“Bare your arms,” he said to those waiting, ignoring the fear and the hopeless resignation.
God damn this inoculation, he thought as the first of them shuffled forward. Apart from the small percentage who would develop the full-blown disease, everyone he inoculated would be contagious for at least a week, which meant they had to be kept in strict isolation. Which meant they’d be useless until then, and he needed immune people for a hundred different tasks.
“At least the king agreed to detain all the people from other cities,” Azzu-ena pointed out, taking up a roughening scraper and small scalpel beside him. “And make them take the inoculation before they are allowed to depart.”
“ That’s something,” he said grudgingly.
Unless some of them are asymptomatic carriers, he thought. Christ, have mercy.
The line shuffled forward, and Justin Clemens forced himself to remember that he was saving ninety-nine lives for each human being he killed.
“Release!” the ground-crew officer barked.
The hundred and fifty of the New Troops detailed to the landing crew let go of the ropes, and the Emancipator bounded up from the temenos of the great temple—the only open space in Babylon big enough to moor it. The crowd gathered to watch was small, for fear and illness kept most away. The dirigible rose, a cloud of dust whipping across the stone pavement; Kenneth Hollard threw up a hand and squinted to save his eyes. It circled as it fought for altitude, and artificial raindrops fell as some hand released ballast. Then it was up and rising, its silvery-gray hull catching the light and making the red Guard slash stand out even more vividly.
He turned away, shaking his head. “Must be really heavily laden,” he said. “Vicki Cofflin told me she hates to valve ballast like that.”
“ Well, they’ve got a long way to go—it’s nearly six hundred miles to Hattusas,” his sister said in turn.
Kashtiliash shook his head. “And all that distance in an afternoon and a night,” he said softly. “Great gods, to command such power!” He moved a hand through the air. “Strange, for air to carry such weight.”
They watched for a few minutes, until the Emancipator had dwindled to a dot in the northwestern sky.
“ What’s the news on the smallpox? ” Hollard asked.
“Not good,” Kat said grimly, and the prince nodded. “Clemens says the isolation policy isn’t working, or it’s just slowing the spread from prairie-fire to forest-fire speed.”
“The only good thing is that we have no news of outbreaks elsewhere, which there would be if the contagion”—Kashtiliash used the English term—“had escaped from the city. Nobody is allowed out of the city without fourteen days in the quarantine camps.”
“At which people are not happy,” Kat added.
Kashtiliash nodded. “ Plague is a sign of the anger of the gods,” he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his head. “I think that I understand what your asu says of the small animals that cause disease. I have seen them through the microscope with my own eyes—and I trust you Nantuktar.
“ That is, my thoughts believe. My liver trembles and yearns to appease the gods. I fear that there are only a handful who are convinced even in their thoughts. More who fear your magic worse than the plague, or are loyal to the throne despite their terror. But the priesthoods, many of them—”
Kashtiliash looked up and frowned, then continued in a different tone. “ What is this? ”
The crowd hadn’t dispersed. Instead they were gathering into clumps, staring and muttering. The prince turned to command an aide and waited impatiently while the man trotted away; he kept a hand clenched on the hilt of his sword, the other resting on the butt of the revolver that he’d been presented as part of the New Year ceremonies.
“ Lord Prince,” the aide said, panting—moving fast in bronze scale armor was never easy, and the day was growing warm—“there is unrest.”
“ What sort? ”
“Lord Prince, there are agitators amongst the crowd—priests of Nergal and Enna. They claim that the sickness is brought by our brave allies”—his sidelong glance wasn’t as friendly as his words—“and spread by their magical ships of the air.”
“Disperse them,” the prince commanded tersely. “Arrest any man who speaks so. Spread the command. Go!”
The aide went; a minute later the guardsmen spread out and advanced with leveled spears, shafts reversed to show the small bronze knobs on the butt ends. Their officer shouted the royal command to disperse. Normally that would have been enough—more than enough. This time it wasn’t. The crowd eddied and milled, and then things began flying through the air—lumps of donkey dung first, then bricks. A soldier wobbled out of line, dropping spear and shield and clapping his hands to his face, blood leaking out between his fingers.
The others were cursing and shouting, plying the spearshafts with a will. More bricks flew, and a few of the crowd tried to wrestle the weapons away from the troopers. Another command from their officers, and the six-foot shafts flipped around, showing sharp bronze or Island steel. Still the crowd did not disperse—not until another order rapped out and the guardsmen advanced shield to shield, their points jabbing in earnest this time. Bodies lay on the pavement after they passed, and the townspeople turned and ran.
The Hollards and the prince looked at each other, and at the rioters lying still or moaning and curling around their wounds.
“Oh, shit,” Kenneth Hollard said and pulled the hand-held radio from his webbing. Outside the wall of the great open yard, a growing clamor came from the streets.
“ Ian. Wake up.”
Ian Arnstein did, blinking gummy eyes and swinging his feet down from the bunk. The sleeping arrangements of the dirigible were pullman style, bunks that were strapped up against the ceiling when not in use.
Right now they were in use, and only the night watch was awake. The interior of the Emancipator’s big gondola was quiet under the drone of the engines—they were running on four, to save fuel. Soft light blinked from the instruments forward and from bulbs overhead. For a moment he simply stared at them, his mind whirling back through the years to days when electric bulbs were a commonplace, not a wonder. Then he rubbed his face and yawned. Doreen was sleep-rumpled too, but on her it looked fairly good.
Chill air seeped through the permeable sides of the craft. He shivered a little, pulled a blanket around his shoulders, and accepted the cup of hot cocoa that his wife put in his hand.
“ What’s going on? ” he asked.
“Ken’s on the radio from Babylon,” she said. “It doesn’t look good.”
“Oh, Lord,” he muttered. “ I’m coming, I’m coming.”
He pulled on his clothing—wool pants and sheepskin jacket and cap—then made his way up the central corridor. Outside, the moon was shining on the peaks of the Anti-Taurus range, north of what would have been the Turkish border in the twentieth century. He stopped for a moment to look and shiver. The Emancipator was rising only gradually, threading her way between the mountains rather than soaring over them, and they were close enough to look big. Snow glistened salt-white on the higher peaks, and he could see a long streamer of it blowing off one only a few thousand yards to his left. Below that were dense forests, deep black-on-black in the moonlight.
Brrrr, he thought—it was spring, but nobody had told that high mountain country below. I’ll be glad when we get into the plateau. He went on to the forward control area of the gondola. The same view was spread out on three sides there, but it looked less intimidating with the ordered activity of the flight crew. Vicki Cofflin and her second-in-command were bent over the navigation table.
“ Where are we? ” he asked.
“Hi, Councilor,” she said. “Right here—north of what would be Diyarbakir, heading northwest toward Hattusas. On course. Should get there about an hour before dawn, another three hours or so.”
“Okay, then,” Ian said, feeling the last tendrils of sleep leaving him. “ Let me at the radio and we’ll fi
nd out what’s gone wrong now.”
He sat in the chair next to the communications officer and accepted the headset from her. “Arnstein here,” he said, conscious of a very slight grumpiness in his tone.
“Colonel Hollard here,” came the voice in his earphones. “I’m afraid we have a . . . bit of a situation.”
“What do you mean?” Arnstein snapped. It wasn’t like Ken to be slow coming to the point.
“ We’ve got a full-blown revolt here in Babylon.”
Damn. He wasn’t altogether surprised, though. These people didn’t believe in accidents. If something went wrong, it was gods or demons responsible, offended by some lapse of piety or let in by the breaking of a taboo.
“ That isn’t the worst of it, of course,” Hollard went on.
“What could be worse than—wait a minute, do I want you to tell me? ”
“ No, but I’m afraid you need to hear it.”
Ironic, Kathryn Hollard thought. This was the rooftop-cum-balcony where she and Kash had met the week before. Now it was their command post.
From here she could see the flame-shot darkness of Babylon the Great. This northern district by the river and the Ishtar Gate wasn’t too bad; the Royal Guard had it under firm control, and the Marine battalions were marching in down the Processional Way, along with the rest of her New Troops. Elsewhere fires were burning; she could see one three-story building about a quarter of a mile away clearly, backlit by flames. Flames shot out of the slit windows, and then the flat roof collapsed, the heavy adobe tumbling down on anyone still left within. Faint in the distance came the surf-roar of the crowds, screams, the clash of metal . . . and now and then the faint popping crackle of firearms.
The smell of it came too, carried on the cool night wind, the rank scent of things not meant to burn. Fire was a terror in these densely packed cities without running water. Let it get out of hand, and a firestorm could consume everything within the walls.
King Shuriash lay on a bed in one corner, his breath slow and heaving. Justin Clemens rose and tucked away his stethoscope. Priests and ashipu came closer to the bedside, their chants a soft, wailing falsetto under the distant mutter of conflict.
“Definitely a stroke,” he said as he came over to the high commanders. “And a bad one. I’ve made him as comfortable as I can, but there’s nothing I can do. It would be a mercy if he didn’t regain consciousness; there’s extensive brain damage, I suspect.”
Prince Kashtiliash’s face was like one of the carvings of protective genii outside the palace as he went to bend over his father, but there was gentleness in the touch of his hand on the grizzled black hair.
“The king is fallen,” he said grimly to the generals and courtiers gathered around him when he returned. “I rule in his place, until he awakens—and if he does not, I am the king. Does any doubt it? ”
A few glanced at each other, but nobody spoke. Instead, one by one, they went to their knees and then to their bellies; there was a rustle of stiff embroidered fabric, clinking from the officers in their scale corselets. One by one they muttered, “La sanan, sa mahira la isu! The king who has no rival!”
When they rose, he nodded and went on, “We must put down this rebellion, and we must do it swiftly.”
“Indeed, O Prince.” That was Kidin-Ninurta, his diplomat face carefully blank. “Cannot our friends, our new allies, assist in this? ”
Kenneth Hollard nodded. “We will give what aid our ally requests.”
“ I will request as little as I may,” Kashtiliash said. Kathryn caught the slight relaxation from several of the nobles and military men. “I would not have it said that my reign rests on foreign blades, no matter how close and friendly the alliance. Yet to bring troops into this city is to risk their lives from the disease.”
Servants came in carrying a large table, a map unrolled upon it. Kashtiliash grunted as he recognized the view, drawn from above the city.
A general stepped forward. “The west bank is mostly quiet. The main trouble is in the older parts of the city—here, here, here. Around the temples of Enna and Nergal particularly.” He hesitated.
“Speak. I do not blame the bearer for the news,” Kashtiliash said.
“ Lord Prince, we have found many bodies dead of the new plague as we push forward in those areas. The men . . . they are brave men, Lord Prince, in the face of spear and sword.”
“ But they fear the plague demons—as would any men with sense.”
He walked to the edge of the rooftop and rested his hands on the balcony. “Cordon off those areas,” he said. “Barricade the streets; tear down buildings where necessary, to create gaps.” There were substantial areas of Babylon where you could go from roof to roof almost as easily as walking at ground level.
“Use the troops who have been through the inoculation. Let no one into these areas. Women, children, and men surrendering may come out—provided they submit to the inoculation themselves. Send them then to the quarantine camps. Shout these terms over the barricades.”
He used a good many English terms in those sentences, but they were ones most people in the palace had picked up perforce over the last week.
“And there shall be no more foolishness in the rest of the city. All the troops shall be inoculated, one company at a time. While they wait, the others shall cordon off the city so”—his finger slashed across the map, dividing the mass of Babylon into segments.
“ We shall take one area at a time, and in that area the soldiers shall go from house to house. Any sick shall be sent at once to the hospital. All others shall be inoculated . . . that word is too cumbersome. We shall call it the ‘scratch of safeguard.’ Yes. All shall receive the scratch of safety and be isolated after. So the Throne commands!”
“ We obey,” the nobles and high priests of the temples not in rebellion murmured. “ La sanan, sa mahira la isu!”
Kenneth Hollard drew himself to attention and snapped a salute. Kathryn did likewise, and from Kashtiliash’s nod, from something about his eyes, she thought he sensed the difference in the gesture.
“ Lord Prince,” the elder Hollard said. “ The troops you have to cordon off the rebel areas are very few and will remain so until more are inoculated . . . have received the scratch of safeguarding.”
Kashtiliash nodded. “ That, my ally, is where you and your men—your troops—shall assist.” He paused. “And if you would, your boats of steam could also be of help. We will need the blackwater, a great deal of it.”
Colonel Hollard inclined his head. “Of course, Lord Prince . . . but why? ”
Kasthiliash turned to Lieutenant Clemens. “ You say that the bodies of the dead are dangerous? ”
“Very, Lord Prince.”
“Then we will need the blackwater oil for funeral pyres. A great many.”
Ian Arnstein whistled as the Marine commander finished. “Well, you’re right, I did need to hear that,” he said.
“ Your orders, sir? ” Hollard said.
“Orders? ”
“Do you want the Emancipator to turn back? Our base here is in . . . well, considerable danger.”
“Do you need the airship to control Babylon? ”
“Ah . . . no, sir. Bombing from the air is sort of a blunt instrument for crowd control.”
“ Then we’ll continue to Hattusas.”
“Sir . . . the plan was to have a secure base in Babylonia and overland supply lines. As it is, I have to divert virtually all our forces to helping Prince Kashtiliash reestablish order here.”
“Colonel Hollard, Walker isn’t going to wait, so we’ll just have to do the best we can with what we have. I’ll lay the groundwork with the Hittites, and you work on getting things back on track down south there.”
A pause. “ Yes, sir, Councilor.”
Arnstein nodded, then cleared his throat as he remembered that the other man couldn’t see him. “ Looks like Prince Kashtiliash is taking charge decisively.”
“Damn right, Councilor. I knew
he was capable, but this is the first time we’ve seen him out of his father’s shadow . . . and to tell you the truth, he’s starting to look better as a possible brother-in-law.”
“God forfend, Ken. The Meeting’s sort of sensitive about citizens of the Republic as monarchs abroad, you know.”
“ I do know, oh, yes, indeed. I’d better let you get some sleep, then. I’ve got a busy night ahead of me.”
“ Take care; I can’t spare you.”
“ That’s mutual, Councilor. Good night to you and Doreen, then.”
Arnstein clicked off and removed the headset, yawning again. “ Not really much point in going back to sleep,” he said. His mouth quirked as he looked at his wife. “Sorry, darling. Looks like I’ve gotten us out onto the end of a long limb, here.”
“Do you think Ken was serious about the prince and his sister? ”
“ I have a horrible suspicion he was. After all, Kashtiliash is going to be king, now.”
“Great King, King of Sumer and Akkad, King of the Four Corners of the World, King Who Does As He Damned Well Pleases.”
“Unless he PO’s so many important people that they kill him,” Ian agreed. “ But he’s already getting the rebellion, and we’re helping him put it down. So he’s going to be in a very strong position indeed.”
“Gevalt.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” Ian said. “Okay, we might as well go over this speech in Hittite. Thank God they’ve got a lot of Akkadian-speaking scribes up there!”
“Strange to see him so helpless,” Kashtiliash murmured, so softly that only the woman by his side could hear him. “He always seemed a tower, or a mountain himself, eternal and strong—a wall of safety for me.”
Kathryn nodded. “Perhaps you should stay here,” she said. “You could be close by if he awakens and still direct the operations—messengers will find you more easily than if you’re moving about.”
Against the Tide of Years Page 54