by Erron Adams
Oyen sighed. “One way or the other doesn't worry me. I came for you, not a fight, but I'll do whatever's needed to get the job done. The others may come along if they wish, and will be properly treated, as will you, on my word.”
“The word of a traitor,” Rain Dog muttered.
“The word of a man, Rain Dog. One you should know better, and who is saddened that you don’t.”
“Save your tears, Oyen, and your breath. I know what I see!”
Bowman turned to the small Rory, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Go easy, Rain Dog, this is what I wanted, even if it’s not the way I wanted it. Keemon’s heading for the Palace, I’m sure of that. I can’t ask for better than a Kasina escort there.”
“What are you saying?” Oyen asked.
Rain Dog peered around Bowman. “Shut up! We’re talking. Free men can do that!” He looked back at Bowman and lowered his voice. “So? Keemon’s there, you’re there, Caylen’s there, how will you use that to free her?”
“I have no idea! But it’s all I’ve got at the moment, and I’m taking it.” Bowman extended a hand in farewell and spoke up. “Goodbye, Rain Dog. Keep the campfire burning!” Then he walked over to do the same to Yalnita.
“Forget it!” she snapped. “I’m not letting you out of sight, not after nine years!”
Now it was Bowman’s turn to feel that she was holding out on him. What was her motivation? To get Caylen? To kill Keemon? Surely not loyalty or affection for him, an Outlander? He couldn’t be worth the risk. As usual, her eyes hinted at a pool of dark thoughts, without revealing any.
“Let’s get moving!” Oyen’s voice commanded. “Rain Dog, are you coming or staying?”
Rain Dog’s face twitched. He looked at Yalnita. “Staying!” he spat and shuffled off.
Yalnita watched him go. After a while she opened her mouth to say something, but by then he’d gone too far to call back.
***
Chapter 22
An Offer Declined
Resentment simmered all the way to Kasina Nabir. The journey proved mercifully short, their path having been cleared by the Kasina dominion that had in Bowman's absence fallen like a blanket of snow, quiet and complete, right across the Plain of Nabur to the valley of Animarl. The Kasina Oyen commanded kept apart, fearful of their brooding leader, so that there were three groups in the little caravan that crossed the Plain. When they camped at night the separation kept, Oyen tending his own small fire while Yalnita and Bowman sparred glances with their captors.
On a morning of blazing sun Oyen took Bowman aside, ordering the others to go on. Bowman could hardly see him in the glare. It bounced off every golden grass blade as if the whole Plain was a mirror, and they themselves stood out from it like grass, shimmering in the radiation.
“What do you think of me now?” Oyen asked.
“That must be pretty obvious.”
“I want to know if I can trust you.”
“You’re kidding?” Bowman shaded his eyes and squinted through sun-glare, trying to see what manner of expression the man wore. “This is crap, Oyen, just tell me what you want!”
“Your trust, for now. That will do.”
“For what it’s worth, you can have it: I trust you as far as I could kick you!”
Oyen shrugged. “That’s as I expected. I only wanted you to know…well, I’m not sure how to put it. Words aren’t kind to me; at times like this I miss Roop most of all.”
“So you damn well should! He wouldn’t turn traitor. You could have learned more than good speech from him!”
Oyen’s hand struck like a snake. He gripped Bowman by the throat and held him so their noses almost touched. His face remained emotionless. “Listen to me, Outlander, we don’t have time for anger! Once we were friends; we may be again someday. Until then, you live by my say-so, and in return I want something from you.”
Rage and humiliation flashed in Bowman. He grasped Oyen’s wrist and spun around desperately. The manoeuvre broke the Rory’s grip, he was so taken off balance that he fell on his back. When he tried to get up Bowman grasped one of his flailing arms, twisted it to one side and dropped his entire body weight down on the vulnerable joint. Oyen yelped and shook free, rubbing his arm and glaring at Bowman.
Bowman turned side on to the bigger man, his fists clenched. “I’m tired of being pushed around, Oyen. Here, and back in my old world. I used to think it was the easy way out of trouble. Go with the flow and all that shit. Well, it isn’t. It’s just the easy way into trouble other people make for me. So don’t push, and don’t give orders. You want something, you ask! Now, tell me, damn it! What do you want?”
Oyen shook the last of the pain away and glared at Bowman. “I have to meet someone in Kasina Nabir. Until that happens, I only want this: obey me. You might find that hard to take, but it’s essential. No tricks, no trying to escape. I can’t afford anything of the sort.” He paused a moment, then went on in a softer voice, “We need each other, John Bowman.”
“Don’t be a fool, Oyen! I want to go to Kasina Nabir, too. Caylen’s there, remember? Rotting in a prison cell, for all I know. Because of me!”
Oyen shook his head. “She is well cared for.”
“So you know where she is? Unbelievable! Why haven’t you got her out?”
“There are things I can do; things I cannot. I am one man, at present. Caylen’s freedom is coming, and for the moment she is safe.”
Oyen turned and peered into the distance. Bowman looked after him. He could just make out the tail of the Kasina as they dissolved in heat shimmer. “We'd better be going,” Oyen said, and strode after them.
Bowman watched the Rory’s receding back. The conversation was over. Whatever Oyen had wanted to say had been said, or at least attempted. Bowman couldn’t be sure which. Another part of the puzzle had shown itself, and he’d failed utterly to place it. It felt like he'd woken too late for an appointment, or as if the thing he tracked was just a shadow that scuttled and hid as his eyes lit on it. He shrugged and moved off after Oyen.
***
Oyen was shocked to find Keemon in Kasina Nabir.
“I knew nothing of this; trust me,” he said to Bowman as they rode into the Palace forecourt.
Bowman shifted inelegantly in the saddle. The trip from Animarl had been his first time on a horse. His backside and legs ached from gripping the animal below him. He’d had to keep reminding himself to relax his death grip on the reins as he clasped the rocking cavern of pumping blood and independent thought beneath him with barely adequate legs.
But seeing the cop confirmed his recent hunch, and he almost smiled. He shifted his weight again and shrugged. “It’s hard to know what to believe when you’d sell your own people out.”
Oyen bit his lip and turned back to the group his horse's nodding head shuffled in and out of sight.
The Queen’s Oracle, Unconnu, stood before a small contingent of Imperial Guard led by Denaren. As Oyen came up, she crossed her arms. Her face was composed and gave nothing away. Keemon smirked by her side. He raised a hand in greeting to Bowman.
“We only wanted him,” Unconnu said, looking beyond Bowman to Yalnita.
Oyen replied in a voice that conveyed weariness. “Yes. Mark well, Unconnu: both are here under my protection. I have given my word on their safe conduct in Kasina Nabir for as long as this business takes to transact.”
Unconnu smiled. “Really, Oyen! Loyalty? Trust? These must be new virtues for the Rory.” Bowman snorted at the dig. The Oracle stood aside and the Guards formed a gauntlet for Oyen’s party. Unconnu went on. “Captain Keemon has already seen to our honoured guest’s lodgings. I’m sure he’ll find something suitable for the whore.”
Oyen drew a slow breath and held it a moment before he spoke.
“Don’t stretch his feeble talents, Unconnu. Or your own,” he said and nudged his mount past her.
***
They dragged Yalnita down a damp, urine-stench stone stairway, threw her in a rat’
s nest cell and slammed the door.
***
Keemon opened the door and held an ushering hand to Bowman’s back, pointing inside the room with the other. “Hope you like it, picked it for myself originally, but I've since found better.”
Bowman peered through the doorway. If the room had indeed been hand-picked by the cop, he’d done a good job. The door itself seemed unique among the castle’s otherwise drab facades, with an ornate silver-paint border of crescent moons. Inside, the opulence intensified. A seemingly sky-tall, domed ceiling in blue and gold gently capped the airy space. Richly brocaded curtains had been sashed back for the morning sun. Windows wider than a street looked out over the Bay of Kasina's cobalt glitter.
Bowman stepped through the doorway and his feet sunk in one of the many lush rugs that almost obliterated the polished wood floor. Fresh clothes lay on a four-poster bed. He picked the clothing up, sniffed it. Keemon grinned.
“Okay, Keemon, cut to the chase. What do you want? What do they want?”
The cop laughed. “That's what I like about you, Bowman, straight down to business! And what I hate: no sense of humour, always serious. I told you already, we can have fun here, if you play ball.”
“If I go back to Dyall’s a few times, huh?”
“Exactly!”
“What’s in it for the Kasina?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’ve been bullshitting them into thinking they’ll get the guns. But you and I know better, don’t we?”
“Spot on again, Bowman! I brought an automatic with me from Animarl. One little demonstration of that firepower and they were putty in my hands. Especially the Queen. I know how to prod her in the right direction, you might say,” he said with a wink.
Bowman frowned as he considered the expression on the other man’s face. There was a knowing light, intimate and intimating, in Keemon’s eye.
“You and the Queen? Well, Keemon, you’re thorough; I’ll say that!”
Keemon shrugged. “It's just an alliance, after all. I get my real dalliance elsewhere. Besides, it’s only temporary. Very temporary. Look, Bowman, we do the necessary in order to survive. If you and me are to last this coming winter, we'd better be what they hope we are. Believe it: you're only here, only alive, because of what they think you can do for their efforts against the Rory.” Keemon smiled. “That's why I can't afford to have you blow it. I've done all the hard work here. You can reap the benefits, or you can rot in a dungeon with Caylen. Until they think of a satisfying way to kill you. Your choice.”
Bowman blanched. “You've seen Caylen? How is she?” He didn’t expect the cop to be entirely truthful, but any news besides Oyen’s report that she had been cared for was welcome.
Keemon's lips tightened to a knife cut as he smiled. Then they opened in another laugh. “Last I heard, not so hot. Nine years is a long time in a Kasina dungeon. Most don't see out five, apparently. It’s only a matter of time, I’d guess. But you can change that, of course.”
“If I do what you say?”
“Don’t make out it’s such a sacrifice; there’s plenty in this for you. After a couple more trips, we'll have enough armament to do our own thing here. I've already made a start, what with the Boyle business.”
Bowman threw the clothes back on the bed. “That’s something else. How come Boyle and his men turned up in Animarl? Or what was left of them, anyway?”
Keemon snickered.
“You were so predictable, taking off like that, thinking I'd done a flit after actually bothering to bury the losers! That was to cover up what I'd done to them. And then, once I'd seen you go, I knew from experience the way back here would be open long enough to dump their bodies in and follow.”
Bowman felt a growing nausea. “I knew you were the reason for them being in Animarl. Just how did they help?”
“You're such a disappointment, Convict. Just as well I'm the brains trust in this partnership. Look, no exposed metal makes it through, we knew that. Sure, I can carry a weapon or two; it's my gift. But I can’t carry an arsenal on me. I needed more bodies for the task, so to speak. Simple solution really. Still don't get it?” he grinned triumphantly and tapped his teeth with a fingernail. “Ever wonder why your fillings don’t fall out when you come through?”
Bowman thought back to the disembowelled men. Cavities. It slapped him sideways.
“Oh fuck! You brought guns through in their bodies?”
“Bingo! Who said you're dumb! Of course, I had to leave them back in Animarl for now, stashed nice and safe, for later, when I know who I can trust among the Guard to go back and dig 'em up.”
Bowman turned, looking at the floor. A firestorm built in his brain. He walked away from Keemon, but the room, expansive as it was, pushed him in a circle so that by the time his voice returned the two were once more face to face.
“Get out!”
“Wha… hey, don't try to give orders here, Convict! You're on my turf, now.”
“Get the fuck out, or I'll kill you!”
Keemon thought a moment, then shrugged. He walked towards the door. “Alright, I’m outta here, before you speak again and do more damage to the thing we got goin’. Take a nap, Bowman; you need it. We all lose the plot sometimes; I'll cut you some slack for now.”
***
Bowman had barely rested on the bed – absurdly plush after the surfaces he’d become accustomed to sleeping on lately – when two Palace Guards strode in.
“On your feet, Outlander, the Queen wants to see you,” one of them said.
Bowman leapt up. Good, he thought, let the parleying begin. He was only interested in getting Caylen away from Kasina Nabir safely; there was nothing else to detain him in this as yet, unexplored city.
As soon as his feet touched the floor one of the Guards came and stood behind him. The other turned for the door.
The hallway immediately beyond Bowman’s room was deserted. Thick red carpet ran down its centre and, from a series of tall, narrow windows along one side, sunlight sluiced across the floor and up the opposite wall. They’d only gone a few steps before curiosity got the better of Bowman. He stepped from the carpet and craned his head to look through the murky glass.
A landscape of slate rooves punctuated by spires and chimneys met his gaze. It stretched further than he could see. Up close, at rooves’ edges, dark slits marked the presence of unseen streets below. Here and there a tottering smoke turret spiralled heavenward, a sickly umbilical that met the sky’s belly in a dark brown bruise. Though he could see no other human at this level, the sounds of the street, of commerce and camaraderie, of shrieking children, drifted up.
The Guard behind him prodded. “Keep moving.”
It took them several minutes to make their way through the maze of passages to their destination. As they approached a pair of ornately carved, gilt scrolled doors the lead Guard turned to Bowman. “Wait here,” he said and knocked lightly. One of the doors cracked open. Before the Guard slipped behind it Bowman glimpsed the royal court: a room much deeper than wide, with more Guards lining either wall; an intricate mosaic-pattern tile floor; a plain, empty throne and several non-descript minions scuttling about.
Where is the vaunted Lady? Bowman wondered. He had to admit a little apprehension; his stomach grumbled loudly. Smiling at the remaining Guard he patted his gut. “Hungry.” The Guard looked through him a moment and turned away.
A few minutes later the doors yawned wide and they were taken in.
The Queen had by now assumed her rightful seat. Her eyes bore steadily into Bowman as the Guards brought him forward. When the Guards stopped, Bowman walked a few paces further before realizing and pulling himself up too quick, rocking slightly before he withdrew an awkward step and stood still. Great entrance! he chided himself.
He had expected a woman of middle years, and was somewhat calmed to find his intuition proved correct. He had not, however, counted on her imposing stature: even seated she appeared to be the tallest
person in the room. She wore no crown over her close-cropped, greying hair, and her garments were unexceptional. In fact, their drab colour and casual plainness alongside her courtiers’ bright splashes and ornaments set her apart as effectively as any crown or royal raiment might do. And her generally haughty air and unhurried observation conveyed authority well enough.
Her slight smile could have meant anything. She glanced down at a parchment in her lap, then handed it to an old woman standing lower and to one side of the throne. “Unconnu!” The crone leapt to take the manuscript.
There followed another awkward wait for Bowman as the court took stock of him. The Queen tilted her head side to side, as if to get the Outlander’s appearance from every angle. Unconnu’s deep-set black eyes belied the modesty of her garb – similarly drab as the Queen’s - as they silently picked him over. Even the scribe who sat with averted gaze at a little desk below the throne seemed to be listening to Bowman’s every breath.
He chanced a look around. Down either side of the body of the chamber, Kasina Guards stood, their silvery armour glimmering against the walls’ comparative gloom. The metallic light of their garb bestowed on them a stolidity somewhat at odds with the gaudy feather that sprouted from each helmet's apex. Like seaweed fronds, they wavered slowly in the room's slight draught. As his scan completed its circle back to the throne Bowman noted the mid-morning sun streaming from far up windows to bathe the court’s centre in gold. The Queen rose inside the brilliant cone and came towards him.
“The Outlander and I will walk,” she announced. A few heads bowed; no one spoke. She strode past Bowman. “Come,” she said.
Back in the hallway once more, alone with his captors’ monarch, Bowman wondered what was going on. Did the Queen trust him, or merely think he represented no great threat to her? While he hoped for the former, logic told him that was unlikely, at least for now.
After they’d walked some time without talking, Bowman drew breath and broke the silence.
“Your Majesty,” – he hoped this was how you addressed a Queen in these parts – “may I ask a question?”
