Seeker

by William Nicholson

  The Wildman seized him by the neck and jerked him back up.

  "Yes, sir," he said.

  The scavenger whimpered and went limp.

  "We're looking for tribute traders," said Seeker.

  At that, the scavenger grinned a knowing grin.

  "Buying or selling?"

  "Just looking."

  "Just looking!" The old man cackled. "You keep on looking! You keep on looking!"

  The Wildman shook him till he rattled. The scavenger squealed with terror.

  "Help! Help! Murder!"

  No one heard. No one came.

  "Where should we look?"

  "How would I know? Look where they go to spend their money. Tributes is a fine trade. Good money in tributes."

  "Where do they go to spend their money?"

  "Anywhere there's wine and women. Not that you'd know about that, seeing as you're a boy."

  "You want your neck slit, chicken?"

  "Let him go."

  The Wildman released his grip. The old man tottered but did not fall. He rubbed at his neck.

  "Tribute traders have got a friend of ours," said Seeker. "We want to find her."

  "And if you do? You got money to buy her back?"

  "No."

  "Then save your legs. Next time you see her, she'll be playing birdies."

  He flapped his arms and nodded up at the distant crag.

  "Money's not the only persuader," said the Wildman, flexing his strong hands.

  "You're new here, aren't you?"

  "Yes," said Seeker.

  "Lay a hand on anyone here, and you're in the tanks. No one gets what they want by violence here. All the violence happens in the evening, up on the big rock. That's enough violence for everyone. You hear what I'm saying?"

  "Come on," said the Wildman to Seeker. "This old fool's no use to us."

  "Wait," said Seeker. "He's telling us something."

  "Oh, you're a quick one."

  "Tell us where to look."

  "Well, now. If you were to follow that lane over there, in the corner, all the way to the canal, and if you were to find a hostel there by the name of the Ham Bone, why, you might well come upon the fellows you're looking for. And if you did, and if you had words, and if your friend here came over with the violence—well, that would be a surprise to all concerned. A tremendous surprise. Quite a novelty."

  Seeker looked closely at the old man.

  "You'd like that, would you?"

  "I'd like it well enough. You'll end up on the rock, of course. But me, I'd like to see some feathers plucked from them vultures. I'd like to hear them squawk."

  "The Ham Bone. By the canal."

  "You better have money. The Ham Bone likes money."

  With that, he returned to his scavenging. Seeker and the Wildman crossed the dark marketplace and set off down yet another narrow lane in the direction he had indicated.

  "You believe him?"

  "We'll see soon enough."

  The lane did indeed run to a canal, and here on one side, through a narrow arch, there was a brightly lit courtyard, loud with the sound of company. Tables crowded the yard, and between the tables ran sweating barmen carrying trays of brimming glasses high over their heads. Almost every chair was taken, and every customer was shouting to be served.

  Seeker and the Wildman entered the courtyard and found a bench in the corner where they could sit undisturbed and study the company. The drinkers were all men, and all were drinking brandy. Seeker's eyes ranged from face to face, hunting for the two who had attacked them on the ferry.

  "Will you know them?"

  "I'll know them," said the Wildman. "And then, they'll know me."

  "Remember. We want information, not revenge."

  "First information. Then revenge."

  Seeker checked every face. They weren't there. He was sure of it. He felt a chill form inside him. Where now?

  "We might as well get something to eat. You still have money left?"

  "As much as you want."

  They ordered wine and water and bread and cold beef By the time it came, they had both begun to realize how hungry they were. Then, as they started to eat, the two tribute traders came swaggering into the courtyard. Their appearance was greeted with a small cheer from one of the tables.

  "Look who's back! The dogs return to their vomit!"

  "Ho, barman! Brandy for this band of villains!"

  "What was that? Did I hear Sol offer to pay for our refreshments? Pinch me! I must be asleep."

  "Found a buyer for your one-legged spiker, Sol?"

  "Laugh all you want, friends. And drink your brandy on us. We're celebrating."

  "Celebrating what?"

  "Call it a sweet little trade. Call it a satisfactory price."

  "Satisfactory? If Ease calls it satisfactory, it must be fat enough to choke a priest."

  "Don't you believe it. He strapped a wooden leg on the crippled spiker and passed him off in the dark for a hundred shillings."

  "If you say so," smiled Ease, patting his money pouch. They all heard the sound of that pat.

  "He's got over a thousand shillings in there."

  "A thousand shillings is well enough. But nobody comes swaggering into the Ham Bone over a thousand shillings. Look at the fellow smirking! You'd think he'd broken the record."

  "You'd think that, would you?" said Solace, smirking some more.

  "By the Sun, he has! He's broken the record!"

  "Have you? What did you get? Four thousand?"

  Solace looked at Ease and Ease looked at Solace, and they just raised their eyebrows and smirked.

  "More? Impossible!"

  "If you say it's impossible, then it must be impossible," said Ease.

  "Not—five thousand!"

  "No figures, friends. No figures."

  "By the steaming Sun, they've got five thousand!"

  Seeker and the Wildman ate and drank and kept their heads down and listened.

  "It's them," murmured Seeker.

  "Oh, yes. It's them."

  The Wildman had hold of the knife that had come with the loaf of bread, and he was stabbing with it at the crust, chopping the bread into ever smaller pieces.

  "Not yet," said Seeker.

  It was another hour before either of the two tribute traders rose from the table. Then it was the one called Solace, who announced he must attend an urgent summons.

  "If I don't piss now, I shall—I shall—I shall piss now!"

  "Go! Go! Spare us!"

  So Solace tottered out of the courtyard, heading for the open lane, where it was the custom for the hostel's patrons to empty their bladders into the canal. Seeker and the Wildman watched him pass close by them, and then they rose and followed.

  After the glare of the courtyard, the lane was blind dark. As far as they could tell, it was empty but for Solace. He stood by the canal railing, one hand taking his weight as he leaned forward, and with many a sigh of pleasure, he proceeded to enjoy a long copious release.

  "Let's do it!" hissed the Wildman.

  "No. Wait."

  The Wildman wanted fear. Seeker wanted cooperation. For all the Wildman's superiority in age and strength, Seeker had become the one who made the decisions.

  Now the tribute trader was done, and was hitching his clothing back into place.

  "Go, Wildman!"

  The Wildman loped across the dark lane, hissing with the intensity of his rage. The tribute trader heard his approach and turned towards him.

  "That you, Ease?"

  He quickly discovered his mistake.

  The Wildman seized him by the throat, half throttling him with one hand, and with the other he drove three sharp blows into the trader's belly. Solace closed his eyes and folded like scythed corn. The Wildman jumped onto his prostrate body, seized his head by the hair, and banged it on the stones, in the splash of his own urine, until the trader opened his eyes again. Seeing that he had his attention, the Wildman whispered to him,

&
nbsp; "I'm going to tear the flesh off your face with my own teeth! I'm going to hurt you so bad you're going to beg to die!"

  The trader was so paralyzed with terror that he couldn't even frame a reply. He just choked and moaned in the darkness. Seeker now moved in. He knelt down by the trader and spoke close to his ear.

  "Listen very carefully. This morning you took a girl. She is our friend. We don't want your money. We don't want to hurt you any more. We just want to know where she is."

  Solace heard him and rolled his eyes and gurgled.

  "Let go of his throat, Wildman."

  The Wildman released his grip.

  "I want to rip his face off!"

  "I know you do. But let's see if he's going to help us first."

  The trader was gulping air.

  "Don't kill me!" he said. "Don't let him kill me!"

  "So where's the girl?"

  "The oil merchant. We sold her to the oil merchant."

  "Where's his house?"

  "I don't know."

  Seeker looked down at Solace with a sad gaze.

  "We've already broken the law. We can be thrown off the high rock just for assaulting you. Then we're as good as dead. So we might as well kill you. The punishment doesn't get any worse."

  "No! Please! His house is in the street leading to the temple. There's a sun sign over the gates."

  "Let him go."

  "Why?" said the Wildman.

  "He's done as we asked."

  "So? We don't need him any more. We kill him."

  "No. We made a deal."

  "I never made a deal. I don't do deals."

  "I made a deal. I honor my deals."

  Reluctantly, the Wildman released the shivering trader from his powerful grip. Solace stumbled to his feet.

  "Remember," said Seeker, "you don't know who we are, but we know who you are. If you give us any trouble, we'll come looking for you, and I'll take your five thousand shillings, and my friend will tear your face off. But if you say nothing, we'll say nothing, and you keep your money, and what happens between us and the oil merchant is none of your business."

  The trader nodded. His eyes flicked nervously back to the lights and safety of the hostel.

  "You can go now."

  Solace hurried away. The Wildman watched him go with burning eyes.

  "I don't see why I couldn't kill him."

  "I'll explain later. Come on."

  They crossed the dark city, taking care not to run, and after some searching they found the street that led to the temple. In this street was a house that was more substantial than the others, and over its arched gateway was set the sign of the sun. They stood in the street, in the greater darkness of a doorway facing the house, and studied it carefully. Its windows were small, high, and shuttered. The tops of mature trees rising above the walls indicated that there was an inner courtyard. The only entrance was the arched gateway, and its gates were heavy and studded with iron bolts. There was no hope of breaking into a house as well-built as this.

  They walked up and down the night street, examining the house from every angle. A narrow alley ran down one side, leading along the high house wall to the back. They found the wall was unbroken and impenetrable on every side.

  "How do we know she's in there?"

  "We don't."

  "So what do we do?"

  "Come back in the daylight. Wait for the gates to open."

  "Then what?"

  "Then we see what we see."

  Seeker had no plan. He was responding with nothing but instinct to each new development. But he sensed that the Wildman wanted to believe he had a plan. Already he was learning that all that is necessary to get others to follow you is to lead. There was something else too, which he was sure the Wildman sensed in him. He was no longer afraid. This was more than strange. He was in a place of great danger and was about to risk greater danger still. He had never thought of himself as having natural courage in the way that his brother Blaze had. And yet he was sustained by a powerful inner conviction, which was like an act of trust. He believed—not that he was protected, nor that he would be spared pain or harm—but that his journey was only just begun. It would not, could not, end here. Therefore, however many terrors lay before him, he would survive them.

  He had no external evidence for this belief; perhaps it was no more than the product of his imagination; but it made him strong.

  27. Schemes and Dreams

  SEEKER AND THE WILDMAN SPENT WHAT WAS LEFT OF the night in the open, sleeping on the worn grass of a lakeside park. They were not alone. Many other migrant workers were to be found curled up here, some with blankets, but most uncovered. In the chill small hours, Seeker rolled towards the Wildman in his sleep, and they huddled close together to share warmth.

  Sunrise woke them, its dazzling rays skating over the waters of the lake. All over the city they could hear the greeting calls with which the people of Radiance welcomed the return of their life-giving god.

  "The Lord is come again! Light of light, glory of glories!"

  Seeker was fully awake first. He stood and stretched and shook the sleep wrinkles out of his clothes. Then he went to the lakeside and splashed cold water over his face, and returned to his friend.

  "Wake up, Wildman. We don't have much time."

  The Wildman groaned and turned his face away from the rising sun. A priest passed by on the shore road nearby, his train bearer scuttling after him.

  "Arise, good people! The Lord is come again!"

  "Wake up, Wildman. We have to look for Morning Star."

  The beautiful youth rolled over, groaned again, and rose. His eyes were still shut. He stretched his entire body in a slow rippling movement, at the end of which his eyes snapped open, and he was wide awake. Seeker, waiting for him, thought to himself: he wakes like a wild animal.

  They walked back up the streets that they had followed in darkness, finding their way by making for the looming bulk of the temple. By daylight, the street of the oil merchant's house revealed itself to be grander than they had realized. The well-kept verges, the mature trees, the high walls, and the imposing gateways all showed that this was the territory of the city's elite.

  They reached the oil merchant's house just as the big gates were swinging open for the start of the day's business. Servants came and went in a slow bustle, leaving the house carrying big empty baskets, returning with fresh bread and milk and vegetables. Other servants swept the courtyard, throwing up little clouds of dust with their stiff brooms. A maid went by with a tray laden with breakfast, presumably for the owner of the house.

  Seeker and the Wildman lingered in the shadow of a tree, watching while trying not to seem to be watching. The Wildman grew restless.

  "If she's there, it's not likely they'll bring her out."

  "We'll see something."

  "What?"

  "I don't know."

  But Seeker knew they didn't have much time. For their papers to be in order, they must do a full day's work, and the working day would soon be starting. He felt frustrated and angry with himself, because he knew he had been counting on luck.

  The temple bell rang the hour.

  "We have to go."

  As he turned to leave, he saw a man emerge into the courtyard bearing the breakfast tray that had been carried before by the maid. The tray was no longer so well-stocked, but nor did it hold the remains of a completed breakfast. There was just enough there—half a small loaf, a glass of milk, some cherries—to feed one person. The man carrying the tray was middle-aged and dressed in expensive materials. He could only be the master of the house: the oil merchant himself.

  "Look!"

  As they watched, the man passed down a flight of steps on one side of the courtyard, and so disappeared from sight.

  "The cellar!"

  "What cellar?"

  There was no more time. They must hurry back to the lakeshore and the floating gardens. Seeker explained as they went.

  "That was the ma
ster of the house, taking food to someone who's being kept in a cellar."

  "How do you know that?"

  "I don't. But I'm sure of it. Morning Star's being kept in a cellar."

  When they reached the floating gardens, they found a long line of migrant workers waiting to be assigned their tasks for the day. Seeker and the Wildman joined the line.

  Ahead, stretching out into the lake, were wooden walkways, floating on sealed barrels; and on either side of the walkways, in shallow earth-filled tubs, the lush green foliage of the plants. Here were row upon row of tomato plants, carefully tied to long fences made of bamboo. The heavy red fruit dangled between the dark green leaves, while down at their feet where the roots of the plants spread their filaments into the damp earth, the roped tubs gently jostled each other as people came and went, rocking the walkways. Beyond the tomatoes were the squashes and the marrows, and beyond them, the twining tendrils of the bean plants. Everything was in constant movement, bobbing and swaying with the slow shifting of the water of the lake.

  Seeker and the Wildman were set to tomato picking, and so alongside the lines of other workers they moved up and down the walkways, bent over in the morning sun, their baskets on their arms, bobbing up and down with the plants. After an hour or so of this work, constant motion became the norm, and the distant mountains and the temple rock and the city of Radiance itself seemed to rise and fall with the undulations of the lake.

  A short break was permitted for lunch, for which they were given bread and ripe sweet tomatoes. Seeker and the Wildman kept themselves to themselves, resting and eating quietly away from the main group. Even so, there were many curious glances thrown in their direction, most of all from a band of young male spikers who seemed to want to attract their attention. When they got no response, they came on over.

  "Hey, boys! Look who's here. The Wildman himself!"

  The Wildman nodded an unsmiling greeting.

  "Never!" said the boldest of the band, grinning broadly. "The Wildman don't work for his pay! If he wants something, he just takes it."

  "So maybe that's not the Wildman."

  "No, that's him all right. I'd know him anywhere. Didn't he stop me on the road and take everything I had? Him and his friends."

  "He's not got much in the way of friends now."

  They moved closer, forming a loose circle round the Wildman and Seeker. Seeker spoke low.