Fires of Memory

by Washburn, Scott;

  The sailor had been right about the other things, however: the food was good, the ale was good, and the girl who delivered them was rather cute. Gez, who continued to amaze Jarren, tried to proposition the woman. She seemed interested until she realized that Gez was acting on his own behalf, rather than for Jarren. At that point the woman slapped him and then laughed and left the room. Gez rubbed his cheek and cursed.

  “Gez, why are you in such a hurry to grow up? What on Earth were you planning on doing with that girl if she accepted?”

  “Well, if you don’t know, I can’t explain, Mister! As for growing up, why the hell would I want to remain a kid? You just get paid half as much for the same work and get beaten up for good measure.”

  “No one’s beaten you this journey.”

  “Nope, but that’s because you’re soft. If I’d been you, I woulda beat me up a half dozen times already.”

  “Perhaps I’ll have to start…”

  “Too late. I ain’t scared of you. Wouldn’t do any good now. Hell, I could probably beat you up if I wanted.”

  “Go to bed, Gez.”

  “Don’t have to tell me twice.” The boy dove into the smaller bed and disappeared under the covers. Jarren was tempted to do the same in his own bed, but even though he was tired, he was not sleepy. He was too excited. Somewhere on this island, perhaps in this very town, was the next clue in his search. Unfortunately, finding it might not be easy. The old sea captain would tell them nothing more than the name of this town. No names of contacts, no address to go to, nothing. In the morning, he would just have to start asking questions. He had a feeling that the locals were not going to beat a path to his door with information. He had six weeks, at least, but somehow that did not seem like nearly enough time. He sighed and then decided he really was sleepy after all. He took off his outer clothing and crawled into his bed.

  The next morning, he quickly discovered that his search was going to be more difficult than he had feared. He started by asking the innkeeper if he knew of anyone selling magical devices. It was a simple enough question, and he figured that if anyone would know, it would be the innkeeper. At first, the man did not appear to understand what Jarren was talking about. He hoped it was simply a language problem, but he quickly found out otherwise. He tried showing the man his small magical lamp, but the innkeeper insisted he knew nothing about such things and no, no one in the town sold things like that. Jarren tried a small bribe, but the man firmly shook his head and would say nothing more. Discouraged, Jarren left the inn to try his luck elsewhere. Gez was eyeing him closely now.

  “Magic, huh? I knew that story about the birds was a load o’ dung. So you’re trying to undercut one of the other merchant houses? Risky business, Mister! They guard their secrets close.”

  “I’m not…” said Jarren, but the boy interrupted him.

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’m still working for you. But I want a share of this! I know what kind of money this stuff brings on the market in Zamerdan! And that’s a really good disguise you’ve got. Studying birds! It never fooled me, of course, but old Kostlan swallowed it whole.”

  “But…”

  “Still, you nearly copped it with the innkeep. He’ll be in the merchant house’s pocket and he won’t say nothing to you. You need to find someone in town who’ll be willing to undercut him!”

  Jarren was speechless. He had not thought about any of this before. He had assumed that the merchants simply came here and bought the magic items when they were available. Naturally, they would want to keep the source secret from rivals, but he wasn’t a rival! He just wanted to know who was making them—not buy and sell them himself! This was getting too complicated. “Uh, do you have any ideas about where I could find someone like that, Gez?”

  “Hard to say. I don’t know anyone around here. And now that you’ve tipped off the innkeep about what you are really up to, it will be harder. He’ll spread the word to clam up.”

  Unfortunately, Gez was correct. By mid-morning, few people would even talk to them, and no one would say a word about magical devices. Jarren tried to make it clear that he only wanted to study them and talk to the person who made them. Even Gez did not believe him. On the one hand, it was frustrating, but on the other, it seemed to prove that he was on the right track. Clearly these people were hiding something.

  He paused outside the small temple to Donisa, the sea god, and considered going inside and asking the priest if he knew anything. The official position of most of the churches was that magic was heresy, although only a few actively tried to root it out. In a small community like this, surely the priests would know if magical items were being imported and sold. But would they be any more likely to talk to Jarren about it? It seemed unlikely, and after a moment he turned away.

  “So what would you suggest now?” asked Jarren to Gez.

  “There ain’t no secret that can stay secret if more than one person knows it. If the whole town knows about the magic, then one of them will be willing to talk for the right price. We just have to find the person.”

  But they did not find the person that day or the next, and the townspeople were becoming increasingly unfriendly. If Jarren went into the common room of the inn, conversation immediately stopped until he left again. The pretty serving girl left their food outside their door—and it was usually cold.

  On the third day, Gez suggested Jarren stay in their room while he tried his luck alone. He said that people weren’t as suspicious of a kid. That was probably true, but Jarren was worried about how Gez would represent him. Suppose he actually found someone selling magic devices and promised them some huge sum of money? Eventually, he relented and let Gez go out. He spent a long, dull day in his room. He tried to cheer himself with his cello, but his efforts were half-hearted. Why had he begun all this? Four years ago, when he proposed his thesis to Beredane, he had no clue it would lead him to this. He was farther from home than he’d ever dreamed of being. On the edge of the world, it seemed. He felt very lonely. Then, around dinnertime, Gez charged into the room and seemed very excited.

  “I think I found our man!” he gasped.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “I found someone who will talk to you about the magic! He’ll meet us down by the shore later tonight.”

  “Why doesn’t he just come here?”

  “Are you serious? He’s not gonna meet us where others might see him! I can’t believe your bosses sent you on this trip! You don’t know nothing!”

  “Uh, well, I am a bit new at this, it’s true.”

  “The boss’s nephew or something?”

  “Not exactly…”

  “Well, anyway. We go meet this guy in three hours. Better get dinner now.”

  “How did you find him?”

  “Professional secret,” said Gez with a wink. He would say no more, and before long, they heard the girl leave their dinner outside the door. At least it was still warm this time. They ate in silence and then got on each others’ nerves waiting for it to be time to go.

  Finally, it was the appointed hour and they went down the steps and out the front door. No one appeared to even notice them. Outside, the fog was thick and damp. Beads of water quickly gathered on the wool of Jarren’s cloak. They set off with a brisk stride, and Gez guided the way. As they neared the edge of the town, they were forced onto a long wooden dock that eventually petered out and left them on a stone sea wall a few feet above the water. Gez slowed down and looked around.

  “Is this the spot?” asked Jarren.

  “This is where he said. Must be late.”

  They waited for a while and then finally heard the sound of feet coming toward them from the town. Many pairs of feet from the sound of it.

  “How many men were we meeting with?”

  “There was only supposed to be one,” said Gez, looking nervous for the first time. “Something ain’t right.” He started looking around for a route of escape, but the sea wall ended against a cliff. Short of climbing it
or swimming, there was nowhere to go.

  The footsteps got closer and a number of lanterns were suddenly uncovered. Jarren saw at least a dozen men only a few yards away. “S-stop! Who’s there?” he cried. The men came closer and halted in a half circle around them, pinning them against the water. He wasn’t surprised to see the innkeeper with the men. Alarmed, yes, but not surprised.

  “You are not welcome here,” said the innkeeper.

  “We already figured that part out,” muttered Gez.

  “But why?” demanded Jarren. “We mean no harm. I just want to talk…”

  He was interrupted by an angry outburst of several of the other men. They were talking quickly and loudly in the local language. Jarren could not understand any of it, but he was frightened to see that one of the men was waving a knife and pointing at him.

  “Hey! Easy there!” squeaked Gez. “I’m just a kid! I only work for this guy! I don’t know nothing!”

  “Thanks a lot, Gez,” said Jarren.

  “Every man for himself, mister.” Gez looked over his shoulder at the cold water behind them.

  The other men continued to argue. Jarren was glad that at least there was an argument. The one man clearly wanted to harm them, so apparently some of the others did not. But it was getting louder, and several more men seemed to be siding with the man with the knife. Jarren glanced behind him. The water looked very cold and he could barely swim, and these men could get him before he went five yards. He did not like this at all. Weibelan had given him a tiny flintlock pistol before he left Zamerdan, but it was still sitting inside the trunk in his room. It had never occurred to him that he might face a danger like this. Some of the men were edging in his direction…

  “Time to go, Boss, “said Gez suddenly and he hopped off the wall into the water.

  “Gez!”

  Apparently the boy expected the water to be shallow like the beach they had landed on, because he gave a very surprised yelp as it closed over his head. He reappeared almost instantly and began splashing and floundering. He grabbed at the stones of the sea wall, but they were wet and slippery, and he could not get a grip. “H-help!” he gurgled. Jarren knelt down and extended his hand, but the boy was just out of reach.

  Jarren spun around to face the men. “Well, are you going to let him drown?” he snarled.

  “If that’s the gods’ will,” said the innkeeper.

  “The gods?!” spat Jarren, suddenly furious. “May the gods curse you all for cowards!” With that, he turned and jumped in after Gez.

  The water was very cold. The shock of it made him gasp, which was not a good thing to do while under water. He popped to the surface, coughing and sputtering. Gez was a few feet away and Jarren grabbed him. The boy attached himself to Jarren like a limpet. He reached out to grab the wall, but the stones were set very closely and were very smooth and wet. He could not get a real grip, either. He scrabbled at them, and although he managed to find enough of a hold to keep their heads out of the icy water, he could not haul himself out. He looked up to see a dozen faces staring down at him.

  “Help us!” he shouted, but the men did not move. All he could do was cling to the stones as the water sucked the warmth out of him. Gez was already shivering uncontrollably. “Hang on, Gez.”

  “C-can’t d-do m-much e-else r-right n-now!”

  Jarren looked around desperately. He knew he did not have much time before the cold left him helpless. Could he go hand over hand back toward the town? There would be ladders somewhere, surely. Would the men try and stop him if he did? He had to make a decision. They are not going to help. It is up to me. He could scarcely see anything, but he felt out with his left hand along the rock, searching for a new handhold. He found one and pulled himself and Gez two feet to the left. Then he did it again. Another two feet. How far did he have to go? A few hundred yards, at least. An impossible distance. Would it be better to try and swim? No. Reach and pull, reach and pull. His hand slipped as he tried to shift again and they were both dunked under the water. He surged to the surface and scrabbled wildly, scraping his knuckles, before he found another hold. He clung there gasping. He thought he could hear the villagers arguing, but he had no clue what about. He was getting very cold now, but he had to keep moving. He reached out again, but his hand could find no grip on the next section of wall. He would have to try and swim for a while. But Gez was just dead weight, and he was so tired…

  Suddenly there was a horn call. It was a piercing but very pure note. He could not tell what direction it was coming from. The fog confused the sound and it echoed off the cliffs, but the effect on the men standing over them was remarkable. They immediately stopped arguing and stared out to sea. They seemed very surprised.

  Jarren turned as best he could and followed their gazes but could see nothing but the bank of fog. He peered into the grayness and thought he could see a spot a tiny bit lighter than the rest. Moment by moment it grew stronger until there was no doubt that a boat with a lantern was approaching the shore very close to where he was hanging on.

  The lantern grew brighter, and a darker form began to take shape in the fog. It looked much larger than any boat he had seen in the harbor while aboard the Unicorn. And it had a mast and a sail of its own. It wasn’t being rowed. The vessel was only a few yards away now, and Jarren looked at it in amazement. The bow of the ship swept up and then bent over and bore the carved head of some monster. It was frighteningly realistic in spite of being wood instead of flesh. The rest of the ship was rather round and low to the water. A single square sail hung down from the central mast. Jarren had barely taken this all in when the ship gently nudged the sea wall and came to a halt. A dark shape was standing next to the amazing figurehead and then jumped down onto the shore. The circle of men backed away, and he could no longer see them at all.

  “Get them out,” said the figure. Instantly the men came scrambling over to the wall, and in a moment, they were hauled out of the water and stood there dripping wet and shivering with cold and fear.

  “Master Carabello?” said the figure.

  “Who…who are you?” stuttered Jarren.

  The figure came closer. He now saw that the person was shorter than him and his fear lessened slightly. It threw back its cloak and Jarren was amazed to see the face of a young woman.

  “Jarren Carabello?” said the woman. “My name is Lyni. I’ve been sent here to get you.”

  * * * * *

  The bugles rang through the camp. Each bugler repeated the call of the one farther up the line until dozens of them were playing the same tune, all completely out of synchronization. The drummers in the infantry camp began their own calls, and soon there was a cacophony of noise in the city of tents. As soon as he heard it, Matt leapt off his cot and began grabbing his gear.

  “Looks like the real thing this time, sir,” said Sergeant Chenik as he stuck his head through the tent flap.

  “It certainly does.”

  “About bloody time.”

  “Yes. Make sure the men know this is for real and find the teamsters if they’re not drunk. Hell, find ‘em even if they are.”

  “Right.” Chenik vanished.

  Matt packed his few personal belongings, leaving the bulkier items for his servant to put in the wagons. He did not have much. He had come here with nothing at all, and the paymaster had been reluctant to advance him enough money to even get his uniforms, equipment, and horse. He would not be seeing anything except his subsistence pay for the next six months.

  Assuming there was anyone left to pay him six months from now.

  He kicked himself mentally for the gloomy thought. The army was finally assembled and soon thirty-five thousand men would be on the road marching west. To fight the Kaifeng. He was still terribly worried about the fireflies, but he told himself he was overdoing it. Berssian light cavalry had been skirmishing with Kaifeng parties for weeks now, and there had been no sign of fireflies. Carbines and pistols had been used, Kaifeng had been killed, and nothing unusua
l had been reported. Perhaps the disaster with the squadron and the fort had been some sort of fluke. A trick that could not be repeated. A mass delusion. He didn’t know. He did know what his duty was, however.

  He stepped out of the tent and his horse was waiting for him, held by one of the men. He threw the valise across the horse’s back and tied it in place. All around him, the tent city was coming down and being packed up. It would be hours yet before it was completely gone, but the army would be on the road by then.

  It was nearly an hour before his own regiment was ready to move. He was pleased that his company was the first on the line. They were good men. He knew they didn’t really understand the obsession he and the other survivors had for drilling and drilling, but they had accepted it and even felt some pride in knowing they were the best company in the regiment.

  Finally, the call for his own brigade was sounded, and they wheeled into a march column and set off. The dust was already thick in the air, but they soon turned off the dirt road and into a huge grassy field. The king had come out to see his army march off to war, and there was to be a grand review. The gaudily uniformed guards regiments were already assembled there, and the rest of the army was filing in. Then they halted. And waited and waited. Matt hardly noticed. Eventually there was a commotion by the little pavilion which had been erected. The bugles sounded again and things began to move.

  Regiment by regiment, the army passed before the king. The guards regiments went first, of course, and it was over an hour before Matt’s brigade started to move again. They were in a column by company, and Matt rode in front of the center of his. As he neared the pavilion, Matt saluted with his sword. He looked in vain for someone who might be a king. There were a number of people dressed in dazzling finery, but none of them seemed terribly interested in the martial spectacle passing by. Matt shrugged. He felt no more loyalty to the King of Berssia than he did for the Elector of Navaria who had sent him out here. His only loyalty now was to the men of his company and his regiment. His only desire was to kill Kaifeng.