Left of Africa

by Hal Clement

  That proved to be a mistake. The owner of the pile could think of only one reason why & small boy would sit so close to his wares, and he leaped to his feet with yells of abuse— at least they sounded like abuse -coming from his lips. He snatched up a heavy stick which was lying beside him and sprang toward the boy, raising it threateningly. Gizona naturally took to his heels.

  There were several streets opening into the little square. He headed for one of these, the nearest he could see which was not blocked or nearly blocked by some farmer or group of children. Even that he could not approach directly; he had to dodge around one or two piles of farm produce, and the last few yards lay along the wall of a house, where he could easily be cornered unless he used his top speed. There was a door in the wall, and the darkness beyond was tempting; but he knew perfectly well that he would only trap himself inside, and set his goal for the street beyond.

  Just before he reached the doorway, however, another voice added itself to the roar coming from behind him.

  "Inside the door, boy! Get inside! I'll keep him off for you!" Gizona didn’t think; he didn’t have time. He swerved as he reached the opening, and an instant later was swallowed up in the darkness of the mud hut. Only then did he realize that the words had been in Greek, and must have been spoken by the agent. Gizona had fallen into a trap, in at least two different senses.

  He turned instantly and sprang back toward the doorway: but as he reached it the form of the Egyptian filled the opening, and the boy literally dived into his arms. Gizona's head caught the fellow in the midriff and knocked his breath out of him, but his arms had wound tight around the youngster in the instant of contact and did not loosen their grip.

  For several seconds the man stood where he was, holding his wildly struggling captive, while he regained his breath. Then he moved back into the sunlight, shifted his hold to Gizona’s arm, and looked him up and down for a time.

  "I think you and I need a long, long talk," he said at last in Greek. "No, don’t waste time pretending you don’t understand me; it’s too late for that. You might have gone in that door without understanding me, just because you thought it was a good idea, but you wouldn’t have been coming. out again so quickly unless you’d realized that you’d been tricked.

  No, young one, you know what I’m saying, and if you know what’s good for you you’ll answer any questions I ask. Is that clear?”

  Gizona looked around before answering. A small crowd had gathered , apparently the Saites hadn’t recognized his captor as an agent of Pharoah, since they hadn’t run away -and the farmer who had been chasing him with a stick was one of the more prominent members. He should have been frightened out. of his senses; and but for one fact, he might have been... The fact was that this was not a new situation to Gizona. More than once before, when the story of his "curse" had caught up with him, he had faced crowds looking much like this. More than once he had been beaten to drive out his evil spirit; once he had narrowly escaped with his life, racing at top speed from: an angry and frightened village with stones whistling about him. The present situation, therefore, while it did frighten him, did not paralyze his thoughts: There was evidently one way to keep out of the crowd’s clutches; that was to admit he understood Greek and go along with the agent. The crowd itself looked ugly, and Gizona considered himself a good judge; he could guess that the word he heard oftenest among their mutterings meant "thief," and he knew what was likely to happen to a thief caught in a market place. Besides, the agent was quite right; there was no use pretending that he didn’t understand Greek. Gizon had realized that before turning to get out of the building. "I understand you," he said. "Sensible young one. Very well, where are the other two? They were here just a little while ago."

  "I don’t know," answered Gizona, with perfect truth.

  "That’s too bad; I thought you were brighter than that. I’m afraid you won’t be much use to me at that rate. Let’s see— you were stealing melons from this man with the stick, weren’t you? I guess that gives him the right to—"

  "No! I really don’t know!" Gizona was pretty certain the spy would not turn him over to the farmer, but he was getting a little frightened about what the fellow actually would do. "They went away, as you said; they were here just a little while ago—"

  "I know that. I followed you here and saw them. I also saw them leave. Where were they going, when will they get back, and what are they doing in Sai?’

  "They’re not coming back; we were all going to leave the town. I learned by listening to you and the other man back there at the tavern that the guards had tried to arrest us for talking about Pharoah, even though they didn’t know what we'd said. We didn’t know that it was against the law to talk about him, and we were going to some other town before you caught us.’

  "That’s a nice bit of truth twisting, young fellow. If you listened to us, you know that naming the Pharoah had nothing to do with it; only you named him. so. often that the tavern-keeper and I both thought you must be plotting something against him. If you can prove you weren’t, there’ll be no trouble. All I want you to do is have your friends come back and tell me what they were talking about that made them name Pharoah so many times. Then they will be free to do as they wish. "

  "I see." Gizona did see, at least as far as the obvious fact that the agent wanted to use him to get hold of Nimshi and Sargon. "How can I make them believe this, though? They have had to fight"

  "As I understand it, they started the fight. You were impudent to the captain of the squad that came to investigate them, and when he tried to punish you your foreign masters objected— hard.’'

  "I know." Gizona said rather bitterly. "They resented your captain’s damaging their property."

  "Anyway, they started the fight; they can’t blame us for that."’

  "But how are they to know they won’t be imprisoned, or punished in some other way, for doing that? It seems to me they’d be very foolish to come back, even if they could prove they weren't plotting against Pharoah -and I don’t see how anyone could prove that, no matter whether he was or not."

  The agent nodded slowly. "I see what you mean. I guess the idea of persuading them to come back isn’t such a good one. It looks as though we’ll have to find out what we want to know from you." :

  "But we weren’t doing anything!"

  "Then why did you speak of Pharoah Niku so many times. by name? If you can explain that, perhaps we won’t have to spend time and trouble looking for your masters."

  "And what will happen to me?"

  "Oh, we’ll find a good master for you. I have a friend who would be glad to have you-you look strong, and should bring a fair price.”

  "But you can’t sell me; I belong to the men you want. You must have a law against stealing slaves; every other place I’ve seen has."

  "We’re not stealing you," smiled the agent. "You were left behind; we just found you. Still, you needn’t mind; I’m sure your new master will be at least as kind to you, and feed you as well, as a couple of soldiers ever could."

  "But they didn’t leave me! I was supposed to follow them at a distance to see if they were e being followed by any of your guards!"

  "Oh, really? And why should they worry about such a thing, unless they were doing something they knew was against the laws of Pharoah? I guess we’ll have to find that pair after all."

  "It was the fight!" Gizona thought fast. "They were afraid they’d be punished for attacking the Pharoah’s guard. That’s why we were leaving Sai, as I told you, and why I was supposed to look out for guardsmen."

  "Hmph. You may be telling the truth. I’d better take you to a place where people always tell the truth, though, just to be sure. People don’t think of lies when there are hot coals on the soles of their feet."

  Gizona tried futilely to wrench from the agent’s grip at this remark. If he had succeeded, it might have done him some good, for the crowd was gone. The conversation in a foreign language had caused someone to realize what the agent
was, and the word had spread. As it did so, the crowd melted; the square now contained only a few small heaps of wilted vegetables. A clear conscience didn’t seem to mean much in Sai.

  The spy managed to retain his grip on Gizona’s arm, and began to drag him toward one of the streets opening into the square. The boy screamed and struggled without any useful result. He saw the hilt of a dagger just visible in the man’s waistcloth and snatched at it, but received a blow on the side of the head that dazed him for some moments. The Egyptian took advantage of this condition to shift his grip, pushing the boy ahead of him and twisting his arms behind his back so that his wrists could be held with one hand.

  This turned out, however, to be a mistake on the agent’s part. He should have had the boy anywhere but directly in front of him. He did not realize this for perhaps thirty yards, and neither did Gizona; but with the square where he had been captured about that far behind, the boy heard a sudden, sharp twanging sound. This was followed almost instantly by a thud, and the grip on his wrists relaxed.

  He started to run without even looking back, but a familiar voice called his name.

  "Gizona! This way— quick!" He turned, and saw his two masters beckoning urgently from the square at the end of the street. Nimshi was slinging his bow behind his shoulder, and Gizona’s captor was lying where he had fallen with the Judean’s arrow between his shoulders.

  CHAPTER 9

  While Gizona of course remembered in detail the happenings of the next few weeks, he frequently wished that he didn’t. It was not that his conscience bothered him; he hadn’t killed the Egyptian himself, and the latter’s casual threats of torture to "get the truth out of" Gizona prevented the boy from greatly regretting his death. His anxiety stemmed from the attitude of Nimshi and Sargon.

  He had heard both of his masters, especially the Ninevite, brag about incidents in which more often than not they had killed enemies; it seemed likely, therefore, that they should be pleased about the present incident. However, they were not; very much to the contrary. Both were obviously extremely anxious. For a time, the whole party was too busy getting away from the scene for any explanations to be given; but gradually Gizona got the notion that the worry was due to the victim’s status as an agent of Pharoah. To Gizona it seemed as good, or as bad, to kill one man as another, but the others felt differently. By the time they had told a number of gruesome stories about the punishments inflicted by some of the Asiatic kings on people who had offended them particularly, Gizona was as eager as his masters to get out of Sai and if possible out of Egypt.

  Actually, it took them two days to accomplish the first of these tasks. They dared not return to the ship that had brought them, of course. Not only did they feel that the docks must certainly be watched for foreigners of their description, but it developed that Sargon and Nimshi had helped themselves to a quantity of silver from the captain’s private hoard before leaving. They claimed that it was back pay due them anyway, but it was quite certain that the captain would not view the matter in just that light. None of them knew whether river boats could be found at any points upstream from the docking place of the galley, but they all remembered the crowded banks downstream; so they headed north. They didn’t dare keep close to the river, feeling that the watch would be sharpest there, so they circled Sai at its edge. They travelled at night, moving a little way out into the farm land and hiding in irrigation ditches before dawn. The distance was not great; it should have taken only a few hours to walk, but they went by the most devious and hidden ways they could find and did not turn toward the river until the middle of the second night.

  They reached the Nile just before dawn, and it turned out that their arrival was timed very luckily. A north breeze had set in with some strength, and several boats were just putting out to take advantage of it against the current. The Egyptians manning them showed no particular surprise at the appearance of the foreign soldiers; when Sargon beckoned to one of them he sprang ashore and approached without any sign of fear.

  Gizona had had little chance to improve his knowledge of Egyptian speech during their flight, so the Ninevite used signs. He pointed to the boat, and then upstream; the boatman nodded vigorously, uttering the word, 'Membi' which meant nothing to any of the three. It seemed evident, however, that the fellow was taking his boat upriver.

  Sargon then indicated himself and his companions and gestured toward the boat once more. The Egyptian said nothing, simply waiting; the three had seen that before in the tavern, and knew what to do about it. Nimshi produced a bit of silver. The boatman looked at it but showed no sign of interest. Nimshi brought out another piece, still without result.

  "Give him another— we have plenty, and had better get out of here!" hissed Sargon. Nimshi knew better than that, however, He made as if to put the silver back in his belt and turn away, and the Egyptian’s attitude suddenly changed. It became clear that he would like nothing better than to have the distinguished foreigners on board his boat; and five minutes later Nimshi, Sargon, and Gizona were relaxing as well as they could in a rather cramped vessel whose smell suggested strongly that it had brought untanned hides downriver on its last trip, None of the three suffered much from this; a galley got nearly as bad after a while, especially when a storm kept it at sea for a few days.

  The tall, square sail seemed to make the most of what breeze there was, and by sunrise the boat was almost past Sai. The river was broad enough and the boat far enough from shore so that Nimshi and Sargon felt safe enough in sitting up and examining the city. Gizona was not quite so sure that there was no risk of their being recognized from shore, but since the men were letting themselves be seen he could not see how anything could be gained by hiding himself. He watched too, and naturally added the banks of the Nile to the ever-growing picture in his head.

  Presently Sai disappeared behind them. There were other boats on the river, some going downstream and some up, but none of the latter seemed very interested in catching the one the three were riding, so they decided that they had escaped completely. Sargon was picturing, with great amusement, the great search activity going on in Sai for the killers of the King’s agent; Gizona could see a new story growing as he talked.

  The Ninevite would have been deeply hurt had he ever learned just how little fuss the death of the spy had made. Pharoah Niku, in the city of Sai, had a community that was at once capital, market town, military headquarters, and seaport.

  Men of all professions and nations were mingling there all the time; sometimes they traded, sometimes they fought. One more murder, even of a royal agent, was hardly noticed. Sargon and his friends had escaped, not because of their skill at planning, but because no very great effort was made to catch them. No one could ever have convinced Sargon of that, naturally.

  The breeze did not hold all day; much of the time it was necessary to row. The boatman made no suggestion that his passengers should help with this task, though Gizona could not tell whether this was because of the silver they had given him or the weapons they were wearing.

  The boy spent a good deal of his time learning Egyptian. As he had found out with the Greek language, this was more than just a matter of learning new words; the Egyptians put the words in what seemed to Gizona a very peculiar order. He had never heard of grammar, and was learning about it the hard way. Once again he found that he had to think as well as remember.

  Thinking was almost easy now, however. He kept putting together the words he was learning in one new way after another, and found in a day or two that he was being understood by the Egyptian boatmen-understood, and not being ridiculed for his speech. Once he reached that point, he progressed faster than even Nimshi could realize— a fact which turned out to be very convenient for Gizona later on.

  Nimshi also picked up some of the language, of course. He already knew perfectly well his native Hebrew and the Phoenician dialect of Carthage; there was enough difference between them so that he was not taken by surprise even by the very different Egyptia
n grammar. His trouble was the more usual one-he could not remember a word, usually, until he had heard it several times.

  Sargon learned a few standard phrases, mostly insults which the less reverent boatmen threw at the crocodiles; he didn’t even begin to understand their conversation. He covered any shame he may have felt at this by the usual stories, which now reflected how much better a man he was than any Egyptian. Once or twice Gizona was tempted to translate the stories to the boatmen just to see what would happen, but his native common sense prevailed each time. The boatmen were unarmed, of course, but angry men can get around such disadvantages-particularly on a river full of crocodiles.