The Seascape Tattoo

by Larry Niven

  “You held to our tale?”

  “I embellished a bit. You get seasick. When drinking you turn harsh to your servants—but I left out details, so they may think that’s just me. They started to tell me of a servant the general killed but stopped each other. Truly, I learned little. You?”

  “I think I’m hired. As for finding my parents, maybe.”

  Neoloth smiled.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Lord Kang

  It seemed to Aros that the sun had been beating down on them from directly overhead since dawn, and the orb deliberately and maliciously refused to set. Through the running, fighting, wrestling, archery—all of it—he was glad that it was still not as fierce an orb as that which blazed in southern lands.

  In the distance, behind a wall sectioning off another part of the grounds, came explosions, varying between deep and low or sharp and fast. With them came cheers and laughter from the men who were preparing themselves, practicing with tools Aros had never dreamed of and seen only in flashes.

  Despite his growing relationship with the general, there were places he was not as yet welcome. Sights that were not for his eyes. What were these strange devices? From whence had they appeared? He didn’t know but reckoned that the answers were behind the wall that sealed the mountain pass behind the castle. Before this affair was over, he intended to see what was behind the wall.

  He wasn’t certain he would survive the experience.

  Despite the fact that it had been a hard day, the men had been buzzing for the last hour with the notion that the king himself was due to inspect the troops. His Majesty was rarely seen outside the castle anymore, and it was a cause of speculation.

  There was a disturbance at the gate to the training ground, and a line of horses entered. In the midst were two huge men, bodyguards no doubt, flanking an aged man in silvered armor, his gray-streaked beard flagging. For all his years, the man seemed to Aros an odd combination of alert and somehow intoxicated. He sat horse beautifully, like someone trained from infancy, but swayed a bit out of rhythm with the jouncing.

  Odd.

  The general rode out to meet the king, bowing from horseback. “Your Majesty honors us.”

  Silith received the faintest of royal smiles in return. “Well, General—you will be leading our forces out for another border skirmish.” He leaned closer to the general. “I believe you will be using your fascinating toys against these mountain people. Is that right?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Oh my, would that I could accompany you!” He stroked his beard, combing it with his fingers. “You know, when I was a lad, my father sent me out on patrol with his troops. He thought it would be good for my character.”

  “I’d say he was a wise and prudent man, Your Majesty.”

  “Ah! Weeks in the saddle, under the sun! The adventure, and the … the…” He suddenly grew vague, as if struggling to remember where he was or what he was doing there.

  “Your Majesty,” the general whispered. “You wish to inspect the troops.”

  The king’s withered forefinger lanced into the air. “The troops! Yes!”

  “Troops! Gather in formation!”

  The men, tired as they might have been, ran to take formation and stood at attention.

  “A fine body of men, General,” the king said vaguely. “And these are the new soldiers?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  The king waved his hand in their general direction, as if in a half-remembered ritual. “Well. You are all members of the royal army of Shrike. Be proud! Fight well! We depend upon you.”

  The men gave a rather unconvincing cheer, glancing at one another with shared doubt.

  The king rode past them, nodding as if conferring blessing.

  The general directed his attention toward Aros. “And … this man, Sire.”

  The king managed to focus on the Aztec, for a moment genuinely interested. “And who might he be?”

  “He is Kasha, of the Southern Desert,” the general said.

  “A dusky rogue, isn’t he?” He smiled. “Well, we must make allowances mustn’t we?” His smile grew sly. “They make handsome women, hey? I hear that they’ll do—”

  “My wife is Aztec, Your Majesty.” Silith’s expression was unchanged, but his voice had tightened.

  “Oh, well then. You already know that.” The king changed tacks and subjects as if his brain was on a pivot. He turned to Aros. “Why came you here, sir?”

  Aros snapped to stricter attention. “To serve Your Majesty. To kill his enemies and protect the realm!”

  King Corinth nodded happy agreement. “Well spoken, sir! Oh! Very good, very good.”

  The general leaned closer to the king’s ear. “I recommend this man for a commission.”

  “Do you now? Oh. That is unusual. Blooded is he?”

  The general shook his head. “Not yet. But I have reason to believe he has great potential.”

  The king examined Aros from forehead to fetlock, noting every curve of muscle and bone as if examining livestock. “Well … bring him back to me after he has distinguished himself in the killing.” He laughed, a sound that threatened to turn into a giggle. “After all, what good is a killer who has not killed, eh? Eh?”

  Aros inclined his head. “I’ve killed, Your Majesty, but not in your service.”

  King Corinth nodded and wheeled his horse around. As he passed Silith, he quietly said, “Queen’s pawn takes pawn.”

  “Castle,” the general replied. The king squinted, then continued on.

  The general watched as the king rode stiffly away. When he was beyond earshot, the general said, “Our glorious monarch.”

  “There are questions,” Aros said, “it is probably best not to ask.”

  The general met his eyes squarely. “My wife is correct. There is a mind in there.”

  “Opinions vary,” Aros said.

  The general chuckled. “Well. You will have your opportunity to test your mettle soon. Too soon if you don’t train hard. See that you do.”

  “Yes, General.”

  “Kasha,” he said. “You are intelligent enough to know that you have attracted my attention. Mine … and my wife’s.”

  “Yes, sir.” He paused, suddenly uncomfortable. Could Jade have recounted his rather rude conversational gambit to her husband? “I hope you don’t think…”

  The general waved Aros’s troubling thought away. “Jade and I have known each other for a great many years. I hope you are not suggesting that she might be disloyal to my bed.”

  “Sir. No sir,” the Aztec stuttered.

  The general glared at him and then roared with laughter. “I’m long past the phase of life concerned with petty jealousy. But even were I not, my wife has never given me the slightest reason for concern.”

  Aros felt huge relief. “I’m sure, sir.”

  “This is an opportunity, not a gift. Nothing is foredestined here. You are merely being given an opportunity to demonstrate your capacities. Do not presume.”

  “No, sir.”

  “But make no mistake … for the right man … this is indeed the right time. Are you the right man?”

  “I prefer actions to conjecture.”

  The general smiled. “The right man would indeed speak thus. Carry on.”

  Aros felt troubled indeed as the general rode away. What’s the matter with me? he thought. Something about that man disturbed him. Much to his surprise, he found that he actually liked the general.

  And that might prove troublesome.

  * * *

  The shadows fell long and sharp across the kingdom of Shrike, and although there was no obvious reason to do so, it seemed that the citizens fled indoors with the sinking of the sun.

  Neoloth was uncertain whether this was a good or bad thing, whether he was disadvantaged by the lack of crowds to blend into or comforted by the lack of prying eyes to follow him.

  He was at the easternmost edge of the kingdom, had worked his way behind the
castle and royal grounds to where the Great Wall sealed off the mountain gap, protecting whatever secrets lay beyond.

  “They’ll put guards in the mountain passes,” he whispered to himself. “I could approach from the rear by circling around a hundred miles, but…” But, in short, he had no taste for that.

  Footsteps signaled approaching strangers, potential risk. He pushed himself back into shadow as three men approached and entered a different shadow. One was small and somewhat effete; one, hulking; and one, furtive as a rat in a kitchen.

  The furtive one began examining the wall. Searching for something in the brick and wood lattice. “What have we here?” Neoloth whispered. “Others upon the same mission?”

  Gliding from shadow to shadow, using techniques learned partly from Agathodaemon, he approached close enough to overhear their conversation.

  “You swear,” said the delicate one, “that no one knows of this?”

  “Indeed, Your Highness,” the rodential one replied. “You may trust the triple S.”

  “What is that?”

  “We have a saying: ‘In Shrike, silver buys silence.’”

  A purse changed hands. The slender one spoke imperiously. “And if you betray me, gold guarantees a grave. I need to see what the general has done with the freedom and riches the king has offered. And also…”

  “Yes, m’lord?”

  “I wish to see this fabulous workshop that has produced so many miracles. The riding machines. The hand cannons. The dragon mouths that vomit fire. I cannot explain these things and wish to understand.”

  “Chron wants to see, too,” the enormous man at his side said.

  “As you wish, Lord Kang,” Rat Face said, “but I believe the answers wait within.”

  The little group tapped their way along the wall. One tap yielded a slightly different sound, and the lackey perked up. “Here! Here sir. This is the doorway I spoke of. The builders constructed it as a safeguard.”

  “Against what?” Lord Kang, the man with the money, said.

  “Trust is scarce in Shrike, sir. In case the wall was used to confine the builders themselves.”

  He performed some manipulations, and a section of the wall opened before them. Beveled edges, a thick door no higher than a normal man. Neoloth could see nothing but dimness beyond. Rat Man darted through. Money Man strolled. The big man had to stoop to get through, and then the wall closed.

  Neoloth crept up into the shadow that had consumed them. Carefully, he tested various pressures and taps against the wall until he found a plate that provided a different sound. He pushed, and it yielded, and then sprang back.

  All right, then that hadn’t been the method. What had Rat Man done? He pushed and then slid the slab a few inches to the side and felt a latch come undone.

  Now it opened.

  “Ingenious,” he murmured, and entered.

  The tunnel was cooler than the outside air, as if the rock itself had absorbed the day’s heat. It was perhaps twenty feet long, narrow and sufficiently low-ceilinged to force him to crouch. By the time he was out the other side, his back was beginning to ache.

  Very carefully, he pushed at the slab of rock that sealed the far end, and for a horrible moment was certain that he had been mousetrapped, caught in this trap, he and Aros had—

  The door opened. He was able to peek out and see that the three men had almost disappeared across a narrow courtyard into a series of low buildings, barracks perhaps. A nicely maintained road ran through and beyond the buildings, into a single yellow light that didn’t flicker. Magic? The glow outlined the rough stone surfaces of a cavern’s mouth and, dimly, the road.

  First, his quarry. As soon as they were swallowed by rectangular shadows, Neoloth followed. He caught up just in time to hear the tail end of their conversation. “What is this?” Lord Kang was saying.

  “I know only that guards and slaves are quartered here.”

  That wide, straight path began between the apparent barracks buildings and ran into the mountain, through thickly spaced trees and into the yellow glare. Neoloth moved from shadow to shadow, pausing each time to listen for sounds: breathing, footsteps, anything. By the time he left the shadow of the last barracks, he was certain of two things: no one was following him, but someone was indeed following the nobleman. Someone large, who moved very well.

  Still, he was able to get close enough to hear, knowing that he was witnessing a personal disaster in the making. This … was not going to be pretty.

  He could guess why the wall had been built: not just to keep people out, but to keep them from seeing … this. The lighted cavern was irresistible: nobody could see that and turn away and return home. The three he followed were on their bellies, hidden in the shadow of the cavern wall, creeping toward … a big angular building just outside the cavern on the left.

  What he could see inside the cavern mouth was just a handful of tents and a scattering of … hmm? Some of these carelessly piled items looked like what he’d been seeing in town: two-wheelers, fire tubes—and some looked like a great deal of fishermen’s net. And some was just weird.

  Neoloth-Pteor removed his talisman from the pouch at his back and held it toward the structure. It tingled, more powerfully than it had in the desert lands. There was magic here, more than should exist in this age, but tightly focused. Now he turned his talisman into the cavern itself and felt … nothing.

  He crept closer, entranced.

  The nobleman and his giant bodyguard Chron were entranced as well, so focused on the angular building that they didn’t notice the man coming up behind them. Neoloth saw him, though, and fell back into the cloaking darkness.

  “There—what in God’s name is that?”

  The lackey seemed genuinely shocked. “I do not know. When last I came here, it wasn’t there.”

  They followed the shadow, followed stealthily by a single figure. Neoloth followed him. As they grew closer, Neoloth could hear terrible, low moans. Not the screams and cries themselves, but as if the screams themselves were being siphoned away, leaving the undertones only.

  His bones bled at the sound.

  The air stank of torn flesh and burning metal.

  Lord Kang shuddered. “What in the name of…”

  The lackey shrank back; courage fled. “Sir, I don’t believe this is safe. I don’t think we should be here.”

  “If you want the rest of your wages…,” Kang began.

  The lackey shrugged off the hand on his shoulder. “Of what use is silver or gold if I can’t survive to spend it!”

  A snarl: “Then go back! I go on. Chron will protect me.” The big man flexed his shoulders. “Go, coward.”

  “Go on, then. Good luck to you, sir! Good luck!”

  And he turned back. Neoloth melted into the tree line as the man scrambled past. And scrambled past the other figure. He heard an “urk” below him and looked down with his dark-adjusted eyes to see two men grab the rat, take him silently to the ground.

  Had he, Neoloth, been seen?

  It was too late: he was committed now. No way out but up.

  He heard a thin scream, a voice. A foreign voice, speaking some barbaric tongue. Mayan? The desert people? A plea. A throat-shredding shriek of agony.

  And then … silence. And then the hiss of a machine. More moaning and pleading.

  Lord Kang hunched low, paralyzed by that scream. His hulking bodyguard was on the dirt … but Neoloth saw him rise up and peer into a window too high for a normal man. Lord Kang spoke. The big man spoke. Panicky whispers too low to be heard.

  And then … the other shadow moved in on him.

  The massive Chron whirled and lunged, and there was a moment when it seemed that the smaller shadow would be cloven in twain. There was no apparent move to block. But the cleaving sword missed. Just … missed.

  The answering thrust did not. Chron sagged and wrapped himself around himself, and Lord Kang squealed, backing away.

  The other man stepped out of the shadow. Of
course it was the general. Neoloth felt uneasy: he had just witnessed magic of a kind. This man was more dangerous than he had anticipated.

  “Unhand me!”

  “Lord Kang.” Those were Silith’s deep, cool tones. “How good to see you.”

  Kang struggled to no effect, a mouse in the claws of a cat. “You have no right…”

  “To satisfy your curiosity about our little venture? I had assumed this is why you came. Am I mistaken?”

  Kang’s desperation was wrenching. What had the man seen? “I … I … I’ve changed my mind.”

  “No, no. Please. Allow me. You have expended such great efforts already. Never mind what’s happening in the Octagon. That’s of no interest. But what you’re about to see is beyond even my guessing.”

  Now the general pushed him toward the cavern. Kang’s fingernails scraped at the Octagon wall, and he howled for help, screamed for assistance, but there was none. He looked back at the gashed corpse of his bodyguard with total, paralyzing terror.

  Neoloth watched General Silith lead Kang into the cavern until he had passed under the great yellow light. After that, they were difficult to see.

  He had a suicidal, almost irresistible urge to see what was happening in the odd building. Not the cavern, not yet, but what had the big man seen just before he died? It required all his self-control to back up, flowing from shadow to shadow, aware that he was in terrible danger without knowing the precise nature of it.

  He made it down to the barracks buildings. Everything seemed abandoned … then he heard voices and footsteps: approaching soldiers.

  He backed into a shadow and put his hand on the talisman. A small jolt might well give him the camouflage he needed to—

  Then a hand reached out from behind him, covering his mouth to prevent a scream, and hauled him back and into darkness.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Shyena

  “Come with me,” a woman’s voice said, and to his amazement, Neoloth recognized it at once.

  Shyena, the Red Nun. He had seen her at the race, near the docks. And now she was saving him.

  What was her game?