by James Gurley
Simios took a quick glance at the writing and said, “Askos was right about you.” He laid the tablet aside without turning the pages. “You will start tomorrow morning promptly at eight. Report here and I will have proper clothing for you.”
“That’s it?” Tad asked, slightly annoyed that the Plin dismissed his hard written essay so easily.
The Plin raised a bushy eyebrow and stared at Tad. Tad tried not to wither under the intense gaze. “You felt what you wrote. Your strokes were bold and even, eager but controlled. Your loops are easy and graceful. Your writing slants neither too far left nor too vertical. You are outgoing, respond to emotional stimuli but control your actions. Your mind is sharp and, for the most part, rules the heart. The pen did not become a weapon in your hand to smite the page, but a tool to urge your thoughts into words. It is enough to know these things about you. You will stay in the Black Tower in rooms near the King. He is to be your charge. I will assist you for a few days to acquaint you with the job requirements. We will pay you five silver Crowns each week. This will increase substantially once you become accustomed to your job … hmm, perhaps to ten Crowns.”
Tad was flabbergasted. Five silver Crowns plus room and board was three times the normal rate for a beginning apprentice. The entire bag of coins given him by his uncle held only twenty Crowns, a season’s wages in Casson. He nodded dumbly.
Simios looked at him and smiled. “You will earn your money, lad. The young king is autistic and difficult to deal with.”
This was a new word for Tad. “Autistic,” he repeated slowly to familiarize himself with the word.
“Yes, young King Karal has a disease of the mind that keeps him out of tune with others. His mind is sharp, often prophetic—a true Oracle. However, he loses interest in most mundane things quickly while he might observe a flower’s growth for hours at a time. He speaks few words and none to most.” Simios emitted a long sigh. “His burden is doubly harsh. Both parents died in an accident when he was but ten. You will observe him carefully and assiduously. Become his friend if possible. He could use one. Remember all he does and write it down each day.”
Tad felt an immediate bond with King Karal. Both had become orphans at an early age. “What do you Watchers do with your observations?”
“They are entered in the Great Book of Learning, a machine in the heart of the Dome that correlates certain facts and trends.”
Tad had heard of analog computers, great machines of electric motors and gears and levers, but this failed to answer his question. He tried again. “But what do you do with it?”
Simios smiled. “Why, foretell the future of course.”
“The future? From watching people?”
“Yes. We already know that within a few years, Terrans will ally with the Saddir and wage war on the other races of Charybdis.”
Tad was outraged at the idea and let his voice show his anger. “War? Terrans? Why?”
“Most other races either despise you or envy you. The Saddir admire you. Therefore, they too are not trusted. Soon, matters will escalate to the point that other races will openly ostracize Terrans and try to deny them their rights. You Terrans have a long history of rebelling against such oppression. Already rebels disrupt the government when they can. Small things now, but they will grow. It is inevitable.”
“Can’t we stop it?”
“No. It will be in Charybdis’s best interest that Terrans eventually rule.”
“Why?”
Simios sighed deeply. “Because there are worse things than the Veil.”
Tad felt a cold chill run through his body, as if someone had stepped on his grave. “What?” He could not imagine anything worse than the Veil.
Simios waved his hand in dismissal. “We will speak of such matters later, as part of your tutoring.”
“Tutoring?” Tad repeated. This was the first he had heard of classes. He had thought himself shed of classrooms.
“Yes. You will learn some of our secrets and the history of Charybdis. Math and sociology are part of your job.”
Tad protested. “I’ve had little schooling except reading, writing and numbers.”
“Your mind is a sponge,” Simios said smiling. “You will surprise yourself, perhaps even us.”
He stood there as Simios returned to his scribbling. Eventually, Simios looked up. “Oh. You may leave now. Enjoy the remainder of the day. Remember: At eighth hour.”
Tad slowly returned to the lift, pondering what Simios had revealed to him in so casual a manner. Did others know this? Was there a plan to prevent the coming war? As the lift descended, so did Tad’s spirits.
Outside, the day had darkened with the threat of rain, a fitting background for his mood. The sky hid both suns behind thick banks of crimson-rimmed gray clouds. He remembered his uncle’s advice and sought out a clockmaker’s shop where he bought an inexpensive chronometer for his pocket. Clouds etched into the face of the silver-plated case half concealed the Bulls Eye moon. The hour dial bore moveable circular bands to track the movements of each of the three suns and the phases of the moon. Each of the 25 hours of the day was inset with a small bit of colored glass. He wound the stem carefully and stuck it in his pocket.
He dined at a small kiosk near the central town square, but did not taste the food he ate. His mind refused to leave the dire prediction Simios had made—Terrans at war with the other races. He then began to notice the small ways in which other races in the crowd snubbed and avoided him. Geck mothers picked up their offspring and held them close in their arms when he passed. He remembered that the Haffa clockmaker had been surly and brusque though he was eager enough for the silver coins Tad had offered. Even in the food kiosk, people left the table next to him empty, opting instead to stand at an uncomfortable low wall and eat.
Tad grew annoyed watching one Haffa stare at him as he passed, its hopping gait causing its large eyes to jiggle. Finally, his ire growing, he yelled after the Haffa, “What’s the matter? Afraid the big bad Terran might eat you?”
The Haffa jumped in fright and scurried quickly away. Tad noticed two large Geck Constables eyeing him closely and speaking in their harsh guttural language. He decided chiding a small defenseless Haffa was different from offending two burly, one hundred thirty-five kilo Gecks carrying weapons. He finished his meal and left quickly.
Delphi was a bustling city. The streets filled early with pedestrians and vehicles and remained clogged until late at night. Two-wheeled carts, bicycles, carriages and wagons rumbled down the rough cobblestone streets drawn by all sorts of beasts from karth to oxen and even weary servants. He watched amused as an ungainly, steam-powered automobile lumbered down the street, followed by a throng of young boys laughing and tossing stones. Billowing steam and hissing like a startled serpent, the car beeped its horn at slow jaywalkers.
The various vehicles and pedestrians raised a cloud of dust from the cobbles that stung his nostrils amid a carnival of smells fighting for dominance—raw sewage, baked goods, animals, manure, perfumes and roasting meats. Men and women of all races strolled along the streets carrying their wares on baskets atop their heads, slung from their shoulders, and pushed or pulled in small carts. They hawked every item imaginable from cold beverages to hot sandwiches, shoeshines to haircuts, sweet treats to savory roasted meats on skewers. One small alley shop, secreted between two ancient buildings, appeared to be a brothel, judging by the furtive glances men made of their surroundings before entering. He had heard of women of ill repute in Casson, shunned by most, but he had never seen a brothel. Only the tiny voice of his aunt inside his head chiding his curiosity prevented him from peeking inside.
Each day in the city of Delphi looked like the monthly bazaar in Casson. Most people were too interested in reaching their destinations to notice him, but the few who did stared at him intently. He saw a few fellow Terrans, but they did not even offer a polite greeting as they passed him.
Finally, he noticed one older Terran merchant standing outside
his shop. As Tad approached, he saw many pedestrians crossing the street to avoid the small shop. Then, he saw the wares the Terran was selling. Weapons, from crossbows to rifles hung in the window. Pistols, derringers, swords, even a Saddir kithir used in ritual stick fighting, lined the walls. Tad knew that most of the weapons probably wound up in the hands of criminals or rebels. No wonder the Delphinians disdained Terrans. No other race would sell weapons so openly and so brazenly. Many people carried personal weapons and small clandestine weaponries flourished in the back alleys and near the docks, but they were not open for public display.
Tad had grown up mostly around Terrans. A few Saddir and even fewer Haffa lived near Casson and there was a small Quarn village higher in the Black Mountains, but he had always treated them with respect and they had seemed to return the courtesy. Now he wondered if their apparent friendliness was due to their small numbers and vulnerability in such a large group of Terrans. He was beginning to feel ostracized himself.
“Tad!”
He looked around for the source of the voice and saw the young man he had met the night of the dance, Janith Hokum. Janith smiled broadly and waved Tad over to a group of other young men.
“Tad, this is Cyrin,” he said, introducing Tad to a red-haired scarecrow of a kid, taller than Tad but lighter by ten kilos. He pointed to another lad with long, dark hair and a constant sneer. “This is Snark. Guys, this is Tad, from Casson.”
“A farm boy, eh,” Snark teased. “Got lost yet?”
Tad took an instant dislike to him. “Not yet,” he shot back coldly.
Cyrin looked at the ground and dragged the toe of his boot across a patch of dirt in the curb, saying nothing.
“Well, Cyrin and Snark were on their way to work.” Both looked up in surprise at Janith. “Weren’t you guys?”
“Uh, yeah,” Snark agreed grinning. “Gotta go, farm boy.”
Janith took Tad by the shoulders and inspected his new suit. “Nice outfit. You fit in well. That’s good. If we can’t make these louts like us, at least we can make them respect us.”
By the manner in which Janith glanced at the streets, Tad assumed he meant the other races, though he could just as easily have meant Snark and Cyrin.
“What do you do, go to school?” Tad asked.
Janith laughed. “No University for me. I’m an entrepreneur,” he said with pride.
“What do you do?” Tad probed further.
“I work for an, uh, information service. I deliver messages and stuff like that,” he said hastily. He looked at Tad. “You are staying in Delphi then, I take it.”
Tad nodded. “Yes, I’m working for Simios, a Watcher.”
Janith frowned at this. “A Plin? Well, at least they’re close to human but don’t trust them.”
“That’s what my uncle said, even though he’s a friend to one Mage.”
“Your uncle is a wise man. Say, have you seen that girl I danced with, Sira? Wasn’t that her name?”
Tad grew instantly jealous, but tried not to let it show. “Yeah, Sira. I haven’t seen her since that night,” he said, smiling at Janith. “She’s enrolling in the University studying Sociology.”
“University, eh,” Janith said. “I go up there sometimes. Maybe I’ll look her up.”
Tad shot Janith a pained look.
“Have you been to the Warrens yet?” Janith asked.
“My uncle warned me against going there.”
Janith laughed. “He might be right, but I know a few people there who won’t let anything happen to a fellow Terran, especially a friend of mine.”
It sounded like a bit of braggadocio to Tad, but he was curious about the jumble of buildings outside the walls of the city.
“I don’t know,” he said hesitantly, hoping that Janith would try to persuade him. The Warrens, with all their stories of trouble, sounded interesting. He was curious.
“Come on,” Janith encouraged. “I know a few girls there who might like to see a fresh face, if you know what I mean.”
Tad didn’t, but did not want to let his ignorance show. “Sure,” he said. “I like to meet new people.”
The city was recovering from Caravan. Trash taverns were no longer overflowing but their trash bins were. Cafés, once filled to capacity, had empty tables once again. Tired street performers wandered the sidewalks trying to dazzle disinterested audiences with their juggling, mimicry or vocal skills. Teams of street sweepers attacked the streets with shovel and broom, removing the debris of the celebration. Near the outskirts of the city, in the poorer quarters, the celebration continued but at a slower pace, dwindling down.
“How long does the city celebrate Caravan?” Tad asked.
Janith laughed. “Sometimes it goes on for days. Today is Firstday, the first day of work, so I suppose things are winding down a bit early. Too bad you did not arrive on Fourthday. Four days of celebration makes a great Caravan.”
“How many holidays are there?”
Janith counted on his fingers, extending a digit for each holiday. “There’s the two Caravans each year, the Twin Moons Festival, End of Winter Carnival, Summer Solstice, the King’s Birthday, Sar Narath, a Saddir holiday the city usually takes part in, and Conjunction, when the two planets align. That happens twice a year.”
Tad nodded. “Quite a few.”
“There are a few more the various rats and lizards celebrate, but most humans and Saddir stay away from them.”
“Rats?”
“That’s what we call the Quarn, and the Lizards are the Gecks. The Haffa are monkeys.”
Tad had never heard the Quarn or Gecks so described. His uncle had taught him to respect each species and its individual traits and history.
“You shouldn’t call them that,” he said coldly. “They are part of Delphi.”
Janith looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “You some kind of xeno lover?”
Tad knew what xeno meant. “No,” he stuttered, “but if we want their respect, we have to respect them.”
Janith laughed. “Boy, are you in for a big surprise.”
“What?” Tad demanded angrily, but Janith just kept walking.
Outside the city, the air became more rank and filled with dirty smoke and ash. Pieces of black soot landed on his jacket and left dark smudges. The faces of the buildings bore similar stains with long dark streaks running down the walls from past rains.
“Soot from the dump,” Janith explained. “Most of the city’s garbage comes out here where we pick through it before burning it. You would be amazed what you can find on a good day.”
Tad grimaced at the idea of picking through garbage, but from the looks of some of the emaciated people that he had seen so far, he could not blame them. They passed shacks with old men and women huddled around small fires out front. Some stared as he passed but most ignored him. Several dilapidated stone buildings converted to taverns did a brisk business despite the early hour. Loud, raucous music blared from open doorways. From others, scantily clad girls leaned out and made catcalls at passers-by. Janith seemed to know most of their names.
“Hi, Candy,” he yelled at one particular petite, redheaded girl about Janith’s age. “How’s business?”
“It would be better if you and your friend stopped by with a few silver coins,” she laughed and flashed a naked thigh at them.
“Later,” Janith promised her.
“Who’s that?” Tad asked.
“That’s Candy, a friend. She’ll let you have a go on account if you promise to pay her later.”
Tad was puzzled. “A go at what?”
Janith looked at him, eyes wide in amusement, and almost bent double laughing. Tad’s face turned red.
“What’s so funny?” he demanded.
Janith stared at him in awe. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“She’s a whore!” Janith burst out laughing again. “Are you a virgin?”
Tad balled his fists and spread his legs, ready to fight
. “That’s my business and not for discussion,” he warned.
Janith stared at him a moment and nodded. “Okay. Just between you and me, but when you’re ready to become a man, Candy’s the one for you.”
Tad saw that Janith meant no real harm in his ridicule. He had simply thought it funny. “Where I come from, you wait until you’re married, or at least betrothed,” he explained.
“Here, you get it when you can. Most can’t afford the marriage tax and simply shack up together or save a few coins for a romp with a whore, courtesans, men call them in the city. My parents never married. I guess that makes me a bastard,” he said with a smile.
He turned down a narrow alley that stank of urine and feces. Tad wrinkled his nose in disgust and hurried to catch up. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Janith chuckled. “Oh, don’t be. I had two parents growing up until the summer fever came a few years back. They were good parents, taught me my numbers and letters and how to act. I’m better off than some whose parents paid the tax. You’ll find a lot like me here in Delphi. Terrans don’t like all the new laws.”
