A Dirge for Sabis

by C. J. Cherryh

  Sulun let out his breath in a soundless whistle. "Certainly, Goodlady. I'm honored to have you as our . . . secondary patron."

  "Then surely you would not mind storing some of my . . . gear in this workshop." Eloti smiled.

  "Not at all, Goodlady." Sulun refrained from asking what gear, or how much. "I do beg you to consider, though, how much equipment we may be able to transport in case of, er, emergency."

  Eloti leaned back in her chair, the classic motion of a merchant about to dicker extensively. "I would begin with a larger wagon," she said, "still capable of being drawn by two mules."

  Sulun grinned. "It must also be capable of carrying two changes of clothing for each of us, plus our books, tools, sufficient food for at least three days, basic household supplies—and, of course, all of us."

  "Of course." Eloti smiled, flicking her fan. "Likewise one larger traveling-chest for myself, and enough sailcloth to cover the load."

  "Of course." Sulun reached for his waxboard then frowned. "I confess, I've never had to calculate the carrying capacity of mule wagons."

  "Leave that to me," said Eloti, not smiling now. "Of course, I must know how far the wagon is expected to travel, over what roads, and into what sort of country."

  Sulun gnawed his lip, seeing where this was aimed. He didn't really have an answer; all of them together hadn't decided. Perhaps another conference was in order. "Doshi, Arizun, all of you," he called to the innocent-looking house, "Get out here. We have . . . travel routes to discuss."

  In scant seconds the little crowd came out and ranged themselves on the workbenches, all serious-faced, even the children. Sulun guessed that they'd been listening closely through the doors and windows, and needed no explanations.

  "If we run," he said bluntly, "where do we go?"

  Doshi surprised him by speaking up first. "To the north," he said with surprising decisiveness. "I've copied all the maps—-begging your pardon, Lady—and I know that land. Yes, we'd be hard put to get behind the Ancar lines and I confess I don't know how we'd do that—"

  "Zeren might know," Arizun put in. "Going north was his idea first."

  "But once past them, we'd be reasonably safe. More, those people up there are poor farmers, not very well educated, and from all accounts the Ancar aren't scholars either. They'd welcome skilled tradesfolk, mechanicals, with our knowledge. We could make ourselves welcome there."

  "And how would the Ancar conquerors care for Sabisan refugees in their midst?" Eloti asked.

  "We needn't say we come from Sabis," Doshi shrugged.

  "We could say we come from Halas," Arizun piped up, in his native element now. "That's the other end of the world, for all the northerners would know. They've never been there, know nothing of its people or customs. We could be as strange as we liked."

  "In which case," Eloti pointed out, "they might be afraid to come near us, let alone purchase our wares or work."

  "Oh no, that could be an advantage," Arizun insisted, grinning like a monkey. "We could say we were magicians."

  "Magicians?" Sulun choked on a mouthful of wine.

  "Certainly! Ignorant folk may fear magicians, but they always want their services. I could teach you the basics—"

  The others laughed. Eloti smiled widely.

  "It's true, it's true!" Arizun insisted. "How do you think I lived, all those years before Sulun apprenticed me? I swear by all the gods I've ever heard of, folk will fee and placate magicians far more than honest philosophers or craftsmen. Folk love mysteries far more than knowledge."

  There was a silence for a long moment while everyone thought about that, seeing the grim truth in it.

  In that silence they noticed the growing noise outside. From the street came sounds of shouts, trampling feet, noises of smashing wood and pottery, and more—an indescribable growl of no one source, all too well recognized after these long weeks of hard times.

  "Oh gods, not another street riot," Sulun groaned, starting to his feet.

  "It won't come in here," said Arizun, tugging at his sleeve. "I made sure to lock that door, and it's too thick for them to break down."

  "He's right," said Yanados, listening. "If we hear them trying to break in we can go to the upper windows and drop things on them, but there's no danger yet."

  "Still, we're stuck here until it passes," Vari worried. "Gods, I hope it doesn't reach to the brassworkers' street."

  "Brassworkers' street?" Eloti inquired.

  "Omis is there," Sulun explained. "He wants to trade skills with a good brass smith, learn the secrets of large brass casting. It's for our other project."

  "Interesting." Eloti fanned herself thoughtfully. "If your project succeeds it may save the city, you've said."

  "Yes. But if it fails, we intend to escape with whole skins."

  "And," Doshi added, "with enough of our tools and knowledge that we need not live like savages."

  "Indeed," Eloti murmured. "Indeed."

  Then they heard the familiar iron tramp of guardsmen's booted feet in the street outside, followed by bellowed orders, howls of dismay, sounds of running sandals, and assorted thumpings. "I think the riot is leaving," Eloti observed. "Now should your plan to go north fail, what secondary plans have you?"

  Secondary plans? Sulun wondered, looking about him. He hadn't even refined the first one.

  But then Yanados spoke up. "The captain of the Yanira will take us on board, no fees and no questions, and let us off at any port we ask."

  Everyone turned to look at her. Sulun coughed, then asked, "Why is he inclined to be so amazingly generous?"

  Yanados bit her lip for a moment. "I . . . made a quiet arrangement, the day we tested the engine. I gave him the design drawings for the engine and paddle wheels, and . . . I told him we could make more, teach others to make more. Such skills would be very useful in . . . some places."

  "I . . . see." Sulun no longer had any doubts about Yanados's family or land or origin. Everyone knew about the pirates of Sakar. Ships with Sulun's engines could rule the seas. Any clever captain could add those facts and come to the obvious conclusion. "Yes, we could escape that way."

  "Provided," Eloti said, "that the Yanira happens to be in port at whatever time we have need of her."

  More silence as the conspirators considered that.

  Their thoughts were interrupted by a polite but firm knocking at the outer door. Everyone looked at each other.

  "I'll go," said Doshi. "None of us looks like a stout warrior, but I think I can pretend to it better than most." He was up and away before anyone could think of a better argument.

  "In case of either plan being necessary," Eloti resumed, "we'll require a wagon that can transport ourselves and our goods either out of the city or down to the docks in a single load, yet isn't so vast that it would have trouble at the gates or require more than two mules." She tapped her teeth with her fan. "I think such could be provided, say, by quarter moon."

  "So quickly?" Sulun marveled.

  "My dear Master Sulun, I have not lived all these years in Entori's house without learning something of the carting business."

  At that point they all heard the front door slam shut, and the sound of approaching boots. Everyone froze, wondering which guardsman Doshi had let in, and why.

  A moment later the mystery was resolved as Doshi came back, grinning from ear to ear, with Zeren a pace behind him. "Look what I found on the doorstep!" he announced.

  "Zeren, by all the gods!" "Make room for him!" "Where's another bench?" "Do we have more wine?" Everybody chattered at once.

  Zeren, a little bemused by all the attention, dropped onto the nearest bench and took off his helmet. "I'm pleased to see you're all safe," he said. "When we cleared out this street and I saw your door, I thought I should send my boys on ahead and see if you were present, and well."

  "We are, we are," Sulun fairly dithered, handing Zeren a filled cup. "We've been making plans to complete the Bombard Project. Omis has some ideas about cast brass�
�he's at the brassworkers' street right now—the riot hasn't reached there, has it?"

  "Oh no, it's just down here, near the river. Such troubles are fewer since we started the press gangs . . . though they're worse when they happen at all." He stared past them at Eloti. "And who's this lady?"

  Once more Ziya performed the formalities. "This is Goodlady Eloti, sister of Entori, of Entori House. Our new patroness. Madame, this is—"

  "Zeren of the Guard," Zeren cut in, impatient with lengthy courtesies. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off Eloti. "Begging your pardon, Lady, but . . . what are you doing down here?"

  "Inspecting my investment." Eloti met his stare with a cool smile. She hadn't missed the welcome the others gave him. "We were also discussing means of departing the city, should the invasion reach this far."

  "Oh." Zeren glanced at Sulun, his eyes asking: New ally? To be trusted?

  "The lady's been pointing out flaws in our existing plans," Sulun explained, then added recklessly, "She's also offered to provide help with anything reasonable."

  "I see." Zeren took a careful mouthful of wine, studying Eloti over his cup. "So. What flaws did you find?"

  Sulun, caught between them, got the distinct feeling that he'd been assigned the role of either truce negotiator or matchmaker, and that was something new in his experience.

  "First, the ship on which we might escape southward or . . . to the islands . . . might not be in port when we need her. Second, if we try to run north, how would we pass the Ancar lines?"

  Zeren thought for a long moment, looking from Sulun to Eloti and back. "You'll need a boat in any case," he said at last. "Whether you have to cross the straits, catch up with your ship, or bypass the Ancar lines, you'll need a boat big enough to carry all of you safely. The river's the best place to bypass the Ancar; they're not sailors. When they crossed the Azesu all those years back, they neither bridged nor sailed it. They hunted up and down the river until they found a passable ford for infantry. Same thing when they crossed the Got a few years later. I doubt that they've changed since. Get a boat, stay on the river as long as you can, and if their arrows can't reach you, you'll be safe."

  "How big a boat?" said Eloti, pulling a small waxboard from her sleeves.

  Sulun noted that she didn't take her eyes off Zeren either.

  * * *

  By next moon-quarter the wagon arrived. It appeared quietly one day in the stable courtyard, tucked against the wall, half under the stable eaves, looking as if it had always been there. Examining it during lunch, Sulun noted that it was indeed long and wide and sturdy enough to carry all of them, plus their clothes, food, tools, and even Omis's anvil. The flooring was doublebraced, the wheels unusually sturdy, and the whole construction made of good hardwood. A large square of tightly woven, oiled sailcloth was folded up in the footwell below the driver's seat. Sulun reflected that the mistress did indeed know the carting business, and went off to lunch in high good humor.

  Back in the working courtyard, he noticed that the stacks of iron ingots were much reduced and their place taken by bags of odd-colored sand. Intrigued, he went looking for Omis, and found him by the rear gate, helping two strangers in workmen's garb muscle in a load of heavy wooden panels. Sulun knew better than to say anything before the men left, but he pounced the minute the gate was shut.

  "That?" Omis rubbed his hands gleefully. "That, old friend, is the makings of a sand mold."

  "A sand mold?"

  "Aye. Our new bombard tube will be cast from good brass, in a mold of wet sand clenched by wooden walls. Heh! Once we've cast her, we can use this trick to make more engine parts for the vulture."

  "Hmm. And what shall we use for the casting model? Wax?"

  "No, wood." Omis hefted a smoothed round log as big as his leg. "We'll shape this, put it in the casting box, pour the sand around it, wet the sand and pound it nearly solid, then pull out the log to leave its shape in the sand—where we'll pour the brass. Simple, eh? Well, there are some details, but not many. The important thing is, this technique works. I watched the bellmaker do it, from start to finish. I can do it, Sulun. We'll have our new bombard in less than a tenday."

  "Er, what did you give him in exchange for the knowledge?"

  "The basic design of the steam engine, for which he was sufficiently grateful. So grateful, indeed, that he told me where I might purchase something truly valuable."

  "Oh gods, what? And how valuable?"

  "A small, portable forge, my friend. I don't intend to be caught without a forge again, not after last time."

  "You bought it, of course," Sulun sighed. "How much? And where did you put it?"

  "Well, I sold most of the extra iron—the rest went to purchasing the casting sand. Brass casting requires special sand, you know."

  "I know. Where is it?"

  "Why, right over here in the corner." Omis led the way to a squat metal cylinder half-hidden behind the sandbags. "It's iron, lined with good fireclay. I saw the brass smith using one, and I made certain it could manage small pieces of iron, too. Isn't she pretty?"

  "Delightful," Sulun groaned. "How much does it weigh? Can the wagon take it? And how soon can we get it down to the river workshop?"

  "Wagon? What wagon?"

  "A gift from our patroness. I just found it this morning. Come, and bring your new toy; we may as well learn right now if the wagon can carry it."

  "Carry it? Hah." With that, Omis picked up the little forge, straining a bit, and carried it all the way into the stable courtyard. "See?" he puffed, putting it down. "It isn't that heavy."

  "Let's see what the wagon says." Sulun dropped the new wagon's tailgate. "Load it," he said.

  Surprisingly enough the wagon could and did hold the small forge, with no more than a few creaks of complaint from the floorboards.

  "There, you see?" Omis grinned as he wiped sweat off his forehead. "It's light enough to carry, and doesn't take up much room. We'll take it with us when we go."

  Sulun started to say that if the bombard could be made quickly enough they wouldn't have to go at all, but then he thought better of it. "Excellent. Leave it in the wagon, then; we'll take it down to the river workshop this very afternoon."

  "But I haven't even tested it yet!" Omis howled, offended. "Let me use it for today, at least!"

  And nothing would satisfy him but taking the forge out of the wagon, and carrying it all the way back to the courtyard. Further, he wanted to test the sand mold technique by casting the new engine parts therein. Sulun gave up and let him do as he wished. They'd need some finished parts to report to Entori tomorrow morning, anyway.

  That evening at dinner the servants' table buzzed with gossip. There had been a big parade down the main avenue—the cook's sister's husband had seen it—of the newly levied troops going out to hold the lines in the north. The scullions were wonderfully optimistic: maybe now there'd be more peace in the city, and prices would fall back to something reasonable. Sulun's crowd said nothing; they knew Zeren's opinion of the levies, their training and armament and skills. He'd had better opinion of the mercenary troops. Still there'd been no further riots, no further advances by the Ancar as far as anyone knew. And there were rumors of further good news.

  The Imperial Court, it was said, had received a welcome visitor from the north. Eylas of the presumed lost lands of Medhyras, a former hostage from a noble Medhyran family who had been brought up in the barbarous Ancari court, had escaped his captors and fled south to Sabis, full of information. He knew of the growing rebellion against the invaders in Medhyras and even Pegyras. Given a little time, the Ancar might find themselves with the new Sabisan troops before them and a full-scale rebellion behind them. The Emperor was delighted to hear of this unlooked-for help, and treated the new guest very well. The aristocracy had also been impressed with Prince Eylas's nice manners and appearance, and it seemed that he'd be invited to dine all over high-town soon.

  Even Entori seemed to be in a good humor for once, as the servants no
ted. His comments to his sister, overheard by the serving maids, had revolved around possible improvements of trade now that Prince Eylas had come to town.

  "Ridiculous," Yanados muttered into her soup. "Is Entori mad? Nothing's really changed; the Ancar are still there."

  "And we still need the bombard," Sulun finished. He wondered what he'd tell Eloti at their brief meeting in the garden courtyard that night. Between reporting on one project to Entori every morning and reporting on the other to Eloti every night he'd soon be running short on sleep.

  * * *

  "Was the wagon satisfactory?" Eloti asked, gazing thoughtfully at the few nightblooming jasmine flowers that remained at this season.

  "Excellent, Goodlady. It can carry all our gear—including Omis's new little forge."

  "Remarkable." Eloti shook her head. "I suppose the wagon will more than earn its price, even now that escape is no longer necessary."

  "Hmm, one would do well not to count the cheeses before the cow is milked." Sulun grinned a little at that phrase, one he'd picked up from Doshi. "Prince Eylas's rebellion is only promised, not guaranteed."

  "True. I, of all people, should know how rarely hope ceases flying and actually comes to roost."

  Sulun suddenly wondered why Eloti was unmarried. He knew better than to ask. "What do we truly know of this man, anyway? He could be a clever liar, buying his way into the favor of the nobles for his own purposes."

  Eloti shrugged. "He seemed knowledgeable enough about the lands near his home. He spoke at some length of the fine cattle of Torrhyn and northern Jarrya, so he's well-traveled at least."

  "Well-traveled and well-spoken." Sulun shrugged. "Still not enough to turn the tides of war. I still claim that our bombard offers greater hope."

  "I will continue to fund our little enterprise." Eloti smiled faintly. "Will you do the casting here or at the river workshop?"

  "At the riverside. It's a cumbersome process, not easily hidden or disguised. Also, if you'll forgive my saying so, Entori House is well-known and ill-loved by too many. I would prefer to do our work in a quieter spot."