by Scott Rhine
When she glared, he amended, “Fine, you could kill them all, but you shouldn’t.”
As they left the pier, Sarajah was overwhelmed with the novel aspects of the new society. The natives were a hazelnut brown, a shade darker than her, with haircuts shaped by a bowl. The bearers who carried her belongings wore only loincloths in the heat.
The natives offered to assist everyone but Pinetto, whom they avoided. Hindaloo seemed to recognize several of the wharf rats and conversed with them in their own language.
****
Servants at the desks inside the port offices wore simple, cotton shirts that may have once been flour sacks. While the others remained outside the small reception area, Pinetto strode up to the counter and addressed the only man in uniform. “May I purchase charts of the islands?”
“For?” the man behind the counter asked, rolling his ‘r.’
“My lady is searching for the legendary sun bears of Ashter Island.”
The official laughed. “This island is a legend.”
Pinetto leaned closer. “That’s fine. I get paid by the week. If it takes a year to find the bear, so much the better.”
“We have a lot of charts. They are very expensive if you want them accurate,” the official said, stroking his chin.
“We’ll start with the ones along the Antarean Rift.”
“That stretches a thousand miles and there are fissures going off in all directions.”
“Then I guess I’ll need to search them all,” Pinetto said with a smile.
“It will take a while to copy all of them. Where should I send them?”
“Um . . . do you know a good inn? Someplace respectable. My lady is highborn.”
The man chuckled. “There are only two: the Drunken Fish and the Crooked Corset Casino.”
“Which would your wife stay in?”
“The top floor of the casino.”
Pinetto noticed that the office had cleared of all workers. “Um . . . why is everyone leaving?”
“The arkies go to tell their families that there is an Imperial on the island.”
“Because?”
“Don’t worry. They haven’t buried one in the sand for the tide to drown in over ten years.”
“When was the last Imperial visitor?”
“About ten years ago.” Seeing Pinetto’s eyes widen, he laughed. “Not to worry. You are safe in the casino, but don’t go out at night. Come to think of it, avoid the arkie areas in daylight as well. They are usually too lazy to bother, but occasionally one of the wild ones from the outer islands will stir up trouble.”
Pinetto shuffled his feet as he seared nervous footprints into the wood floor. “Great.” Mimicking something he’d seen Nesu do, he pulled out a Kiateran ten-beat iron rod and slipped it into the man’s palm as he shook hands. “How far is it to the casino?”
The official’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets when he saw the chunk of iron. “This will cover your charts, most excellent sir. I will send my personal arkie with you. Pidge!” A native in cotton livery that matched the officer’s uniform trotted out. They conversed briefly in pidgin.
The guide looked a little frightened, eyes darting back and forth. “Quick, quick!” he said, darting out the door.
On the west side of the port, a mushroom patch of mud-lined, straw huts clustered together in random clumps. Fish hung on sticks to dry in the sun. There were no fences and few trees; goats wandered freely. The stone Zanzibosian fort towered above the poor section on a high ridge. On the east side, on a more orderly line of hills, mansions sprouted like crops.
In the middle, the sides mingled. The bottom of the hill was lined with warehouses and trading posts. As they climbed the hill, they passed tattoo parlors, gaming establishments, opium dens, tea houses, restaurants, and countless drunken sailors spending every silver hour they had. The gutters of the stone streets stank of sour vomit. Sarajah fanned her face constantly. Off the main road, they could see cottages where the shopkeepers lived.
When they passed a store with glass bottles in the window, the guide said, “Miss would like some perfume or powder? Yes?”
Pinetto nudged Tashi. The swordsman entered alone with a smile. The wizard fidgeted like a child. Sarajah whispered, “Hold still. People are staring.”
“The higher we get, the harder it is to hold the energy in.”
“Oh. Save some of that for my bath later.”
Soon Tashi came out with a crystal vial, sporting a stopper as large as the container.
“My gift,” Tashi said. “But I want to help put it on.”
“A drop on my fan will do for now,” she said. When he obliged, she inhaled. “Nice. What did this cost?”
“Everything I had.”
The change in smells when passing from huts to cottages was the most striking. The wall of flowers in the town center served as a palate cleanser for the visitors’ nostrils. Paint existed only in the richer areas. Pinetto joked, “If we ever lose our way, we just look for a flash of whitewash and we’ll be on the right path again.”
When they arrived at the white mansion at the top of the hill, the native said in broken Imperial, “Here you are, sir, boss man’s inn. Mention you his friends and you get discount on the ladies.”
Sarajah chuckled. “I guess that’s why they call this place the Crooked Isle.”
“No, miss. They call Crooked because whole island crack in earthquake. Part moved sideways and up.”
“How often do these tremors happen?” asked Pinetto.
“Not often. Only two or three times a year. Don’t worry. If you hear chickens in middle of night, run into the street. Quick, quick.”
After the native guide departed, Pinetto growled, “Tension!”
“We’ll leave as soon as we find a school,” Sarajah soothed.
“Today, I’ll buy supplies and ask around about Ashter Island,” said Nesu.
“Where do the highborn ladies shop?” asked Sarajah. “I’m going to make some friends.”
Sarajah found three possible candidates at a fabric store the first evening, with invitations to visit several estates. The arborists found several groves of the sacred pine trees on the Crooked Isle. When the time came, they could procure as many as they needed for the price of a lumber-harvesting permit.
Pinetto found a dozen leads on Ashter Island by speaking to the many sailors and shop owners. Most who’d heard of it were convinced that it was destroyed in an earthquake centuries ago, ending the golden age of Archanos and beginning the era of slavery.
Chapter 37 – School
The next day, the guards took their weekly pay and toured the island on liberty. Hindaloo offered to accompany the queen, but she asked him to question the natives about Ashter Island. One didn’t interview highborn ladies with a scarred child-abuser.
Pinetto stayed in the inn to study the many maps and collate the rumors. During the late morning, he heard chickens clucking madly and ran into the street. The men pulling the small wagons full of food for the inn’s kitchen laughed at him. The wizard couldn’t face the ridicule without frying something, so he decided to wander the ridgeline in order to find his peace. Unfortunately, as he headed toward the center of the island, the charge only increased. The brick path had a number of weeds sprouting through the cracks, so he withered the unwanted plants as he passed by.
The path turned aside when it encountered a barricade. Do not enter signs were posted in several languages, with a skull-and-crossbones painted in the center. Noticing a boy in a nearby tree, the wizard asked, “What’s down there?”
“The old copper mine. Many people die in earthquake. Bad juju. Haunted.”
Pinetto nodded. “Of course. Thanks.”
The boy cocked his head. “Do you really eat babies?”
“Hah. No. But I have a friend who eats goats.”
“You making fun of me.”
“Naw. He’s technically a demon. Come to think of it, several of my friends are demons.” When
he looked back up, the boy was gone. “Smooth. I guess I need to practice before I have children of my own,” he said to the monkey in another tree.
The monkey nodded in agreement. Pinetto picked a plantain, cooked it with his excess energy, and shared pieces with the monkey as he returned to the inn. In the alley behind the casino, he met up with four large natives. “Your money or your life,” said one holding a bronze dagger.
Tapping the differential the same way he did when meeting Archanos, Pinetto arced electrical potential into the blade. The robber dropped dead, smoking. The others fled in terror. “Bloody amateurs,” he muttered, stepping over the corpse. The monkey pillaged a rice roll from the dead man’s pouch.
Alone in his room, Pinetto looked up from the maps an hour later to see the monkey staring at him through the window.
****
Sarajah walked the entire length of Worthy Road, with only Nesu and Tashi as visible escorts. Bagierog paced behind them, silent. After the fourth tea party, he growled, “Boring.”
“One more tea and then we’ll have dinner,” Sarajah said.
Tashi scratched his stomach. “I think I’m hungry for some little cucumber sandwiches while I talk about my arthritis and dead husband.” He held up his fist and the invisible panther creature bumped it in agreement.
Sarajah narrowed her eyes as they approached the next house. “Is it just me or are there a lot of birds around here?”
Bagierog’s tail twitched. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
“Why are they all so quiet?”
“I’m a predator,” said the Dawn creature.
“That would make them fly away,” Tashi said. “If they could see you . . . which they can’t. Baba Nesu?”
“It’s odd. You usually can’t shut them up. Maybe the cat’s smell is confusing them.”
When they reached the next retirement home, a pale-skinned woman with only slightly graying hair opened the door. Her dress was purple and tight, showing a scandalous amount of ankle, plus matching slippers. Her shawl was loosely woven with wooden tubes at the long string tips. She made musical rattling whenever she moved. “Where is the tall one with the hands of light? I dreamed of four of you.”
Sarajah raised an eyebrow. “Who sends these dreams?”
The woman locked eyes with her. “We dance in the moonlight and do not ask for names. Come, we do not speak of secrets in the open.”
Bagierog whispered in Sarajah’s ear. “Ask her what she wears for the dance.” The seeress elbowed her familiar spirit to shut him up.
The house was a two-story, stone cottage, unlike the many wooden ones they’d visited. Even the floors were stone. They exchanged names on the way in. The woman gave hers as “Ava.” Baba Nesu couldn’t take his eyes off her. She could tell this and moved around the room continuously, playing with his attention like yarn before a kitten. “Would you care for some rum punch?”
“Yes, please,” both men answered. Ava turned to bring a tray of glasses and a pitcher filled with red liquid and citrus slices. The room had books on every surface and shelf. Tashi asked, “Was your husband a mason?”
“I’ve never married. The married nobleman who built our school wanted to sleep with me, though. He does a very thorough job. I introduced him to the poets, and he kept returning.”
“Nice garden in the front,” Tashi noted.
“Lydia’s tutoring a young man in art. Before you ask, the furniture was from Yalliah’s men. She’s music and mathematics.”
“And the three gazeboes?” asked Nesu, licking his lips after a sip of the punch.
Ava smiled mysteriously. “When I know you better.”
“All teachers?” asked Sarajah.
The head of the house nodded.
Sarajah unfocused her eyes. “You worship Ashterah at night when no one can see. The queen of night sees to all your needs. You taught children for years because, like the goddess, you’re barren. Those around you cannot conceive of the realms you touch in the dance . . . yet you yearn for challenge and intellectual stimulation. You also want to go deeper in the secrets.”
“Yes!” Ava said, bowing before Sarajah.
The seeress snapped her fingers, and Tashi handed her the three-part Book of Dawn. “These will fill you with forbidden knowledge and forgotten lore. But there is a price.”
“Who are you?” Ava asked, not daring to look up.
“Daughter to Serog, sister to Ashterah. You may know me as Zariah. Tell no one of this secret or my visit, whatever you decide. Do you need proof?” She snapped her fingers at Bagierog.
The woman gasped as the panther being appeared in her library. “Is he to be part of the ritual?”
Bagierog’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked at Sarajah as if to ask, “Can I be?”
“No. My price is not the flesh, but dedication of the spirit and the use of your professional talents. I wish you to teach others to read what is in this book.”
“Gladly, lady!”
The panther cleared his throat. “You might want to ask who before you agree.”
Ava shook her head. “For access to such mysteries, I would do anything.”
“Do you have extra rooms?” Sarajah asked. “While you read, you may have questions.”
“Three rooms and two barns.”
Sarajah placed the book on the floor before her. “Look this first book over today. We will return after dark. If your answer is the same, we will move some of our things into your barns to hide them from the townspeople. We will plan class sizes, curriculum, and finances.”
“What is the horrible thing you will not speak?”
“Slaves. The first book is the teachings of Archanos. He has come into his glory and wishes his children to be raised as well.”
“Yes,” wept the woman. “We will, all three of us. For this, we will do your bidding.”
“The man with the burning hands will return with us tonight.”
“Will he be part of the ceremony?”
Sarajah pushed the hair from her forehead. “For the last time, I’m not here to make despicable demands on your body. I’m here to free your mind and create a movement that will spread across the islands like holy fire.”
Ava looked mildly disappointed, so Sarajah added, “But Baba Nesu has done terrible things and must prove his worthiness. I am leaving him in your care. You will be teaching him, too. Any task you give him, no matter how onerous, he must perform.”
The teacher smiled. “We do need a duck pond.” Nesu’s eyes grew wide.
****
All three retired teachers took to the assigned task like . . . ducks to water. Nesu spent most of his days digging a pond while the ladies supervised—and his nights sharing Ava’s room.
They converted their grounds into the first official Church of Archanos. The first conflict was in the manner they would teach. Nesu wanted to charge the children amber beads, while Sarajah insisted that education be free.
Nesu explained. “The school must appear to support itself at the outset. Long term, it must in reality. The ladies must make regular deposits of valuables to the exchange, or the powers-that-be will shut down the school to force the children to gather more.”
“On Starday services, we can open the barn to everyone and take collections. That will help with parchment, food, and clothing.”
“Not many people are going to show up unless there’s food or entertainment.”
“Until they do, you can donate a seventh part of your illegal operations to the cause.”
Nesu winced at the sin tax. “In the interim, we must be seen to struggle or rulers will notice.”
“Fine. You use our extra iron and silver to buy beads and ingredients from the Exchange. Give the beads to the ladies to sell back and repeat the process the next week. The children only have to make up the difference, the profit the Arinaw clan takes for itself.”
Nesu shook his head. “It’s not just the finances. You women have no idea of how to size things.” Every woman
at the table raised an eyebrow. “What I mean is that your hearts are so large that you want to teach everyone. I know from experience that only one person in ten is a fit vessel for knowledge. You plant seeds in good soil.”
“Everyone should benefit from this information, without restriction,” insisted Ava. From her glare, the two had discussed this topic in private previously.
“I’m not trying to bar anyone,” he countered. “But you have to admit, for the first three to five years, if we are to spread, we need to train teachers.”
“Fine, we have sessions for everyone on Starday and Sunday. The ones with the most promise, we offer scholarships to—a chance to stay on the plantation,” Sarajah compromised. “We could put four bunks per room, just like the ship. We make twelve quality teachers with no one the wiser. Maybe they each build a schoolhouse church on another island. In a few years, they can train twelve apiece. By the ten or fifteen year mark, we’ll have over fifteen hundred capable revolutionaries.”
“Over sixteen hundred,” Pinetto corrected.
Nesu and Ava grumbled that, although this model was not ideal, it would have to work for the initial class.
After the first evening teaching “arkie” children to read, there were some visitors with hoods. Bagierog took care of the intrusion without alerting the others. Any men trying to sneak up on the church women at night disappeared, one at a time, and woke on the side of a cliff wearing no pants. As a repeat offender, the leader of the anti-education vigilantes ended up in the alley behind the casino with his tongue eaten out.
The panther, still unseen, had a discussion with the leader’s lackey. “Leave the ladies alone.”
“We don’t want to hurt the honored women. It was the Imperial we were trying capture,” the man said, soiling himself.
“The wizard leaves tomorrow. He will not return unless you harm those he has sworn to protect,” Bagierog promised.
Resistance was less overt afterwards.
The next morning, Bagierog told Sarajah, “I like the warm climate here. There’s enough energy from the rift to feed me and no chance of drowning.”
