“Ah, well. You really cannot think of anything consumable we can give the natives?”
“No. But I doubt giving them tools would cause any problems. We can restrict our gifts to things like ropes, bags, knives, and nets. The Ilmatarans have all those things already; only the materials would differ, and since they have no way to make things of metal or polymers, the objects would not affect their society. In a few years, when the ropes and nets wear out and the knives corrode, no trace of us will remain.”
“I suppose so. Very well—I approve.”
“I do have one other thing to request. Could you arrange for some of the Guardians to give a demonstration of their weapons for the Ilmatarans?”
“Why?”
“I want these Ilmatarans to understand that we can harm them. I do not trust them. They appear to be a small, heavily armed band, traveling far from civilization and in no hurry to get anywhere. I suspect some community may have exiled them for some crime.”
“Some kind of breakaway group?”
“Or social predators. Possibly both— they may follow a consensus based on using force against nonmembers.”
“Ah, yes. A common feature of primitive societies,” said Irona.
“Indeed,” said Tizhos without a hint of sarcasm. “So a demonstration of our weapons would make it much easier to prevent conflict.”
“I approve. Now go and get some food and rest, Tizhos. You look exhausted.”
STRONGPINCER and Shellcrusher approach the town cautiously. Strongpincer doesn’t remember ever robbing anyone around here, but news does travel and townies are always suspicious. This is the third town he remembers visiting on this journey. The two of them are working their way along the edge of the shallows, cutting across the rifts. Strongpincer figures news would travel easily along the rift trade routes.
A youngster on patrol at the edge of town stops them. “What is your business in Bubbling Vent?”
“Trade,” says Strongpincer. “We have goods from Deep Fissure and the waters beyond the Shallow Basin.”
The youngster pings them, loud enough to hear what they’ve been eating. “All right. You may pass into the town. Private lands are marked with stones. Town law applies in common areas. Only town militia may carry spears longer than their bodies. Interfering with drag nets means you must replace the lost catch and repair any damage.”
“We promise to follow your laws.”
The town is small, but it sits on a trade route so is likely to get lots of news. Strongpincer leads Shellcrusher to the market, an open space downcurrent of the main vent. There are only a few other vendors: another traveling trader with a string of immature towfins, one of the locals selling stingers, and a schoolmaster with some apprentices for sale. Strongpincer finds a clear spot near the stinger-seller and lays out his wares.
The odd flavor of his items diffusing through the water draws some business. First some idle apprentices and tenant workers come to feel what he’s got. Then the landowners drift over.
“You’re selling string?” asks one, feeling a reel of the strangers’ cable with his feeding tendrils.
“It’s as thin as string, but stronger than any rope.”
“Nonsense,” says the landowner.
“Break it, then,” says Strongpincer. “You can have as much as you can break off the reel.”
The landowner’s a burly fellow with heavy pincers worn blunt by digging. He wraps a couple of loops of the cord around each pincer and pulls. He pulls harder. He pulls until his joints grind and the thick shell of his pincers begins to creak under the strain.
“That is tough!”
“It’s flexible, too. You can knit it into nets which can hold anything.”
“How much?” the burly fellow asks.
“Ten beads for a pincer’s length.” It’s a ridiculous price. Normally cord is priced by the cable-length, not the pincer-length. But nobody objects. Burly asks for five lengths.
“How do you cut it?” asks an apprentice.
Strongpincer is glad the youth asked. “With this!” he whips out another alien tool—an kind of artificial pincer made of something harder than stone but as light as shell. He grips the handles in his pincers and snips off a length of cord.
They do great business, selling cord, some of the cutting tools, and some incredibly strong awls. Shellcrusher begins to complain of hunger, so Strongpincer sends her with some beads to buy food. She comes back with cakes of roe and a couple of bunches of worms. Strongpincer lets her eat first, then leaves her in charge of the stall while he crawls aside to enjoy his own food.
A local approaches. From her grooved pincers Strongpincer guesses she’s the town rope-twister. She sits beside Strongpincer and listens to him eating for a while.
“That’s amazing cord you’ve got,” she says.
“Stronger than anything.”
“I remember examining it after buying a reel. It feels like a single fiber, not a twisted cord. And it doesn’t taste like anything I recognize. Where does it come from?”
“Very far away,” says Strongpincer.
“That’s right—don’t tell anyone. You’ve got a nice thing going and don’t want to spoil it. I understand completely.”
Strongpincer decides it’s time. “It’s difficult, selling my stuff town to town. I don’t know what’s in demand and there are bandits in the cold water. I don’t know when I’m getting cheated or when I’m asking too much. I worry about townsfolk robbing me.”
“A merchant’s life is full of uncertainty,” she agrees.
“I remember hearing about strange creatures,” he says. “Things nobody remembers anything about. Do you recall hearing anything like that?”
“Strange creatures? Are you interested in things of that sort? Because Spinylegs is the fellow you should talk with, then.”
“Why?”
“He likes to learn about things. I believe he knows about every kind of creature in the sea. And anything he can’t recall touching himself is in one of his reels of writing. I expect he’s got more cord than I do, but all tied in knots.”
Strongpincer is puzzled. “Why? Is he a schoolmaster?”
“No, he just likes to know things. And he’s a landowner so he can afford to waste beads on it.”
A fool, Strongpincer decides. But possibly a useful one. If this landowner likes to waste his wealth learning things, maybe he knows what Strongpincer is trying to discover. “Where does he live?”
“He has the Great Stone property—but he’s not there now. Nobody but apprentices running the place.”
“Well where is he, then?”
“He’s on a journey A friend of his called Longpincer has a big property downcurrent from here about a thousand cables. Spinylegs visits him to talk about animals and plants and old things.”
“Downcurrent along the rift?”
“Yes. If you plan to go there, be sure to mention I’m sending you.”
“I intend to.” Perfect! Strongpincer imagines that he and Shellcrusher are capable of bullying a couple of foolish landowners into telling what he needs to know. And if they have some valuable items lying around, so much the better.
BROADTAIL is helping some of Longpincer’s tenants put guy lines on a standing net when an apprentice pings him. “Excuse me, Broadtail, sir, but the boss wants you.”
“Very well. Here—hold on to this post, and when it’s just leaning into the current tell them to tie off the line.”
He swims back to the house, where a clutch of adults are gathered. There’s a strange towfin with a large cargo bundle beneath it, and an adult giving some kind of commercial pitch.
“Cable absolutely unbreakable by any pull! Netting so fine even the tiniest swimmers can’t pass through!”
Longpincer swims up to intercept Broadtail and takes him aside. “You hear them?”
“I do. A pair of traveling merchants. What of it?”
“Listen to the talk some more.”
The merchant
booms, “I challenge any adult—any pair of adults—to sever this cord. You can use any tool you wish, but you cannot cut it! Anyone care to try?”
“Absurd,” says Broadtail to Longpincer. “Borrow one of Builder 1’s tools and snip it in half!”
“I have felt and tasted this merchant’s wares, Broadtail. They are very like some of the Builder tools and gear.”
“But how?”
“I am not sure. Possibly another group of Builders, selling their gear to a merchant in exchange for help? Possibly some cache of theirs, now in the grip of scavengers? Or—possibly Builder 1 is not telling us everything.”
“Builder 1 speaks of strangers unlike him, occupying his home and driving him into the wilderness.”
“Could these things be theirs?” Longpincer asks.
“That captures a netful of other questions,” says Broadtail. “Is this merchant a thief selling stolen goods of those other strangers, or are they his by trade, or is he their servant?”
“Let us speak with him.”
The two scientists approach the merchant. He is selling a length of un-cuttable cord to one of Longpincer’s tenants, and the landowner waits courteously until the trade is done.
“Come aside with me,” says Longpincer. “I have matters of importance to discuss.”
The merchant scuttles over, and as he approaches, Broadtail catches a familiar tang in the water. He knows this adult. Who is he? The memory of Onepincer’s school comes to mind. The bandit! He risks seeming rude and pings the fellow to make sure—a little larger and not quite so smooth- shelled, but it’s unmistakably the same adult. Strongpincer is his name. Broadtail says nothing, not wishing to open his pincer yet.
“Sir, your wares are extraordinary,” says Longpincer. “Can you tell me where they are made?”
“Far away. Very far indeed.”
“How far? I own craftwork from beyond the shallows and even from the deep basins. None of it resembles this at all. Let me put you at ease—I am only curious because I am a scholar. I have no wish to trespass on your trade.”
“Oh, surely not,” says Strongpincer. “But others may, and a secret makes many echoes when it’s spoken.”
“Yet I suspect I know the origin of these things,” says Longpincer casually. “I offer you one of my beads if you will answer a single question: are the makers adults like ourselves?”
There is a long silence before Strongpincer speaks. “No.”
“Two beads for a second answer. How many limbs do the makers have?”
“I cannot answer,” Strongpincer replies promptly.
Broadtail taps quietly on Longpincer’s tail. “Leave him. Must talk privately.”
“I must beg your pardon,” says Longpincer. “I must determine how much of your goods I need—and what I can afford to trade. Please excuse me.”
Strongpincer turns back to the throng of tenants while Longpincer and Broadtail hurry off to the entryway of the house.
“He is a bandit. I remember him robbing a schoolmaster, and I suspect him of attacking my exploring party. He calls himself Strongpincer.”
“His refusal to answer my second question is significant,” says Longpincer. “He knows there are two kinds of strangers with differing numbers of limbs. And I suspect he knows they are in conflict.”
Once again Broadtail is startled by Longpincer’s thinking. “True!”
“But we do not know where his loyalty stands.”
“That I can answer,” says Broadtail. “He is a bandit and his loyalty is to himself.”
“We can also deduce that he is not allied with the stranger you call Builder 1.”
“I believe his goods are stolen,” says Broadtail. “It makes perfect sense: this bandit comes across the other strangers— the ones I call Squatters. Perhaps he overcomes one in an ambush, or perhaps he simply takes a cache of goods left unguarded. He wishes to conceal this, so he answers you evasively when you ask about the origin of the items.”
Longpincer considers this. “But how does he know of Builder 1’s people, then?”
“I cannot explain that,” Broadtail admits. “It is extremely unlikely for one bandit to come across two sets of strangers by chance.”
“Then there are three possible sources of his knowledge: the Builders, the Squatters, and—ourselves,” says Longpincer.
“I recall Builder 1 being entirely ignorant of how to tap out words at our first meeting. That rules out his people.”
“And this bandit is a stranger here, which rules out any of us. A good thing, too—I should hate to think any of the Company were trying to gain knowledge secretly, hoarding it like scarce roe instead of passing it around generously.”
“Which leaves the Squatters,” says Broadtail. “This bandit is their hired worker. But doing what? If the Squatters hold Builder 1’s home, why send someone to search for him? Surely no creature could be so evil as to harry poor Builder 1 from shelter to shelter.”
“Spying,” says Longpincer. “They fear Builder 1, and wish to know if he plans revenge against them. Anyone would, in such a situation. So they hire this bandit to seek him out and report on what he is doing.”
“I suggest that I wait with some of the Company just outside your boundaries and kill this spy as he leaves. I promise you a share of his goods,” says Broadtail.
“I wish to know more before planning action,” says Longpincer. “I propose serving this merchant, or bandit, a very large meal and giving him as many stings as he wants. The food makes him content, the stings make him irresponsible—I imagine him telling us much he might otherwise keep secret.”
“But what do you intend when the dinner is done?”
“I think it best to let him go.”
“I imagine him telling the Squatters! Isn’t it better for him to simply disappear into your trash midden?”
“I do not have the reputation of a landowner who kills and robs passing merchants, Broadtail. Bitterwater is remote and I worry about traders avoiding my place if they fear being robbed. Besides, we have no way to know if he suspects the Builders are here.”
“He isn’t deaf, and neither are your tenants and servants. Can you keep all of them silent about such amazing news?”
“I don’t know. But I do know I don’t want you attacking this adult.”
Broadtail is unhappy, but agrees. He sets himself the task of remaining with the bandit, keeping him away from the shelter inhabited by the Builders. He sits and listens as the “merchant” sells a great deal of strong cord, some unbreakable tools, and a quantity of superfine netting. Longpincer’s tenants and staff buy all he is willing to sell.
The merchant takes payment in Longpincer’s beads, then sends off his helper to spend them. That means Broadtail can’t keep both of them in hearing at once.
He hears Holdhard nearby and gets her to help. “Stay here and listen to the merchant. Ask him many questions, keep him here. Do not speak of the Builders.”
“I understand,” she says.
“Good.” He crawls after the merchant’s helper. He recognizes her flavor in the water: she’s the big one who can crack an adult’s shell with her pincers.
He stays back, just close enough to hear her scuttling along. She probably knows he’s behind her. Broadtail remembers the attack on his expedition and grows more angry. He hopes she doesn’t like him following her. He hopes she tries to fight him. A fight makes everything simple: even Longpincer’s strong notions of hospitality don’t extend to strangers brawling with guests.
But if she does notice him, she gives no sign and shows no anger. She visits Longpincer’s store houses and the homes of his more prosperous tenants. She trades Longpincer’s beads for small, valuable goods: fertile eggs, hot-water crops, diamonds. All very sensible.
Broadtail feels momentary doubt. Maybe they are just merchants. He might be mistaken about them being bandits. They might have an innocent explanation of where the goods come from.
Then her course bends toward the shel
ter holding the Builders. Innocent or not, he can’t let her ping them. Broadtail leaves the ground and swims, beating his flukes noisily and dodging past nets and rigging.
The big female turns. He must sound hostile, swimming toward her like some hunter, for she raises her open pincers and braces herself. Broadtail forces himself to slow and drop to the bottom a couple of arm-lengths away from her.
“I come to warn you,” he says. “You are walking toward danger.”
“Danger?” she says. Her speech is slow and overly precise. A real cold-water barbarian, this one.
“Poison things grow over there,” he says, gesturing. “They make adults sick. Stay away.”
“What poison things?” She folds her pincers slowly.
Broadtail is a scholar and remembers being a landowner. He begins to reel off the most alarming poison growths he can think of. “There’s a nasty colony of gill-blight down there, and since nobody wants to go clear them out some stinging tendrilworms are nesting as well. So please, stay away.”
“Very well,” she says, though he suspects she doesn’t believe him. Too bad. She’s just a visitor here anyway. If Longpincer—or Broadtail acting on his behalf—wants to keep something secret, he has every right to do so. If she doesn’t like it she can leave, and Broadtail rather likes that idea.
She alters course and trundles toward some of the smaller tenant homes. Broadtail considers his mental map of the estate. From those homes she can cut back toward where the Builders are staying by following the sandy slope. He decides to wait there for a while and intercept her.
He finds a comfortable spot where the sand isn’t too unstable and sits quietly. While he waits his thoughts wander, but he is well-fed and does not sleep.
Broadtail thinks about his own place in the world. For now he is Longpincer’s guest, but he hopes to change that. He remembers meeting others like that—adults with some accomplishment but no property, living off some admiring landowner. It can be a good life, but it does not survive the death of the admirer. When an apprentice inherits, the permanent guests are the first to go. If they are lucky, and still fit, they may stay on as tenants or servants.
A Darkling Sea Page 28