by Guy Antibes
Port Authority guards finally arrived. “You defeated them?” the leader asked.
“Are we the ones stacked up like cordwood?” Nakara said, still a little woozy from the ale. “The professors are drugging the students with a nasty kind of pollen to turn them into rioters.”
“Feel free to question them,” Banna said. “I am going back to the inn.” She stood.
“Do you need us for anything?” Sam asked.
“It looks like you saved the inn. Go on.”
All of them dragged their way to the inn, except for Smallbug who ran away into the dark, presumably back to the college. Sam didn’t care at this point. All he wanted to do was fall into his bed and then leave cursed Pundia. He wouldn’t consider living here permanently, either.
Glory grabbed his arm. “A few minutes before you go to your room,” she said. “I’m sorry about what happened at the inn. Deeter Temmis put Smallbug up to it. I protested, and then they slapped me with the green stuff, and I couldn’t resist.”
“Banna and I are experienced with the green pollen from our time in Wollia before you arrived at the ship. Viktar Kreb’s pollen experts make the stuff. That is why the students attack. The professors tell them to. It might not be their fault, after all.”
“It is,” Glory said. “I talked to a few before they left the college. They gladly accept the pollen. It gives them strength, so they say.”
“So they say. It robs a person of any moral restraint,” Sam said. “Evil. That’s what they are, Evil.”
Sam had just about convinced himself that people with different viewpoints had a right to be heard, their positions to be considered, but that wasn’t totally true. How could you agree with a person who volunteered to sow destruction and damage property? For what reason other than to gain some semblance of power? To Sam, that was trading power for self-respect. Self-respect was what made humans decent, he thought. It wasn’t a perfect thought, but he was more comfortable going to sleep thinking it.
“Go to bed,” Sam said as he got up and trudged up the stairs, not caring what Glory thought.
Chapter Twenty–Seven
~
S am decided to visit the banker, Creden Clearal, with Nakara. Banna had a headache from too much magic, and Desmon had a headache from too much drink. Glory wasn’t in sight, and Sam couldn’t say he trusted her.
“A little too much Banna Plunk for you?” Nakara said once they began the incline that would take them to the upper city.
“It isn’t that,” Sam said. “I am used to Banna’s explosions. I am disturbed by the use of green pollen. It changes you while it is inside, making you someone’s slave.”
“But Glory said the students gladly used the stuff.”
Sam nodded. “What does that tell you about the students? They are very dangerous. I wonder how Clearal will take the news.”
Nakara shrugged. “Do you think it makes any difference to him if the person who sets fire to the bank is under the influence of green pollen or doing it because they want to be an arsonist? I don’t see much difference.”
“Except without green pollen, the student wouldn’t have the same determination to destroy,” Sam said. “What if the students slapped green pollen onto everyone?”
“Then everyone would be under the influence of the College of Cathartics?”
Sam looked up at the clock tower. “I don’t know what happens if a person under the influence gets another person to follow them. Maybe Banna might have a better idea about that.”
Nakara didn’t have a response but merely nodded. They walked on, looking around at the evening’s damage. There weren’t any pillars of smoke, so perhaps most of the marauding students had ended up at the tavern.
Clearal looked busy with the pen in his hand, shuffling papers around. Sam walked up the desk in front of Clearal. It hadn’t been occupied when he had met with the banker two nights ago.
The banker looked up, his spectacles precariously perched on the end of his nose. “Smith? I am glad to see you intact.” He took off the glasses and cleaned them with his handkerchief. “Are you responsible for a brief respite in the upper city? I heard this morning that most students had converged on a tavern in the lower city, targeting foreigners.”
“They did, and we were there minding our own business. There was a bit of a ward duel, but our side won.”
“Our side?” Clearal said.
“Those against students ripping apart Pundia.”
The banker smiled. “Our side, indeed. I suppose you’ve come to check on your withdrawal? Everything is all prepared. We are waiting for four in the afternoon. Then you can have it.”
“I showed the Port Authority your letter, and they raised the price of the ransom.”
“I rather thought they would do that, so you will be receiving one hundred-eighty gold coins. It doesn’t cost us anything, you know. We are merely passing through the letter of credit. I realized my mistake after reviewing our conversation when I came into the bank yesterday morning, thinking of what the authority might do. Would you and your friend like a tour of the upper city?”
Sam wondered if he should retrieve Banna and Desmon, but he decided not to. “We would.” Nakara could relay anything Banna would like to know.
“I’ll have one of my trusted clerks take you.”
Sam and Nakara exited out the bank with Clearal’s son, Makan.
“What would you like to see?” Makan said. He was much taller than his father, with dark brown hair and gray eyes, reminding him a bit of Dickey Nail.
Sam didn’t know, but Nakara spoke up, “I’d like to see what you do to defend the upper city against the students.” He looked at the college entrance across the square.
“Not as much as we should,” Makan said. “Let’s not talk in front of the bank.” He looked over at the college when he said it. “No one wants to close down the college, none of the Pundian Council, anyway. The college supports too many of the local businesses, but my thinking has changed in the past months. The damage the students are causing is beginning to exceed any possible benefit. We are just lucky there has been minimal loss of life.”
“That might change,” Sam said. “What does the council think about Viktar Kreb?”
“No one supports what he is doing in Polistia. There are rumors he wants to nationalize the banks, so he can line his pockets. I have heard of unrest in Ristaria. I am glad they protect us from Vaarek. The two are fighting each other, and Trakata sits back and lets them go at it while we observe.”
“No, they don’t,” Sam said. “Who do you think is stirring up the students? Vaarek is. They are using a type of pollen that turns men into slaves. I ran into something similar in Toraltia, but nothing as potent as this. Nakara’s country is being infiltrated, just as Trakata is, and Kreb’s people are using the same green stuff. Your father seems to know more than you do.”
Makan seemed to be relieved. “I’m glad he was frank. Sometimes he is a bit too free with his opinions, but we share it. I haven’t heard of the pollen, but it is certain that Kreb has seeded the College of Cathartics with his own men. Come with me, and I will show you what we have.”
Nakara looked at Sam and raised his eyebrows as they followed Makan marching down the street. He passed a few shops that Sam might have wanted to browse, but the banker’s son certainly had a destination in mind.
It took them three-quarters of an hour to reach a church, of all things: at least, it looked like a church to Sam.
“This is a museum that has closed down. The curator had an odd sense for people’s tastes, or so I was told. It hasn’t been used since I was a little boy,” Makan said. “We will see what the new curator has for us to see.”
The banker’s son rapped on the door.
“Oh, it’s you, Makan. Come in. There has been a new shipment that you should see.”
“I have trusted friends.”
“If you vouch for them…”
Makan led Sam and Nakara into an empty
lobby and then into the museum, except it wasn’t a museum at all, but an elegant armory.
“You are planning a revolt?”
Makan shook his head. “Self defense. Any day now the students will go too far, and then we will close the college down. It won’t be a pretty day for Pundia, but a necessary one.”
“Can’t you just get the Port Authority to do your work?”
“First the college, and then them,” Makan said with a tight, grim face. “We would like our city to be a city again. It will only be won with steel and blood.” His face loosened up. “But you will be gone long before that happens.”
Sam looked at the boxes of weapons. Something seemed familiar. “Where did you get these?”
“We have contacts in the capital.”
“Middlemen, most likely,” Nakara said.
“Can you show me your latest shipment?” Sam asked.
The man who showed him in took Sam to a half-opened crate. The curator looked at Makan. “This is a little lighter than it should be. I’m afraid we were shorted on our order.”
Sam let the man open the crate. He removed his spectacles and looked at iron rods. Someone had formed pollen swords around the rods.
“These aren’t real swords,” Sam said. He took one out of the crate and touched the gold tip of his wand on the surface of the replica until the pollen began to disintegrate, showing the iron rod below. “I guess you could call these weapons, but I think a fire poker would be every bit as effective. These might be effective against the students and the professors, but against the Port Authority?” Sam shook his head. “They would cut you to ribbons.”
They opened all the crates, and the situation was just as bad. Sam opened a few crates of the same cast weapons he had seen in Carolank and Wollia. Viktar Kreb was behind the students, and he suspected the Port Authority had their own means to trick the upper city.
“So what do we do?” Makan looked at Sam.
“Me? I’m only a teenager. What would I know, Nakara?”
“Test all the weapons. I would accept these but no others. Find yourself a local source and make sure everyone on your side is trained. If you are this compromised, you might not be able to do anything. The Port Authority might just charge up the hill and take over the college and you, instead of the opposite.”
Makan looked stricken. “I will take this to the council. We are not ready.”
Sam shook his head. “You can arm everyone to fight off the students. Tell the council to concentrate on getting the upper city under control first. Then you can worry about the port. If people aren’t trained to use these weapons, then train them. You might as well get something out of these useless things.”
Makan picked up the sword that Sam had damaged with his wand. He swished it around. “Better than a club.”
“In the right, motivated hands,” Nakara said. “You might think about getting these replaced. I wouldn’t trust your current supplier.”
Makan nodded. “Of course. You two seem experienced in these matters.”
“Not me,” Sam said. “I can spot pollen weapons, and that is what that is. The cast weapons are prone to crack in a fight with a steel weapon.”
“I think our tour has ended. Can you find your way back to the lower city?” Makan said.
Sam and Nakara both nodded their heads as they walked down the museum’s steps. “They are in quite a mess,” Sam said.
“At least you were able to keep them from making it worse. You probably saved lives today,” Nakara said.
“I just spotted the fakes. The caretaker even remarked there was something wrong with the shipment.”
“But he didn’t know what to look for, and you did. Can you imagine the bloodbath if the citizens of the upper city attacked the port?”
Sam just nodded. He didn’t see his contribution as heroic like Nakara did, but he did accept the fact that they might have helped avert certain disaster.
The shops still beckoned. Sam stepped into a shop that sold jewelry. He noted more of the kind of jewelry that Antina Mulch made at very reasonable prices, except when he picked a piece up, he discovered the setting to be made of pollen. He felt a bit relieved since she used precious metals for hers.
“Looking for a bauble for your first love?”
Sam shook his head. “No first love. The only bauble that I have is my hard head.” He smiled and exited the shop first.
“I need a better knife,” Nakara said. “Can we go in there?”
Sam looked at a weapons shop. “Swords. Do you think they will sell us five hundred of them?”
They walked inside. An older man polished a blade at the counter. “Wollians? Neither of you quite look the part, but your swords do.”
“I am a Lashakan,” Nakara said.
Sam grinned. “And I am from Toraltia. My friend wants a good knife. I’ll show you my blade if you pick a good one.”
“I’ve seen Wollian swords before, young man.”
“But have you seen a Lashak?
“What is that?”
Sam pulled out his sword.
“Oh. Blue steel. I remember seeing one of these long ago. They are rare in Polistia. Swords that bite back and kill their wielder, as I recall.”
“They are rare enough in Wollia, due to the curse,” Nakara said.
“I won’t die touching this?” the owner said.
“No,” Sam said. “You might get a little sick.”
The man grinned. “I’ll chance it. A severe blade, but light. I can see the quality of the steel,” he said. “I’d take one of these,” he pointed with his thumb at the swords mounted behind the counter, “over this, but it is all a matter of taste and talent, is it not?”
Nakara nodded. “Now, my knife?”
“I am sorry that I have nothing to match your sword, but I can show you Pundia’s best.”
The owner spent some time with Nakara while Sam inspected the shop’s weapons. He stopped at a few swords stored point down in a barrel. They looked just like the weapons in the museum.
“Are these practice blades?” Sam asked after Nakara had made his purchase.
“Awful things. Those are samples left behind by a salesman. He said he sells these to the college. I don’t believe it for a minute. One of them is pollen, although I’ve never held a pollen blade that was as heavy.”
“An iron rod through the middle,” Sam said. He lifted a cast sword. “This one is cast, not forged.”
“I can tell that just by the feel. You know a lot for a teenager.”
“My last name is Smith.”
“So?”
Sam smiled. The Polistians must not name people after their craft. “My father was a smith. He made all kinds of things, but he wasn’t a master at making swords.”
“I get mine from a village of swordmakers halfway between Pundia and the Ristarian border. They make all kinds, but I get some of their best.”
“Do they produce in quantity?” Sam asked.
The owner shrugged. “I suppose they could. Why do you ask?”
“Someone I know in Pundia bought a number of swords from the capital,” Sam lifted the pollen blade, “and they received these rather than the steel swords they thought they had bought.”
The shop owner laughed. “The Pundian Council, right? The fools. I told them not to buy anything from the capital. The Port Authority is their favored group in Pundia. At least they kept their purchase secret. I’ll mention my source to the right people. Were they going to fight the port thugs?”
“Students first.”
“They should tell me when they do. I’ve had to put iron grills on my front windows because of Cathartic hoodlums.”
“I didn’t tell you anything directly, right?” Sam said. His face blazed with embarrassment. The man saw through his comment in an instant. Hopefully, the shop owner was truly on Pakan’s side.
“Oh!” the owner grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ll be discreet.”
Sam thought he only had to be di
screet until four, when he would pick up the money and transport it to the ship.
They reached the inn. Glory sat in the lobby reading a Vaarekian primer, and she put it down when they entered.
“We may be in trouble,” she said, getting to her feet. “I received this half-an-hour ago. I can’t read this yet.” She handed the note to Nakara, not to Sam.
“Read it, assistant purser,” Sam said. He looked over Nakara’s shoulder.
Nakara gave Sam a smirk. “I will do so, sir.” The message wasn’t very long, but it was written in cursive. Ziggor Smallbug was now in the port jail for leading the students to the tavern. The Authority demanded a fine, or The Twisted Wind would leave without the professor. Nakara gave Sam an evil smile. “I say let’s leave without him. Or do you want to give up more of your gold?”
Sam gnashed his teeth. “Let’s see him.”
Glory declined to accompany them. Banna was still nursing her headache and had Emmy keeping her company in her room.
Desmon had recovered and was eating heartily all by himself in the dining room. Sam looked at Nakara, and they gave each other unspoken permission to join Desmon. Glory drifted in and joined them.
“You aren’t getting the professor released immediately?”
“I will go after lunch,” Sam said. “Right, assistant purser?”
“Whatever you say, sir.”
Desmon looked at each of them with a bit of amused confusion on his face. “What has happened now?”
Glory blurted out, “Professor Smallbug has been arrested by the Port Authority!”
“Quiet,” Nakara said.
Glory put her hands in her lap and pouted, but the corners of her mouth turned up. “I’m hungry, too, you know.”
Nakara told the other two of their morning stroll in the upper city after they ordered their lunch from a very limited menu, chicken stew, but a choice of drinks.
“Can you trust the sword seller?” Desmon said.
“Sam evidently did,” Nakara looked at Sam with a smirk.
“I learned my lesson,” Sam said. “I really did.”
