Widely spaced torches threw the wagons of the Grand Caravan into deep shadow and the whole area seemed deserted. Where was everyone? And where was Rasscu? Caldar paused in indecision, heart beginning to thump, then he drew quickly back into the shadows. Three unmistakable huge figures had just crossed the open space between two lines of wagons, only now they were moving cat-footed and carrying knives. The youth shivered, even as he forced himself to trail the guards at a cautious distance.
Suddenly Rasscu was there, stepping out lightly into the torchlight behind the searchers. Unarmed.
“Looking for me, lads?”
The guards reacted instantly, whirling about and crouching for the attack, knives at the ready. Caldar’s stomach went cold with fear at the grim granite faces and pitiless eyes. Then to his utter surprise two of the attackers slowly straightened up and sheathed their knives, their blank expressions masking the wariness shown by their tense bodies.
“That was close,” the biggest and ugliest of the guards said. “We might not have recognized you in the dark.”
“We could a’ got trashed for ten coppers,” his partner added, spitting loudly to show his disgust. “Yer’ll not ‘old it agin us, will yer, Testy? Didn’ know it were you. An yer can put that away, Siccat, unless yer grave’s paid for ‘n ready.”
This was addressed to the third guard, who still stood knife in hand, staring in confusion at his companions. The man facing them was unarmed and no match for any of them physically. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“You bin paid off or what?” he asked.
“No, mate,” the ugly guard replied. “We know the score. You weren’t around back when Testy was one of us, were you? None of us took any notice of him when he signed on, but we soon learned. From the start he never backed off a fight for nobody. I remember the first, him all fresh-faced and slim against this big Chigwa bully boy, built like a brick shithouse, with a nasty reputation. Didn’t last two minutes, and from then on fist, stick, or knife, made no matter, he wiped the floor with everyone. After the first year you couldn’t get a bet on him anywhere between Tarkus and Graxi and he was earning top wages every trip. Nobody robbed a wagon train Testy was guarding, well, not robbed it and lived. So do what Gerrok told you and put your knife away, while you have the choice. That’s better.”
“Wot yer doin’now, Testy?” This respectfully from the second guard. “I was jus’ thinkin’, they’re payin’ us top whack cos of this war scare. Yer’d earn a packet, if yer came back on the TG run wi’ us.”
“I’m doing the whole Empire loop with the Caravan, Gerrok. My share’s riding in this wagon too, so I’m going to see it through.”
“Right enough. Want us to attend to this Nexi fella? Break a leg or two?”
“No, I’ll settle it.”
“We’ll be off then. No ‘ard feelin’s?”
Rasscu clasped the proffered hands and smiled. “No hard feelings. Good drinking, guys.”
He watched them leave, then without turning called out softly, “You can come out now, Caldar. They won’t be back.”
Caldar found himself staring at the Tesserit as if he’d never seen him before. “Testy?”
“Short for Tesserit,” Rasscu explained with a sigh, “or maybe bad-tempered Tesserit. Look that was all a long time ago, I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll admit it saved trouble tonight, but I’d rather you just forgot it all, Caldar. Alright? And I’ll deal with Nexi in my own way. Come and have a drink at the wagon and let’s talk about something else.”
Starting the next morning the second dry stretch of desert was almost an exact repetition of the first, three days of dust and thirst under a diffused blaze of sunlight from the hazy sky. The wells at the end were even more welcome and this time the water was clear and sweet.
"We're nearing Tarkus now," Rasscu remarked that evening as they returned from watering the mules. "Sweetest water in the world."
"You been here before, Rass? You never talk about it."
"It’s not something I like to remember.” He paused, then went on, “ It’s when I was looking for my sister, Tarkus was the furthest west I came. Once I’d spent some time here, I knew it was pointless to go searching the Empire. Everything and everyone going west passes through Tarkus, and the Highway separates here to go south to Belugor and north to Dendria. I wouldn't have known where to start."
"What's Tarkus like?"
Rasscu laughed. "Well, it's different from anywhere you've seen before, I'll tell you that much. You can find out for yourself tomorrow night."
Caldar felt a stir of anticipation as they set out the following day. The haze made it impossible to see far ahead, but by mid-morning something was beginning to loom high above the desert floor in front of them, separating slowly into two indistinct shapes to right and left. All through the afternoon they grew and took on form. Far from shrinking, as many things did in the desert on closer approach, the shapes ahead rose higher and higher until they resolved themselves into two immense rocky headlands jutting out into the sand. In the great natural bay between them lay the city.
Crops, low buildings, and campgrounds filled the flats for miles. Behind, tier upon multi-coloured tier, the city lapped up against the rocky walls like a huge wave. Caldar was amazed to see the richness of the fields they were passing and the green of trees laced everywhere among the crowded buildings of the city behind. There was an elusive scent on the air, like an unknown blossom, and after the monotony of the arid lands behind them sudden excitement rose within him.
"It is a fair city, is it not?" said a voice in heavily accented Shattun. Caldar looked round and found a man in a black birawi looking down on him from a camel. "And we keep a warm welcome for people who bear special signs." His white teeth flashed as he laughed harshly at the look on Caldar’s face. Then touching his steed, the stranger rode off swiftly ahead of them towards Pillimon Tarkus.
Chapter 14
WARNING
Notice is hereby given that the penalties for fraudulent use of Free City Origin Certificates have been increased with immediate effect.
1. for the use of or the provision of forged Certificates the penalty is now death
2. for the incorrect use of Complete Origin Certificates:
~ in connection with Labour-only goods the penalty is now confiscation and a fine of up to five times the value of the goods seized.
~ in connection with Transit goods, sourced and manufactured totally outside the Free Cities, the penalty is now confiscation and a fine of up to ten times the value of the goods seized and a sentence of one year’s imprisonment
Note: These penalties apply to first offenders. Repeat offences carry heavier penalties.
Note: Complete Origin Certificates and Partial Origin Certificates will no longer be issued for goods with a registerable content from Pillimon Graxi unless a valid Graxi Origin Certificate is produced with the application
By Order of The Council Of Merchants. Pillimon Tarkus
Pillimon Tarkus
The carpet shop was in one of the busier sectors of the enormous market. Crowds eddied to and fro across its open front, a few stopping to examine its wares. None took any note of the figure dozing on a stack of carpets at the back, clad in the blue-edged robe and blue shimsak worn by the wealthier merchant families of Pillimon Tarkus. Hot inside the shimsak, Caldar was far from dozing. Every time a black birawi appeared among the ceaseless flow in the narrow alley, he watched closely for any unusual behaviour.
The human tide contained a variety of race and dress which he could not begin to classify. Black birawis seemed uncommon and none of their wearers took any interest in the carpet shop or in the eating house opposite. The man on the camel could of course have changed his robes, as he himself had done; but then, Caldar reflected wryly, the task of watching out for him was impossible. There were simply too many people. Buyers, beggars, sellers, strollers, porters, officials, errand boys, flowed past him in their thousands.
; Of course that meant he and his friends were safe too. Tarkus was such a teeming hive that he didn’t see how any searchers could locate them. He relaxed against the carpets and thought back to their arrival.
S’Bissi was immediately in his element in Tarkus. Well used to tented camps, he was nevertheless much more at ease in luxurious houses. Once he had seen the wagons installed in one of the well-ordered campgrounds, he quickly transferred himself the same evening to the home of his local agent, taking Tariska with him. Within a day he had sounded out the local prices, the state of trade, the effects of the war scare, and every other bit of news. The next day he began trading, and although most of his goods were intended for the Empire, he thoroughly enjoyed himself playing the age-old game of buy-and-sell.
The campground was well-guarded. Being out on the flats, it was also hot and dusty. Leaving Rasscu with the wagon at his own request, Idressin moved into town with Berin and Caldar on the same day as S’Bissi, into a similar opulent quarter, but on the other side of the Snake Gardens. This feature split Tarkus in two. Caldar never discovered whether the name referred to its sinuous shape or to the little market at its eastern end which sold snakes along with other animals. At their innermost point the cliffs delineating the great natural bay that contained the city swept into a narrow 'V' and then closed the short canyon with a towering headwall. The back door to Tarkus was shut. But from the foot of this final cliff flowed its lifeblood, an unfailing torrent of crystal clear water.
Thousands of channels cut into the rock and covered with flagstones to prevent evaporation carried the water miles away to the furthest reaches of the city, while down the middle of the valley wound the main stream, and the Snake Gardens lined its course from the cave at its source right through the city centre.
On their first visit the boys were speechless with delight. These were not natural gardens. Whoever made them had been deliberately extravagant with water. It spouted from fountains, frothed down cascades and slid smoothly over little waterfalls on every side. Lovely flowers and shrubs crowded close, cool under the canopy of tall trees. To the desert traveller it was a breathtaking wonder, and Caldar could see why the drivers had spoken longingly of their arrival here.
There were other quarters which were not so appealing. On the third day they went with Idressin round the city's northern wing, where the full heat of the sun was trapped and intensified by the looming cliffs above. They walked for half an hour through one large sector, where instead of ordinary houses the streets were lined with huge blocky buildings, their blank walls pierced only by narrow slits.
"Don't they want any daylight in these buildings?" Berin asked the tutor. "They must live in the dark all the time."
"These are mostly warehouses," Idressin replied. "The slits are for ventilation only. They're made too narrow even for a child to get into; there are plenty of thieves of all ages here. That building with the small windows will be a factory for . . ." He checked for a moment, threw a quick glance at their puzzled faces, and then resumed, "I keep forgetting you've never been away from the Lake before. A factory's a place where a lot of people work together to make something in large quantities, carpets, clothing, pottery, wagons, almost anything you can think of, even baskets. You remember the basket-maker's workshop in Torven. Well, these are the same kind of thing on a much bigger scale. A lot of people in the Empire work in factories like this."
"But there are people making all those things already, aren't there? What's the point of making lots more? And who'd want to work in there?" Caldar pointed at a particularly sinister building with heavy bars set in its tiny windowspaces. "It looks really grim to me."
"Well, working in there may be better than what they've come from. Tarkus is full of runaways of every kind. And it's full of flourishing businesses too, because it's a free trade city. That's what 'Pillimon' means." The tutor looked at his companions. "Another thing you don't know about. Every country, sometimes every region, levies taxes on all goods that cross its borders, in or out. So things are much cheaper in Tarkus than they are once they've crossed a border or two. It's a honeypot for every ambitious trader."
“But…” Berin began
“Yes, Berin, you’re quite right, it’s more complicated than that. Just take my word for it, there’s a lot of money being made here.”
They circled on in the stifling heat until eventually they came to a shabby district of tall houses, built of the ubiquitous yellow bricks of the city, but old and crumbling and huddled close together, the alleyways between them slits of utter darkness, the few visible inhabitants soft-footed and furtive. Idressin led them to a dwelling indistinguishable from its neighbours and ducked through the low doorway without pausing. It was cool in the dark room inside and they sat down gratefully beside the tutor under the scrutiny of a pair of watchful eyes.
The old man hunched opposite Idressin said nothing and remained completely motionless; only when the tutor was about to speak, did he make an economical gesture with his right hand to caution silence. Moments later a boy slipped in from the rear of the room, whispered something to the old man while letting his curious eyes range over the visitors, then went out again.
"Now I can welcome you, as I should, Ashemi," their host began in perfect Shattun. "Peace be upon you and all your family."
Berin looked at Idressin in surprise; 'Ashemi', as he understood it, was a form of address for someone of high rank. The tutor replied formally to the greeting, and the old man continued. "Even here in Tarkus, things are not as they used to be. We have to check that there are no unfriendly ears nearby if we wish to speak freely. My grandson Djemba and his friends will keep watch."
"The threat of war is taken so seriously?"
“You know the old saying, ‘trade or war, Tarkus is the front line’. But it is not just war. The Empire is in turmoil and the ripples reach out to disturb us Taraks here in the desert. The Mederros are gaining ground in the south. The Malefori make more noise about independence every day, while the Dendrian barons sit by like vultures waiting their chance. And Karkor is not handling things well. The local governors are being allowed to raise taxes, appropriate private land, pass harsher laws, everything guaranteed to make the Emperor even more unpopular. It is nothing directly to do with us, but we suffer for their uncertainties. The Imperial currency is losing value daily: trade fluctuates wildly, down one week and panic buying the next: there are agents from both sides everywhere and the infighting is just beginning to get really nasty. You know Count Dremsa was murdered?”
“Murdered? You’re sure?”
“Certainly. It was a Terrechar killing.”
“Now that’s something S’Bissi didn’t tell us. You’re sure it was them, not just another rumour.”
“No, it has gone past that. There has been too much evidence. In Dremsa’s case it came out that the assassin had cut the Char into the Count’s forehead.”
“That’s not proof,” Idressin said doubtfully. “It’s been done before by ordinary killers to shift the blame.”
“Not any more. There are a few who have made that mistake recently: the Terrechar hunted them down, each one, cut little symbols all over them, and left them to die in very public places. No, Ashemi, the Terrechar are back. Dremsa had fifty personal guards day and night, two of them in his bedchamber that very night, yet no one saw a thing. Someone gave the Terrechar a contract for his death.”
“Who?”
The Tarak shrugged. “Someone very rich. There are a lot of theories, but no one knows for sure. Neither side stood to gain much advantage from his death. Whoever it was, they have sparked off real trouble here. Dremsa left a son, but the Council of Merchants will not accept his authority as Prelect; they say he has not been properly invested. It is a stalemate and the city government is beginning to fall apart.”
“Who’s supporting Dremsa’s son?”
“The Empire. There are many in Karkor who object to our Free status and would like to bring us within the Empire, and the
possibility of war lends strength to their arguments. The new Count has recently acquired several hundred extra ‘guards’ and it takes little effort to guess who their paymasters are. On the other side the Merchants Council controls the city police and you will not be surprised to hear that their numbers are swelling also. It is common knowledge that a majority of the merchants already favour the Quezmas and there are some large bribes changing hands.”
"The city seems normal enough. There's no feel of civil war, no threat on the streets."
"No, it is quiet as yet. This is all very recent, and up till now there has been more talk than action. It will not stay like that much longer. A couple of traders were murdered last week. I know this city has never been free of violence: there are so many transients. But both men were prominent supporters of the Merchants Council and there is no question about who stands to benefit from their removal. Anyway that is enough about our problems. I just wanted you to know why we are less trusting than we were the last time you came through. You came here today to hear news of the Tinker, did you not?"
"Yes, F'Tetchi. I’ve had no word from him since he left the caravan. Is he still in Tarkus or has he gone ahead?"
"He left the day before you arrived. He had news here which disturbed him - he never told me what it was - and departed in haste for Belugor."
"He went south?" The question was quick with interest. "That’s definite?"
"Absolutely. He told me himself. His words for you were: 'I must go south. Time may be shorter than we believed. I will meet you at the Glass House before Winterturn. It is very dangerous for Fordosk to be seen at this time.' That was the whole of it."
The tutor sat rapt in thought for several minutes, while the others waited.
“Fordosk is long dead,” he said musingly as if to himself. Then he looked up at F'Tetchi. "So we must decide for ourselves whether we go north or south from here. What would you advise?"
The Tears of Sisme Page 31
