Burning Tower

by Larry Niven

  Never mind that fire had been sacred to them once. Yangin-Atep’s gift was that fires would not burn indoors. Now anything could burn, anytime.

  Once thought, the logic was inescapable. Fighting a fire wasn’t like farming or hauling or taking coins for goods and a smile, or any kind of mind-numbing kinless labor. Fire didn’t keep regular hours. Firemen didn’t take a salary; they took gifts from those whose houses they’d saved. Fire was an enemy worth facing. Saving a child from burning was a feat worth bragging about, and remembering in old age.

  You could get Lordkin to fight a fire. You could even get Serpent’s Walk Lordkin—Snakefeet—to fight fire in Grey Falcon—Dirty Bird—turf!

  And Lordkin wouldn’t kill Lordkin firefighters…unless in a turf war.

  Of course these houses belonged to kinless. The eighth house belonged to Artisan, and he ran about screaming orders that didn’t match Wanshig’s until Wanshig’s man clubbed him to the ground. Other kinless watched. Not all. Here came one running with a borrowed armful of empty buckets; maybe they’d make some progress now.

  Sandry watched. The Lordkin were wasting effort, wearing themselves out where any officer could have steered them right. But they were learning, and they were winning. Eight houses were lost, collapsing in upon themselves, but the Snakefeet were containing the sparks.

  A dozen stranger Lordkin ran in from under cover of the smoke. They threw rocks at Sandry’s Firemen. Another band ran into a house and began carrying out goods. “I am possessed of Yangin-Atep!” one shouted. The others laughed. And more came out of the smoke. Some carried clubs. No knives were drawn yet, but any moment now…

  This was the pity of it: Lordkin fighting a fire made a fine target for a rival band. There had never been anything stronger than truce between Serpent’s Walk and Bull Pizzle, and usually there wasn’t even that much peace. What would Wanshig do? Sandry raised a hand and waved, but nothing else. Wait for Wanshig…. Wanshig was the proud leader of Serpent’s Walk—Lord of Serpent’s Walk in Lordkin parlance when the Lords weren’t listening. He would accept help, but he’d never ask for it, and if help was offered when it wasn’t needed, there could be trouble. Sandry hadn’t been aware of all this when he took the assignment to build a Fire Brigade, but he’d learned.

  And Wanshig was special. Wanshig was Burning Tower’s uncle.

  Burning Tower! He hadn’t seen her in nearly a year, and still the memory was exciting. Long red-brown hair, deep brown eyes, slim legs dancing on a tightrope, perfect bare feet on the taut hemp line. She wasn’t like any of the girls in Lordshills, not like any girl he’d ever known. And she would be coming back soon…. He shook his head. No time for this.

  Wanshig threw his bucket and had his weapon in hand and was screaming warning as he leaped. A Pizzle ducked the bucket but not Wanshig’s knife. Did Wanshig actually need help?

  But when he counted thirty more Pizzles, Sandry knew this was a major raid, not just a group of Lordkin pretending this was a Burning, even though some carried torches and shouted of their possession by the fire god. The new chief of Bull Pizzle had to prove himself. This would be the way he did it.

  Sandry frowned at the empty leather bow case on his chariot. He hadn’t really expected to fight. There were two throwing spears in their larger quiver. Have to do, he thought. He raised both hands high in signal, then shouted: “The Fire Brigade is under the protection of the Lord’s Witnesses! All not part of the Fire Brigade are ordered to leave this area immediately. This I command. I am Lord Sandry acting under the authority of Lord Chief Witness Quintana and the Lords of this city! Leave now or you will be killed.”

  Some of the Pizzles looked up, astonished, and a few turned to run. A dozen others, all shouting to Yangin-Atep, came on, throwing rocks and screaming challenges, and ten more moved into another house to gather.

  “Peacevoice Tatters! Forward the guards!” Sandry commanded.

  “Aye, My Lord!” The shout came from upwind. There was the clatter of hooves. Five chariots riding abreast came out of the smoke and fog. “Stand ready to throw! Throw!”

  Spears arced from the chariots. They weren’t throwing to kill, not yet, but two of the raiders went down. The others scattered.

  Armored Lordsmen came from the shadows. Sandry smiled to himself. If those idiot Pizzles had thought to look, they’d have seen where Sandry kept his troopers, and they could have raided elsewhere. But would they? Or was there some crazy point of honor involved? Sandry didn’t know. He knew more of the ways of the Lordkin than most Lords, but they were still a mystery. No one really understood the Lordkin.

  The shouts of “Yangin-Atep” and “I am possessed!” quieted as the Pizzles realized they were trapped and defeated. For a moment Sandry thought of his options. If he killed them all, there would be trouble. Bull Pizzle wasn’t as powerful as it used to be, but it was still large and powerful enough to challenge Serpent’s Walk. A real war between Pizzles and Snakefeet would harm everyone. Most of his Fire Brigade would quit to go fight, and many of them would be killed, and he’d have to start all over again.

  He raised his voice. “Evidently you did not hear! This area is under the protection of the Lord’s Witnesses! I command you to leave this area at once. Do so now!”

  The Pizzles looked at Sandry’s men, then to Wanshig. Wanshig turned away contemptuously and began shouting orders to his Firemen. The bucket lines began to move again.

  “Now, if you please!” Sandry shouted. “Troopers! Make ready!”

  Spearmen in each chariot raised spears.

  “Oh yeah, we didn’t hear you before,” a Pizzle shouted. “We’re leaving!” They gathered their dead and wounded and left in a walk, their heads still high.

  Sandry glanced over to Wanshig and got a grin. Good, Sandry thought. Good. Wanshig didn’t really want a war either.

  As the Pizzles were leaving, a chariot clattered out of the smoke from the north. Regapisk blocked the retreating Pizzles with his chariot. “Stand! You’re taken!” he shouted. “Lord Sandry, I have them!”

  There were three Snakefeet with Lord Regapisk, all clinging to his chariot, all looking blackened and the worse for wear. They’d been in smoke and ashes. And the Pizzles had dropped their dead, carefully set down their wounded. They hadn’t drawn their knives. Not quite.

  “Cancel that order!” Sandry shouted. “You are free to go. Now go! Lord Regapisk, a moment of your time, if you please…”

  Chapter Two

  Congregation

  of Witness

  They had rebuilt the Registry Office on Peacegiven Square. The fountain in the center of the square gave out only a trickle of water, but it was working, and you couldn’t see any grass growing up between the paving stones. There were two permanent market tents, each protected by an armed Lordkin who sat quietly without menacing the mostly kinless customers. Give it another year, and Peacegiven Square might be the center of town again, a neutral place for markets and trade and city administration. And that, Sandry thought, was all the doing of Whandall Feathersnake, master trader, Wagonmaster, a great man whose name and sign were known all along the Hemp Road—and once a Lordkin of Serpent’s Walk. Brother of Wanshig. Burning Tower’s father.

  Inside was cool. They’d done a proper job of rebuilding the Registry Office. Light came from shafts built into the ceiling and reaching through the roof. The hearing room was paneled in redwood, with redwood benches, and a table for the Witnesses. When everyone was inside and seated, a clerk rapped on a connecting door.

  Four Witnesses came out and sat in silence. They all wore their robes of office, and tight-fitting caps that hid their hair and ears so that it was impossible to know if they were Lordkin or kinless. A Witness Clerk came out with them. He concealed his ears too, but it was pretty obvious that he was kinless. The clerk looked around the room, then spoke loudly.

  “We are ready. This Congregation of Witness is now in session. All those with matters of concern to the Lords Witness of this city draw nigh and
you shall be heard! Lord Witness Qirama presiding. All stand.”

  Sandry was pleased to see that everyone did, without prodding. Lordkin were unpredictable. Qirama strode into the room at a dignified pace and took his place at the center of the big table.

  Lord Witness Qirama was about ten years older than Sandry, a relative who as a Younglord had specialized in law rather than warfare or administration. He wore the cap of a Witness and also a hood, but it was clear enough that he was a Lord, neither Lordkin nor kinless. Sandry knew that two of the junior witnesses attending today were Younglords in training. Most Witnesses were kinless who handled routine business in the city, recording pacts between bandleaders and carrying decrees from Lordshills to the townspeople. Some Lordkin suspected this, but they could never be sure who the Witnesses were, and harming one was always sure death. The Younglords and hired Lordsmen saw to that.

  A congregation of five Witnesses was unusual and showed this was an important session. Everything said would be attested to by all five, and no one would ever be able to dispute that record. Get it right, Sandry told himself. Get it right.

  The clerk took a pose and spoke facing the crowd. “Lord Witness, we see Wanshig, Leader of Serpent’s Walk, who approaches with a complaint for the Lords Witness. We see also Lords Regapisk and Sandry of Lordshills, who will speak to this matter. We see Bonwess, Chief of Bull Pizzles. Witnesses, the fees are paid.”

  All five Witnesses nodded. The clerk said, “Let Wanshig of Serpent’s Walk come forward and speak.”

  Wanshig didn’t look nervous. Most Lordkin put on a bluster when testifying to Witnesses. Most people in Tep’s Town believed that Witnesses were wizards and had a way of knowing when you spoke truth and when you didn’t—and that those caught in lies to Witnesses had a way of disappearing.

  That last part was true enough. As a Younglord, Sandry had taken his turn in that duty, leading six Lordsmen to track down a Grey Falcon who had lied in an important matter. They’d sold the Dirty Bird to a ship owner, and if the man ever returned, he wasn’t likely to say where he had been, for fear of being sent back.

  “Lord Witness, I send this complaint to the Lords,” Wanshig said clearly. “I say that the bad actions of Lord Regapisk have cost me one man dead, and two kinless, and four houses destroyed. I seek payment.” Wanshig paused to allow the clerks to write what he had said. He’d been through this before.

  Regapisk hadn’t. He shouted, “Witness! This is not true.”

  Lord Witness Qirama regarded Regapisk coldly. “Lord, this is not a trial. We are here to take statements and record them. You will have your turn. Until then, you are requested to hold your peace.”

  Sandry shivered at the cold tones. If this story got back to the Council—when this story got back to the Council—cousin Regapisk was going to be in trouble, and there wasn’t anything Sandry could do. He’d had to stop the man, stop him openly before two Lordkin bands, or face a war.

  “Continue, Wanshig of Serpent’s Walk,” the Lord Witness said.

  “Lord Witness, it was Lord Regapisk who allowed the fire to spread west of Darkman’s Cup Canyon. It is there we lost four houses destroyed and three more damaged. Witnesses, you will hear statements from the kinless who lived in those houses, and the Lordkin who protected them, as to the value of those properties.”

  All five Witnesses nodded. “Say why you believe Lord Regapisk was responsible,” Qirama said. “We understand there were Devil Winds that day, and many fires. Surely not all of them were the responsibility of Lord Regapisk.”

  “No, Lord Witness, only this one,” Wanshig said. “Lord Regapisk set that fire himself! We have those who saw him do it. And when the fire flashed up, Fireman Glegron was trapped between the fires Lord Regapisk set and the blaze coming across the canyon from the east. Fireman Glegron was burned to death. Fireman Strafreerit was injured.”

  “Who saw Lord Regapisk set those fires?”

  “Fireman Strafreerit, Witness. He and his brothers set torch to the chaparral on the orders of Lord Regapisk.” The clerks scribbled madly.

  “Lord Regapisk, do you dispute this?” the Lord Witness asked.

  “Witnesses, I say only truth: I set the fire on orders from Lord Sandry, who was in charge!”

  Now it was Sandry’s turn to be regarded with that cold stare from under the black skullcap and hood. It was disconcerting. Of course it was supposed to be.

  “Lord Witness, I ordered Lord Regapisk to set a backfire.”

  “Explain backfire.”

  This had best be very clear, Sandry thought. “Witnesses, to prevent fires from spreading, you must have a firebreak, a line where nothing will burn, wide enough that flames cannot jump across it. The road along the west rim of Darkman’s Cup Canyon is eleven paces wide. This is not enough to stop a large fire coming up the canyon, but if the fire could be slowed below the canyon rim, it might be. If we had twelve paces of cleared land below that canyon rim, the fire could not cross it. Even eight paces would very likely be enough in the wind I observed.”

  “You observed that wind yourself?”

  “Yes, Lord,” Sandry answered.

  “And you base your opinion that eight paces cleared plus the road would be enough on your own expertise?”

  “Yes, Lord Witness.”

  “Let the records show that Lord Sandry has been chief of the Fire Brigade from shortly after the end of the Time of Yangin-Atep, and no other has a claim to more expertise,” Qirama intoned.

  Aha, Sandry thought, and breathed easier. “Lord Regapisk had only four men, and I had no more to assign to him, so there would never have been time to clear that brush, to chop it and haul it away, for eight paces down or even four.

  “So I ordered Lord Regapisk to go down the canyon four paces and start fires that would burn up to the road.”

  “Four paces,” the Witness said. “But you said that would not be enough.”

  “No, but it would be dangerous to go farther before starting the backfire,” Sandry said. “Go farther, the fire burns hotter; it would be moving fast enough to jump across the road. Go four paces down, let the fire burn out, then four more and do it again. But Lord Regapisk set those fires at least ten paces from the road, not the four I ordered. The fire jumped the road.”

  “Who says this?” the Witness demanded.

  “Strafreerit, Witnesses,” Wanshig said. “He was there and he saw it.”

  Strafreerit’s head, neck, and arms were covered with clean gray cloth. Wanshig might have overdone that, covered clean skin, but Sandry saw blisters clearly under the edges. Strafreerit had been glaring hate at Lord Regapisk. He said, “We set the fires where Lord Regapisk told us to. The fire whirled up and caught us while we were still in the brush, held by the fire we’d set! We ran through it. I lived because I knew better than to breathe, but Glegron, he breathed fire.”

  Lord Regapisk looked as if he had swallowed a toad. “Strafreerit is the one who told me to start it farther down!” he blurted.

  Everyone turned to look at him. Now he’s done it, Sandry thought….

  The Lord Witness was startled, then gravely amused. “Lord, were you under this Lordkin’s orders?”

  As often before, Regapisk knew he was in trouble, he just didn’t understand what the problem was. “But it made sense! We all knew there wasn’t time to set fires twice. If we set the fires eight paces down, we’d get our backfire. Maybe it wouldn’t jump the road. It was our best chance. As for Glegron and Strafreerit and the others, what were they doing still in the brush? They had time to get out! They had time to help me!”

  It was never Reggy’s fault. Sandry felt old rage closing off his throat. He would have helped Reggy if he could. But Reggy had lost control of his troops, his Lordkin, and he didn’t seem to know he’d admitted it. He faced the cold eyes of the Witnesses and waited for a cue.

  “Wanshig of Serpent’s Walk, have you more testimony to be heard by this congregation?”

  They listened to one of Wansh
ig’s kinless, a woman now homeless with four children. Two less agile kinless children had died in the flames. They heard the Serpent’s Walk Lordkin who lived among those kinless and enforced Wanshig’s orders against gathering there. They heard Wanshig testify to the value of the artisans who lived in those houses and how he had pledged to protect them from fire and theft to the best of his ability.

  Which he did, Sandry thought. Even so, he’ll have lost a little of his reputation over this. And reputation is everything to a Lordkin chief.

  They heard of the misunderstanding that led to a Bull Pizzle raid, and how the Pizzles had departed carrying their dead and wounded when they understood that the Lords were present and had granted protection. Qirama was skillful enough to get that and no more on record, but then Regapisk had to say something.

  “Lord Sandry took my chariot!”

  So that story came out. The Witnesses demanded of Sandry why he had taken Regapisk’s chariot by force. Sandry had no choice: he called Bonwess, the Pizzle boss this past year, and the Pizzle raider who had called for retreat. Both testified that the truce was holding, the misunderstanding had been adequately explained, until Lord Regapisk charged into a situation he knew nothing of, armed with three burned and exhausted Serpent men, five burned-out torches, and an overly sharp spear.

  The sun was set before the gathering broke up.

  Chapter Three

  Aunt Shanda

  Sandry woke in his own bed in his own house in Lordshills. Since he had become chief of the Fire Brigade, he usually stayed in an inn off Peacegiven Square, but yesterday had exhausted him, and after the Congregation of the Witnesses he’d had his men hitch fresh horses to his chariot and he rode home to bathe and sleep and be pampered by the servants….

  The house was quiet, the only sounds some activities in the kitchen. Sandry’s mother was feeling her age and seldom left her suite on the east side of the house. She liked watching the sun come up. Sandry always went in to see her when he was in the house. She always knew who he was, but he didn’t think she knew very many of the others who visited her, even her old friends. She’d been that way since Sandry’s father died in a raging fury over some mistakes by the gardeners. His father had always been that way, in a rage one moment and then calm the next. It was one reason Sandry had learned early on to stay calm.