The Coming of Wisdom

by David Duncan

  "Company astern," he added.

  She turned to eye the galley overtaking, its gilded oars moving like wings, its prow embellished with shiny enameled arabesques. It was heading to cut her off before she passed the cattle boat. The stench caught Sapphire briefly. Ugh!

  "He's going to die," Tomiyano said. He turned around and cautiously leaned elbows on the rail. His chest was almost as gaudy as his back, and his burned face was flaking. "His leg looks like a melon. Have you listened to him? Not a word makes any sense. Gibberish!"

  "I told you to stay out of the deckhouse."

  "I did. I looked in the window. And you can smell his wound from the hold. Damned landlubbers all over the ship! That Nnanji is dangerous. Every time I look at him, I expect him to start denouncing someone. Self-righteous young whelp!"

  Brota did not speak. Nnanji had promised no denunciation in Ki San. Nnanji was under control. Thana had needed very little coaching. He revolved around her like a trained moth.

  "And that Katanji!" Tomiyano spat over the rail.

  Obviously his liver had been tainted by the bruised blood. A rhubarb purgative was what he needed. She wondered if beer would disguise the taste, for he would never take it voluntarily. "You're the only one to complain about him. He seems to get along with everyone else."

  "That's what I mean! Have you seen how Diwa looks at him? And Mei? But we are going to throw them off in Ki San, aren't we?"

  Brota nudged the tiller judiciously. Perhaps it had been a mistake never to accept passengers before―Tomiyano was reacting as if he'd been raped, and some of the others were almost as bad. He had been born on Sapphire and had never slept anywhere else in his life. He worshiped the old hulk.

  Roars of fury came floating across from the galley. It veered, and then feathered oars and lost way, in danger of stripping its sweeps against the cattle boat. Brota began planning her next tack. A couple of huge cargo ships, three times Sapphire's size, were lumbering along ahead, while tiny luxury yachts flitted in and out like dragonflies―the owners coming to escort their cargoes, perhaps. She had never seen so much traffic so far from a dock. The great manor houses stood ranked along the shore; suburbs coming into sight. Ki San must be huge, and she felt excitement mounting, even in herself. The crew were expectantly lining the rail on the main deck.

  "You are going to kick them out in Ki San?"

  "Wait and see what the boy says."

  "Him? He told Thana he'd never seen a city before Aus. This Ki San is..." Tomiyano considered the shore and the river traffic. "It's going to be worth seeing. It'll snuff 'em all up and not even sneeze. He'll stay aboard!"

  Of course Nnanji would decide to stay, but likely he had not worked that out yet. He was down on the main deck with the rest, his ponytail shining copper in the morning sun, the silver griffon and its sapphire shining more brightly beside it. Everyone was down there, except Shonsu and his slave. Real devotion, there. She never seemed to sleep.

  Evidently Tomiyano had also been looking at the sword and suddenly he realized its significance. "But he can't go ashore, can he? Swordsmen would be a bigger threat than sorcerers!" He laughed, then muttered something scornful about swordsmen, but under his breath so Brota could pretend not to have heard.

  A challenger needed no reason. That sword would be Nnanji's death warrant if any highrank caught him wearing it. Of course in theory be could carry it in a sheath and wear his own, but Adept Nnanji would surely regard that as beneath his honor. And it would not save him from civilians, or swordsmen tow on scruples.

  A lumber boat and two fishing smacks ahead... "My head's aching," she said. "Eyestrain. Pity you're not fit enough to handle this for me."

  "Move over!"

  "But your shoulders ..."

  "Move over, I said!"

  She left him to it and headed for the steps. She was tired of his griping, and the rest of the family was as bad, although they were more subtle about it. She was going to let the swordsmen stay―until she had sold her sandalwood. She would pitch them off just before Sapphire sailed. Safer that way. Unless, of course, the gods were feeling generous, as the old man had predicted. She was a trader and words were cheap. Let them show it.

  * * *

  Brota was down with the rest of the family, sitting on a hatch cover, when Ki San itself came into view, glorious in the sunlight. She had seen more of the World than any of them, but even she was impressed. A million green copper roofs spread out over many hills in a forest of spires, cupolas, and domes. On the highest summit a palace shone in white and gold. The bustling dock front stretched out of sight, outlining a bend of the River, a giant hedge of masts, and rigging dwindling away in an arc into the far distance. Lighters and barges flitted about like gnats. Windlasses and wagon wheels sent a continuous rumble of noise floating out over the water.

  Watching the hubbub of the docks drift by, Brota began to wonder if they would ever find a berth. Then a little ferryboat pulled out ahead, and Tomiyano shot Sapphire into the gap as easily as he could have hit a spittoon. He grinned in lopsided triumph. The crew cheered and jumped to furl the sails and throw lines.

  Brota heaved herself up and walked over to Adept Nnanji.

  "Well, adept? You wish to remain on board?"

  He gulped and nodded, still staring in horror at the city. "I do. You will send for a healer, mistress?"

  "Very well."

  "Ah, mistress?" He turned his attention from the view and squirmed slightly. "I want to sell Cowie. A slave who has hysterics at the sight of blood is not a suitable companion for a swordsman."

  "That's true." Brota nodded solemnly. Well done, Thana!

  Nnanji stammered. "Er, I wondered if you would sell her for me? You would get a higher price than I would."

  "Probably. A man selling a slave like that means she's no good. A woman selling her can claim she's too good. Of course I'll want a commission. A sixth?"

  His face fell. "Thana said you'd only want a fifth."

  "All right. For you, a fifth."

  He beamed. "That's very kind of you, mistress."

  "My pleasure, adept."

  * * *

  The port officer departed, Matarro was sent for a healer.

  The chance of a Seventh as patient brought a Sixth with no less than three juniors to carry his bags. He was a butterball of a man with a low, oily voice and a smooth manner; green linen gown freshly pressed, black hair slick on his scalp. He frowned when he saw the invalid. The healers clustered around, muttering and prodding, while the laymen retreated into an anxious group in the far corner of the deckhouse. Brota carefully placed herself on Nnanji's right.

  Finally the Sixth rose and regarded the group in some doubt. 'To whom do I have the honor to report?" he asked.

  "To me," said Nnanji, stepping forward. Brota moved with him.

  "The wound is cursed," the healer said cautiously.

  Obviously.

  "In the case of a civilian, I would recommend that a chirurgeon be summoned to remove the limb."

  Brota braced herself, but Nnanji's sword arm barely twitched.

  "No."

  The healer nodded. "I thought not. Then I regret to announce that I cannot take this case."

  Brota was ready to intervene, but the lad knew the correct response. "We respect your learning, your honor. While you are here, however, perhaps you would advise us on... on these foil bruises on my ribs. What would you recommend?" He had a tear glistening in one eye, but he did not seem to have noticed.

  The healer nodded gravely and recommended that Nnanji be kept cool, given plenty to drink but take care not to choke on it, put hot compresses on the bruises every two hours and in between apply a balm, which one of the juniors produced from a bag. Nnanji solemnly thanked him and paid gold for the balm and the advice.

  "And you will return tomorrow, your honor?" Brota asked. Nnanji looked surprised, but the Sixth beamed and said of course he would come back to check on the adept's bruises. She had no intention of remaining ov
ernight, but she did not want the man tattling to the garrison about a Seventh in port. Not yet.

  She accompanied the healers as they went out on deck.

  "How long, your honor?" she asked.

  "Five days?" said the oily Sixth. "At the outside. But he was a strong man. You could, of course, call in the priests."

  Five days, Brota thought.

  The healer was almost a sword victim himself as he left, for Matarro and Katanji had appointed themselves a ceremonial guard at the top of the gangplank, like those the big ships had, and their salutes were erratic. Brota concealed a smile and shouted for Nnanji to come and give them a lesson. He came boiling out of the deckhouse and did so in flames.

  * * *

  "Gods' armbones!" Matarro said when the monster had gone. "Does he really expect us to stand like this all day?"

  "No." Katanji melted back into a comfortable position. "He's just upset about Shonsu. Nanj is okay mostly."

  Then Brota was going ashore, and they flashed their swords again, but less dangerously.

  They watched as samples of wares were set out on the dock, sandalwood and a few brass pots. Brota settled herself in a chair, and the busy dock life of Ki San thronged by in the hot sunshine. Wagons, rumbling along with loads of barrels and bales, raised clouds of acrid, horsey-smelling dust while highrank traders strolled by with their followers to sneer at the displays. Hawkers pushed loaded barrows, calling their wares to the ships; porters trundled carts. Sedan chairs and pedestrians and mules and pedlars wound their way in and out through the traffic. Robes and loincloths and wraps, in white and black, yellow, brown, and orange flashed by in the bustle and noise. There were many swordsmen patrolling the area.

  "What happens now?" Katanji asked, fascinated.

  "Puke all," Matarro said. "If some trader fancies what we've got out, he'll come and inspect it and say it's all crap, and Brota'll tell him he's an armpit and it's great stuff. Then they'll both try to make the other name a price so they can say that it's unthinkable. After that they get down to business. If he's serious, he'll come on board and look over the stock itself. Finally they shake hands."

  Not much happened for a while. A few traders sniffed like dogs and wandered away. Then Thana led out Cowie, cleaned, coiffed, and appropriately clad, and took her down to the dock. The Firsts saluted and ogled as they went by.

  "You never did," Matarro said.

  "Did, too!" Katanji rolled his eyes. "Last night again! Nanj was snoring like a grindstone. I crawled over and helped myself. Three times."

  "She looks like a lump!" the ship boy said doubtfully.

  "Never!" Katanji assured him. "As soon as I start, she just goes wild. Loves it! Heaving and panting! Great stuff!" He went into slavering detail.

  Matarro was impressed, but not quite convinced. "Swear on your sword?"

  Certainly he swore on his sword, Katanji said, with the confidence of one who could not be discredited. Then their attention was called to the dock.

  Cowie's appearance had proved more interesting than a whole mountain of sandalwood. A trader of the Sixth broke off negotiations at the next ship and hurried over, which was enough to get Brota off her chair right away. A Fifth crossed the roadway at the same time, then another Sixth. Their followers streamed in behind them, forming a crowd, which began to grow and jostle. Matarro swore a few oaths of disbelief, and Nnanji emerged from the deckhouse to watch. It looked as if Brota might be holding an auction, for hands were waving and voices bellowing.

  "Haven't they ever seen boobs before?" Katanji demanded.

  "Not like those!" Matarro said longingly.

  Then mere was a disturbance at the back of the crowd and it hastily opened for the latest newcomers, swordsmen.

  "Holy ships!" said Matarro. "A Sixth?"

  Nnanji bolted back into the deckhouse. He peered out through the windows, muttering under his breath, trembling with rage and frustration.

  Jja was applying balm. She looked up, white-faced and red-eyed, brushing her hair aside with the back of one hand. She smiled slightly. "Adept? If you put the sword under the edge of the bedding and stayed close to the door, then it would come to no harm."

  But Nnanji could not dispose of a trust so easily. He remained in the deckhouse, fretting angrily by the shutters.

  The crowd rapidly dispersed, leaving only the troop of swordsmen and a few curious onlookers. Then Nnanji suddenly exclaimed, "Jja! Look at this!"

  Together they watched Cowie being assisted into a sedan chair. Incredulous, they saw her borne away with an armed escort. "I have seen many miracles around Shonsu," Nnanji whispered, "but never one like that. A slave in a sedan chair?"

  Brota stopped a moment to talk to one of the traders, then came stumping up the gangplank. When she reached the safety of her own deck she threw her head back and roared a carillon of river oaths, waving her fists in the air. Her crew melted away, knowing better than to speak to her in that mood. She wheeled round and stormed the deckhouse. Katanji trotted after her. Matarro followed more circumspectly.

  She almost took the door off its hinges. "There's your money!" she snarled, smiting a small leather bag into Nnanji's hand with considerable force. 'Twenty golds!"

  "The Sixth bought her?"

  "Yes! The Honorable Farandako, swordsman of the Sixth, reeve of Ki San!" She spat the words. "I had them up to fifty and they would have gone higher―eighty or ninety. Then your noble swordsman comes up and says that twenty is more than enough for a slave and takes her. Swordsmen!"

  Armed robbery! Nnanji looked at the little bag that still lay in his oversize hand, looked at Brota... looked down at the restless, flushed face of Shonsu. "Brother," he said sadly, "we have need of an honorable swordsman."

  There was no reply.

  "He was generous, his honor!" Brota was still quivering with rage. "He needn't have paid more than one. Or none at all!"

  "Why, mistress?" Nnanji asked. "What is so special about Cowie? Why a sedan chair?"

  "The king," Brota said, lowering her voice almost to conversation level. "He collects slaves like her. He need only deliver her to the palace steward and he can be sure of at least a hundred." And if she had thought to research her market properly, she could have done mat.

  "I'm happy for poor Cowie," said Jja. "She goes to live in a palace. The Goddess rewards those who help my master."

  Nnanji and Brota looked at each other, startled and rather shamefaced at not having thought of that.

  "Well, you got them up to fifty golds," Nnanji said, spilling the coins into his other palm. "A fifth of that is... ten, right? So ten for you and ten for me, which is what I paid for her."

  Brota snorted, but took the money before he came to his senses.

  "Here, Katanji, keep those for me," Nnanji said. Then he remembered that the two Firsts had been left on guard duty. He exploded at them, driving them from the deckhouse with prophecies of cataclysms and doom.

  "Five score gold pieces!" Katanji growled when they were back at their posts, safely out of range. "For a mattress?" He pulled a face in disgust. "Boy, someone's going to get a king-size disappointment!"

  Matarro grinned, knowing that now he was getting closer to the truth. Then they started to laugh. They laughed so hard that they almost dropped their swords.

  †††

  "Three hundred!" Tomiyano glanced hurriedly over his shoulder to see if the traders had overheard his astonishment. But they were watching their slaves carry the sandalwood down from the ship and load it onto the wagon.

  Brota merely nodded and continued weighing coins from the table into a leather sack. Never had Sapphire carried a more profitable cargo, and at those rates they had left thirty golds' worth sitting on the jetty where Shonsu had boarded.

  It was not yet quite noon, and good sailing weather was going to waste.

  "Next port?" she asked.

  "Three days to Wal. After that three, maybe four, to Dri."

  Five days! "Cargo?"

  "Brass,
" her son said, and she nodded. Ki San was proud of its brass and copperwork. Her own collection of pots had been greeted with derision, but fortunately there were only a few score in the hold, leftovers. Load up with this good stuff, and they would all sell together. Moreover there was a brass warehouse directly opposite their berth―that might be a clue from the Goddess or it might not, but it could save the rent of a wagon. Indeed, the trader was already standing at the front, hoping. She handed the bag to Tomiyano and led the way across the road. Had they had to go far, she would have donned her sword. Had it then been needed, he would have wielded it.

  The trader was a Third―young, nervous, probably just started on his own. His establishment was small by local standards, yet he had an open-fronted shed large enough to have taken Sapphire. New businesses had debts. She made the conventional opening remarks and he replied. There were the customary objections about traders only trading with traders, but she had already found the local way around that, and few traders ever put a sutra ahead of a profit. The quality impressed her, and Tomiyano signaled that it was as good as any he had found. Cauldrons, tankards, pans, knives, and plates―above all, plates. Plates were heavy. She wandered around between the piles, eyes busy. Metal gleamed everywhere, even hanging from the ceiling. She found the dark corner with the junk and allowed for that. Volume, weight, packing, damage...

  Then she gratefully accepted a chair and put on her helpless widow act. Tomiyano played skillfully along, reading her signals as she seemed to fidget. How much brass could they carry? Depends how many plates, how many pots. She appealed to the trader for help, knowing that Sapphire was much roomier than she looked―the cabins were small. They discussed hold size. She said big and Tomiyano patiently said small. The trader believed the sailor.

  "Here," she said suddenly, dumping the bag down. "Three hundred that we just got for our lumber. You take that and we take as much as we can carry. That's easiest, isn't it?" She smiled innocently.