Water Sleeps (27 page)

T he practical rules of Company field operations resemble those obeyed by stage
magicians. We would prefer our audience saw nothing at all but we do realize
that invisibility is impractical. So we try to show the watcher something other
than what he is looking for. Thus the goats and donkeys. And, south of Jaicur,

all new looks and identities for everybody, with the enlarged party breaking up
into two independently traveling “families,” plus a group of failed southern
fortune-hunters dragging home in despair and defeat after having had their
spirits crushed by the Taglian experience. There were quite a few men of the
latter sort around. They had to be watched. Many were not above taking advantage
of weaker parties if they thought they could manage it. The roads were not
patrolled anymore. The Protector did not care if they were safe.

Doj and Swan, Gota and I formed the advance party. We looked weak but that old
man was worth four or five ordinary mortals. We had only one scrape. It was over
in seconds. Several blood trails led off into the brush. Doj had chosen to leave
no one dead.

The land became less hospitable and rose steadily. In clear air it was possible
to look ahead and catch the faintest glimpse of the peaks of the Dandha Presh,

still many days’ journey south of us. The paved road ended alongside an
abandoned work camp. “They must’ve run out of prisoners,” Swan observed. The
camp had been stripped of everything portable.

“What they ran out of is enemies Soulcatcher thought were worth an investment in
a road. She could always find people she doesn’t like and use them up in an
engineering project.” And she had done so on the western route, which was being
followed by the rest of the Company. They would have paved footing all the way
to Charandaprash. Their road, and the waterways serving it, had remained under
construction until just a few years ago, when the Protector evidently decided
the Kiaulune wars really were over, that it was not necessary to make life easy
for the Great General and his men, and bullied the Radisha into no longer
spending the money.

I wondered what the Radisha’s perspective would be. I suspected she had believed
she was in charge right up to the moment we disappeared her. Then she had begun
getting an education, here amongst her faithful subjects.

We reached Lake Tanji, which I love. The lake is a vast sprawl of icy indigo
beauty. When I was a lot younger, we fought our deadliest encounter with the
things that had given the Shadowmasters their names there. More than a decade
later you could still see places where rock had melted. If you went exploring
some of the narrow gulches scarring the hillsides, you could find clutches of
human bones that had come back to the surface with time.

“This is a place of dark memory,” Doj remarked. He had been here for that
battle, too. And so had Gota, who had stopped complaining long enough to deal
with her memories also.

She really did have a lot of pain these days.

The white crow streaked overhead. It dropped down the slope ahead, vanished into
the ragged foliage of a tall mountain pine. We saw that bird almost every day
now. There was no doubt it was following us. Swan swore that it had tried to
strike up a conversation with him once when he was out in the brush relieving
himself.

When I asked what it wanted, he said, “Hey, I got the hell out of there, Sleepy.

I’ve got problems enough. I don’t need to get known as a guy who gossips with
birds, too.”

“It might’ve had something interesting to say.”

“Without a doubt. And if it really wants to tell somebody something badly
enough, it’ll come talk to you.”

Right now Swan looked down the slope and said, “It’s hiding from something.”

“But not from us.” I looked back up the slope. The ground appeared untouched up
there. There was no sign of other travelers. Below me, downhill, the meandering
track appeared occasionally upon the slope and along the shore, both of which
were deserted. This was no longer a popular route. “I could retire beside that
lake,” I told Swan.

“Must not be the best place or somebody would’ve beaten you to it.”

He had a point. This country was far emptier now than it had been twenty years
ago. Then there had been villages around the lake.

“There you go,” Swan said, looking back.

“What?” I looked. It took a moment. “Oh. The bird?”

“Not just a bird. A crow. The regular kind of crow.”

“Your eyes are better than mine. Ignore it. If we don’t pay it any special
attention, it shouldn’t have any reason to concentrate on us.” My heartbeat was
rising, though.

Maybe it was just a feral crow and had nothing to do with Soulcatcher. Crows are
not fastidious about their dining.

Or maybe the Protector had, at last, begun looking for us outside of Taglios.

White crow in hiding, black crow in the air, searching. What did it mean?

Not much we could do about it, whatever. Though Uncle Doj had a calculating eye
whenever he looked up at the black crow.

It lost interest after a while. It went away. I told the others, “That shouldn’t
be a problem. Crows are smart, for birds, but one by itself can’t remember a lot
of instructions or carry much information back. If it is one of hers.” We had to
assume that it was. Crows were much less common than they used to be. Those
remaining always seemed to be under Soulcatcher’s control. Her control was
probably why they were dying out.

If this one was a scout for the Protector, it would be days yet before it could
report.

Doj observed, “If it was suspicious, we can expect to have shadows around in a
few days.”

That would be Soulcatcher’s best means of scouting us. Shadows traveled faster
than crows, could be given much more complex instructions and could bring back
far more information. But could Soulcatcher control them so far away? The
original Shadowmasters had had major difficulties managing their pets over long
distances.

We passed along the shores of Lake Tanji. Each of us seized an opportunity to
bathe in the icy water. The old road then led us on to the Plain of
Charandaprash, where the Black Company had won one of its greatest triumphs and
the Great General had suffered his most humiliating defeat—through no fault of
his own. Though a capricious history would not recall the blame due his cowardly
master, Longshadow. Wreckage from that battle still lay scattered across the
slopes. A small garrison watched over the approaches to the pass through the
Dandha Presh. It showed no interest in clearing any mess or, even, in monitoring
traffic. Nobody looked my group over. Nobody asked questions. We were assessed
an unofficial toll and warned that the donkey might find the footing treacherous
in the high pass because there was still ice on the rocks up there. We did learn
that there had been heavier traffic than usual lately. That told me that Sahra’s
group had encountered no insuperable difficulties and was ahead of us, as it
should be, even with all the old men and reluctant companions.

The mountains were far colder and more barren than the highlands we had crossed.

I wondered how the Radisha was handling it, about her thoughts concerning the
empire she had acquired, mostly thanks to the Company. Doubtless her eyes had
been opened some.

They needed a lot of opening. She had spent most of her life cooped up inside
the Palace.

The white crow turned up every few days but its darker kinfolk did not. Maybe
the Protector was preoccupied elsewhere.

I wished I had Murgen’s talent for leaving his body. I had not had so much as a
good dream since leaving the Grove of Doom. I knew exactly as little as everyone
else. And that was extremely frustrating after having had easy access to secrets
from afar for so long.

Nights in the mountains get really cold. I told Swan I was tempted to take up
his suggestion that we go off somewhere and set up housekeeping in our own
tavern and brewery. When it got really cold, a few lesser sins did not seem to
matter.

T he timing of events in Taglios is uncertain because the principal reporter,

Murgen, had maintained such a casual relationship with the concept for the last
decade and a half. But his sketchy descriptions of events in the city following
our departure are of more than passing interest.

At first the Protector suspected nothing. The stay-behinds planted smoke buttons
and started rumors but with a declining enthusiasm the Taglian peoples began to
sense. At the same time, though, the populace developed an abiding suspicion
that the Protector had done away with the reigning Princess. The people became
less tractable by the hour.

The arrival of the Great General and his forces guaranteed the peace. Moreover,

it freed the Protector to go hunting enemies instead of spending her time making
sure her friends remained intimidated enough to continue supporting her. In just
days she found the Nyueng Bao warehouse on the waterfront, empty now except for
a few cages occupied by missing members of the Privy Council, none of whom were
in shape to resume their duties. An armamentarium of booby traps came with the
prodigal ministers, of course, but none of those were clever enough to
inconvenience Soulcatcher herself. Quite a few Greys were not so fortunate. The
Protector took rather a heartless view of those who did fall victim to the
Company legacy. “Better to get the dimwits winnowed out now, when the broader
risk is minimal,” she told Mogaba. The Great General’s attitude complemented
hers precisely.

Questions asked in the neighborhood produced no information of substance,

however vigorously they were put. The Nyueng Bao merchants had been careful to
maintain a veil around themselves and their businesses. They had even employed
the magical in their quest for greater anonymity. Wisps of confusion spells
persisted yet.

“I smell those two wizards,” Soulcatcher muttered. “But you promised me that
they were dead, didn’t you, Great General?”

“I saw them die myself.”

“You’d better hope you don’t irritate me so much you don’t survive to see them
die again, for real.” Her voice was that of a spoiled child.

The Great General did not respond. If Soulcatcher frightened him, he showed no
sign. Neither did he betray any anger. He waited, reasonably confident that he
was too valuable to become the victim of an evil caprice. Perhaps, in his heart
of hearts, he thought the Protector was not equally valuable.

“There’s no trace of them,” Soulcatcher mumbled later, in a voice academically
cool. “They’re gone. Yet the impression of their presence persists, as bold as a
bucket of blood thrown against a wall.”

“Illusion,” Mogaba said. “I’m sure you’d find a hundred instances in the Black
Company Annals of where they drew an enemy’s eye in one direction while they
moved in another. Or made someone believe their numbers were far greater than
they actually were.”

“You’d find as many instances in my diaries. If I bothered to keep any. I don’t,

because books are nothing but repositories for those lies the author wants his
reader to believe.” The voice she used now was the antithesis of academic. It
was that of a man who knew, from painful experience, that education just taught
people sneakier ways to rob you. “They aren’t here anymore but they may have
left spies.”

“Of course they did. It’s doctrine. But you’ll have a hell of a time finding
them. They won’t be people anyone else would suspect.”

Jaul Barundandi and two of his assistants laid out a dinner while the Protector
and her champion talked. Their presence attracted no notice. Paranoid though she
was, Soulcatcher paid little heed to the furniture. Every staffer had been
interrogated in the hours following the Radisha’s disappearance and no inside
accomplices had been found.

The Protector was not unaware that she was not as beloved of the staff as the
Radisha had been. But she was not troubled. No mundane attacker had any genuine
hope of penetrating her personal defenses. And these days she had no peer in
this world. Sheer perversity and protracted elusiveness had put her in a
position to elect herself queen of the world. If she wanted to bother.

Someday, when she got her head organized, she was going to have to think about
that.

Halfway through a rare meal Soulcatcher paused in mid-chew. She told Mogaba,

“Find me a Nyueng Bao. Any Nyueng Bao. Right now. Right away.”

The lean black man showed no emotion as he rose. “May I ask why?”

“Their headquarters was inside a Nyueng Bao warehouse. Nyueng Bao have been
associated with the Company since the fighting at Dejagore. The last Annalist
married one of them. He had a child by her. The association may be more than
historical happenstance.” She knew a great deal more about Nyueng Bao than she
was willing to share, of course.

Mogaba inclined his upper body in a ghost of a bow. Mostly he was comfortable
working with Soulcatcher. Mostly he approved of her thinking. He went in search
of someone who could catch him a couple of swamp monkeys.

The servants hovered around the Protector, perfectly attentive. Idly, she noted
that these three were among the same half dozen who struggled to make her life
easier wherever she happened to be in the Palace. In fact, one or more always
followed her on her exploratory safaris into the maze of abandoned corridors
that made up the majority of the Palace, just in case she needed something.

Lately they had brought life into her personal quarters, which for so long had
been as chill and barren and dusty as the empty sectors.

It was their nature. It was bred into them. They must serve. Without the Radisha
to fulfill their need for a master, they had had to turn to her.

Mogaba was away hours longer than she liked. When the man did deign to return,

her voice of choice was spoiled-brat querulous. “Where have you been? What took
you so long?”

“I’ve been demonstrating how hard it is to catch the wind. There are no Nyueng
Bao anywhere in the city. The last time anyone can remember seeing any of them
was the day before yesterday, in the morning. They were going aboard a barge
that later headed downriver, toward the swamps. Evidently the swamp people have
been leaving Taglios since before the Radisha disappeared and you hurt your
heel.”

Soulcatcher growled. She did not want to be reminded that she had been tricked.

The heel itself was reminder enough.

“The Nyueng Bao are a stubborn people.”

“Famous for it,” Mogaba agreed.

“I’ve visited them twice before. Each time they failed to appreciate my full
message. I suppose I’ll have to go preach to them again. And round up any
fugitives they’ve taken in.” It was an obvious conclusion, that the Company
survivors had retreated into the swamps. The Nyueng Bao had taken in fugitives
before. And supportive evidence was available if the Protector cared to dig. The
barges carrying the majority of the Company had gone downriver. You had to go
down into the delta to get to the Naghir River, which was the principal
navigable waterway leading into the south.

Soulcatcher popped up. She rushed out with the bounce and enthusiasm of a
teenager. Mogaba settled down to contemplate the remains of his meal, which had
not yet been cleared away. One of the servants murmured, “We thought you might
wish to continue, sir. Should you prefer otherwise, we will clear away
instantly.”

Mogaba looked up into a bland face that projected eagerness to serve.

Nevertheless, he had a momentary impression that the man was measuring his back
for a dagger.

“Take it away. I’m not hungry.”

“As you wish, sir. Girish, take the leftovers to the charity postern. Make
certain the beggars there know that the Protector is thinking of them.”

Mogaba watched the servants depart. He wondered what had given him the
impression that that man was insincere. The truth supposedly lay in a man’s
deeds, and that one never behaved as anything less than a totally devoted
servant.

Soulcatcher stamped into her personal suite. The more she thought about the
Nyueng Bao, the more enraged she became. What would it take to teach those
people? That seemed like something they could work out between them before the
sun came up. A night of shadow-terror ought, at the very least, to put them into
a mood to pay attention.

Soulcatcher understood herself better than outsiders believed she did. She
wondered why she was in so foul a temper, which seemed to go beyond her usual
caprice and irritability. She belched, hammered her chest with a fist to loosen
another burp. Maybe it was the spicy food. She sensed bad heartburn coming. She
felt a little light-headed, too.

She climbed to the parapet where she kept the only two flying carpets left in
the world. That could be reached only by the route she followed. She would go
down there and make those swamp monkeys pay for the heartburn, too. Dinner had
been a Nyueng Bao ethnic specialty consisting of big, ugly mushrooms, uglier
eels, and unidentifiable vegetables in a blisteringly spicy sauce, served upon a
bed of rice. It had been a favorite of the Radisha’s, served often. The kitchens
had not changed their routines, because the Protector did not care about the
menu.

The Protector belched again. The growing heartburn seared her insides.

She jumped on the larger carpet. It creaked under her weight. She ordered it to
head downriver. Fast.

A few miles out, four hundred feet above the rooftops, streaking faster than a
racing pigeon, sabotaged frame members under the carpet began to snap. Once the
first went, the stress became too much for the others. The carpet disintegrated
in seconds.

A burst of light flared, bright enough to be seen by half the city. The last
thing Soulcatcher saw, as she arced toward the surface of the river, was a huge
circle of characters declaring “Water Sleeps.”

Just before the flash leaped through his window, a bemused Mogaba discovered a
folded, sealed letter on his spartan cot. Belching, glad he had eaten no more of
that spicy food, he broke the wax and read “My brother unforgiven.” Then the
unexpected lightning grabbed his attention. He read the slogan in the sky, too.

All the labor he had invested in learning to read over the past few years was to
be rewarded thus?

What now? If the Protector was gone? Pretend she was in hiding, too, and make
the deceit a double veil?

He belched again, settled down on his cot. He did not feel well at all. That was
a baffling new feeling for him. He never got sick.