by David Duncan
Then boots thumped on the old polished planks, and there was Nnanji, hot and sweaty and grinning, fencing completed for the time being. Behind him, the city of Casr was drawing near. "You will be staying on board, my lord brother?" he inquired.
"I will," Wallie said. He noted once more the subtle signs of change in Nnanji―the tiny pause that came before he spoke and after others did, the calculation hidden below the habitual joviality, the secret pride in his own competence. Wallie's lectures on the theory of thinking and responsibility had been promptly followed by practice in white water, and no one of Nnanji's age could have come through that without a few scars. On the surface he was still the same impractical idealist, an irrepressible rapscallion, but something deeper had been awakened now. Blind hero worship had become considered respect. Being Nnanji, he would forget nothing.
"I'll stay, but I don't see why you can't do a little exploring," Wallie said. "You could visit the garrison in Casr and talk with the reeve."
Nnanji's smile vanished. Evidently he had already considered the possibility. "I think that might be inadvisable," he said softly. "They will ask if I have a mentor―who and what rank. And if the reeve hears that there is a Seventh in town, then he will certainly come to call."
Wallie was about to suggest that Nnanji could tell lies―but of course he wouldn't. Based on his experience with the venal Hardduju at Hann, and the Cowie incident in Ki San, Nnanji now had a strong distrust of reeves.
"You might learn something about sorcerers, though,"
"I still think it would be inadvisable... brother." Nnanji was being respectful, but he was prepared to be stubborn. "You are not yet restored to health."
Wallie sighed. "As you wish. But, Nnanji... that oath we swore was the oath of brotherhood."
"Yes?"
"Not motherhood."
Nnanji grinned and pointed a lean arm at the fo'c'sle. "Go to your room, Shonsu!"
Evidently Tomiyano was still mulling the god's riddle. "Suppose we did sail all the way to Ov, my lord? Why Ov? What happens there?"
"Captain," Wallie said sadly, "I'm damned if I know. Maybe I missed something?"
††
zzz
After Casr the weather broke, as if to hint that summer was aging and might die soon. In rain and fog and gloom they came to Sen. Black Sen, the sailors called it, and the name fit―black basalt walls and black slate roofs, morbid buildings over noisome narrow alleys glittering icily in the wet. Cramped against the River between two cliffs, the town had bloated upward in tenements of five or six stories, turning cramped streets into tenebrous canyons. Even the docks were black, and the sorcerers' tower seemed no more depressing or ominous than the rest of the city. The pedestrians and the horses cowered along in the wet, hunched and dejected.
Katanji watched the arrival through the porthole in Diwa's cabin. So far he had not been summoned to the deckhouse, where Shonsu and Nnanji would skulk while Sapphire was in port. It was too late now to send Nanj to get him, for the ship was already close to the dock, but they might yet send Jja.
Diwa fretted nervously at his side. He had his slave loincloth ready, and his makeup. That was a mixture of lampblack and goose grease, Matarro had said. They used it to lubricate the capstan. Matarro did not know that Katanji had purloined some, or the other use he had found for it.
Shonsu had torn him apart when he had learned that Katanji had gone ashore in Wal to talk to the slave gang under the wagon, although he had been pleased enough to get the eyewitness reports that Katanji had gathered. The port officer had fallen off the gangplank when the thunderbolt struck him. He had not been turned into smoke, as Brota had said. There had been two sorcerers waiting on the dock... the man had been dead or unconscious... they had taken his pouch and pushed him over into the River...
That news had pleased Shonsu, but he had still been molten, claiming that Katanji had disobeyed orders. That had not been true. As they left Aus, he had been told not to go ashore if Sapphire ever returned there. Nothing had been said about other sorcerer ports. Nanj had confirmed that, quoting the big man's exact words.
"Very well!" Shonsu had said, glaring black murder. "But in any other sorcerer port, you don't set foot on the gangplank! You don't even go on deck! Is that clear?"
Perfectly clear―Katanji went in and out portholes when he was being a slave, anyway. Tactfully, he had not mentioned that he had gone ashore again in Wal, the next day, and had roamed the town for hours.
And now Shonsu had asked Brota to visit Sen so he could gather wisdom. Sailors and one old priest―what could they learn? What could swordsmen discover by hiding in the deckhouse and peering out windows? Wisdom was Katanji's business; the god had said so.
Sly, sneaky old Honakura had found out what he was up to, and he had deflected Shonsu a couple of times when the conversation had veered onto dangerous territory. But even he now said that next time must be the last time. "Then you must tell them novice. And they'll have to stop you. But it's worth one more try."
The dock was coming up fast now, on this side. Had the ship turned, then he would have had to nip across to the cabin he shared with Matarro.
"Good!" Katanji said. He pulled off his breechclout and began tying on the black loincloth.
He had Diwa well trained now. She held up the mirror she borrowed from her parents' cabin. He reached for his grease pot and spatula.
"Hold it still, wench!" he said. Her hands were trembling.
"Oh, Katanji! It's so dangerous!"
"I've told you! I'm a swordsman. Danger is my business. A swordsman's woman must be strong as well as beautiful... and you are beautiful."
That took her mind off danger. She blushed a rich, dark shade―very rewarding―and her hands steadied. He smiled and concentrated on his makeup again. "Only the fair deserve the brave, Nanj says."
She whimpered a little. She was a pretty thing, nicely rounded. A few more years and she'd be as disgustingly fat as her Aunt Brota, but right now she was just very cuddly.
"There!" He had done. It was nice to have a girl he could look down at. Mei was too tall for him. "I can't kiss you now, or I'll smudge it. But I'll make it up to you tonight."
She laid her cheek against his neck. "Be careful, my darling. I'll feel terrible if anything happens to you."
The ship bumped gently into fenders. He put his arms around her and was surprised to discover how hard it was to take them away again.
"Nothing will. Now, keep a good lookout. And get down here fast when I signal!"
He opened the porthole a crack. The lines had been tied. There was a pile of bales just in front... perfect. He opened the flap wider and slithered out onto the cold, wet dock.
* * *
The crowds were thin because of the rain, but people were walking with their heads down, not looking around, and that suited Katanji very well. He kept his head down, also, walking with a slave's listless shuffle. It was good to get out of his boots; he shucked them whenever Nanj was not looking, but rarely got away with it for long. The wisp of loincloth was lots more comfortable than that kilt. He felt like a kid again, running around with the sun shining on his butt, not having to strut about with his head up, being a swordsman. He still could not think of himself as a swordsman, no matter how much Nanj shouted at him.
He headed up one of the narrow streets. It was gloomy enough that no one could possibly see anything wrong with his slave stripe. This would be the last time, and he must make it pay, gathering lots of wisdom.
He chuckled at the thought of Nanj. His ponytail would stand straight up, and he'd scream like Aunt Gruza. Shonsu would roar, but in secret he would approve. Yet he would not overrule Nanj in a thing like this. The big man liked to learn things―so did Katanji, and there were not many people like that around. Well, today he would find out plenty to add to what he had learned in Wal. Then the two of them would sit down together, and he'd give Shonsu all the wisdom, and Shonsu would shake his head admiringly and say, "Well done, novice,"
in that deep growl of his. Then even Nanj could not scream too much.
He caught a glimpse of the tower down another alley and turned that way.
Then he reached the square and ducked into a doorway to take a look. Just like Wal and Aus―the bag-heads had pulled down buildings to make their tower and leave an empty space around it. This was as close as he had gone at Aus, but in Wal he had walked right by the tower and picked up some of that swordsman intelligence that the sutras listed. He could do that now, but this tower looked exactly like the others. He could see a big raised door for unloading wagons, so there would be another, smaller door on the far side. No windows for at least three spans above the ground, then there were thirteen layers of windows in all. The stairs they would have to climb! But exactly alike. Sorcerers must have a sutra for building towers.
He walked across the square, counting his paces to the tower and alongside the tower and past the tower. Then he worked his way round the streets to come out another alley and did the Same thing in the other direction. Square tower, twenty-two paces each side, as he had expected. The doors were the same―heavy wood with bronze scrollwork on them, bronze feather shapes. And again there was a pit in front of each door with a bronze grating over it.
Why? The pit was shallow, and the gratings did not look hinged, so they were not traps.
A lot of bronze: expensive! Birds, too. There had been birds round the other towers, strutting about on the ground and fluttering clumsily out of his way as he passed. Something to do with feather facemarks? He was standing on a corner, wondering what to do next, when the small door opened and a sorcerer of the Second came out with a basket and started throwing something on the ground. The birds all gathered around, so it must be food.
He wondered if the birds were sorcerers in disguise. What would happen if he grabbed one? If it changed back into a sorcerer would its feathers turn into a gown, or would he be naked? Or were the birds prisoners, changed by sorcery, hanging around the tower in the hope of being turned back into men? He shivered.
Then a boy came across the square pulling a cart with fish painted on its sides. He stopped at the small door and spoke to the Second, who opened the door for him, and he started carrying boxes into the tower. Katanji came out of his corner and crossed the square in the slow, lazy lope of a slave who had been told to run. He grabbed a look in the boxes as he went by. Octopus? Yuck!
That was enough for now, so he wandered off through the town for a while, enjoying the smells, the people, the smell of people, the old familiar feel of horsedung between his toes. Ship life got boring for a city man.
He headed back to the docks to check on Sapphire. Two traders were trudging up the plank to haggle with Brota. That was all right, then. He had hours yet.
He went exploring the alleyways, looking for a slave hole. As a kid he had gone slaving often with Kan'a and Ji'o... what would they be doing now? Kan'a had sworn to the fullers. Ji'o was probably a draper now, like his dad.
The three of them had learned more from listening to slaves than their parents had ever known. Sometimes they had even drawn slave lines on their faces, although that was so risky that it had made his gut quiver and usually they had not done that. He had assumed when he got pricked as a swordsman that his slaving days were over. Then he had seen that a slavestripe would cover up a single sword, and the temptation had been too much to resist. He had gone down to the dock in Wal in the thunderstorm and gathered a lot of wisdom sitting under that wagon. Two golds... it had been worth at least two hundred to Brota.
So the Goddess had approved, and the next day he had gone slaving around Wal.
Slaves were slaves. Slave holes were slave holes. He found a deep alcove between two buildings, where a wooden stair went up. There was just room to squeeze between the steps and one wall―slaves were never fat unless they'd been gelded. He squeezed through, and there, sprawled underneath in the dark and filth and stink, were three slaves, assiduously shirking.
They just grunted, so he joined them, finding a place next to one of them where there was no dung on the ground. He sat down and huddled up for warmth, listened to their talk for a while; listened to the rain drip and a billion baritone flies. Just like old times.
The talk was of women, of course―bragging about what their mistresses demanded when their masters were away. None of them believed the others, it was all wishful thinking, and they all knew that. It made him horny listening to them, though, and he started thinking about Diwa. Maloli would kill him if he found out what had happened to his dear little, innocent, virgin daughter, or how much his dear little daughter enjoyed it.
But who would tell? Matarro knew; he'd wakened up at least once as his roommate came home at dawn. Truth be told, Katanji had been a little clumsier than necessary that first time. Stepping on his fingers had been a bit excessive. Later Matarro had tried to frighten him, saying Brota had put Diwa up to it, wanting to trap Katanji because he would make a good water rat. He did not believe that. He did not think he believed that. You could not trap a swordsman on land that way, but the river-folk had narrow ideas. Certainly it would create a hell of a fight―he had been told not to use the women. But Matarro was a good kid. Very naive, being just a sailor, but he wouldn't split.
Very gently he edged into the conversation. New slave in town: what's this sorcerer business? How many of them? What do they do? Could they cast a spell to make a slave a free man?
"They'd sell you a magic potion to do it," one of the men said, and one of the others laughed. They worked together, these two. What's so funny? asked the third―younger, not much older than Katanji.
"You know what they make those potions out of?" the first said. "Horse pee."
The third said manure they did.
"Fact. Our owner has a stable. Collects the horse pee and the sorcerers buy it off him."
Manure again.
"Manure you!" the first growled. "Fact. You go walk by that tower of theirs. You'll smell it. Stinks like a stable, but there's no horses there."
"I used to belong to a tanner," Katanji said. "Now there was stink!"
"None of those around here. Sorcerers ran them out of town."
Again! The same as Wal―what did sorcerers have against tanners? "How about dyers?"
"Them, too. Why?" The oldest slave was getting suspicious of so many questions.
But there had been no dyers in Aus or Wal, either. Shonsu would love this.
"I'd heard that," Katanji said. "Didn't believe it. What about thunderbolts? Fact?"
"Fact," the oldest said. "Big noise and fire and smoke. Seen one."
"No big noise," said the middle one. "Seen one, too. Big flash of light was all."
They got to arguing. The first man had been walking along a street when a madman came out of a house, a slave gone weird, waving a bloody ax. He had killed three people inside and got two more in the street. Then a sorceress of the Second―piddly little girl―had stepped in front of him. Big noise, smoke, dead slave.
So even a Second could cast that spell? Shonsu would not like hearing that.
That was all manure, the other said, pure, adulterated manure. He'd seen swordsmen killed by a thunderbolt. The others scoffed, so he went into details. Couple years ago―dark night, clouds over the Dream God... coming home late from a woman, he'd been making a shortcut across the square and seen three swordsmen―ponytails, swords, the whole rig. They must have come off a ship. They'd been carrying bundles. He'd stopped in the shadows to watch, because there had not been swordsmen in Sen for years, and he'd made out the bundles. They'd been faggots. The swordsmen had run across the square to the small door of the tower, and he'd guessed that they were going to set a fire against the door. He thought they'd been drunked up pretty good.
They'd stopped at the grating, suspicious, and put down the bundles. He thought a window had opened high up, but he was not sure. Then the swordsmen had gone to look at the door and there'd been a big flash of lightning and screams. No big noise,
just a sort of glass-breaking sound; loud for glass, but not thunder.
Two of the swordsmen had come back and gone by him, one helping the other. The third had stayed, dead.
"Cooked," he said. "They went right by me, and I could smell roast meat off the hurt one. He was making nasty noises and smelling like pork. You go look at that door on the tower! You can still see the scorch marks."
Two types of thunderbolt? Or a demon?
The nearest slave put his arm round Katanji. "You're a nice kid," he said,
"No!" Katanji tried to wriggle loose.
"It's all right if it's all you can get," the slave said, without much conviction. "Try it, come on!"
"No," Katanji protested, not daring to shout very loud.
"Oh, let him go," the youngest said. "I'll do it with you."
Katanji left then.
He checked on Sapphire again, and she was unloading cargo, so he still had time. He must try to find more wisdom. He went back to the square, and the rain was even heavier, the clouds lower and gloomier. A group of slaves was waiting by the big door, ten or twelve of them. He hung around, watching, beginning to feel frustrated.
Then a wagon came grumbling along the street behind him, heading for the square and the tower. It was big―four horses. Maybe from out of town? From Vul, even? Shonsu might know. It was loaded high with something, a leather cover over it. More slaves walked behind. Two slave gangs? He could join in, and then each would think he belonged to the other. When the wagon and its followers passed him, he tagged on and trailed after them across the square before he had time to get scared.
Halfway there his insides began to leap up and down. What in the names of all the gods was he doing? He must have been out of his mind, but it was too late to stop now. If he tried to bolt they'd start a runaway slave cry, and the whole town would give chase. Goddess, preserve me!
The big doors were opened. The teamster maneuvered the wagon onto the grating, against the loading door. Three sorcerers appeared, a Third and two big Firsts. They tried to keep the load dry, holding up the cover so that the slaves could pull out the sacks and hustle them inside. Katanji climbed up on the dock with the others, and no one looked at him twice.
