For the next few days Idressin worked them hard, particularly at Shattun. "It's not a beautiful language," the tutor commented. "I've never heard any Shattun poetry. But it’ll let you talk to people across thousands of miles from east to west."
Rasscu could get by in Shattun already, while to their surprise Caldar and Berin found that they understood a great deal from the start. Then it dawned on them that they had learned hundreds of words of this language among Idressin's little 'extra exercises' while they were making baskets. They hovered between rueful admiration for his extraordinary skill and an uneasy feeling that they were just acting out parts which the Tinker and Idressin had already prepared for them.
In the evenings the Tinker told them about the caravans and the Great Highway. "The Highway connects the Empire to the Quezma Republic. The middle bit skirts the northern edge of the Great Desert, crossing south of here at Sand City. It’s not a city, but the wells never dry up, even in years of drought, and that makes the place priceless for the Highway’s travellers. There are always a few thousand in the campgrounds. There’s a warren of a town grown up too, where you can buy anything from wine to wagon wheels.
Sand City's the half-way point between Pillimon Tarkus and Pillimon Graxi. Tarkus is the gateway to the Empire and Graxi to the Republic and most of the traffic just goes from one to the other. But there's more profit for the merchants who go all the way and the Grand Caravans are made up of traders who do just that. Going west from Tarkus they make a wide circle through the regions of the Empire, Dendria, Malefor, Belugor, and back to Tarkus a year later. The other way the loop through the Republic’s even longer. The whole journey takes nearly three years."
"Their whole lives must be spent travelling." Berin said in astonishment.
"Oh yes. The traders, the entertainers, the workmen who keep the caravans moving, they grumble all the time, but they never give up. They're proud of their way of life."
"A new place every night, a new country every month or two,” Caldar mused. “It sounds exciting."
The Tinker smiled at him. "It'll be exciting, I promise you. You'll get hot, cold, wet and dirty along the way, but there's nothing quite like seeing the world for the first time. Dodging Kulkin will just add a little spice to it all."
One evening Idressin told them more about the actual workings of the caravan. How the caravan master controlled the movement of the wagons by day and the ordering of the camps at night: how the watering of the animals was organised: what was used for payment when the caravans were crossing from country to country: what the procedures were when they came to the customs posts at the frontiers: and much more. There was a lot to tell. He was still talking when the Tinker strode in and announced that he had brought back some fresh fish for supper along with some bad news. "Fish first", he said firmly and went into the kitchen to help the housekeeper with the cooking.
After supper he calmly announced that Tariska had disappeared. She had apparently attended the Law School as normal the day after their meeting together, but she had not returned to her lodgings that night and neither her landlord nor the School knew where she was.
"We should have kept a closer eye on her," he said to Idressin. "She'll be in turmoil over what she heard here, maybe she's running away from it."
"She sounded angry that you were wasting her time, that’s all,” Berin put in. “Why….?”
". . . would she run away?" The old man shrugged. "She knew she was going to be part of this, it was plain to see. I told you yesterday, it's not easy to hold out against your own true nature once it's been prodded into life. She was trying, but she would have lost the struggle within a few days. What d'you think?" The question was addressed to Idressin. "You know as much about her as I do."
The tutor sat, head bent in thought for a while, then said, "I don't think she’d run away: it's not in character and she didn't feel threatened by us. Not Kulkin either: he knows nothing about her. I would guess that we're facing a chance situation, which is going to be the hardest to deal with. It could be something as harmless as visiting a friend or maybe she has a lover.”
He looked at the Tinker’s raised eyebrows. “I know she’s young, but quite old enough for that. But it could equally be something more serious, an accident, a chance robbery, something bad. We'd do well to start searching for her quickly."
"No, no," the Tinker said testily, waving Caldar and Berin back to their seats. "We can do without the added complication of having you two snatched by Kulkin. Besides you don't know the city. Rasscu, in the morning go round to the hospitals, there are only two, and check on any women who've been admitted in the last three days. Idressin and I will start the search tonight around the part of the city where she lived; it's quite near the Law School."
He looked sternly at Caldar and Berin. "Nothing rash or spectacular while we're gone, please. Rasscu, I'm trusting you to help us keep these two chained up, particularly the sandy-haired innocent-looking one." Then in a gentler tone. "Don't worry, my young friends, she'll turn up. She has a job to do."
After the two men walked off into a miserable wet night, the others entertained themselves for a while playing 'Knock Knock Who Is It' in Shattun. When they got bored with that, they fell back on swapping stories as usual. Apparently Rasscu had been a horse trainer for the brief period he'd been working in Suntoren. Horses were big business down here, as anyone travelling away from the Lake was facing a long journey in either direction. Rasscu was good with horses and he’d been earning top wages, with several job offers available if he returned to the area. Several other offers too from the ladies of Suntoren, but none that were going to cause him any regrets when he left.
They kept scrupulously to their instructions not to go out, although Caldar grew more restless by the hour. Eventually they gave up hope of the two men returning with news and went to bed.
Caldar fell into a fitful sleep, shot through with dreams. Nothing coherent, just a jumble that seemed to mirror his restlessness. Then with sudden clarity he saw Tariska in front of him. There was something she wanted to know, some question which only Caldar could answer for her. He didn’t know the answer. Her arms stretched out towards him in….supplication? …..longing? He felt himself open to her completely, powerless to resist. But he didn’t know the answer. The sadness in her eyes was unbearable; she was going to suffer because he was concealing this thing from her, such a small thing. At that moment he would have given the world to help her, given his life to help her. He couldn’t, he didn’t know the thing she wanted. Instead he could only watch in desperation as she began to blur and fade, like an image seen through swelling tears, until she slipped away from him altogether. Bound in sleep, he thrashed and cried out, until Berin awoke and came to his bedside in alarm. At his first touch Caldar quietened and fell at once into a deep sleep, so peaceful that after a few minutes Berin left him and went back to bed.
On the other side of the city the Spinner called Shellimil, who had projected the dream, sat motionless reviewing the last ten hours. Although his efforts had yielded none of the expected results, he did not feel angry; he had no place for such emotions. Instead he began a review of every step he had taken in this minor project and also of every advantage that could still be wrung from it.
By pure chance he had been present at the dinner party when the girl had raised the topic of the Talisman. She had been in an emotional state, wide open to his scrutiny, and his interest had quickened at the hint of something real behind the words. It was clear to him that she had been in contact with people who were actively seeking the Talisman. The possibilities were important enough for Shellimil to call in the Watchmen. They had concentrated all their powers to help him take momentary control of her mind and implant a connection which he would be able to activate whenever she was asleep. So far so good.
Later in the night things had not gone so well. He had first ransacked the girl’s memories only to discover that she knew no more about the Talisman than she had declared at
the dinner. He had then attempted to trace other minds linked to the Talisman in her memory. Only one clear contact had been available and even with that he had found himself curiously unable to pursue the normal process of questioning. Shellimil’s methods were subtle and powerful, and he was unaccustomed to failure. He could only conclude that the dreamer was protected in some way, a phenomenon he put down to magic of a kind he had encountered before only in dealing with the Fisher people.
Unable to account precisely for his failure, he dismissed it; the affair was already taking too much time. The compulsion they had placed on the girl would hold for years. He only needed to ensure that she went with this party of ‘Talisman-seekers’ - a simple matter of suggestion while she slept - and through the medium of her dreams he would be able to watch their progress towards the Empire.
He would soon be heading towards the Empire himself to help Chachi take possession of the Talisman. Suntoren had seemed a good base to start with, as a relay point halfway between the Watchmen in Rittabye and Chachi in Karkor. But it was a useless backwater, as he had already reported to the Watchmen. If they agreed, he would travel on to Pillimon Tarkus next, ready to move to any part of the Empire when the actual site of the Talisman’s appearance was confirmed.
Next morning Berin asked Caldar about his nightmare, but he could remember nothing.
“Sounds like the sort of dream that’s best forgotten, anyway. I wonder where those two are; they must have found out something by now.”
The search for Tariska was dominating the thoughts of both the youths and they leaped to their feet when the Tinker came back in the afternoon. One look at their faces and he gave them the news even before he took off his wet cloak. Not only was Tariska alright - she had apparently gone off on impulse to visit friends outside the city - but her attitude had changed completely. She was now willing to go with them and had made no objection when they had arranged for her to set off for Sand City that very evening.
“There may be people watching for us on the south road: almost everyone leaving the Lake goes down to the Sand City. So we’ll travel in separate groups. Tariska first with a drover I know; then Idressin with Berin and Rass tomorrow; then you and I, Caldar, the day after. As much as anything they’ll be on the lookout for two boys, so we’ll have to keep you apart until we get away from here.”
Something nagged at Caldar as he listened. Each mention of Tariska’s name nudged him with a reminder of……what? He tried each time to catch the flicker of thought, but it was too elusive. No matter. She was coming with them and the prospect brought him a surprising glow of pleasure.
Already anticipation of the journey had pushed aside his lingering doubts and questions. They were about to set off into an enormous world he had barely heard of. Questions were irrelevant, Caldar couldn’t wait.
Sand City
Short, wide and scowling, Batl stumped through the crowded campground. This was a particularly bad day in a bad week. Ill humour and aching feet compounded his natural aggression and parted the throng before him like magic.
First of all, why wasn't he on his horse? He hated bloody walking. And why couldn't he wear arms? Not even a short sword, just a dagger hidden in his robe like a woman. And his robes! Black birawi and shimsak like desert scum. It was too much. No Outrider of the Third Chakka would......
He glanced round at the two men following him. Outriders like him, their eyes reflected their own disgust at the situation. Of course they all knew why they were here in this demeaning garb. Orders. And orders from the Chakka-Tarim were obeyed. They were here to weigh up this flea-infested dump as a staging post for up to six full Chakkas. The Ferrets had made their own assessments of all this years ago, but the Tarim put no faith in them. He wanted Borog eyes to see for themselves. The wells were as good as reported, Batl had to admit that, and the fodder in store here would last them several months.
It pleased him to imagine galloping in here with the Outriders of the Blue Snakes and scattering these fat merchants like chickens. It was this happy thought which made the job half-way tolerable. So he followed orders, he waited and he assessed. But why not openly? Why skulking about, covering their heads like cowards? No Outrider covered his head except with a war helmet. But he was just grousing and was fully aware of it. An ordinary Borog would be accepted here without comment, but not an Outrider. The shaven head, the schlipp stiffened with red ochre, marked him for what he was, a killer dedicated to war. The chickens would be in uproar if the fox revealed himself.
He strode on, looking over at a group loading wagons to his left and bumped straight into someone in front of him.
"Out of the way, filth, before I break your neck."
Batl growled the words instinctively, his role forgotten in his surge of annoyance. Slim, white birawi, dark face and black eyes. Tesserit. The man didn't move. In fact his eyes burned with eagerness. Or hatred?
"What's the matter, Prenshi? Someone steal your horse?"
The rider went rigid with fury at the open insult and it took Juggiri's hand on his arm to give his brain time to work. Fool that he was, he'd spoken in Borog-Jat, the Outriders’ special tongue. So much for his disguise. And worse still, the Tesserit had replied in Jat too. The precise insult showed that the man knew him for what he was and for some reason was spoiling for a fight.
The Tarim had chosen the three of them for this job because of their experience: he had said the words to them personally. A fight, or even a confrontation, would draw attention and end their usefulness here. Any rumour of Outriders in disguise would run through the camp like wildfire.
So he stopped groping for the sword that wasn’t there and stared his antagonist full in the face to show that he was not afraid. "This day will return." He spoke the Jat words which were used when a fight was unfinished, stepped stiffly around the man and went on his way.
Rasscu let out a deep breath and looked round for his companions. He found them a few paces away, haggling with a peddler selling leather belts. The moment he strolled over to join them Idressin broke off the bargaining and led them round behind a line of seedy sheds, before rejoining the main thoroughfare. Then he stopped by the fence of a large corral and gazed interestedly at the horses.
"You have to let it go." The tutor did not turn his head, but Rasscu and Berin both knew who had been addressed.
"The bastards are always spoiling for a fight."
"No, Rass. You were spoiling for a fight. He walked round you."
"It’s not like that. I..."
"Yes, it is like that. You want to wipe out the whole Borog race, preferably one at a time. I thought you got most of it out of your system when you were killing them up and down the Highway years ago. How many was it? A round twenty before you realised how pointless it was? No, it doesn’t matter who told me about you. What matters is that you should have grown out of it by now, yet you stiffen up like a hunting dog as soon as you see one and every bit of sense flies out the window. Why d'you think Outriders are here in disguise?"
"They...er, well... I never thought about it."
"Well, think about it now. War’s getting closer all the time. They’ll be here to size up this place as a base. Normally they’d get someone else to do it; Outriders are about the worst choice in the world for spies. But there they are.” He nodded at the three square-built figures still forging slowly through the crowd in the distance. “It can only mean that it’s close.”
“War?” Berin asked in disbelief.
“Maybe. Maybe a big raid. They wouldn’t risk being seen here unless something big was coming, and soon. Whatever it is, we want to steer well clear of it - and them. Anything that draws attention to us is stupid with Kulkin so close. So no more confrontations. Not even if a Borog spits right in your beer."
The Tesserit laughed easily. "I understand..."
"No, you don't." Idressin looked him straight in the face, as he cut him off. "You don't even begin to understand what this journey's all about and what your part
in it will be. That's alright. For the moment, just believe me - we don't want to be noticed."
Esparan: Suntoren
After his friends left for Sand City, Caldar had been like a caged animal. The Tinker was out somewhere and the timid housekeeper wouldn’t talk to him, just got on silently with her chores. At last it was the day of his own departure. The window showed a fine blue morning and he felt good. He bounded down the stairs to find that the Tinker had returned and was already seated at the table, finishing breakfast.
"Full of vigour this morning, are we?" the old man asked scowling. "All ready to rush off and scour the world for a mythical Talisman which is probably the invention of two deluded old men, who ….”
“If you don’t want to hear the truth about yourselves, you and Idressin shouldn’t listen in to our private conversations,” Caldar broke in, calmly helping himself to the bread and cheese on the table. “Anyway things look different when the sun’s shining. I still haven’t got a clue what this is all about, but right now it doesn’t seem to matter.”
He had already taken a large mouthful before it dawned on him that he had got the Tinker to himself for a few days. It was an opportunity not to be missed.
“Tinker?” An encouraging nod and a raised eyebrow led him on. “Why me?” The eyebrow remained raised. “Kulkin kidnapped me, not Berin, and it was me he was asking about in Rimberford. And when you were talking to Jedorje and the others in the tirot, you said it was me you’d been searching for before I was born. Yes, and what’s a Perram?”
Both interest and amusement showed on the Tinker’s face. “What did you say about listening in to private conversations? It seems nothing’s safe, even when we talk in Hamna. The Perram now, it’s too early for you to learn about that; you’ll know all in good time and it’s nothing sinister. As for the rest, you remember we explained to you the other night that you four were all linked into this search for the Talisman? Well, so you are, but not all in the same way. Your role’s likely to be a bit different from the others, less action, but important all the same. Most of what has to be done will be up to them, yet without you what the others do may well come to nothing. Is that clear enough for the moment?
The Tears of Sisme Page 26
