The qadi said, "How ancient are these beliefs of yours?"
Park knew the cult of Patjakamak had sprung up in the fourteenth century. Before he could answer, though, Ankowaljuu said proudly, "They date from the time of the creation of the world, thousands upon thousands of years ago."
"Hmp." The qadi gave an audible sniff. "There were many prophets before Muhammad. Maybe one did indeed visit your folk, unlikely as I would have thought it. Had you told me your religion grew up after the Prophet's time, I would know it for a sure falsehood, as he was the seal of prophecy. . . . You said something, Judge Scoglund?"
"Nothing, Excellency." Park swallowed a gulp. He had forgotten about that detail. A good thing Ankowaljuu had been irritated enough to interrupt with that bragging, he thought, or all his plans would have gone down the drain.
"Please let us deliberate by ourselves for a time now, Judge Scoglund," Muhammad ibn Nizam said.
"Why? I am judge, too." Park was anything but happy at having the two qadis decide things without his being there to see to it they decided his way.
But the other religious judge said pointedly, "You may be a qadi of qadis among Christians, Judge Scoglund, but you are not a Muslim." Park knew a warning to back off when he heard one. He got out, taking Ankowaljuu with him.
"Even if they do ontake us as Folk of the Book, they'll still be as faithproud as ever," the tukuuii riikook said while they waited and worried. "You are a Wick of the Book, and look how the qadi brushed you aside. We and they will still find grounds for ficking each other."
"I don't doubt it," Park said.
"What then?"
"If you're Folk of the Book, that makes you a civilized country—"
"What kind of country?" Ankowaljuu asked. "I don't know that word."
"Huh? Civi— Oh." It was a wonder, Park thought, that he didn't absent-mindedly use his native brand of English by mistake more often. "A burgish country, I mean, in Muslim eyes, not a bunch of savages to be fickt whenever the mood takes the Emir, and surely not a fit dumping ground for ghazis who'd likely be in jail if they weren't out hunting heathens."
"I hope you're rick," Ankowaljuu sald, "because if you're not—"
Muhammad and the other qadi came out of the tent. The more senior judge looked as sour as if he'd been sucking on a lemon, but he said, "Come with us. We'll lay your case before the Emir's qadi, to let him make the final decision."
Getting in to see the Emir's qadi took most of the afternoon, though he did not seem that busy. He was one of those important people who show how important they are by making everyone else wait. His name, Muhammad ibn Nizam told Park, was Uthman ibn Umar.
Park's heart sank when he was finally led into Uthman's presence. The chief qadi was an ancient man whose hair and beard were white but whose bushy eyebrows somehow remained defiantly dark. The deep-set eyes that glittered beneath those brows were also dark, and as unyielding as any Park had ever seen. Convincing him of anything new was not going to be easy.
"Well, what is it?" Uthman asked peevishly.
By way of answer, Muhammad ibn Nizam handed him the sheets Ankowaljuu had composed. He put on spectacles and began to read. "You know Ketjwa?" Park said in surprise.
Those eyes, like an old hawk's, lifted from the paper. "Why should I not?" Uthman said. "Even pagans may produce worthy thoughts. Surely the Greeks did. For all their wisdom, though, they burn in hell." He read on, dismissing Park from consideration. Park glared at his turban, but did not interrupt again.
Finally Uthman set down the sheets. "So," he said, "you claim the Tawantiinsuujans are People of the Book and not pagans?"
"Yes, excellent qadi," everyone said together.
"From this, I might even believe it, but for one thing," Uthman said.
"What?" Park asked, wondering how he would have to finagle with the shari'a next.
"This book is no Book." Uthman tapped the pages with a skinny finger. "It is but one man's belief written out, not a true holy text like the Torah or the Gospels or the perfect book, the Qu'ran. Let the Tawantilnsuujan priests accept it and I could do the same." His laugh told how likely he thought that was.
Park winced. The qadi had a point, one that could be stressed if the Emirate wanted to go on reckoning the Tawantiinsuujans pagans, wanted an excuse to fight their neighbors whenever they got the whim. "How fares the war, excellent qadi?" he asked tensely. If the Muslims were winning—
But Uthman did not start to gloat. "Many souls have mounted to paradise, martyrs in the jihad," he said. "On this earthly plane—" which he obviously thought of smaller importance "—gains are small on either side."
"Then urge the Emir to call a truce," Ankowaljuu said. "He loses little, and may gain much. Consider—perhaps we will be less harsh to the Muslims in our land if you stop tormenting those who follow Patjakamak in yours.
"If they are People of the Book, you may honorably stop tormenting them," Park added.
Uthman ibn Umar plucked at his beard. "Let it be so," he said at last. "I think you will fail in your effort, thus showing that Tawantiinsuuju's faith truly is pagan. But if I am in error, if revelation did reach you in the ancient days, I would be sinning if I denied you the chance to prove it. Wait here. I shall speak to the Emir." He rose, tottered out of the tent.
A squad of soldiers soon appeared to take charge of Park and his companions. They led them to a bigger, fancier tent. One of the soldiers frisked them, quickly and efficiently, before they were allowed inside. A servant shouted, "Bend yourselves before the mighty Emir Hussein, beloved of Allah!"
Ankowaljuu and Waipaljkoon prostrated themselves as they might have before the Son of the Sun. Park and, following his lead, Eric Dunedin bowed from the waist. "Rise," Hussein said. "Uthman tells me you have a curious tale for me. I would hear it."
Hussein was not what Park had imagined an emir would be. He was short and thin and wore glasses. In the dark green uniform of the Dar al-Harb, he looked more like a corporal from the typing pool than a ruler.
He thought like a ruler, though. He proved that at once, asking, "Judge Scoglund, if I agree to seek a truce so you can try to show that the Tawantiinsuujans are in fact People of the Book, what is the advantage for me?"
Park carefully did not smile, but he felt like it. He approved of people who got down to brass tacks. He said, "If the followers of Patjakamak are People of the Book, you do not need to persecute the ones in your land any more. Make them pay jizya instead."
"The tax for the privilege of keeping their religion in peace, eh?" Behind the lenses of his spectacles, Hussein's eyes grew calculating. He was figuring out how much the tax would bring, Park thought—probably down to the last copper. He must have liked the sum, for he said, "Aye, that is interesting. What else?"
"If you stop persecuting those who worship Patjakamak, the Tawantiinsuujans likely will go easy on their Muslims. That gives you both one less thing to fight about."
"This could be so." Hussein was a cool one, all right. He steepled his fingers—a hell of a thing, Park thought, for a Muslim to do. "What else?"
"Damn," Park muttered. If all that wasn't good enough— He racked his brains. At last, carefully, he said, "Lord Emir, how do you feel about your ghazi raiders?"
"Why?" Hussein was cautious too, revealing nothing.
"If you want to be without them, hope the Tawantiinsuujans do show they are People of the Book. Then ghazis will have less excuse to come to your country from overseas, and you will not need to worry so much about what so many ruffians running around loose in your land may do."
He wondered if he'd gone too far. But hell, if he were running a country, the last thing he'd want in it was a bunch of gangsters and terrorists, no matter how holy their motives were. He just hoped Hussein thought the same way.
The Emir said, "They are men given over to Allah," and Park was sure he'd stuck his foot in it. Then Hussein went on, "But it is true, they are sometimes difficult to control." Park breathed again. Hussein finished, "
I will try to arrange a truce, then, of ten days' time. If you fail, we fight again."
"What if I don't?" Park said. "What if I do what I say?"
Hussein stared at him. "Do you challenge me?"
"Only this far—if I succeed, do as you agreed to do before this stupid war started: accept my settlement of your dispute with Tawantiinsuuju. Do it on the spot, right here, right now—or then, I mean."
"You do not lack courage," the Emir said slowly.
"Or gall," Uthman added.
Park only waited. Now he grinned. Finally Hussein said, "We have a bargain." After that, Park did prostrate himself. Hussein, he figured, had earned it.
* * *
Neither the Moorish officers who escorted Park and his companions across the line of battle nor the Tawantiinsuujans who received them seemed to have much faith in the green-and-white-striped flags of truce both sides bore. The two parties hastily separated from each other; members of both kept looking back over their shoulders to make sure no foe was going for a weapon.
"Is the truce holding?" Park asked the Skrelling soldier next to him.
"So far," the Tawantiinsuujan replied. "Who knows how far we can trust the cursed Sun-deniers, though?" Park knew the men of the Dar al-Harb were saying the same thing about Tawantiinsuuju. He also knew that telling the soldier so would do no good.
A very young Tawantiinsuujan officer tried to take charge of the newcomers as soon as they were out of air-rifle range of the front line. "Come with me," he said. "I want to get a complete written record of everything you saw and did while under the control of the forces of the Emirate."
"No," Ankowaljuu said.
"Hell, no," Park agreed.
"But you must," the lieutenant said. "Proper procedure requires—"
Ankowaljuu said, "Aka to your proper procedure, boy. I am tukuuii riikook to the Son of the Sun. Proper procedure is what I say it is." He produced the documents that proved he was what he claimed. The young officer's eyes got big as he read them. He put a hand over his eyes, as if Ankowaljuu were the Son of the Sun himself. "Better," the tukuuii riikook nodded. "Now get us moving toward Maita Kapak, so I can carry out my duties."
Within ten minutes, Park found himself bucking along in a goodwain different from one of the Emirate's only in the color of its canvas top and that of the accompanying soldiers' uniforms. "I admire the efficiency," he said to Ankowaljuu, "but I wish the ride were smoother."
"You mean you want peace and kidneys both?" Ankowaljuu exclaimed, as if he was asking much too much.
Maita Kapak's encampment proved far more imposing than Hussein's. The Emir was not even caliph, commander of the faithful, merely a secular prince. The Son of the Sun, though, claimed divine descent, and lived in pomp that did its best to make the claim seem real.
Prominent as his office made him, Park might have waited weeks before gaining an audience with the ruler of Tawantiinsuuju. The words tukuuii riikook, however, melted obstacles as if by magic. The sun was not yet down when Ankowaljuu and Park were ushered into a tent just outside the Son of the Sun's pavilion.
"His Radiance will see you shortly," a majordomo said. "Just don one of these packs—" He handed out a pair of what looked like hikers' backpacks. Ankowaljuu, who knew the routine, strapped on his without comment.
Park balked. "Why do I have to wear this silly thing?"
The majordomo sucked in a shocked breath. "It is a symbol that you would bear any burden for the Son of the Sun."
"In the old days, Judge Scoglund," Ankowaljuu said, grinning slyly, "it would have been no symbol, but a fully laden pack. Be thankful you get off so easy." Park sighed and put on the pack. If the locals didn't think it looked stupid, he supposed he could stand it.
A servant stuck his head in and said, "The Son of the Sun will see his tukuuii riikook."
Maita Kapak had been conferring with his aides. As Park came in with Ankowaljuu, he nodded to Tjiimpuu and Kwiismankuu, the only two he knew. Kwiismankuu nodded back; Tjiimpuu kept his face still. Park had no chance to speak to either of them. The servant was taking him straight to the Son of the Sun.
He followed Ankowaljuu to his knees and then to his belly as they offered the Son of the Sun their symbolic burdens. "Rise," Maita Kapak said.
As Park gained his feet, he got his first good look at Tawantiinsuuju's master. Maita Kapak was older than he, younger than Tjiimpuu. He bore something of a family resemblance to Tjiimpuu, in fact; considering the inbreeding of Tawantiinsuuju's royal family and high nobility, that was not surprising. Like the foreign minister, he wore plugs in his ears. His were of gold, and almost the size of saucers. The vestigial muscles in Park's own ears quivered at the thought of supporting so much weight.
The Son of the Sun said, "So, Ankowaljuu, why have you chosen to exercise the tukuuii riikook's privilege?" As he spoke, he tossed his head. Park was sure the gesture was unconscious: instead of a crown, Maita Kapak wore a tassel of scarlet wool that descended from a cord round his head to cover most of his forehead. With that fly whisk so close to his face, Park would have done some head-tossing, too.
"Radiance, I present to you Judge Ib Scoglund of the International Court of Skrelleland," Ankowaljuu said. "He has, I believe, a plan to bring us peace now, and perhaps even an enduring peace, with the Emirate of the Dar al-Harb."
Before Park could speak, Tjiimpuu said, "Such a plan would have been easier to bring off before the fighting started. Now passions are aroused on both sides."
"Nobody listened to me before the fighting started," Park said. "You people and the Emir got me down here and then ignored me. I think the whole appeal to the International Court was just so you could feel righteous about the war you felt like fighting anyway. But this one's not as much fun as Waskar's, is it, now that you're in? No big breakthroughs here, just a bloody fight no one is winning."
"We may yet force the Muslims back," Tjiimpuu said.
"Or we may not," Kwilsmankuu said. Ignoring Tjiimpuu's glare, the marshal went on, "If you have peace terms you think fair, Judge Scoglund, I will listen to them."
"And I," Maita Kapak said. "The prospect of enduring peace especially intrigues me. The only reason we and the Emirate did not go to war years ago was that we thought ourselves too evenly matched. So it has proved on the field. I will listen."
"You may not like what you hear," Park warned him.
"If not, I will send you back to the Emir and go on fighting," the Son of the Sun said. He sounded perfectly calm and self-assured. All the Tawantiinsuujans in earshot nodded, even Ankowaljuu. If Maita Kapak said it, they would do it. So, Park thought, this is what being an absolute monarch is all about.
He began, "First, Radiance, you will have to write down and publish the tenets of the faith of Patjakamak."
"Never! `Everyone is a religious kiipuukamajoo'!" Tjiimpuu and Kwiismankuu said together. They stared at each other, as if unused to agreeing.
"Your faith does not forbid it." Park looked first to Maita Kapak, then to Ankowaljuu. "So I have been told." Reluctantly—in this company he was of lowest rank—Ankowaijuu nodded.
"It may not forbid, but it certainly does not ordain," Maita Kapak said. He asked the same question Hussein had: "What is the advantage of breaking a centuries-long tradition?"
"If you put your beliefs down in writing, the Muslims will recognize you as People of the Book," Park said. "That means those who worship Patjakamak in the Emirate will be able to keep their religion if they pay a yearly tax, and it means you won't be pagans to the Muslims any more. It will gain you status. Not only that, but you could put a similar tax on the Muslims of Tawantiinsuuju. It would"—he glanced at Kwiismankuu—"be only fair."
"Let me think," Maita Kapak said. He did not ask for advice, and no one presumed to offer it. One of the few advantages of absolutist states, Park thought, was that decisions got made quickly. The Son of the Sun did not have to convince or browbeat stubborn, recalcitrant thingmen into going along with him. All he had to do was speak
.
He spoke: "It shall be done." Park expected some kind of protest, but none came. Having heard their ruler state his will, Tjiimpuu and Kwiismankuu would carry it out. That was a big disadvantage of absolutist states: if Maita Kapak made a mistake, nobody warned him about it. This time, Park didn't think he was making a mistake.
"Thank you, Radiance," he said, bowing. "I might add that the Emir Hussein did not think you would do this. In fact, we had a sort of—" he had to ask Ankowaljuu how to say "wager" in Ketjwa "—on it."
"Trust a Muslim to guess wrong about what we will do." Tjiimpuu's chuckle had a bitter edge. "They've been doing it since their state first touched ours, almost three hundred years ago."
Maita Kapak picked up something that went by his foreign minister. That made sense, Park thought: since no one spoke straight out to the Son of the Sun, for his own sake he'd better be alert to tone. Now he asked: "Why do you mention this wager, Judge Scoglund? What were its terms?"
"To let me settle the dispute between the Emirate of the Dar al-Harb and Tawantiinsuuju, and to accept the settlement I set down. Will you also agree to that, Radiance, or will this useless war go on?"
"Anyone would know you are not one of my subjects, Judge Scoglund," Maita Kapak said. Fortunately, he sounded more amused than angry. Park wondered just how close he'd come to lèse majesté—pretty close, by the expressions on the Tawantiinsuujans' faces. The Son of the Sun said, "Let me think"; then, after a pause, "First tell me the terms you propose."
"No," Park said. Boldness had got him this far, and suited him in any case. He went on, "You and Hussein agreed to put yourselves under the authority of the International Court when you summoned me. If you didn't mean it, keep fighting and send me home."
Down in The Bottomlands Page 28