Gates of Stone

by Angus Macallan

  As they advanced deeper into the tunnel, the air became thicker and hotter. The two Manchu guards lighted the oil lamps in the sconces along the way as they passed them, but despite their flickering light, and the chain of diminishing yellow glow-spots leading back all the way to the elevators, Jun could not shake the horrible feeling that he was crawling along inside the intestines of a huge subterranean beast. A notion encouraged by the heat, the dimness and the smell of decay, the stink of animal carcasses left too long in a warm room, which grew stronger as they heaved the wagon forward, slowly, into the darkness.

  “What is that smell?” Ketut whispered.

  Tenga told her. “Slaves run off down the side tunnels, trying to escape, trying to find a way out. They get lost in the dark and die of hunger or thirst or are mashed into jelly by the shock waves when they blow the drill-holes. Nobody bothers to collect the bodies.”

  After half an hour of struggle, they had reached the ore-face. The wheels of the wagon were snagged now by loose rocks blown free by the explosion and one of the Manchu eventually called a halt. Jun peered forward but could see little more than a vast heap of smashed rock, rising up into the blackness in an uneven slope, with a few wisps of smoke still rising from the jagged surface.

  The black dwarf leaped up and into the interior of the wagon, and reaching down he began to hand out long-handled picks and hammers: a hammer for Kromo, and a pair of picks for a man and a woman, both taller and stronger than average. The dwarf took a hammer himself and vaulted nimbly out of the wagon onto the ground.

  For just a moment, Jun stood and watched as Tenga and Ketut bent to pick up large pieces of broken rock, heft them onto their shoulders, walk to the wagon and hurl them inside. There was a loud crack and a painful blow smacked across both his shoulders. A Manchu shouted something, drew back his arm again for another stinging lash, and Jun quickly bent to his task, seizing a chunk of ore the size of a man’s head and hoisting it up.

  * * *

  • • •

  Hour followed hour of brutal work. Bending, lifting, heaving the ore into the wagon. His soft hands were bashed and bruised by their constant blundering contact with the rough stone in the yellowish half darkness. His head still ached from the mace blow four days before, his neck was still badly chafed from the yoke, and untreated whip wounds burned all over his back and shoulders. The heat was like a physical thing: a smothering beast that hung from Jun’s body, that coated every inch of his skin in a foul slime of sweat and dust. After only a short while, an hour or two perhaps, his back muscles ached like they were on fire, as did his thighs, biceps, forearms—even his fingers. But no pause was allowed and any slowing in the labor was punished with the whip.

  Kromo and his dwarf friend attacked the larger pieces of rock, some the size of buffalo or even bigger, slamming their hammers in a steady rhythm into the dark mass until it cracked and splintered into pieces that could be gathered up by the others. The tall man and woman attempted a similar task with the two picks until one of the Manchu became dissatisfied with the woman’s work, knocked her down with one smashing blow to the side of her head from the heavy butt end of his musket, and took the pick from her unresisting hands and gave it to a nearby slave, a tall man. Then he lashed the woman till she rose, swaying, and began shakily to collect the ore with her hands.

  After what seemed like several days, one of the Manchu blew a whistle, and all the slaves dropped to the ground immediately. Skins full of blood-warm water were passed from hand to hand among the group and their contents gulped eagerly. Jun was almost delirious from tiredness but he found himself sitting on the ground next to a slim girl with a pert nose and pretty eyes. She reminded Jun a little of one of the jolly fisher girls he had chased so happily in Taman, though this one had a coarser, rounder, sweetly dimpled face, a more classically Yawanese-peasant look.

  He smiled at her but she ignored him and stared stolidly at the ground between her legs. He touched her arm, smiled again and offered her the waterskin. She snatched the leather sack from his hand but refused to meet his eye.

  Jun shrugged and looked at the vast pile of ore that had tumbled down from the face after the explosion. It did not seem to have diminished at all despite their efforts. When the whistle blew again, the pretty Yawanese-peasant girl leaped to her feet long before Jun could haul himself to his and was immediately heaving the slabs of ore as if born to the task. Her example spurred Jun: he was determined that he would not succumb to his own exhaustion.

  Jun noticed that Ketut and Tenga worked together as a team: Ketut picking up the rocks and passing them to Tenga, who would toss them into the wagon with one swing of her long, muscular arms. The Manchu did not molest them at all as it was clear that they were moving more than their share of ore in this sensible way. After a while they would switch places, Tenga doing the bending and picking up, Ketut throwing the rocks into the carrier. Jun felt a shaft of envy that the two young women had forged such an efficient team without including or even consulting him.

  When the wagon was full, an event marked by much shouting from the Manchu and even more cracking of whips, they put their shoulders to its sides and infinitely slowly and painfully trundled it back along the tunnel. Once at the assembly area, they tugged and shoved it into the elevator and, when the barred doors had clanged shut, they felt a glorious, almost-refreshing, cooling of the air as they rose up from the depths to the machine level.

  It was a very short-lived pleasure. Moments later, or so it seemed to Jun, after they had watched the ore wagon seized by the giant metallic claws and its contents poured deafeningly into the grinding hopper, they were pushing the empty wagon back into the steel cage of the elevator, and dropping down, down again into the heat. An instant later and they were once more back at the ore-face, bending, lifting, hurling the sharp rocks once again into the dark belly of the empty vehicle.

  They filled the wagon and took it up to the machine level four times that day, with only one water break of about a quarter of an hour in the morning and one in the afternoon. Finally, after twelve hours of bone-breaking work, when Jun felt that he could quite easily collapse senseless from pain and exhaustion, the whistle blew again—a much longer blast this time—and, although the wooden wagon was less than a quarter full, and the great sloping bank of broken ore as undiminished as ever, the two Manchu herded them all back down the tunnel without the wagon and they knew, with unspeakable relief, that for this day at least their shift was done.

  “Tenga says that when we get to the machine level we are to run—run, mind you—up the stairs to the dining room,” said Ketut to him quietly as they rode up in the wonderfully cooling air of the elevator. “If we are late, there will be no food at all for us today.”

  Jun, who had made sure that he was on the opposite side of the elevator to Kromo, and who was eyeing the yellow man warily, merely nodded. But when the iron gates opened, he joined the stream of men and women surging up the stairs, along the corridor, past the open and shut doors, and the Manchu sentries, to arrive panting, sweating and feeling that he might vomit at any moment, with Ketut and Tenga not far behind him, near the front of the queue for the food in the dining room.

  His effort was rewarded when he reached the counter and he was given a palm leaf of overcooked gray rice, a scoop of boiled yellow beans and a pot of watery soup with some shreds of unidentifiable meat in it. All this was served by a wizened and furious old woman and two younger matronly types who were plainly family and who chattered violently in the Yawa dialect to each other—but spoke not a word to any of the slaves. Jun ate the lot in about thirty heartbeats and, very nearly full, and feeling the warmth of the food spreading throughout his body, he sat back on one of the benches and watched Ketut and Tenga finish their food in a more dignified manner. Jun saw a handful of latecomers standing in dismay by the counter, which was now being boarded up by the angry old woman. One of the latecomers was the pretty Yawanese gi
rl Jun had sat beside during the first water break. Now that she realized that there was nothing left to eat, her round face streamed with tears.

  He looked quickly away from her. For the first time that day he felt almost at ease, although his skinned hands throbbed and his back was a long sheet of pain.

  The three of them went together to wash in the communal showers—both men and women washing in the icy water that trickled from bamboo spouts in the ceiling—and Jun was alarmed to see Kromo and his dwarfish little friend openly ogling him as he splashed his body and scrubbed the dust and stink of the mine from his skin. Kromo went so far as to blow him a blubbery kiss, cup his wet genitals in his hands and waggle his penis at him.

  Later, sitting on one of the lower sleeping shelves, fed, clean but utterly unstrung by exhaustion, Tenga nodded at Kromo who was lounging on the far side of the room, and said, “If you don’t want to suck that ugly fellow’s cock, you are gonna have to kill him.”

  “What?” said Jun. “Kill him?” He thought he had misheard.

  “He wants you. He is telling everybody he will have you. If you don’t want to do what he wants, you’d better cut his throat in the dark of the night.”

  “I can’t do that!” said Jun. “I couldn’t just cold-bloodedly murder a person.”

  “You never killed a man before?” Tenga looked incredulous. “Tut told me you were some big chief, a king or something. And you never killed a man?”

  “We are civilized people where I come from,” said Jun.

  Just then a scream rang out across the dormitory—suddenly cut off. Jun turned his head and saw that the pretty Yawanese peasant girl had been seized by a group of prisoners. She was quickly hauled over a table, held down by two big men; her rag-like breeches were torn off her and she was briskly, brutally entered from behind by another slave. Jun looked around for the guards. There were none. He realized he hadn’t seen one since they’d locked the dormitory doors after shower time.

  “We should help her,” he said, looking at Ketut and Tenga. “We must help her.”

  The first rapist had already satisfied his lust. He pulled out, wiped himself on one of her discarded rags and went around to help the two men holding her down. A second man took his place and began plunging away against her naked rear; a third and forth had formed a queue behind him.

  Tenga shook her big head. “Not our problem. Against five or six men? One of us would get hurt, sure. Maybe you. Maybe little Tut. You can’t work when you’re hurt—and that’s when you die in here. You might think you’re a civilized man, King Jun, but you’re not in civilization now. You’re in the Hole. And you better listen to me, your Royal High and Mightiness: you gotta put down that mummy-fucker Kromo pretty quick or it will be you bent over the table being ripped and ruined like the poor little Yawa girl there.”

  CHAPTER 24

  In the Great Cabin of the Yotun, a wide space that extended across the full beam of the ship, and which was brilliantly lit by the sun streaming through the wide, glass stern window, Katerina stared down at the pile of maps and charts on the mahogany table. The topmost map displayed Sumbu, and the Straits between that long island and the mangrove swamps of the Manchatka coast to its north.

  “Come in a little closer, gentlemen, if you please,” said Katerina, and the three senior officers of the 42nd Legion—Colonel Wang and his subordinates, Majors Lu Sung and Xi Chan—craned over the wide table to look at the map more closely.

  It was two weeks since the assassination attempt and the long sea journey was nearing its end. She put a delicate fingertip on the map at the north end of Sumbu Island.

  “Here is Istana Kush,” she said. “The Gates of Stone. Our goal is to seize it and hold it indefinitely. Istana Kush is to be my base of operations for the foreseeable future.”

  The Han officers said nothing but Katerina noticed that they exchanged incredulous looks. She looked over by the door and saw that Ari Yoritomo stood there, hand on his sword hilt. He had apparently recovered to full health during the three days she had made him rest and had resumed his place at her side. They had not mentioned the assassination since.

  “Here, to the northwest of the city of Istana Kush are the twin fortresses that make up the Gates of Stone: the Red Fort on the Sumbu coast and the Green Fort over the water on the Manchatka side. As you can see, they are less than eight hundred paces apart and all shipping that comes into the Laut Besar by this route must pass between them, under their guns. The eight cannon in the Red Fort, mounted on wheeled caissons, manned by fifty skilled men of the Honorable Artillery Company are accurate to a range of twelve hundred paces. They are defended by a company of well-trained Dokra musketeers. The six guns in the smaller Green Fort on the Manchatka side have a similar range and are manned by thirty Honorable Artillerymen—but guarded by only a single platoon of Dokra. It is an unpopular posting, the Green Fort, being far from the brothels, obat-dens and taverns of the city and stuck in the middle of a steaming mangrove swamp, and it is often used as a punishment post. No one wants to be sent to the Green Fort. It is, I am told, a place of poor order, slack discipline, occupied by bored, resentful soldiers.”

  Katerina caught one of the majors raising an eyebrow at his colleague, as if to say, “Why is this slip of a girl telling us all this?”

  She said, “The morale of the men in the Green Fort is crucial to my plan. Now, if you please, gentlemen, I would like your full attention.”

  Katerina put a finger on the western side of Sumbu. “This part of the island is impenetrable swamp. Like Manchatka on the other side of the Strait, it affords no landing places for boats or ships, the waters are infested by large saltwater crocodiles and huge snakes, and men cannot travel over it except with the greatest difficulty and danger. We cannot approach the Gates of Stone from here.”

  She moved her finger down the western coast of the island. “Twelve miles to the south, however, there is a small cove with a gently shelving bottom and a white-sand beach. Kara Bay, it is called. This is where the Yotun will make landfall, and here we will disembark a force comprised of two hundred Legionnaires. This is our launchpad for the capture of Istana Kush. I shall require your best troops, gentlemen, if you please. I want you to handpick them for me. Men used to hardship, who can march for days through difficult terrain, fight and win a battle at the end of it.”

  She had the officers’ full attention now. “I also want at least thirty gunners from the ships—again our best; tough, adaptable men—to accompany the Legionnaires on the march. Every member of my Niho bodyguard will also join the landing party.”

  Now Katerina traced a line down the center of Sumbu, following a long, thin mountain range: “This is the Barat Cordillera, the spine of the Island of Sumbu. And here, in the center, is Mount Barat, the soaring husk of a former volcano, one of the tallest and most remote mountains in the Laut Besar, where, according to local legend, the Garuda birds make their nests and raise their young on the highest peaks.”

  “Ha, Garuda birds! These people really are simple savages if they still believe in them,” said Major Sung. “What’s next? Fire-breathing witch monsters? Ghost Tigers?”

  “If you are neither going to listen quietly nor to make a useful contribution to this briefing, Major Sung, then please feel free to leave us,” said Katerina.

  “Keep your mouth shut, Sung, and your ears open,” snapped Colonel Wang, and he glowered at his subordinate, who was now flushing with anger.

  “So we land our men here, at Kara Bay. The terrain is thick jungle—very thick, so we will travel slowly. We march east making for the Barat Cordillera, which is about five miles away. However, I think we need to account a full day for the landing and to reach the southern slopes of the mountain range, where we will camp for the night.

  The three Legion officers said nothing.

  “Meanwhile,” Katerina continued, “the three ships will make their way north fro
m Kara Bay, following the coast and they will come round the headland and anchor at Loku Beach. This is the Federation holding berth for ships wishing to enter the Laut Besar. They wait here until the negotiations, taxes and tariffs on trade goods, suitable passports and so on, have been agreed upon with the Federation officials at Istana Kush. The beach lies under the guns of the Red Fort. Our three ships will stay there posing as the vessels of merchants from Ostraka hoping to make themselves rich trading in the Laut Besar.

  “The ships will wait there for two days, no more—any longer and the Federation officials will become suspicious about their true intentions. Meanwhile, the landing force will march north along the Barat Cordillera in stealth, remaining out of view on the western side of the ridge. We will then come down into the farmlands to the west of Istana Kush, ideally during the night of the second day or very early in the morning of the third, and pass through them as quickly and quietly as two-hundred-and-forty-odd men can, and assault the Red Fort from the landward side, a little before dawn. We aim to surprise the garrison, and capture the fort as quickly as we can.”

  “I beg your pardon, Highness,” said Colonel Wang, “but you keep using the word ‘we’ to describe this landing party. Can you tell us exactly who ‘we’ is, if you please. Who, for example, will be in command of this extremely difficult and dangerous mission?”

  Katerina looked at Wang. “I am sorry if I have not been clear, Colonel. I shall be in command, of course, and one of your majors— I don’t mind which, you can choose the more suitable of the two—shall accompany me as my aide and second-in-command.”

  “My dear little lady,” said Major Sung, “I’m not sure that you understand what this mission will entail. The men will have to hack their way through dense jungle—dealing with the heat, insects, snakes and whatnot—then traverse the side of a bare mountain for a dozen miles, some of it in the darkness. Then cross cultivated lands in secrecy. Then assault a Federation fort, manned with their crack Dokra mercenaries and the best defenses that their deep pockets can supply. It is clearly not a task for a young girl, no matter how game.”