“I see,” snarled Ferrian. “A proper muddle. Well, at least this error shall not be repeated, for when I return to Sotaspé there shall be a new law in the land. A lawbook I read while among the Earthmen convinced me of its desirability.”
“What’s that?” said Qarao, raising his head from the floor.
“Compulsory monogamy, as among the Gozashtanduma.”
“Oh, but Your Sublimity! What will you do with all your faithful wives?”
“Faithful, ha! I can imagine, after all these years . . . But to answer your question, I’ll divorce all but one and pension them off. If they’d find other husbands, let ’em. They’ll have little trouble, since they’ll have wealth and prestige and we have a surplus of men.”
“Which will you keep, godlike sir?”
“That I hadn’t decided. The Lady Ja’li’s the most sensible, but she’s old; the Lady Dunbeni’s the most beautiful, but she’s cold; while the Lady Tánzi’s the most loving, but lacks the wit the gods gave an unha . . .”
###
Two days later, Abreu and his assistant stood before Gorbovast in Majbur. Gone were the trim Viagens security force uniforms. To all appearances the Earthmen were a pair of raffish-looking Krishnans in divided kilts, stocking caps, and cutlery.
“Right sorry am I, sirs,” said King Eqrar’s commissioner. “The Kerukchi departed at dawn, as I warned you she might, taking Prince Ferrian and his moldering mummy with her.”
“That can’t be helped,” said Abreu in his fluent, accentless Gozashtandou. “What I need is a fast ship to catch them.”
“There be some large merchantmen in harbor—”
“Scows! Too slow for a stern chase.”
“Are you planning—”
“Never mind what I’m planning! Whatever happens, it’ll be on the high seas where it’s every man for himself. The only law that can touch me will be Sotaspeo law, and I don’t intend to come under that jurisdiction. Where can I get a galley?”
Gorbovast raised his antennae. “Majbur Town will hardly rent out the ships of their navy.”
“How about the King of Zamba?”
“No. He has no wish to become embroiled with Sotaspé.”
“And anyway it would take too long to arrange,” said Abreu. “Think, man, think!”
“I think,” said Gorbovast. “Ohé! How about Captain Zardeku and his Alashtir?”
“What’s that?”
“A tern bireme which Zardeku bought from Arisang last year and converted to a fast merchantman. He has eighty stout rowers pulling forty oars, and a good spread of sail, and can outrun aught hereabouts save Majbur’s great quinquireme Junsar.”
“How on Krishna can he make a profit with eighty rowers to feed? They eat like bishtars. And there can’t be much cargo space.”
“Ah, but ’tis for a special purpose! With the Alashtir he trades in the Va’andao Sea, in defiance of the monopoly claimed by Dur. Should any normal merchantman venture into those waters, the Duruma would catch him ere he’d gone ten hoda and throw his folk to the fish. Zardeku, however, dashes in and out and wiggles his tongue at ’em, for they can catch him no more than King Gedik could catch the rain god in his net. Methinks some of the goods he brings to Majbur were obtained by plain piracy, though there’s no proof of that. At all events, he was still here yester-eve; why seek you not him?”
Captain Zardeku turned out to be a tall heavy Krishnan lolling on a bench in a waterfront dive with an air of sleepy good nature. Somebody had once flattened his flat Krishnan nose still further with a blunt instrument. He said: “For the terms ye mention, gentlemen, I’d take the Alashtir over the waterfall that legend used to place at the other end of the Sadabao Sea, where the water poured over the edge of the world. When would ye set forth?”
“This afternoon?” said Abreu.
“Nay, not quite so fast as that! ’Twill take me till the morrow to drag my sturdy boys from those entertainments that sailors seek ashore, and to get supplies aboard. If ye would, though, I’ll cast off an hour ere dawn.”
“Agreed,” said Abreu. “I hope your men are willing to spend nights at sea.”
“Aye, they’ll do it if I so tell ’em. They’ve had to sleep on their benches ere this, when the Duro galleys were crawling on our track like the bugs from under a flat stone. And for a chase of this kind I’d better embark some supplementary rowers.”
Captain Zardeku, almost as good as his word, cast off half a Krishnan hour before sunrise. The forty oars, two men to an oar, thumped in their locks as the prevailing westerlies carried them down the estuary and out into the Sadabao Sea. To the west, to landward, great piles of clouds swept in stately ranks across the greenish sky, but as they reached the shoreline they dissolved into nothing, so that the seaward half of the dome of heaven was clear.
The wind filled the three triangular lateen sails. “ ’Tis a new rig in these parts,” said Zardeku. “For fast maneuver a tern has it all over a two-sticker, and can sail closer to the wind, for ye can control the ends of your ship with the small sails. Howsomever, it looks as if our chase would be all running free, if this breeze holds. Would ye put in to Zamba?”
Abreu made the negative head motion. “He’s not likely to have stopped there, after such a short run from Majbur, unless the machinery broke down. We might sail a reach past the Reshr harbor, just to make sure he’s not lying there, and go on to Jerud.”
“One point to port!” said Zardeku, and went on to talk of piracy and nautical lore and ship design; how the shipwrights, before they found the trick of putting two or more men on the same oar, used to range the oars in several tiers, with all sorts of elaborate arrangements to keep the rowers out of each other’s hair . . .
Although there was no sign of the Kerukchi in the harbor of Reshr, the harbor master at Jerud told them: “Yes, we saw this craft go past with a long stream of smoke blowing ahead of her. Thinking she was afire, we sent a galley out to help, and sore foolish they felt when the fire-ship signaled that all was well.”
Captain Zardeku topped off his supplies of food and water for the gigantic hunger and thirst of his rowers, and set out again over the emerald waters. They stopped at Zá, where the folk have tails like those of the Koloft Swamp; at Ulvanagh, where Dezful the gold-plated pirate reigned before his singular demise; and at Varzeni-Ganderan, the isle of women, who allow the men of passing ships to company with them but let no grown males settle.
The dames of Varzeni-Ganderan had indeed seen the fire-ship go by on the horizon, but it had not stopped. This in itself was unusual.
“Small crew, or else he’s in a hell of a hurry,” mused Abreu. He told Zardeku: “We should find him soon. I think he’ll have to stop for firewood for his machine.”
They lost most of a night in Varzeni-Ganderan because the crew of the Alashtir scattered to enjoy the pleasures the place afforded, and rounding them up took hours. On the fourth day the Alashtir came in sight of Darya, where the folk wear coats of grease in lieu of clothes. They recognized the island by its two rocky peaks long before the rest of it came in sight.
The lookout called down: “Smoke in the harbor, but I see not what it means.”
“Captain,” said Abreu, “I think our man stopped here for wood and is just about to pull out. Hadn’t you better rig your catapult and give the rowers a rest?”
“Aye-aye. You there!” Zardeku began giving orders in his usual mild tone, but little above the conversational. Abreu, however, noted that the crew hopped to it nevertheless.
While the rowers loafed and the ship eased towards the harbor under sail, the sailors brought up a mass of timbers and rope from below, which they assembled on the foredeck into a catapult. They piled beside it the missiles, which could be called either feathered javelins or oversized arrows.
“What now?” asked Zardeku.
“Heave to; we can’t go into the harbor to take him.”
Zardeku brought his ship’s bow up-wind and let go his main sheet so that the big ma
insail flapped, while the small fore and mizzen sails, as close-hauled as they could be braced, kept just enough way on the Alashtir to prevent her from drifting shorewards. The swells smacked obliquely against her bow, giving her an uneasy rotary motion.
Through a telescope, Abreu could see the paddle-wheel steamer, her stack puffing angrily. They must be stoking her up, he thought. As the Alashtir worked slowly past the harbor, a quarter-hoda away, he got a view of his quarry from several angles. Another conversion job, evidently; he could see the places where the outriggers for the oarlocks had been attached when she had been a galley.
“Aren’t we getting too far north?” he asked Zardeku. “If she heads south when she comes out we might have trouble catching her.”
“Right ye be,” said Zardeku. “Haul the main sheet! Let her fall off a point!”
As the ship gathered speed, Abreu asked: “Captain, why are we sailing directly away from the harbor?”
“To get sea-room to wear ship.”
“But why can’t you simply turn to the left?”
“Port helm and back sails? Think ye I’m mad? Y’only do that when ’tis a matter of dodging rocks!”
Abreu, realizing that he was no sailor, left the technical end of the art to Zardeku.
“The fire-ship’s coming out!” called the lookout.
“Better hurry, Captain,” said Abreu.
Zardeku gave more orders. The rowers ran out their oars. The helmsman swung the ship hard to starboard until the bow pointed toward shore, while the sailors let out the sheets until all three sails were flapping. The rowers backed, holding the ship immobile, the swells smashing against the stern.
“Have to see which way he turns,” said Zardeku. Then, after a minute: “He’s bearing south. Let go the luff braces; haul the leech braces; haul the sheets; starboard the helm!”
The high ends of the yards came down as the low ends rose. After much running about and hauling on ropes the ship shook herself out on the other reach and headed towards the Kerukchi, which had come out of harbor against the wind on her paddles alone and was now shaking out her sails. The Alashtir’s rowers grunted as they dug in their oars.
The two ships sailed on converging courses until Castanhoso said: “They seem to be running up flags. What are they saying?”
Zardeku put eye to telescope. “Interrogatory. In other words, have we any business with them? Qorvé, run up ‘heave to.’ Hain, load the catapult.”
The Kerukchi, instead of stopping, continued on her way, running up more flags. Abreu supposed that the proud prince was telling them what he thought of them.
Zardeku said: “They have a catapult too. On the poop.”
The wind hissed through the rigging. Presently a thump came from the Kerukchi, and a shower of specks rose from her poop and arced towards the Alashtir. They plunked into the water before they reached the other ship.
“Bullets,” said Zardeku. “I like that not; my rowers’ll suffer.” He put his megaphone to his mouth and roared: “Heave to, miserable baghana! We wish to parley!”
“What would you?” came back the answer.
“Tell him his ship,” said Abreu.
“Your ship!”
“Go to Hishkak!” came the thin voice across the water, and there was another thump. This time a shower of lead balls over a kilo in weight bounced against the Alashtir’s woodwork. There were yells from the benches, and Abreu saw one rower sprawled on the deck with his head mashed. A couple of relief rowers dragged him out of the way, and one took his place. Other men were laying weapons alongside the benches.
The Alashtir’s own catapult whanged, sending a javelin over the Kerukchi’s stern. The catapult crew of the steamship ducked and scattered, to be bullied back to their weapon by the officer commanding the squad.
Abreu said: “Captain, if you can get further forward, they won’t be able to reach us with that catapult because their rigging will be in the way.”
“But then they could reach us with their ram,” said Zardeku. “We have no ram; I took it off when I converted the ship.” After a few seconds he added: “Besides, they seem to be gaining on us.”
Although Zardeku called encouragement to his rowers, who responded with mighty grunts and visibly bent their oars, the stack of the Kerukchi was now smoking furiously. The spray kicked up by the wheels hid most of the stern of the ship, which began to inch ahead of the Alashtir. Thump! The lead balls flew high, making several holes in the sails. Whang! A javelin stuck in the Kerukchi’s planking.
“If you can hit one of those wheels,” said Abreu, “as I told you . . .”
Zizz! Abreu ducked as a couple of crossbow bolts flew over his head. Up forward one of their sailors was down, and others were shooting back.
Zardeku went forward to oversee the catapult himself, trotting along the catwalk over the rowers’ heads. The Kerukchi continued to forge ahead.
Whang! The javelin flew between the spokes of the Kerukchi’s nigh paddle wheel and buried its head in the planking behind. The wheel stopped with a groan, wedged fast, the shaft of the missile sticking out at an angle. The Alashtir seemed to jump ahead as the Kerukchi slowed, since her sails could not do much against the drag of the stationary paddles.
“Surrender!” came the voice of Zardeku through the megaphone.
A voice from the Kerukchi told him what to do to himself.
Zardeku persisted: “We’ll board ye! Come, we would not murder ye all!”
More obscenities.
“Lay aboard,” said Zardeku. “Grapnells out! Boarders muster!”
“Come, Herculeu,” said Abreu, hefting a cutlass. “Take one. We must lead the charge, you know.”
“Uk,” said little Castanhoso, looking anything but Herculean. Nevertheless he put on his helmet with shaky fingers and joined the gang in the bows. The inboard man of each pair of rowers had armed himself and gone forward, leaving his mate to manage the oar. The boarders crouched behind the protection of the wales as more arrows and quarrels whizzed overhead. Meter by meter the hulls of the ships approached each other.
“Gangplanks out!” said Zardeku.
The sailors threw out several gangplanks with spikes on the far ends to hold them fast in the foe’s woodwork.
“Boarders away!” said Zardeku.
Abreu, although he considered himself a little old for such lethal athletics, felt he must set an example for his subordinate. With astonishing agility, he jumped up and ran across the nearest gangplank. The thunder of feet on the planks behind him told him that the rest of the boarders were with him.
At the far end of the gangplank a man was trying to pry the spikes out of the planking. Abreu cut at him, hit something, and kept on without waiting to see what damage he’d done. Yells and tramplings; clang of steel.
Abreu found himself facing a slim elegant figure in a skimpy suit of light armor, oxidized black and inlaid with gold, who handled a straight sword like a professional duelist. Behind the nasal of the helmet Abreu recognized Prince Ferrian.
“Give up?” he said.
“Never!” The prince danced at him in one of those fancy fencing lunges.
Abreu caught the prince’s point on his buckler and whacked at his opponent. No fencer he, and anyway there was no time for fancy stuff. Others pressed by on either side of him. The prince, blood on his face, thrust wickedly at each of them, his blade flickering out like lightning, but there were too many. Suddenly he was holding the stump of a broken rapier. As he dropped it and stepped back to the rail, feeling at his belt for another weapon, a pike took him in the chest, and shoved him over the side. Splash!
“All over,” said Zardeku, sheathing his sword. The outnumbered Sotaspeva had already fallen to their knees before they had either inflicted or suffered much damage. Castanhoso was obviously torn between pride in the drop of blood on his blade and concern for the well-being of the surrendered sailor whose arm he’d nicked.
“Who’s the head man?” demanded Abreu. “You?”
“Where’s the mummy?”
“In the cabin, sir. May I show you . . . ?”
“Lead on.” Abreu followed the minister to the cabin below the poop. “Ah!”
The mortal remains of King Manzariyé were no prettier than they had been on the previous occasion.
“What do you?” cried Qarao in sudden anguish. “Sacrilege!”
“Bunk!” snorted Abreu, slitting open the mummy with his dagger along the carefully sewn seam in the king’s flank. “Look here!”
“Who be ye?” cried Qarao. “Men of Dur, or disguised Earthmen, or what?”
Ignoring the question, the security officer pried open the mummy and fished out a fistful of small books. “Look, Herculeu,” he said. “Chemistry, structures, heat engineering, electronics, calculus, strength of materials, aeronautics . . . He did a good job. Now, you!” He glared at the cringing Qarao. “Would you like to answer questions, or join your lamented master in the sea?”
“I—I’ll answer, good my lord.”
“Good. Who built this ship? I mean, who converted it to a steamship?”
“Ahmad Akelawi, sir.”
“And Ferrian and he fixed up a scheme to take the mummy to Earth, stuff it full of technical literature, and bring it back to Krishna, yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What did Akelawi get out of it?”
“Oh, His Sublimity had figured out a complicated scheme for converting some of his ancestral treasure into Earthly dollars. Also he was going to make Akelawi his Minister of Science, if Akelawi ever got back to Sotaspé.”
“I see,” said Abreu. “He’s an original, this prince of yours; I’m sorry he’s drowned.”
“Do we arrest this one?” said Castanhoso in Portuguese. “We could take the mummy along for evidence.”
“Hm,” said Abreu. “It occurs to me that we made a serious mistake in letting the mummy back into Krishna without examining it more thoroughly, didn’t we?”
“Pois sim.”
Abreu mused: “And if we arrest this man, and so forth, that fact will come out. The results might be bad for the service, not to mention us.”
The Continent Makers and Other Tales of the Viagens Page 6