Somewhither: A Tale of the Unwithering Realm (46 page)

I was a little worried about this guy. The wild look in his eye was that of a man drunk on freedom, and he had never been free in his life before. I did not know if he knew the difference between right and wrong, wise and foolish. Slaveowners, or so I read somewhere, try to keep slaves in as childlike a state as possible, mentally helpless, teaching them only so much as would allow them do their tasks and no more. Could this guy even think for himself?

My doubts were soothed, at least in part, when he said, “I helped a gypsy once, saved him from a beating and gave him a loaf of bread, and he told me how to find his tribe, and what to say to get them to take me in. They roam around in the upwards parts, high above Earth where no one strays for fear of the White Apes. If I take up the corpse, no one will get close enough to question me, for fear of being touched, and no one will think it odd, since hereabouts is not high enough to toss him, and have him burned in the air. I got no kin, no little ones. I can scrounge up a poke of food to tote from the kitchen yonder, and that will keep me hale for a time—and you should too.”

I was putting on my loincloth and wrapping myself in my white mantle, the only clothing I had, and I stopped in mid-wrap.

“Did you say
gypsies
?”

“They are called Romany, and descend from Keturah the Second Wife of Abraham. They serve a god called Del, and it is told that there are tribes of Romany in every world.”

“They’re in at least two…” I muttered, blinking.

“But what of you, my master? If you don’t do some good and kindly deed, unselfish-like, won’t you be seen and foreseen? Thumping the servicemen of the Dark Tower to loot yourself of a pretty gold stick don’t strike me as so high-natured and holy, if that’s the way of it, no?”

Qall began stripping the body of its ornaments, yanking one ring after another off its fingers.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

He flinched. He was not used to people talking to him unless they were ready to beat him. Or maybe my voice just has that effect on people. I sing baritone in choir.

Qall explained, “I am not allowed to carry any goods, only the body. They would think I ha’ looted the dead, see? You have to take his things.”

He pushed a drawstring purse, a finger-ring, a horn on a strap, a sword belt, and a handful of brass buttons toward me, and a very bloody inward-curved short-sword that reminded me of a meat cleaver. I opened the purse, hoping to find a hankie to wipe the sword.

“What is this?” I held up a brass cylinder, longer than my thumb and thicker than a sparkplug, covered on all sides with a picture of angular beasts that rounded back on themselves, nipping at their own tails, and parallel rows of cuneiforms above and below. It was pretty and pretty heavy.

Qall said, “A seal. You roll it in the wet clay or awakened metal.”

“My lucky day. With this, I may be able to pass guards without papers.”

Qall nodded. “Does more than that. Every door lawful for the sergeant’s footstep his seal with his name and nativity will open. It’s a key. All his keys.” He pointed to a spot on the wall where the mosaic did not cover. “The keyhole yonder will take the seal, and unlock the officers’ door. The whole Tower, top to bottom, is bored through with passageways, wall and deck and roof, so the higher-ups can move among us, and spy us out without us seeing. And their secret passageways have secreter passageways inside
them
, so the more-higher-ups can spy out the higher-ups.”

That caught my interest. “Why bother with that? I thought astrology actually worked in this world, and that Astrologers can see the future?”

Qall shrugged. “They sit down with pen and compass, stylus and tablet and adding machine, and go through their figures, and then go look at the sky with a spyglass, and then sit and do their sums again. Takes a while. So if you can catch the kitchen maid stealing a silver fishknife by squinting through a peephole, save yourself all that numerating and calculating. And what if it rains? You’d have to get the high-up-going wayship to ayont the clouds for your stargazing, and wear a rare-breath helm and all, or put those green worms in your lungs.”

“How do
you
know about these passageways?”

“Police drag their victims into hidden rooms for rape and torture and such, and who is it that drags them out again, once they’re cold? Someone has to clean the floors.”

“But if they are secret—”

Qall raised his right hand, and showed me a brand-mark, a set of triangular cuneiforms, stamped right in the center of his palm. “I can’t go into the places of decent people. And who would I tell? I was born in the unclean quarter, and they know my birthday and hour.”

Just at that moment, there came a knock at one of the large barred doors behind us, and a man’s voice calling for the sergeant.

I whispered to Qall, “Through the kitchen. Run for it.”

He shook his head. “I hear someone coming that way already.” It was true. There were footsteps in the kitchen. These were bare feet rather than boots, which meant servants rather than soldiers, but it was just as bad for us if someone who could call for armed men saw us as if armed men saw us.

I sprinted over to the panel, and Qall pointed, and I found the keyhole behind a sliding ornament no bigger than a silver dollar. The end of the cylinder fit nicely into the slot, and the lock pulled the cylinder into itself and out of my startled fingers, as if it were a boy with no table manners slurping a noodle into his mouth. The secret panel opened, as smoothly as you please.

Qall crowded into the narrow passageway right behind me. He shoved the panel shut, and it clicked again, locking, and the little cylinder seal popped out of its hole on this side of the door, and Qall snatched it up, and handed it to me. (The hole on this side covered itself with a tab the size of a silver dollar.)

It was dark in here, until Qall found a stick of lampwood in a bracket and touched it to a marble plate set in the ceiling, where it clung as if magnetized. We heard the cries of horror and alarm as the body was discovered, and then more voices and more men came running into the officers’ mess.

Then one querulous old man’s voice was shouting above the rest, “Unexpected event! His death was years away! Cordon off the area. No one goes in or out! The irregularity of the horoscopes will have to be looked into, and everyone here—you too, lieutenant, sir!—will need to get his horoscopes recast from blank tablets. No complaining! Call everyone up here, guards at the door, turnkeys in the holding cell, everyone!”

Qall and I retreated on tiptoe down the passageway until we were out of earshot. It was dark here, and there seemed to be no marble plaques to which to touch the lampwood stick. Abby seemed to have the knack of getting them to glow just by looking at them, but maybe Qall did not.

I said, “There goes your chance to sneak out of here carrying the body.”

He chuckled. “No such, sir. Nary one of them is much likely to touch a corpse. I need but to show my nose, and they will grab it and pull me fro to do the toting. No one looks at such as me.”

“I’ll always look on you with favor,” I said, “And remember you in my prayers. You saved me from capture and torture, and that may save my girlfriend from rape and torture and death as well. It’s like ripples coming out of a pebble falling in a pond. Let me shake your hand. I am not ashamed to touch you.”

Solemnly, we shook hands. He cringed only a little.

Qall said, “You’re an abomination, ain’t you? I saw Sergeant Sakrumash put his
sapara
right into you.”

“Is that his name? Sakrumash?” I hate to admit it, but I felt kind of queasy, knowing his name. He seemed more like a real person and less like a target.

Qall laughed. “His name is Sergeant Crowmeat now. Are you a walking shadow or somewhat? Small wonder you deem me fit to touch…”

“In my land, I am the son of the Knight of the Temple. But no one in my land is higher or lower than anyone else. All men are equal and none are called unclean or abominable. I’d be honored to shake hands with you,” I said.

“Thank’ee,” he said, gulping. “Your words are like the words of a god.”

I hefted the cylinder seal in my hand. “I suppose we only have a little while before someone else of the same rank as Crowmeat uses a seal just like this one to open the door and walk in here. And I think you are right that looting the body may have made an event the stars can foretell, if I understand how this crazy world works, which I don’t. So I have to use my Boy Scout powers and do a good turn, and fast, to make the stars blind again. Some saintly act. Something I can do quick, in the next minute or two. Such as—”

I groaned and clutched my head. Because a thought just occurred to me, and the thought was so clear and so bright that it may as well have been a magic telepath broadcasting the idea right into my brain.

“Oh, Lordy lord! Please not that; anything but that…” I groaned. “What a
stupid
idea…”

“What is it?” Qall asked, voice quivering.

“I think I have to rescue the monster who betrayed me and put me here.”

“Eh? I heard tha’ not right, did I?”

“You did. There is no one guarding the cells right now. You said this seal is the sergeant’s key for everything. Will it open the holding cells? If you drag bodies out from there, you know where it is. I need to save my non-girlfriend, but this should only take a moment, and if I don’t do a good deed, the star-gods will see me and I’ll get caught again. This is the best deed I can think of.”

“Best? You be a madman, no? He’s a Blem. I saw when he was brought in. He’ll eat you.”

“I be a madman, yes! So you think the Astrologers will predict me doing
this
?”

The jail cells were barrels, too small to stand upright in, made of iron set into the deck and covered with a grate. There were catwalks, planks set over the barrels where guards could walk. The bottoms of the barrels had an inch or so of accumulated dried and hard-packed sewage and bones from their previous owners. The casual sadism of the arrangement sickened me. The smell did too.

As predicted, there was no guard in sight. The emergency of an unexpected and unhoroscoped event had quarantined all of them elsewhere in the guard station.

There was one other prisoner held in a half-buried barrel aside from the Blemmyae. He was black-skinned and green-eyed, which I guess is a combination we don’t often see on Earth. His hair was a silky black tangle that hung before his eyes, and when he stared up at me through the tangle, it was like looking into twin pools of water gathered in winter beneath a thorny bush. The drained and aching emptiness in the eyes was the same I had seen in the face of Enmeduranki.

I stooped and fitted the cylinder scroll to the lock. The grate came loose, and I flung it open with a loud and echoing clatter.

The man did not get up. I lowered my hand to him, to help him up, but he did not take it, or even look at it.

He spoke without raising his head. The man’s language was like a silver waterfall, rippling. Qall said, “He says he will not be fooled by another trick.”

I had said the same thing to Abby when she had rescued me. Maybe it is just a rule of human psychology that we cannot be rescued unless we ask first, because we won’t believe it if it is a free gift.

Qall said softly, “They told to him his horoscope. He knows when the magistrate will see him, what the scribes and doctors of the law will say, and what the sentence will be, the method of execution and the hour of his death. It is a particular cruelty, since the prisoner will try to struggle against his fate in the short time remaining, and in so doing, will bring further curses on himself and his kindred.”

“What is he in for?” I asked.

The man muttered something. Qall said, “It is a forethought-crime.”

“A what?”

“The crime is foreknown, but not yet committed.”

“Wait. What? You lock people up here because they
might
do something? What kind of nuthouse is this?”

Qall ducked his head. “Since the time of the current Great King, Anshargal, the masters were kind enough to wait until the season when the crime was predicted, so that the years of work beforehand would be extracted from the felon-to-be. The previous Great King, Meskianggasher, had a different policy, and all felons-to-be were killed at birth by midwives. The people left over were so few in number that the army was too small to wage war. The pyramids of little skulls can still be seen, many rows of them, leading up to the Gate called Harmonious Decimation of Justice.”

I felt another headache coming on. By God, but I hated this world. They had drained all the hope out of this man, so much so that he would not even come out of his death row jail cell when the door was opened wide. Is a man without hope even really a man?

Angrily, I grabbed the guy by the hair and under one armpit, and hauled him bodily up out of the poop-smeared pit. He did not struggle or complain. When I let go, he just collapsed where he fell, like a ragdoll.

“Stand up!” I shouted at him. “Get to your f — Uh!”

His legs ended. They had cut his feet off, and I was roughhousing a cripple.

I saw his leg bending forward, and for a moment I thought they had broken and dislocated his knees.

Then I saw that his legs were like a dog’s leg, with the kneecap to the rear, and his feet were still there. He was one of those folk as I had seen on the embarkation landing, whose feet were on backward, heel to the front, toes trailing behind. I had merely been looking at him from the front, and had not seen his rearward pointing toes.

I said to Qall, “What is he?”

The little ex-untouchable wagged his head in a sort of shrug. “Hard to say without his collar. Messenger, I reckon. Too bulky to be in sports.”

“No, I mean his race.”

“He is a man. All men are men. All are One. All serve the—”

“No, no. I mean his, um, host.”

Qall said, “He is an Abarimon, descended from Aram through Gath. Run as fast as jaguars. Faster. They breathe a special air comes only from their valley and choke on our air. The doctors have to fix them like gypsies, put a worm in their lungs, so they can breathe normal-like.”