The Coming of Wisdom

by David Duncan

  Still there was no rain, only cold blasts of wind and darkness, pitchings and creakings. Wal gleamed in sunshine ahead of them for a while, growing closer now, but oh! so slowly. The tower became obvious, an ironic beacon of hope. Then the shadow fell on Wal, also, and only the distant mountains knew sunlight. The children were already stowed in a dinghy. The adults stood by the rails and tried to seem unconcerned as the storm pursued them, marching on pillars of lightning across the waters, grumbling thunder like a cursing of giants.

  * * *

  Wal looked much like Aus, wooden walls and red tile roofs. There were no ships at anchor here; all lay safely moored at the dock, stirring nervously as the waves grew. Tomiyano took Sapphire in and found a berth.

  Then he marched angrily down to the deckhouse to hide his face from the sorcerers. Brota, watching him go, suddenly realized that he was going to be shut up in there with Nnanji. There was room for two people inside the door, but not much room. She shouted, and the captain paused, nodded, and passed his belt and dagger to Oligarro. Then he stamped inside and shut the door. She went over and stood close by, just in case there would be trouble; but the sailor was unarmed, the swordsman could not easily draw his sword under that roof―and if he tried, Tom'o would snap him like a twig before he succeeded.

  Through the shutters she heard only silence and a distant, hoarse rumble: "...sutras of the swordsmen..."

  Brota stayed by the deckhouse door to watch over Oligarro, a heavyset, white-haired man, quiet spoken; usually reliable, but cursed with an unpredictable temper. The docks were deserted before the coming storm, strangely empty, dust blowing over the stones, the litter, and the horse droppings. The only visible life was a slave gang carrying timber from the next ship and loading it on a wagon. The horses had been removed to safety, but slaves were waterproof and did not shy at thunder. Thunder! It rolled almost unceasingly from the coal-dark sky mat hung tike a black tent overhead.

  Brota and Oligarro... everyone else, adults and children, had fled below to tidy up down there and rejoice at reaching safe haven. She supposed it was safe, glanced up unhappily at that all-seeing tower, so like the tower at Aus, but here doubly ominous in the gloom, black on black. She hoped that the sorcerers' rules would be the same here, that a swordswoman was safe on board. Then she saw that one other person had stayed ―Katanji was sitting cross-legged in the sheltered spot below a dinghy, watching and grinning like an imp, disappearing as the lightning threw shadow over him, reappearing in the subsequent gloom. He was not wearing his sword, so he should be all right. Sharp kid; he liked to see, liked to know.

  Then a port officer arrived, and the plank was run out for him. He came hobbling up slowly, an emaciated old sailor of the Third, and she disliked him on sight. He paused to make the salute to a superior to Oligarro, his brown robe writhing around his thin shape, his eyes watering in the wind. His name was Hiolanso. Shonsu had said that the port officer in Aus was a sorcerer. If this was also one, he had chosen a much less attractive shape―meager white hair, scraggy neck, many wrinkles, and liver spots.

  Oligarro responded as captain of Sapphire.

  Hiolanso bid him welcome to Wal on behalf of the elders and the wizard, then headed for the deckhouse, seeking shelter. She stepped in front of it to block him. Frowning, he eyed her face-marks and saw who made the decisions. He saluted wryly and she responded.

  "You are aware that swordsmen are not allowed ashore, mistress?"

  "I guessed as much."

  Hiolanso looked suspiciously at the deckhouse, turned to study the deck cargo and then to face Oligarro. "You seemed heavy laden when you came in, Captain. Low in the water?"

  "We made it," Oligarro said without expression.

  The old man made a twisted smile and shouted over the wind, "Then let us do our business quickly. I have no wish to hang around in this weather. The fee is twenty golds."

  "Twenty!" shouted Brota and Oligarro together. Thunder bellowed above them in celestial outrage.

  "I have never heard of such a fee for a ship this size!" Brota roared.

  The officer smiled again, suddenly illuminated by lightning. He winced at the ensuing noise and then said, "Nevertheless, that is the fee―today."

  Oligarro was turning red. "It is absurd! We cannot pay!"

  "Then you must leave." he must be listening behind the door. Was this old man a sorcerer?

  "I have five golds here," Oligarro said, blustering and uncertain. "Take it and be gone."

  "Twenty."

  They had no choice and he knew it. Brota glanced down at the dock, and there were four or five youths standing there, accomplices undoubtedly. The old crook would order their lines cast off if they did not pay him. She had met corruption before in port officers, but never this blatant, never with a monster hanging over the River and waiting to smash her ship,

  "I must go and get the money, then," she said, flashing a warning glance at Oligarro. Veins bulged in his ruddy, stolid face.

  "Be quick! Or I shall make it thirty." Hiolanso was shivering in the cold.

  Angrily Brota gave Oligarro another meaningful look, then stamped away, heading for the companionway door. She hoped he was using his head―don't lose your temper, keep that man out of the deckhouse. If that scoundrel discovered a highrank swordsman on board, his fee would become fifty at once. But the money was in her cabin, aft, and the passages were cluttered with copperware. Katanji scampered ahead of her and held the door open against the gale.

  She muttered thanks. She had gone only two steps when he said, "I have fifteen golds here, mistress."

  She swung round, unable to see him properly in the dark.

  "That would be a kindness," she replied.

  "Two silvers?"

  "You're as bad as he is! All right, two silvers."

  He chuckled and counted fifteen coins into her hand. She wondered how a mere First could have so much. These swordsmen tossed money around in a way she found disgusting. Sharp kid―not many people would have seen the opportunity for fast usury.

  Lightning and thunder greeted her again as she staggered back across the deck, noting Oligarro's surprise at her speedy return. She handed over the money.

  "I hope your stay at Wal is profitable, mistress," Hiolanso said mockingly. "I bid you good day, Captain."

  He bowed and turned.

  He walked three steps and stopped.

  A man was coming up the plank.

  When he reached the deck, he paused, standing tall and sinister in the darkness, motionless except for the whipping of his gown, arms folded inside his sleeves, face invisible inside his sorcerer's cowl. Then a flare of lightning showed his red robe and a momentary glimpse within the hood: heavy black eyebrows, a square, strong face, confident and severe.

  The darkness returned, and he glided forward through the thunder as if he moved on wheels.

  "Return the twenty golds to Mistress Brota, Hiolanso," he said.

  Brota shivered and not from the wind. He knew her name? The port officer's teeth were chattering, and his hands trembled visibly as he reached in his leather pouch and counted out the money.

  "My apologies, mistress, Captain," the sorcerer said in a deep, hard voice. "The elders and the wizard have been much concerned at the corruption among their officials. Now we have caught one and he will be punished. We offer the shelter of our port for your ship, and there will be no fee."

  "Punished how?" Brota asked, thinking of the many times she had cursed officers.

  "That's up to the court." The sorcerer turned his hood slightly to study the criminal. "At least one hand in the fire, and for so large a theft, probably both."

  Hiolanso's squeal of terror was drowned out by a mind-shattering peal of thunder. He dodged around the sorcerer and bolted for the gangplank.

  The sorcerer swung round to face after him and raised an arm. Thunder roared again, deafening. A cloud of smoke swirled for an instant and was wiped away by the wind.

  The plank was empty. The fugiti
ve had totally vanished.

  Brota heard a whimper of terror and realized that it was coming from herself. Now it was Oligarro's teeth that were chattering.

  Tap... tap... Rain was starting.

  The sorcerer turned to the sailor and made the salute to a superior. "I am Zarakano, sorcerer of the Fifth rank..."

  Oligarro's voice quavered as he responded. The sorcerer looked to Brota and made the salute to an equal, and her voice was no steadier. The port officer had disappeared before her eyes. It was true, then. She had not believed in sorcerers before she met Shonsu. Now there was one on her deck and he had destroyed a man on her gangplank. One instant there had been a man running down the plank; next instant, only smoke. Never in her life had she worried that she might faint, but the thought now crossed her mind.

  Tap... tap... tap tap tap...

  "Let us take cover for a moment," Zarakano said. He reached for the deckhouse door handle, and Brota was too paralyzed to do anything. The wind grabbed the door and hurled it open with a crash.

  Nnanji stood in the entrance, his arms folded, his face a pale blur in the gloom―for an instant. Then lightning flared again, highlighting him in a brilliance of red hair and orange kilt against a million flames of copper. A murderous explosion of thunder rattled the whole ship. The sorcerer recoiled in surprise, started to raise an arm, and then lowered it. This was no water rat swordsman he was seeing―harness, kilt, even the proper boots. Sword. For a moment nobody moved or spoke, and die wind suddenly dropped―the calm before the storm again; silence, no thunder.

  "...no less man justice..." That was Shonsu, still raving in the far corner.

  Nnanji could not draw under that roof.

  Swordsman and sorcerer faced each other for a long, blood-freezing minute, then the sorcerer made the acknowledgment of an inferior. Nnanji's face was unreadable in the gloom. He paused, then made the salute: "I am Nnanji, swordsman of the fourth rank..."

  There had been much talk about sorcerers on Sapphire lately―Katanji had passed on the stories. Had swordsman and sorcerer ever saluted each other like this? Water rats did not count. This was a meeting of snake and mongoose, and the mongoose had saluted.

  "I am Zarakano, sorcerer of the fifth rank..." The snake responded.

  "I will be evermore true to..." growled Shonsu in the background. Lightning sizzled and thunder bellowed simultaneously, drowning him out.

  Tomiyano was keeping to one side, still invisible, but what if the sorcerer went into the deckhouse and saw his branded face? What if he heard Shonsu and recognized the code of the swordsmen?

  Plop! Plop! Huge drops began to hit the deck.

  Without taking his eyes from Nnanji, Zarakano asked, "How many free swords are you carrying, mistress?"

  "Only Adept Nnanji and a First," she muttered, wondering if Katanji was back on deck, wondering if the sorcerer's powers could detect her lie. The rain noise was beating louder, and the wind rising again, muffling Shonsu's mumblings.

  "Adept Nnanji is a man of discretion," the sorcerer said, in what seemed meant to be a jovial tone. "But so am I. I think I shall bid you good day, mistress." Lightning flared blue white again, blazing off the swordsman in his orange kilt, flaming red and yellow from copper and bronze behind him. "I see you carry much cargo. I will cast a spell of good fortune on it for you."

  Brota stepped in front of him and reached for the door. With Oligarro's help she pushed it shut, hiding Nnanji, whose feet had never moved. Then she leaned on it, feeling weak and horribly shaken. "I thank you, Master Zarakano," she said. "And wish you good day, also." Meaning that she would keep his back safe from the swordsman.

  Rain exploded from the sky, torrents of rain, a universe of rain, furring the deck with white fog.

  The sorcerer nodded at her, pulling his cowl farther over his face, then hurried for the plank. She saw him reach the dock and the two yellow-robed sorcerers of the Second waiting for him. Then all three sped across the street and were hidden by the rain.

  * * *

  Even the greatest of storms must pass eventually. Brota had retired to pamper a headache, but she must have dozed, for a tap on the door awoke her.

  "Who is it?"

  "Novice Katanji, mistress."

  "Just a minute."

  The storm had almost gone. The ship was rocking less, creaking less, and sunlight was streaming in the window.

  Her cabin was a wooden box, but a larger box than the others, with space for a dresser as well as a chest, and a raised bed that was her sole concession to age. The lantern on the dresser was the only one aboard, a greater badge of authority than her son's dagger. She had a rug, drapes, and three small wool tapestries to brighten the box.

  She eased herself up and took a moment to gather her wits. The wind was dying. Two hours until sunset, perhaps, with the light coming in low under the fringe of the storm. They would be able to salt soon. She grunted to her feet and padded across to admit Katanji. He was grinning, his face grimy and his hair smelling wet.

  "Come for your money, have you?" She chuckled. She counted out his fifteen golds onto the dresser. "These two silvers? What happens if I tell your brother?"

  He studied her a moment and shrugged. "Then I don't help you the next time," he said.

  What next time? "Where does a First get fifteen golds?"

  "Oh, most of it's Nanj's," he said. "I'm holding the ten he got for Cowie, remember?"

  She passed over two silvers. "Thank you, swordsman."

  "You're welcome, swordsman," he replied impudently, but the charm of his grin let Katanji get away with such insolence. All the coins went in the same pocket, she noted. "Are you going to sail or stay the night, mistress?"

  "Sail. The cowls know your brother's on board."

  "You don't believe in the spell of good fortune, then?" His eyes glinted.

  She was not in the habit of debating her decisions―not with Tomiyano, certainly not with landlubber Firsts, yet...

  "No. Do you?"

  He chuckled. "Of course! Besides, Holiyi was complaining only today how long it was since he had a night in port."

  "You let Sailor Holiyi worry about his own sex life, novice, or I'll start Nnanji worrying about yours."

  He blushed scarlet and looked uneasy. He was, after all, only a kid, and yet she was matching wits with him as if he were a trader of the Fifth. "Anything else?" she asked, thinking that the had time for a shower before they cast off.

  He nodded. "I have some information for you. I think it's worth a gold. Maybe two."

  She sat down on the bed, making the ropes creak loudly, and she stared at him suspiciously. "Two golds! What is it, the elixir of life?"

  He shook his head.

  "Where did you get information?"

  He shook his head again. "Can't say. Do you want to hear?"

  "Who decides if it's worth one gold, or two, or nothing?"

  He hesitated and shrugged. "I suppose you do."

  "If I don't want it, then I don't pay?"

  He nodded doubtfully. Then he grinned again. "You'll want it. There are two brass merchants in town, Jasiulko and Fennerolomini."

  He had her attention. "How did you find that out? You been ashore in a sorcerer town? You're crazy!"

  He shook his damp curls. "Swordsmen don't go ashore here, mistress."

  She glanced at his feet. "I'd better tell Tom'o to clean up the deck, then."

  He looked down and then bit his lip, vexed at having missed that. "Don't ask questions, mistress, please."

  How had the kid got his face so dirty? It looked greasy, smeared. This lad had promise. In fact he was one of those Shonsu miracles, she decided. "It's worth knowing about the merchants, Katanji, but it's not worth two golds."

  "There's more," he said, grinning wildly.

  "Let's have it then."

  The words spilled out excitedly. "Two nights ago there was a fire. Jasiulko's warehouse burned down. He lost his whole stock."

  Brota stared at him for a lon
g minute without a word. She had no doubt at all that he was speaking the truth. She reached in her money bag and silently handed him two more golds.

  †† † ††

  It might have been the sorcerer's spell, but she preferred to think it was the handiwork of the Goddess. Whichever it was. Brota kept her ship in port overnight and next morning sent word to both the brass merchants. She made them bid against each other, for Fennerolomini dearly wanted to keep Jasiulko out of business. In the end Jasiulko took the whole cargo for five hundred and twenty-three golds. Brota shook hands on it, then went down to her cabin and danced a jig.

  Lae had been scouting and came back exulting about furniture, carved from a type of oak that grew nowhere else but near Wal. When the dealers brought samples, Brota agreed with her judgment and loaded shiny tables, ornate chairs, and intricately inlaid chests. Sapphire spent a second night in port, and the sorcerers did not trouble her. Nnanji skulked in the deckhouse. Shonsu's ravings grew quieter, and his wound more obviously cursed. His death seemed closer man ever.

  No one asked where Novice Katanji was, but next morning he was aboard when Sapphire set sail in the sunshine for Dri, three days upriver, still carrying the dying swordsman.

  * * *

  The days passed, but Dri came no closer. With all her canvas spread, Sapphire wallowed on a river of glass, barely holding her way against the current in a sickly, fitful wind.

  Honakura was becoming concerned. Even he, with a professional faith in miracles and Shonsu's mission, was finding increasing difficulty in believing that the swordsman was going to survive his wound. Each morning the great frame was more wasted and its continuing survival seemed more like a direct intervention by the gods. Jja was eroded to a wraith by effort and worry, Nnanji morose and sullen.

  The sailors had prepared their plans. They had consulted Honakura about them, for at first they had been unable to believe that Nnanji was serious. The old man had assured them that he was, that no danger to himself or his friends would ever distract the young swordsman for a moment from whatever he saw as his duty and the call of honor. If Shonsu died, then Nnanji would head for Tomiyano with a sword.