The Tattooed Tribes

by Bev Allen

  Even so, when they finally reached the unassuming building and made their way down corridors lined with tribal weapons, painted skins and fantastic masks, he stopped before the final door and held a warning finger under Lucien’s nose.

  “You will be polite in there, speak respectfully and truthfully. There’s still a good chance you could blow this. Understand?”

  Lucien nodded, but it was obvious from the sparkle in his eyes he did not believe it.

  The room behind the door was best described as comfortable. It was warm from a small fire in the stone hearth and the rugs on the floor. Light came in through double aspect windows and illuminated a simple desk in the middle.

  The man sitting behind it was elderly. Lucien began to realise how elderly when Jon pushed him nearer. The face was a mass of deep wrinkles made by years of exposure to every sort of weather, but the eyes looking out of the wreckage were timeless.

  His two hands, resting on the desk, were a blur of old faded tattoos with hardly a space between them.

  “Grand Master,” Jon began. “May I respectfully present Lucien William Devlin for your consideration?”

  Lucien stood still and straight, his hands clasped behind his back. There was something about this venerable old man that demanded it.

  “This is an unusual step, Brother Harabin.”

  “I’m aware of it, sir, but I hope custom may be put aside in this case.”

  The Grand Master grunted and returned to studying Lucien, who found he was uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

  Finally the old man spoke. “You may have problems.”

  “I’m fully aware of it, sir,” Jon replied.

  The wrinkled face twisted into a cynical smile. “Possibly,” he agreed. “But I wonder if you’re fully prepared.”

  There was another long pause and the warm air seemed to grow thick and time slowed from a leisurely stroll to a snail’s crawl.

  “Very well,” the Grand Master said, breaking the heavy silence. “We will try the experiment.”

  “Thank you, Grand Master,” Jon replied and nudged Lucien.

  “Thank you, sir!” Lucien added swiftly.

  Outside the room Jon took a long, deep breath. “I didn’t think he would buy it.”

  “Like I said,” Lucien replied. “Piece of piss.”

  Jon frowned at him. “That’s enough,” he snapped. “Keep your mouth shut and come with me; you need to sign your indenture papers.”

  Jon took him back through the building and out onto a broad veranda.

  “Wait here,” he ordered. “I need to see to a few things first. Behave yourself.”

  Lucien, who felt the order was superfluous as there was little scope for mischief, went and took a seat.

  There were a couple of other teenage boys waiting there, they had shot to their feet as Jon approached and seemed eager to speak to him.

  Lucien was mildly interested by their reaction; he was also very pleased with himself and in need of someone to either share his good fortune with or to show off to.

  “Are you Guild apprentices?” he asked.

  “No!” one replied haughtily. “Why do you think we’re here?”

  “Dunno,” Lucien said with a shrug. Sharing was looking unlikely, but there was the other possibility.

  “Because,” the other one said. “Master Harabin is finally taking an apprentice today and we’re both on his list.”

  Other possibility front and centre!

  “There’s a list?” Lucien asked, faking astonishment.

  The two exchanged superior looks.

  “The Board makes a list of recommended candidates,” the first one explained, not without a large injection of smugness. “I am on it.”

  “And so am I,” the other one added with an equally self-satisfied smirk.

  A part of Lucien wondered if he ought to feel a touch of sympathy, but he did not allow it to disturb him for more than a nanosecond.

  “Oh, bad luck!” he said. “What a shame.”

  “What do you mean?” one demanded.

  “You haven’t got it,” he replied. “Either of you.”

  “How would you know? It has to be one of us. The only other person on the list was a girl and my source told me they were definitely drawing up papers with a boy’s name.”

  “You’re right, it’s definitely a boy’s name,” Lucien agreed. “It’s just not either of you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Cos I’m here to sign my papers,” he replied. “I’m Jon’s new apprentice. Guess you guys just didn’t have what it takes.”

  There was a moment of shocked silence, then …

  “You’re lying!”

  More words were exchanged along the same lines. A fight was not inevitable and would not have happened, if Lucien had not said a couple of things to make it so.

  It was just beginning to go his way, the larger of the two disappointed boys having fallen back to get his wind back after a swift fist in the stomach, when he was half strangled in being picked up by the scruff of his neck and shaken like a duster.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Jon demanded.

  “Playing,” Lucien croaked.

  Jon shook him again and thrust him towards the door.

  “Get inside!” he ordered.

  Lucien stumbled into the room and allowed his eyes to adjust to the different light. A clerk seated at a desk looked at him, sighed and shook his head. Lucien was sufficiently full of himself to consider demanding an explanation, but suddenly his ear was grasped in a vice like grip and Jon forced him to look him in the eye.

  “Have you any idea just how stupid that was?” he demanded.

  Lucien tried to pull way, but the grip tightened and he thought better of it.

  “Stand still!” Jon ordered. “You’ve two seconds to say something that will stop me tearing up those papers.”

  Lucien felt as if someone had poured icy cold water into the pit of his stomach.

  “I … I’m sorry,” he yelped. “I didn’t mean … oh God! I’m sorry, Jon. Please don’t.”

  The grip stayed and Jon held his eyes for what seemed like eternity; then he dropped his hand.

  “You’re damned lucky you’ve not signed yet!” he said. “Sit!” He pushed Lucien into a chair and handed him a long sheet of close typed paper. “You need to read it all carefully before you sign it.”

  Lucien face fell. “All of it?”

  “Yes! All of it,” Jon replied. “You can sit here and do it while I fix the mess you made outside. And make sure you don’t miss a single word.”

  He disappeared, leaving Lucien alone with the clerk and the sheet of small print. The clerk made it obvious he did not need Lucien to entertain him and he had no intention of entertaining Lucien, so the boy was forced to turn his attention to the document.

  He saw his name at the top under the Guild’s name and seal, and he saw Jon’s name as well.

  What followed was full of legal stuff, repeating itself over and over again as far as Lucien could see. He glanced down the page and saw words like ‘apprentice’ and ‘master’ and ‘responsibility’, but as far as he could make out without reading it properly, it amounted to his being Jon’s apprentice and that was all that mattered.

  He pretended to study it until Jon came back, but felt nothing more was needed as he had all the salient points.

  “Have you read it?”

  Lucien nodded.

  “Then we’d better get on with it,” Jon said.

  The signing took a while. Another clerk was called in and Lucien had to sign his name in half a dozen places and each one was witnessed by both clerks and then a huge glob of red wax was dripped on and a big brass seal stamped in. The whole procedure was repeated by Jon, who also handed over the money Marcus had given him. It was carefully counted twice and the amount entered into a big account book, and once again both parties had to sign their names.

  They then waited while everything went in to the Grand M
aster for more signatures and seals. It was all very official and solemn and even Lucien felt the importance and dignity of the whole thing. He did briefly wonder if such solemnity might have been worth more than the cursory glance he had given it, but dismissed the idea as it was too late now.

  However, the seriousness had made quite an impression on him, so he was horrified when the clerk took the document and sliced it in half long ways, giving Lucien one section and Jon the other.

  “What the …”

  “We seal them back together when your Master thinks you might make a journeyman,” the clerk explained. “Try not to lose your half.”

  “I won’t,” Lucien said fervently.

  “You probably will,” the clerk replied, dryly. “That’s why we keep copies.”

  And to Lucien’s total disgust they went through a shortened version of the entire process again, but without the hot wax and the banging down of the great seal it was nowhere near as much fun.

  He rather expected something moderately exciting to happen next, but instead Jon once again disappeared to speak to some higher authority; a task he assured his new apprentice required neither his assistance nor his presence.

  Left to his own devices, Lucien found it all a bit of an anti-climax, and the ugly spectre of boredom loomed on his horizon. He wondered if he dare explore, but the memory of Jon’s hand on his ear held him in his seat.

  Rescue from the horrors of tedium arrived in the shape of a man dressed in tribal leathers. The padded deerskin jacket was decorated with a complex pattern of scrolling leaves and wood bison and was edged with bright blue fish leather. His pants had tiny discs of beaten gold running down the side of each leg and the large knife at his waist had a lump of polished jade set on the end of the grip.

  Lucien’s eyes went wide. This was the sort of thing he wanted to see.

  “Where’s Harabin?” the man demanded.

  The accent was not local and Lucien looked again. The clothes might have been tribal, but the man was not. He had the fleshy look of someone who dines too well too often, but the eyes were watchful. Watchful and without expression, like a good poker player.

  The clerk was obviously unimpressed.

  “You’ll have to wait,” he replied.

  “Do you know who I am?” the man demanded. “I’ve got a boat load of trade goods out there and I need to get upriver before it loses more value.”

  “We all know who you are, Mr Frain. You’ll still have to wait.”

  There was a certain note of contempt in the clerk’s voice and Frain’s face coloured with temper. He took a step forward, his hand going to the knife at his belt, but the clerk pulled a short axe out from a draw and laid it on the desk before him, his tattooed hand gently resting on the handle. He smiled up invitingly.

  There was a moment of tension and then Frain snorted and swung away, obviously not prepared to pursue the matter.

  The clerk gave his axe an affection pat and returned it to its home.

  Frain took a quick turn around the room, muttering and making small gestures of impatience. He finally became aware of Lucien watching him and ostentatiously placed his hands on his belt buckle so the boy could see them.

  They appeared to be tattooed all over, like a highly experienced Liaison Officer or tribal dignitary, but Lucien saw anomalies like snakes wound around each finger, bison on both hands and salmon leaping across the thumbs.

  “Ever seen real tribesman’s hands before, boy?” Frain asked with a smirk.

  “Yes,” Lucien replied and jerked his chin significantly over towards the clerk, who grinned.

  Frain’s eyes narrowed and he clenched his teeth.

  “Any fool can get this done,” he sneered. “It doesn’t take much to impress the savages.”

  Whatever Lucien was going to say next, and he was going to say quite a lot, was cut short by Jon Harabin re-entering the room.

  “Where the hell have you been, Harabin?” Frain demanded. “I need to get upriver quickly. I’ve got money to make.”

  “I’m not at your beck and call, Tim,” Jon replied. “You asked to accompany the next Liaison officer upriver. I’m not obliged to take you, or to go when you say.”

  “I pay my taxes …” Frain began angrily.

  “I’m sure you pay some of them,” Jon agreed. “The boy and I will be leaving at dawn.”

  Frain glared at Lucien.

  “I don’t want some brat holding us up!”

  “Your choice,” Jon said, calmly. “He and I leave in the morning. Early.”

  Whatever incivilities had been hanging on Lucien’s tongue waiting for an airing died at this point, lost to a near fever pitch of excited anticipation.

  Leaving the building, and a still protesting Frain, Jon took him over to the main stores to put together basic travelling necessities. Although he tried hard to appear nonchalant, hoping to impress the quartermaster and fool him into thinking he was an experienced traveller, Lucien’s undisguised delight when he was fitted with real tribal boots and a deerskin jacket allowed both the older men to indulge in a little gentle ribbing.

  He was about to take umbrage when Jon said, “He’ll need a better knife.”

  “He’ll only cut himself,” the quartermaster replied.

  “But ...” Lucien exploded in protest and then saw he was being teased again and bit back what he was going to say. He might have brooded, but the array of cutlery set out for his inspection dispelled the sullens.

  The knife took some choosing, but in the end a long broad bladed one was selected and a handsome tribal sheath provided to carry it in. It was beautifully sharp, its edge like a razor. The bleeding from a small experiment to discover just how sharp was stopped fairly quickly.

  “Where are we going?” Lucien demanded on the walk home, the knife firmly in its sheath and remaining there on pain of confiscation.

  “I’m taking that so-called businessman up to The First Cataract and then I thought we might test the temperature amongst The People beyond.”

  “Beyond!” Lucien breathed ecstatically.

  “Yes, but there’s no need for you to tell Frain, and if he asks you, which he will, you tell him you’ve no idea what my plans are.”

  “Why does he need us to take him upriver?”

  “Because his trading licence has been endorsed. No-one is allowed above The First Cataract without a TL officer to accompany them and some, like Frain, aren’t allowed that far without supervision.”

  “Why not?

  “Because they aren’t much bothered what they trade in,” Jon replied. “There are quotas to protect the forests and the natural resources. Exceeding them is illegal and can land the perpetrator in a lot of trouble. Frain was caught smuggling, but managed to wriggle and squirm his way out of it. All he got was a bloody great fine and supervised access.”

  “So he’s a crook.”

  “In my opinion, a total crook, a liar and probably a whole load of other things. I’d have cancelled his license. However, he has permission to go, so we take him- on conditions.”

  “What conditions?”

  “He never leaves my sight and every scrap of his cargo is searched on the way up and on the way down. And he has a life ban from going above The First Cataract.”

  “Did you catch him?” Lucien asked, hearing the note of frustrated anger in Jon’s voice.

  “I did.” Jon replied.

  “What was he smuggling?”

  “Never mind. Just remember what I said. He will try and get as much information out of you as he can, so keep your mouth shut.”

  Chapter 5

  Lucien hardly slept that night and as a result he was tired, excited and a bit over emotional the next morning. Every delay was purgatory and he nearly wept with frustration as Jon checked and rechecked their equipment.

  “You can’t buy what you’ve forgotten where we’re going,” he warned the boy. “Eat your breakfast and calm down.”

  “I can’t eat,” Lucien protested. />
  “Do as you’re told,” Jon said.

  “Stop telling me what to do! I don’t …”

  He met Jon’s cold eye and there was a silent inner struggle, then without a word he sat and ate.

  Food and Jon’s calm organised preparations had a soothing effect and he was able to sit and watch the packing, mentally noting the efficient way everything was stowed.

  The knocking on the door was an unwelcome intrusion.

  “See who that is,” Jon said as he looked for a better place to put a small axe head.

  Hardly had Lucien lifted the latch than the door burst open and Stacey Wainwright erupted into the room.

  “Is it true?” she demanded.

  Jon was as startled as Lucien, but he at least had a good idea why the girl was there.

  “I presume you mean your rejection for the apprenticeship,” he began.

  “Why else would I be here, you fool,” she yelled. “Why have you turned me down?”

  He was prepared to sympathise with her disappointment, but was not going to be spoken to like that.

  “It was nothing personal,” he said coolly. “And I have recommended you for the next vacancy.”

  “Fuck the next bloody vacancy,” she cried. “You’d better think again or there’s going to be real trouble. More trouble than you can imagine.”

  By now Lucien had worked out she must be the girl on the list from the previous day, and his natural buoyancy and dubious sense of humour was only too ready to spring into life.

  “Tough break, sweet lips,” he said with a grin, putting as much insolence as he could into the words and looking her up and down in a very suggestive manner.

  The grin was wiped from his face by the crack of her hand on his jaw. She did not bother to see the effect, but rounded again on Jon.

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get rid of this clown and get me signed up.”

  “Ms Wainwright. I don’t give a damn who your father is or how much influence and money he has, I make my own decision as to who I apprentice and the Guild will back me every inch of the way. I understand you’re disappointed, but this isn’t going to make me change my mind.”