The Burning City

by Jerry Pournelle

  “Yes,” Samorty said. “But they’d really be in bad shape after a Burning.”

  “There are stories,” Jerreff said. “Whole city burned down. Even our town.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Samorty asked.

  “At the Memory Guild. Yangin-Atep used to be more powerful,” Jerreff said. “He could seize everyone, Lordkin and Lords too. Burnings were really bad in those days. Didn’t your father tell you that, Samorty?”

  “Yangin-Atep has no power in here.” Samorty waved at the sculpted gardens and too-perfect houses. “And damned little in town.”

  “Sure, and you know why,” Qirinty said. “We can fence him out, but we can’t control him.”

  “Gods have gone mythical,” Jerreff said.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Samorty said. “You heard what Morth said. And suppose we could send Yangin-Atep into myth—what happens then?”

  “No more Burnings,” Jerreff said.

  “At what cost?”

  “I don’t know,” Qirinty said.

  “Neither do I, and that’s the point,” Samorty said. “Right now we’ve got things under control—”

  “Sort of,” Jerreff said.

  “Enough.” Samorty clapped his hands. The kinless servants brought in new trays of mugs. “We have a performance tonight.”

  “Oh, what?” Qirinty’s wife asked.

  “Jispomnos.”

  “No, no, that’s long,” Quintana said.

  “Not all of it—scenes from part one,” Rawanda said. “Nobody does the whole thing.”

  “Even so,” Quintana said. “I’ll be back…” He went off toward the small room under the stairs.

  CHAPTER

  7

  Performance was a way of telling a story. Several people acted out lives that weren’t theirs, on a platform with moveable furniture. A man with a booming voice spoke as storyteller. Whandall had never seen anything like it.

  The performance was long, and Whandall didn’t understand a lot of the words. Jispomnos had beaten his woman, had tracked her down after she fled from him, had killed her and the man he found with her. Whandall understood that well enough. Whandall’s uncle Napthefit had killed Aunt Ralloop when he found her with a Water Devil. He’d tried to kill the man too, but the Water Devil had run to his kin.

  But Jispomnos’s woman was kinless!

  The killing wasn’t shown.

  Guards took Jispomnos away. He walked away when they turned their backs. The guards chased Jispomnos around and around the stage in excruciating slow motion and all sang in a harmony that Whandall found beautiful, but they sang so slowly!—in time to somnolent music that ran on forever….

  Shanda pulled his ear to wake him. “You were snoring.”

  “What’s going on now?”

  “Trial.”

  He watched for a time. “I don’t understand anything at all! What’s the trial about?”

  She looked at him with wide eyes. “There was a murder,” she rebuked him. “It’s about whether he did it or not.”

  “Jispomnos is a Lordkin, isn’t he?” Or was the actor a Lordkin playing Jispomnos?

  But Shanda only looked at him strangely.

  Whandall swallowed what he was about to say. Shanda wasn’t Lordkin. Instead he pointed and said, “The kinless woman and the two men, who are they? They’re doing all the talking.”

  “The men, they speak for Jispomnos. Clarata speaks for the court.”

  “Jispomnos won’t speak for himself?” Cowardice or pride? “Why two men?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll be back,” she whispered.

  Whandall nodded. It had been a long performance.

  He watched. It was difficult to untangle. The kinless woman Clarata told of the killing, questioned any who had been nearby, showed bloody clothing. Of the men who spoke for Jispomnos, the little kinless man demanded that Clarata produce Jispomnos’s knife. Whandall nodded: no Lordkin would throw away his knife. He argued that the clothing wasn’t his, didn’t fit. Jispomnos was elsewhere during the killing—in the Eastern Arc, in the woods, in a dockside winery with Water Devils to vouch for him, and on a boat bound for Condigeo—until the audience roared with laughter, covering Whandall’s own giggles.

  But the Lordkin advocate spoke of Jispomnos’s prowess as a fighter, his standing in the bands…

  Shanda came back. “What did I miss?”

  “I think I get it.”

  “Well?”

  “They’re not talking to the same people. The little kinless, he’s funny, but two of the judges are kinless, so he’s talking to them. He tells them Jispomnos didn’t do it. But Jispomnos took a kinless as his woman. He lives like a kinless. What the Lordkin judges want to know is, did Jispomnos make himself kinless? The Lordkin advocate, he’s telling them that Jispomnos is still a Lordkin. He had the right to track his woman down and kill her.”

  “The right?” Her eyes bugged. “Why?”

  He had no way to tell her that. It just was.

  So he lied. “I don’t understand that either.”

  Shanda whispered, “I don’t think anyone does. It’s based on something that really happened in Maze Walkers. A Condigeo teller wrote this opera. The grownups like it.”

  The trial was still going on when part one ended and everyone applauded.

  The lords and ladies drifted apart. Samorty and Qirinty walked under the balcony. Samorty was saying, “And that’s the best part. Greatest argument for getting rid of that arts committee I ever saw.”

  “Let me run the arts committee. Or you. Or Chondor. At least we’ll have shows that satisfy someone.” Qirinty stopped in his tracks. “That’s what we need! A show! Not for us. For the Lordkin!”

  “Not Jispomnos!” Samorty said. “You’d start the next Burning!”

  “No, no, I mean, give them a parade,” Qirinty said. “Get their attention and tell them about the aqueduct. Tell them we’ll have it done… before the rains?” He went back to his couch, looked up at the night sky. “It’s the season. Why doesn’t it rain?”

  “Not a bad idea,” Jerreff said. “While all the Lordkin are off at the parade, Samorty here can meet with the kinless association council. Explain what we’re really doing with their taxes.”

  “Find out if they’re ready to join the Guard,” Siresee said.

  Quintana said, “Lordkin hear you’re meeting with kinless and not them, there’ll be trouble.”

  Jerreff waved it off. “We’ll meet with some Lordkin too.”

  “Who?” Qirinty asked.

  “Who cares? Get the word out, we’re meeting their leaders. Somebody will show up.”

  “Now that’s disrespectful,” Samorty said. “And the Lordkin want respect.”

  “No, they don’t. They demand it.” Siresee’s words were meant to cut.

  “Well, they say they want it, and they certainly demand it,” Samorty said placidly. “I agree, Jerreff, it doesn’t matter a lot which Lordkin we talk to. They don’t keep their own promises, and none of them can make promises for Yangin-Atep. But we have to talk to them.”

  “Why?” Siresee asked.

  “Time you children went to bed.”

  Behind him! Whandall jumped, but it was only Serana the cook. “Before Miss Bertrana catches you up so late,” she said.

  Morning was cloudy, and just after breakfast Miss Bertrana came into the kitchen and took Shanda by the hand. “Your father wants you,” she said. “In your pink dress. There are visitors.”

  Shanda looked pained. She turned to Whandall. “I’m sorry…”

  “That’s all right,” Whandall said. “I’d better go home.”

  “Yes, but have some of my corn cake,” Serana said. “I like to see a boy with a good appetite.”

  “Where did you say you lived?” Miss Bertrana asked.

  Whandall pointed vaguely to the west. “Over near the wall, ma’am…”

  “Well. Miss Shanda will be busy all day. Tomorrow too.”

  “Yes, ma�
�am. Too bad, Shanda.”

  “Are they showing me off?” the little girl asked.

  “I wouldn’t put it that way, but it’s Lord Wyona’s family.” Miss Bertrana said the name reverently. “Come on; you’ll have to change.”

  Shanda hesitated a moment. “You’ll come back?”

  Serana was at the stove rattling pans. “It takes two days each way,” Whandall whispered.

  “Please?”

  “I’ll be back,” he said. “Really. I just don’t know when.”

  “Next time we’ll get to the forest.” Shanda lowered her voice. “I’ll leave some things for you in my room, in the chest. You can have all the boys’ clothes there.”

  The chest was nearly full, and Whandall couldn’t tell the boys’ clothes from the girls. Most of the things were too small anyway. Shoes: fancy, not sturdy. They wouldn’t last a week in Serpent’s Walk. There was far more stuff here than he could carry, and even if he could carry it, what then? He’d look like a gatherer. If the Lordsmen didn’t catch him, his own people would.

  There were boys in the yard playing a complicated game. Hide and run, track and pounce. Imitation Lordkin. Pitiful. Whandall watched them while he thought.

  He’d need an outfit, a way to blend in here when he returned. But anything that would blend in here would stand out in Serpent’s Walk. A Lordkin had to be crafty.

  It came to him that he could wear his own clothes underneath, then two more layers of Lord’s clothing topped by the loose jacket, and still not look too odd. Those boys were all bulkier than he was. They ate better—and more often.

  When he was dressed, he felt bulky. He left Shanda’s room carefully, with a twinge of regret for all the stuff he was leaving behind, too much to gather. He left by going over the wall. Guards might notice how much he was wearing.

  No one paid any attention to him while he was in the area near the Lordshills. There were people and carts on the road. No one offered him a ride, but no one stopped him either. At the top of the ridge he stopped and looked back at the Lordshills and their wall. Then went on. He knew where he could sleep safely.

  The Pit was beginning to seem a friendly place. The moon was still near full. The light picked up the shadows of predators coming to greet him while he made himself comfortable. Through the ghosts’ restless pockets in the fog he watched some larger shadow. He couldn’t see it move, but every time he dozed and woke, it was nearer yet.

  Then he saw something swing above it—a limb—and he knew its shape.

  It was twice the size of one of the giant cats, with a rounded body, and it was upside down. It was hanging from an imaginary cylinder, perhaps the branch of a tree eons dead, by its four inward-curving hands. Its head hung, possibly watching Whandall himself. One of the tremendous cats suddenly discovered it, turned, and sprang, and then the horde of beasts was tearing it into wisps. The creature fought back, and birds and giant wolves too became drifting shreds of fog.

  In the morning he put on everything he had, with his old clothes on top of it all. He looked bulky and he couldn’t run, but he might get through…

  CHAPTER

  8

  He had reached Bull Pizzle territory when he heard shouts. Sanvin Street was supposed to be safe, outside the jurisdiction of any band, but five older boys were coming toward him. Whandall began to run. They chased him down and tackled him.

  “Hoo!” one of them shouted. “Look what all he’s got!”

  “Where?” another demanded. “Where’d you gather stuff like this?” When Whandall didn’t answer, he hit him on the head with his fist. “Where?”

  “Lordshills,” Whandall said.

  “Yeah, sure. Now where?” They hit him some more and sat on his head.

  “Leave me alone!” Whandall shouted. He wanted to scream for help, but it wouldn’t do any good. They’d just call him a coward and crybaby. But he could shout defiance…

  “Serpents!” He heard the cry from down the street. “Serpent’s Walk!” A dozen older boys, led by his brother Wanshig, were coming.

  “Bull Pizzle!” his tormentor shouted. Then the others were there. Whandall felt the weight lift from his head. There were the sounds of blows.

  “You all right?” Wanshig asked. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  When they were back at Placehold, Wanshig thanked the others. “Somebody’d better tell Lord Pelzed,” Wanshig said. “We may have trouble with Bull Pizzle.”

  “I never left Sanvin Street,” Whandall protested.

  Wanshig shrugged. “So what happened? Get anything good?”

  “Just some clothes, and look, they tore them, and they gathered my jacket and shoes.” Whandall felt bitter disappointment. Nothing had gone right this time. “This stuff is too small for them anyway—”

  “Nice, though.” Wanshig fingered the shirt Whandall was inspecting. “Nice. You just need a way to get stuff back to Placehold. Take one of us next time.”

  Even his own family lusted for what the Lords threw away!

  “It wouldn’t work,” Whandall said. “It was… sort of an accident that I got in and made friends inside.” They’d never believe him if he said that Shanda had given him all those things. Or they’d want to know why. “Nobody notices me. But the Lordsmen wouldn’t let a bunch of us in.”

  “How many Lordsmen?”

  “Lots,” Whandall said. “Two at the gate, but there are others just inside.”

  “Yeah, we heard that,” Wanshig said. “And they have magic too. Did you see any magic?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “Ten, twenty years ago, before I was born, three bands got together and went to the Lordshills to gather. None of them ever came back,” Wanshig said. “None.”

  Maybe magic, Whandall thought. And maybe it was only guards with armor and spears fighting together with the Lords to tell them what to do, and a ship to carry the losers away. But he could never explain that to Wanshig.

  He said, “Wan, there’s going to be a big show. The Lords will have a show in the park, and give away some presents, maybe do some magic.”

  “When?”

  “Five days, I think,” Whandall said. He counted on his fingers. “Five days counting today.”

  Wanshig smiled. “Good. Don’t tell anyone. Anyone. We’ll keep this for the family.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I’ll have every Placeholder who can pick a pocket ready for them. We’ll have first pick of the crowd.” Wanshig nibbled his lip, considering. “We can’t keep Bull Pizzle out of the park. Can we make them go somewhere else? Something to get them to the other side of town…”

  Whandall watched his brother think.

  Wanshig grinned. “Did they go through your pockets?”

  “You got there first.”

  Wanshig’s grin got bigger. “So they don’t know you weren’t carrying gold. Whandall, Iscunie has been seeing a Bull Pizzle boy. She can tell him you gathered some gold in the harbor town and ten of us are going back for more. We’ll be coming back the morning of the parade, on the south side. That’ll get every Bull Pizzle down there, and we’ll have the park to ourselves.”

  There were drums and flutes, and five wagons. Thirty Lordsmen in shiny bronze armor marched with spears and shields, and when they got to the park they did a complicated thing of marching in a circle. Then more Lordsmen came and filled in between them so that the circle was protected, and the wagons came in.

  A family of kinless strung a rope between two thick trees, as high as a man could reach and so taut that it hung almost straight. A kinless boy younger than Whandall walked from one tree to the other along the rope, turned and walked back, perfectly balanced, while kinless and a few Lordkin whistled and applauded. Whandall realized that these must be the Ropewalker family, who sold rope near the Black Pit.

  The Lordsmen were still at work. A portable stage unfolded out of one of the wagons. Another wagon was covered by a tent. When the stage was up a man came out costumed in feat
hers like an eagle.

  The kinless gathered around the wagons. More Lordsmen walked through the crowds. Flutes played, and drums, and someone passed out little cookies to the children. There was a little round platform that turned, with wooden dragons on it for children to ride.

  At first it was turned by kinless running around it. When the Lordkin pushed all the kinless children off and took their places, the kinless drifted away into the crowd. A couple of Lordkin fathers tried to get older boys to push it, but nobody would, so after a while it sat there unused while people watched the show.

  Most Lordkin kept to themselves in one corner of the park, but Place-hold pickpockets moved among kinless and Lordkin alike. One was caught. The kinless man shouted curses at him, but when Lordkin men moved toward him, he let him go with more curses.

  A troupe of acrobats came out onto the stage. They flew for short distances with the aid of a seesaw. Another climbed a long pole and hung by his teeth. A man and a woman, both Lordkin, ate fire, and a burly kinless man swallowed a long thin sword. The Ropewalkers danced on their tightrope, this time the boy and a younger girl, who did a backward somersault while an older man stood under her as if to catch her if she fell. She was very steady and he wasn’t needed.

  Whandall moved closer to where they were passing out cookies. One of the girls…

  “Shanda,” he said.

  She looked startled. “Oh. I didn’t recognize you.”

  Whandall saw her look nervously up at her stepfather on the platform, where he was about to make a speech. Whandall took a cookie. “Are they still looking for Lordkin to talk to?”

  “I think so, but they haven’t,” she said.

  Lord Samorty began his speech about the new aqueduct and how it would bring fresh water from the mountains. The kinless cheered in places.

  “Will you take me to the redwoods?” Shanda asked. “Not for a while. We’ll be doing this show in other parts of town.”

  “I’ll try. Before the rain if I can. Rain makes everything grow and it’s harder.”

  Something bright appeared on the stage, then vanished. “An evil wizard is keeping the rain for himself,” Samorty was saying. “We’ll beat him. There’ll be rain!”