The Tattooed Tribes (8 page)

Lucien jaw
dropped. “What do you mean?”

“
It’s what it amounts too,” Jon replied.
“Oh, I’m not allowed to sell you or do you any permanent harm, but
beyond that the rules are fairly flexible. I’ve agreed to care for
you and train you, and in return you’ve promised to be a very, very
good boy and do
exactly
as
you’re told.
All the time
.”

“
But …”

“
There are no ‘buts’, Lucien. Being a
Liaison Officer is no joke. You’ve a hell of a lot to learn and the
Guild doesn’t allow untrained puppies to bugger up years and years
of careful diplomacy.”

“
I …”

“
Shut up and listen,” Jon instructed.
“You’re my first apprentice. I
thought
I saw something in you that might make a good
officer, but I wasn’t sure. Despite this, I decided to give you a
chance, put my reputation on the line and see if my instincts were
right. I’m beginning to have doubts about my ability to judge
someone.”

Lucien’s face
fell and some of the stern lines on Jon’s face softened.

“
When you’ve eaten and you’re feeling
better, you’ll read those papers. If you still want to do this,
we’ll carry on, but if you can’t accept the conditions, I’ll make
arrangements for you to go back downriver and we’ll call it a
day.”

With that he
turned from Lucien, poured himself coffee and added syrup to a
large pile of pancakes.

Lucien nursed
his head for a while and toyed with some food. After the first few
bites the acid in his stomach started doing its job and stopped
torturing him and he was able to clear his plate and look for
more.

He still felt
bruised and shaky, but Jon was obviously not going to speak to him
again until he had read the damned papers.

Reading hurt his eyes, but he forced
himself to follow the legal jargon and his heart sank. He was not a
slave, but he was not free to do what he wanted. In essence Jon
Harabin stood in
loco parentis
,
only it was a more binding relationship and one he could only walk
away from if Jon dismissed him or he made journeyman. If he ran,
the Guild had the right to find him, punish him and make sure he
never stood a chance of being a Liaison Officer ever.

“
What if I never make journeyman?” he asked
in a small voice.

“
It’s automatic at twenty-one,” Jon
replied. “But if you’re any good you’ll have made it before
then.”

“
How old were you?”

“
I was nineteen, but I had an excellent
Master.”

Lucien did
some sums. He was sure Jon was very good as well, so in three
years’ time he could be free to do what he wanted and have the
skills to do it.

On the other
hand, he had never been good with authority, neither at home or in
school. It was not a hard decision to make, but it cost him a lot
of pride.

“
I’d like to stay, please,” he said in a
tightly controlled voice.

“
You’ll abide by your
indenture?”

Lucien
nodded.

“
Right,” Jon said. “We need to get a few
things established. It’s my fault; I should have made things
plainer. You do as you’re told. No ifs, no buts. Once we leave
here, your life could depend on you doing as I say.”

That made
sense; even Lucien’s limited experience up river had shown him
there were unknown dangers around every bend.

“
You’ll also keep your tongue between your
teeth when I tell you to be quiet,” Jon continued. “Custom and good
manners are important amongst The People. They’re tolerant of
newcomers only up to a point. They demand respect from their own
young and won’t put up with a lack of it from mine.”

“
I wouldn’t …” Lucien began.

“
Not knowingly,” Jon agreed. “But until you
understand local custom, keep quiet.”

“
Okay.”

“
And you’ll behave yourself when we aren’t
travelling,” Jon stated. “Yesterday’s little adventure won’t be
repeated. Understand?”

Lucien
nodded,

“
And now we come to this!” Jon threw the
roll of leaf on the table. “What did I tell you?”

“
You said I wasn’t to bring it upriver and
I didn’t. I got it here!” Lucien protested.

“
Did you really believe I meant you to buy
it here?”

“
I … er … I was drunk.”

One glance
showed this was possibly not the best excuse.

“
The beads you used will be paid to a
tribesman for some furs or fish or a basket. They’ll add some dust
or weed as a little bonus and another good man will be like those
sad wrecks you saw in the street.”

“
I’m sorry,” Lucien muttered.

“
And so you bloody well should be!” Jon
thundered. “If I’d done this when I was an apprentice my master
would’ve skinned me alive.”

“
I said I’m sorry!”

“
And I’m wondering if you’re really are,”
Jon returned. “Do I have to take my belt to you?”

“
No!” Lucien replied quickly.

“
Very well,” Jon said. “But you might like
to keep it in mind.” There was a long silence full of unpleasant
possibilities, but Jon finally said, “We’re going on upriver
tomorrow.”

Headache and
gut ache forgotten, Lucien’s head came up fast. “Really?”

“
There are some odd rumours coming
downstream,” Jon replied. “A bride has gone missing on her wedding
day. It doesn’t seem likely, but I need to find out what’s behind
it.”

Later in the
afternoon, after Lucien had slept the morning away, Jon took him
back to the Liaison office.

“
Can you shoot?” he asked.

Still a little
subdued by the reality of what he had signed up to and the
aftermath of his hangover, the boy just nodded, but the old grin
struggled to come out.

“
Bow and arrow?” Jon asked, “Or
rifle?”

“
Both,” Lucien replied, surprising him.
“I’m not all that good with a bow, but I’m not bad with a
rifle.”

“
Where did you learn archery?”

“
It was about the only fun after school
activity.”

In the armoury
he ran his hands lovingly over the composite bows, but his eyes
went to the rifles locked in their rack.

Jon retrieved
what Lucien thought was a long pole, but realised was a bow. And
what a bow!

Jon allowed
him to try stringing it, but he could barely make it bend a
fraction.

“
Is it tribal made?” he asked in wonder as
Jon bent it with practised easy and slipped the string
on.

“
Yes,” he replied. “The best thing about a
bow is you can reuse your ammo.”

He picked up a
quiver full of fletched arrows.

“
We take both,” he said. “But we avoid
using the rifles unless it’s absolutely necessary. You can practise
with a bow.”

Lucien
rediscovered a lot of muscles during the afternoon as he loosed
arrow after arrow at the butt and listened to Jon’s comments on his
skill, or the lack of it.

“
Not bad,” was the final comment. “We’ll
see about getting you a decent bow when we get further
north.”

“
Like yours?”

“
If you can string it!” Jon replied,
laughing. “Come on, you must be hungry. I know I am.”

They walked
back through the gathering dusk and Jon told him about the tribal
craftsman and their skill with wood, leather and metal.

The attack
came without warning.

Three men
erupted out of the shadows and were on them before Lucien had time
to react. His arms were pinned to his sides in a savage bear hug
and he was lifted off his feet.

Somewhere
behind him he thought he heard a rough voice say, “Remember the boy
lives.” He struggled and kicked and twisted, desperately trying to
free himself, but the vice-like arms merely got tighter and he
could feel the air being crushed out of his lungs.

In front of
him Jon was being circled by two men with knives drawn; every way
he turned one was behind him, looking for a chance to give the
other an opening.

They were wary
of him, dodging out of the way of his hands and feet. Suddenly
Lucien saw them rush in and tried to scream a warning, but there
was no air in his lungs to give voice.

“
Watch the big Liaison Officer get filleted
like a salmon,” the man holding him chortled in his ear. “I love
the sight of fresh guts.”

As the two men
closed on him Jon went down under their onslaught, falling as if
all his bones had gone soft.

Lucien felt a
terrible wave of grief and a hoarse cry broke from him … and then
he realised it was a ploy.

Jon was up in
a crouching position and this time his knife was in his hand. The
momentum of the attack had carried one of the men passed him and as
he went by Jon’s knife flashed out catching him across the back of
the knee, ham stringing him. He gave a howl of pain and collapsed
forwards.

Jon did not
wait to see him go down; he went towards the other one. They
circled for a few seconds each looking for a lapse of concentration
that would provide an opportunity. Jon’s eyes never left the
other’s face, he was cool and contained, but his opponent began to
have doubts. His eyes slide towards the man holding Lucien for just
a second and then Jon’s knife flashed out, slashing him down the
side of his face.

The man
dropped his blade as he put his hands up to stop his eyeball
falling out of his head.

Jon turned to
face Lucien and his captor. “Your turn!” he said, advancing towards
them.

A second later
Lucien was dropped to the ground. When he had enough wind to raise
his head, the only sign of violence was a pool of blood in the
mud.

“
Are you all right?” Jon asked.

“
Yes,” Lucien wheezed. “They were
tribesman, I saw their hands.”

Jon shook his
head. “They weren’t tribal.”

“
How could you tell?” Lucien asked, sucking
air into his abused lungs.

“
If they’d been tribesmen we’d both be
dead,” Jon told him with a grin. “Now who do you suppose wants me
out of the way and The People blamed for it?”

“
I don’t know!” Lucien
protested.

“
I never thought you did,” Jon replied.
“Come on. We both need a good night’s sleep; we’ve an early start
in the morning.”

Chapter
7

Lucien would
have liked to discuss the fight. Given the chance, he would have
gone over the whole thing blow by blow, knife slash by knife slash,
but he received no encouragement and Jon changed the subject every
time he began. The only thing he was prepared to talk about was the
remark Lucien had overheard about not hurting him.

“
They wanted a witness who’d testify it was
an attack by tribesmen,” Jon explained.

“
Why?”

“
To add to the evidence. There are a lot of
people who’d like the tribes labelled as savages who must be
stamped out.”

“
Are they?” Lucien asked.
“Savages?”

“
You’ll find out for yourself soon enough,”
Jon said and refused to be drawn further.

The next
morning he checked Lucien’s pack, adding a few basic supplies of
food, spare bow strings and a small amount of ammunition. He had
the boy make sure his knife was sharp and checked he had not
misplaced the means of making fire.

They both went
over the rifles to ascertain they were clean and in full working
order and Jon also inspected Lucien’s clothing and boots.

“
You’ll do,” he said. “Did you remember a
tooth brush?”

Lucien nodded,
grinning.

“
Come on then.”

They left the
makeshift town as dawn was breaking and made their way back to the
river. Before them the cataract roared and water rushed over the
rocks.

“
This way,” Jon said and they followed a
worn path up the bank and almost into the tree line. Following the
river they walked upstream for several hours until the water ceased
to foam white and grew calmer.

Before them it
stretched away between towering trees, a wide highway paved in
water.

Lucien paused
for a moment to listen to the silence broken only by the call of
birds and the faint rumble of the falls far behind. His smile was
full of wonder and joy and for the first time Jon saw some of the
tension drain from his face, leaving it calm, youthful and full of
hope.

They walked on
into the day, following the river on its age-old course, the
silence only broken by the sounds of nature and the occasional
comment as Jon pointed out some new wonder.

This idyll was
broken in the mid afternoon.

Ahead of them
a canoe was pulled up onto the bank, while in the river, standing
waist deep in water, two men tried to stop another from sinking.
Even Lucien’s inexperienced eye could see it had been badly
overloaded.

Two women
watched the operation and offered what sounded like advice, much of
which involved demands for the men to be careful with various
specific items.

“
Who are they?” Lucien asked, annoyed at
this reminder of the world left behind.

“
Work,” Jon replied. “Our work, so keep
quiet, let me do the talking and learn.”