Juguba ruled the women's deck with a firm hand, however, and at least once a week her niece, Amrusa, handed out a whipping to some poor sister who had broken the rules and been convicted. Petty thefts, reported insults, and curse calling against Juguba were the usual crimes. Everyone realized that they needed Juguba's affections and behaved accordingly. Chiknulba had sensed that Juguba enjoyed receiving worship and indulged her whenever possible.
Simona hated to see her mother become a groveler, but she also understood why poor Chiknulba would do it. They remained aboard the Anvil only as long as they enjoyed the favor of Juguba Heuze. Without that favor they'd be going back to the nightmarish, poverty-stricken existence of the Growler.
There was no other choice until they could get off the ships, and even then it would be years before they had the chance to live as they once had, in reasonable comfort with access to the open air. Until then, Chiknulba would trim her sails to the prevailing winds. She'd learned her lesson from Vli Shuzt. If bowing and scraping was what it took, then Chiknulba of the Gsekk would be happy to do it.
But for all the luxury Simona wanted nothing more than to be sent back to the Growler, where Rukkh could come and look upon her. Where he could promise her marriage in his eyes.
Simona had realized that Rukkh might be the last chance she would get of reaching the safety of legal marriage. Single women were not considered part of Shasht society. Dire things happened to them.
Also at work, as she herself sometimes reflected on bitterly, was her need to have a man, any man, almost. She wanted to feel more than just this empty longing for fulfillment on a physical level. No amount of prayer made this desire go away.
Rukkh was her way out, but now she would not see Rukkh, unless he came to her after the landing. And that might not be possible, since he would be under military orders.
Later, when things were sorted out in the new colony and Filek's improved status confirmed, it would be impossible for her to be shown to Rukkh. They would go on showing her to men of her own class, who would look on her and yet turn away because of the strawberry mark.
Simona felt a familiar choking despair rising up. She looked out over the rail and into the blue waters. The land was visible, just a mile away. A green blur of slopes, a distant set of hills, but it might as well have been a thousand miles distant, for she could not reach it. It would remain there, verdant, inviting, cloaked in mists that spoke of the freshness of morning, and always out of reach.
It would be months before the first purdah building was completed and women could be safely moved ashore. Simona could hardly wait for that day, and yet she dreaded it, too, because it would sever her line to Rukkh.
Oh, she thought, to be back home in Shasht and in my old life. Simona thought she'd give anything for that. To be able to ride up at Shesh Zob. To walk in the woods, to swim in the lake, to live completely free of restraint.
She turned away. It was not wise to stay too long on the gallery, or someone would comment upon it to Juguba.
While his wife and daughter were enjoying an enormous increase in the quality of their lives, Filek Biswas, too, had found himself elevated in the world. He continued to tend Admiral Heuze, whose stump healed quickly.
Thanks to the admiral's explicit orders, the Anvil's ship's surgeon and his staff were still kept at arm's length. The admiral had appointed Filek as his personal surgeon, and in his position he was quite capable of making that appointment.
The priests had accepted Filek's move and had made no protest. Heuze was a good ship commander, and his squadron had performed well throughout the mission. Heuze also had good relations with Nebbeggebben, the Imperial Scion. So Heuze was indulged by the yellow tops. The surgeon, Biswas, would be watched carefully and his dossier expanded. Someday they would take him, but not yet.
At first the admiral had simply been grateful for Filek's medical skill.
"No pain!" he said over and over. "Didn't feel a damned thing."
Then, over the next few days, the admiral grew fond of talking with Biswas while Filek kept the stump clean and dressed. Admiral Heuze had found, as he might have expected, that Filek Biswas was a very cultured man, attuned to the life of the great city. In other words, someone to talk to.
Heuze himself had grown up in the city in a good family and recalled that wonderful social round. Being at sea a lot removed him from the glamorous scene, but he remained a devotee of the great arts: the chorales, the orchestras, and the theaters. He tried to attend such events whenever he was lucky enough to be posted to the city.
Regrettably, the admiral had to admit, he got to the theater relatively rarely now. In recent times the pressure to feed the shipyards in Shasht had kept him working the Bekwana route. He'd spent far too much time in those frigid waters, fetching the very materials they'd built this damned great fleet from.
And so, that afternoon, as his daughter gloomed alone several decks farther down, Filek sat down to dine with the admiral, alone in the grand cabin. Filek had sensed the admiral's hunger for the world of culture and had been able to tease it along a bit with stories of great performances he had seen at the theater or participated in at the chorales.
On this occasion he could see that the admiral was especially excited about something. Then the servants brought in platters of hot moogah and steamed pudding bread.
"Biswas, you're a man with an interest in the artistic side of things. I have something to show you, just as soon as we've cleared our plates. Damned fine moogah tonight, don't you think?"
Ship's moogah was a stir of onions and meat scraps flavored with hot peppers and served over the steamed bread pudding. The result was very filling.
"Excellent, Admiral."
Filek spooned up the heavy stuff, thick with fat. It was a welcome change from the biscuit and rancid cheese that was all they'd been eating a few weeks before.
"Here, have some of this grog." The admiral poured a generous dollop into Filek's mug. He took a sip. It was sweetened and mixed strong, the way the admiral liked it, and Filek felt light-headed almost at once. Filek had never been a man for strong spirits.
"Ah, very good," he said, setting the mug down carefully.
They ate steadily while the admiral discoursed on the situation ashore, where things were going more slowly than they should have.
"And if something isn't done to speed up those buildings, then I think Master Muis will be losing some prize possessions between his legs and going down to the slave quarters." He laughed.
Filek nodded and smiled and shivered inside. Muis was the builder in charge of erecting the sheds for the camp. In the old world he'd been the architect of the new Imperial City buildings in Shasht. Somewhere he'd fallen afoul of the highest authority, for now he risked his manhood for some stinking sheds built from scavenged beams on this wild, though beautiful shore.
The admiral concluded his thoughts on the situation ashore and took a pull on his grog.
"So, that's my scuttlebutt. What's yours, Biswas. What's been going on in the surgery? Or the rest of the damned ship for that matter. Jarls won't tell me a thing. Can't wait until I can finally get up and move around again. Been lying around in here for far too long."
"In the surgery we've had fewer operations. We seem to have sewn up everyone who survived the fight."
"Indeed, that's good news."
"Far higher casualties than I was expecting."
"Yes, well let us say that high command is thinking furiously about that. The damned, fornicating monkeys put up quite a fight for the little city."
"It is a city isn't it?"
"By all accounts. I've yet to go ashore myself, either."
"I wasn't expecting a city."
"Heh, don't tell anyone this, but nor were the priests."
Filek chuckled, but carefully. This was a dangerous area for someone in his position. For all he knew, Heuze was a creature of the priests, and they were using him to test Filek Biswas for rebellious taint. But the admiral plowe
d on into the priest-infested waters.
"All that stuff about the monkeys not having a culture, you can forget it. They have culture, and it must be quite an interesting one."
Filek's eyebrows rose at this. The admiral was certainly stepping over certain lines. If the priests were listening, they could put him to the questions at once.
"How could you be so sure? These places they inhabited might have been built by higher beings, men like ourselves. The monkeys have merely taken them over as shelters."
"So the priests have been saying. But they put up a helluva fight, and we took a lot of casualties. Lots of arrowheads in our men, is that right?"
"Lots."
"Which means the damned monkeys are bright enough to use a bow, and presumably smart enough to make one. You see, they must have culture of some sort."
"Well, I will let the priests make that determination. 'Tis the business only of the Great God." Filek hoped that would be enough to see him to safety, if the conversation was being eavesdropped by a red top hidden in the walls.
"Oh yes, He Who Eats will take care of us all, but these monkeys are more than the priests thought they were, that I can guarantee you."
Filek shrugged.
"Take a look at this." The admiral took up a roll tied at both ends. He loosed the bows, and unrolled a very finely made mat. Filek was struck by the immediate beauty of the design, limned in very strong line and executed in bold colors. Large chickens with a wild sense of glee about them were dancing alongside oversize beetles on background of green wheat. It was all made of straw and similar fibers, but it was stunning work, and Filek sat back and stared at the admiral with his mouth open.
"This is work of the monkeys?"
"It came from the city, along with lots of other stuff like it. This is a really good one, what do you think?"
"It's beautiful. It's incredible, I've never seen work so fine."
"What do you think they'd fetch back in Shasht?"
Filek's eyes boggled. Among the cognoscenti, work like this would fetch fabulous sums. "Hundreds of gold pieces, at the least."
"Heh, heh, I'm going to bet that quite a lot of these things are going to find their way back to Shasht, despite the priests' best efforts."
Filek stiffened.
The admiral had noticed.
"Calm your nerves, Biswas. No red top can get close up here without my knowing about it."
Filek shifted uncomfortably. "This is amazing work. And you say there is more?"
"Oh yes, there are lots and lots of mats like this, plus carpets and tapestry work that is just as good. There are wood carvings, too, very realistic work, as good as any you'll see in Shasht."
"This is amazing. Such artistic heights in such humble creatures."
"Heh, heh, might make it hard to stamp them out completely, eh?"
Filek swallowed hard. This mat with these delightfully wicked-looking chickens was the work of creatures that he and the admiral were cheerfully eating.
After a moment, he began to feel distinctly queasy.
He made it to the rail, but only just in time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
When the first round of meetings and talks finally ended, Thru and Nuza fell asleep on a corner of the floor of the taproom of the Sonf tavern. Their sleep was haunted by terrible dreams in which piles of heads appeared again and again. In those piles they saw the faces of friends, parents, brothers. They awoke many times, and clutched each other in the dark for comfort.
When the dawn's light finally broke over the Land, they pulled themselves to their feet. It was a grey morning, with clouds covering the sky.
Nuza looked out the window while Thru admired her. Her beauty never failed to cheer him. The smooth workings of her muscles, her amazing natural grace.
"There are carts all over the street," she said. "Everyone's packing to leave."
She turned back to him; their eyes met and they nodded, each understanding the situation. Sonf was probably going to be attacked that day.
"Better find out what's been happening," said Thru, pulling up his trousers.
They had hot tea and a biscuit in the taproom and learned that in the night scouts had reported that a large column of men had set out from Tamf the previous evening and were camped on the road to Sonf. Everyone was leaving at once while the King organized his small force into some kind of pattern. Harassing parties went out to find the flanks of the advancing party of men.
Carts and donkeys were already rumbling out of Sonf onto the roads heading east. The folk of Sonf were determined not to be caught like those from Tamf. The stories and rumors were terrifying.
Hob found them while they were still finishing their tea.
"I have messages for both of you."
For Thru there was a brief note from Toshak, who wanted Thru to accompany him immediately on the trip to Dronned. Most of the Tamf mots were going that way.
Nuza received a small scroll sealed with her family's ringseal. Her hands were trembling as she broke it and unrolled the scroll.
Then she lifted her head up with a sob. Thru's heart sank for a moment.
"They live, oh thanks to the Spirit, they live. They are in Lushtan, in the Farblows."
"Thank the Spirit."
Thru wrapped her in his arms, overjoyed at this news.
And then the chill thought ran through him. He and Nuza were about to be torn apart. The Farblows lay in the opposite direction from Dronned. Nuza's face crumpled as she understood. Her joy evaporated so instantly that he thought his heart would break.
"Oh, my love, to be without you will be hard, I don't know how we'll manage."
Thru felt a crushing stab of fear. This could be the last time he ever saw her, and the light would go out of his life. But he could not refuse to go with Toshak.
Nuza's family, it turned out, had been very quick to abandon Tamf when the ships entered the bay. Her father, Cham, had had a powerful premonition of disaster, and had the whole family and all the animals on the road within the hour. They headed south and east, chooks and all, for Lushtan, where Cham had relatives. His wariness had saved their lives, for they were well ahead of the enemy columns that set out after Tamf had fallen.
The troupe was splitting up. Also going south were Gem and Serling, while Hob was going north with Thru and Toshak. Saying farewell was terribly hard. Letting go of Nuza was dreadful. He felt as if he were drowning while he waved to her until she was a tiny dot down the road. Then he turned back with leaden steps to the tavern to wait for Toshak to finish a final round of meetings.
He sat there in the taproom and stared blankly at the wall. There were some youngsters who had heard that he was Seventy-seven-Run Thru Gillo and wanted desperately to speak with him, but when they saw him with his face like stone and his vacant eyes they passed on and said nothing.
Would he ever see his Nuza again? Ever kiss those lips and stroke that soft fur? If he lost her and survived, if they defeated the invasion, then he would be left to live alone, and he didn't think he could stand that. It would be worse than death in some ways.
Toshak appeared at last, free from meetings, with his hat on his head and his pack and bow on his back. He was eager to be off at once. Thru picked up his own things and joined him. Hob appeared with a donkey carrying panniers of food and water.
"Nuza has gone to Lushtan, to join her family. Gem and Serling went with her." Toshak's face fell. "Ah, Nuza, I will miss her. Gem and Serling, too. Our happy family has been torn apart."
He stood there for a moment, then with a decisive snap of his bushy eyebrows Toshak shrugged it all aside.
"We have to face the future, my friends. There is much to do and little time available. Dronned by morning, think you can do it?"
"That's thirty-three miles, a pretty good hike," said Thru, stretching his legs carefully.
Hob chuckled. "These donkeys not going to be too happy, but we can keep them moving."
"The moon will be full tonight. We'll
be able to see the track."
"We will do our best, then."
They marched until the sun set, whereupon they ate bread and rested. When the moon rose they set off again and walked on trails over the moors of Sheud.
As they walked Toshak spoke of the things the folk of the Land would need to learn. The arts of war had become foreign to them.
"This enemy is very strong, very mighty. There is no possibility of compromise with them. It is us or them; one of us must fail. They have trained long and hard as well and have experience in war. We have a long way to go to catch up."
"We outnumber them," said Thru. "There are just those forty ships."
"In a way that is an advantage to them, because our population is vulnerable and has to be guarded."
"Our folk can retreat inland."
"Only so far, and then they come to the mountains."
Big Hob grunted at this. "So we fight with our backs to the wall. That makes us better, because we cannot afford to lose."
Toshak allowed that there was truth to this.
"Also in our favor is that we know the Land well. Ours will be a war of ambushes. His numbers are limited. We must make them more so, a constant attrition of his strength has to be a priority."
Thru nodded, the outline was becoming clear.
"Our people are going to get very familiar with hunger," said Toshak grimly.
"Without bushpod and use of the seapond it will be impossible to prepare thread and cloth," Thru added thoughtfully.
"Our folk will have to raise more sheep and use wool."
"And we will lose the fishing."
"That is true. What lies ahead of us will be hard, very hard, but we have no alternative."
The hours went by in a moonlit dream while their legs kept them moving, ignoring fatigue and sore feet. Somewhere along the way the first light of dawn cracked the far horizon.
Soon they came up the south road, with the coastal dunes on their left and the city walls ahead. They entered by the south gate and made their way through the city to the Guild House. Toshak left messages there for several important citizens of Dronned. Then they went on to the Laughing Fish, where they took breakfast and hot tea.
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