First Family

by Patrick Tilley

  BA-BA-BABOOOMMM-mmmooommm…

  From a thousand throats came a hushed cry… heyy-yaahhh…’ The Lord Yama-Shita was truly a man of great power. A master, not only of men, but of sky-fire and cloud-thunder.

  The noise and flame came from the three tiers of ship’s cannon mounted on the side galleries of Yama-Shita’s vessel. For this farewell double broadside, the guns had only been loaded with a flamboyant mixture of black powder and magnesium but, if required, they could spew out a murderous hail of grapeshot or hurl balls of cast iron, the size of a man’s head, several hundred yards.

  The sun, now a giant semi-circle of golden fire, framed the three departing wheel-boats, its light eating into their square outlines. Those near to Mr Snow saw him shield his eyes against its brightness but, in reality, the gesture was a vain attempt to hide his tears.

  Steve recovered consciousness to find himself lying in total darkness inside what seemed to be a long narrow box. He had been expertly gagged and bound hand and foot and his body was wedged between bundles of cloth that prevented him from kicking against the sides in an effort to break out of confinement or attract attention – not that that would have been a wise thing to do. As the hours passed he gradually lost all sense of time, then his surroundings started to vibrate as the engines at the heart of the ship sprang into life with a sonorous, accelerating beat. He guessed, correctly, that they were heading towards the shore to collect the journey-men and renegades. After an interminable wait, the engines began to pound with a new urgency. They were leaving! On their way at last! But not as he had planned. His sixth sense, which usually manifested itself in moments of stress or danger, had totally failed him. Caught unawares, he had been struck down and was now trapped, quite unable to move and completely at the mercy of his mysterious assailant.

  From time to time, faint voices and the muffled sound of footsteps reached his ears, providing a fleeting counterpoint to the monotonous drum-beat of the engines and the thrumming of the water as it passed beneath the hull. The realisation that he was still in the bottom of the wheelboat provided some small comfort. He tried not to think that, at any minute, his captor might return – this time not alone – to drag him before the boat-master and… Steve tried to wipe the chilling images from his mind.

  Gah-DOONG, guh-DONG, gah-DOONG, guh-DONG, gah-DOONG, guh-DONG. Each throbbing beat of the engines sent a vibrant pulse through the timbers beneath his body. As the day wore on, the noise ceased to be an intrusion and became part of his pitch-black world, seemed to seep into his bones. He dozed fitfully, grew hungry, thirsty. His tongue and throat dried, the air felt stale, he experienced moments of panic and periodic bouts of claustrophobia but he hung on, willing himself to stay calm.

  Time passed, an eternity it seemed, then without warning the lid of the box was slowly lifted leaving Steve momentarily blinded by the light of a flickering lantern. A big evil-looking lumphead dressed in a sleeveless leather jacket and baggy trousers stood over him holding a knife; a long, slim, razor-sharp blade forged in the Fire-Pits of Beth-Lem and which now hovered dangerously close to Steve’s face. He dragged his eyes away from the knife and gazed up at the owner. He had a folded band of red cloth tied around his shaved skull. It was a strange sight. Steve had never seen a Mute with no hair before. The lumphead motioned him to remain silent then cut loose the gag and offered him a drink of water. Steve raised his head and took a few sips. His jaw had been open for so long he was unable to swallow properly at first and almost choked.

  ‘Easy, compadre,’ muttered the Mute.

  Steve eyed him curiously. ‘Compadre’ was not part of a normal Mute’s vocabulary.

  The lump squatted down beside him. ‘Okay, listen carefully. I had to tie you up for your own good. You were blundering around like a blind buffalo. And also because I have an investment to protect. I now propose to untie you. But stay right where you are. No smart moves – comprendo?’

  Steve responded with a silent nod.

  Placing the knife between his teeth, the Mute quickly untied Steve’s hands and feet. He was a powerfully-built guy with a great bull neck but his movements had the suppleness of a snake. He rose and stepped back. ‘Okay, sit up.’

  Steve did so and found himself in a small bare wooden-walled cabin. The box in which he had been concealed formed the base of a bunk bed, the planked frame on which the mattress rested being the lid. The only furnishings apart from the bunk were a wall cupboard and a narrow shelf. He gratefully accepted another drink of water and a piece of flat-bread. ‘Are we safe here?’ he whispered.

  ‘Reasonably. It’ll be some time before the guards come back.’

  ‘How long have I been here?’

  ‘About twenty-four hours.’ The Mute’s eyes never left Steve’s face. ‘I suppose you’re wondering what the Sam Hill happened.’

  Steve grinned. ‘The question did cross my mind. I’ve got a feeling that, if I wait long enough, you’re going to tell me.’

  ‘That depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On what you’ve got to say for yourself. There aren’t too many straights around – especially with blue eyes. What clan are you from?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘It does to some people.’

  ‘The M’Call, from the bloodline of the She-Kargo–’

  ‘– mightiest of the Plainfolk. Yeah… they’ve got quite a reputation. Even so, you were taking a big chance sneaking on board with a set of blades. What exactly were you after, friend?’

  Steve didn’t respond.

  The Mute grimaced sympathetically. ‘I know how it is. After you’ve been living close to the engines for a while you get hard of hearing. I’ve already got problems with this one.’ He raised the middle finger of his right hand and pressed it against his skull just behind the lobe of his ear. ‘How about you?’

  Steve hesitated for a moment then did the same. The pressure activated a tiny device carried by all MX operatives. Inserted just below the line of the skull in an operation under local anaesthetic that took less than fifteen minutes, it sent out a signal which caused a feedback in any similar device with a range of five to seven yards. Mexicans also had various passwords by which they could introduce and identify themselves. These could never be totally secure but nobody could duplicate the mosquito-like hum that now impinged on Steve’s inner ear. And by applying an almost imperceptible pressure under the guise of a quite natural gesture, the device could be turned on and off allowing two mexicans to exchange brief signals in Morse code in the middle of a crowd of people. Steve did this now, sending the letters, ‘MX’.

  ‘Do you hear what I hear?’

  ‘Loud and clear.’ The mex grinned. ‘I had you spotted when you came in the door. Mutes don’t swim and none of them would have the moxey to break into a wheel-boat. You’re lucky the guards didn’t spot you. But then they’re lucky too. If you were found now, half of ’em would lose their heads.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this last night instead of breaking my head open?’

  ‘There wasn’t time to be properly introduced. I wasn’t looking to get my guts engraved by some gung-ho artist with more balls than good sense.’ The mexican extended his hand. ‘Side-Winder. What’s your handle?’

  ‘Hang-Fire. Are my blades safe?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s been taken care of. Do you realise what would have happened to you if you’d been caught carrying?’

  ‘One of several things, all of them unpleasant.’

  ‘Yeah, like having your asshole hot-wired. They can also skin you, boil you alive, chop you up into little bitty pieces, or feed you into the furnace of one of the boilers feet first – very, very slowly. You get the picture?’

  Steve nodded. ‘So how come you’re carrying a knife?’

  ‘They trust me. I’m the head overseer in charge of the journeymen. There’s six of us altogether. Our job is to help the dinks keep control during the voyage. A lot of these lumps are scared shitless at being on the
water and there are others who don’t take too kindly to the new routine. They have to be broken in. Having some of their own kind around helps ease things along.’

  ‘What happens to the ones that don’t break?’

  ‘They’re strapped to one of the blades of the paddle-wheels.’

  ‘How long for?’

  ‘For as long as it takes.’

  Steve sucked his breath in sharply. ‘Nasty…’

  Side-Winder shrugged. ‘That’s just for openers. There’s worse believe me. These dinks are experts. But you know all that anyway. Before we go any further, am I right in thinking you were trying to hitch a ride?’

  ‘Yeah – but I’d planned to be with the party upstairs.’

  ‘Better this way. Strange how things work out. I got a message to say you might turn up at the trading post but I didn’t expect to run into you.’

  ‘Me neither… Listen, there was a terrible explosion just after we got under way. What happened – did one of the ships blow up?’

  ‘No such luck. That was Yama-Shita saying goodbye to your friends with a seventy-two gun salute. Muzzle-loaders. Thirty-six on each side, twelve on each deck. They’re mounted on wheeled trolleys. Got a barrel this long…’ He stretched both arms out sideways then brought his hands together and formed a circle with his fingers and thumbs. ‘… And they fire an iron ball this big.’

  Steve frowned. ‘I didn’t notice anything like that when I swam out here.’

  ‘Only Yama-Shita’s boat has them, Unless you’re on board, you can’t see ’em until they’re wheeled out for action.’

  ‘Got it…’

  ‘So… why haven’t you been in touch?’

  Steve gave him a brief explanation of what had happened to his radio-knife and the back-up squad.

  Side-Winder listened impassively then remarked: ‘They must have been new boys…’

  ‘They can’t come much newer than me. How long you been on the boats?’

  ‘Long enough. Before that I spent some time hauling barges up the Allegheny. That was when I was working my way up in the world. This could be my last trip. I’m just waiting for the nod then I’ll be on my way home.’ He indicated the row of lumps on his forehead and cheekbones. ‘Can’t wait to get these things out of my face.’

  ‘I didn’t like to ask,’ said Steve. ‘Just how in the hell –’

  ‘Silicone pads. Not bad, huh?’

  ‘Fantastic.’

  ‘Yeah…’ Side-Winder showed Steve the blotchy pattern on his left fore-arm. ‘Whether I’ll be able to get rid of this so easily is another matter. How long have you had your paint job?’

  ‘About a month. But I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t seen for myself that it came off. But those lumps… I don’t know whether I could go that far. Must have been a tough decision.’

  Side-Winder responded with a lop-sided grin. ‘I think they call it “service above and beyond the call of duty”. But then, you’ve got to be pretty dumb to be able to act like a Mute in the first place.’

  Steve bit his lip and let it pass.

  ‘Okay, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. Just where are you headed, friend, and how can I help?’

  Steve explained that his task was to locate and recover two Mutes – Cadillac and Clearwater. He did not reveal that they were both gifted unmarked straights or give any details of his overall assignment.

  Side-Winder did not press him further on the subject. He just listened in silence then grimaced worriedly. ‘Sounds like you’ve bitten off a big one, compadre. With some luck and a following wind I can get you ashore but from there on in you’re on your own.’

  ‘Are there any more of our people over there – amongst the Iron Masters?’

  Side-Winder laughed drily. ‘Are you kidding? Lumps they can do but not even Rio Lobo can turn one of the good ole boys into a dead-face.’

  ‘What I meant was – are there any more like you?’

  The smile vanished from the mexican’s face. ‘If there are, they haven’t told me. And if you weren’t still wet behind the ears you would know not to ask. If this was meant to be a team effort you’d have heard about it.’

  ‘Point taken. Can you at least tell Rio what the score is?’

  ‘Not immediately but yes, I’ll see they get the word. Anything special you want me to say?’

  ‘No. Just tell ’em I’m still on the case – and that I need a new back-up squad.’

  ‘I have a feeling they already know that.’

  Steve looked at the mex sharply. ‘News travels fast.’

  ‘Bad news always does. Anything else?’

  ‘Yeah, there’s the rifles.’

  ‘Rifles?’

  ‘The M’Calls just took delivery of the first hundred. I gather there’s more on the way.’

  Side-Winder frowned. ‘They didn’t come off this boat.’

  ‘No, they came off Yama-Shita’s. Special delivery.’ Steve gave the mexican a brief description of the weapon and its capabilities.

  ‘Ahh… I wondered what the noise was.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Down here. I’m not allowed to put my nose out of the door while the boat is run up on the beach.’

  ‘I see. Can you pass that information on to Mike X-Ray One?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ said Side-Winder. The new boy was so painfully keen, he didn’t have the heart to tell him that a sample of the new weapon had been despatched to Rio Lobo over twelve months ago.

  ‘There’s a couple of other things. I’m gonna need some clothes – and I want to know everything you can tell me about the Iron Masters.’

  Side-Winder met this request with a solemn nod. ‘I made a big mistake with you, friend. When I laid you out I should have thrown you overboard. Is that all?’

  ‘Not quite. How long is the trip?’

  ‘To Beth-Lem? Ten days. Did you get to see any maps while you were at Rio?’

  ‘Yes. Mike X-Ray One took me over the ground himself.’

  ‘Lucky you. Okay, we ride the big water all the way to Lake Erie and make landfall near a NavRef point called Cleveland. The Iron Masters have joined up three rivers with canals and locks –’

  Steve frowned at the unfamiliar words.

  Side-Winders gave him a brief explanation of how canals and lock systems worked. ‘What it means is that these boats can sail right through from Lake Erie to the Allegheny –’

  ‘Which runs down to Beth-Lem.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Is that another name for Pittsburgh?’

  ‘It is. And that’s enough questions for tonight. Back in the box.’

  Steve lived in his narrow hideaway for the next nine days, emerging for an hour each evening and just before dawn when it was safe to do so. While Steve put himself through an intensive physical work-out, Side-Winder passed on what he knew about the structure of the Iron Masters’ society and taught him the sounds and signs for several key words and phrases. Although he never admitted it, the big mexican appeared to have a fluent grasp of the strange tongue but, on several occasions, he warned Steve that he must never attempt to make use of it. He must always speak Basic, the language of the serfs.

  Steve longed to ask Side-Winder how AMEXICO had managed to insert him into the Iron Master’s trading operation but knew he would draw a blank response. His presence on the boats and his flawless disguise was clear evidence that very little remained secret from the First Family. He thought about Lundkwist’s revelation that she had been recruited prior to entering the Academy. The Family’s had people everywhere. Was there no limit to their power and guile, was there any place beyond their reach?

  Side-Winder explained that the Iron Masters’ language was called ‘Japanese’ and that was also the collective name they gave to their race. Experts on the Iron Masters at Rio Lobo referred to them as ‘japs’. Iron Master was a Mute term. The japs also styled themselves as ‘The Sons of Nissan’ – Nissan being their name for the lands they occupied. This too
had an alternative name, ‘The Land of the Rising Sun’ – the origin of the solid red circle that was to be seen everywhere. The Fire-Pits of Beth-Lem was another name conjured up by the Mutes and merely referred to that one specific location.

  The japs were believed to have landed on the eastern seaboard some six hundred years ago. Their society, which was regulated by rigid codes of behaviour was ruled by dynastic succession. The leader was called the Shogun, and he was supported by domain-lords whose power, like the Shogun’s was drawn from their territorial possession. The domain-lords were not unanimous in their support for the Shogun and there was an undercurrent of conspiracy which sometimes surfaced as a challenge to the central authority. The lords, who were the heads of ‘families’ with names like Datsun, Honda, Hitachi, Matsushita, Mitsubishi, Nashua, Seiko and Toshiba, presided over a multi-layered pyramid of lesser ranks.

  At the bottom of the heap or, more accurately, below the bottom line, came the captured renegades and the Mutes – in that order. Jap society was divided into six main categories which, in descending order of importance were: samurai, the ruling warrior class, administrators, merchants, boat- and craft-masters, and the factors who managed the farms and mines.

  Unskilled manual labour was supplied by Mute journeymen – male and female – and the renegades. Because Trackers were adapted to underground life most of these were sent to the mines; Mutes were employed on the land, tending fields, digging canals and irrigation ditches, as carters and porters and, because of their amazing endurance, as couriers delivering the never-ending stream of messages that flowed to and from the court of the Shogun. A few lucky individuals found employment as servants in the great houses. These, like Side-Winder, had shaven heads – a sign of their trusted status; the others were referred to contemptuously as saru – ‘monkeys’, or kebukai hitobito, ‘hairy ones’. The renegades were known as senotakai inu ‘long-dogs’ – an epithet derived from their height and their angular features.