The Ikwunde, from what we can determine, were following a plan more or less like the one I had posited, though with a great many subtle flourishes I could never have imagined and honestly cannot recall. (Those interested in such things can find an exhaustive discussion of all aspects of the Ikwunde War in Achabe n Kegweyu Gbori’s ten-volume work Expansion and Retreat of the Ikwunde, translated into Scirling by Ezekiel Grant.) Scouts like the ones I encoutered had been sent into Mouleen all along its length in the hope of locating a waterway suitable for transporting their army by boat; needless to say, this failed. The Ikwunde therefore took the information gathered by their scouts—including, I fear, some I provided myself—and sent five companies of Labane by the shortest route possible, from Osheth on the Eremmo border to Point Miriam.
Toward Point Miriam, at least. They encountered some difficulty along the way.
* * *
I saw with my own eyes how rapidly the swamp-wyrm eggs hatched once placed in water, the “fangfish” wiggling free like the eels they resembled. They are a disturbing sight then, soft and almost helpless looking, but with mouths already full of teeth. We took great care in crossing the waterways as we traveled from egg cache to egg cache, and even more care after that task was done, when Yeyuama and I set out for the eastern edge of the Green Hell.
For although I esteemed the Moulish greatly and knew they would be of more use than I in opposing the Ikwunde, I could not bring myself to sit idly by while this matter played out. If nothing else, I needed to see enough that I could accurately inform the men at Point Miriam of what had transpired.
Which meant I was there to see one of the Labane companies—already much worse off for their travels to that point—attempt a crossing of fangfish-filled water.
They had searched for a way around it, and been thwarted by creative Moulish troublemakers; now they had no choice but to build rafts and attempt to pole across. Yeyuama had refused to try and provoke any fully grown dragons into troubling them, because these Labane carried guns, but he could not stand in the way of a swamp-wyrm’s own inclination. One took great exception to the Labane trespassing upon his territory, and rammed a raft before anyone aboard it saw him there.
I had thought to feel triumph at watching the forest eat those who would trespass in it. When the moment came, I merely felt sick. There was no pleasure to be had in the screaming—for even a Tsebane will scream when a dozen infant dragons latch onto him. It is a horrible way to die, and yet those who did may well have been luckier than those who were merely bloodied, for the latter faced near-certain infection, which in many cases was only a more protracted way to go.
But I knew better than to think we could warn them off their course; these were, after all, the most dedicated troops the inkosi possessed. And when my resolve faltered, I had only to remind myself of the casualties my allies suffered. Despite warning and care, the Moulish had not been able to stay entirely safe; Labane scouts had caught some of them, and one camp was overrun as they tried to move out of the army’s line of march. All in all, twenty-one Moulish died, which is a massacre for numbers as small as theirs.
Because of this, some among the western camps argued in favor of actively hunting and killing those the forest had not disposed of. But the youths brought out the legambwa bomu, the dragon mask, and charged around with it, reminding all that killing was what cursed humankind with mortality; and while killing for food might be a tragic necessity, killing these men was not. They therefore took the surviving Labane prisoner.
Prisoners were not something they had much experience with. The Moulish deal with their own internal problems by talking it out or walking away to a new camp, not by waging war. Tying people up was something done only when a person had run mad (or, as they would put it, was targeted by serious witchcraft). What should they do with their captives?
Had I not just spent seven months in the swamp, flung myself off a cliff, crash-landed in the trees, been a captive myself, and then run the length of the Green Hell, I might have thought my answer through more thoroughly. As it was, I asked whether they would be willing to send enough hunters with me to escort the prisoners to Point Miriam, and the Moulish, glad to be rid of them, agreed.
This is how I marched out of the jungle toward the fort with what, at first glance, might understandably be mistaken for a small invading army.
* * *
Our slow pace (limited to the speed of hobbled Labane) and general disorganization went some way toward establishing us as no threat. Soldiers, however, are apt to get nervous around armed strangers, even when the weapons in question are nets and fire-hardened sticks of wood. I placed myself prominently at the front of the group, intending to draw the eye and give the soldiers something like a familiar (by which I mean a Scirling) face to reassure them.
This might have been more successful had I looked less a scarecrow. I had been in the same clothing since the morning I parted from Tom and Natalie, and it had seen a great deal of abuse in the interim. I was unwashed, underfed, and giddy with the success of our plan. So it was that when rifles were leveled in our direction, I waved my arms above my head, hallooed the fort, and cried out in a loud, laughing voice, “Do you believe us now?”
It was of course my luck that Major Maitland answered me from the wall (though I did not know he was the one who had misinterpreted Nagoreemo until later). He shouted down at us, “You and your army of savages can stop right there!”
“My army?” I looked at the Moulish with exaggerated surprise. “These do not belong to me, sir. Unless you mean our prisoners? I would not claim them if you paid me, for it was their intent to sneak up on you from a direction you did not expect—as I believe you were warned, though you did not listen. Fortunately for you, the Moulish believe in sharing what they have, and they have wit and common sense in abundance. More than enough to make up for its lack elsewhere.
“I, by contrast, am Scirling, and less well schooled in generosity. I therefore say that if you and your masters do not promise to clap these Ikwunde in irons and then reward these brave people as they deserve, then we jolly well may just let these fellows go, for they are not worth the nuisance of keeping.”
(In hindsight, I can see how this may have been construed as a threat.)
Maitland went quite purple. I think he might have given the order to fire—a few warning shots to put me on better behaviour, at least—but by then Sir Adam had attained the top of the wall and seen what lay outside. “Mrs. Camherst?” he called down, shocked, and I answered, “What is left of her.”
“What the devil is all of this?” he demanded, gesturing at the mass of people I stood with.
This time I answered him with more decorum, although Maitland provoked me sorely with his own interjections. Sir Adam continued to question me—how had we captured them; how many there were; what on earth did I think I was wearing—until I said, “Sir, I will answer everything to your satisfaction, but not by shouting it up at you. This is dreadfully public, and my voice will give out. Will you take the prisoners, and give your surety that the Moulish will be rewarded? They, not I, have done the work of capturing these Labane, and have killed a great many more besides, at no small risk and cost to themselves.”
Maitland snorted loudly enough for me to hear it, even at that range. “You expect us to believe that your savages killed Labane warriors with—with what? Sharpened sticks?”
“No, Major,” I said coolly. “They killed the Labane with dragons. As a gentlewoman and natural historian, I assure you it is true.”
I suspect it was my declaration more than anything else that opened the gates of Point Miriam to us, for everyone wanted to know what I meant by they killed the Labane with dragons. We shuffled in, me at the front, the Moulish surrounding the hobbled prisoners, and I made sure to find a soldier with good Yembe to serve as an interpreter before I let Sir Adam take me off for questioning.
If that strikes you as a phrase that might be applied to the suspect in a crime, you are
not far wrong. Sir Adam was deeply suspicious of my tale; he called in a doctor to examine me before anything else, so certain was he that I had lost my reason. (I blame the trousers.) Much tedious back-and-forth ensued after that, but the important moment came when I told Sir Adam what I intended going forward.
“In return for their work in saving this colony and Bayembe,” I said, mustering what remained of my energy, “the Moulish do have a price.”
“Gold?” Sir Adam asked. “Guns? Out with it, Mrs. Camherst; tell me what you have promised them.”
“Nothing so mercenary, I assure you. But it is the forest known as the Green Hell that has protected Bayembe and this colony; it must be protected in return. I understand that you intend to build a dam in the west, across one or more—I presume all three—of the rivers. The plans for this must stop.”
The governor shot to his feet. “Mrs. Camherst, I do not know where you have gotten your information—”
Under no circumstances was I going to name Natalie. “Do you think no one knows what your engineers are here to build? Do not fear for the defense of Bayembe, Sir Adam. Even without your lake, I assure you, this country will be safe.”
I was extraordinarily lucky that he stopped me before I said anything more.
“Damn the defense,” he growled. “Our soldiers can stop the Ikwunde. There are contracts depending on that dam, Mrs. Camherst—blast it, what do you think the point of this colony is?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, mostly to purchase time to think.
He made a disgusted noise. “Power, of course. Of all kinds. Power from the dam, and we have contracts saying that eighty percent of it will be ours for a period of fifty years after construction is done. With that and Bayembe’s iron, our profits will be enormous. Think of what the effects of that will be. And you expect us to throw all that away, simply because a few naked savages stopped a raid?”
My hands were shaking; I clutched them tight in my lap. “I knew nothing of this.”
“Of course you didn’t. You are nothing more than a reckless young woman—”
“Who just saved this colony from invasion and possible destruction.” My voice wanted to shake, too; keeping it steady made my words come out loudly. “You should perhaps consider keeping the young ladies around you better informed, Sir Adam—but in this case I am glad you did not. Can you not see the headlines now? SCIRLING GENTLEWOMAN SAVES NSEBU. DARING FLIGHT REVEALS DASTARDLY PLAN. SWAMP NATIVES DEFEAT LABANE WARRIORS. HUMILIATED PRISONERS BROUGHT IN CHAINS TO FORT. And then can you imagine the response if people learn that you turned your back on those who kept Labane spears out of it?”
He did not go purple as Maitland had; he turned pale instead. “Are you threatening me, Mrs. Camherst?”
“No, Sir Adam,” I said. “I am merely explaining how people back home will see this. If you hear a threat in that, it is only because you fear the inevitable consequence.”
“It is not inevitable,” he said, his voice trembling. “It is something you intend to bring down upon me. It is a threat, Mrs. Camherst, however you try to disguise it with pretty language.”
I sighed. I was weary; I was filthy; I had entirely spent the energy which had sustained me on the way here, and wanted nothing more than to sleep for a month while my various wounds healed. “Very well, Sir Adam. Call it a threat if you must. I gave my word to the Moulish that I would do everything I could to assist them in this cause, and I intend to keep it. Lock me up if you wish; it will not help you, for I have already written down my tale, and made arrangements for it to be shared with friendly ears.”
It was the last inspiration of my tired brain: an utter fabrication, invented on the spot to forestall the house arrest I otherwise saw in my future.
It failed.
Sir Adam strode to the door. “Find a room for Mrs. Camherst. And see that she does not leave.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Royal displeasure—Eggs for the oba—Overly frank questions—Accusations of treason—Life outside the Green Hell—Farewells, and a reflection on sorrow
But of course I did leave in the end—courtesy of Ankumata n Rumeme Gbori.
I do not know what precisely he said to Sir Adam, but I believe it had something to do with the promise I had made before departing for the Green Hell. He wanted to know why I had failed him, and refused to let a Scirling question me in his stead. It was not freedom; armed guards accompanied me from Point Miriam to Atuyem, and took me back again afterward, too. Still, it was the salvation I needed. Sir Adam’s outburst had stopped me before I admitted that the success of my plan depended on me speaking with the oba, and so he let me go.
This time there was no public ceremony, no hangers-on. The oba preferred to express his displeasure in private. Apart from the guards who stood both outside and inside the chamber, there was only his griot for company, and his sister Galinke.
“The Golden One grants you what you desire,” the griot said, “and in return, you betray him.”
It was not a good sign that the griot spoke to me. This is a thing they do in Bayembe, to underline the exalted status of the oba; he speaks to his griot, and the griot speaks to whatever lowly soul is unworthy to receive the words directly. Mr. Wilker and I had previously been honoured by Ankumata’s friendliness, but I had now lost the privilege.
Galinke sat with her hands folded and eyes downcast. This rebuke was for her as well as for myself; she had suggested me to her brother as a tool, and so she too had failed him. And I, in a sense, had failed her.
My curtsy was as deep and respectful as I could make it. “Chele, I thank you for bringing me here today. There is more you have not heard, but Sir Adam would not release me to tell you.”
Ankumata gestured at his griot, who said, “Speak.”
I had rehearsed the words all the way from Point Miriam. “You asked me to bring you eggs. Whether you meant me to collect them, trade for them, or steal them outright, I soon discovered that for me to do any such thing would have been a grave insult to the Moulish, and dishonourable repayment for their generosity, without which I certainly would have died in the swamp. My promise was a blind one, and I will know in the future not to repeat that mistake.
“But blind although my promise was, I have found a way to keep it.”
Alert readers may recall that Yeyuama had told Okweme that he would address my intended theft of eggs after I had visited the island. I thought at the time that he was referring to my possible death in the attempt; had I perished, it might well have been seen as proper judgment upon me for my intended crime. But when we debated the possibility of stopping the Ikwunde and the dam alike, he told me his true meaning—which was not at all what I expected.
It is the privilege and responsibility of those who touch the dragons to move the eggs where they are needed. Prior to the island, any attempt on my part to interfere with that process, whether by theft or trade, would have been a blasphemy grave enough to ensure my death.
But after the island … if I wanted to move eggs somewhere, then it was my right to do so.
“The Moulish have agreed to let me offer you eggs,” I said. “I do not have them with me; you will have to wait for more to be laid. But when the time comes, certain men among them will bring you eggs and instruct you in their care. When one of those dragons perishes, they will bring you another—for the ones they supply will be incapable of breeding. This is not meant as a slight against you; it is the unavoidable consequence of swamp-wyrm biology. But if you place those dragons in the rivers above the Great Cataract, you will have a defense like that which has just protected Point Miriam.”
The oba listened to all of this impassively, hiding his thoughts behind the mask of a man who has survived political waters more dangerous than those the Labane tried to cross.
I swallowed and went on. “For this arrangement to work, however, the Moulish will require something in return. They have sheltered your land, at no little risk to themselves, and now offer you a treasure; moreove
r, what they require is a necessity for that treasure to thrive. I hope your generosity and wisdom will see the value in granting their wish.”
Here I paused, until the griot prompted me to continue. This was the most delicate point, for if I angered Ankumata as I had Sir Adam, I might be locked up and never let out again.
But I could hardly stop now. “The dam,” I said. “The one planned in the west. Its effect on the swamp would be catastrophic for the Moulish and their dragons both. If you wish for the arrangement I have described, then you must not allow the dam to be built.”
Silence fell. Ankumata propped one hand against his leg brace, unblinking gaze never wavering from me. I fought not to squirm under its weight. Eighty percent of the power, Sir Adam had said; that was the dragon’s share of the benefit, and I had no doubt that most of the cost in labor and material would come from Bayembe, not Scirland. It was not a deal that favored the oba. But could he abandon it? And did he wish to?
The next words did not come from the griot. They came from Ankumata himself.
“There is no profit for your people in this trade.”
“We have already had our profit,” I said, “in the safety of those who would have died in the Labane attack.” My mouth was very dry. Surely it was a good sign that he was no longer speaking through his griot, but his words reminded me that my peril came from multiple directions. “As for the rest…” I shrugged helplessly. “I can only do what I think is right, chele. For as many people as possible. This seems better to me than allowing the dam to be built. But perhaps my judgment was incorrect.”
More silence. I do not know whether Ankumata was still thinking, or merely waiting, to make certain no one would think he rushed into his decision.
The Tropic of Serpents: A Memoir by Lady Trent (A Natural History of Dragons) Page 26
