“We must be careful to avoid passing this way at night.”
“It would be worth your life to do less,” Belstan heartily agreed, and kicked at a dog harrying his ankles.
They located a central area that seemed to be the center of trading. The place bustled with activity as established merchants opened their booths.
“The best locations are taken,” Belstan grumbled. “I am afraid we will have to settle for what is left.”
He let his load drop and bent to loosen the bindings. Jeff did likewise, saw that the poles in Zimma’s arms were about to go every which way, and grabbed on.
“Okay, we got it. Let it down.”
With a surprised glance at Jeff, she did so. Zimma didn’t know what to say and began sorting through the poles.
“I will return to the launch and see to transporting trade goods.”
“That would be most helpful, Jeffrey. Zimma and I will assemble the booth.”
Waves of heat shimmered up from the sand, and Jeff took his time. Intrigued by the hodgepodge of people swarming the area, he moseyed from one point of interest to the other. Right out of Treasure Island, Jeff concluded, except this bunch smell like a sewer. Belstan had pointed out Arzaks on the way into town. Jeff counted fifteen before it occurred to him that he had not seen a single woman.
The Arzaks radiated arrogance as they swaggered by in loose silken pants, high boots and multicolored blouses. Dark haired and dark skinned, all were armed to the teeth. Jeff frowned when an Arzak bulled his way past several traders, sending one to his knees.
“This is really going to be sweet. One dildo and a pack of assholes. How in hell are we ever going to protect her?”
At the beach, Jeff sent the launch to fetch more help. When they returned he headed back with arms full of trading goods, cursing the sand. The crew trailed along behind, likewise encumbered and cursing.
Arriving soaked with sweat and short of breath, Jeff gratefully set his load down. Their booth, no more than an elaborate tent with a counter, was assembled. He noticed that several guy lines were loose and went in search of a hammer. Jeff was driving the last peg when two brightly robed merchants wearing spiral turbans approached the counter.
By mid-morning the area was packed. The air was filled with loud, often aggravated bargaining as individuals and groups of men moved from location to location. Adding to the noise, food vendors hawked their wares while wrestling carts through the sand.
After a period of standing around doing very little, Jeff decided to break free of their booth. He was completely out of his element where trading was concerned. The energy and excited wrangling of the crowd had also proven contagious.
Wandering the bazaar, Jeff discovered the booths tended to be segregated by nationality. When he found the Arzak section, Jeff moved from booth to booth fingering merchandise and listening. Before long the trading patois began to make sense. He could communicate.
The glint of steel caught his eye and Jeff hurried to a rambling booth given over to expansive display counters.
“Well, now,” he murmured. “A weapons dealer, and it looks like good stuff.”
Jeff picked up a curved sword similar to his saber and held it out to gaze along the blade. It was true. Gripping the haft lightly, he found the balance to be quite good. The blade had every appearance of high-grade carbon steel that had been carefully forged and annealed.
While the Arzaks he had seen so far had left a very negative impression, he was impressed with the quality of their forging. Jeff whistled under his breath when the blade cleanly shaved a section of his arm without the slightest drag. The shop’s rotund proprietor watched Jeff flex the blade and try a few passes before sauntering over.
“Interested in good steel, Khorgan?”
“You might say it is a passion of mine.”
They debated the pros and cons of straight versus curved blades, hilt styles, and a wealth of other points. The proprietor knew his trade and was also an accomplished salesman. Before he knew it, Jeff decided to purchase a dirk that caught his fancy.
Haggling a mutually agreeable price was a new experience. It became enjoyable when he realized the hand waving and outrage were no more than part of the process. While the man was certainly an Arzak, Jeff found nothing to criticize. By the sale’s conclusion they had developed a certain respect for one another and exchanged names.
As the purchase price changed hands, Saafir leaned close to whisper, “Be cautious, Jeffrey. You are from Khorgan. Not all among us are honest traders.”
Moving on with a sardonic smile, Jeff muttered, “No shit.”
In response to hunger pangs he purchased something that looked vaguely like an egg roll and took a cautious bite. The afternoon was well along when he wandered back to home base. In spite of the late hour, a number of customers were still waiting to be served.
Ducking through the back and into heavenly shade, Jeff sat down on a crate and toyed with his new dirk. Some time later Belstan bid farewell to the last customer and dropped rattan curtains into place. He poured the day’s receipts onto a makeshift table with loving care. Cracking his knuckles to warm up, Belstan proceeded to sort the take with flying fingers.
Zimma joined him and tallied the various stacks. She abruptly stopped and pointed. “That coin is the wrong denomination.” Plucking the coin out of a pile, she dropped it in another. Belstan appeared embarrassed at his mistake.
Those two are cut out of the same cloth, Jeff decided with a grin. What a pair of traders. Realizing he had just had a positive thought about Zimma, Jeff wiped the grin off his face. He figured it was safe to break the intense silence when Zimma began scooping money into a bag.
“A good day, Belstan?”
“A most propitious day. A few more such and all our trade goods will be sold. If our suspicions are found wanting, I can assure you we will return.”
Jeff passed on what he had been told while buying the dirk. “Something is going on that has nothing to do with trade. The question is what.”
“My observations agree,” Belstan replied. “Perhaps one out of three Arzaks have any commercial interest here. However, I have not yet heard or observed anything that is sufficient to explain their presence. I believe we must stay on shore this night and see what may be discovered.”
“I see no other option myself. There’s risk but also opportunity.”
“Considerable risk.” Belstan directed his gaze toward Zimma. “Although you will not like my saying this, lass, you must return to the Baktar. While your presence has attracted a great deal of business, I have also had four offers to purchase you. They were polite offers, but what will the night bring?”
Zimma stared at Belstan in open disbelief. “Purchase me? Purchase me?”
“This is not Khorgan, Zimma,” Belstan replied with an eloquent shrug.
Fire leaped into her eyes, and Zimma gripped the hilt of her sword. “No such man shall ever lay hand on me, lest it be as he dies!”
“Proud words, young lady,” Belstan said, slowly shaking his head. “The opportunity for self defense is never given. This night you must sleep on board.”
“If I am to spend the night on the Baktar, you will surely have to first truss then carry me there.”
After Zimma and Belstan had been arguing for some time, Jeff decided to risk a comment. “Milady, even during daylight there is no way we can protect you if you wander off alone. At night our position becomes impossible. While I know nothing of the slave trade between Arzak and Borgo, I am familiar with its history in the country of my birth. You are an attractive woman from a small trading mission. Can you not see that this is liable to pose an irresistible temptation to them?”
Her temper was boiling and Zimma whirled on Jeff, but the hot words rushing to her lips were waylaid. She paused to wonder, What does he mean by attractive? Eyes sparking, Zimma stared at Jeff for a moment before abruptly turning back to Belstan.
“Very well. I agree. The risk is real and I do n
ot wish to jeopardize our mission. I will not leave this enclosure unless accompanied by yourselves or members of the crew.” Although Zimma was still playing with a particular word, she had made up her mind. “I am, however, going to remain ashore this night.”
The defiant tilt to Zimma’s chin decided Jeff. He would take his winnings and run. “Agreed. Let us hope it proves to be quiet.”
The night started out with a fistfight nearby. Matters rapidly deteriorated as bonfires were lighted and alcohol started to flow. To a man, the traders that stayed ashore barricaded themselves behind their trade goods. It didn’t take long for Jeff and Belstan to give up any notion of poking around. They piled up a bulwark of crates to block the rear of the booth and lighted a lantern.
Zimma watched shadow figures leap and stagger around the nearest bonfire accompanied by instruments that wailed and moaned. Horrified yet also attracted by the grotesque saturnalia, she leaned over the counter to see better.
A slurred shout rang out, “Come play, lettle cunt!”
Even though she was sure they couldn’t see her, Zimma hurriedly withdrew. Belstan put an arm around her shoulders and wondered how long it would take to run to the lake. It wasn’t long before they heard the clash of swords from several directions, screams mixing with drunken songs. The larger moon seemed to spring over the horizon, lending enough cool light to pick out the larger brawls.
The moon was about to set and bonfires had died down to coals when a dozen or so Arzaks stumbled out of the darkness swigging on clay bottles. Belching loudly, one of them staggered closer and leered at Zimma.
“That slutch ish too good for you Khorgan scum. Now you will shell her to me, then she will have a man between her legs!”
Reeling back, he jerked out a greasy pouch of coins and slammed it onto the counter. Before any of them could react, the Arzak grabbed the front of Zimma’s light blouse and yanked her against the counter. Jeff’s arm snapped into a looping right cross with a lot of muscle behind it. His fist landed square on the Arzak’s nose with a mushy thud. The man staggered backward and took several of his companions to the ground in a struggling pile.
Grossly obese, clothing soaked with grease, the Arzak staggered to his feet roaring oaths and spouting blood from his nose. Another Arzak ran out of the darkness with drawn sword and rammed its hilt against the drunk’s head, felling him. Booting two or three more, he sent them on their way dragging what looked like a corpse.
The Arzak watched them out of sight then strolled over to the booth. Without a word, he stared at Zimma’s chest. Jeff felt a wave of revulsion and moved to block his view. The Arzak raised his eyes. Jeff was reminded of the first hyena he had killed, and thought, This guy is fucking crazy. He’s drooling!
Scooping up the purse, the Arzak stalked off wiping at his mouth.
Things had happened so fast that Zimma was just starting to react. Jeff turned to see how she was.
“Are you…”
The front of Zimma’s blouse was gone. One up-tilted breast was fully exposed and gleamed white in the lantern light. As he watched, the other bounced free. Desperately staring at anything but her chest, Jeff grabbed a towel and draped it around Zimma’s shoulders. Only then did she look down.
She gasped, took one look at the blush on Jeff’s face, and her own flamed red. “I...I…Oh! Gods and demons!”
Furious at what had been done to her, she also felt such a rush of excruciating modesty that she could hardly lift her eyes from the sandy floor. It was an entirely new experience. Clutching the towel across her chest with one hand, Zimma took Jeff’s with the other.
“Thank you for defending me.”
She held his eyes briefly then looked away, blush flaming anew. During that moment, a period that existed in another time and place free of self-deception, some vital thing passed between them that neither really understood. Letting his hand go, Zimma hurried to the back of the enclosure in search of a spare blouse. When she was clothed, Belstan confronted her.
“You will not spend another night ashore. If necessary, I shall indeed have you trussed and taken aboard.”
Zimma was badly shaken and silently nodded agreement. There was little sleep to be had, but customers began to gather shortly after the sun was up and business was business. Jeff paused on his way out of the booth.
“We don’t have a lot of time. I’m going to see what I can find on the far side of town.”
Belstan did no more than wave acknowledgement. His attention was focused on a customer heading toward the booth. Zimma paused from setting up a change drawer to favor Jeff with a shy smile. He couldn’t help thinking that it was a very nice smile.
Sliding the change drawer under the counter, Zimma watched him walk away. She felt so confused by what had passed between them the previous night. Jeff had switched from jeans to snug leather pants, and she followed the movement of his buttocks as he forced a way through the sand.
“Please assist me, Zimma. Customers are waiting to be served.”
Jolted back to the task at hand, Zimma put a ‘may I help you’ smile on her face and turned to the counter.
Making his way to the southern fringe of Tradertown, Jeff slogged around the eastern perimeter in heavy sand and dense foliage. Halfway back to the lake he spotted a large tent with a contingent of Arzak guards posted out front. Concealing himself in a clump of bushes identical to large palmettos, Jeff’s nose was assailed with a familiar stench. Shortly, slaves chained together were exercised.
“There has to be something I can do,” Jeff fumed under his breath, “But what? Even if I bust them out, where can they go?”
He racked his brain for a solution while continuing to work his way toward the lake. Unless he could somehow spirit them all onboard the Baktar, it was a lost cause. Left to their own devices they would either be recaptured or die in the jungle.
Perhaps two hundred yards from the slave enclosure he encountered another heavily guarded tent. After a period of observation Jeff decided it had to be Arzak HQ. It was the largest tent he had seen and two tents of good size were attached to the main enclosure. Brass, maybe gold, fittings twinkled on supporting poles, and the guards appeared to be wearing dress uniforms. He watched a procession of soldiers enter and leave for a while before penetrating deeper into the jungle.
Impassable undergrowth and stagnant pools of brackish water confronted Jeff at frequent intervals, the insect horde was ravenous, and animals howled and squeaked without pause. He was close to the lake and ready for a break when faint voices sifted through the foliage.
Carefully working closer, he spotted a group of nattily uniformed soldiers in a clearing. Jeff did a double take. The Arzak uniforms reminded him of those worn by German SS troops. They were Arzak, but nothing like he had seen up to that point.
One of the soldiers was pointing north, two were scribbling notes. The fourth was drawing a diagram in the sand. The one who had been pointing walked over to the Arzak drawing in the sand, grabbed the stick, and added a few strokes. Thoughtfully slapping the stick against his breeches several times, he gave a curt order and they left.
Allowing plenty of time for them to clear the area, Jeff crept out of hiding to examine the diagram. Although one of the Arzaks had walked through it, what remained was so intriguing that he stood there for some time staring at the mangled lines. They implied so much.
The night passed without incident and with less tension since Zimma was sleeping on the Baktar. Upon arising, Belstan commented that trading was so good he believed they could close shop in another day. Rolling up the booth’s shutters, he glanced at Jeff.
“What progress?”
“Good, but I’m still unsure what it portends. Today I must attempt to gather all together.” He waved to Zimma, who was approaching in company with several Baktar crewmen, and set off to explore the western perimeter of Tradertown.
Passing a shack at the town’s edge, Jeff felt something tug at his blouse. It was an urchin of no more than eight yea
rs. Pulling his saber, Jeff followed the boy behind the shack. Saafir was waiting. The look on his face brought every sense to the alert. It was that of a terrified man.
“What has happened?”
The Arzak trader gripped Jeff’s arm and spoke in an urgent whisper. “You must leave soon if you would live. That pig commanding the soldiers must have your redheaded woman and will kill you all to get her.”
Jeff’s mind went into overdrive. “When, my friend, when?”
Sweat trails streaked the dust on Saafir’s face, and his eyes constantly roved the area. “I do not know! Rumor, snatches of drunken conversation! It is said the soldiers will leave soon to meet Salchek marching north. It must be this night.”
Confirmation had come out of the blue. Jeff was thunderstruck, could hardly believe they finally had firm evidence.
“I am forever in your debt, Saafir, but why do you give warning?”
“Because you love good steel, and the world must know that not all Arzak are craven. Please tell them. You must!”
He and the urchin dodged into thick trees behind the shack and were gone. Jeff waited for a few heartbeats and followed.
“What do I do now? We’re going to have to haul ass today, but it isn’t even noon yet. Surely they won’t attack the booth while it’s packed with customers. Shit! I have got to finish checking this place out!” Jeff headed west at a fast walk.
Several hours later and breathing hard he arrived at the beach. Jeff put it all together in his head while hotfooting it back the way he had come. Glancing at the sun, he decided he had enough time to investigate what appeared to be a major road coming in from the south. He jogged south for some minutes to make sure the road was not a dead end. In fact, it became broader and ran straight as an arrow.
“That’s the connection with Lukash,” Jeff said. “No doubt about it.” He had been sitting in a spot of shade to catch his breath. Abruptly, he jumped up to listen. The sound was familiar but he could not place it. “Maybe a column on the move. From what Saafir said it’s not likely to be the Salchek. Got to be more Arzak.”
Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) Page 23