by Larry Niven
Aros rummaged. “This. Hummm. And … this?”
“Your taste is less than impressive,” Neoloth said. “Here. Let me help you. Even without a memory, a princeling is likely to make better choices than that…”
* * *
Captain Gold had been watching their efforts for the better part of an hour. “Do you really think you can transform this sow’s ear into a silk purse?”
“We have to try. There is, however, a limit even to magic…”
Aros stepped out from behind the screen. He was wearing expensive robes. For a moment they were taken by surprise. Despite the rude garments that now lay at Aros’s feet, the finery looked surprisingly regal on him. The sweep of his shoulders and narrow waist brought the clothes to life.
The air in the room seemed to have stilled. “My … now, that’s a proper princeling.”
“I have to admit…,” Neoloth began, and then caught himself.
“Yes?” Aros smiled.
“That you clean up adequately.”
Aros snorted. “You can stick ‘adequate’ up your arse. Now this is more like it. I should have been dressing like this all along.”
Neoloth rolled his eyes. “Father Set … what have I done?”
* * *
They entered Shrike Harbor the next day. Its lighthouse was a fantastic sculpture of a two-headed bird of prey, certainly one of the wonders of the world. One head looked out to the horizon; the other, back at the inner bay. A half-dozen small ships of unusual design patrolled the outskirts. No sails, no oars.
Aros pointed. “What … are those?”
Gold frowned. “Never seen their like.”
One of the small ships pulled up alongside theirs. “Ahoy there! Prepare to receive boarders.”
“Welcome aboard, good sirs,” Gold said, smiling broadly.
“Do you know anything about those ships?” Aros asked Neoloth.
“I know that a sailor from the princess’s fleet said that there were burning ships in the night.”
“But what are they?” Aros said. “They move against the wind without oars. Have they dragons in their bellies?”
Neoloth seemed just as puzzled. “I don’t know. Dragons are near extinct. This is some kind of magic I’ve not seen.”
Lights shined up at them. Several men clambered up rope ladders. “I am Captain Nosturn,” the first said. “A harbormaster of Shrike. Who is in charge here?”
“I am Captain Gold.” Gold extended a hand. They shook.
“Your cargo?” Nosturn asked.
“Trade. Teas and fine woods. I’ve traded in Quillia before and have merchant contacts.”
Nosturn nodded. “Take me to the hold.”
* * *
Nosturn and Gold descended into the cargo hold. “Well stocked,” Nosturn said after examining. “Are you saying that you are fulfilling contracts? I’d like to see them.”
“No, sir,” Gold said. “I’m saying that on previous voyages, I’ve spoken to merchants who said they needed certain things, and I thought that if I could supply them, a bit o’ business might be done.”
Aros straightened. “I would expect that the taxes on such transactions would be high…”
“And who might you be?” Nosturn asked.
“The name is Kasha.”
“And you are?”
Gold stepped into the breech. “Just a passenger. Paid good gold to take him and his man to Shrike.”
“And your business here?” Nosturn asked.
“I’ve heard that fighting men are valued in Shrike. And that the gambling palaces are second to none. Also, that the harbormaster is, upon occasion, allowed to collect taxes.”
The harbormaster scanned him. “Have you been in Shrike before, sir?”
Aros hunched his shoulders ruefully. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t … know?”
Aros laughed heartily. “No. I have no memory of anything before ten years ago. I woke up in the company of desert bandits, with nothing to identify me.”
The harbormaster looked at the belt buckle. “And where did you get this?”
“Ah,” Aros said. “I wore it as a bauble on a chain around my neck. Later we turned it into a belt buckle.”
“It’s a good stone.”
“And carved like the harbor light of Shrike, I’d heard,” Aros said. “I knew I wanted to visit here. In truth … at times I feel pulled. At any rate, it is my understanding that harbormasters can collect taxes upon occasion. Certainly there is some fee for expediting all of this trouble.”
Nosturn smiled. “Well, for very special guests, all manner of things are possible.”
Aros paused a moment and then drew a small sack from his pocket and handed it to Nosturn.
“Very generous, sir.” Nosturn did a magic trick and made it disappear.
“And we ask that you make no mention of my master’s arrival in Shrike, other than whatever proper channels you must go through to fulfill your obligations. We would like to keep … gossip and speculation to a minimum,” Neoloth said.
Another coin changed hands. The man bowed and smiled. “I think that all is in order here,” Nosturn said, and left.
Aros frowned. “I thought that the point was for rumors to get around.”
Neoloth seemed satisfied with the results. “I have found that there is no faster way to spread a rumor than to pay someone to hide it. I think we have begun our arrival auspiciously. Captain! Take us to port.”
Gold glowered at him. “I’ll wait until yer master says the same.”
Aros smiled broadly. “Captain,” he said. “Take us in.”
* * *
As the ship came into the dock, Aros and Neoloth watched from the rail. Neoloth was dead sober. “What do you see?” he asked.
“A harbor. Much like many others. Of course there are the boats.”
Neoloth snorted. “I got a good, close look at the harbormaster’s boat. Fire in its guts, and metal to hold it prisoner, but what for?”
“Magic.”
“There are other things,” Neoloth said. “The harbormaster, Nosturn. What was that thing he wore at his waist?”
Aros scratched his head. “I don’t know. A little machine?”
“Yes. A little machine. But of what kind? That is the question. Do you know what it looked like to me?”
“I think I’m about to hear,” Aros growled.
“A small cannon. A hand cannon.”
Aros seemed doubtful. “I’ve seen them small enough to carry.”
“On the back of a strong man, yes. But this—”
They heard a shrill sound, a whistle originating from somewhere in the city, and Neoloth’s eyes picked out a chimney with steam gushing out the top.
“And I don’t know what that is,” Neoloth said. “What the purpose is, or how the sound was produced. Within a single hour, I’ve seen things, three things, I’ve never seen before. This place is a playground for a questing mind.”
* * *
When they docked, Aros gathered his things and then shook Gold’s hand. “Thank you, old friend,” he said.
Dorgan seemed a bit downcast. “We wrestle again, little man?”
When my bones have healed, Aros thought. But what he said was, “Another time.”
“Where to now, Master Kasha?” Neoloth asked.
“First, Washelisk, I think we find lodging.”
And they strode down the gangplank together. Neoloth carried the bags until they found a porter.
* * *
The inn Gold had recommended was called the Boar’s Head. It was sturdy, of old brick, with a substantial garden out back.
“This looks good,” Aros said.
“A bit more upscale than your usual, I’d expect.” Neoloth sniffed. To him, it was dreadful. One becomes accustomed to better things.
“Pay the man,” Aros said.
The fat, greasy little innkeeper bowed. “Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Please enter and be welcome.”
“Thank you,” Aros said. “You see before you two weary travelers. We seek lodging and meals.”
“You have come to just the right place!” the innkeeper said. “We are honored to accommodate gentlemen such as yourselves.”
He took them up a stairway to a room with a view … of the castle.
Aros scanned the room. “Yes, I think that this will suit me well.”
“Have you been to Shrike before?” the innkeeper asked.
“Never,” Aros said. “From the harbor, I could see the castle. What is that?” He pointed at a series of low buildings arrayed before a black fence as tall as two men. The fence wound behind the palace and continued beyond his sight. It might well have abutted the shoreline, sealing off the city from … something beyond.
“Barracks,” the innkeeper said. “The king likes to keep his men close.”
Aros nodded soberly. “Very wise.”
There was a black wall between the barracks and a rocky promontory. It had been reinforced. It looked as foreboding as a prison fortress for Titans.
He pointed. “And … what is that?”
“And that … is something best left to itself. Strangers need to learn not to ask certain questions.” The man seemed ruffled that it had even come up.
He wiped his hands on his bloody shirt. “Now, then … Breakfast is at dawn, dinner at dusk. The room is twenty coppers a day, in advance.”
“Pay the man,” Aros said.
Neoloth did so, and the innkeeper left.
“So,” Aros said, perching on a table’s edge.
“So now we learn what we can,” Neoloth said. “We will play it that Kasha is a gentleman of leisure, a soldier of fortune seeking adventure. You will sell your sword and skills.”
* * *
By the time the morning sun had fully risen, Aros and Neoloth were out exploring the capital city. They saw children in windows, but not on the streets. Odd.
“Have you noticed that, as well?” Aros asked.
“Do you know what it reminds me of?” Neoloth said.
“Educate me.”
“Some years back, there was a naval war, and the press-gangs were at work. The streets were clear of young men. I noticed that. The ways that people reacted … seemed similar.”
They shopped until Neoloth and a hired servant were bending under a load … but wandering closer to that dark wall. It was constructed of something that looked like blackened bamboo. There was a pathway, well-grooved and roughly perpendicular, leading west to the harbor. They heard footsteps coming and followed the hired porter back into the shadows.
Around the corner came a string of miserable-looking wretches, half of them … children. Sobbing.
He watched the prisoners disappear through the gate like sheep herded to slaughter. “What is this?”
“Just slaves, sir,” the hired man said. “It’s safe now.”
“They look new-captured,” Aros growled. “I didn’t see a slave market in the city. Some of those specimens look promising. Where could I find them?”
“Oh,” their servant said. “They’re for special use.”
“By whom?”
“It is best not to ask, sir.”
Neoloth looked at the wall and continued on.
* * *
Neoloth talked to everyone he could reach, including a scroll salesman, a weary pimp, and a gaggle of aging prostitutes. He bought drinks for rug merchants, one of whom had sold something to the castle on the hill. After hours, he wrangled an invitation to meet a man who traded in ancient scrolls and, through him, a group of scholars so pale and withered they might have been moles. Despite their obvious withdrawal from the world, they seemed to know everything and everyone and were open to wine and conversation.
* * *
Aros was walking down the street, the shadows of dusk reaching from every tavern and storefront. A strange metallic clanking sound reverberated behind him, as if a sack of base-metal coins were following him down the road.
He ducked into a doorway and drew his sword. The strange “Ching! Ching!” sound came closer. And then …
Aros’s eyes widened. A man in a robe, an official of some kind, passed his doorway, huffing as his feet ran in circles. He was riding two wheels linked by a bar. How did he avoid falling over?
Aros replaced the sword in its sheath and watched, mystified, as the man leaned right and turned a corner instead of falling over. “What the feathered hell?”
* * *
Puzzled and troubled and slightly drunk, Neoloth found his way back to their rooms. Aros found him there hours later, drawing diagrams.
“What do you have there?”
“Just beginning to feel my way around,” Neoloth said.
“Learning anything?”
Neoloth looked at him cannily. “We heard that a month ago a royal ship docked in the harbor and two masked female prisoners disembarked. They seem to have been taken to the Tower, which is the main prison block, protected by the army barracks.”
Aros perked up at that. “Where?”
Neoloth stabbed a finger at the map. “Here.”
“How do we find out if she’s there?”
“We will,” he said confidently.
“And if she is?”
Neoloth grinned at him. “We’ll think of something. What have you learned?”
“People don’t talk much to strangers. But I have the sense that most of these changes have happened in the last two years. There is a group called the ‘Thousand.’ Or maybe it’s a place. Hard to tell, because you can’t ask the same question twice without drawing attention. They seem to have gained power in the capital.”
Neoloth nodded. “The king hasn’t been seen for a year. Maybe more.”
“I’d heard that, too. And there is something else.”
He dropped a metal tube on the table.
Neoloth examined it. Glass at both ends, both rounded. “What is this?”
“You tell me.”
Neoloth looked into it. Through it. Out the window, and saw the magnification.
“Spyglass,” he murmured. “Never seen lenses so…” He examined them more carefully. “Look here.”
Aros leaned in.
“See this tiny screw? I’ve never seen one that size. And the way the tube is sealed…”
Neoloth sat down and stared at it.
“What are you thinking?” Aros asked.
“More mysteries. The little ships. The small cannons.”
Aros grunted. “You still think that is what those devices are?”
“Yes. They are worn like weapons. The men carrying them walk like giants.”
The barbarian nodded. “Like master swordsmen, but without the discipline.”
Neoloth smiled. “Well said. And this spyglass. Never seen anything as fine.”
“I saw something as well,” Aros said. “Some kind of machine that a man rode like a little horse. Two wheels, a bar between and a bar for steering. Very odd.”
“I am beginning to suspect,” Neoloth said, “that the oddities will only increase. Next week is a holiday of some kind. In it, the women of the kingdom lose their minds and engage in the kinds of foolishness generally reserved for men of a certain type.”
“A certain type?”
“Yes, you know. Like you. It is all very entertaining, in a muscle-headed sort of way. I heard two things.”
“And what are those?” Aros asked.
“One, that it was almost canceled this year. There was a general outcry.”
“And the other?”
“That the general’s wife, Jade, participates in a boat race.”
“Ah!”
Neoloth smacked his hands down on the desk. “And tradition says that the winner is blessed of the gods and will receive a vision. It is a celebration of the wife of one of their deities. The near cancelation implies that worship has changed. Something has happened. Is happening.”
“Yes,” Aros agreed. “And it also suggests a possible appro
ach, don’t you think?”
The two men smiled at each other.
SEVENTEEN
The King
From the third-floor window of their bedroom, General Silith could see across the rows of empty taverns, shops, homes, and brothels to the shore. That was where the citizens were, in a vast crush of humanity as dense as the flotilla in the bay beyond. This was where his beloved wife, Jade, was preparing to go, and he just couldn’t understand. Last year, a boat had capsized, and three women had drowned. Four years ago, it had been two losses. To Silith, the crowd below seemed a famished mob, and that was the most dangerous kind.
“Must you participate in this anachronism?” the general asked. “You don’t even worship this petty god. It is unseemly in a woman so … mature.”
“Mature” or not, Jade Silith was a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty, even if her figure was fuller than it had been on their wedding day. She was still a delight to his heart. “Husband,” she said. She stopped brushing her lustrous mane and frowned, lips in a playful pout. “Allow me a bit of fun in my declining years.”
They laughed. Despite the fact that this was a hard man, there was affection between the two.
“General!” a soldier said, running up. “The king wishes to speak to you.”
The general frowned. “Kindly tell him I’ll be there shortly.” He turned to his wife. “I suspect that he hasn’t been drinking his teas.”
“Husband,” she whispered rigidly. “Be mindful.”
His gaze grew distant. “Very soon, now, the time for caution will be past. Are you prepared?”
“Yes.”
As she kissed him, he stroked her hair fondly.
“In all this bright and terrible world,” he said. “There is only one thing I love.”
“Once,” she said, “there was more than one.”
He held her. Kissed her again. “Come. Let us meet the people.”
He led her out of the wing of the castle. It might be thought odd that the general lived there instead of in the barracks area. But if that was true, no one commented upon it in his presence.
“I give to you … Jade!”
She mounted the chariot’s low step. The crowd cheered. Some of those cheers were encouraged by the soldiers.
General Silith turned to one of his men. “The usual arrangements have been made?”
“Yes, sir.”