lucky not to be whipped for his insolence.

He needed to plan carefully.

Suddenly an eruption of loud noise came from the wharf. Thru looked out and saw a circle of youths had gathered around a fight.

The smaller of the two in the fight was Riro. Riro was too good at dice. It often got him into trouble. The bigger boy he was fighting had lost his temper at losing so much.

Thru watched carefully. Riro fought with energy but no skill. The bigger boy had no skill either so the fight was a windmill of punches that mostly missed or banged off the backs of heads. They clutched at each other. Riro was thrown and the bigger boy was on him and it was quickly getting ugly for Riro.

Thru stepped ashore, turned an empty barrel on its side, and set it rolling across the wharf, right into the fight. The boys scattered, the boy punching Riro jumped back, and Riro rolled out of the way.

But he wasn't quick enough, and two other boys grabbed Riro and held him while the bigger boy came forward ready to punch his victim some more.

Thru materialized out of the dusk.

"Do you really need three to fight this little fellow?"

The bigger boy was a burly youth, he didn't back down.

"Why don't you take your nose out of this? This is between the short stuff and me."

"Well, it was, but now you've got two friends holding him."

"So? What do you care, you weirdo?"

"I guess I just like to see things fought fair. So let him go."

The bigger boy unshipped a clasp knife that opened with a smooth snap. "Go fuck your mother!" he snarled.

Surprised a little by such bravado in a boy of no more than twelve years, Thru took up the stance of kyo, hands extended, relaxed, knees slightly bent.

The boy slashed at him, but Thru did not remain in place to be cut. He shimmied away from the steel, and the boy turned in the air, thrown over a hip while the knife hand was held, bent, and the knife fell free.

Thru caught the blade and spun around with the knife in his hand.

The boy on the deck got back to his feet a little slowly. He'd landed hard, and he'd never seen such speed in a fighter. Worse, his knife was now in his opponent's hand. The two behind Riro moved away as if he was a source of contagion.

"That's better," said Thru. "There's no need for fighting. What was it about anyway?"

"The short stuff was cheating!"

"I was not," said Riro, enraged by this unjust charge. "I didn't bring the dice. They're not weighted. We tried them."

"Nobody wins all the time like you do. You must be cheating."

"You just don't watch me. I don't bet all the time like you. I wait until I feel the luck. I know what I am doing, you drink spirit, you don't know what you're doing."

"Hey, shut up, you little piece of..."

"Enough!" said Thru. "Does anyone else here back up your claim that Riro cheated?"

The other boys and youths shuffled their feet. Riro was well liked among the canal kin but the smaller boys were too afraid of big Hen and his friends to speak. Then one of them found his courage.

"Riro speaks the truth. He doesn't cheat."

The others nodded and mumbled agreement.

Hen snarled at them, but they took no notice.

"Seems like you were wrong, then. Unless you've got proof that the dice were weighted or that Riro was cheating, you've got no right to go after him."

Hen and his friends withdrew. Thru watched them leave. The party was over, the game finished. The boys drifted back to the canal boats, warehouses, and dock buildings where they worked.

"Thank you, Thru," said Riro as they walked back toward
Euchre
.

"You weren't really cheating were you?"

"No, I don't cheat. They were just sore losers."

Later, before turning in, Thru looked back across the dock, the warehouses, and the dusty, endless streets beyond. Everyone in this sad place was a loser as far as he could see, and what they had lost was the world itself.

After Aeswiren returned from his disturbing visit with the Old One, Nuza was moved to new rooms, a suite on the far side of the palace. Her security guards were increased and monitored by operatives of the Hand. The rooms were warm and blessed with a grand view to the west. Each day they were lit spectacularly by the setting sun. They looked out across the Shalba and the parklands of the Outer Shalba, and she amused herself by counting the spires and turrets of the great houses there.

In the afternoon of the second day, the Emperor came to visit her. He greeted her in the language of the Land, his usage was often clumsy, but steadily improving. Her heart had been touched by the effort she could see that he was making.

"I hope you like rooms. They are safer for you now."

"They are nice rooms, but I don't quite understand. You are Emperor, correct?"

"Yes."

"But you cannot keep me safe."

"It is"—he groped for the words—"explain, hard." Indeed, he thought, no Emperor had been freed from the curse of the priesthood. "Powerful are priests."

"But you rule?"

"I rule, but I must my back watch."

Aeswiren did not fear rebellion among the people. His policies had encouraged trade among the cities and growth in skilled crafts and industries. Even the old nobility had given up their rebellious ways. Aeswiren had brought more of the stability that they'd enjoyed under Norgeeben. The terrible chaos of the previous dynasty still haunted many great families. No, it was not rebellion among his fractious people that he feared, Aeswiren feared murder. That was the way the Gold Tops would choose.