by David Duncan
Shonsu, Nnanji, Katanji, plus Briu and his family... seven, if one did not count slaves.
"No, my lord. And neither am I."
Wallie told Katanji to take the men's swords.
The new roof made the jail hotter than ever, and smellier. His head swam as soon as he went in, and he wondered how long a frail old man like Honakura could survive in it. There were four prisoners there, all tethered by one ankle only, but Wallie was too bitter now to feel satisfaction at that small improvement. He headed over to one tiny, shriveled form.
Honakura cackled with amusement when he saw his rescuer. Then he slipped his tiny foot out of the stocks and accepted assistance to stand up.
Wallie pulled a black cloth from his padded bosom.
"You will be a Nameless One, my lord. There is a headband in the pocket. Better dress upstairs, it is cooler."
Still chuckling, Honakura tottered toward the steps. Wallie made the slaves pin the swordsmen in the stocks, and then pinned the slaves as well.
"Good-bye, adept," he said to Briu. "We are none of us perfect."
Briu sighed. "No. And I suppose we must keep trying to do better."
Wallie held out a hand. After a pause, Briu took it. "I do hope some man tries to rape you on your journey, my lord."
Still laughing at that unexpected humor, Wallie went back up to the guard room. He handed Katanji back his sword and then had to help him put it in his scabbard. Honakura had dressed himself in the black garment, and Nnanji was tying the headband on for him.
"We are in serious trouble, my... old man," Wallie said. "How we are going to get out of it, I don't know. But we had better get back to the barracks as soon as we can."
"The barracks?" Honakura said innocently. "Why not out into the town?"
"And how do you propose..." Wallie began, then glared at him. "Hell's knuckles! There is a back door, I suppose?"
"Of course," Honakura said. "Did you think the priests would not have a back door? You never asked me."
He cackled in shrill glee.
††
Once away from the jail they rearranged themselves, putting the two swordsmen in front and the two black robes behind. Honakura stumbled along, holding up his too-long gown and hurrying as much as he could. Wallie was not much more agile himself, his half-healed feet starting to chafe at the slave sandals he wore. And a slow pace was advisable anyway; it was too hot to rush. The few people they passed paid no attention to them.
The old man directed Nnanji in asthmatic gasps. They traveled downstream almost to the end of the grounds, then along a wooded trail close to the great wail.
"We shall need a shovel, I suspect," he wheezed at one point, and the gods directed them past a deserted wheelbarrow of tools. Wallie had only to take two steps out of his way to collect a shovel. Then the priest said, "Is it all clear?" and they turned into the bushes.
Well hidden in the undergrowth, an ancient and weathered dovecote stood hard against the perimeter wall, its stones lichen-coated and half-rotted with age. The door was small and decrepit. It yielded easily to Wallie's shoulder, and a great explosion of wings sounded inside.
The interior was gloomy and dark, rank and filthy. Thick piles of guano on the floor crawled with beetles. Curtains of spiderwebs shone in the light filtering through a hole in the roof. Surprised white birds peered down from the pigeonholes that lined the upper walls.
"Unless we were seen," Wallie said, "we are safe here. Obviously no one has been in here for years."
"For generations!" Honakura retorted. "I only hope that the route is still open. It probably has not been used for centuries. Perhaps never before." He sneezed. "The other end may be bricked up."
"Cheerful!" Wallie said. "I think Katanji should go for the others, don't you, Nnanji?"
Nnanji, still gloomy, nodded.
"We need someone to close up behind us," said the priest.
"Then bring Jja, Cowie, and Ani," Wallie ordered. The boy grinned and headed for the door. "Walk slowly! If anyone asks, you're Adept Briu's new protégé, on an errand for him... you can refuse to discuss what it is. And bring my boots!"
Katanji departed.
Honakura chuckled. "And who might Cowie be?"
"I suppose she's number six," Wallie said in a growl, looking around the fetid obscenity of the dovecote. "Nnanji bought a slave."
"And I make seven."
Wallie turned to him in disbelief. "You? With respect, holy one, it will kill you!"
"I expect so," Honakura said calmly, "if by that you mean that I shall never return. It may also kill you, young man, and you have a great deal more to lose than I have. Moreover, you have a good chance of returning."
"What do you mean?"
"You have to return the sword, remember? I don't know what that means any more than you do. But it could mean that you have to bring it back to where you got it."
The doves purred disapprovingly while Wallie pondered the idea of a man of incredible age, accustomed to luxury and easy living, setting out on an unknown mission of hardship and danger. "I don't want to take you."
The priest snorted and then sneezed several times again. "Ever since you gave me the god's message, I knew I would be coming. Don't you think I shall be useful?"
There was no answer to that. "I still think that you should stay," Wallie said, as gently as he could. He had grown to like the old man and wanted to spare him.
"If I don't come then I shall be sent to the Judgment! Of course I am coming. Seven it is! Now, the exit was said to be in the corner farthest from the temple, so I suppose that one."
Wallie scowled at the heaps of guano and handed the shovel to Nnanji. Nnanji had recovered slightly from his sulks, becoming interested in the adventure side of secret passages. He, also, pouted at the filth for a moment. Then he removed his new orange kilt and handed it to Wallie. He started to dig, immediately raising foul clouds of putrid dust. Wallie and the priest beat a cowardly retreat out to the fresh air. They stood in the bushes, talking in whispers.
"How many priests are aware of this?" Wallie asked.
Honakura shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "There are chains. I was told many, many years ago. When my informant died, I told another. But the first man I approached already knew."
Simple, but it had worked for unknown centuries. Wallie should have guessed that the priests would have an escape route unknown to the swordsmen. There might even be more than one.
Then he asked why the old man had been thrown in jail. The answer confirmed what the demigod had told him-he could not understand temple politics. Part of the problem seemed to be that Honakura, planning to depart with Wallie, had surrendered too much power too quickly. There had also been much conspiring about the Swordsmen's Day festival. Honakura had been trying to introduce an affirmation that Wallie's task was the will of the Goddess, thereby ensnaring all the swordsmen present into accepting that. As the will of the Goddess was paramount, in effect he would have negated Tarru's third oath. Nice try, Wallie thought, but he doubted that swordsmen would have taken such direction from mere priests. Whether Tarru had been involved in his downfall, Honakura. did not know.
He did not say so, but Wallie wondered if he himself might have been partly to blame. In the Byzantine power dealings of the priesthood, Honakura must have gambled a large part of his influence and reputation on this cryptic swordsman, who had then neglected to clean up the temple guard. Wallie had failed his supporters among the priests as well as the honest swordsmen.
Where was Katanji? Wallie began to fret as time crawled by. He was putting incredible responsibility on an untested boy.
Stooping through the doorway came Nnanji like the Spirit of Plague, thickly coated in gray dust, striped with brown sweat streaks. His eyes were red and streaming. "Trapdoor," he said between coughs. "Can't move it."
Wallie went in and climbed over the heaps of filth to the clearing Nnanji had made. He found a stone manhole cover with a bronze ring, badly corroded b
y the nitrates in the guano. He took a firm grip and heaved until his joints creaked. For a moment he thought that even he would not be able to move it, but then it crunched loose and tilted up quite easily on a pivot. He scowled down into darkness, wishing he had told Katanji to bring a light. He went back out into daylight to give time for any bad gases down there to dissipate.
The three men sat on the ground in worried silence. Katanji was quite credible unless he ran into Tarru himself, or unless Briu had been discovered and had told his tale. A new First was believable, Wallie told himself firmly, and then wished that he had warned Katanji to keep his eyes open. Two rugmakers' sons would certainly be too many.
"If there is another trapdoor at the other end, then there may be a house on it by now," Nnanji suggested gloomily.
"We shall find a staircase within the wall leading upward to a dead end," Wallie said, "with another trap in the floor, down to an alcove on the outside."
The priest peered at him. "How do you know?"
Wallie smiled smugly. "I shall tell you that if you tell me how you knew Katanji had black hair." He got no reply. He was guessing, analyzing the design problem. This was a one-way escape route. Traps were the most secure and reliable seals. The demigod had told him that the town burned down every fifty years or so, and he had seen how the buildings went right up to the walls. An alcove would be a useful closet space, and so would be incorporated into each reconstruction. Anything else might end behind a wall or under a floor.
A party of gardener slaves sauntered along the path, and the watchers stayed silent. Then a meditating priest went by, mumbling sutras to himself.
At last Katanji and the others arrived, and Wallie realized just how tense he had become. He welcomed Jja and Vixini with a hug. Cowie looked bewildered when Nnanji put an arm around her. Obviously she was not quite sure who he was. Did not her new owner have red hair?
Ani chuckled as she reported that Honorable Tarru was ready to die of apoplexy, so incensed was he by the disappearance of the fugitives and the lackadaisical performance of his vassals. He had scoured the whole barracks and the main public buildings, and was now about to begin a search of the grounds. Janghiuki's body would turn up soon, then. And then the guard would be after Wallie in earnest, screaming for vengeance on the recreant.
Ani had brought flint, steel, and tapers.
"What made you do that?" Wallie demanded, delighted.
"The scratcher said to, my lord."
Wallie looked at Katanji's twinkling eyes in astonishment and congratulated him, admitting to himself that the Goddess had chosen his companions better than he could have done.
With Nnanji left outside as guard, the others crept into the dovecote and inspected the passage. The taper burned confidently when Wallie lowered it into the hole, so the air was fresh. Katanji was hopping up and down with excitement and he had earned the reward-Wallie sent him in to explore.
He returned in about five minutes.
"There is a staircase, my lord..."
Wallie returned Honakura's admiring gaze with much satisfaction.
The passage was very cramped for Wallie. Centuries of ants and other insects had fouled it horribly; fortunately there seemed to be no scorpions.
At the top of the steps was the tiny chamber he had predicted. He could not stand up straight in it, but again his strength was needed to lift the trap in the floor. He had counted the steps and could guess that the underlying alcove must be very low, probably about the size of a dog kennel. He hoped it was not being used for that purpose. Awkwardly, bumping against the walls, he gripped the bronze ring and heaved. Dim light flooded up around him.
He dropped to his knees to put his head through the hole and see where he was.
It was arguable who was more surprised-Wallie or the mule.
†††
Pilgrims mostly traveled in the morning and evening. Noontime was slack time and thus it was the custom of Ponofiti, skinner of the third rank, to stable his string at midday-but without unsaddling them, for he was a lazy man. He had gone home for lunch with his wife, and then to visit his mistress for a siesta. It was early afternoon before he returned to work.
Just an ordinary day in the life of a muleskinner.
Until he unbolted the stable door.
* * *
Katanji had squeezed down into the hoard of litter in the alcove-broken chairs and pieces of harness and miscellaneous sacks-and persuaded the hinny to let him move her to a stall without an alcove. Then he had cleared a path for the others.
Jja had explained why mules stood in the dim and smelly stable in the middle of the day.
Jja, also, had located saddler's gear and stitched her master's disguise back together where the pillows were showing. Wallie had found a mirror and confirmed that the dust had turned his hair gray, which was appropriate for the old-woman's dress he wore. If he kept his head down, he might escape much notice in the town.
Nnanji had angrily agreed that a clean orange kilt looked out of place on him in his present condition, and had rubbed it well with stable filth. He had even unfastened his ponytail, growling obscenities, unable to bring himself to look at his disguised leader.
Ani, they assumed, had covered the other trap with guano, closed the dovecote door, and returned to the barracks.
Cowie, having done nothing, had somehow stayed cleaner and fresher than any of them. Wallie intercepted Nnanji leading her to the hayloft and prohibited such evaluation until further notice.
Vixini had expressed a strong desire to mount a mule by climbing its back leg, but his mother had restrained him.
Honakura had found a grain sack to sit on and grin toothlessly.
Now there was nothing left to do but wait for the skinner to return.
* * *
Ponofiti was not a large man and he entered the stable much faster than he ever had before, assisted by Wallie's hand in his hair. The door was closed behind him.
The skinner was swarthy, rat-faced, and even ranker than his mules, but he was not entirely stupid. The sight of his own dagger in front of his eyes sufficed to concentrate his attention.
"What is your normal fare from here to the jetty?" asked the huge figure that wore an old slave woman's black dress and spoke with a man's bass voice.
"Three coppers... master?" he said.
Wallie lifted his curls to let him count the marks. They had even more effect than the dagger.
"My lord!"
If the brigands had confederates in the guard, it was highly probable that they also controlled the skinners, by graft or by coercion. There could be signals. Wallie reached out to a convenient ledge on the wall and carefully laid down five gold coins. After a moment's thought he added two more.
"That stays here until you return," he said. The man's eyes said it was a fortune. "I shall be riding the mule directly behind you. If we are stopped by brigands or by swordsmen, especially swordsmen"-he hurled the dagger, and it slammed into the wall-"you will not be returning. Any questions?"
Concealing the swords would be difficult. It took all of Wallie's absolute third-oath authority to persuade Nnanji to hand over his sword and harness, and he did so with sullen ill temper. They were wrapped in sacking with Katanji's and strapped on one of the mules under a bag of grain. Wallie's was back in the barracks somewhere. Thus, unarmed except for the dagger hidden in Wallie's ample bosom, the adventurers rode out on the string of mules, heading through the town toward the checkpoint at the foot of the hill.
* * *
Except for Cowie, they were all incredibly filthy. Wallie knew that he looked a freak, with muscular male legs hanging below an obese female shape. Nnanji, with his hair a greasy cake of black frizz, was merely a skinny Fourth of indeterminate craft, although unusually young for such a rank. Katanji was only an anonymous First. The others should not attract notice.
The checkpoint was the great danger, for there were eight men there, and Wallie had only a dagger. Had it not been for the feeble
Honakura, Wallie would never have dared to try passing the checkpoint-there had to be another way up the hillside somewhere.
The swordsmen were lounging in the shade of an arbutus tree, watching the traffic from a distance, not inspecting closely. Their relaxed attitude proved that the murder victim had not yet been found. They were looking for a swordsman of the Seventh, or possibly his vassal, and most of them would still be thinking of Nnanji as a Second. They had no interest in a group of half a dozen miscellaneous pilgrims. Highranks would not mix with such riffraff, and the idea that a swordsman of the Seventh would disguise himself as a female slave would never occur to them if they lived to be as old as the temple. Wallie kept his face down and sweated even harder than he had been doing before, but in a few minutes the mule train was past the checkpoint and climbing the hill.
Brigands were not likely to bother pilgrims departing. They would prefer to plunder before the priests did, not after. So all that remained for Wallie to do was to retrieve the seventh sword and then shepherd his party safely onto a boat. Sounded simple! If he reached the jetty before news of his crime arrived, then he could hope that the watchers there would be as negligent as the farcical force at the checkpoint-the inefficient reluctant to perform the unpopular. For the first time in many days, Wallie began to feel hopeful. He prayed.
The sword was easy. All mules needed a rest somewhere on the hill, and he shouted to the skinner to stop when they reached the fourteenth cottage. "Mule train. Ferry mule train," the skinner called obediently. Wallie and Jja dismounted.
They slipped through the curtain and found the cottage empty. She had chosen it because it was one of the most dilapidated, and hence rarely used. There was filth all over the floor, no furniture except two rotting mattresses. Apparently the hovel in which he had first met Jja had been one of the luxury suites.
"There, master," she said, pointing, and all Wallie had to do was reach up and pull the seventh sword out of the thatch. It shone in his hand, the sapphire flamed, and his heart leaped once more at the sight of its beauty. He held it up to admire it briefly, and then reluctantly wrapped it in Vixini's blanket.