"What about Tarkus then?"
"A miserable mess by the sound of it." It was clear from his tone that the merchant liked his trading cities to be well-ordered. " The old Prelect, Count Dremsa, died two months ago and his son tried to take over with the Empire's backing. But the Council of Merchants raised all sorts of objections and so far they haven't formally acknowledged him. Trade goes on as normal, in fact it's hotting up if anything: everyone's scurrying to get as much business done as possible before war closes the Highway. But the power struggle in the background is very real and people are being murdered on both sides. It’s a sure bet that most of the traders on the Council are in the Republic's pay; the Quezmas desperately need Tarkus if they're planning to invade the Empire."
"I notice you say 'the Quezmas', not 'we'," the Tinker commented.
"We Trinta will be dragged into this war the stupid Ferrets are cooking up, but we don't have to like it. Anyway the Empire's nervous about losing Tarkus and rightly so by my reckoning . They've trebled the garrison in the camp south of the city. They can't actually station troops in Tarkus, the Taraks are very touchy about their Free City status, as you know."
"And beyond Tarkus?" the Tinker asked. "You'll be going by Dendria, won't you? We're still not sure if that's our best route to Razimir."
"Such an interesting word 'best'," S’Bissi remarked. "For me the best route is the one which provides the most profit. For you….," he glanced at his guests, "it's not speed that matters, or you wouldn't be coming with the caravan. So you must mean the safest or perhaps the one most likely to lead you to this treasure of yours."
"Stop fishing, S’Bissi. Come on, what news from the Empire?"
"Well, from what I hear the Imperial Army's being brought up to strength. No conscription yet, but plenty of visible activity, particularly around Karkor and in the frontier areas. And the Special Forces - have you heard of them? Nasty bunch, started about twelve, fifteen years ago as a sort of political police."
"General Semikarek?"
"He's been dead a few years, executed for annoying his superiors, as I heard it," Idressin corrected. "It's Theyn now, isn't it, S’Bissi?"
"That's right. Apparently he's expanded the force a lot. Ambitious by all accounts and able too. He was new in the job when I last went through three years ago. His information network has quite a reputation now, scares a lot of people."
"I said it before, Tinker, these are definitely people to be wary of," Idressin commented.
"Don’t worry, I’m not underestimating the danger from any quarter on this journey: danger to the others or to you,” the Tinker replied pointedly. “But why would they be interested in a few very ordinary travellers in the middle of a Grand Caravan?"
"Let me answer that," the merchant intervened smoothly. "There are a number of reasons why they may take an interest in you. This treasure for a start. Do they know of it? Do they know of you and your search?"
"Someone does, but we're hoping we've given them the slip already. Anyway it's not the Imperial authorities, I'm sure of that."
"Alright, let's say they know nothing of you. There's still the fact that most of you are foreigners. While you're with the caravan, no one will notice, we're a real assortment. Go off on your own and you'll find it very different. There's a new law forcing aliens to register and even among ordinary people there's a growing hatred of foreigners, particularly in the big cities. The authorities will pick up on a group like yours straight away. The Special Forces spends most of its time looking for spies and traitors, while the army have got roadblocks all over Belugor because of the civil war."
"Still the Mederros?" the tutor queried.
"Yes, they haven't crushed them yet. In fact the rebels have done well recently, kicked the army out of more than half the province."
The merchant paused, contemplating his wine for a moment, before resuming in a more serious tone. " You must already know most of the factors which are affecting the stability of the Empire. It's the whole picture you need to grasp, then you'll see why tensions are so high at this time. The Emperor's condition varies from poor to terminal: that in itself puts the power structure of the Empire in question, even more so since Prince Hesky died."
"I thought Hesky’s daughter Shkosta had been made Heir," Idressin put in.
"Not officially. The old man seems to have some reservations about her, political, personal, whatever, no one knows. She's part of the trouble. Everyone wrote her off as a butterfly when she came to court, pretty young princess getting under people's feet. No matter if she did succeed to the throne, she'd not hold it long. But apparently she's steadied up a bit recently and people are beginning to wonder what her real ambitions are.
Meanwhile the Families are madly scheming for position in the background, lining up their own candidates for the throne. None of them dare press their case openly; Habbakal may be frail, but he's far from senile and he'd have their heads if they overstepped the mark.
Away from Karkor it’s much worse. The provincial Governors are busy lining their own pockets: of course they always did, but it’s on a bigger scale now and increasingly overt. All the aristocracy, the Families, the Barons, the big landowners, are taking advantage of the uncertainty in the capital and gradually reimposing the old feudal system across their own territories. You can imagine just how popular that is. The Mederros aren’t the only rebels. There a strong movement for secession in Malefor: all the rhetoric is directed against the Emperor, but it’s fuelled by local grievances.
So you can see, the Empire's in poor shape for war. They're going through the motions, more troops, more weapons, more taxes of course, but their thoughts are on the situation in Karkor. If Habbakal doesn't settle the succession before he dies, will it be civil war? Or is someone going to emerge strong enough to seize the throne and hold onto it? There's no one in sight yet."
"You're saying it's this uncertainty that's breeding most of the trouble?" the Tinker prompted.
"Yes, that and the war. Taken together they put everyone on edge. A year or so back the provincial authorities in Dendria started taking over some of the best farmland on the pretext that they were setting up Imperial estates in preparation for the war: the farmers protested, the authorities treated it as a rebellion and sent the army in, so suddenly there's forty dead farmers, several hundred more outlaws out in the hills, and a lot of frightened and discontented citizens in the whole area. Frankly, Tinker, I'll be glad when this trip's over. Then I'm going to stay safely at home until the war's settled one way or another and someone new is firmly in place on the Leopard throne."
"It's as dangerous as I thought it would be," Idressin said to the Tinker. "It may be hard to keep them safe for so long."
"You could look at it the other way," the Tinker replied judiciously. "Everyone's so frantically busy with their own concerns that we'll simply pass unnoticed in the turmoil. In fact the one who’ll be in real danger is you."
“No, I’m dead.”
“Don’t be too confident. There are still plenty of people who know your face. Don’t forget, it’s just as important that you come through this too.”
Before the tutor could reply S’Bissi said softly, "Some dangers may be closer than the Empire." He looked from one to the other of his guests in the ensuing silence. When no question was forthcoming from either, he resumed. "It really grieves me that I'm not going to be properly rewarded for all this information I’ve gathered, information which may well save your lives…." He let the words trail off, his eyes discreetly down on the carpet.
There was no response.
The little Trinta sighed. "Your silence is answer enough. Very well then, out of friendship I will give you two other valuable pieces of news. You told me that someone may be searching for you or your companions. Well, there’s word out on the Highway for a youth of about the age of Sitch and Tupar, but it's not new; the reward's been on offer for some years now, a big one, I just picked it up in Graxi this time through because I asked. Seems they're afte
r a youth with a triple birthmark on his chest. No? No birthmarks among you? Ah well, you can't win every time."
"And the other piece of good news?" the Tinker asked evenly.
Their host pursed his lips in thought before beginning. "This is vaguer and may not be of interest to you, but I thought you should know. There’s a possibility that a Spinner passed through Graxi a short time before the caravan."
"Coming west?" Idressin made no attempt to conceal his sharp interest.
"So it was said." S’Bissi shrugged.
There was a short disbelieving silence.
“And your informant?” the Tinker asked. There were few who even knew of the existence of the Spinners. S’Bissi did, because the Tinker had told him.
“A doigo who owes me many favours. He was scared witless, but he was telling the truth. Called him an Inductor, which is their name for the people who create the mihexes.”
“If Meruvai was right, that may be the second one," Idressin said softly, his eyes on the Tinker. “But Spinners don’t come out.”
"Not since…. a very long time ago," the old man murmured, his eyes focused on something far away. Then abruptly he got to his feet and bowed his head politely to his host. "Thank you, S’Bissi. That was most interesting. You can give us more details about the Empire along the way and no doubt we'll have frequent discussions as to what all this information is worth. Right now I need to go and water the desert. Good night, my friends."
Chapter 13
South Lake Chandlers: All supplies for caravans, parties or individual travellers. Food, water, fodder, salt, clothing, tarpaulins, blankets, etc. Wagons for sale - new and used. Same day wagon repairs. Mules/oxen/horses sale or lease. Find us in Area 2. Shattun and all main languages spoken.
Su'Dem: Can't wait. Gone to Tarkus. Fireclay Street.
Hoo Chaksa: Priest from Yimling Precinct, on continuous travelling commission, Graxi-Sand City-Tarkus & return. Services held at all major campsites. All Trinta welcome. Next Sand City visits: Winterturn. 2M30D. 5M7D.
Destination Graxi and Beyond? Then you will need Identification of Origin and an Entry Permit to the Quezma Republic. To avoid delay at the frontier, call at the Quezma Immigration Office opposite Pier 17 in Graxi and get your papers in advance. Quezma Immigration Department, Rittabye.
Reward: Runaway slaves. All reports to Slave Market Controller, Tarkus or Graxi. Rewards payable for all information leading to successful recapture.
Female. Dendrian. 15 years. No: EM31 left shoulder. Brown eyes & hair.
Male. Mederro. 30 years. No: DAR1871 left arm. Third finger left hand missing.
Male. Cheftiz.
Messages on Notice Board: Sand City Campground, Area 1.
The Great Highway
The travellers spent the two following days trying to become more comfortable in their new roles and helping with the thousand and one little preparations which seemed to be necessary for the six hundred mile stretch to Pillimon Tarkus. There were good wells at intervals on the trail, but there would be several dry camps also, and even the spare water bags had to be checked for leaks. One of the mules bought to pull Idressin's wagon proved to be lame and had to be exchanged. And there seemed to be a shortage of salt in Sand City; Caldar watched G'shenni do some hard bargaining to obtain even a small amount.
Things rose to a crescendo on the second evening as everyone made ready for the morning departure. Amidst all the bustle none of them noticed the small cloaked figure that the Tinker escorted to S’Bissi's tent. It was only later, when Caldar was delivering a requested bottle of wine, that he saw Tariska seated next to Berin who was already there, having some status as Idressin's 'nephew'. He was about to blurt out a greeting, when the Tinker caught his eye and signalled caution. Tariska herself never looked up.
"Thank you, Sitch. Put it down there, will you, we'll help ourselves. Well, S’Bissi, thank you for your hospitality. I think I'll go and have a final look at my horse. His last owner seems to have treated him badly and he's going to take a bit of settling down."
The old man followed Caldar out of the tent, then waved to him to follow as he walked through the darkness to the paddock where all the animals belonging to their party were being held.
"It's safe to talk here. Just remember that’s rarely going to be true. I stopped you back there, because you were about to step right out of character, and there was another man in there, beyond Idressin, a trader who was calling on S’Bissi. From now on you're Sitch, the ostler, to all of us all the time. I know it's difficult to bear it in mind every minute, Caldar, but try. It might save your life, and maybe ours too. You're Tesseri, a blood relative to Rasscu, who can invent a fine family tree for you. The Tesseri along the South Shore speak Esparit all the time anyway, so that will explain your accent, and it’ll be natural for you to wear the shimsak. It's a very practical piece of clothing as well as being a wonderful disguise. And I'll get a birawi for you, it's looser and cooler than your tunic.
As for Tariska, we're passing her off as the daughter of a relative of S’Bissi's, who’s escorting her to Razimir to get married. That way no one's going to find it remarkable that he’s keeping a close eye on her; the Trinta are very traditional about these things. So act respectful and treat her as a stranger, at least to start with."
The Tinker duly had a look at his horse, then they wandered back to the camp. Caldar didn't like the cramped servants' tent and decided to sleep out by the wagon with Rasscu. Unfamiliar smells of strange merchandise and camels and spices, redolent of the eastern lands the caravan had left, drifted on the night air, and the lights of hundreds of campfires flickered all around. Now that they were about to leave, the simple excitement of it all ran in his blood like strong drink, and he was a long time getting to sleep.
It was still dark when the hulking Nexi roused him to help strike camp. Everyone assisted except S’Bissi and Idressin who sat grandly on the last carpet sipping picha, while everything around them disappeared like magic. By dawn the sprawling town that had been the Grand Caravan's temporary quarters had vanished, the beggars and the whores had moved off in search of new customers, and the long train of wagons and animals was forming up.
Eventually the lead wagons moved out onto the Highway, followed two hours later by the last stragglers. In accordance with his status as a trader, the silk merchant's wagons were near the front, a position which guaranteed less dust and the pick of the campsites each night.
The scenery varied little in the days that followed. To the south the ground fell away imperceptibly, until below them in the far distance they could see the shimmering flat furnace of the Great Desert stretching into infinity, while on the north side arid hills paralleled their route. Apart from the omnipresent cacti, the only vegetation they came across was in the wide canyons and gullies which carved their way down through the barren ridges. The night stops were on these dry watercourses, where great wells had been sunk and pools constructed, so that the animals could be fed and watered.
At first it was exciting for Berin, departure into the big unknown world, the desert country emphasising how quickly and completely he was being cut off from the Lake, which had formed the background for his whole life. After two or three days he was falling into the routine of caravan life, and after a week, during which the scenery and the stifling weather changed not a whit, he was beginning to find his new surroundings ordinary.
He had set himself to learn from G'Shenni the names of the plants and creatures which inhabited this dessicated landscape. It had not taken long. The few plants all seemed to be prickly and the creatures bit or stung. Even the tiny sandflies, tireless companions which accompanied them every step of the way, jabbed with remarkable ferocity at exposed flesh.
The bustle of the highway held his interest a lot longer. There were times when the caravan seemed to be alone, a column of men, animals and dust inching along over the surface of a deserted land. Such solitude was rare. Fast-moving pack trains overtook them frequently and
on some days the traffic heading east against them seemed almost continuous. When the highway was in the open, the trains spread out far to each side to pass each other: when it was confined by ravines or rocky ground, the result was often a maelstrom of men and animals pushing doggedly ahead in both directions.
The Grand Caravan deviated for no one. The Caravan Master put six of his mounted guards at the front, flanking the largest of the wagons. Their job was simply to forge ahead: regardless of what confronted them, the caravan had to be kept moving. If an oncoming pack train would not make way, they brushed them aside. If a broken-down wagon obstructed the highway, they hitched ropes to it and dragged it straight off the road, deaf to the owner’s protests.
He saw little of Caldar, who seemed to be always busy or fast asleep. Rasscu was driving all day and off somewhere every evening, Tariska was uncommunicative, and Idressin spent much of his time talking to S’Bissi. As a member of a merchant’s family Berin was not allowed to help with the daily chores and in the end he had to admit his main enemy was boredom. He wondered how it was for Caldar.
Nexi hitched the string of mules behind the last of S’Bissi’s wagons and cantered forward. He was supposed to keep the pack string off to one side whenever possible, to minimise the amount of dust collecting in the bedding and in S’Bissi’s personal effects, and also to watch all the merchant’s wagons and report any problems at once. Well, right now he was prepared to ignore the rules. He had caught a glimpse of a small figure riding the bench beside the driver of the merchant’s rear wagon and he wanted a closer look.
He was sure it was that girl, the distant ‘relative’ of S’Bissi’s, who had improbably appeared in Sand City. The packer hawked and spat loudly. Hoo curse this dust! If he’d known it was going to be like this, he’d never have come. He grinned to himself. No, truth was he’d had to come because it was better than hanging. Three years away with the caravan and the blood feud he’d started back at home should have cooled down. Even eating dust as servant to a fat pimp was worth it if it saved his life.
The Tears of Sisme Page 28
