The Tattooed Tribes (6 page)

They then
waited while everything went in to the Grand Master for more
signatures and seals. It was all very official and solemn and even
Lucien felt the importance and dignity of the whole thing. He did
briefly wonder if such solemnity might have been worth more than
the cursory glance he had given it, but dismissed the idea as it
was too late now.

However, the
seriousness had made quite an impression on him, so he was
horrified when the clerk took the document and sliced it in half
long ways, giving Lucien one section and Jon the other.

“
What the …”

“
We seal them back together when your
Master thinks you might make a journeyman,” the clerk explained.
“Try not to lose your half.”

“
I won’t,” Lucien said
fervently.

“
You probably will,” the clerk replied,
dryly. “That’s why we keep copies.”

And to
Lucien’s total disgust they went through a shortened version of the
entire process again, but without the hot wax and the banging down
of the great seal it was nowhere near as much fun.

He rather
expected something moderately exciting to happen next, but instead
Jon once again disappeared to speak to some higher authority; a
task he assured his new apprentice required neither his assistance
nor his presence.

Left to his own
devices, Lucien found it all a bit of an anti-climax, and the ugly
spectre of boredom loomed on his horizon. He wondered if he dare
explore, but the memory of Jon’s hand on his ear held him in his
seat.

Rescue from
the horrors of tedium arrived in the shape of a man dressed in
tribal leathers. The padded deerskin jacket was decorated with a
complex pattern of scrolling leaves and wood bison and was edged
with bright blue fish leather. His pants had tiny discs of beaten
gold running down the side of each leg and the large knife at his
waist had a lump of polished jade set on the end of the grip.

Lucien’s eyes
went wide. This was the sort of thing he wanted to see.

“
Where’s Harabin?” the man
demanded.

The accent was
not local and Lucien looked again. The clothes might have been
tribal, but the man was not. He had the fleshy look of someone who
dines too well too often, but the eyes were watchful. Watchful and
without expression, like a good poker player.

The clerk was
obviously unimpressed.

“
You’ll have to wait,” he
replied.

“
Do you know who I am?” the man demanded.
“I’ve got a boat load of trade goods out there and I need to get
upriver before it loses more value.”

“
We all know who you are, Mr Frain. You’ll
still have to wait.”

There was a
certain note of contempt in the clerk’s voice and Frain’s face
coloured with temper. He took a step forward, his hand going to the
knife at his belt, but the clerk pulled a short axe out from a draw
and laid it on the desk before him, his tattooed hand gently
resting on the handle. He smiled up invitingly.

There was a
moment of tension and then Frain snorted and swung away, obviously
not prepared to pursue the matter.

The clerk gave
his axe an affection pat and returned it to its home.

Frain took a
quick turn around the room, muttering and making small gestures of
impatience. He finally became aware of Lucien watching him and
ostentatiously placed his hands on his belt buckle so the boy could
see them.

They appeared
to be tattooed all over, like a highly experienced Liaison Officer
or tribal dignitary, but Lucien saw anomalies like snakes wound
around each finger, bison on both hands and salmon leaping across
the thumbs.

“
Ever seen real tribesman’s hands before,
boy?” Frain asked with a smirk.

“
Yes,” Lucien replied and jerked his chin
significantly over towards the clerk, who grinned.

Frain’s eyes
narrowed and he clenched his teeth.

“
Any fool can get this done,” he sneered.
“It doesn’t take much to impress the savages.”

Whatever
Lucien was going to say next, and he was going to say quite a lot,
was cut short by Jon Harabin re-entering the room.

“
Where the hell have you been, Harabin?”
Frain demanded. “I need to get upriver quickly. I’ve got money to
make.”

“
I’m not at your beck and call, Tim,” Jon
replied. “You asked to accompany the next Liaison officer upriver.
I’m not obliged to take you, or to go when you say.”

“
I pay my taxes …” Frain began
angrily.

“
I’m sure you pay
some
of them,” Jon agreed. “The boy and I will be
leaving at dawn.”

Frain glared
at Lucien.

“
I don’t want some brat holding us
up!”

“
Your choice,” Jon said, calmly. “He and I
leave in the morning. Early.”

Whatever
incivilities had been hanging on Lucien’s tongue waiting for an
airing died at this point, lost to a near fever pitch of excited
anticipation.

Leaving the
building, and a still protesting Frain, Jon took him over to the
main stores to put together basic travelling necessities. Although
he tried hard to appear nonchalant, hoping to impress the
quartermaster and fool him into thinking he was an experienced
traveller, Lucien’s undisguised delight when he was fitted with
real tribal boots and a deerskin jacket allowed both the older men
to indulge in a little gentle ribbing.

He was about
to take umbrage when Jon said, “He’ll need a better knife.”

“
He’ll only cut himself,” the quartermaster
replied.

“
But ...” Lucien exploded in protest and
then saw he was being teased again and bit back what he was going
to say. He might have brooded, but the array of cutlery set out for
his inspection dispelled the sullens.

The knife took
some choosing, but in the end a long broad bladed one was selected
and a handsome tribal sheath provided to carry it in. It was
beautifully sharp, its edge like a razor. The bleeding from a small
experiment to discover just how sharp was stopped fairly
quickly.

“
Where are we going?” Lucien demanded on
the walk home, the knife firmly in its sheath and remaining there
on pain of confiscation.

“
I’m taking that so-called businessman up
to The First Cataract and then I thought we might test the
temperature amongst The People beyond.”

“
Beyond!” Lucien breathed
ecstatically.

“
Yes, but there’s no need for you to tell
Frain, and if he asks you, which he will, you tell him you’ve no
idea what my plans are.”

“
Why does he need us to take him
upriver?”

“
Because his trading licence has been
endorsed. No-one is allowed above The First Cataract without a TL
officer to accompany them and some, like Frain, aren’t allowed that
far without supervision.”

“
Why not?

“
Because they aren’t much bothered what
they trade in,” Jon replied. “There are quotas to protect the
forests and the natural resources. Exceeding them is illegal and
can land the perpetrator in a lot of trouble. Frain was caught
smuggling, but managed to wriggle and squirm his way out of it. All
he got was a bloody great fine and supervised access.”

“
So he’s a crook.”

“
In my opinion, a total crook, a liar and
probably a whole load of other things. I’d have cancelled his
license. However, he has permission to go, so we take him- on
conditions.”

“
What conditions?”

“
He never leaves my sight and every scrap
of his cargo is searched on the way up and on the way down. And he
has a life ban from going above The First Cataract.”

“
Did you catch him?” Lucien asked, hearing
the note of frustrated anger in Jon’s voice.

“
I did.” Jon replied.

“
What was he smuggling?”

“
Never mind. Just remember what I said. He
will try and get as much information out of you as he can, so keep
your mouth shut.”

Chapter
5

Lucien hardly
slept that night and as a result he was tired, excited and a bit
over emotional the next morning. Every delay was purgatory and he
nearly wept with frustration as Jon checked and rechecked their
equipment.

“
You can’t buy what you’ve forgotten where
we’re going,” he warned the boy. “Eat your breakfast and calm
down.”

“
I can’t eat,” Lucien protested.

“
Do as you’re told,” Jon said.

“
Stop telling me what to do! I don’t
…”

He met Jon’s
cold eye and there was a silent inner struggle, then without a word
he sat and ate.

Food and Jon’s
calm organised preparations had a soothing effect and he was able
to sit and watch the packing, mentally noting the efficient way
everything was stowed.

The knocking
on the door was an unwelcome intrusion.

“
See who that is,” Jon said as he looked
for a better place to put a small axe head.

Hardly had
Lucien lifted the latch than the door burst open and Stacey
Wainwright erupted into the room.

“
Is it true?” she demanded.

Jon was as
startled as Lucien, but he at least had a good idea why the girl
was there.

“
I presume you mean your rejection for the
apprenticeship,” he began.

“
Why else would I be here, you fool,” she
yelled. “Why have you turned me down?”

He was
prepared to sympathise with her disappointment, but was not going
to be spoken to like that.

“
It was nothing personal,” he said coolly.
“And I have recommended you for the next vacancy.”

“
Fuck the next bloody vacancy,” she cried.
“You’d better think again or there’s going to be real trouble. More
trouble than you can imagine.”

By now Lucien
had worked out she must be the girl on the list from the previous
day, and his natural buoyancy and dubious sense of humour was only
too ready to spring into life.

“
Tough break, sweet lips,” he said with a
grin, putting as much insolence as he could into the words and
looking her up and down in a very suggestive manner.

The grin was
wiped from his face by the crack of her hand on his jaw. She did
not bother to see the effect, but rounded again on Jon.

“
If you know what’s good for you, you’ll
get rid of this clown and get me signed up.”

“
Ms Wainwright. I don’t give a damn who
your father is or how much influence and money he has, I make my
own decision as to who I apprentice and the Guild will back me
every inch of the way. I understand you’re disappointed, but this
isn’t going to make me change my mind.”

“
Disappointed!” she yelled. “You haven’t
got a clue. Not a bloody clue. You’ll regret this. The time will
come soon when you’ll wish you’d never picked this worthless little
bastard out of his gutter.”

Her eyes were
blazing and her bosom was heaving in a way to make Lucien quite
forget the throb of his jaw. Suddenly she seemed to break and she
slumped, her shoulders heaving as dry sobs rose in her throat.

“
You fool,” she said to Jon. “You blind,
stupid fool.”

With that she
turned on her heel and left.

Lucien looked
to Jon for comment, but all he said was, “Let’s finish this
packing, we’re wasting daylight.”

Dawn was still
a while off as they made their way to the river. All the time
Lucien expected Jon to say something, but he never did and in the
excitement of everything he soon forgot the whole incident.

At one of the
narrow jetties jutting into the water, dock workers loaded a long,
powered skiff with bales and boxes.

“
She’s ready, Cap’n,” one said to Jon.
“Power enough to get to The First Cataract. You’ll have to refuel
her there if you’re taking her on upriver.”

“
I’m not,” Jon replied. “I’ll have her
towed back down to you.”

The man nodded
and Jon threw his pack in the stern.

“
Lucien,” he said firmly. “We need to get
one thing very clear. From the second you step onto the boat
you
must
obey my
orders without question. Do you understand?”

“
Yes, sir,” Lucien replied.

“
I wish I could be sure,” Jon said.
“Because ...”

Whatever else
he was going to say was interrupted by the arrival of Tim
Frain.

“
What’re we waiting for?” he
demanded.

“
You!” Jon replied. “But before we start I
want to know what’s in those boxes of yours.”

“
Trade goods,” Frain replied.

“
What sort of trade goods?”

“
The usual rubbish.”

Jon turned to
the dockers. “Unload the lot for a full search.”

“
Okay, okay,” Frain said. “There’s nothing
for you to get worked up about. It’s just red beads and ribbons.
Some perfumed soap, bees wax, cotton wicks and a few bales of
silk.”

Jon fixed him
with a cold look. “If I find as much as a pinch of weed or a grain
of dust in there, I’ll feed you to the fish,” he warned.

Frain sneered.
“You won’t find any, and why you want to stop honest trade is
beyond me.”

He did not
wait for an answer, but went and took a place in the bows.