Shaman's Crossing ss-1

by Robin Hobb

  “Look, Eron. A soldier boy. Did you come to see sweet Candy?” She beckoned to me. The way her arms wobbled put me instantly in mind of the tree woman of my dream. I took an involuntary step backward, making her laugh. “Don’t be scared. Come a little closer, lovey. I won’t bite you. Not unless you’re as sweet as sugar.”

  The fat man had resumed his seat on his stool. He turned his head to look at me and smiled. His face was wreathed in fat; even his brow seemed heavy. I was, for the moment, the sole gawker. He spoke to me. “Soldier, eh? You a soldier lad? Oh, yes, I can tell. It’s in the bearing. What branch are you? Artillery man?”

  He spoke in such a friendly way that I would have been an oaf to ignore him. Yet I was suddenly uneasy to have the spectacle turn into a person. I glanced over my shoulder. Most of the crowd seemed to prefer the more lurid offerings of the tent and shuffled past his little stage with scarcely a glance.

  “I’m cavalla. I’m a cadet at the King’s Academy,” I said, and then I stopped. Was I? In a few more days, I was certain I’d be culled. The fat man didn’t even notice my abrupt silence.

  “Cavalla! You don’t say! I was cavalla myself once, though you’re not like to believe it now. Jensen’s Horse. I started out as their bugle boy, I did, no taller than a flea and skinny as a whippet. Bet you don’t believe that, do you?” He spoke as casually as if we had met at a cabstand, as if there was nothing strange about him chatting with someone who had come to gawk at him as an oddity.

  I felt embarrassed for him, and smiled awkwardly. “It’s a bit hard to believe, sir, yes.”

  “Sir,” he said softly. Then he smiled, the expression pressing lines into his doughy face. “Been a long time since a young soldier has called me that. I was a lieutenant when this happened to me. I was on my way up, too. They told me that in a month, perhaps two, there would be a vacancy and I’d be a captain in my father’s old regiment. I was so happy. I thought it had all been worth it.” His face was transfigured by some memory, his eyes staring into the distance. He glanced down at me abruptly. “But you’re an Academy lad. Bet you wouldn’t think much of some ranker like me. My father had been a ranker before me, but he’d never risen higher than master sergeant. When I got my lieutenant’s bars, he was over the moon about it. He and my old maw sold just about everything they had to buy me a commission. I was shocked to hear they’d done it.”

  He suddenly fell silent and all the old glory faded from his face. “Well,” he said, and laughed harshly. “My dad was always a good trader. I bet he got top dollar out of that commission when he sold it off.” He saw me staring at this revelation, and laughed again, more harshly. He gestured rudely at his body. “Well, after this happened to me, what was I to do? My career was over. I come back west, hoping my family would take me in; they wouldn’t even speak to me. Wouldn’t even admit it was me. My old dad tells everybody that his son died in battle with the Specks. Close enough to truth, I guess. It was the damn Speck plague that did this to me.”

  He lumbered over to the edge of his stage and sat down heavily. The whole process of lowering himself looked awkward. He dangled his legs over the edge. His low shoes were run over and tired, near bursting at their seams. His feet looked fat and run over, too, wider than they should have been. I wanted to leave, but could not simply turn and walk away from him. I wished other spectators would come to distract him from me. I did not like that he was being so friendly and talkative. I had to force myself to look interested in his words.

  “So I come to the city. Took up begging on the street corners, but no one believes a fat man who says he’s starving. I would have starved, too, if I hadn’t taken on this duty. It’s not that different from the cavalla, some ways. Get up, do your shift, eat, go to bed. Watch each other’s backs. Stick together. That’s what they say about the cavalla, isn’t it? That we always watch out for one another. Right, trooper?”

  “Right,” I said uneasily. I felt he was building to something, some declaration of brotherhood that I didn’t want to hear. I needed to leave. “I have to be on my way now. I’m supposed to looking for my cousin.” The words came to me with a sour taste of guilt. They, were merely an excuse, and a stark reminder to myself that I had completely forgotten about Epiny and Spink and the danger that she might be in.

  “Yeah, right, he has to go.” The Fat Lady spoke from her divan. From somewhere, she had drawn out another box of candies and was untying the blue ribbon that bound the creamy yellow box. She spoke without looking at either of us. “He knows you’re gonna touch him for some coppers. ‘I was in the cavalla, gimme a coin.’ Bores me to tears. I heard it too often.”

  “Shut up, you fat old slut!” the man told her angrily. “It’s true! I was cavalla, and a damn good soldier once. Maybe I was a ranker, but I’m not ashamed of that. Every promotion I got, I earned. It was never give to me because I was some noble’s son, nor bought for me. I earned it. Earned these lieutenant’s bars. Looky here, trooper. You recognize the real thing, don’t you? And you wouldn’t mind giving an old comrade-in-arms a few coins so I could buy me something a bit stronger than a beer? Gets cold working in here in the wintertime. A man could use a good stiff drink after what I go through.”

  The fat man had managed, by much effort and with several grunts, to haul himself back to his feet. Now he took a folded cloth from his trouser pocket. He opened it carefully, to show me the lieutenant’s bars that shone inside it. I stared at them, knowing they might not be real, knowing that, like the jewellery that many folk wore for Dark Evening, they might be paper or enamel over dross. The fat man unpinned the gleaming bars from the rag that wrapped them and polished them a bit. Then, as he refastened them to the rag, he made the ‘keep fast’ charm over them. I felt a chill up my back. True, he might have learned it from watching others, as Epiny had, but there was something so habitual about the way he did it that I doubted it.

  He glanced over at me and saw the dismay in my face. He smiled, and it was a cruel smile, one that mocked himself. “I’m just an old ranker, son. Never sent to the King’s Academy like you; never had the guarantees that you have. If the plague hadn’t done me in, I’d be serving out near the far east still. But it did, and here I am. I get food, and work, if you call this work—parading around half-dressed in a draughty old tent so young blighters can look at me and laugh and stare, so sure they’ll never be me. I get a bed and blanket every night. But that’s about all I get. No extras in this life. But once I was a cavalla man. Yes, sir, I was.”

  I found my hand thrust deep in my pocket. I pulled out my money and pushed it into his hands and then turned and fled. He shouted his thanks after me, and added, “Don’t you let them send you to the forest, boy! You find yourself a nice post in the west, counting sacks of grain or keeping tally of horseshoe nails! Stay away from the Barrier Mountains.”

  I could not find the exit from the tent. I pushed through a crowd of people packed around a girl juggling knives, not caring how they stared at me, nor even for the one woman who cursed me roundly for stepping on her foot. My path led me back past the Specks’ cage, but there was no crowd round it that I could see. The male Specks were there, wandering listlessly about the enclosure. The woman was gone. I estimated the time at midnight, and guessed that Rory and Trist had returned for her.

  I made my way to the tent door. I didn’t want to think of them with the wild Speck girl. The fat man and his tales of being a ranker had soured the circus for me. The weight of my recent misfortunes descended on me once more. I was to be culled, for no more reason than to keep the Academy in political balance. It would be seen as shameful, no matter what they wrote on my papers. I doubted my father would buy me a commission. He’d probably sternly tell me that I’d had my chance, and that now I’d have to enlist as a common soldier, alongside all the other common sons of common soldier sons. There would be no arranged marriage for me, no officer’s commission, and no glorious future commanding troops for the king. I wondered if I would run back to Maw tomorrow
and beg to be a scout.

  I emerged from the trapped smells and still warmth of the tent into the cold night air. As the night deepened, the crowds were thickening, not dispersing, and I suddenly knew that I had no chance at all of finding Epiny or Spink or anyone else in such chaos. Even if I found Epiny, there was no saving her reputation now. Best to go back to the dormitory and pretend that I had never found Spink’s note. The whole world was sour and cold and dark, without a single friendly face. I looked up at the night sky to try and get my bearings, but the lamplight and torchlight overpowered the feeble and distant stars. No matter. I’d just go back the way I’d come. Somewhere at the edge of the Great Square, I would find a. cabstand and get back to the Academy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Disgrace

  It was late. After the confines of the lighted tent, the cold outdoors and the endless sky overhead made me feel oddly exposed and alone despite the milling people. The Dark Evening festival felt tired and finished to me. I just wanted to go home to a quiet and familiar room. But all around me, the crowd shouted to one another and jostled me from my intended path as they rollicked through their festival. I thrust my hands deep into the pockets of my greatcoat, sunk my head into my collar and shouldered my way through the throng as best I could. I had given up on trying to spot Epiny or Speck. The odds of my seeing anyone I knew in a gathering this large were ridiculously small. Almost as soon as I reached that realization, an opening in the crowd revealed several young men in Academy overcoats, their backs turned to me. I veered toward them, thinking they might be my roommates. If they were, I suddenly decided I’d go whoring with them. The tawdriness of carnival had won me over. I had nothing left to lose to it. One yelled out, “Come on! Finish! Down it like a man!” Three others took up the chant, “Down it! Down it!” They didn’t sound like my friends.

  I waited until a gaggle of merrymakers tooting horns had passed, and then crossed the crowded space toward them. When I got closer, I instantly recognized them as the new noble second-years I’d glimpsed early. Jaris and Ordo were among them. I turned aside hastily. Then, behind me, I heard one woeful voice raised. “I can’t! I’m sick. That’s enough for me!”

  “No, no, my lad!” Jaris’ was hearty with good cheer. “Drink it down. Finish it, and we’ll get you a woman. Like we promised.”

  “But first, you’ve got to prove you’re a man. Drink it down!”

  “There’s not much left. You’re more than halfway there!” I recognized Ordo’s voice.

  The chorus of voices encouraged him. I knew he’d do it. Caulder could never withstand the prospect of approval. The boy was going to be horribly sick tomorrow. Served him right.

  I wanted to keep walking. But something made me halt and turn a little, to witness this as if I had not seen enough grotesque spectacles for one night. A brief opening in the crowd showed me Caulder standing in their midst, bottle clutched in one hand. He was weaving on his feet. But as I stared, he obediently lifted the bottle to his mouth and upended it. His eyes were clenched as if in pain, but I saw his Adam’s apple bob repeatedly. “Down, down, down, down!” the chant rose around him again. And then more people walked between us, obscuring the scene. I started to walk away again. There was a whoop, and a roar of approval from behind me. “That’s a man, Caulder! You’ve done it!” They applauded him but it was followed immediately by derisive laughter. Jaris laughed and cried out, “That’s done it, lads! He won’t be following us any more tonight! Let’s off to Lady Parra’s. She’ll let us in now that we don’t have the puppy trailing after us.”

  All five of them hurried away, jostling through the crowd, whooping and laughing as they went. I didn’t see Caulder among them. He’d probably passed out. It was none of my doing, and I wanted nothing to do with it. I was sure that blame for this would fall on someone tomorrow, and that it wouldn’t be Caulder. The farther away from him I stayed, the better for me. Nonetheless, I found myself pushing back through the clusters of people to the spot where Caulder lay flat on his back on the ground.

  His out-flung hand still clutched the bottle’s neck. It was cheap, strong drink, not wine or beer, and I flinched from its harsh stink. Caulder was lying still. His face in the uneven light of the square was the same dirty white as the trampled ice underfoot. His mouth was ajar, his face set in a frown. A domino mask dangled from its string around his neck. His belly heaved a little and he twitched, half-choking. The rejected liquor rose in his mouth like a dark foul pool, a bit trickling down his cheek. He coughed weakly and drew in a wet, raspy breath. Then he was still again. He already stank of vomit and his trouser cuffs were spattered from an earlier mishap.

  I didn’t want to touch him. But I’d heard of men choking to death on their own puke after drinking too much. I didn’t dislike him so much that I wanted him to die of his own stupidity. So I crouched down and rolled him onto his side. At my touch, he sucked in a sudden breath. He was scarcely on his side before he vomited violently, the spew flying out of his mouth onto the frozen crust of dirty snow that he sprawled on. He heaved twice, and then rolled onto his back again. His eyes didn’t open. I was suddenly struck by how pale he was. Pulling off my glove, I touched his face. His skin was cold and clammy, not flushed with drink. Again, at my touch, he pulled in a slow breath.

  “Caulder! Caulder? Wake up. You can’t pass out here. You’ll be trampled or freeze to death.” People were barely stepping around us, uncaring and unmindful of the boy stretched out on the ground. One woman in a fox mask tittered as she went past. No one stopped or stared or offered help. I shook him. “Caulder. Get up! I can’t stay here with you. Get up and on your feet.”

  He dragged in another breath and his eyelids fluttered. I seized him by his collar and dragged him to a sitting position. “Wake up!” I yelled at him.

  His eyes opened halfway and then closed again. “I did it,” he said faintly. “I did it. I drank it all! I’m a man. Get me a woman.” His words ran together, and his voice was little more than a mutter. The colour had not come back to his face. “I don’t feel good,” he abruptly announced. “I’m sick.”

  “You’re drunk. You should go home. Get up and go home, Caulder.”

  He put both his hands over his mouth, and then dropped them to cover his belly. “I’m sick,” he groaned, and his eyes sagged shut again. If I had not been holding him upright, he would have fallen back onto the ground. I shook him. His head wobbled back and forth. For the first time, a man stopped and looked down at us. “Best take him home, son, and let him sleep it off there. Shouldn’t have let the lad drink so much.”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied reflexively, with no intention of taking Caulder anywhere. But neither could I just stand up and walk away from him. I’d drag him somewhere out of the way and leave him where he wouldn’t get stepped on or freeze to death. For it was getting colder as the night grew deeper.

  I seized his wrists and stood up, dragging him with me. He lolled like a rag doll. I put one of my arms round his waist and held his other arm across my shoulder. It was awkward, for I was substantially taller than he was. “Walk, Caulder!” I yelled in his ear and he muttered some response. I dragged him along with me as I cut across the big square towards the cabstands. Sometimes he muttered, and his legs moved as if he took giant strides, but his words made no sense.

  The Great Square proved its size to me that long night. We were jostled forward sometimes and sometimes blocked by standing crowds who could not or would not give way to us. We were forced to go around one roped-off area where couples were dancing. The music of the instruments seemed at odds with the cavorting of the masked people, and some of them looked more tormented than festive as they leapt and spun and flung their arms about.

  Caulder threw up once without warning, a gushing spew that very narrowly missed a fine lady’s skirts. I held him as he heaved and spouted like a bad pump, grateful only that the lady’s escort hurried her away instead of challenging me. When he was finished, I dragged him away from his me
ss. I sat him down on the edge of one of the frozen fountains; I wished in vain for water. I took my damp handkerchief from my pocket and wiped his chin and running nose as best I could, and then threw it away. “Caulder! Caulder, open your eyes. You’ve got to get up and walk. I can’t drag you all the way home.”

  But in reply he only shook. His face was pale, and his skin remained clammy. I got up and walked away from him, leaving him sprawled in a half-sitting heap like an abandoned pile of laundry. To this day, I do not know what made me turn around and go back for him. His situation was none of my making and I owed him nothing. I felt only animosity toward the tattling, tag-a-long brat, and yet I could not leave him there to face the cold awakening he deserved. I went back.

  I gave up trying to walk him. I lifted him across my shoulders as if he were a wounded man and carried him through the crowd. It was a better solution, for more people saw us coming and got out of the way. When I finally reached the cabstand, there was a long queue. The streets were still choked with pedestrians and so the wait was tripled as cabs struggled to reach the curb to disgorge the passengers they had and to take on new ones.

  When finally it reached our turn, the cabbie demanded his money up front before he would even open a door for us. I stood there, turning my pockets out for what little money I had left and cursing myself for my free spending earlier in the evening. I heartily wished I had kept the money I’d given the fat man. “Caulder! Have you any money?” I asked, shaking him. Another couple thrust in front of us, flashing a gold piece, and our cabbie immediately jumped down and opened the door for them with a bow. Despite my angry protests, he re-mounted the box and began trying to force his team out into the crowded street.