WARP world (10 page)

Jul felt his eyes on her back until she boarded the lift to take her to the topmost level of the administration facility.

Whisked silently upward, Jul contemplated that the majority of People on the World would never stand at this height in their entire lives, and now she would be working here. The air felt different somehow, cleaner and more sterile.

She exited the lift and stepped into the security cordon. Sharply-dressed security staff scanned her and checked her credentials, then a caj stepped away from the wall to guide her to the scheduled meeting. She stared at the golden metal graft implanted in the back of the creature’s head. Such fine quality!

After passing through a series of doors, she arrived at Director Fi Costk’s temporary office. He sat at his desk, a bulky man with a shaven head, who radiated authority. He glanced up as she entered and gestured absently toward a chair.

The office was a study in simplicity, dominated by a single large window that encompassed the entire rear wall. She had heard that his regular office, in Orhalze, had a special projector system built into it that made the floor appear invisible, as if the office hovered over the city, so that all who entered walked on air. Adirante Fi Costk liked to loom over those he ruled.

As she thought that, he rose to his feet and looked down at her. “Efectuary Jul Akbas,” he said gruffly, “impress me.”

As they neared the bustling center of the river city, Manatu slowed and Seg ordered his bodyguard forward. Unlike Kerbin, Manatu was unimaginative and simply responded to authority. He was brainless enough to be caj, but that made him useful for such things as carrying bags full of gear and absorbing rocks and arrows and whatever else the natives might decide to hurl Seg’s way.

Seg understood Manatu’s discomfort, though. Dressed in their impractical Outer attire, they stood at the threshold of a dock that sprawled for at least two kilometers along the bank of a wide river. Attached to sturdy, wood pilings, the structure was stable—as evidenced by the number of Outers traversing it with carts full of goods—but that didn’t make its location, over the water, any less intimidating.

There was also the crush of Outers. Observing the group of Welf Outers from a distance had felt not much different than classroom study but being here, among the throng, it was immediate and real. Although the port city was primarily populated by the Kenda—tall, robust stock, golden haired and skinned, faces weathered early by ocean travel—there were a good share of Welf in the mix. By contrast, the Welf looked as if they sprang from the very soil they farmed, with dusky skin, dark brown hair and eyes. They attended their Damiar masters as porters or guards, or saw to the menial tasks of the docks, tasks traditionally reserved for the lowest classes.

Damiar were scattered throughout the crowd, as well, Seg was relieved to see, since his goal was to blend in as fully as possible. From passing observation, he could tell that the Damiar here were either travelers passing through on one of the many vessels, merchants, or what constituted the upper ranks of the local legal authority. Welf, being expendable, were used for general enforcement–Seg couldn’t help a slight smirk as he passed a uniformed constable, the dim expression and hulking frame were so similar to Manatu’s.

Seg’s senses had never been so engaged. Savory wafts of frying breakfast meat intermingled with the musky smell of the animals pulling carts and the tang of the salty air. Bells rang, sails snapped, boots clomped, hammers pounded, birds cried, mariners shouted and whistled to each other from vessel to vessel. The sky was a painful shade of blue and the sun—the sun, what a novelty—brought all the colors of the river city flashing garishly to life.

How does any culture evolve amid such confusion?
The thought skipped over Seg’s consciousness as he continued his walk, thankful the social status his wardrobe signified forced the lower orders to move aside as he passed.

Soon they arrived at one of the walkways leading down to the dock.

Just as Manatu was about to step forward, as ordered, Seg stopped him by placing a hand in front of his chest. “Remember, you’re mute. You don’t talk.
At all
. Understand? Nod if you understand.” Manatu nodded, frowning. “Good man,” Seg said, in what passed for an encouraging tone for him, and raised his hand to let Manatu pass.

Taking his first steps onto the gently sloping ramp that led to the dock below, Seg kept his focus on the vessels. He had vague familiarity with waterborne craft, having studied them in training. Of course, studying images and reading about watercraft was entirely different than actually approaching one. Bobbing in the water, they were at once cryptic and confusing. How to assess the quality of each craft?

Seg pondered the question as he ignored the creak of his footsteps on the wooden planks and the spaces between the planks that showed the water, clearly, beneath him. It occurred to him that the best means of judging a vessel was to judge the commander of the vessel. What was true when navigating the skies had to be true here as well.

Water. It was daunting. Worse, by far, than trees. The World’s seas were now no more than large lakes, their rivers reduced to trickles, dead things, used only for shipping by the lower classes until even that had no longer been feasible. He had never known them as alive and rich, such as what he saw before him.

From the top of the mast, Ama hooked her leg over one of the thin-but-durable lengths of bonewood that made up the ‘bones’ of her sail, then lowered her upper body until she was hanging upside down. With one hand, she maneuvered a wide patch, slathered in epoxy, into place on the thin membrane, made from garzine skin. The tear had re-opened, yet again, on the return trip the previous evening. More trouble and expense she didn’t need. It was bad enough that today’s tour consisted of only three passengers and she had nothing else booked for nearly a week but now, with a gaping hole in the main skin, there was no way she could make it upriver if the wind died off.

“Told you it was time to replace that skin,” Captain Tather called up to her, from the bow of the
Greehm.

“Skin’s fine,” Ama lied, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “Just routine maintenance.”

“Routine maintenance my hairy hindquarters!” Tather laughed. “That crate’s more patch than boat. You should start taking those marriage offers more seriously.”

“I’ll do that,” Ama called back, “when you start bathing.”

She righted herself, then scurried to the top of the mast, pushed off and dove head first into the water. Underneath, she examined the hull of the
Naida
as she swam. Satisfied, she kicked to the surface, sucked in a lungful of air and climbed the ladder to the dock, where Tather’s men were hooting at her jibe. She raised her arms over her head in victory, “Captain Kalder wins again!”

She soon realized she now had a slightly bigger audience. Two foreign looking men were staring at her.

“Can I help you, good sirs?” she asked, wringing the water from her hair.

The men, two Damiar, one young, one somewhat older, possibly from the South judging by the style of their dress, said nothing.

The tall, thin man, his limbs slightly overlong, stood closest to her. His hair was a light brown and silver color that reminded her of the winter coat of a volp; hair that was thinning already to leave a distinct widow’s peak. He had an angular face with strong, pronounced cheekbones and his eyes, which were much the same colour as his hair, remained fixed on Ama as if she were an apparition and he was waiting to see if she would suddenly vanish.

His companion, a monolith of a man, was older and more wary. His eyes shifted from Ama to the surrounding boats and back.

She found the thin man’s gaze unsettling–he lacked the social consciousness of most normal people who would maintain a mutual gaze for a few moments before a subconscious mental impulse would direct their eyes elsewhere. For a Damiar, especially, to pay so much attention to a Kenda woman in public, even one so underdressed and sopping wet, was unusual. His mouth hung slightly agape. Ama could sense that in some fundamental way, she had shocked him.

“I, ah, that is—” he said, before shaking his head and composing himself visibly. “Yes, we require a private charter of your vessel.”

“When, where and for how many hours?” she asked, sizing up the amount of luggage the larger man was toting. Excessive for a day trip, even for Damiars.

“We would depart immediately,” the thin man began.

Ama cursed silently. “Ah, that’s too bad, I already have—”

“I want to travel for about twenty days in total,” he continued.

Twenty days? A twenty-day charter? Ama’s heart leapt inside her chest.

“Why don’t you gentlemen go aboard and I’ll consult my itinerary to see if I can fit you in,” Ama said, offering the two men a warm smile as she ushered them toward the stairs to the
Naida
. “I’ll return in a drop,” she called, then jogged to Captain Tather’s boat.

“Finally come to ask for help?” Captain Tather teased as Ama climbed aboard the
Greehm
, still dripping from her swim. “Wouldn’t blame you, that big cloud sniffer looks like he could tip your floating crate to one side–make sure he stays midship in rough water.” He gestured toward the men who were waiting for Ama aboard her boat.

“Look Tather, I’d rather spend a month on shore polishing the Judicia’s boots than ask you this but…” she looked down to her feet, then back up at him, crossed her arms in front of her chest and squinted with one eye.

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell your scheduled passengers you had an emergency and point them down the dock to one of the other, more reputable, charters.” Before she could ask how he had known what she wanted, he continued, “Whatever those Dammies are looking for, you’d better haul back on that enthusiasm before you wrestle them for a price. Too obvious.”

“Twenty days, private charter,” Ama said, as she toned down her visible excitement.

Tather let out a long, low whistle, “Not bad, especially considering what you have to work with.” He tilted his head in the
Naida’s
direction.

“You’re lucky you’re doing me a favour,” Ama said as she put her hands on her hips, the scrapes on her knuckles still visible.

“Hmpf,” Tather snorted, then crossed his arms and stared once more at the men on the
Naida’s
deck. “Strange looking pair. I’d say they’re Southies, if I had to guess. Don’t get many of them up our way. And that one,” he indicated the taller man with his chin, “I didn’t realize they grew Dammies that tall. Awfully young for a cloud sniffer to be on his own so far from home. Half coin says the big one is a guard Mommy and Daddy sent with him. Not a terrible looking fellow, the thin one, kind of regal. You be careful not to be dazzled by his good looks when you negotiate.”

Ama rolled her eyes, “The day I fall for a cloud sniffer is the day you can burn my boat.” She turned to leave, then called over her shoulder. “Thanks Tather, as much as it kills me, I owe you.”

“Just fall madly in love, that’s all I ask, and I’ll keep some fosfol and matches handy.”

As she climbed back aboard her own boat, Ama gestured to the seats, “Make yourselves comfortable, please.” She hurried to the stern, toweled off and slipped into a dry shirt and trousers.

Neither sat. The older man was silent and sour looking. Unlike his partner, his eyes roamed everywhere, taking in everything. His companion, the tall one with the hard face, was watching his feet and holding one of the side rails.

Tather was correct, they were dressed like Southies, and the accent fit, but something was off about them.

“You, sirs, are very lucky,” Ama said, as she returned to finish the deal, “I did have a devotional cruise booked for today but the clients are regulars of mine and entirely forgiving of schedule changes.” It was a blatant lie but hopefully Tather would keep his word. In any case, she would deal with the consequences later. “And it looks like the Shasir have blessed us with a perfect day for travel,” she touched her forehead and looked upward, in a display of respect for the lords of the sky.