Jango

by William Nicholson

  Seeker had no idea what she was talking about, but he followed. Whatever else she was, this pink-cheeked lady with no eyes did not seem to him to be a savanter. So he hastened after her, supposing that somewhere ahead a house would loom up out of the whiteness.

  Instead he saw more hazy figures. His guide called ahead.

  "Party of one!"

  "One?" came the reply. "Only one?"

  The figures ahead were more women wearing head-scarves and aprons. They too were eyeless.

  Now, seeing several together, Seeker felt a chill of fear. Who were these people? Not normal people, born with eyes that had been lost. These women had no eye sockets and no eyebrows. From cheekbones to foreheads there was nothing but smooth skin.

  "Come along, then," they said to him. "You'll be tired and sleepy."

  "Who are you?" said Seeker.

  "We're the nannies," said the stoutest of the ladies. "Just ask for Nanny, and one of us will come right away. Now hurry along."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "Why, go to bed, of course. It's bedtime."

  And there, just visible in the mist ahead, stood two lines of beds. The beds stretched away into the haze, so there was no way of telling how many there were. Each bed had a sturdy iron bedstead and a white pillow and was made up with clean white sheets and cream-colored blankets. The nannies were already bustling on ahead. One of them turned down the bedclothes on the nearest bed. The others waited in a gaggle for Seeker to join them.

  "I'm sorry," said Seeker. "I don't want to go to bed."

  They pressed round him, patting and prodding him with their soft hands.

  "They all say that," said the head nanny. "We're not tired, they say. We want to stay up longer. But Nanny knows best."

  She urged Seeker towards the bed.

  "I've come to meet the savanters," said Seeker.

  "Mother will be along soon," said the head nanny as if she hadn't heard him. "She'll want to find you all tucked up in bed."

  "Who's Mother?"

  "Who's Mother? She's the one who loves you, of course. Now come along."

  There were more of the nannies than he had realized. They were all soft and stout and seemed to use no force, but it proved difficult to withstand their urging. Seeker found himself pushed onto the waiting bed.

  It was time to resist.

  He discovered then for the first time that the secret skill was powerless against them. The nannies had no eyes. He must rely on brute force.

  "Get back!" he shouted, and he hit out.

  "Oh, the naughty boy!" said the nannies, surging ever closer round him. His blow landed, but it had no effect. The nannies were squishy but firm.

  He felt himself being lifted up, and even as he struggled, the bedclothes were being drawn tight over him and tucked in.

  "There's a good boy," said the head nanny. "Bedtime now. You lie quiet."

  He had very little choice. The bedclothes held him like bands of steel. He struggled but was helpless.

  "Mother will be along soon to kiss you good night."

  With that, the nannies all tiptoed away.

  Seeker lay still, thinking what best to do. He was sure that if he followed his training and concentrated the lir in him he could break out of his bonds. But just as he began to still his mind, he heard the soft shuffle of approaching footsteps. Strapped down as he was, he had limited vision. He made out a stooping black-clad figure. He heard a voice that was sweet and low.

  "There, there. Is my baby sleepy? All safe now. Mother's come to kiss you good night."

  She was by his bedside now, gazing down at him. Seeker saw a beautiful smiling face—not the face of his real mother, but the face of a perfect mother, the mother who would never age and die, the mother in whose arms he would always find comfort and rest. He felt a warm softness flow through his body, relaxing all the tension in his muscles and promising sweet deep sleep. The mother stooped down low and stroked his cheeks, and her touch was so loving and gentle that Seeker closed his eyes and smiled.

  "That's the way, my baby," whispered the mother. "No more fear, Mother's here."

  Seeker heard his own voice in a sleepy murmur.

  "Kiss me good night, Mother."

  "Mother always kisses her babies good night."

  He felt her sweet lips press softly against his brow, and the love flowed into his mind and heart, and he knew that he was safe forever and could let himself sail away into oblivion.

  But somewhere deep inside him there sounded an echo of a voice from far away.

  Refuse to play their game.

  He struggled against the sweetness. He stirred beneath the tight, binding bedclothes. He forced his eyes to open.

  "No, no, my baby," murmured the caressing voice. "My baby's a good baby and wants to go to sleep."

  Seeker uttered a wordless sound. His mouth felt dry.

  "Greedy baby! You want another kiss, don't you?"

  The loving face descended. Seeker gathered spittle in his mouth. As she prepared to press the kiss on his brow, he spat.

  For a fraction of a second, her expression changed. In place of the loving smile he saw a face twisted with hatred. Then the mother face returned.

  "Oh, you bad baby!"

  She stroked him. It was unbearably sweet. But he had seen her truth.

  "Savanter!" he said.

  This time the mask fell away altogether. He was staring at a woman in extreme old age, her skin blotched and gray, her teeth gone, her eyes cloudy. He streamed his power into her, hoping to flood her defenses. She staggered back, uttering a cry of fear, but he would not let her go. He knew this was his only chance to take control, and he held nothing back. He hurled his lir into her, and he felt her choke and gasp.

  But she was strong. Stronger than he could ever have believed. Once the first shock was over, he could feel the elastic power with which she retreated before him, and he knew that at any moment now she would come stinging back.

  Let it come. Not like a rock. Drink it in.

  The half-remembered words echoed in his mind.

  The savanter was back, smiling her thin dry lips.

  "So I'm a savanter," she said in a crackly voice. "No good-night kiss for you."

  She struck, fast and deadly, stabbing the blade of her will deep into his mind. Seeker knew as the blow came that it was more powerful than anything he could ever deliver in return. But he had no need to strike back.

  He drank her in.

  He heard her gasp. He felt her struggle. But he had her clasped to his very being. And as he gripped her, he sucked the force from her and felt himself swell with redoubled strength.

  "How?" she stammered. "How?"

  He drew a deep breath, directed his new lir to his arms, and with a single movement tore the bedclothes from his body. In that same moment, the savanter reeled back from him and covered her face with her withered hands.

  She shook her head, shook all her body, as if to ward off the horror.

  "It can't be," she said. "After all this time..."

  Then she backed away into the mist. She moved with extraordinary speed. Before he could think to pursue her, she was gone.

  Seeker jumped from the bed and ran after her, all down the long lines of empty waiting beds. Ahead he could hear the patter of her hurrying feet. He followed, into the ever-deepening mist.

  18 Preparations for War

  RADIANT LEADER AND AMROTH JAHAN, EACH ACCOMPANIED by a large retinue, arrived together to witness the test. The Jahan was duly impressed by the massive structure that filled the imperial arsenal's yard, but his keenest interest was in the little scientist.

  "So you're the fellow who makes the bombs, are you?"

  "I am, Excellency."

  "Your own work, is it?"

  "I'm proud to say, Excellency, that I am the only man living who understands the complex process of making charged water."

  "Is that a fact? Then you must be some kind of genius."

  Professor Ortus
found this attention very agreeable. Radiant Leader understood the Jahan's scheme and quietly resolved to thwart it.

  "Professor," he said, "would you be so kind as to walk over here with me and explain a point of detail? The scaffolding is still to be removed, surely?"

  "Yes, Radiance. Any moment now."

  When he had the scientist out of hearing of the Jahan, Similin whispered to him.

  "You made a grave mistake in telling the Great Jahan that you alone can make the charged water."

  "But it is true."

  "The Jahan is a ruthless man. My informers tell me that as soon as Anacrea has been destroyed, he will close down your laboratory and have you killed."

  "Killed! Me?"

  "It will appear to be an accidental explosion."

  "But why?"

  "He fears the charged water. It's stronger even than his great army. With you dead, no more will be made."

  The little scientist seemed to be badly shaken by this warning.

  "So what should I do?"

  "Go on as you are for now. You'll come to no harm. I too have plans."

  "You'll protect me?"

  "There will be an accident. But it's not you who will die."

  Similin smiled at the scientist, then returned to the crowd of dignitaries. The scaffolding was now cleared, revealing a line of towers supporting a steeply sloping track.

  "Let the test proceed!" he declared, with a sensation of satisfaction.

  Workmen hauled on ropes by the tallest tower. The ropes turned a winch. The winch slowly raised a platform on which stood a wheeled truck.

  "The truck contains sixteen glass bottles and a box of stone ballast," said Ortus. "The bottles are filled with water and sealed. For test purposes, this is plain water. If it were charged water, and all sixteen bottles were to be smashed at once, the explosion would destroy the city of Radiance."

  "Remarkable!" exclaimed the Jahan. "This man truly is a genius."

  Ortus bowed.

  "And what is more," said Radiant Leader, "our genius is a patriot, who is proud to serve his homeland."

  Ortus bowed again.

  The truck reached the top of the ramp. Here it stuck fast. The watching leaders were not aware that anything had gone wrong. Ortus quietly instructed one of the workmen to climb the tower and release the obstruction. Meanwhile he drew the attention of the two leaders to a net stretched between two poles some way away from the great structure.

  "According to my calculations," he said, "the distance from the launch ramp to the net is equivalent to the sea channel between the mainland and the island of Anacrea. The height of the ramp, the velocity of the truck, and the angle of uplift are all precisely gauged to project the truck over that distance and into the net. From the optimum position on the coast, this means the bomb will strike the side of the island just below the walls of the fortress."

  "Astonishing!" said the Jahan. "I have such faith in your genius that I have no doubt at all that your calculations are correct."

  Radiant Leader frowned.

  The workman on the tower signalled that the truck was released. Professor Ortus turned not to Radiant Leader but to the Great Jahan.

  "Shall I proceed, Excellency?"

  "Yes, yes. Let's see it."

  "When you're ready, Professor," said Radiant Leader between clenched teeth, "I will give the command."

  "Oh, I'm ready," said Ortus. "If I wasn't ready, I wouldn't ask permission to proceed."

  Radiant Leader bit back the sharp rejoinder that rose to his lips, and forced a smile.

  "In that case, Professor—please proceed."

  Ortus gave the signal, and the truck was set in motion. It rolled down the slope gathering speed, its wheels rattling against the boards, until it was hurtling so fast it seemed it must surely shake to pieces. But no, here it was swooping down to the bottom and riding up the other side and off the ramp, sailing out and up through open air, carried only by its own momentum.

  All eyes watched intently as it rose to its highest point over the parade ground and then began to fall towards the far posts. It seemed for a while that it must fall short; but down it came at last and struck the net, buckling the poles with its descending weight, and so came crashing to the ground.

  A cheer rose up from the onlookers.

  "Perfectly calculated!" exclaimed the Jahan. "Sheer genius!"

  "Highly satisfactory," murmured Ortus, blushing with pride.

  "A word, if I may," said the Jahan.

  Radiant Leader could do nothing. He watched, smiling, filled with rage, as the Jahan took the little scientist aside.

  "This city is too small for a man of your stature," said the Jahan. "You should be acclaimed by the whole wide world."

  "Your Excellency is too kind."

  "Not kind, Professor. Ambitious." He lowered his voice. "Join me, and you'll have the world at your feet."

  "And him?" Ortus cast a sly glance at Radiant Leader.

  "I'll take care of him."

  "An accident, perhaps?"

  "A casualty of war," said the Jahan.

  "Most regrettable." Ortus was positively smirking.

  "But first," said the Jahan, "we deal with the Nomana."

  The two leaders and their retinues moved on from the arsenal to the dockyard nearby. Here in long lakeside sheds men were at work constructing five floating bridges. Each bridge, once in place, would be wide enough for a company of mounted Orlans to cross.

  The chief carpenter reported to Radiant Leader.

  "One left to complete, Radiance."

  "How long will that take?"

  "By tomorrow noon."

  Radiant Leader turned to Amroth Jahan.

  "When will your men be ready?"

  "When I tell them," replied the Jahan. "Now, if you want."

  "The ramp has to be dismantled and towed to the coast. The bridges have to be dismantled and towed downriver. Both operations will take the best part of a day and a night."

  He turned to the carpenter.

  "Embark the completed bridges at first light tomorrow."

  And to the Jahan, "March south in the morning. By the following morning, we will be ready to attack."

  "By the following morning? What are we to do all day? When I give the order, ten thousand warriors will ride without ceasing. We'll be at the coast in hours."

  "The ramp and the bridges will not be in place before tomorrow night," said Radiant Leader. "But you know best how to command your Orlans, Excellency. If you want them to ride without ceasing, let them do so."

  The Jahan smiled thinly.

  "And your all-powerful axers, Radiance? Will they be starting their march south soon?"

  "The imperial army left at dawn."

  This was true. What Similin did not say was that his axers were marching east, not south. Once the battle was over, and the Orlans and the Noble Warriors had done their worst to each other, Similin meant to have his entire army rested and unharmed and ready to impose his will.

  In this way, with smiles of unity and promises of mutual support, the two commanders parted to prepare for a victory neither expected to share.

  The Jahan summoned his company captains. These men, over two hundred of them, each had command of a band of Orlans and were encouraged by the Jahan to operate with a high degree of independence. There was no other command structure. In time of war, even the Jahan's sons were captains like the rest. The Great Jahan gave the order as to whom the army would attack and when; the captains decided for themselves how to fight. This made the Orlan army fast and flexible, responsive to all the changes that take place in a battle.

  The captains were now gathered in the same open space that had held the jagga. Amroth Jahan, his two younger sons at his side, surveyed the alert weathered faces of his veterans with pride. Such men, he thought, had no equal on the face of the earth.

  "My captains," he said. "We have feasted enough. Now we go to work."

  A growl of satisfaction rose up from th
e gathering. These were hard men, accustomed to long days on horseback and short nights on hard ground. The luxury of Radiance had already begun to pall.

  "We will ride south, to the coast. There where the river meets the sea stands the island home of the Nomana."

  The captains nodded as they heard this. They had been expecting it. No one had dared to speak openly to the Jahan of the humiliation he had suffered on the bridge, but all knew that the Nomana would be made to pay for it. They too wanted revenge. An insult to the Jahan was an insult to all Orlans.

  "I promise you this—I, Amroth Jahan, who have led you to victory in every battle we have ever fought—by the end of the day the god of the Noble Warriors will be dead, and all the world will know that there is no power as great as the Orlan nation!"

  The captains cheered and raised their fists in the victory salute. The Great Jahan raised his fist in response.

  "Call out your companies!" he cried. "Ride south!"

  As the gathering dispersed, he turned to his sons.

  "What news of Sasha? Is the forest burning?"

  The forest was not burning. Sasha Jahan and his ten companies had arrived at the forest's edge, and his men had set about building large fires of brushwood and fallen branches. They had built ten of them, one to each company, in a line all along the fringe of the Glimmen. But the rain of recent weeks had left the wood sodden and it proved slow to burn. When at last a sluggish white smoke began to seep from the pyres, an easterly wind carried it away from the forest and into the faces of the Orlans and their horses. Many of the horses bolted, to get out of the range of the smoke. Then rain began to fall, and several of the fires went out.

  Sasha Jahan sat under the shelter of an open-fronted campaign tent, pulling at his thick bushy hair and brooding on the unfairness of life. His father had ordered him to woo the pale and beautiful girl who had dropped from the trees, and the girl had laughed at him. Then his father had ordered him to compete for the girl in the jagga, and he had humiliated him. Now his father had ordered him to burn the Glimmen, and the wood refused to burn, and the wind blew the wrong way. How could he return to his father and tell him he had failed? It was unthinkable. He could hear his father roaring at him, "What I have said I will do, I will do!"