King David's Spaceship (codominion)

by Jerry Pournelle

  “Knew it and won!” Hoorn shouted. “Ah, Trader, had you seen it. Our young men, the sailors from our fleet and the boys of the Guilds, standing with pikes leveled, never giving ground, while the barbarians dashed themselves against us. Glory to the Lord, the field was red with their blood. We took a hundred horses and many ayuks for our own.” Evidently horses and cattle had been brought to Makassar by the Old Empire. Now both ran wild across the plains, hunted by local predators unless protected by men, but managing to survive.

  Some of the barbarians also rode the ayuk, a native beast which resembled a moose with long, semi-prehensile claws and an elongated prehensile snout. It lived on the hive-rat, warmblooded egglayers about seven inches long which lived in great colonies with only a few retaining active sexual powers. The hive-rat was one of the most dangerous creatures on Makassar, although it was not carnivorous. It ate the stone-hard local woods with ease, burrowed in the ground, and found any plant life edible by humans quite nourishing. It would fight when trapped, and when one was wounded, hundreds of them came to its aid in blind fury. More than one man had died through being caught by them in the open.

  “A great victory.” Blatt nodded. “One which Master Hoorn could tell you more of, for he commanded for the Guilds that day. Aye, we broke them, but we could not pursue them. Most escaped. Had we forty of the mounted iron men to give chase, the victory would have kept the barbarians from our gates for a hundred years.”

  “Ah.” Hoorn drank again. Then he smiled and shrugged. “We can agree the warriors know how to fight. Yet I have in my day seen them turned back from the gates of a city like ours. In open battle. The young men stood to their pikes, and the iron men Master Blatt is so fond of split about them on both sides, afraid to attack. They took no tribute from that city.” As Hoorn finished, a young man, dark of hair and tall for Makassar, once quite muscular but now thin like the others, strode arrogantly across the room, his head high in contrast to the locals MacKinnie had seen. He could have been twenty-five

  Earth years, but he looked younger, and his clothes were subtly different. His trousers were of the rough-texture cloth worn by the villagers, but the jacket and cloak were of finer stuff, and Nathan noted that there were discolored lines at the collar, as if it had once been trimmed with something now lost. He recalled that cloth-of-gold collars and bands were the marks of the Guildmasters.

  The tavern keeper gave the newcomer the glass of cheap wine and thick slice of bread which he served to all daily in lieu of his tithe to the church. The man began to eat without speaking to anyone.

  “That’s who you should talk to,” Hoorn told MacKinnie. “We should send for him. If there is a man in Jikar who can tell you what you’ll find beyond the river and forest, Brett can. Or that warrior friend of his.”

  “Who is he?” MacKinnie asked.

  “His name is Brett,” Hoorn said. He lowered his voice. “He is said to have come from far away, some say the eastern coast. He comes carrying tales and songs, and will not discuss his ancestry. As for me, I believe he was born a barbarian.”

  “Yet he speaks many civilized tongues,” Master Blatt said.

  “Aye.” Hoorn pursed his lips in thought. “The barbarians do not come here often, so it is a thing not done here. But I am told that in parts where the plains riders are more common, the townsfolk often capture young plainsmen and keep them as slaves.”

  “And you think Brett was one of those?” MacKinnie asked.

  “It is possible,” Blatt said. “Although I do not envy anyone who would be master to the singer. I would rather have him as a friend.”

  “Aye,” Hoorn agreed. “There have been other singers in Jikar, but none came as Brett. Most are on foot, but Brett rides a great war-horse, and has for companion one of the iron men with armor and lance and sword. Vanjynk his name is. He was driven from his lands to the south and now wanders as Brett to sell his abilities to any purchaser.”

  A wandering mercenary, MacKinnie thought. As I once was.

  MacKinnie studied the dark features of the man in question and approved. He might be down on his luck, Nathan thought, but he wasn’t defeated. Despite his youth he was more akin to the Guildmasters than the tavern loafers. “Call him over,” he said in a moment of decision.

  “Singer,” Hoorn called. “At your pleasure, join us. Our noble friend is a willing host.”

  The singer came to the table and bowed as Hoorn performed introductions.

  “I am told you know of faraway lands,” MacKinnie said. He poured a glass of wine and pushed it toward Brett. “If you have the time, perhaps you can tell me of your travels.”

  Brett made a wry face. “I have little but time.” He drained his wineglass at a gulp.

  “You do not travel alone, singer?” MacKinnie asked, pouring more wine.

  “Not for a yir. I teach Vanjynk poetry, he teaches me to fight. Now we are both good at both trades and the living is better.” He stared ruefully about the tavern. “Or was. But we will not leave our bones here for Master Blatt to put to earth.”

  “You would like to leave Jikar, then?” MacKinnie asked.

  “Trader, we would pay the man who allowed us to fight for him, be it only that he had sufficient men to cut through the maris. But the maris will stay until they have eaten and burned everything they can find, and as they are not so stupid as the Guilds hope, that will not be before the snows. Then they will leave. At that they will bring you a blessing, Guildmasters.”

  “What blessing could a horde of barbarians — maris, you called them? — what blessing can they bring?” Blatt stood, his wide shoulders almost blotting out the youngerman, his great hands, hardened with brine and tanners’ liquor, on his hips.

  “Calmly, calmly, you will alarm our host and the wine will stop,” Brett said softly. There was a hint of threat to the voice, a tone one did not take with Guildmasters. “I call them maris because that is what they call themselves. And the blessing is the destruction of the hive-rats. There will be few enough of them when they move on — in fact, that is why they will move on. The ayuks must eat many of them, which keeps the maris moving about the great plains. When the ayuks don’t eat, the maris don’t eat. Even here they’ll finish off all your Earth crops before the ayuks are done with the hive-rats.”

  MacKinnie listened with interest. “The maris live off their ayuks?”

  Brett looked at him in puzzlement. “Your speech is unlike any that I have heard in any land,” he commented. “Yet you are not native here, where the maris have not been. Where have you lived that you don’t know about them? Ah, the cities of the mountains of the north. Well, know, northman, that the plantain of the great flatland is as poisonous to us as most of the other plants on Makassar. It must be true, as the priests say, we came here from another star long ago, else why would God have put us where we cannot eat? But the ayuk can eat the plants, and men can eat the ayuk, and drink her milk, and, even as the maris do, drink the blood of their steeds. Their horses fare better, eating grasses which grow among the plantain, and some maris live from their horses alone, but the ayuk is better. It is not enough, though. Fed nothing else, they waste and die, even as these men here. In your north, you can eat the tallgrass, which they say came from Earth, and you eat the grotka. But did you eat nothing but grotka, and the swimmers from the sea, you would die also.”

  MacKinnie nodded. The Imperials had told him of the dietary problems of Makassar. Most of the animal life was edible, but not all of it, and little of the plant life except that which came originally from another planet. The local plants stored up various metals, which gave them their hardness, but also made them deadly. The local animals separated out the metal, although some, like the hive-rat which ate not only fruits and grains but woody stems, were deadly. All lacked essential vitamins. Listening to the singer, he had an idea.

  “I wish to return to the mountains of the north,” Nathan said. His maps showed that Batav was nestled on the side — the wrong side from Jikar, of cour
se — of the mountain range which ran down the great peninsula jutting from the north edge of the continent. The mountains then curled east before they dwindled away to hills, still high enough to form a natural barrier to the great plains.

  “North?” Brett asked incredulously. “How long has it been since you came from there? But you must have come by ship. The land route has been closed for two years, Trader. The High King of the Passes is dead, and the others fight for his place. No life is safe, no judges sit, and the people make do as best they can. With your wealth, you might hire enough men to take you south. With me to show the way you could fight through the maris and come to the city-states and kingdoms of the Kepul. But not to the north, Trader. We could never pass the Sangi.” Brett tossed off the glass of wine, then waved at a smaller man, fair-haired and contrasting with the singer in every dimension, yet bearing the same manner of confidence. The newcomer came forward slowly.

  “Trader,” Brett said, “this is Vanjynk, the best friend a wanderer ever had, tragedy as it is that he must roam the lands.” Brett poured his friend wine without asking.

  Vanjynk nodded to MacKinnie and sat in silence. MacKinnie noted that he was younger than Brett, possibly by as much as two of the local years. Yet he was born of the nobility, while whatever Brett’s origin it had not been in an iron and stonewood fortress. The relationship between the men must have been complex.

  The others explained to the young warrior what MacKinnie had in mind. “But there is no way through the Sangi,” Brett finished. “Or none that I can see.”

  “Nor I.’’ Vanjynk drank slowly and deliberately, as he seemed to do everything else. “You will not find enough men to take the trail through the forest. The coast is closed. I do not know the sea.”

  “The sea,” Blatt snorted. “Were there a way by sea half the town of Jikar would be off trading. All your gold will not pay the pirates, Trader, and there is but one warship left in Jikar.”

  “There is a ship here?” MacKinnie asked. “Is it for sale?”

  “For sale?” Hoorn thought slowly. “It belongs to the Ironsmiths. There is little in Jikar that is not for sale, including our daughters’ virtue. I could save you money in the purchase, for a fee to my Guild.”

  “Not allowed.” Blatt spoke positively. “To sell a man that which sends him to his death is not allowed. Go back to your clothing, Hoorn; the Guilds cannot plunder this man from the stars.”

  Nathan noted the sudden look of interest Brett tried to hide, then turned to Blatt. “I buy it willingly, Master Tanner.” Although he said nothing to show it, the man’s honesty affected him more than MacKinnie wanted to admit to himself. “To return to our homes with nothing would be not only our ruin, but that of many others. Go with Guildmaster Hoorn and buy that ship for me, and we will do well by both your Guilds. Freemen Brett, Vanjynk, I will pay you for your advice, whether you come with me or not; but we are taking that ship out of the harbor of Jikar if every pirate on Makassar is lying in wait out there.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SHIPFITTER

  MacKinnie and his party were inspecting their ship when the landing boat rose from the harbor and vanished from sight in the low clouds above. Nathan was not sorry to see it go. He had far too much work to waste time playing a role, pleading with Renaldi or demanding rights from the Navy. The ship was not in condition to be launched.

  There was an additional blessing. Midshipman Landry had left with Renaldi. When Lieutenant Farr was told of MacKinnie’s plans he decided that the Navy could ill spare one of its young officers for a year, especially since it was more than likely that MacKinnie’s party would never be heard from again. Landry was ordered to go to the next port and report to headquarters for further instructions.

  Before Renaldi left, the lieutenant had made it clear that the Navy was displeased with his treatment of MacKinnie, and would insist that no matter how remote Nathan’s chance of survival was, Renaldi was obligated to provide transportation back to Prince Samual’s World. MacKinnie was privately convinced that the lieutenant was more upset about Landry’s wasted time than the injustice of the situation, as Greenaugh had been led to believe that the boy would be gone only a few months. However, he was now guaranteed passage home if he could return to Jikar.

  Mary Graham remained on Makassar. She pointedly refused to be on the same ship with Renaldi without MacKinnie’s protection, and she was legally correct by Haven law and custom. This was upsetting enough, but

  Nathan found she also insisted on accompanying the party on its expedition to Batav, and nothing MacKinnie could say would convince her that she could not go.

  “What did you expect me to do here?” she insisted. “I knew there would be danger.”

  “Freelady,” MacKinnie replied coldly, “Citizen Dougal sent you without my request. We had thought to establish trading offices in the Imperial port, where you would remain as our agent.”

  “But there is no need for offices here,” Graham protested.

  “True. But you cannot come with us. You will be a great inconvenience aboard ship. How can we provide you proper quarters? To be blunt, what of sanitary arrangements? This is madness.”

  “Madness, Trader? Is it less mad to leave me here, in a city besieged? I may yet be of use to you.”

  “No.”

  “You say no. You had better reconsider. If I am not reliable enough to go with you, how can you trust me to remain silent for a year? You leave me here with the Imperial officers—”

  “I did not say that I do not trust you.”

  “Would Dougal leave me behind? Think on that. Dougal would have me killed rather than risk it.”

  He would, MacKinnie thought. Yet — what does she know of our real mission? I haven’t told her or any of them. Kleinst knows. Perhaps Longway. Does Mary Graham? One of them may well have told her.

  “Please,” she said. “Trader, I was told this mission is important, to Haven and to Prince Samual’s World. Will you deny me the chance to show that I — that the women of Haven — are no less bound to duty and honor than you? Do you think only men can be patriotic?”

  I hadn’t considered it, MacKinnie thought. More importantly, though, dare I leave her here? She’s right, Dougal wouldn’t. I can’t think how she can help, but — “Very well.”

  “Thank you. You won’t regret it.”

  I regret it already, MacKinnie thought, but he said nothing.

  And now she was busily clambering about the dockyard, following MacLean and hastily scribbling notes as the seaman happily inspected the craft. A gang of young locals, glad of employment, stood by under the supervision of the Shipwright Guildsmen. The Shipwrights had lost heavily in the brief and pointless battle with the Imperial Navy, and were willing to allow anyone in the town to work on MacKinnie’s outfitting provided that they paid dues to the Guild and worked under its Masters. From the crowd inside and outside the dockyard, MacKinnie thought half the able-bodied men of Jikar were hoping for employment.

  The boat itself was hardly impressive. Only about thirty meters long, it was drawn up out of the water on a primitive ways. MacKinnie saw a round-bottomed boat with a small skeg running her length. The stem and sternpost were carried up high out of the water, and a great platform was constructed across the stern. On top of that was a cabin. The rest of the boat was undecked, with platforms for rowers along its sides. Over a hundred men could sit on the two sweeps halfdecks, but there was no chance of hiring that many for a long voyage, even if the pirates were not outside the harbor. At present, MacKinnie had no crew at all except his original expedition, although Brett and Vanjynk were on his payroll and would come even though they thought there was little chance of getting through.

  After MacLean inspected the vessel, MacKinnie took him to a sheltered space to hold a conference. Hal Stark stood by to be sure they were not overheard, and MacKinnie wasted no time. “Can we make it? It’s vital that we get to Batav, if we have to swim.”

  MacLean sucked on a pipe cas
ually for a moment. Smoking did not seem to startle the villagers although they were never seen to smoke, but MacLean’s lighter was far in advance of anything on the planet. MacKinnie wondered how he had got it past the thorough inspection Mr. Landry conducted before they were allowed to unload their goods from the landing ship. The pipe gurgled for a few moments before MacLean said, “Need some modifications to get that far. From what I’ve heard, this is sheltered water around here, but after we’ve gone north a ways there’ll be nothing to the west for four thousand kilometers. Big waves will come across there in a normal westerly. Sure as hell be bad in a storm.”

  “So we could make it?” When MacLean nodded, MacKinnie went on, “How big a crew will you need?”

  “The way I intend to modify her, no more than twice the number we already have, but everyone will have to lend a hand. A few locals would be useful if you can hire them.

  “I’m going to make her sail, Trader. She’s got that damned stubby mast on her; I’ll yank that and put in a taller one, then stay it properly, deck the boat over and put some iron ballast in her. Nothing the Imperials can object to. And I’ll mount leeboards.”

  The term meant nothing to MacKinnie, but he’d find out soon enough. “Sail up high will tip it over, won’t it?” he asked.

  MacLean shook his head. “Ballast will fix that, I hope. She’s beamy enough, should be good form stability. I like the hull sections. They’ve ridden out some mean storms in those things. That big iron ram on the prow goes back almost amidships; it’s the closest thing they’ve got to a ballast keel.” He sucked on his pipe. “You can tell there’s a lot of shallow water here, and with those weird tides from the two moons, they must run aground a lot. That’s why the boats have nearly flat bottoms. Beach them for the night usually, I expect. We can get there, Trader, but I don’t know about the pirates.”