The Cache

by Philip José Farmer

  After struggling for an hour, he realized he would be able to read only with the help of an educated Kaywo. So, rising, he ate an apple from a large bowl of fruit on the table. Then he went to bed. But he could not sleep. He was too worried about what might happen to the Eyzonuh if they did accept the Kaywo offer to become a borderguard people, a march.

  First, there was the migration of a whole nation across the cruel desert and the broad prairies. It was one thing for a lone man or a small war party to traverse those dangers; they could move swiftly without attracting much notice. But a whole nation with small children and women, their dogs and cats, their cattle, sheep, and chickens, their wagons, bedding, clothing, and everything they needed for the exodus!

  For one thing, they would have to move very slowly, no faster than the slowest wagon could go. Then, they would have to fight their way out of the Valley of the Sun, for he was sure that the Navaho would know of this great move and would summon all their strength to attack. Having battled against the Navaho, the crossing of the desert between the Eyzonuh mountains and the great plains would be next. They would need much water to bring them across. And they would be harried by Navahos. Possibly, by raiders from the land of Deseret to the north. Then, having reached the plains they knew not what other dangers they faced. He did not think the lions and the wild dogs were much to dread; the presence of so many people would make them scurry, though it was likely they would try to stalk anybody who left the main body. But there were many nomadic tribes on the plains; he had seen enough of them to be sure of that. And the news of this great mass moving eastward would reach the ears of the savages living along the line of travel.

  But, if the Eyzonuh did survive all the dangers, what then? Would they not be in even more peril than in their earthquake-and-volcano-ridden land? Was not the chance very strong that they would be crushed in the war between the Skego and Kaywo? Exterminated or worse, taken as slaves? Oh, the Eyzonuh could fight, they would make their conquerors pay bitterly. But he had to be a realist. If the Skego land was as thickly populated as the Kaywo, and if, moreover, they had a horde of Skanava allies to draw upon, the Skego could overwhelm the Eyzonuh by numbers.

  The Kaywo must know this, must be expecting this. They were willing to sacrifice the Eyzonuh, hoping that the desert people would check the men from the Northern Seas long enough for Kaywo to rebuild her strength, that the Eyzonuh would inflict such losses that Skego would be weakened.

  But, suppose, that the Kaywo supported the Eyzonuh so that Skego was repelled? Suppose, that Kaywo even won the war? Then what?

  If peace came, if the Eyzonuh settled down on the rich black soil along the L’wan River, if they built villages, grew crops, multiplied, became rich in food and in trade goods? To the south of them, and close, would be their mighty patron, Kaywo. The borders of Kaywo, with its swiftly growing population, would move northwards, touch upon the Eyzonuh march. And she, with her superior civilization and numbers, would insidiously influence the Eyzonuh. Kaywo customs and language would be admired and adopted. The religion would attract the young Eyzonuh. Within a generation or two, Eyzonuh would be, in everything except name, Kaywo. And the next step would be to offer the Eyzonuh citizenship in Kaywo.

  Or, as was unlikely, if the Eyzonuh were stiff-necked and resisted all these influences, retained stubbornly their own customs and culture, then what? Once the danger from Skego was past, the gratitude of the Kaywo would last no longer than spring snow under the noon sun. It would be easy to pick a quarrel and to march upon the Eyzonuh, crush them, enslave them to add to the wealth of Kaywo. And to send their own citizens to live in the L’wan.

  Benoni tossed and turned in bed a long while before he finally fell asleep. His last thoughts were that he would advise his people against accepting the offer. Migrate, yes, but not to L’wan. They could go elsewhere; the world was a large place and had many fine lands. Of course, their rejection of Kaywo would anger Kaywo, and they would be classed as enemies. But Kaywo might not survive the Skego war. And, if they did, they would be too busy licking their wounds for a long time to turn their attention to the Eyzonuh. Especially, if they did not even know where Eyzonuh were.

  He fell into a sleep that was not so deep that he did not dream of Debra Awvrez. But Debra’s face melted, became Lezpet.

  “Let us . . .” she said, and she never finished. He was awakened by shouts and the clang of steel upon steel.

  Benoni rolled out of the great bed and ran from the bedroom and to the door of the anteroom. He pulled on the upright hook furnished to swing the door inwards and found that the door would not move. Evidently, the bar on the outside had been shot into the socket in the wall to lock the door.

  He put his ear against the thick wood to hear the commotion in the corridor, could make out voices but could distinguish only a few words here and there. The ring of sword against sword was still making a din; twice, it was punctuated by shrieks.

  Behind him, Zhem said, “Wha . . . what’s going on?”

  Benoni turned to see him standing close to him, his face thick with sleep and his eyes bloodshot.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But such a battle inside the walls of the palace could mean only one thing. Treason. An attempt to assassinate the Pwez. Or, maybe, Skego agents managed to force their way in and are trying to kill her.”

  Zhem spread out his hands before Benoni. “We are unarmed, and the windows are barred. What can we do?”

  “I’m not sure we should do anything even if we could,” said Benoni. “Yet, we’ve accepted the hospitality of the Pwez, we are under her roof, eating her food.”

  “Have you forgotten that she may have you killed in the morning?” asked Zhem. “You are her prisoner, not her guest.”

  Benoni said, “If this is an assassination attempt, if Skego is behind it, the Skego would not want either of us to live. They would not care for us to take the offer of the Pwez to our people. So, they would probably kill us.”

  “Besides, if we fight for the Pwez, we show we are to be trusted.”

  “You can’t expect gratitude or trust from her,” said Zhem.

  “I’ll do what I can to earn it,” said Benoni. “If I am rewarded with the beheader’s blade, I will still be in the right.”

  “Right does a dead man no good,” said Zhem. “You are a stiff-necked man, Benoni; you were born in a strange and hard place of strange and hard people.”

  “Do what you want to,” said Benoni. “I am getting out of here and into the fight.”

  He walked to the end of the hall between the two bedrooms, pulled the heavy drapes to one side, and looked out the window at its end. The two bars across it were each twice as thick as his thumb, and the end of each was buried deep in the shafts in the massive stone blocks that formed the window.

  “What could you do if you were able to remove the bars?” said Zhem, who had followed him silently and closely as a shadow.

  Benoni stuck his face against the bars and looked to either side as far as he could. The night-sky was cloudless, and the half-moon was high. He saw that the wing of the palace in which they were joined another wing to his left at less than a forty-five degree angle.

  Looking straight across, he could see torches and lamps illuminating many of the narrow tall windows. Beneath the windows ran a narrow ledge almost the length of the wing. But it stopped about ten feet before the windows closest to the juncture of the two wings.

  “Maybe you weren’t checking your location from the moment you entered the palace,” he said. “But I did. And I am sure that the Pwez’s chambers are at the corners, behind those windows. And, while I can’t see them, I am sure that a ledge runs below our windows, just as it does beneath those directly across from us.”

  Below him rose the ring of swords against swords and shields and the shouts of fighting men and the screams of the wounded and the transfixed.

  “So?” said Zhem.

  “So, will you help me remove these bars?”

 
Without a word, Zhem grasped one of the bars in the middle. Benoni gripped the same bar, and they braced their feet against the edge of the window and bent their backs. Slowly, slowly, the bar began to bend.

  “We are stronger than I thought,” said Zhem, panting. “Stronger than Kaywo steel.”

  “Save your breath,” said Benoni, and he pulled until his muscles ached and his back seemed ready to break. Four times, he and Zhem had to quit and lean against the wall until they regained their strength and breath. But, each time that they went back, the bar was curved more like an archer’s bow. And, just as they thought they w6uld have to quit for a fifth time, the two ends of the bar slipped from the stone sockets, and they fell upon their backs on the carpeted floor.

  Benoni did not rest but climbed into the window and tried to squeeze his body between the stone and the remaining bar. “No use,” he said, groaning. “We have to take the other one out.”

  “I do not think I have enough strength left to get off my back,” said Zhem. But he rose and gripped the bar and bent his back again.

  This time, they had to take six rests. Finally the bar, screeching as the ends slid over the lips of the shaft, shot out, and they fell again on the rug.

  Benoni wanted to rest, but he could not. He leaned out the window and saw that his guess was right. Three feet below the window ran a ledge of stone two inches wide.

  “Not much, but it will do,” he said.

  “What will do?” said Zhem from the floor.

  “I don’t know about you, but I am going to help the Pwez,” said Benoni. “It’s only logical that, if what we hear is an assassination attempt, the assassins are trying to get to the Pwez’s rooms. She may be dead by now; I may be too late. I must try. I can’t get through the door; we could never batter it down. And if we did get into the hall, we might be cut down. But if we went through the Pwez’s window . . .”

  Zhem gasped, and he leaped to his feet.

  “Are you crazy? How could we do that?”

  Benoni, noting Zhem’s use of the plural, smiled slightly.

  “I don’t know that we can, but we can try. Now, let’s see if we can walk like a cat. And then fly like a bird.”

  “You go first, blood-brother. Not that I am afraid, it’s just that I would not know what to do.”

  Benoni went through the opening in the wall sideways, putting out one foot and feeling for the ledge with it. Touching the cold stone, he eased his weight down on one leg, and, grasping the edge of the stone with his fingertips, brought his other leg down. Flattening himself against the outer wall, the left side of his face pressed against the wall and both arms out and his fingertips against the stone, he began to go crabwise along the ledge. It was slow work but not cold. Despite the winter chilliness of the night, he was sweating. Only his toes and the balls of his feet were on the ledge. The rest of his feet projected over the air. It was a five-story fall to the limestone-block surface below.

  Zhem, also on the ledge, was muttering strange names to himself, doubtless calling on his gods or the various names of his god or else chanting some formula to invoke divine protection.

  It seemed to take a long time before he felt the ledge end. But he knew that it could not have taken over five minutes. He had not dared to stop, even though now he wondered if he had not been a fool to take such a chance. Some of his hot impulsiveness had cooled; what had looked easy, if daring, now looked suicidal.

  Perhaps, if Zhem had not been along, he might have turned back. But he could never do that when another man was watching. Especially, his blood-brother.

  At the end of the ledge, he had to turn around so that his back would be against the wall and his heels would be the only part of his feet to have support. It was not something to do quickly, for the chance of losing his balance was too strong. He saw that he had rushed into this, that he should have taken more time to plan better. If he had, he would have left the window facing outwards and inched his way with his back against the wall. Thus, though he would have been staring outwards and downwards, he would have been set for the next big step in his plan.

  He must turn around now.

  Cursing himself for a fool, he began the slow task. He stood on the toes of his right foot while he lifted the left foot. Slowly, grinding his body into the wall to forestall loss of balance, he brought his left leg behind him and then around. When he felt the ledge under the foot, he lowered it until it was firmly resting against the right side of his right foot. Then, he began the slow and agonizing turning. There was no way to get away from it; he had to twist so that the bulk of his body would be supported by nothing but air and he would lose most of his contact with the wall.

  He twisted. As he did so, he saw that Zhem was not waiting but was going through the same maneuver.

  Zhem grinned, and he said, “If we fall, I hope we fall on one of those beystuh below. Won’t be a totally wasted death, then.”

  Benoni did not reply but continued turning. When he had reached the point where his left foot could be turned, where the toes could turn over the task of support to the heel, he advanced his right foot at a parallel angle to the wall. Then, his right arm high up, its palm flat against the stone, he pivoted on the ball of his left foot.

  And he turned his right foot, twisted his body, and both heels were on the ledge and his back was against the stone.

  He looked to his right, at Zhem.

  “You’re all right. Fine.”

  “What do we do now?” said Zhem.

  Benoni looked across the gap at the face of the wing opposite theirs. He could see directly into a window. It lay at the end of a hall, much wider than the one in his quarters and much longer. It led into a brightly lighted room. Three or four women were standing at the extreme wall by a huge door. All carried a sword or spear.

  Lezpet appeared from the right side, and she was holding a rapier in one hand and had a small round shield strapped to her left arm. She wore a helmet and a cuirass.

  “They haven’t got in yet,” he said to Zhem. “Maybe they won’t ever. From the way the women are acting, I’d say somebody is hammering at their door now.”

  “How’re we going to get across?” said Zhem. “And, if we do, how’re we going to remove the bars?”

  “One thing at a time,” replied Benoni.

  With his eye, he measured the distance from his ledge to the window opposite. Close to seven feet. Easily within his power if he were standing flatfooted on the ground and just jumping to clear a mark. But here, five stories up, with only stone to shove against and the bars in the window to grab and no second jump if he slipped or missed . . .

  He rose on his toes, his heels against the stone and higher than his toes, bent his legs, and shoved against the stone. Outwards he shot, his eyes fixed on the iron bars, his hands held straight out in front of him. His right hand closed on a bar. His left hand missed. His body slammed into the wall, knocking the breath from him.

  Frantically, he clawed with his left hand, scraping the stone. Then, it closed around the same bar he clutched in his right hand, and he was hanging outside the window.

  His arms were rigidly extended before him and were pulled down by the weight of his body. The bars, set deep within the window, were just far enough away so that the edge of the window cut into his body under the armpits. An inch or two deeper, and he would not have been able to seize the bars. Now he hung with no support for his feet.

  He made no effort for a minute, did nothing but recover his breath and his strength. Then, flexing his arms, he pulled himself up over the edge of the window with sheer strength. After he was inside, he released the bar and began to shake.

  But he had no time for the luxury of after effects. He could hear the deep thumps of something hard and heavy being rammed against the door to the Pwez’s chambers. The door held, but every time the ram, or whatever it was, slammed into the wood, the wood bent inwards. A few more such blows, and the great bar holding it in place would be burst asunder along with the do
or.

  “Jump, Zhem,” said Benoni. “I’ll hang onto the bar with one hand and snare you with the other.”

  Zhem’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight as he smiled with bravado, or fright, or because he thought he ought to do so. And he braced himself against the ledge and the wall and leaped.

  Zhem’s hands would have missed the bar; he was not quite as long-armed as Benoni.

  But Benoni’s free hand caught Zhem’s left arm, and he pulled him forward and up over the ledge of the window. Pulled him with so much force that Zhem’s hands socked into the bar, and he scraped the skin off his face and chest.

  Benoni hoisted him upwards, and Zhem was standing with Benoni inside the cave formed by the window. Fortunately, this was much larger than the one outside their rooms; they had space to stand up, facing each other, their noses almost touching.

  “Now, elder brother to the cat and the bird,” said Zhem, “what do we do?”

  Benoni did not answer him but shouted through the window. His voice must have carried down the hall above the crashing of the ram against the door, for all the women whirled and stared down the dark hall.

  The Pwez, Lezpet, came running, her rapier held out in front of her. Behind her came a woman holding a torch she had taken from a wallsocket in the anteroom.

  “You!” said Lezpet, seeing their faces in the torchlight. “Have you come to kill me, too?”

  “No,” said Benoni. “We do not know who is trying to kill you. We heard the commotion, figured out what might be happening. But we could not get out through our door, so we left by the window.”

  Lezpet’s eyes became even wider. “You leaped to my window?”

  “Yes, let us in.”

  “You risked your life to help me?” she repeated slowly, as if she could not believe him.

  “Can you get those bars off?” said Benoni. “You will need two good fighting men in a minute.”