by Gary Gygax
I'm able to manage now." He spoke in staccato rapid fire, turning to Inhetep as he concluded, "Just passing through, I presume."
"Yes, quite right, old friend. We must be away quickly. And by the by, Rachelle, don't you believe a word this man tells you. Dodderer indeed! He is able, and dangerous—in more ways than his skill managing heka, my dear. Watch his hands!" The magister's eyes twinkled as he said the latter. So, too, Mesta-fs.
"I've seen nothing," he told Inhetep as he shooed the two out the door. He first patted then pinched Rachelle's bottom in the process.
"He . . . assaulted my posterior!" she hissed as they passed into the bright forenoon of the street outside the shop.
The magister frowned. "Heed my warnings more carefully hereafter, wench," he scolded.
"Where did you meet such an odd old reprobate, Setne?"
With a grin, inhetep took her arm and steered her in the direction he wanted to go. "Odd? Well, yes, I suppose he is. Mesta-f was one of my instructors when I first entered school as a lad, Rachelle. He was not quite so old then, but he didn't look much different. He was head of the Alchemy department, went on from there to head up the Pharaonic Academy. A good bit of his research and inventions are still highly classified secrets of state."
"Then what's he doing in that dirty old shop we just left?"
"That, Rachelle, is no 'dirty old shop'! It is one of the leading establishments for materia In the whole of the Triple Kingdom, I'll have you know. As to his being its proprietor, though, it's a matter of racial prejudice, I fear," the magister explained. "He was originally born Mustapha something-or-other, to a noble family in Yarbay. Seems there was a blood feud raging in the clan then, so the family fled here to save their skins. He was just a boy then, and he soon embraced our pantheon. It was natural, inevitable, perhaps, that one of his bent should find Khnemu the perfect deity, and our gods correct, so to speak. Despite his strict religious adherence and the years of service thereafter, the triple crown—probably Pharaoh's advisors— wasn't comfortable with so able a foreigner, a Yarban of all things, in such an important role."
Rachelle was distressed to hear that. "But a cast off and bitter man is far more dangerous to the state, isn't that so?"
"In some cases—most, probably. But in Mesta-fs case, I am happy to assure you that he isn't bitter and doesn't care a fig about losing his official position. He never was cut out to be a courtier or a bureaucrat. He sees his commitment to Egypt as something divine, not secular, as it were. It is an intellectual choice supported by spiritual affinity."
"But he's stuck in this dreary comer of the kingdom. ..."
"Not a bit. He's here by choice, and who will notice alchemical smokes and stinks here? In the meantime, he serves as an agent for the Utchatu. That satisfies him emotionally, for he does his part to assure that the seat of the pantheon remains strong and safe Additionally, his payment from the service enables him to continue his expensive experiments and the like."
Rachelle thought a moment as they walked along casually so as to attract no undue attention. "Then that place was merely a front. . . ." She trailed the last word so as to make what she said something between a statement and a question.
"You have it. Open a few hours a day, it does a fairly brisk trade, for Mesta-f knows his materia. Believe it or not, he has some things in that jumble of seeming junk that can't be found in Memphis! Only the initiated are aware of this place, though, and the old fellow keeps it that way."
They were nearing the place where the ships docked, having covered over half the distance as they chatted. Rachelle was no longer angry, and felt that the pat was no insult to her, considering the real Mesta-f. She had always understood the principal why the Yarban had been so forward. Setne had complimented the old fellows sexual prowess, and being a true son of his people at heart, Mesta-f had responded accordingly. She would get even with Setne, of course, for his sneaky little trick on her, but that could wait. Right now there were too many other things to occupy her attention. Seeing what the city looked like was most immediate. The warrior girl had never before been to Mersa Gawasis. From what she could tell, it was only a town without much attraction. "Is there a better quarter?"
"Hardly. This is a working port, full of factories and workshops with few amenities and but a handful of interesting people—plenty of others with money, a sort of little elite here, but a terribly boorish lot. We must avoid them at all costs—awful social climbers and sycophants, don't you know." He drawled that last and simpered a bit.
Rachelle understood. That they would be likely to find any such persons in this locale was most unlikely. She commented, ''Quays and wharves? You mean to take ship to . . . where we go?"
He nodded. "Let's go to that office there—see the sign at the corner of the warehouse? We can find a suitable conveyance without difficulty, I'm sure." As they went along towards the place he had indicated, Inhetep informed her of why he was seeking seaborne passage for them. "The good maharajah covered his risk when he sent his missive and gift—bait— by his magickal courier. Considering the circumstances, he did the proper thing—for him. However, that precludes us taking the same expedient means of journeying to see to the matter he begged us to undertake."
"You fear we are watched?"
The wizard-priest shrugged a little. "Well, certainly his courier's passage would have been noted by any able practitioner keeping track of the maharajah's actions regarding the theft. I don't doubt that heka and castings were employed in making off with the crown jewels. It then follows that there are one or more practitioners of considerable skill at work monitoring things stemming from the Peacock Throne. Any such spy couldn't help but be aware of the courier's dweomered departure, the route and general destination indicated by his return—if he wasn't waylaid and the exact information extracted. Not likely, but possible. The danger to us in attempting to travel to Delhi is thus extreme. There will be traps, ambushes, and who knows what else."
"But isn't it dangerous for us to go by normal means? Won't there be spies watching the routes for strangers? And there is the matter of time, too. The longer we take to get to Delhi, the colder the trail."
"By slipping magickally but undetected into
this port, we have cut four or five days minimum from the time required to make the journey, Rachelle. If we stay on that schedule, or get even further ahead, we have the edge. You are right, of course. There will be spies and men set along the way to stop anyone coming from /Egypt to assist in recovery of the lost treasure. But such as wait will have a false security, and not be truly alert until the time we might reasonably be expected to arrive." He stopped walking, for they were nearing the shipping office, "It is a long voyage, but with what you and I learned from our little sojourn in Lyonnesse awhile back, between us we should be able to shorten that time considerably, and all without revealing our interference to either crew or others."
Rachelle was enthusiastic. "You're a genius, Setne! They have no real concept of what can be done with spellsinging here, let alone in the farther East! Why, I can—"
"Never mind for now, girl. Let's handle the matter at hand: finding a fast and not too uncomfortable vessel to cany us to Hind."
Commerce between ./Egypt and the East was brisk. Many ships sailed from all parts of the world into the Mare Rubine and dropped anchor at the port of Mersa Gawasis. After a little wait, a sallow man with a bad complexion came to see what they wanted. Inhetep asked a few general questions, slipped the fellow a few dinars, and asked about passage to either Hind or Farz. The clerk thought a bit, then pulled out a sheaf of papers. After shuffling through the stack, he told them what the magister was desirous of hearing, and for that effort Inhetep passed over a few more coins.
Accepting the man's advice, Inhetep assured him they would seek out the Handubar Swallow at pier four, bound for Ophir and then on to Farz, departing in two or three days' time. Then the magister and Rachelle left the warehouse shipping office and found the pier. The master
of the Handubar Swallow was on hand and agreeable; Inhetep told him that they would indeed take berths on the ship. He paid over a small stack of silver, promising the balance upon departure, then he and Rachelle departed, ostensibly to return in two days to take up residence in the cabin reserved and await departure—which, according to the master of the ship, would be as soon thereafter as kismet would allow. When they were well away, the wizard-priest whispered, "That gives us two days, even if someone has heard of us by then." It was a sound precaution.
"What are you talking about, Setne?"
He hissed at her to speak softly. "There is a very fast vessel, a sort of a smuggler and valuables runner in port. She's not docked but out in the harbor, and bound to up anchor tonight according to what I have learned. Well be on her." Then he explained. Rachelle had indeed noted a silent exchange of secret signs between Setne and Mesta-f. By that means, the magister had learned that a small Hindi dhow was just readying to sail. The Blue Cloud was a fast vessel relying on its speed and valuable cargo to make up for its lack of being able to carry much in her small hold. Such ships were, of course, ripe for piracy and fair game to coast guard patrols. If they could be spotted and caught, they were easy prey and a rich prize. "It seems that the old rascal gets some of his more unusual requirements from that ship, and makes a little spare coin by putting cargos aboard, too—stuff rare and in demand in the Hindic lands. Leave it to Mesta-f to do that. ..."
"This is dangerous for us. I don't like it."
"Neither do I, although we come with the right recommendation, I hope. Besides, it is probably less hazardous than waiting here. Too many chances to be spotted, even attacked."
Just an hour later, the pair were deep in conversation with the captain of the Blue Cloud. He was taciturn and suspicious when Inhetep offered, in fluent Trade Phoenician, to give him a large payment to allow them aboard as passengers. "Have no concern. Captain Vogalishi. I found out about your craft by extraordinary means. My associate and I are warriors but have some small skills at laying castings as well. Not only will we give you gold to carry us along, but we will also lend our weapons to the protection of your ship if there is trouble."
"I see. Well, I guess you are all right. Let me see your money." The magister handed over two gold coins, and Vogalishi smiled then. Rachelle thought it a cruel and shifty expression, more threatening than friendly. Yet the man seemed to have thawed. "You are aboard as supercargo, then. IH give you a cabin, but it's small, and there'll be no amenities—agreed?"
"Yes. That's fine."
"Then here, well drink to it." The seaman had produced three dirty glasses from somewhere and filled them with a dark and potent liquor. Without waiting for his two new passengers to do so, Vogalishi tossed his off, poured more for himself, then scowled at Inhetep and the amazon. "You won't drink with me?"
"Another brew at another time, my dear Captain Vogalishi. You see, it was Mesta-f who directed us here, and he, being a close associate, was careful to warn me about your . . . ah . . , refreshments."
Vogalishi burst into a guffaw at that, spraying droplets of the smelly liquid he had again quaffed as Inhetep spoke. "Now there's a good man!" he roared when he could get his breath. Evidently, he appreciated the magister's calm acceptance of deadly poison in a seemingly harmless drink, offered to supposedly confirm a contact. "You, I mean, /Egyptian. Mesta-f is an old fart who drives a hard bargain—unlike you. If you're associated with that wily bastard, I'll bet you can bend magicks aplenty. Do you both possess real skill with weapons?"
Rachelle didn't like him a bit. Her eyes were as hard as her voice when she responded to that insulting question in Setne's stead. "Bow, sword, or any other you name, seafarer. I'll best you or any of your crew here and now. The man with me is able to do the same,' she added, recalling what Inhetep had offered.
Again the captain laughed, only not so heartily, and with a little anger and fear evident as he told her, "No, no! You'll not need to prove that to me—or to my men. It's pirates or . . . other unwanted boarders who'll put you to the test, if ever test there must be—and that'll be a fatal one for you if you boast."
"It will be fatal, but to those on the business end of my weapons, Captain. Of that you have no need to fear."
The Hindi turned away from Rachelle and faced Inhetep. "You have paid your gold, and we have an agreement. Be here before I sail, for the ship will depart at two hours after midnight, with or without you."
"We'll be here a quarter of an hour before you sail," the magister assured Vogaiishi.
When he and Rachelle appeared just a little after midnight, the captain scowled. "You're early!"
"You're readying to sail early," the magister said in a flat, dangerous voice.
"I am informed that an enemy intends to attack soon, so 1 must depart now."
"Then you must be delighted we came here on our own."
"Why so?"
"It saved you sending men ashore to get us."
The captain laughed harshly, turning to the demanding tasks required to get his vessel away quickly and quietly in the dead of night without showing lights. The junior lieutenant showed them to their quarters, a true cubby hole. "Fortunately, you and I are such close friends," Inhetep observed as they secured their few belongings. "We'll be cheek and jowl, as they say, having to stay in these quarters for some time, unless the voyage is a very speedy one indeed." The Blue Cloud upped anchor and sailed before one o'clock.
Rachelle had once been on friendly terms with a rather nasty fellow who had been a master bard of Avillonia, who was now dead. Rachelle, however, had learned not a little of his art. It was she, not the wizard-priest who went on deck almost immediately after the ship got under way. There Rachelle hummed and sang beneath her breath, so softly that none of the crew noticed what she was doing. They did notice the breeze, a fair wind which sprang up from the northwest and blew steadily. The dhow leaped ahead as its captain had more sails set to catch the favorable air. Inhetep was there to "record" and set up a talisman to then "play back" her singing—its effective sounds, anyway. This he did with a reservoir of magickal energy operating to deliver the required accompanying activator sounds at a pitch inaudible to the human ear.
"Now you can sleep, and so can I. All that wild Kelltic wailing is enough to deny normal slumber," he added sourly. Setne had not liked the attention Aldriss the bard had paid to Rachelle.
They spent most of the next few days in their cramped cabin, not wishing to tempt fate, so to speak. Captain Vogalishi and the dozen crewmen he commanded ignored them. All was well. The Blue Cloud made the thousand leagues and more through the Mare Rubine to round Punt in record time for even that swift vessel. Four days sailing time was unheard of. They slipped past every patrol vessel and prowling corsair without being spotted. Vogalishi was ecstatic and looked on his two passengers with a new respect, suspecting rightly that they had something to do with this great good fortune. From that point on, Rachelle felt less exposed and spent more time on deck. Soon after getting through the dangerous straits, the waters grew wilder, the waves high. The Blue Cloud had entered the open ocean. There was yet another two thousand leagues to sail, most of it through the waters called the Yarban Sea, where pirates swarmed and sudden storms threatened.
The cool air was refreshing, and even the magister managed to accustom himself to the continual rolling of the ship after a couple of days, so he could join Rachelle on deck. The two were there, discussing their plans, when the captain came up to stand before them with arms akimbo, hands on hips, demanding: "Which of you is the weather witch? Tell me now, and get aft. There's a vessel following us. Unless one of you can do something soon, I'll be seeing that swordplay she bragged about," he added, with a glowering look at Rachelle.
"There's gratitude for you," Rachelle murmured in /Egyptian as Inhetep arose from where he sat with his back braced against the foremast.
"What did she say?" Vogalishi demanded suspiciously.
"She reminds you of your good
luck to date and suggests you don't concern yourself about pursuers, Captain. She and I will see about the problem in a minute. Excuse us, please." So saying, and without waiting for formal leave, I he magister took Rachelle's arm, and they went to their cabin. "Get your bow and hand me an arrow."
Rachelle watched as he rummaged in a little box for some powders, mixed them, then poured out some liquid, turning it into a thick paste. He rolled the head of the arrow in that, so that the gluey mixture coated it. Then he breathed upon it and spoke a single word. Next he worked on the other end, laying a minor casting on the shaft and its feathers. "That should do it."
"How?" Rachelle caught the purpose of the first part of his magick. He had made the arrowhead incendiary, ignitable by a command from him at even so great a distance as a mile, far longer than she could send it flying to strike a target. The casting was a very minor one and impossible to detect in operation in a world full of minor bursts of heka energy at all times. "When the ship coming after us is close enough to be hit with that, their catapults will be in range, their archers too, and maybe even some hedge-magician winging nasty sendings our way."
"Trust me, my dear. The last little dweomer was a special one I recently developed with you in mind. The cantrip lends falcon's wings to the flight of the missile, more or less. I think it will carry the arrow a league, but let's not try anything so ambitious. When the pursuer is about a mile distant, just send your shaft to strike the sails."
When they were on the deck on the high stern, Rachelle's composite bow of horn and sinew ready, Vogalishi scoffed. "No one can hit a target at such a distance! Besides, what will a single arrow do, anyway? Never should I have believed—"
"Silence!" Inhetep commanded. Whether it was due to the wizard-priest's heka or tone of voice, the blustering captain snapped his mouth shut. "Let fly," he said aside to Rachelle. "Aim as if at a target a hundred paces distant."
