“I know.”
“No, you don’t. You had tutors.”
“Intermittently. When my father could successfully bribe, bully, or beg someone to come stay in our village for a while. He didn’t have a lot of money to pay those people, and they never stayed long. I’m not sure you noticed, but our village isn’t an exotic tourist mecca, or a place people are drawn to stay unless they have roots in the community. A lot of time, I was learning from books.”
“Guess you’re smarter than me then.” Lakeo clenched her jaw and looked around.
“I didn’t mean to say that. The tutors did help. They gave me a foundation and made it easier to learn more on my own, but I’ve always known that my progress would improve when I could go to a real school. I’m sure you feel the same way.” Except the Nurian schools and academies did not accept those with mixed blood. Maybe that was the exception she thought the Great Chief might make if she helped with his quest. Institutions for the mental sciences did not cost students any money, not in Nuria. The Kyattese Polytechnic might be more inviting to different nationalities, but from what Yanko had heard, tuition was not inexpensive.
“Yeah.”
Dak had joined them at the base of the gangplank, so they had best put their guide to use and get on with the mission. That other ship could not be far behind, and if Sun Dragon knew Yanko had been coming here, he might know where Yanko would go for research too.
“If you want to come along, Lakeo, I would be pleased to have you.” It surprised Yanko to realize he wasn’t lying. All those months in the mine, he had dreaded Lakeo’s appearance, knowing she would bring her sharp tongue and her snide comments. He did not think she had changed much, but for some reason, the comments bothered him less now. Maybe because she was all he had now that reminded him of Uncle Mishnal and home.
She shrugged again. “I’ll think about. After I find out how much it costs to go to their snooty school here.” She sniffed and looked around the docks.
They were busy, with more ships coming into the harbor every minute. Some found berths at the piers—there had to be a hundred of them thrusting out from the quay along the waterfront—while others set anchor in the large harbor protected by a jetty to the east and cliffs to the west. Nurian freighters made from wood and sail floated alongside Turgonian ironclads and other vessels flying flags Yanko only recognized from books on world history.
“The other girl’s not coming?” Dak asked.
Arayevo remained on the ship, talking to the captain.
“Not now,” Yanko said, hoping he didn’t mean, “Not ever.”
“This way then.” Dak headed east, along the quay, watching the people they passed.
About half of them had the pale skin and blond, brown, or red hair of the Kyattese, but the other half represented other nationalities, with clothing styles that ranged from robes to saris to military uniforms to trousers and tunics. The natives seemed to prefer saris, blouses, and knee-length trousers along with lightweight shoes or sandals.
“Police,” Dak said over his shoulder, tilting his chin toward a squad of men and women jogging down the quay. Wearing sandals, shorts, and yellow, button-down shirts, they did not have the intimidating mien of a martial unit, but they did carry cudgels and crossbows, except for one who wore a couple of glowing pins on his collar. Mage? Or practitioner, as they called them here?
“They won’t be a problem, I trust?” Yanko waved at the eclectic mix of travelers walking up and down the quay.
“Shouldn’t be.” Dak looked over his shoulder. “Assuming you don’t have any prison breaks in mind for this portion of your trip.”
The police happened to be walking by at that moment, and Yanko flushed. “No, just research.”
Though the police didn’t slow down, they gave his group curious looks, with one turning to walk backward for a moment as he contemplated Dak.
“You didn’t do anything notorious when you were here before, did you?” Yanko asked after they had passed out of earshot. “That one thought the back of your head was rather interesting.”
“I doubt they walk past many Turgonians speaking Nurian on their docks.”
“Ah.” That made sense. “Do you know of anyplace inexpensive where we can find lodgings?” Preferably in an area where wizards and assassins would struggle to find them...
“I usually stay at the Turgonian Embassy for free.”
“Would it be free for us?” Lakeo sounded serious.
Yanko gaped at her.
“It would depend on how large of an interrogation room you’d want to be placed in.” Dak’s eye glinted as he glanced back at them.
“Uh,” Yanko said. “I’d prefer to stay on the other side of town from the Turgonian Embassy.” None of the foreigners they were passing were picking fights with each other, perhaps a result of those frequent police patrols, but he had caught some glares between nationalities, and the sailors on a Turgonian freighter were shaking their fists and exchanging curses with the crew on a Nurian merchant vessel.
At the end of the quay, Dak turned onto a street, but he paused to look at the side of a large, whitewashed stone building. A police station? The entire side wall was papered with pictures of heads. Wanted posters, Yanko realized, looking closer. The tingle of magic came from the wall—probably some safeguard to ensure nobody took down or altered the posters.
Dak tapped an empty spot and said something in Turgonian.
“Pardon?” Yanko asked, perusing the extensive offering. He supposed the Kyattese, being known for peacefulness and neutrality, probably wanted to stop notorious criminals from strolling onto their island. A number of pirates were among the offerings. He skimmed the rows, half hoping to find Captain Minark on there, if only to show Arayevo what kind of man she had taken up with.
“They finally took one down that they were supposed to take down last year. A Turgonian assassin who’s working for the government now. The president would prefer he not be shot on sight.”
Yanko barely heard him. He had found the picture of his mother. If not for the name Captain Snake Heart Pey Lu typed in distinct print in three languages, he might not have recognized her from the image—that twenty-year-old painting in his father’s cabinet was the only picture he had seen of her. Her black hair was short now, almost as wild as Lakeo’s, and whoever the artist had been had drawn her with a heavy hand, an angry hand. Her mouth was pinched in a frown, her eyebrows were pulled together, and a large tattoo marked her neck. Some sort of lizard or dragon? She appeared perpetually irritated and older than Yanko would have expected. He saw little of the beauty that must have once drawn his father to her, but her dark eyes held the same determination they had in the picture.
“Is that your mother? She’s fierce.” Lakeo touched the tattoo and fingered a number of small notes that had been pinned to the corner. “What are these? Amendments?”
Yanko tore his gaze from the picture to focus on the papers. They were only written in Kyattese, so he couldn’t guess. “Dak? If you’re done checking on your infamous countrymen, could you translate something for me, please?”
Dak had been squinting at a picture at the far end, and looked ready to continue up the busy street, but he returned. “They’re updates on that pirate. Recent sightings in the area.”
“In the area?” Yanko gaped and pointed at the cobblestones under his feet. “This area? She’s supposed to be two thousand miles to the south. Tormenting spice traders around the Mesuna Keys, that’s what Uncle Mishnal said.” Not that she couldn’t have moved in the months since Yanko had received that information, information that may have been months or years out of date by the time his uncle received it. He shoved at his hair with his fingers, nearly knocking his topknot from its binding. Had he been claiming that the gods were guiding him? Helping put together a team that could succeed at this quest? If that was true, why would they send his mother up here? The woman who had singlehandedly taken the White Fox clan from a position of honor to one of disgrac
e?
His stomach sank. What if she had somehow heard about the quest for the lodestone too? What if she had come to beat him to it? No, it couldn’t be. Sun Dragon was from a powerful family, and it made sense that he might have a spy in the Great Chief’s palace, especially if he was a key part of the rebellion. But a pirate wouldn’t have such a spy. Yanko did not need to make up enemies where there were none. Or hyperventilate in front of a random wall in a new city.
“Why does the pirate matter?” Dak asked.
Yanko stared up at him, struggling to bring his mind back to the moment.
“Because,” Lakeo said, tapping a finger against Snake Heart’s face, “that’s Yanko’s loving mother.”
Dak arched his eyebrows and looked back and forth from Yanko to the picture. Had he not shared that information with his bodyguard before? Apparently not. He braced himself, waiting for the condemnation that always came when people learned about his mother.
“Huh.” Dak waved up the street. “This way. The Polytechnic is a mile walk.”
Yanko stared after him, then ran to catch up. “That’s it? Don’t you care? She’s killed hundreds, they say, if not thousands. Because of her, my family has been...” He trailed off. Why should Dak care? He wasn’t a Nurian. What was the status of some random clan to him? “Never mind. I guess it’s not important that she’s around. I just find it disconcerting. These aren’t her usual waters.”
“We’ll watch for her then.”
And with that, Dak turned a corner and kept walking. Yanko wished he could so easily dismiss his mother’s presence. He took a long look back at that wall of wanted posters before following Dak around the corner, wondering if it was the last he would see of her. Or not.
13
“Greetings,” a middle-aged man in a white robe said from behind a desk bearing a plaque that read Admissions. He smiled brightly, his blue eyes crinkling, and genuinely seemed pleased to see Yanko and Lakeo walk in, even though he had been in the middle of scribbling notes on a pad. Three books lay open on his desk. If the fact that they were carrying all of their belongings, including weapons, surprised him, he did not show it.
“Fair afternoon,” Yanko replied, only then realizing the man had spoken to him in Nurian. That was a relief, since he and Lakeo had left Dak outside. After saying they should not need a bodyguard inside the Polytechnic, he had headed up a hill that offered a view of the harbor to watch for the arrival of that other ship. So long as he wasn’t securing “lodgings” for them in the Turgonian embassy.
“Welcome to our institution. Are you seeking the answers to questions? Or are you interested in enrolling as students?”
The answers to questions—that would be nice.
“How much is enrollment?” Lakeo asked.
“That depends on the field you wish to study—are you students of the Science?” He looked back and forth between them, as if something about their clothing might tell him the answer. “We offer other courses and degree programs, as well, but this particular campus is best known for its mental-science instructors. They teach in a range of specialties from the thermal sciences to telepathy and mind-based animal handling to earth and growing arts.”
“Earth and growing?” Yanko asked wistfully, despite the fact that he was here for another reason.
“Yes, we are particularly well known for such offerings. Because of our nation’s limited land size, we have had to learn to create homeostasis between the inhabitants and animal and plant species, so there is plenty for all. We are at the cutting edge for science-assisted, integrated farming, producing maximum harvest yields while retaining the rich fertileness of the soil for future crops. May I select some brochures for you?”
The man’s bright smile never faded as he spoke, but Yanko couldn’t help but wonder if he was aware of the Nurian condition and had made this spiel based on their nationality. Even if it was a sales pitch, Yanko wished he could stay and study here. It sounded like the Kyattese had solved the problem his own people needed to solve. A twinge of envy ran through him at the idea that these people on their islands had figured out what had eluded the Great Land, but he reminded himself that they had destroyed their first continent before realizing they had to change their ways.
“I’ll take a brochure,” Yanko said. It couldn’t hurt, and he was curious what classes here might be like. Even if he had a mission now, that did not mean he could not return one day, so long as he didn’t get himself killed trying to complete Zirabo’s task.
“You will?” Lakeo whispered when the man turned toward a row of filing cabinets behind his desk. “Do you even know what he’s talking about?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll take something on the thermal sciences,” Lakeo said. “And on tuition.”
“Of course.” The man selected pamphlets and pulled them off shelves and out of drawers. “The new semester doesn’t start for two months, so you’ll have plenty of time to peruse our offerings and see if a program here might be right for you.”
“Not for two months?” Lakeo slumped.
“There are preparatory study programs you may wish to engage in before your classes start. As well as tests. Most students already have an understanding of the Science before entering the Polytechnic, but there are remedial programs for those who are coming in fresh. Here you are.” He pushed two huge stacks of pamphlets, books, and diagrams toward them.
Lakeo stared down at the piles. Yanko did not know if all of that was promotional material, or if they had already been given homework.
“You mentioned answering questions...” Somehow Yanko doubted the Kyattese would offer up the secrets of their historical artifacts, so he kept his words vague. “Can anyone do research in your libraries? Or are the materials only available for students?”
“Anyone may access the library. Is there something in particular you’re looking for? I can direct you to the correct room. Do you read Kyattese? Most of the texts are in our language, but there are students stationed in the library to assist patrons. I can contact someone to help you.”
“That would be very useful,” Yanko said. It was everything he had hoped for. He wouldn’t have to use Dak after all and worry about him learning too much.
“Excellent. What is your area of interest?”
“Kyattese history.”
For the first time, the man’s smile faltered, and his eyes narrowed slightly. Yanko supposed it was strange that a Nurian should have a fascination with some other country’s history.
“You see, we—my people—are facing some difficulties in the exact area you mentioned, continuing to grow enough food to support our population. I was sent to study your ways and learn how we might apply them in Nuria.”
“Interesting. You’re very young to have been hand-selected for such a mission.”
No kidding.
“Did you bring any references from professors?” the man asked.
Erg, should he have put Lakeo to work forging academic papers too? “No, I’m mostly self-taught.” What would get him access to the library and the student assistant he needed? “But my family is moksu—we’re regularly called upon to serve the Great Chief, at any age.”
“I hadn’t heard that your Great Chief had any interest in sustainable agriculture.” The man’s tone had cooled considerably.
Yanko groped for a way to salvage the situation. Why hadn’t he simply said he was interested in the thermal sciences and then wandered off to explore once he was in the library? “It was actually his son Prince Zirabo who saw my potential when he was visiting the salt mine that my family oversees.” The mine they had overseen. “I didn’t think a letter would be required. I’m not seeking any special treatment.”
“Prince Zirabo?” The man’s brows rose. “Ah, I see. Yes, that makes more sense. Too bad he doesn’t have any significant power or sway over there.”
“Yes,” Yanko murmured, though he found it strange that random strangers should know more about his government than he d
id.
“What have you studied thus far? I ask so I might recommend a starting point and also classes, if you decide to enroll.” The man was smiling again, but Yanko sensed he was being tested, or at least being asked to prove that he wasn’t lying.
“I’ve been helping in the greenhouses since I was a boy, creating my own special soil amendments—is vermiculture popular over here?—and also working in the forest around the property to keep the various plant species healthy and choose trees for selective harvesting. There’s a cave in the hills back home where we grow numerous strains of edible and medicinal mushrooms, taking advantage of otherwise barren space since it gets so little sunlight. I also use the mushroom compost in my soil blend. As for the mental sciences, I can speed up the process of growth or decomposition and sometimes find methods of treating blighted or otherwise damaged plant species. A couple of years ago, my grandmother and I found a way of curing the filbert blight that was affecting our orchards.”
Yanko stopped, more because Lakeo was staring at him with her mouth hanging open than because of anything the admissions director was doing. He was simply nodding his head attentively.
“You can cure filberts, but you made your brother take that arrowhead out of his leg on his own?” she muttered.
Yanko shrugged sheepishly. “I never had a healer for a tutor. People are different. Less bark, fewer leaves. It’s complicated.”
The man chuckled. “Yes it is, young fellow. But I believe I can be of assistance in your quest.” He closed a couple of the open books on his desk, peered under some papers, then opened a drawer. “Ah, there we go.” He pulled out a small communication orb, the glowing orange sphere nestled in a wooden base. He set it on the desk, rested his palm on it briefly, then said a line of Kyattese that included his name, Director Kelleoan, or something that sounded like that and a question.
A moment passed, then a harried monosyllabic reply floated into the room. If Yanko had to guess the equivalent, he would have made it, “Yeah?”
Beginnings: Five Heroic Fantasy Adventure Novels Page 127
