Sheri Tepper - Singer From The Sea

by Singer From The Sea(Lit)

  Ybon stared at the P'naki box for a long time, finally stepping forward to take both spoon and box with him into the anteroom where he shut himself into a privy closet. There, he took a key from a secret pocket and opened the box. It was full of P'naki, the dark red powder fine as talc. He took a small pouch from beneath his clothing and opened it also, displaying contents that looked as finely powdered, as darkly red. With the seabone spoon he made a careful hollow in the P'naki in the box. Then he dipped the spoon into the pouch, brought it out heaped full, carefully wiped clean its convex side, then lowered it into the already created hollow in the box and left it there. The spoon now held a measured dose which looked in all respects like P'naki, and the lid, as he had already established, would shut and lock even with the spoon in place.

  The key went back in the secret pocket and the pouch returned to its hiding place. Just before this expedition Ybon had stolen the substance in the pouch from a little box in a locked cupboard in the Shah's private rooms. Not that Ybon had decided to use it, but he'd always thought something of the kind might be needed when the Great Effulgence, to everyone's dismay and infinite regret, was no longer... radiant.

  Moving softly, carrying the box with exquisite care, he returned it to the table in His Effulgence's room. From his pocket he took a seabone spoon to lay where the other spoon had been. It wasn't identical, but it was close in shape and size, and if he was lucky, no one would see it close up. Then he returned to the uncomfortable pallet on which he had spent the night, where he was wakened some time later by Prince Delganor, who wanted to know where the Marshal was. Shortly thereafter, the Shah was wakened by a lively discussion between the minister, the Prince, and two of the officers in the antechamber.

  "What's going on?" demanded His Effulgence, pulling himself higher on his pillows.

  Ybon Saelan prostrated himself in the doorway.

  "It's the Marshal, Your Effulgence. He seems to have wandered off. He may be lost. It's difficult to keep one's way in the dunes when one is unaccustomed to the desert."

  "Went out in the dark did he?"

  "Would you like the officer to tell you? He's just outside."

  The Shah frowned but did not object. The officer came to the door, prostrated himself, then, nose almost on the floor, explained about the Marshal. Prince Delganor, meantime, stood just outside the doorway, his brow furrowed, listening to the story. He didn't believe for a moment the Marshal was lost, he very much wished to know what the Marshal was up to.

  The Shah grunted, waving the officer out. "My cup, Saelan!" he demanded.

  The minister crept forward to the Shah's right hand. The Shah fumbled in a pocket of his nightdress and came up with a key. Saelan crept away to the table, then rose. From their positions just outside, the Prince and the officer saw him use the key to unlock a box on the table, saw him pour a cup of water, saw him pick up the spoon from the table, saw him move the spoon to the box, which was now hidden by his body, then bring forth the spoon laden with powder, which he sprinkled upon the water in the Shah's cup. They saw him pick up the waiting napkin, wipe the spoon with it, and replace the spoon upon the table before relocking the box, and carrying both key and cup to his master.

  The Shah accepted the key with one hand and the drink with the other, absently draining the glass.

  "What did the Marshal say, again?" he called impatiently.

  "He said he was going to check the sentries," murmured the officer from outside the door. "And he went up onto the dunes. That's the last anyone's seen of him."

  The Shah did not speak. The minister remained bowed at his side as he gently dropped the extra spoon from his sleeve into the side pocket of his robe.

  "What time was... that?" asked the Shah in a peculiar voice.

  The Prince looked up, alertly. The minister raised his head, an expression of concern on his face.

  "Well after midnight, Great One," said the officer from the doorway.

  "And he... went... went..." said the Shah.

  "Out onto the dunes, Great One," said the puzzled officer.

  "Your Effulgence," cried the minister. "Are you all right?"

  "All right... all... all..." murmured the Shah, stopping with his mouth half open.

  "Great One, answer me! Are you in pain? What's the matter?"

  "He seems to have stopped," said the Prince, in an interested voice as he stepped forward into the doorway. "Like a clock! What was that you gave him?"

  "His morning medicine. He has taken it every morning, for years."

  "P'naki?"

  The minister shook his head, put his finger to his lips and said to the kneeling officer, "You're excused. The Shah is obviously unwell."

  The officer scurried away as quickly as he could on all fours.

  "Then it was P'naki," said the Prince, when the officer had gone. He stepped into the room.

  "Oh, yes, Prince Delganor. Of course."

  "Every day, hmm?"

  "The merest sprinkling."

  "Maybe it went bad," suggested the Prince.

  The minister heard this with open-mouthed amazement. "I've never heard of it doing that, Prince Delganor."

  "You also take P'naki."

  "Yes, sir. But only once every... oh, ten years or so."

  "You wouldn't mind taking some from the Shah's supply?"

  "Sir! Are you suggesting..."

  "Just the merest sprinkling, as you say. It can't hurt you."

  "No, it certainly cannot," said the minister, wrathfully, as he laid his master back upon his bed and took the key from between stiffened fingers. He unlocked the box, poured a cup of water, sprinkled a spoonful of dust on the surface, and downed the drink, the whole while maintaining his expression of dignified outrage.

  "Tell me about P'naki," purred the Prince.

  "I can tell Your Highness nothing Your Highness does not already know," snapped the minister. "We know you want the supply increased. It cannot be increased. We have explained that. The desert grows only so much, no more." Actually, the desert would grow all the Shah could bless, but the Shah would bless only as much as he needed and was convenient. And lately they'd had trouble getting enough candidates even for that!

  "But if we plant it in Bliggen?" The Prince watched him narrowly, looking for signs of incipient stalling.

  The minister moved back to his Shah, smoothing back the hair, covering the supine body with a coverlet. "It would not grow in Bliggen. It grows only in the desert of Mahahm, and even there it grows to its proper purpose only with the blessing of the Shah."

  "Whom, it seems, you no longer have around to do the blessing," said the Prince, joining him near the bed. He poked the body lying there and received, in response, a flicker of eyelid. "Is he still alive?"

  "That is a question for the doctors, Your Highness, and we should certainly return to the palace at once. We have no doctors here, but there are doctors in Mahahm-qum."

  "Oh, by all means," murmured the Prince. "And what do we do about the Marshal?"

  "He will either find his way back here, or to Mahahm-qum, or he won't. We cannot afford to spend time and effort hunting for him with the Shah in this condition."

  "I agree." The Prince smiled. "We certainly can't."

  "If Your Highness will permit," said the minister, bowing toward the door.

  "Since it seems you did not poison the Shah, we will permit, yes," said the Prince in an uneasy voice. For the first time, he considered that there might be an end to life even with P'naki. Was P'naki then, only a long delay and not a reprieve from mortality? "If it wasn't poison, what was it? Was he very old?"

  "He was, is, very old, Your Highness. Very, very old."

  So was the Prince, very old, and he did not like the thoughts those words brought to his mind. He himself was about due for his next dose of P'naki. Since his own supply was probably no longer available, it would be necessary to borrow some from Ybon.

  Within a short time, the expedition set out, thousands of weary men who mut
tered amongst themselves while throwing curious glances at the litter bearing, all too clearly, the person of the Shah. They had come a very long way for no better purpose than the chopping of a few ornamental trees, and there was muttering in the ranks as they straggled rather than marched, following the wind-blown tracks they had made coming out, paying little if any attention to the world around them.

  The strange ship that hovered silently above the procession had to fire a glittering burst into the sand ahead of them to get their attention. The horses reared, the harpta bellowed, the army milled about, and the twenty-member crew of the ship took them all captive in a matter of moments by virtue of superior weapons. The announcement that the world of Haven had been conquered by an off-world power came to the Mahahmbi, and to Prince Delganor, as a total and most unwelcome surprise.

  A worse surprise came when he and Ybon were searched and the box that had contained the Shah's P'naki was found to be empty.

  "It contained foot powder," said Ybon, when their captors questioned the empty box. "My horse reared and it was spilled when we were taken prisoner."

  Aufors was kept waiting by the Aresians all the following day. In late afternoon, he was taken by a Captain Dunnel of the Tracker's Team, to meet again with Terceth Ygdaleson.

  Terceth smiled grimly at him. "There's a so-called Prince Delganor with the Mahahmbi army."

  Aufors looked up, questioningly.

  "We've captured the army, all of it. And the Prince is looking for someone about your size."

  Aufors shrugged. "Many men my size."

  "True. Tell me, if we wanted to know something about Mahahm, would it do any good to ask Mahahmbi women?"

  Aufors shook his head. "Mahahmbi women don't know anything. Mahahmbi don't even talk to women."

  Terceth exchanged an exasperated look with his officer.

  Dunnel offered, "This man isn't likely to be the man the Prince mentioned, Sir. He's the right size and general description, all right, but the one the Prince mentioned was upper-mid-caste from Havenor, wasn't he? This one is just like all the other malghaste we've picked up."

  Terceth smiled, eyes fixed on Aufors. "By which you mean dirty and stupid, Dunnel? Dirtiness is a condition, not an attribute, and stupidity can be a strategy. You're probably right, but we'll hang on to him, nonetheless. You can let the woman, the boy, and the infant go. Let this one have his belongings, except for his weapon, but keep him until I can have the Prince take a look at him."

  The officer took Aufors to the room where Awhero was, and as he packed his few belongings he whispered a few quick words.

  "They're not letting me go, but they are freeing you and the boy. I'll have to think of some other way to get loose." Putting his hand to the back of his head, he winced, closing his eyes. The wound there was puffed and angry, probably infected. "Awhero, take my son to Galul. Promise."

  "Of course," she said, giving him an anxious look. "I will do it, Aufors Leys. That wound needs attention."

  "I'll attend to it when I figure out how to get away."

  Since the few captive Mahahmbi refused to have a malghaste imprisoned among them, Aufors was taken out onto the sands and chained to a metal ring set in the side of a hastily erected sentry hut. Something about the site bothered him. He was not far outside the malghaste gate through which he had entered the city. He stared at the gate and at the desert for some time before realizing that the much-guarded building he had seen through his glasses was gone. No, certainly not gone, though as certainly invisible. A great flow of sand had covered it.

  Until this moment, he had assumed that the building would have been discovered by the Aresians, who would therefore also have discovered at least a few hardened Old Friends. Some of them must have accumulated over the years. Since they had not found P'naki in the palace, it stood to reason the Shah must have kept the stuff in the guarded building. If the building had been covered at the first alarm, however, then the Aresians had neither found the store of P'naki, nor had they seen what happened to Old Friends.

  Aufors was not positive what had been given to the Old Friends, but he had a hunch he had some of it in his breast pocket: the lichen he had allowed to eat his own, male blood during his hike across the desert to Mahahm-qum. Though the guards had patted him down, the packet of lichen powder was so thin they had not felt it.

  The sentries changed their post in early evening. Obrang, the same soldier who had beaten Aufors over the head previously was the one assigned to the post where he was chained. Aufors showed no recognition. In the evening, both he and the guard were provided with a meal. The guard gave Aufors a sneering look while taking half of Aufors's ration to add to his own. He ate greedily, with much lip smacking aimed in Aufors's direction, then began gaping almost as soon as the meal was over, his normally torpid wits damped further by too hearty a meal.

  Interrupting Obrang's yawn, Aufors said softly, as though talking to himself, "My woman is in south. I would give much to rejoin my woman, my children."

  The guard stopped gaping and grinned. "Yeah. And what much might you have to give, shit-toter?"

  "Everyone here is looking for long-life stuff, very rare, very valuable. I have some. I would give that."

  The guard's grin vanished. He came nearer Aufors and knelt down. "Yeah? And where would that be?"

  "Not here. I will show where, if you let me go."

  The guard stared at him for a moment, his dull wits struggling with the dimly recognized possibilities.

  "I can search you," blustered the guard.

  "I don't have it here. But close."

  "Tell you what," the guard said after some time had passed. "I put a shackle on you. I lock the other end to me. You take me to the place, if the stuff is there, I let you go."

  "You have to use it right away," murmured Aufors. "It's already more'n two days old, and it's only good for three days. I had more, but your commander took it."

  Obrang's eyes swiveled. "The Prince? Terceth? Him?"

  Aufors nodded.

  The guard dithered. Terceth was known to be a good deal smarter than the average Aresian. Besides, he was the Chieftain's son. Keeping his voice affable with some difficulty, Obrang said, "All right. You show me where."

  "Bring water," murmured Aufors. "You have to use it right away."

  The guard fetched his water bottle, giving Aufors a chance to take the packet from his pocket and hide it up his sleeve. The guard shackled Aufors to him, pocketing the key, and they moved away from the guard post to the nearest dune that hid them from the city. There Aufors pretended to look for landmarks, finally settling on a dead bonebush, where he fell on his knees and dug into the sand at its root to come up with the packet.

  The guard tried to snatch it, but Aufors turned away.

  "I'm not fightin' over it," said the guard, with an evil grin. "We go back and I lock you to your post again. Then I'll just take it."

  "You try, I yell," said Aufors. "Guards come running. They'll take that away from you. This is too valuable for me to give for nothing. You let me go first."

  The guard took a moment to arrive at a conclusion in which Dunnel and General Terceth both figured prominently. "All right," he said with false geniality. "But I'll use it first, then I'll unlock you."

  "Pour water into cup," said Aufors, waiting until the guard had complied to lean forward and sprinkle half the powder.

  Obrang sniffed it, then gulped it down, grinned his evil grin, and started to move away.

  "Be still," said Aufors. "You have to be still for minute, let it work. Otherwise no good."

  The guard sat, staring ominously at Aufors and jingling the chain between them like a threat. Aufors hummed in time to the jingling. First an impatient quick time march. Chink chink chink chink. Then an adagio: chinkle... chinkle... Then a dirge: clunk... silence... clunk... silence...

  Aufors leaned forward and took the key from the guard's pocket. The guard's eyes followed him, though slowly. Aufors unlocked and removed the shackles an
d replaced the key. He took the guard's weapon, then took both cup and bottle back to the guard post where he rinsed the cup, then emptied Obrang's water into his own water bottle before replacing the guard's cup and locking one end of the shackle to the hut.

  Darkness was falling as he walked away from the city, feeling, so he told himself, perfectly all right, though he staggered as he walked. The night winds wiped out his wavering footprints as he went, a single intention in his addled mind: somehow to get back to his boat, and then... then... find Genevieve.