The Unwaba Revelations: Part Three of the GameWorld Trilogy

by Samit Basu

  ‘Why was his beard green?’

  ‘It wasn’t. But the other colours were taken. Anyway, he’d been carving up Koli merchant ships, and the Civilian sent me to get rid of him after the navy failed. So I got on a ship, got myself captured and enslaved, and cut my way out of the galleys using a piece of string and a few fishbones. I could have killed old Greenbeard the day I broke out, but there was a problem. I fell in love with his daughter.’

  ‘Why was his daughter on board? Don’t pirates think it’s bad luck to have a woman on board?’

  ‘Yes. But she was there nevertheless, and it was bad luck for me. I decided to wait for a few days, woo Orpi – that was her name, and still is, of course – and see if I could try and persuade Greenbeard to change his ways and save his life. And get a khudran son-in-law in the bargain.’

  ‘You wanted to marry this Orpi?’

  ‘Young. Foolish. So, I started skulking around the ship, pushing off pirates and pursuing Orpi.’

  ‘And you succeeded. So is it Greenbeard that we are here to meet?’

  ‘Don’t interrupt me. I spent several days wooing Orpi, but – this will shock you – she did not succumb to my considerable charms. I was not, of course, as skilled in the technicalities of romance as I am now – I need not be modest with you, old friend – but I admit I was very surprised when I saw my affections left Orpi cold. One reason for this, of course, was that she was far too young for me – only sixteen, but I did not know that, and I was not as adept in guessing human ages as I am now. But the reason for my failure was not my youth – it was that I had a rival. Orpi’s heart belonged to another.

  ‘There was a young stowaway on board, a boy who called himself Fujen. A pretty lad, not more than fifteen years old; what he was doing on board the Guffin, Greenbeard’s ship, he would not tell me. I met him while prowling around the decks, and we became friends instantly, for he, like me, had the soul of a true adventurer. My friend Fujen, I discovered, was my rival, and Orpi’s betrothed; I was incensed, as any true lover would be. I toyed with the idea of revealing his presence to Greenbeard, but that would have been dishonourable. I considered challenging Jen – Fujen - to a duel, but that, too, would have been unfair; I could, of course, have killed him in about two seconds, and this stayed my hand.’

  ‘But you won the girl eventually, and lost interest at once.’

  ‘No,’ said the Dagger. ‘And when I found out the truth about Fujen, I was only too happy to yield. I have never been able to stand in the path of true love. Greenbeard found out too, and would have killed them both, which was a story ending I found unacceptable. I killed Greenbeard and completed my mission, Orpi and Jen took over the ship and released all the slaves, and a lot of blood was spilled, mostly by me. Jen and Orpi are still together – Jen is the pirate we are here to meet – and every year, on Orpi’s birthday, Jen comes to Ajaxis, finds a particularly valuable slave and sets her free.’

  ‘And what was this truth you found out about Fujen?’

  The Dagger raised a warning hand as bolts were drawn inside the house. The door creaked open, and a gigantic minotaur lumbered out and back in again without a word. Mantric and the Dagger followed him inside. The room was full of broken furniture and was completely uninteresting, except for a trapdoor in the middle of the floor. They walked down through it, and followed the minotaur through a maze towards the sound of stringed instruments playing deeper underground.

  Al-Qatras Mansion was centuries old; it had been founded by a wealthy Artaxerxian slave-merchant back in the age when Psomedea’s phalanxes ruled the known world, and its triremes shattered the navies of any nation that challenged its dominion over the seas. But there was nothing distinctively Artaxerxian about it any more, apart from a few half-hearted attempts at exotic decoration. The businessmen who now ran Al-Qatras were as diverse as the slaves sold there. And Al-Qatras was where the finest slaves were sold, where true connoisseurs of subjugation gathered to find interesting new people to own. It was not the principal slave-market of Ajaxis; that was in the heart of the city, where citizens gathered to inspect the latest living merchandise from all over the world, and on every weekend you could go there with your friends and prod and poke other human beings to test their suppleness, firmness and strength. There you could find your everyday soldiers and craftsmen, labourers, servants and concubines of every colour, size and shape that civilization knew; there you went shopping for your commonplace dancers and farmers, soldiers, mamluks, zanji and saqalib, mothers and children. But in Al-Qatras you got the very best, taken off slaving ships and caravans long before they reached the market. The slaves in Ajaxis’ market were nearly all human; the asurs ran their own slaving trade routes elsewhere, and selling a centaur as a slave had once sparked off a war. But in Al-Qatras, you could find strange creatures captured out of legends; unique monsters that could be yours for a price, grotesque beings you could never buy anywhere else in the world.

  All ancient cities had thriving slave markets, of course; even Kol had one, though the Civilian had recently banished slavery and the slave market had to pretend to be a matrimonial agency. The Civilian knew she had no real hope of truly eradicating slavery; slavery had many forms, and many disguises, and would last as long as inequalities of power existed. But modern-day rulers who had to wrestle with things like democracy made it a point to give slaves some rights, and try to win their support; it was good form.

  Mantric and the Dagger sat down on huge, soft cushions and stared appreciatively at scantily-clad slave-girls carrying large trays of fruits and sweetmeats from one auction room to another. Al-Qatras was huge, well lit and decorated with tremendous enthusiasm and incredibly bad taste; ugly animal figures, vulgar statues and overpowering smells of incense filled the mansion’s ornate, gaudy chambers. The auction galleries had several wings, each with inspiring names like Harem Heaven, Boy Toys, Smouldering Soldiers and Little Delights; they were in the smallest hall, where only really big spenders went, a hall called Trouble Time. Jugglers, sword-swallowers and belly-dancers entertained them as they waited; in about an hour, the hall was full. Mantric saw, to his astonishment, that smooth-faced men carrying the insignia of several well-known Koli nobles were among those present. They all looked slightly surprised when they saw Amloki and Mantric, but bowed and exchanged half-smiles, no doubt thinking of the rewards they would receive for telling their masters that the Chief Civilian, too, wanted slaves from Al-Qatras.

  The slave auction began, and the Dagger grew impatient; there was no sign of Jen. A two-headed ogre from Ventelot was sold to a plump Artaxerxian. A crocodile-headed gharian from Avranti went for a high price to a famous hunter from Elaken. Strange half-humans came and went; woeful-looking creatures, far from home, dressed up to appear fearsome, their bodies bearing the marks of captivity and torture. Lost amidst unnatural, bland-faced predators, they accepted their new owners without comment, and lowered their heads, and were led away in chains to a corner of the hall, where they stood in a huddle, waiting for the auction to end and their new lives in servitude to begin.

  The Silver Dagger looked at Mantric. He’d expected the spellbinder to have created some sort of disturbance; he’d even half hoped for it, hoped that his old friend would start trouble he could help finish, to try and overcome the guilt that enveloped him every time his adventures led him to Al-Qatras. But Mantric seemed to have lost interest; he was not even looking at the slaves as they were led around the hall. Perhaps his mind was already far away, tussling with some obscure paradox, balancing some irrelevant equation. But then there was a raucous whistle at the entrance to the hall, and the Dagger forgot all about Mantric. Jen had arrived. He nudged Mantric and whispered ‘The pirate’s here.’

  Mantric looked up and around, slightly puzzled; there was no one in the hall who even remotely resembled his idea of a pirate. The Dagger seemed to be looking at a striking young woman in a white gown, who’d just walked in, a big, green, villainous-looking parrot on her shoulder. Not that Man
tric blamed Amloki for staring at the newcomer; even to his mostly uninterested eye, she was terribly attractive; she had the friendliest face he’d ever seen, though at present she was trying hard to mould her features into a cold mask. Tall, athletic, graceful, she walked calmly across the room, ignoring the servants bobbing and bowing in front of her, and sat on the edge of a cushion. It was only then that she met Amloki’s eye. Her face broke into a wide, happy grin, for an instant; she quickly turned away, clearly trying hard not to laugh.

  ‘Is that Jen?’ asked Mantric.

  ‘Yes,’ said Amloki, his face a study in innocence.

  ‘She’s a woman.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you said…’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The stowaway was a boy, you said.’

  ‘I discovered the truth later.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Mantric turned to look at Jen with renewed interest. And flinched as he encountered the steely gaze of her parrot, who clearly did not like old men who stared at his mistress.

  ‘And that,’ said the Dagger, ‘is Pollux.’

  There was a sudden hush in the hall as the star exhibit of the auction was brought forward. Three minotaurs, holding thick chains, let in a mountain yeti. She was shaped like a large pashan, but appeared much larger, because she was covered in shaggy white fur as thick as a yak’s, fur that was streaked with dirt and blood. There was a collective gasp as she raised her arms, shook her chains and growled thunderously, shaking bits of plaster off lurid friezes on the ceiling. On her fur were drawn strange symbols in black; letters not unlike the Xi’en script but somehow more primitive and powerful, secret marks written in the language of yetis. The majesty of her form, even in captivity, was breathtaking; very few of the people in the hall had ever seen a yeti before, and even they were overcome with awe; there was no such thing as an ordinary yeti, but even among yetis, this was clearly a leader. Her eyes, almost covered by thick, shaggy brows, shone with sorrow and wisdom. The Dagger looked at Jen, who appeared transfixed; this was what she had come for.

  ‘This is wrong,’ said Mantric. ‘I know your friend intends to set the yeti free, but that’s not enough. No one has the right to put a yeti in chains.’

  ‘Calm down,’ said the Dagger, hoping Mantric wouldn’t.

  The chief auctioneer, a prim-faced Elakish nobleman, announced to the hall that the creature that now stood before them was called Telu-Yeti, and was known in the Mountains of Harmony as a death-sister, a healer of unparalleled skills.

  ‘This charming beast will keep you free of all illnesses, break the ice at parties, and make a lovely carpet in the fullness of time. Do I hear any bids?’ he said. Several prospective buyers raised their hands, Jen among them, but before they could start clamouring for Telu-Yeti’s ownership, Mantric jumped to his feet and dragged the room’s attention away from the yeti. He achieved this by the simple process of shooting a large blue fireball at the auctioneer, causing the gentlemen to run off yelping, covered in flames.

  ‘Carpet? Carpet?’ spluttered Mantric. ‘That’s it! The auction is cancelled. You’re free.’

  He waved his hand, and the chains binding the slaves turned into silken threads. In two seconds, the hall turned into the scene of what, in the Fragrant Underbelly, would have been called a Level Eight brawl; the ogre and the gharian led the other slaves into battle, ripping throats, slashing bellies and tearing off heads; guards ran in, armed to the teeth, and had their teeth knocked out. The minotaurs didn’t help their employers at all; they charged at the slaves, but their utter lack of maneuverability resulted in their cannoning through walls, or into the guests they were supposed to protect and one another; in their confusion, the guests of Al-Qatras drew weapons, and a few moments the madness spread, and plunged the whole mansion into utter mayhem. In the epicentre of the carnage stood Mantric, eerily calm, casting illusion-spells; giant spiders suddenly appeared in the room, weaving shining, hypnotic webs, and strong men cast down their arms and cried. Walls crumbled, and torrents of spellbinder flame lashed through the mansion; monsters sprang out of nightmares and stalked through ruined corridors.

  Jen leaned elegantly against a statue of a plump, naked Psomedean goddess and watched the proceedings with a jaded eye. There was a tap on her elbow; she looked down, and winked.

  ‘Hello, Jen. It’s wonderful to see you,’ said the Silver Dagger.

  She picked him up and kissed him.

  ‘For my part, I confess to feeling a slight elevation of the spirit, but nothing so violent as to necessitate serious introspection,’ said Pollux.

  ‘It’s all right, you stupid bird,’ said Amloki. ‘I’ve missed you too.’

  Pollux turned about on Jen’s shoulder, thrilled. He noticed a Skuan merchant, running through falling rubble, staring at him in horror. ‘Squarrawk,’ he said unconvincingly.

  Jen side-stepped to avoid a shower of crystal shards as one of Mantric’s fireballs shattered an ugly chandelier.

  ‘Who’s your friend?’ she asked.

  ‘Mantric. Spellbinder.’

  ‘Why is he upset?’

  ‘He doesn’t like the idea of slavery.’

  ‘So I see.’

  A few guards ran by them, screaming, followed by a basilisk illusion.

  ‘We need your help,’ said the Dagger.

  ‘Anything for you, and he seems like a charmer as well. I’m in. What do you need?’

  ‘You. Your crew. We’re off on the greatest quest mortals have ever undertaken.’

  ‘So we are. Where are we going?’

  ‘We’re going to save the world,’ said the Dagger.

  Jen considered this gravely.

  ‘It’s going to be expensive,’ she said, as an arrow shuddered into the wall a few inches from her.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said the Dagger, and killed two guards who were attempting, in their foolishness, to attack them. ‘Don’t worry about money,’ he continued. ‘We’ve been on the job for a while; we’ll be ready to leave in a few days, after a few friends of ours get here. When can you start?’

  ‘Well, I’m going to need a new ship; I’ve had trouble with undead frigates,’ said Jen. ‘This year, I wanted to give Orpi a special birthday present; a ship named after my nickname for her. I’ve already had the figurehead built. If you buy me a ship to go with it, consider me hired.’

  ‘Done. What do you plan to call this ship?’

  ‘The Baby Duck.’ Jen looked embarrassed, but only slightly.

  ‘We’re going to need to work on the name a little bit,’ said the Dagger.

  Mantric came rushing towards them, his clothes burnt and torn. Behind him, his monstrous illusions faded, flickered and vanished.

  ‘I think I’ve made my point,’ he said breathlessly. ‘I would like to leave now.’

  ‘But you’ve changed all the minotaur guides into slugs,’ the Dagger pointed out.

  ‘Come on, Amloki,’ said Jen with a smile. ‘We both know the way.’

  She surveyed the carnage around them and shook Mantric’s hand gravely. ‘You will make an excellent pirate,’ she said.

  The wall at the far end of the hall disappeared in a cloud of rubble and dust, revealing about fifty minotaurs, heads down, ready to charge.

  ‘May I take the liberty of suggesting a rather speedy departure?’ enquired Pollocks.

  ‘Come, Telu-Yeti!’ called Jen. The yeti, who had been hiding rather ineffectively behind a tiny brass vase, shuffled towards them, delicately crushing the skulls of all who lay in her way. For a creature of her bulk and shagginess, she moved at an astonishing pace; within seconds, she had crossed them and charged out of the hall. They raced after her, dodging spears and arrows, until they reached the labyrinth. Mantric sent fireballs flying behind in several directions, and they stopped for a few seconds to watch Al-Qatras burn.

  ‘Mmfm!’ said Telu-Yeti.

  ‘I think she speaks for us all,’ said Mantric solemnly, and he gathered up his robes and sprinted into
the labyrinth’s tunnels in an enthusiastic and undignified manner.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Maya and Kirin walked into a small cave that Spikes had recently found and evacuated. The cave was still full of domestic smells left behind by a family of bears, its former inhabitants, who were now wandering through Vrihataranya with throbbing behinds and newly acquired lifelong aversions to pashans.

  It was midnight, and Vrihataranya was awake to the sound of chirping insects and distant screams as predators rose and went to work. Outside the cave, Spikes and Asvin sat by a crackling fire and told each other unpleasant stories. Inside, Maya and Kirin sat face to face on a thick blanket of leaves, watching each other in the light of a hovering fireball, fragments of bright blue safat eggshell in their hands.

  ‘Should we?’ asked Kirin.

  ‘You first,’ said Maya.

  Kirin tossed the shell fragment into his mouth, chewed on it solemnly, grimaced and swallowed. Maya watched breathlessly as his eyes closed and he slowly toppled sideways, his face loosening into a wide, stupid grin. She gulped down her own piece of shell, and the world slowly faded away around her as she sank into blissful slumber.

  When Maya awoke, it was still dark outside, though she felt as if she had slept for years. She looked up and sensed, in the faint light from the cave’s mouth, Kirin standing over her. She stood up and raised her hand to cast a light spell, but Kirin said ‘Don’t. Wait till we’re outside the cave.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she whispered.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Just – don’t.’

  Her curiosity piqued, Maya lit a fireball. Kirin stood in front of her, but something was different; the light from her fireball seemed to pass through him, and he cast no shadow on the cave wall. This in itself was no particular cause for concern, but at Kirin’s feet lay Kirin, or at least his body, exactly as he’d lain when he’d fallen over after eating the safat’s egg. With one significant difference; his body was naked. The projection, or spirit, or whatever it was, of Kirin that stood in front of her was, fortunately, decently covered. Maya laughed aloud and turned towards Kirin, expecting him to be cringing in embarrassment; instead, he was staring at her feet, very studiously. It took a second for the pieces to assemble themselves in Maya’s brain, another one for her to look down, to see her own body stretched out in full glory, and yet another to snuff her fireball out.