***
Ran-Del approached the security gates cautiously. It appeared that one gate was for vehicles, the other for people. The space between them consisted mostly of windows, and he could see a man and a woman standing behind a sort of shelf in a small room. They both wore identical gray clothes.
“Can I help you, Citizen Jahanpur?” the woman asked politely as he came close.
Ran-Del jumped, unprepared for her to speak while she was still inside the little room, and startled that she knew his name.
“I want to go out,” he said firmly, figuring that if he could hear her, she could probably hear him.
“Please place your hand on the ID panel to confirm your identity,” the woman said.
Ran-Del looked around. There was a small gray square, very much like the access panels on the doors in the main house, right beside the person-sized gate. He pressed his palm firmly against the panel. In a few seconds, a green light flickered below the square, and the gate slid open.
“Thank you, Citizen,” the woman’s voice said to Ran-Del’s back as he stepped through the gate.
Once he was through the walls of the Hayden complex, Ran-Del took a moment to look around at what he could see of the city of Shangri-La.
The Hayden complex was in the middle of a residential area. The streets might be paved with something as solid as stone, but they curved and wound their way among the houses almost as much as the paths in his village.
The houses were all much bigger than Sansoussy houses but smaller than Baron Hayden’s residence. None of them had walls around them.
Ran-Del started walking, keeping to the walkway on one side of the road. He had a good sense of direction, and he had taken the trouble, the day before, to go up into the tower observation room and study the city. He walked with a purpose; he wanted to see the river.
The Sansoussy Forest was riddled with small creeks and rivulets—this was what made possible the agriculture of the Sansoussy—but none of the creeks near Ran-Del’s village was large, and in the forest, the Yellow River was never more than a dozen meters across at its widest point. Ran-Del had never been near a body of water as sizable as the one he had seen from the Hayden tower, and he wanted to see it from close up.
He walked swiftly and steadily, passing several skimmers and a few pedestrians with no more than a quick glance. No one paid him any attention. Ran-Del kept away from the pedestrians as much as he could, to keep the rainbow of emotions he felt as he passed them from distracting him.
After several minutes steady walking, Ran-Del found the neighborhood changing. The streets became straighter, always crossing at right angles, and somehow the buildings looked less welcoming. All of them were many stories tall, closer together, and with fewer windows than the smaller structures. Many people streamed in and out of them; all of them seemed in a hurry.
After another several minutes of brisk walking, the buildings changed again, becoming blocky, spaced farther apart, and mostly windowless.
The street rose in an arched stone bridge, and beneath its span a wide expanse of golden water sparkled in the sunlight. Ran-Del had found the river. A railing lined the shore and ran along both sides of the bridge. Ran-Del stood for a long time, leaning over the railing and watching the water.
The vessels on the river ranged from slim, graceful boats that carried only one or two people to huge, tub-like ships laden with goods. The northbound ships seemed to carry raw materials—logs and metal ingots—while the southbound ones held cartons of manufactured goods. Ran-Del watched everything, silent and amazed. He had never imagined trade on this scale.
On the opposite bank, ships were loaded and unloaded at a long, narrow platform that ran a short ways out over the river like an unfinished bridge. Ran-Del studied the hoists and other devices used to move the heavy bales and containers, and was fascinated by the coordination among the men and women handling the cargo. After a while, he noticed a machine unloading crates from a tubby ship. The machine would neatly scoop up a half dozen crates, one after the other, carry them down the length of the platform to a transport waiting on the landing, and then return for another load. What fascinated Ran-Del was that although the machine looked like a vehicle, no one seemed to be operating it. A tall, burly man directed the operations of several workers, but no one seemed to be controlling the unloading machine.
Ran-Del crossed the bridge to the opposite shore, then moved closer to the ship, which was tied to the platform by several stout lines looped over upright logs driven into the ground. Ran-Del leaned on a log to observe the unloading operation. He was so intent on the scene, he paid no attention when someone shouted.
“Oy! You there, look out!”
Something struck Ran-Del hard across the shoulders, knocking him forward with great force. He went hurtling into the river before he knew what was happening.
He fell head first, cleanly into the water. As he plunged beneath the surface, choking and gasping, he struggled frantically to right himself and pull himself up through the murky water. When he broke through to the surface, gasping for air, he tried to remember what little he knew about swimming. It wasn’t much. He could feel the current pull him, and he fought against it.
He sank again, swallowed water, then struggled upward for another breath. As he broke the surface, coughing and sputtering, something hit the water near him.
It was a man. He bobbed to the surface and cut through the water with clean strokes to come up beside Ran-Del.
“Keep still!” the man ordered as he grabbed Ran-Del’s collar.
Ran-Del didn’t struggle against his hold. It took an effort merely to stay conscious as the man dragged him through the water. The stranger stopped and pulled Ran-Del around to face him. Ran-Del could see that there was a ladder attached to the log supports of the platform over the river.
“Can you climb?” the man asked him.
“I think so,” Ran-Del gasped.
“You first.” The stranger gave Ran-Del a shove upward.
The Sansoussy grasped the first rung and pulled himself up. He kept climbing, focusing only on the next rung until there were no more.
Eager hands pulled at him when he arrived at the top of the ladder. Several men and women had stopped their work and come to assist in his rescue. Ran-Del was laid upon the boards and inspected for damage. Lying on his side, nausea overcame him, and he retched. He let himself roll onto his back, feeling as weak as a new baby.
“Give him some air,” a voice commanded. “He’s swallowed too much of the Jordan, and that’s not good for anyone.”
Ran-Del looked up and saw that his rescuer was the tall, burly man he had seen on the ship. The man stood over him, dripping wet and smiling anxiously.
“Thank you,” Ran-Del said weakly.
“Don’t mention it,” the burly man said, grinning. “I’ve fished a lot of things out of the Jordan over the seasons, but you’re the first one that said thank you.”
Ran-Del closed his eyes and tried not to be sick again. It didn’t work. Someone threw a bucket of water over him in an effort to clean him up.
“That’s enough,” the burly man said. “He’s had enough water to last him for a while. Let’s get him into Benjie’s. Janis has a back room where he can dry off.”
Several people helped Ran-Del to his feet and escorted him to a building perched on the bank of the river. A large sign spanned the space over the door, so Ran-Del knew it must be a commercial establishment, but he had no idea what it was. Once he came through the door, the smell of fried food mingled with something strong and bitter. He knew from Francesca’s descriptions that this must be a bar or a restaurant. Several tables were scattered around the room, and a long, high barrier with a polished wooden surface ran down one side, with bottles and glasses stacked on the wall behind it. An attractive young woman with short, curly, reddish-brown hair came out from behind the barrier and spoke to the burly man.
“Hello, Georges,” she said. “What have you been doi
ng? Swimming with your clothes on?”
Georges laughed heartily and threw one arm around her, heedless of the fact that he was getting her wet. She was tall, but she seemed small next to him.
“I’ve been fishing, my girl, fishing for a large catch. What do you think of him?”
The woman turned her gaze to Ran-Del and looked him over thoroughly. Her eyes stopped longest at the braid in his hair and at the knife on his belt. “He looks half drowned. You’d better come into the back room, both of you. I’ll get you some blankets to wrap up in until I can dry your clothes.”
She was brisk and efficient, and Ran-Del soon found himself sitting on a crate in what looked like a storeroom, and wearing nothing but a blanket. His rescuer, also wrapped in one of their hostess’ blankets, sat across from him on the only chair in the room.
“Well,” Georges said, “you look a little better. Who are you, if I might ask?”
“My name is Ran-Del Jahanpur. Thank you for saving my life.”
The burly man waved a hand. “No sweat. It was one of my loaders that knocked you into the water. Didn’t you see the sign warning people that there were automated vehicles at work?”
“No,” Ran-Del said, with perfect truth.
Georges grinned again. “And I suppose you don’t know how to swim, either?”
Ran-Del shook his head.
“Then what the hell were you doing standing so close to the wharf?” Georges asked.
Ran-Del concluded that the wharf must be the long platform over the water. “I’d never seen a river this big, and I was curious about it.”
Georges shot him a suspicious look. “The Jordan runs from Paradise to Shangri-La to Eden. How can you not have seen it?”
“I’m from the Sansoussy Forest.”
Georges’ eyebrows shot up. “You’re a Sansoussy?”
Ran-Del nodded.
Georges gave him a skeptical glance. “You look pretty tame for a wild man.”
Ran-Del felt himself prickle defensively. “My people are not savages.”
Georges hitched up the blanket around his waist and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t get in a huff. I believe you. I just never met a Sansoussy before.”
The door opened, and the red-haired woman stood there holding a tray.
“Hello,” she called. “Everybody decent?”
Georges’ eyes twinkled. “We’re covered, anyway. I can’t answer for more than that.”
The woman smiled back at him as she came inside the room. “I thought you both could use a little something,” she said holding the tray out to Georges.
“Thanks,” he said, taking a cup of steaming hot tea from the tray. Ran-Del could smell it from where he sat. “You can put it on my tab.”
“Nonsense, Georges,” she said, holding the tray out to Ran-Del. “It’s on the house.”
Their idioms confused Ran-Del. He didn’t know what tab the burly man referred to, and the tea was plainly not on the roof. He accepted the cup gratefully and sniffed its reassuringly familiar scent.
Janis watched his hand as he picked up the cup, and it seemed to Ran-Del that she studied his caste bracelet intently. He could feel her curiosity easily.
“You make damn good tea for a bar owner, Janis,” Georges said.
She smiled. “Thanks. I’ve put your clothes in the laundry, but Brandon’s gone to bring you something to wear from your place, Georges, since you’re in such a hurry.”
“Got to get back to work,” Georges said with a nod. “Can’t spend all day chatting.”
“I’ll keep your things until you come again or send someone for them,” Janis said.
“Thanks.”
“It’s no trouble.” She headed for the door. “I’ve got to get back to work myself.”
“So,” Georges said, watching Ran-Del drink his tea, “what’s a Sansoussy doing here in Shangri-La? We’re a long way from the forest.”
“I know,” Ran-Del said, avoiding the question. “Everything is very different here.”
“I expect it is.” Whatever else Georges might have said was lost when the door opened again and a slender man with pale blonde hair and a generous sprinkling of freckles across his wide, pleasant face walked in. He carried a bundle of clothes, loosely wrapped in paper.
“Hello, boss,” he said to Georges. “Here’s your stuff. Clara said to be sure you dry off properly.”
“About bloody time, Brandon,” Georges grumbled, taking the bundle and unwrapping it. He dressed swiftly, oblivious to the presence of the two other men.
“How’s everything going?” he asked his subordinate as he sealed his shirt.
“Fine,” Brandon said. “We got the Rosie’s Repose unloaded and she’s about ready to pull out. The skipper said she’d wait an hour for you, but no more.”
“Well, she’d damn well better wait for me unless she plans on unloading her barge at another warehouse next trip.”
Brandon merely smiled at this retort and gazed curiously at Ran-Del. Georges finished dressing and gave Ran-Del one last glance.
“Take care of yourself, Ran-Del,” he said. “I’d hate for my efforts to go to waste. Don’t get so near the water next time unless you learn to swim first.”
“I’ll be careful,” Ran-Del said.
“Do you have a job?”
Ran-Del was pretty sure he knew what the question meant. “No.”
“Well, if you need work, come see me at the warehouse. Just ask for Georges Rangoon, Rangoon Storage Systems; everyone in the district knows me. It wouldn’t be full time,” he added, “but I could use an extra pair of hands from time to time, when a big shipment comes in.”
Ran-Del wasn’t certain what this qualification meant, but he was grateful for the offer. “I already owe you my life,” he said, standing to say farewell.
George just laughed. “You don’t owe me anything, boy. It didn’t cost me a thing but a swim in the Jordan.”
The two men left in a hurry, and Ran-Del sat back down to finish his tea. He had just put down the empty cup when there was a knock at the door.
“Come,” Ran-Del called.
It was Janis. She collected the tea cups on her empty tray and glanced at Ran-Del covertly. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.” Now that they were alone, Ran-Del was a little shy at wearing nothing more than a blanket in her presence. “Thank you for the tea.”
“You’re welcome. Your clothes will be ready soon.”
“It’s kind of you to take so much trouble for a stranger.”
She shook her head. “It’s no trouble,” she said again. Then, as if she couldn’t contain herself any longer, she looked straight at the braid in Ran-Del’s hair and asked him a question. “Who’s the lucky woman?”
Ran-Del stared at her in surprise. He had thought Baron Hayden was the only person in the city who knew enough about Sansoussy customs to understand what the braid meant. “Her name is Francesca. How did you know?”
Janis didn’t answer. Instead, she reached out and almost touched his caste bracelet, pulling her hand away at the last second. “Why do you bother wearing city clothes if you’re going to keep wearing that?”
He blinked. “No one else has noticed it. How do you know what it is?”
She put her hand inside a small pouch she wore on her belt and brought out a Sansoussy caste bracelet. She held it out for a very surprised Ran-Del to see.
“It was my grandmother’s,” she said in a rush. “I have no right to wear it, but I carry it with me for luck.”
“May I pick it up?”
She nodded, and Ran-Del took the bracelet carefully from her outstretched hand. The leather thong looked new, so perhaps she had restrung it. He ran his fingers over the beads, studying the clan marker first.
“The Timber Cat People?” he asked. There were many clans, and he didn’t know all the markers, but he thought this one was the symbol of a clan that lived in the northern part of the Sansoussy Forest.
Janis n
odded again and Ran-Del looked at the other beads. There were two brown ones but no blue, so her grandmother had come from a family of moderate standing but hadn’t married, at least not among the Sansoussy. There was one white bead in the mother’s position. Ran-Del didn’t know whether this meant the mother had actually outlived the daughter or whether Janis’ grandmother had simply never removed the bead, perhaps because she had lost touch with her family. There was no green bead, so she hadn’t borne any children to the Timber Cat People—yet clearly, she had had descendants, since Janis was standing there. There were two sky-gold glass beads and, surprisingly, a red one. Janis’ grandmother had been a warrior, a rare thing for a woman.
“Do you know what the beads mean?” Ran-Del asked.
She took the bracelet back and rubbed the glass beads. “Yes. Granny told me a lot about her life in the forest, and about Sansoussy customs. That’s how I knew you must be betrothed.”
“What about your grandfather?”
Janis smiled as she slipped the bracelet back into her pouch. “Grandpa wasn’t a Sansoussy. He was from the Horde.”
Her answer stunned Ran-Del. The Sansoussy had no peaceful dealings with the fierce inhabitants of the Decatur Mountains.
Before he could ask any questions, Janis turned and headed for the door. “I’ll get your clothes now.”
Ran-Del waited alone, wondering how a man of the Horde could have married a woman of the Sansoussy Forest. It was even stranger than his union with Francesca Hayden. The Horde lived by hunting and by raiding both Sansoussy villages and the farms that surrounded the cities. It was incomprehensible that a woman of the Sansoussy would meet such a man and marry him, and even stranger that they should end up here in Shangri-La.
There was another knock on the door but this time it opened before Ran-Del had time to respond. Janis carried his clothes, neatly folded into a tidy stack, in one hand. She had his moccasins in the other hand, and she looked at them curiously as she passed them over to Ran-Del. “Everything is dry.”
“Thank you,” Ran-Del said, standing to take the clothes from her. He waited, but she didn’t seem in a hurry to leave.
“Being betrothed,” she said, “that’s almost the same as being married, isn’t it?”
“Almost.”
She stood very close. He could feel desire coming from her, like a subtle fragrance that caught his attention without overwhelming it. She laid a hand on his left arm. Ran-Del was too surprised to pull away. She might have a Sansoussy grandmother, but clearly her ways were city ways. She ran her hand gently down the new scar tissue on his arm. “You must have broken an important rule.”
Ran-Del could feel his mouth go suddenly dry. “Yes,” he said, swallowing hard. “I did.”
She ran her hand back up his arm to his shoulder and Ran-Del could feel himself becoming aroused. From the way she smiled, he suspected she knew it.
“I don’t suppose,” she said softly, “that you’d want to break another rule?”
The Sixth Discipline Page 49
