Grand Vizier of Krar

by W. John Tucker

  As they rode off in pursuit Memwin could hear Galnet’s loud groan and the screams of other diners as he rolled on the floor clutching his stomach. Memwin’s dogged loyalty she inherited from her mother, but her cold vengeance could strike her enemy more surely than the fire of her father’s fury.

  58

  Arnapa and her five companions reached Polnet Mountain Port the day after Memwin left the citadel. It did not surprise any of them that quite a few people remembered Blan arriving and departing.

  “She’s three days ahead of us,” Pelembras reckoned. “We need to find canoes so we can move at our own pace without waiting at river ports or changing vessels.”

  They searched most of the day and eventually found three canoes that might do the job, given some repair and adaptation.

  “These canoes are not available,” the owner snapped. “War is coming, so I’m keeping these to make my escape.”

  “Why do you need three?” Bonmar asked.

  “Family,” said the owner.

  At that point Aransette and Norsnette came to report that the neighbours had told them the owner’s family had already gone south over a week ago.

  “Our mission is vital to the defence of your homeland,” Zeep asserted. “We will pay you enough to escape over the mountains to the south and make a good life for yourself and your family.”

  “How much?” the owner swaggered.

  She offered him half a fathome of gold, a considerable fortune for the three canoes given their state of repair. A fathome of gold was named for its length. It was a strip of pure gold one finger wide and a tenth of a finger thick. It would commonly be rolled up into a disk shape; segments cut off as required. As herald, Zeep had authority to commit the duchy to considerable payments in cases of emergency.

  “Not enough,” the man said belligerently.

  “Is this how you support the Free Alliance?” Zeep cried, and then she said, “Arnapa, shall I beat him or will you use your methods?”

  At first, the man was indignant. Then, when he looked into Arnapa’s menacing eyes and at Zeep’s bristling strength, he started to shake and back away.

  “I misunderstood,” he conceded, “I thought you said half a finger of gold. Half a fathome it is then.”

  It took them the rest of the afternoon to replenish their supplies and repair the canoes. The latter task was well done, thanks to instruction from Pelembras who was not only Shipwright General of Akrin but also a keen boating hobbyist.

  They set off just after dark; Bonmar and Norsnette in one canoe; Pelembras with Aransette; and Arnapa with Zeep.

  If they had known exactly where Blan was they would have paddled straight to Hillside Inn at the Plupo confluence and they might have arrived there before she did, but they did not have this information and it had been too risky to bring an unlocked Actio with them to communicate with Blan directly. They spent a lot of time asking after Blan at the river ports along the way, so they did not arrive at the hotel until the morning after Blan’s kidnapping.

  “The Honourable Questan reported Blansnette’s abduction last night and the police are now out taking witness statements,” the hotel manager informed Arnapa. “We have captured an accomplice of the kidnappers and we are holding him here at the hotel.”

  “Is there still no prison in this settlement?” Arnapa asked.

  “There is a new prison, but the man in question is quite safe,” the manager explained. “It seems that someone put poison into his drink last night. He collapsed and has been violently ill ever since. He has stayed at this hotel before. However, whilst he has often been seen in the company of beautiful women, we did not realise until last night that his profession is to seduce these women so they can be abducted to satisfy the carnal desires of enemy soldiers.”

  “Take us to him,” Arnapa demanded sternly.

  Arnapa, Zeep and Pelembras followed the manager to the room where Galnet had been imprisoned. Meanwhile, the manager’s assistant took Bonmar and the twins to check Blan’s room. They soon rejoined Arnapa.

  “Blan’s room has been ransacked,” Bonmar reported. “There is nothing there of Blan’s and no clue as to her kidnappers.”

  “I hope she locked the Actio as she said she could,” Arnapa muttered. Then she turned to Galnet.

  “Your career is over! However, we might let you live if you tell us all you know,” Arnapa informed Galnet. Her voice was eerily soft and she drew a long, narrow knife and started to test its sharpness. Apparently, it was not sharp enough, so she drew out a small strop and started to hone the knife.

  Galnet moaned, “I’m so sick. Leave me in peace. I don’t know anything.”

  Arnapa turned to Norsnette and Aransette and asked, “Would you two kindly check on Blan’s pony.”

  When the twins had left the room along with the assistant manager, Arnapa said, “You will all understand that, as an authorised spy, I have certain secret methods I can’t divulge to others. I would be grateful if everyone else would leave me with Galnet. Anyway, I am sure no one wants to watch me cut him away strip by strip.” Of course, she was not really concerned about revealing secret methods of torture; she had never actually made a study of the subject. However, she felt that this prisoner was far from being a hero and would give up what she wanted fairly easily. She was right. Her act already had Galnet moaning and shaking, although that might have been due to poison burning his internal passages and corrupting his organs.

  “I will stay,” Bonmar said sombrely. “Having my leg torn off by a shark has made me more able than most to confront these distasteful matters. At least this won’t be my pain,” he laughed as he slapped Galnet jovially on the shoulder. This levity increased Galnet’s moaning and shaking.

  As soon as the others had left the room, Arnapa violently ripped off Galnet’s gown to reveal that the man had already been the subject of some surgery.

  “At least you are safe from any further interference there,” Arnapa said jovially as she noted that Galnet was a eunuch. “How much do you value your face?”

  That was enough for Galnet. Between lurches for the bucket into which he vainly tried to rid his stomach of poison, he told all he knew. It was not much, but it was just enough.

  “The poison has been identified,” the manager said when he returned to the room with Zeep and Pelembras. “Galnet will survive after several days of being extremely ill. Then he will be put in the stocks for a week, so everyone will be able to identify him in future. In the meantime they will have the opportunity to express their opinion about him with rotten food or whatever else they think matches his character. After that, he will be permitted to build up his muscles working in the salt mines.”

  “What about a trial?” Galnet moaned.

  “As this is wartime and you have admitted your crime, there will be no trial,” Arnapa advised, “but you may appeal for clemency just as soon as your victim is available to give her agreement.”

  Galnet groaned and urgently implored, “Please, you must find her. I won’t survive the stocks, let alone the salt mines.”

  Arnapa wasted no more time with Galnet. She gathered her companions together and told them the news. “Galnet says that the kidnappers are from a circus for entertaining troops. They will go to a camp east of Quolow and then to another on Southport River. From there they take to barges and visit camps along the river. We may have to split up there to search both downstream and upstream.”

  “The locals are saying that Quolow is surrounded,” Bonmar said. “We are unlikely to catch up with the kidnappers before they get to their first camp. How will we travel to get through the enemy lines?”

  “I suggest that we go back to our canoes and take to the river again,” Pelembras advised. “Six of us will be too easily trapped if we go across country. If the enemy have not yet set up effective river patrols, we have a better chance of slipping past them in canoes.” All the others agreed with him. Not only did the river give them an advantage in the face of a land-based enem
y, it was also faster and more comfortable than a long overland trek. Furthermore, they were already equipped with canoes but not with horses.

  There were no reports of enemy patrols or lookouts in the vicinity since the departure of the kidnappers, so Arnapa and the others risked the daylight and set out straight away without waiting for dusk. By nightfall they were speeding downstream with all the power of the combined current of Polnet and Plupo with them.

  59

  Quolow Region – 3rd & 4th November

  They soon turned off the cobbled road not far from Hillside Inn and left the street lanterns behind. The darkness closed in quickly and Memwin wondered how Questan got the horse to stay on the road; maybe the creature knew the way already. Memwin could smell the dust from the track, for track it must have been; the ground was too even for it to be otherwise.

  She did not have to wait long before lights appeared ahead. These resolved into two lanterns, one either side of an open gate. A hundred paces further on Memwin saw a large bungalow with a veranda which looked as though it might go all the way around. A middle-aged man was standing there holding a torch. When he heard Questan call to him, he returned the greeting and ignited several lanterns on the veranda. He was dressed for work despite the late hour. Memwin thought he looked like a farmer. Perhaps he farms sheep; for wool, she liked to think. Earlier in the day she had seen sheep grazing; no sign of any crops. Compared with the lush vegetation of Proequa, this land was very dry, even near the river. She guessed that the river was not far away because they had only ridden for about a mile and not altogether away from it.

  The two men greeted each other like old friends. Questan dismounted and spoke with the farmer for a while in a dialect that Memwin thought was almost understandable but not quite. At last, the farmer whistled and a dog came running excitedly around the corner. The animal seemed very large to Memwin, yet not at all threatening. She looked pleased to see Questan and made a show of wagging her tail before dutifully sitting.

  The farmer gave some instructions to the dog in a strange language, not the same one that the two men had used together. The dog looked alternately between Questan and the farmer before fixing her gaze on Questan and wagging her tail. Questan remounted, said farewell to the farmer (or so Memwin guessed) and rode back toward the hotel, the dog following.

  They stopped at the exact place where Memwin had seen Blan kidnapped. The dog spent a while nosing around before looking up at Questan and wagging her tail. Questan made some sign which Memwin could not see, and then the dog scampered off along the line of palms, Questan riding after her with Memwin clinging on behind him.

  “Questan, who was that man and what language were you speaking?”

  “That was my cousin Quirretan and we were speaking the Quolowan dialect of common maritime,” Questan explained. “We only use it privately these days because outsiders find it so hard to understand. There was once a Quolowan language but it fell into disuse as we increasingly became a trading nation. Only those interested in reading the histories in their original form now learn ancient Quolowan.”

  “What did Quirretan say to the dog?” Memwin thought that she might like dogs, given the chance. Dogs were rarely allowed into Proequa Citadel. Memwin had certainly not yet met any there.

  “Quirretan and I are patrons of the Quolow Guild for Search and Rescue Dogs. Guild members teach their dogs to understand a special language. Quirretan was just telling Quoosh here to follow the trail we show her and to return home when we ask her. Quoosh has no problem with that. She was my dog before I retired.”

  The clouds parted and the waxing moon, four days from full, banished the darkness from the road ahead. It was enough for Memwin to see her surroundings, even after the lights of the settlement had been left behind, and it was enough for Questan to guide the horse across country where no clear paths or tracks led. Quoosh seemed to need only her nose to guide her. If Memwin had not been so worried about Blan, she would have found this an exciting adventure, far more so than hiding in a bouncing trunk for six days.

  They rode through the night, stopping only briefly to rest. At least that was Memwin’s impression as she kept nodding off to sleep. It turned out to be less comfortable than the trunk; she could not twist and turn while she slept. At least Questan had made a rope harness to keep her from falling completely off the horse.

  Questan knew that the proper course would have been to leave Memwin with the hotel manager. However, if she was anything like her grandmother, she would find a way of setting off again by herself. There would be no stopping her! By secretly absconding from Proequa and travelling hundreds of miles undetected, Memwin had already demonstrated that much.

  As a former President, Questan was used to making difficult decisions quickly. This was one of them. Better to take Memwin with him where he could keep an eye on her. If they were caught he would make a stand while the dog helped her get away. Apart from being a good tracking dog, Quoosh was trained to protect the farmer’s grandchildren. At nine years of age Quoosh had a lot of experience, and a remarkable record of bravery both in peace time and during the last war.

  Quoosh would frequently disappear down the track and then return, wagging her tail to lead them on. This time, however, the nuances of head and body movement made it clear even to Memwin, who had no experience of dogs, that she had found something of interest. It surprised Memwin that she could understand this dog without a word being spoken.

  A hundred paces further down the track, next to a thicket of eucalyptus, Quoosh had found some dirty rags, cut rope, and some discarded chains with shackles. She was very excited because this smelt strongly of the female in the group of humans she was tracking.

  “Slave chains,” Questan said with disgust as he dismounted to inspect them. He then helped Memwin down.

  “I thought slave chains would be all iron but the shackles on these are of thick, smooth cane and covered with cloth,” Memwin remarked.

  “These are for a certain kind of slave,” Questan replied, “the sort of slave they don’t want to damage before use.” Questan did not really want to discuss what happened to beautiful captives when an invading army did not attract enough voluntary camp followers.

  “See, there are also iron chains and shackles,” Memwin pointed out as she picked up a set almost small enough for herself. “I’ll keep these to remind me to ban them when I grow up.”

  “They are already banned in Proequa, as in Quolow,” Questan smiled.

  “Good,” Memwin declared. However, she kept the chain and shackles with her. A new idea had sprung into her busy mind. “Where are we heading now, Questan?”

  “We’ve been heading for the western end of the North Plupo Range, twelve leagues northwest of the hotel. We are about half-way there. I expect the kidnappers will join a larger group, like a circus, heading for one of the enemy’s major camps, probably along Southport River.”

  “What will they do to Blan?” Memwin asked, concern shaking her voice.

  “I don’t know,” Questan lied. “Let’s concentrate on finding her. If I can get a message to Quolow, they might send a commando force up the river under cover of night to rescue her. Meanwhile, we need only find out where she will be taken. Then we will head for Quolow. I know secret ways of getting into the city beneath a besieging army.”

  Questan was by no means sure that Quolow could spare a commando force. In fact, he very much doubted it. The idea was all he could think of for the moment to console Memwin. For her part, Memwin was as alert to Questan’s doubt as she had been to the tracker dog’s body language. Memwin was forming her own plan.

  They moved on. Memwin forced herself to sleep as much as she could. One good reason was that she felt really tired and sleepy. The other reason was that she wanted to rest as much as possible before she put her plan into action.

  *

  Memwin felt Questan gently shaking her as she came awake. For once the sky was completely clear. They were on a hillside with a thicket o
f trees behind them and they overlooked a broad panorama from southwest to northeast. They were now well west of the end of North Plupo Range, yet still very high above the lower lands to the north and northwest. Memwin saw the glinting ribbons of two rivers flowing into marshes and then into a great lake which stretched north into the distance. She knew from her research back in Citadel Library that Lake Quolow was seven leagues long and four leagues wide at its broadest. To the right of the lake was a deep and barren valley, almost a canyon, about the same size as the lake. It occurred to Memwin that, if the valley had been full of water, the two lakes together would have looked almost heart-shaped with a relatively narrow ridge down the middle dividing one half from the other. The ridge stopped the water of the lake from pouring into the empty valley.

  Questan handed his spyglass to Memwin and she looked out again. About two-thirds to three-quarters of the way along the ridge, where it broadened somewhat between lake and valley, was an interesting feature. It was as though grains of sugar had been sprinkled there. It reminded her of how Nantport sometimes appeared from Citadel Tower when the afternoon sunlight reflected off the tiled roofs, except that the city she was now seeing was much further away.

  “Quolow!” she sighed. Questan nodded and smiled.

  The city was just a bit higher than the water in the lake and seemed to have a port there. Yet, on the other side, it was set high above the valley below. There was a sprawling metropolis south of Quolow, another on the eastern side of the valley and another on the western side of the lake.

  “Questan, are all those people living outside the city safe?”