The Shasht War (32 page)

"Don't worry, my friend," muttered Thru, wielding a razor on the back of Ter-Saab's neck. "You don't look like one." Indeed, kob skin was anything but baby-like.

The loss of their soft grey fur had revealed a band of skin tones among them. The Northerners were very pale, the Southerners were darker, and the kob was light brown. These tones were new to their eyes, because before, all had been covered in the common grey fur of the folk of the Land, all except kobs, of course.

But without their big eyebrows, with their faces shaved and dressed in slave rags, the mots and brilbies could become almost invisible in the world of men. They wore caps or rags tied around their heads and worked a certain amount of dirt and grease into their skins. Free men didn't really "see" slaves. And even on the few occasions when they'd traveled in a group with slave men, the slaves themselves didn't seem to notice.

They were moved again that very evening.

Until then, they'd been lodged in the unused cellar beneath an old palace in the Outer Shalba. Back on the wagon, they were taken down the lanes that wound between the palaces and streets of grand houses in the Outer Shalba. They passed across one of the grand ceremonial avenues, which were restricted to the carriages of the finest.

At the bridge over the Cho River, they passed close to a post filled with Red Tops. At this point Thru looked up and saw one of the young priests looking at him. The Red Top blinked. Thru looked down immediately and then they were past, just another wagon of slaves on its way to a field of vegetables somewhere.

Except that the Red Top had seen something.

The wagon rolled on. Thru dared not look back, even to warn the men on the back board. Janbur of the Gsekk was driving the wagon, and two friends of Janbur's, not afraid to risk their lives, were riding on the rear of the wagon, looking back. If someone were to stare at the wagon from that angle they would see these true men first, then behind them the mots and brilbies, all hidden variously under hats, caps, and rags. So far it had worked.

They came through the river park and onto a service road for a great house. The young lords on the back shifted uneasily. Down the road behind them they could see a group of Red Tops following at a trot.

"Janbur," called the pale young Erv of Grezack, "I think they've spotted us." Janbur looked back, then whipped up the horse to increase its pace. They rounded the curve in the road at a trot, and the road sank down between stone walls.

Janbur looked around himself with a frantic eye. There were tall walls on either side of the service road. Begham house loomed over the trees on their right. To the left somewhere was the river, and the canal beside it.

A gate appeared in the wall on the left. Janbur jumped down and ran ahead. The gate opened at once, and Janbur ran back, got back on the wagon, brought the horse to a halt, and then turned it into the gate. The Erv of Grezack closed the gate behind them.

Ahead of them a straight brick road ran between two fields of vegetables, alternating rows of lettuce, cabbage, and cucumbers.

"Quickly," said Janbur. "Get down and pretend to work."

The young lordlings were transfixed with terror.

"I cannot be caught here," said the Erv of Grezack. "My family would lose everything..." The Erv had completely lost his nerve.

Janbur himself was undecided. Then they heard fists on the outside of the gate. The two young Ervs broke and ran for the far wall. Janbur stared at the gate with his hands balled into fists.

The mots looked down and found the rows filled with weeds. They started weeding, something that came naturally to mots of the Land.

The Red Tops pushed the door open and began berating Janbur.

"Slave! Why did you not halt when we called?"

"Called? I did not hear your call, master priests."

"Bah, you heard us and you whipped your horse on. We saw your wagon increase speed."

"Well, the truth is we are behind schedule, master priests. We should have finished in this garden yesterday. We have much to do by the end of the day."

Janbur put on an excellent performance. The Red Tops muttered and poked around the wagon.

Others, though, studied the mots and brilbies bent over the rows of cabbages, lifting out weeds with nimble fingers.

"Mushrat," snapped the leader, "which one did you see that you thought looked odd?"

The Red Top called Mushrat pushed into the rows of broccoli.

"This one, I think," he said, seizing poor Jev Turn by the sleeve and pulling him out.

"Look at him closely, he's odd-looking."

"You, slave, what's your name?"

Poor Jev Turn was plainly terrified. He could barely speak.

"I sorry, master," he said in broken Shashti after an embarrassing pause.

Thru tensed.

"What did you say, you pig?" The Red Top slapped Jev Turn across the face. Jev spun away from the blow.

Another Red Top kicked him and shoved him to the ground. "There's something strange-looking about this fellow. Let us take a look at him more closely."

Thru edged closer. He noticed Janbur staring at the Red Tops with a peculiar intensity.

Three Red Tops now pulled at poor Jev Turn. They would have his shirt open in moments to expose a body covered in fur. Thru moved. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Janbur in motion, too.

Thru caught hold of the nearest Red Top's shoulder and spun the man around. The astonished face that looked into his had barely accepted that a slave had grabbed hold of a priest when Thru's fist smashed into the man's throat, crushing his Adam's apple and dropping him to his knees.

Red Top rage exploded. A stave swished past Thru's ear as he whirled away in a tight kyo curve.

The other mots were coming. A moment later there was a whirling little fight in progress. Fists, feet, and staves were the only weapons and the sounds of thudding blows and heavy exhalations of breath were the only noise. The country kyo of the Land proved effective against the boxing style taught to Red Tops.

Meanwhile Janbur had slammed the gate shut and put a brick against the bottom. Ter-Saab leveled another Red Top and took a staff from the man. With that in his hands the old kob was too much for any of these Red Tops.

Outnumbered and bewildered by this turn of events, the Red Tops tried to flee. But they rebounded off the gate and were run down in the vegetable rows, beaten to the ground. The captives were not gentle with these men, caring little if they lived or died.

But other Red Tops had arrived outside the gate.

"No time," said Janbur in sick despair.

"Move the wagon in front of the gate," called Thru.

Janbur saw the need, slapped the reins, and the horse responded. Two seconds later the wagon was parked right up against the gate, just as the brick gave way and the gate started to open. Now the Red Tops were stymied.

The mots ran down the field and clambered over the wall at the far end. Ahead was another field, very similar to the first, but with a gate at the far end. They ran for it. Beyond the gate was a narrow cart track and then an open stretch of bare ground that flanked a canal. Across the canal lay more fields. All in all the scene was very familiar to mots who lived in a land of polders, ponds, and canals very much like this.

But this was not safe land for them. A couple of men, fishing from a bridge over the canal, saw them and hearing the hue and cry behind them started shouting and pointing at them.

They hurried along the side of the canal, with Janbur ranging ahead, seeking some escape route. Behind them they could hear the angry cries of the Red Tops, who had pushed into the field by now.

Looking back, Thru saw the first Red Tops climb over onto the canal path. Their shouts increased in volume.

"Here," said Janbur, pulling open another gate, leading into a narrow lane running between high wicker walls. They left the canal and went down this lane, with wicker walls on either side, screening off the garden plots of middle-class houses from the Outer Shalba. Behind them they heard the priests.

Quite suddenly they came to a fork. Janbur took the left side, the mots followed. Thru had fallen behind slightly and sensed the Red Tops closeness. Looking back he saw the first of them coming into view around the curve of the lane. The man gave an exultant yell.

Thru took the right fork, heading back toward the canal. He ran, but not to outdistance the oncoming priests, just to keep them following himself. Meanwhile he looked anxiously ahead for some way of escape. The gates of the maze were as high as the walls for some reason of tradition or security. There seemed no way out. The path forked again, and once more he headed right. Now a number of Red Tops followed him, and he let the leaders see just enough of his heels to keep them coming.

The game could only last for so long, though. Suddenly he was back on the canal path. A long narrow boat passed just twenty feet away. It was drawn by a horse lead by a child. The boat was painted a dull green, and was partly open at either end, with a closed in section in the middle. Since this was a long straight stretch of the canal, no one manned the tiller.

The child studied him as he drove the horse up the bank. Thru noticed the steam rising from the horse's massive hindquarters.

To either side the canal path stretched away. The Red Tops were coming, but they hadn't seen him yet. Thru didn't hesitate, but dove neatly into the canal and struck down through the cold water to the depths. The cold was shocking, just like the sea in winter. He swam under the looming mass of the canal boat and then up to the surface on the other side. The water was so cold it seemed to burn the skin. Then he broke surface and took a breath. The boat was only a few feet from the side of the canal here, but he could cling to a heavy hawser that was wrapped around the boat's side to protect it from the edge of the canal.

No one aboard the boat appeared to have seen him.

Then he heard the Red Tops burst out onto the canal path on the other side of the canal. Only a few fading ripples from his dive could be seen. The child and the horse never broke stride, and the boy didn't look at Thru now.

The Red Tops called to the boy. Some ran along the canal, seeking Thru under the water.

The boy slipped Thru a furtive glance, then looked past him.

"No, masterful priest, I see nothing."

"Well, do you see anything now?"

"No, master," said the boy.

"Seems a useful sort of fellow" was fat Gevuv's comment when he finally noticed that the crew of his canal boat, the
Euchre
had gained a new member.

Along with little Riro and big Delp, there was now Thru, a middling sort, well-built and active. Had a strange sort of face, eyes too far apart, nose too small, but good looks weren't important in boat crew on the old Shasht canal. And since they'd lost Huppy in an accident at Guvnor's Lock, they'd been shorthanded. Riro had to do way too much, and Riro was only eight years old.

Gevuv, who had inherited the boat when his father died, was one of those owners who did no physical work. A conservative type, he stuck with the trade in general goods that he'd inherited. This involved taking cargoes of spices, salt, spirits, and housewares up the canal to inland parts like Shesh and the Trov Valley, then returning to the great city with tea, yeast, dried herbs, and country textiles.

"We need him, honorable master," said Riro, hands twisting a length of rope.

"I know," Gev said with a shrug. "I know, Delp is strong, but..."

Useless was a word Gevuv avoided, since he had paid fifteen pieces for Delp at the slave market. Huppy had always complained about it, but Huppy was dead, crushed by a lock gate when he slid off the side of the boat at the wrong moment. Huppy was one of those unfortunates who couldn't stay away from the spirits of alcohol. Riro didn't miss Huppy.

The new fellow, with the unusual name of Thru, was indeed useful. Very good with his hands, he was, and had soon repaired all the boat's ropes and lines. Also he sewed up some rents in the canvas covers that went over the open ends when it rained. Gevuv was pleased, for it was the month of Ribrack and soon there'd be ice on the canal. So Gevuv forbore to ask any difficult questions. This Thru must be a runaway slave, perhaps running to avoid castration. Gevuv would take care of all these matters at a more appropriate time.

Thru also improved the diet of the
Euchre
owner when he turned his hand to catching fish in the canal. Big bream and carp began to appear regularly on the dinner table, and Gevuv loved that. It saved more silver and was a break from oats and beans. Thru even took over the cooking, which was a vast improvement on Delp's efforts.

In just a week of moving through the crowded valleys, Thru became a favorite of Gevuv, who even indulged the new slave in a few coins to buy some warmer clothes, a thick homespun shirt, and an oilskin coat and hat.

Together with Riro, Thru worked the horse, a stout, uncomplaining animal called Deji (barley bread). Deji was not difficult at all. Nor were the other tasks of managing the boat. The only hard work was maneuvering through tunnels and locks.

But in the smallest, oldest tunnels there was often no tow path, and they had to work the boat through by pushing with their feet on the ceiling of the tunnel above. Delp was good at this, of course, though he was hopeless at everything else. Riro sometimes joked that Deji was smarter than Delp. Certainly Delp could not be trusted to lead Deji, who would always find a way to slow down and eventually come to a halt if Delp was leading him.

Thru slept in Huppy's old bunk and used the communal razor and strop to keep his face and neck free of fur. Indeed he increased the area he shaved and made sure to do this when he wasn't being observed.

Taking over as cook also put Thru at the center of things. He began to copy the hard regional accent he heard from Riro and did his best to learn things without seeming to ask too many questions. He understood that, at least for now, he was cut off from his companions, essentially alone in an alien land.