Portal of a Thousand Worlds

by Duncan, Dave

  Recognized and saluted by Bold Star, the rheumatic gatekeeper, Silky rode into his domain and around to the stable yard at the back, where he dismounted. Walnut Shell came hurrying out from the stable to take his reins. The lad was young to be trusted with such an establishment, but he managed it well with the help of two boys. He was so bright and eager to please, in fact, that Silky had suspected him of spying for either the Gray Abbess or the governor. Having tailed him a couple of times, Silky had established that he was most likely reporting to the mandarins of the tax department. They would not likely be exchanging notes with the governor, and were no danger in themselves, since smuggling was about the only crime Silky wasn’t planning to commit.

  He had hired Walnut Shell at a salary about three times more than he could have expected, and then produced a couple of very sharp knives, promising to detach certain valuable portions of the lad’s anatomy if he increased his income by as much as one handful of rice. So far, the arrangement seemed to be working.

  “The mistress home?”

  Walnut Shell’s smile flashed the whitest teeth in Shashi Province. “Her Ladyship has gone riding with the Lady Plum Blossom, Master.”

  Good. That meant Silky could get right to work on the scroll in his satchel. Brother Luminous would still be studying ink-on-silk painting of the Tenth Dynasty down at the House of Joyful Departure.

  But first, Silky went to call on Thunderbot, known to some people as Silkworm. He turned out to be awake and colicky. He was being walked by White Petal, his cretinous wet nurse. Silky took him and gave him a kiss. Thunderbot eyed him suspiciously and then smiled. As always when that happened, the heavens opened, a thousand ancestors cheered, and his father almost melted.

  “Oh, that is magnificent! If you can just keep that smile, my son, the world will be yours for the taking. People will turn over all their possessions to you and die of happiness at your feet. But whatever you do, never mean it! That would be fatal. Lesson one, my dearest, is never trust anyone.”

  Thunderbot considered his father’s advice, crumpled his face up in fury, and let rip again.

  “That’s my boy!” Silky said. “You didn’t mean it after all. Well done.” He handed the noisy bundle back to his keeper and beat a quick retreat to the workroom he shared with Brother Luminous and Plum Blossom, which the servants never entered.

  There, he made himself comfortable on a cushion under the window and began to study the scroll. It was longer than he had expected, listing not only a dozen minor bequests, but also every tussock of land Sky Hammer 7 claimed to own. No doubt some of those claims lay between legend and myth, but the excessive detail was a sensible precaution against having some parcels disappear from the governor’s archives; it meant more work for Silky but also a greater air of authenticity for the fake documents he would prepare. The seals were very simple and old-fashioned, which was good. New seals were harder to forge.

  “You’re back early.”

  His twitch of alarm almost lifted him off the cushion. A Gray Brother should never let himself be taken by surprise in case he wasn’t who he was supposed to be. Fortunately, it was Verdant. He jumped up and went to hug her. A luscious big armful she was.

  “Work to do here,” he said. “By sunset, I will be exhausted and need to go to bed very early.”

  She evaded his embrace. “How many people did you kill this time?”

  Angry, he stalked over and closed the door. “Not funny to say things like that. And that is a confidential—”

  Too late. She was examining the scroll. “Who is Sky Hammer 7 and what are you doing with his will?”

  She was being difficult these days. Back in Wedlock, she and her mother had played the rich lady role before their friends—although to call them that was a misuse of the word—and left the problems of the real world to their husbands and sons. Here in Cherish, she was free to act as she pleased. Silky should have kept her on a tighter rein, that was the trouble, and it was too late to start now. Gray Sisters had been treated as responsible adults all their lives, but Verdant had been brought up to be a decorative baby-making machine and servant herder. She did not know how to handle reality. He had not foreseen this difficulty.

  “You’re happier not knowing, darling.”

  Again she evaded his efforts to hug her. “Answer my question.”

  “Be careful! You know I never lie to you.”

  “I want the truth.”

  He shrugged. “We came here to buy land, remember? Well the landowners refuse to sell, which is very unreasonable of them. They force me to use other methods.”

  “Such as murder?”

  “No murder. That old man owns more of the Fortress Hills than anyone except the Emperor. He is decrepit and dying, so he has no further use for them. I am going to change his will to leave everything to you. No murder needed, just a little patience.”

  “And what about”—Verdant paused, scanning the scroll—“Sky Rider? Won’t he wonder why his father cut him out of his will?”

  “Possibly. But why should he have been born into all that wealth when I was born to nothing at all? Why can he sacrifice to his ancestors back for three dynasties and I don’t even know my mother’s name, let alone my father’s? Life is never fair and it will do him a lot of good to learn that, even at his age.”

  “Won’t there be a copy of this will on file in the governor’s palace?”

  “I checked. There isn’t.” Not now.

  Verdant threw the scroll down. “I don’t want his land! Even if you don’t plan to kill him, which I do not believe, you certainly intend to rob his family. I won’t be party to it.”

  This time, he did fold his arms around her. Big as she was, he was faster and stronger. He held her despite her struggles.

  “You listen to me, beloved,” he said grimly. “I swore to make you rich, and rich you will be. If you don’t need wealth, our son does. If I could gain it honestly, I would. If I can do it with a little forgery, I will. If you won’t let me do it that way, then I really will have to go back to killing people and I truly do not want that. Which is it to be?”

  “I will report you to the governor!”

  “Then he will put me to the death of a thousand cuts and throw you in jail as a witness and accomplice. Is that what you want?”

  She struggled more. He tightened his grip.

  “You are crazy!” she said, trying to look frightened, although she knew she was in no danger from him.

  “No, I am scum, remember? You should have been more careful when you put yourself out to stud.” She began to cry and he waited, not relaxing his hold. “You knew what I was,” he said. “I haven’t changed. Now, whose name do I put in as beneficiary? Yours or your father’s?”

  “Your own.”

  “No. I don’t steal from my client. The brotherhood would kill me. Your name or his?”

  She was silent. He waited, although his body was starting to betray him. “Neither.”

  “No. Then the Order’s, a pious bequest. I can do it that way and still get my cut. You won’t get anything. I’ll buy you a good pair of shoes and you can walk home. But you won’t get Silkworm. My son stays with me.”

  “You swear that you are not going to murder anyone?”

  “Of course I swear.”

  “My name, then.”

  “Good!” He released her. “I’ll make it up to you tonight in bed, I promise. Go and see to your eyes, they’re all red.”

  She slammed the door behind her. He probably would name the Gray Helpers as beneficiary. Nobody would dare challenge a bequest to the Order; and if anyone did, no sane judge would rule in their favor.

  Plum Blossom entered. “What was all that about?”

  “An attack of postpartum conscience,” Silky said grumpily. He picked up the scroll of contention. “I just promised that we won’t kill Sky Hammer.”
>
  “Did you mean it?”

  “Of course not, but warn Brother Luminous not to mention the plan, will you?”

  Murder? Grand larceny? How had she ever let herself be trapped in this madhouse? Verdant stormed off to seek comfort from her son, but for once Silkworm was sleeping like a baby. He suffered a lot from colic, and it would be folly to risk wakening him and provoke a few more hours’ screaming. So Verdant just smiled and nodded approvingly to White Petal and walked out again. Even as infants, men were useless.

  She had brought it on herself, she knew. As the Teacher of the Rose said, Who can escape the wrath of ancestors betrayed? She had resented her father’s control over the money she had inherited, and had plotted against him. Even though she had been encouraged by her mother, that was not correct behavior. That the money had come to her by murder made it worse, although she had not known that. She had not deviated from her rebellion when Silky admitted the terrible crimes that had been done in her name. No, she had continued prostituting herself to a vulgar sand warrior! Small wonder her ancestors turned their faces from her now.

  What was the right course? Even if her father was as guilty of Distant Cloud’s murder as the assassins he had hired, she must return to her parents and beg forgiveness. But who would help her? How could she escape? And how could she leave Silkworm behind to be raised as a thief and murderer by a thief and murderer?

  Half-minded to go for another ride on this fine spring day, she walked out to the stable yard. The boys were still rubbing down her horse under the watchful eye of Walnut Shell, who was sitting on a stool beside the stable door, cleaning tack with soap and water. Clad only in cotton breeches, he displayed the same dense, compact build as Silky did when he was a sand warrior, a far cry from the senile blubber of her first husband, Distant Cloud. And Walnut Shell’s rippling muscle would not disappear in the darkness, under the covers, as much of Silky’s did.

  Sensing her regard, Walnut Shell glanced up. He flashed that incredible ivory smile of his, and in that moment, the idea was born. Why not? If she had sold her body to get herself into this pit of horror, she could sell it to get out again. The Courtly Teacher said, A bad deed can sometimes be excused by a good motive.

  Verdant Harmony returned the smile. No lady in the Good Lands ever did that for a male servant. He noticed and smiled again, this time with meaning.

  The locals all agreed that the Portal of Worlds was located about two days’ ride west of Cherish, but could be seen from a lookout known as Heaven’s Threshold only one day away. After a week’s hard forgery, Silky had important business in that area, so he certainly intended to view the legendary Portal while he was about it.

  Spring had adorned the Fortress Hills. The grass was so green it hurt the eyes, the sky was hugely blue, furnished with white cushions. This was perfect horse country—gentle, rolling hills of lush grass with long vistas to give warning of predators, whether two-legged or four. The Wilderness Road wound across it like a gray snake, an empty dirt trail rising imperceptibly on its way to the rampart peaks of the Western Wall. Lonely dust motes floating in the topless azure sky were undoubtedly vultures. And once in a while, a traveler might spot grazing herds of horses. Once in a longer while, Silky saw buildings. He would never be unobserved, though. City-boy Silky had felt safely anonymous among the teeming crowds of Wedlock, even in the cramped and smelly town of Cherish. Here he saw nobody and sensed eyes watching him all the time.

  He was thumping along the trail on a homicidal chestnut known to his enemies as Red Demon and to his present rider as Big Sponge. At his side, Novice Watersprite rode a black gelding. The wind whirled Silky’s queue around and made his eyes water; he was blissfully happy to escape from Cherish after five boring months of prying information out of the locals, polishing his horsemanship, and practicing swordsmanship—and penmanship, of course. He had not, he reminded himself with a secret smile, killed anyone in ages. A man must keep his hand in.

  Watersprite raised an arm to point. “Goat Haven.”

  Silky nodded in admiration.

  The Fortress Hills were named for the exceptions. Among all the egg-smooth hills, a few stood much higher, as if they had hatched. Instead of gently rounded tops, these few sprouted crowns of gray rock—flat tables with near-vertical sides. For centuries, painters had come on pilgrimage to admire and depict these natural strongholds. Many of those great slabs supported fortified houses on their summits, for this was rustler country and border country and often brigand country. Goat Haven was the largest and most impressive stronghold Silky had seen yet, as befitted the lair of Prince Sky Hammer. Silky intended to call on His Highness before sunset, but only after he had seen the Portal.

  Visible ahead now were landmarks he had been told to expect—a sprawling caravanserai close to the road, flanked by two tiny lakes. Water in the Fortress Hills moved mainly underground, rising in springs, flowing only a little way before sinking back down again. Sometimes the streamlets would end in ponds that never overflowed, sometimes they trickled away down natural drains. The directions he had been given were good; if he had come this way without Watersprite, he would have found Goat Haven without trouble.

  She was good company. The House of Joyful Departure in Cherish did not compare with Wedlock’s for size, but the abbess had been very helpful after being promised a generous share of the booty, if any. Novice Watersprite was dressed, like Silky, in typical rancher leathers, slung about with the usual weapons. In company, she would seem a boy, but at the moment, she was just a lean, dark-eyed, wind-flushed beauty whose flirtatious smiles kept reminding him that Verdant was back in Cherish with the baby.

  They met no traffic, but caravans were starting to assemble in the town, and its big horse markets were opening already. Soon, ranchers would begin driving herds in. Swordcut Pass in the Western Wall was still barred by winter snow, but when it opened, troops would be riding back and forth between the town and the frontier fortress, taking supplies, carrying reports. The big Two Lakes Caravanserai in the Great Valley had not opened yet, either. That was part of the plan.

  An hour or so later, the trail turned to the south to skirt a very long north-south-trending hill. Its rocky cap was ragged, but it was still high enough to block any glimpse of the mountains beyond. Watersprite pointed to a barely visible path that broke off from the road and led up the slope.

  “To Heaven’s Threshold. Let them catch their breath,” she added, reining her horse back to a walk.

  “You noticed the watchers?” Silky said without turning. “We’re being followed.”

  “Of course we are. We’re strangers. Horse people never trust strangers.”

  That was annoying but very wise of them.

  The horses went slowly on that long, angled path, traveling in single file so Silky could admire Watersprite’s supple back. But then they entered a narrow crevice in the rocky cap and the going became a real challenge—steep, winding, and dangerous. Some parts were almost too narrow for a horse to pass, while others skirted hideous drops. Several times, Silky called for a break to rest the horses and inspect the terrain.

  Each time, Watersprite said, “Not yet. There’s a better one.”

  Nevertheless, he memorized every scene before going on, so that when at last she stopped and said, “Here?” he could agree instantly that this one would be the place. It was Heaven’s Own Perfect Ambush Site. The trail dipped into a narrow V-gorge, and crossed a knife-cut ravine on a slender plank bridge.

  “Where does he wait?” Silky asked. “There?”

  “No.” She led him across to the far side. “There, by that rock. He’ll have a clear view of them coming back, but he shoots from between those two rocks so nobody except the target will see him. They’ll all be concentrating on their horses’ footing anyway. They won’t realize what’s happened. Even a blind one-armed idiot can’t miss at that range.”

  She was assuming that th
e archer would be a local man, requiring yet another kickback to the abbess, but Plum Blossom was the best crossbow archer Silky knew, and quite capable of managing such an easy shot. The best feature of the site was that the victim would fall and roll a long way, to a steep and rocky landing, certainly fatal if the shot itself had only wounded him. The bolt would be broken off, even if it hadn’t gone right through him, which it likely would at that range. His companions would need hours to get down to the body. The vultures would be there first. To touch or even approach a corpse was an act of extreme ill-omen, but the Gray Helpers summoned from Cherish would not arrive for two days or so. By then, there should be no evidence of murder. Sky Hammer’s death would be just another tragic accident.

  At the top, they emerged onto a rocky surface of crumbling rock and well-cropped turf, across which the wind howled, blowing his queue out like bunting and dragging his hat against its tether. The terrain was too rugged to build on and too dangerous for horses or cattle that might stampede over the edge, but a dozen or so shaggy goats sprang out of the ground nearby and went bounding away. They held Silky’s interest for a few moments, so that when he finally turned to see where Watersprite was leading him, he was startled by the panorama.

  He was overlooking the famous Great Valley, a huge but straight trough in the landscape, extending roughly north and south as far as his weeping eyes could see. It was wide and flat-bottomed, almost a plain between two ranges. He could see no signs of water or habitation. On the far side marched the Western Wall, a line of triangular cliffs and V-shaped ravines, as if the range had been cut off by a razor. Behind it stood higher peaks, topped in the far distance by icy pillars holding up the sky.

  Below him, Silky could just make out the Wilderness Road entering the valley around the end of the Heaven’s Threshold and fading away as it headed for whichever notch led through to Swordcut Pass.