by neetha Napew
Jon-Tom threw Clothahump a look, and the wizard subsided in the youth's favor.
"I'll talk to the commissars of the Polastrindu commune. Perhaps they might
accept you as a member."
"Do you think so? I had no idea so enlightened a community existed." Fiery eyes
stared back down at Jon-Tom hopefully. "That would be wonderful. I'm certainly
willing to do my share of the work."
"You've already done more than that this trip, comrade Falameezar. Clothahump is
right, though, in suggesting you wait here in the river. Even the most educated
comrades can sometimes react thoughtlessly when confronted by the unfamiliar."
He leaned forward, and the dragon bent his neck back and down as Jon-Tom
whispered to him, "There are counterrevolutionaries everywhere!"
"I know. Be on your guard, comrade Jon-Tom."
"I will."
The dragon eased into shore. They marched down his back and tail, passing supply
packs from hand to hand. A well-used track halfway between a wide trail and a
small road led over the hills. Jon-Tom looked back for a moment. The others had
already started up the road. Flor was alive with excitement at the prospect of
entering the strange city. Her enthusiasm made her glow like the lining of
clouds after a storm.
He waved to the dragon. "Be well, comrade. Up the revolution."
"Up the revolution!" the dragon rumbled back, saluting him with a blast of fire
and smoke. Then the ferocious head dipped beneath the surface. A flurry of
bubbles and some fading, concentric ripples marked with a watery flower the
place where the dragon sank. Then they too were gone.
Jon-Tom waded, his long legs and walking staff soon bringing him up alongside
his companions, despite the burden of guilt he carried. Falameezar was far too
nice a dragon to have been so roundly deceived. Perhaps they'd left him happier
than he'd been before, though.
"What do you think he'll do?" Caz moved next to Jon-Tom. "Will he stay and wait
for you to return?"
"How should I know? I'm no expert on the motivations of dragons. His political
beliefs seem unshakable, but he tends more to philosophizing than action, I
think. He might simply grow bored and swim back downstream to his familiar
feeding grounds." He looked sharply at the rabbit. "Why? Do you expect trouble
in Polastrindu?"
"One never knows. The larger the city, the more arrogant the citizens, and we're
not exactly the bearers of good news. We shall see."
An hour's hike had brought them to the crest of the last hill. Finally the
destination of so many days' traveling lay exposed to their sight.
It was wonderful, yes, but it was a flawed wonderment. They started down the
hill. Why should a city here be so very different from any other? he thought
sardonically.
There was a massive stone wall surrounding the city. It was intricately
decorated with huge bas-reliefs and buttressed at ground level. Several gates
showed in the wall, but the traffic employing them was sparse.
It was not a market day, Caz explained. Farmers were not bringing produce into
the city, nor distant craftsmen and traders their wagon-borne wares.
There was somewhat more activity to the south of the city. The great wall ran
almost to the river there. At least a dozen vessels were tied to the rotting
docks. Some were similar to the sail-and-oar-powered keel-type boat that Caz had
fled from that day on the river. Jon-Tom wondered if that very same ship might
be among those bobbing gently at anchor below them. Barges and fishing vessels
comprised the rest of the motley but serviceable flotilla.
"The main gate is on the opposite side of the city, to the northwest and facing
the Swordsward."
"What's that?" Flor wondered aloud. "Have you been there? It seems like you've
been everywhere."
Caz cleared his throat. "No, I have not. I've been no farther than anyone else,
I should say. It is a vast, some say endless, ocean of vegetation inhabited by
vile aborigines and dangerous creatures.
"We have no need to march around the whole city. The harbor gate should be a
quite satisfactory ingress."
They continued down the winding path, which had now expanded to road size.
Curious fellow travelers let their gaze linger long on the unusual group.
Lizard-drawn wagons and carts trundled past them. Sometimes riders on individual
mounts would run or hop past. There was even a wealthy family on a small riding
snake.
Clothahump was enjoying himself. He moved with much less effort downhill than
up. His glance turned upward. "Pog! Anything to report, you useless miscreant?"
The bat yelled down to them as he dipped lower in the sky. "Da usual aerial
patrol. A couple o' armed jays overflew us a few minutes ago. I don't tink dey
saw us wid da dragon, though. Dey've long since turned 'round and flown back to
report. Dey didn't act excited."
Clothahump appeared satisfied. "Good. I have no time for intermediaries,
Polastrindu is too big for them to bother with every odd group of visitors, even
if we are a bit odder than most."
"We may not seem so from the air, sir," Jon-Tom pointed out.
"Quite so, my boy."
They strolled into the docks without anyone challenging them. They watched as
busy stevedores, mostly broad-shouldered wolves, margays, and lynxes,
laboriously loaded and unloaded stacks of crates and bales. Exotic goods and
crafts were stacked neatly on shore or loaded carefully onto dray wagons for
transport into the city.
Along the docks the aroma was pungent but something less than exotic. Even the
river was darker here than out in midstream. The gray coloration derived not
from some locally dark soil, as Jon-Tom first thought, but from the effluent
pouring out of pipes and gutters. The raw sewage abraded much of the initial
glamor, he'd come to associate with Polastrindu.
Flor's expression twisted in disgust. "Surely it's not this bad in the city."
"I sure hope not." Talea sniffed once, tried to close down her sense of smell.
"It is said that the larger the town, the dirtier the habits of its citizens."
Caz trod lightly on the filthy paving lest it sully the supple leather of his
enormous shoes. "This derives from the concentration of the inhabitants on the
making of money. Fastidiousness follows financial independence, not hard work."
One narrow stone arch bridged an open trench. As they crossed, the stench nearly
knocked Flor unconscious. Jon-Tom and Caz had to help her across. Once past she
was able to stand by herself and inhale deep drafts of only partly tainted air.
"Mierda, what a smell!"
"It should be less overwhelming once we are inside the city gate." Clothahump
did not sound particularly apologetic. "There we will be away from the main
sewer outfalls."
A rattling warning fell on them as Pog dipped close. "Master, soldiers come from
da gate. Maybe dat overfly patrol wasn't so indifferent as it seemed. Maybe we
in for some trouble."
Clothahump waved him away as one might a large housefly. "Very good, Pog, but
you worry overmuch. I will deal with them."
It was a well armed if motley-l
ooking knot of soldiers that soon came into view,
marching toward them. Between twenty and thirty, Jon-Tom guessed. He slipped his
club-staff from its lacings and leaned on it expectantly. Other hands drifted in
the vicinity of sheathed swords. Mudge made a show of inspecting his bow.
The troop was led by a heavily armored beaver, a thickset individual with a
no-nonsense gleam in his eyes. Catching sight of the column, sailors and
stevedores scattered for cover. While at first they had ignored the newcomers,
they now shied from them as if they carried plague.
Boots, sandals, and naked feet generated a small rumble of retreat as other
onlookers scurried for safety. Ten soldiers detached themselves with forced
casualness from the main body. They quick-marched to the left to get behind the
newcomers and cut off any possible retreat.
"That doesn't look promising." Jon-Tom's grip tightened on the staff as he
watched the maneuver.
"Easy, my friend." The imperturbable Caz stepped forward. "I will handle this."
"They would not dare to attack us," said an outraged Clothahump. "I am an
emissary to the Council of Wizards and as such my person is inviolable and
sacred."
"Don't tell me, good sir," said Caz, gesturing at the nearing troops. "Tell
them."
Now the walls had become menacing instead of beautiful. Their stone towers cast
threatening shadows over the travelers. From ships and other places of
concealment the mutterings of watchful sailors and merchants could be heard.
Finally the main body of soldiers drew up in a crescent facing them. Their
leader stepped forward, pushed his helmet back on his furry forehead with a
muscular paw, and studied them curiously. In addition to his chain mail, helmet,
and thicker steel plates protecting particularly vulnerable places there was an
unusual moon-shaped iron plate strapped to the thick, broad tail. It was studded
with sharp spikes and would make a devastating weapon if it came to
close-quarter fighting.
"Well," he said, speaking with a distinct lisp, "what have we here? Two gianth,
a tough-looking little female"--Talea spat at the ground--"a dithreputable otter
type, a fop, and an elderly gentleman of the amphibian perthuathion."
"Good sir." Caz bowed slightly. "We are travelers from downriver on a mission
that is of great importance to Polastrindu and the world."
"Thath motht interethting. Whom do you reprethent?"
"By and large we represent ourselves for now, primarily in the person of the
great wizard Clothahump," and he gestured toward the impatient turtle. "He
carries information vital to our survival that he must present to the city
council."
The beaver was casually twirling an ugly skull-splitter of a mace, indifferent
to where the spike-studded ball might land.
"Thath all very nice, but it remainth that you're not citithenth of thith city
or county. At leatht, I athum you are not. Unleth of courth you can produth your
identity chith."
"Identity chits?"
"Everyone who liveth in the county or thity of Polathrindu hath an identity
chith."
"Well, since we don't come from the county or city of Polastrindu, as you've
just been informed, obviously we don't have any such thing," Jon-Tom said in
exasperation.
"That doth not nethetherily follow," said the beaver. "We get many vithitoth.
They all have properly thtamped identity chith. To be freely admitted to the
thity all you have to do ith apply for and rethieve your proper chith." He
smiled around enormous teeth. "I will be happy to provide you with thom."
Jon-Tom relaxed a little. "Good. We'll need theven."
"You very funny, big man. Thinth you have thuch a good thenth of humor, for your
party it will cotht only"--the beaver performed some silent cogitation--"theven
hundred silver pietheth."
"Seven hundred...!" Clothahump sputtered all over the pavement. "That's
extortion! Outright robbery! I am insulted. I, the great and wise and knowing
Clothahump, have not been so outraged in a hundred years!"
"I believe that our leader," said Caz quietly, "is somewhat disinclined to pay.
Now if you will just convey word of our arrival to your superiors, I am sure
that when they know why we have come--"
"They won't hear why you have come," broke in the beaver, "until you pay up. And
if you don't pay up, they won't hear why you were overcome." He grinned again.
His huge teeth were badly stained by some dark brown liquid. "Actually, ith
eighty silver pietheth per party for identity cardth, but my men and I have to
make a living of thom kind, don't we? A tholdierth pay ith pretty poor."
There were angry murmurs of agreement from the troops standing behind him.
"We will depart peacefully then," said Caz.
"I don't think tho," said the beaver. The ten soldiers who had detached
themselves earlier now moved in tightly behind the travelers, blocking their
path. "I don't want you going around to the other gateth."
Flor whispered to Mudge, "Are all your cities so hospitable?"
Mudge shrugged. "Where there's wealth, luv, there's corruption. There's a lot of
wealth in Polastrindu, wot?" He eyed the soldiers nervously.
Some of them were already fingering swords and clubs in anticipation of a little
corrective head-bashing. They looked healthy and well fed, if not especially
hygienic.
" 'Ere now, your wizardship, why don't we just pay up? These blokes look as
though they'd rather 'ave themselves a good massacre than anythin' else. If we
wait much longer we won't 'ave ourselves much o' a choice."
"I will not pay." Clothahump obstinately adjusted his spectacles. "Besides, I
can't remember that asinine silver spell."
"You won't pay, eh?" The beaver waddled over until he was glaring eye to eye
with the turtle. "Tho you're a great withard, eh? Leth thee how much of a
withard you really are," and he flipped the mace around, snapped his wrist, and
struck Clothahump square on the beak.
The sorcerer let out a startled cry and sat down hard. "Why you impudent young
whelp!" He fumbled for his glasses, which had been knocked loose but not broken.
"I shall show you who is a wizard. I will disembowel you, I'll... !"
"Port armth!" the beaver barked. Instantly a cluster of spears and clubs was
pointed at the travelers. The officer said sourly, "I've had jutht about enough
of thith foolithneth. I don't know who you are, where you come from, or what
kind of game you're trying to play with me, but we don't take kindly to vagranth
here. Ith dragged off to the thellth you're to be, and methily, too, unleth you
come up with thorn cash."
There was stone wall to his right and sharp steel ahead and behind, but nothing
blocked Jon-Tom's path as he'd worked his way to the water's edge. He cupped his
hands and yelled desperately, "Falameezarrrr!"
"What, thereth more of you then?" The beaver's whiskers twitched as he turned to
face the stagnant water. "Where ith thith one? Hiding on a boat? Ith going to
cotht you another hundredth silver piethes. I'm growing tired of thith. You'll
pay me right now or elth..." and he twirled the mace menacingly.
A great tired creaking drowned out the last words of the threat as two ships
were bodily shouldered aside. Dock planking gave under irresistible pressure
from below. A huge black head emerged from beneath, trailing water and shattered
boards. Great claws dug into broken stone, and coal-eyes glared down at the
group.
The beaver stared open-mouthed up at the wet, shiny teeth clashing just above
him. "D-d-d-d-!" He never did get the whole word out, but managed to outwaddle
half his subordinates in the race for the main gate.
Sailors hastily abandoned their ships in the mad rush for the gate. Vendors and
merchants abandoned their stocks and wharfside businesses in favor of drier
territory. There was panic on the city wall as rudely awakened troops ran into
one another in their rush to take up defensive positions.
The now solitary band of travelers put up their own weapons.
"A timely appearance, comrade," said Jon-Tom. "I'd hoped you might still be
nearby, but I had no idea it would be quite this near."
Falameezar gazed at the terrified faces peeking over the top of the wall. "What
is wrong with them?" He was more curious than angry. "I heard your call and came
as promised, but I thought they surely would treat you as fellow
comrades-in-arms in the great struggle to come."
"Yes, but you recall what I told you about the presence of
counterrevolutionaries?" Jon-Tom said darkly.
"Oho, so that's it!" Falameezar let out a furious hiss and a trio of small shops
burst into flame.
"Careful. We just want to get inside, not burn the city down."
A massive tail lashed at the water and instantly put out the small fires, though
he did the innocent shops no more good than had the flames.
"Keep your anger in check, Falameezar," Jon-Tom advised. "I'm sure we'll have
this all straightened out as soon as we can get to talk with the city's
commissars."
"I should certainly think so!" said the dragon huffily. "The idea of letting
counterrevolutionaries interdict innocent travelers."
"It's hard to tell the true revolutionaries from their secretive enemies."
"I suppose that's so," the dragon admitted.
"There might be even worse yet to come," Jon-Tom informed him as they all
sashayed across the stones toward the now tightly barred wooden gate.
"Like what, comrade?"
Jon-Tom whispered, "Revisionists."
