The Destiny of the Sword (23 page)

When she had finished, Nnanji said coldly, “And one for me, my lady? The Farewell, perhaps?”

Pouting, Doa began to strum in a minor key. The conversation between Nnanji and the dying Arganari came drifting across the darkening deck to Wallie. His eyes prickled as memory clenched his heart.

Suddenly Doa stopped. “Junk!” she snarled. “Give me a minute.” She stroked the strings, and Wallie recognized wisps of the lament she had begun in the refectory. In a few minutes she had it ready and began to sing once more: “Nnanji... Nnanji...”

The first song had not been junk, but now she made it seem

so—genius outshining mere competence. Her lyric was vastly better, and the new melody as haunting and soul,rending as Shenandoah or The Londonderry Air. Soon Wallie found that his cheeks were wet. In silence he wept for a tone,deaf stripling who could not have appreciated one note of the supreme creation his death had inspired. It died away at last, and he saw that the others were as moved as he.

He was awestruck. He felt that he had been present at the unveiling of something that ought to be immortal—and yet it had been an impromptu creation. She was Mozart or Shakespeare, or bom. He had found his Homer—if she would deign to help.

That night Griffon danced with the wind god over waters of ebony inlaid with platinum. A red beacon burned for her on the peaks of RegiVul. Tomiyano and Holiyi steered and kept watch, while the others lay in the putrid, damp hold.

Wallie offered Doa the single cabin. She inquired if the door could be bolted, but Holiyi had moved the fastening to the outside, turning the tiny room into a jail. She declined the offer.

Wallie slept there himself, still hoping wistfully that later, under the secretive blindfold of darkness, he might be granted company. But no one came. He slept poorly, unaccustomed to the motion of the ship, barkening to the creaks and water noises, conscious of the foul and fetid stink. And conscious, also, of a savage unrequited desire.

She had been Shonsu’s mistress. Shonsu’s expedition had met disaster. Whose side was Doa on?

Near to sunset of the second day, Griffon dropped anchor off Sen, less than a mile from shore. The wind god had been an enthusiastic helper, and they had made excellent time. Only one thing had been denied mem—a short period of calm for Wallie to test his sorcerer bait. His equipment would not work in a strong breeze, but perhaps gods did not appreciate a need for rehearsal. The wind was dropping now, as if made to order. The former Wallie Smith would have been concerned by that, for a dead calm would leave him hopelessly trapped within the sorcerers’ reach. Now he would indulge in superstitious faith and trust the gods.

Heroes were allowed to be lucky.

Or put it another way: Without luck, a man did not survive to be a hero.

No, the first way was better.

He was making other wild assumptions, also. He was guessing that the sorcerers were keeping careful watch on the River and its traffic. He was presuming that they used telescopes, and that those were of no great capacity. About a ten power, he thought, would be their limit. Most of all, he was counting on the swordsmen’s reputation. The last thing the sorcerers should be expecting from swordsmen was trickery.

Still, it would be great folly to underestimate the opposition. The swordsmen had never learned by their mistakes, but he was sure that sorcerers would, and they had been grievously mauled at Ov. Shonsu’s arrival at Casr and his subsequent disappearance would be known. They would be especially cautious of a large Seventh or a red,haired Fourth, and he would even give the enemy’s intelligence network credit for reporting that the Fourth was now a Fifth.

Nnanji, therefore, had been banished beiowdecks before Sen even came in sight—red hair was rare among the People. Ka,tanji, also, had been sent below, because of his cast. Doa’s great height made her conspicuous and her association with the original Shonsu might be known. She might be a sorcerer agent—Doa was down in the hold, too.

Wallie wore the blue gown that Lae had make for him. He had the cowl raised and he was keeping his face averted from the city. Tomiyano had smeared a cosmetic brown paste over his sorcerer brand. That left only Thana’s facemarks as a danger signal, and Wallie did not think that those would show at this distance. If the watchers were male, they would be studying other things when they looked at Thana, anyway.

The anchor was down, the sails were lowered. He had his equipment spread out on the deck—lying in the shadow of the bulwarks, for the sun was low. There were no other ships near. The wind had faded to a gentle breeze. Wallie had gone over the plan with his helpers a thousand times during the last two days. Conscious of a dry mourn and a mumping heart, he reviewed everything again in his mind, wondering what he might have overlooked and worrying over the million risks he had not.

Had he stayed too far out? Perhaps even ten power was beyond the sorcerers’ skills. He must not look to the city itself, but he could see the bank just downstream from it, and the houses seemed very tiny. What if his bait were not even noticed? What if it did not work at all? What if...

“Well, great leader?” Tomiyano asked impatiently.

“What if the wind dies on us?”

“Bah!” The captain walked across to the innocent,seeming scrap of rug that was yet another part of the plan. He adjusted it with one homy foot. ‘The winds have been singing to your lute, Shonsu! Every time we rounded a bend, the wind backed for us. Where’s your faith, Champion,of,the,Goddess?”

He was nervous, also, and trying not to show it.

“Then let’s go!”

Wallie knelt and tipped alcohol into a copper pan. Playing the part she had been given, Thana lit tinder with a flint—a skill mat he had not yet mastered. He slid the tinder into the pan as she steadied it. The flame was invisible, but Wallie could feel beat. He straightened, lifting the apex of the orange silk bag high, mentally crossing fingers. The cup might be too heavy, or not large enough, or the catgut holding it might burn through, or be might set the ship on fire, or nothing might work at all...

The bag began to swell. Thana looked up in alarm and Tomiyano made the sign of the Goddess. The bag filled more rapidly. The wind breathed on it and Wallie held it firm with two hands. Then he decided that it was full enough. He stooped and took the copper pan from Thana to raise it, steadying the bag with his other hand as it wallowed free. He felt lift, so he let go.

The World’s first hot,air balloon soared away in the breeze, spinning slowly... rising higher... floating over the River. He vaguely heard exclamations from bis companions, but he was too intent to listen. Surely the sorcerers would never have seen anything like that before? They would think he was one of them, coming to call with a new magic. In a few minutes the balloon would fall from the sky, but by then they would have lost it in the haze and the sun’s glare.

It had gone. He looked around and saw mat he was being regarded with superstitious awe. Thana was quaking and Holiyi pale.

There was another bag, the one he had planned to use for rehearsal. “Let’s do that again!” He chuckled, and they launched a second balloon. It climbed faster. Now his magic could not be dismissed as a freak illusion.

‘Take her in, Captain!” he said hoarsely, resisting the natural impulse to turn and look at the town. Keeping his face hidden in his cowl, he headed for the hatch.

Would the wind serve, or would it die and leave them stranded? Holiyi and Tomiyano remained on deck, while the others fretted and chewed fingernails in the hold. Even with bom hatch covers off, the hold stank. At each tack bilge swirled under the gratings, stirring unidentified nasty things as it did so. There was a ladder below the smaller hatch and a door to the little cabin, but otherwise it was a barren wooden box... a communal coffin, perhaps. The bedrolls and foodstuffs formed a small heap in the bow. Ropes for tying prisoners had been laid out, in a show of optimism.

Nnanji and Thana fidgeted, holding drawn swords already. Doa seemed quite relaxed, sitting on a bedroll and sending seductive little smiles toward Wallie. He was tense enough himself now that he found them easy to ignore, and evidently he need not worry about his passenger having hysterics. Katanji sat in a corner with his arms around his knees, making himself very tiny.

How many tacks? There were no portholes and Wallie dared not go near a hatch to peer out. Then he heard a shot from the deck and, in the distance, a clatter of horses.

“Almost there!” he said. “I think we have to add one thing that was not in the drill. Lady Doa will be bound and gagged. Thana, please?”

“You would not dare!” roared the minstrel.

“I certainly would,” Wallie said. “If necessary I’ll knock you out, or tie you up myself, but I’m not having any warning shouts! Now, which is to be?”

Glaring murderously, Doa allowed herself to be trussed.

Then Griffon thumped softly against fenders. Pulleys squealed as the sails were taken in. A moment later Tomiyano skidded

down the ladder and scuttled over to the others, who were all staying well away from the hatches.

“Lots of room, anyway!” the captain said with a cheerfulness mat rang false.

Wallie wondered what that meant, but he was too intent to spare time for conversation. Holiyi had cut two ports in the ship’s side directly below the hawsers. Nnanji and Thana now fumbled to remove their makeshift shutters. Being below quay level, these unorthodox gaps would be invisible to viewers on the dock.

Wallie stepped up on a balk of timber and thrust his head through yet another hole, this one cut in the deck. That put his eyes inside the upturned dinghy, so he could peer out the peephole in its side and watch the top of the gangplank. Unfortunately he did not have as good a view as he would have liked, for he could see only the gateway and not down the length of the plank. His reaction would have to be very swift.

Tomiyano’s scar was obvious at close quarters, so Holiyi must wear the dagger and be captain. Everything now depended on the skinny sailor.

Minutes crawled by. The strain of waiting seemed to grow without limit. Holiyi’s bare feet and bony legs went past the peephole and later returned.

Normally a port official came first, then went ashore. Afterward, if the bait had worked, a sorcerer or two should embark to greet the visitor. But at Ov sorcerers had accompanied the port official—was that a new procedure since the calling of the tryst, or just the way things were done at Ov? Would Holiyi be able to satisfy the port official?

“What if they ignore us?” Thana asked with a giggle that was just wrong enough to reveal nervousness.

No one spoke. The answer would have been that they would have to make an assault ashore and try to overpower a patrolling sorcerer. Sorcerers patrolled in groups and they carried guns.

Wallie was streaming sweat. His neck hurt. The stink was nauseating. He was just making a solemn vow that he would never eat fish again, when Holiyi was convulsed by coughing. That was the signal. A gown came into Wallie’s field of view—a long gown, reaching to the ground. That was no port official...

“Now!” As the sorcerer’s shoe landed on the scrap of rug at

the top of the plank, Wallie triggered the trapdoor below it. Thana and Nnanji reached out with their swords to cut the hawsers. It was only then, as the victim came crashing down into the hold, that Wallie’s mind registered the overwhelming impossibility. The gown had been blue. He had captured a sorcerer of the seventh rank.

tttt

Then many things happened all at once. Tomiyano and one,armed Katanji guided the ends of oars through the ports as Wallie stepped down and struck the sorcerer on the head with a bar of wood. Voices yelled on the dock. Nnanji grabbed Katanji’s oar and heaved, while Tomiyano heaved on his. Holiyi took a running jump through the cargo hatch and his feet hit the gratings with a crash. Griffon surged and began to move, propelled by the oars pushing against the dock. Wallie went to help Nnanji; Holiyi to Tomiyano. The clatter of the falling gangplank mingled with a scream and a splash—possibly a sorcerer had gone to the Goddess—then the oars fell uselessly through the ports and the ship was adrift... and no one else had boarded.

“Down!” Wallie yelled, but the others were already dropping to the smelly gratings. A fusillade of shots made three small holes in the planking and a shower of splinters spattered. Then the sound of chaos, familiar from Ov—horses screaming, people yelling, wagons overturning...

Griffon rocked gently and calmly. The sunlight below the hatches moved as the ship turned in the current and the wind. How long to reload die pistols? Would the wind hold for their escape? Would Griffon foul another vessel and be invaded by a troop of outraged sorcerers? The prisoner was unconscious. Awkwardly, and without rising, Wallie reached over and tied the man’s hands behind his back.

The noise from the dock was fading. The sorcerers should have been able to reload by now. What were they doing instead? Wallie rose to his feet and dashed for the ladder. Two rungs up he saw rigging over the gunwale, but far away. Then the tower came

into view, and the tops of warehouses, all black against the darkening sky. He decided he was out of reasonable musket range and finished his climb to the deck.