Burning Tower

by Larry Niven

  The harbor was large. There was an inner harbor, then channels through the swamplands, then a larger bay protected by what looked like a narrow sand spit. There were ships at anchor in the bay, some wide—they looked fat to Sandry—with sails and few rowing benches. Others were more narrow, with lots of benches. One of those might have been the Angie Queen. It looked enough like her, two masts, fore and aft cabins, lots of oars, but the ship was too far away to read the name on her stern.

  The harbor bustled with activity. Dockhands loaded and unloaded ships at the nearby docks. In the anchored boats, sailors brought cargo up to the decks or carried it below from the decks to the holds. There seemed no pattern to all this activity, but everyone worked purposefully.

  He saw half a dozen girls skimming across the water. Mers? When one came closer, Sandry could see she was standing on a board, longer than she was tall but not very wide, and she held a feathered sail. The way she held the sail steered the board. It looked like fun. She was graceful, and clearly having the time of her life.

  Another girl swooshed past. Her sail was green and orange, and as she came perilously close to the docks below where Sandry stood, she waved. The sail was definitely made from a terror bird wing. They must have worked all night on it.

  Two narrow ships with no masts were patrolling near the harbor entrance. Marines in bright red tunics stood on their foredecks. The oarsmen were all dressed alike, cotton tunics with horizontal stripes, and there was no sign of chains or men with whips. A drummer beat the pace, and in one of the warships the men were singing. The war galleys sailed in a big oval pattern that brought them close under the balcony where Sandry stood.

  “Impressive, isn’t it? Of course it’s meant to be. They put this show on for me the first time I came here.”

  Sandry turned to see Lord Qu’yuma. Aunt Shanda’s husband, Roni’s father, he thought automatically. A stocky man with no beard. He wore a miniature shield of office on a necklace, and his clothes were radiantly clean and ornately decorated. “Sir. I’d heard you were here,” Sandry said, “but last night at dinner they said you had already left.”

  “And so I had,” Qu’yuma said. He stood next to Sandry. “Might be best to keep our voices low,” he said conversationally. “Some of their clerks have very good ears.” He grinned. “They sent a dolphin mer to tell us you’d arrived, and when I heard, I insisted on coming back. Rowed all night.”

  “Oh. Well, sir, good to see you…”

  Qu’yuma grinned wider. “Now, now. I haven’t come back to steal your triumph! The fact is, we weren’t getting too far with our trade negotiations, and what I heard made me think you’ll get more from them than I did. Only you have to know what to ask for.”

  By all accounts, Qu’yuma was the best negotiator in Lordshills. Persuasive. Roni had said once her father could talk you into anything if you listened to him long enough.

  “So what are we asking for?” Sandry asked.

  He stared back out at the harbor. Gulls wheeled overhead. Huge birds with big yellow bills, looking far too big to be able to fly, soared above the water, then dropped like stones, vanished beneath the water, and came up with fish. Smaller long-necked birds swam, then vanished for longer than Sandry could hold his breath before popping back up a long way from where they had gone under. After a while, he realized Qu’yuma hadn’t answered.

  He turned to see the older man still looking out across the harbor. He lowered his voice again. “What do we want?”

  Qu’yuma moved closer. “First, a little background. For all our history, we’ve been cut off from the interior. The only trade in Tep’s Town was by sea, and that meant we were pretty well at the mercy of Condigeo.”

  “Aren’t there other merchant ships?”

  “Some. We even own a couple. But Condigeo controls this coast, and they’re powerful enough to make it tough on anyone going against their wishes. We were pretty well at their mercy until last year when that Morth of Atlantis sank Yangin-Atep in the tar and opened up the Greenway. Now that we can trade with the interior, we’ve got some bargaining power.”

  “Good. Okay, so what do we want?”

  “Well, a lot of things. The right to have our own merchant ships go anywhere they like, carry any cargo they can find. Protection of our merchants from pirates. Better prices for our hemp ropes and our tar. Better prices for other stuff the kinless make. I got pretty good terms on most of that. Where I didn’t get anywhere at all was getting access to the magic trade.”

  “Sir?”

  “They don’t like to talk about it. The Captains of Condigeo have a monopoly on trade in magic items,” Qu’yuma said. “Especially now that Avalon has banned export of talismans. Some manna items come in from the north, but not very many, and the pirates at Castle Rock Bay charge so much for protection that we can hardly afford anything from up there.

  “Now that Yangin-Atep is myth, we’ve got no god to protect us. We’ve got the best trained army on the coast, and pirates are too scared of the Lordkin to invade the city—”

  “With good reason.”

  “But without Yangin-Atep, we have no protection against magic at all.”

  “Oh! So if an invader comes armed with magic, it might be hard on Lord’s Town.”

  “Precisely. It’s no secret that we’re in great need of talismans in Tep’s Town. We’re buying, and Condigeo’s the only one selling, so the prices are steep. Only now they don’t have anything to sell, and they won’t tell us why.” He waved to indicate the war galley approaching them again. “But they care enough to put on that show for you. They want to impress you. From what I’ve heard, you’ve got a way past those birds. I think they need that. I never did put any stock in the idea that Condigeo was sending the birds.”

  “No, sir. They’re as afraid of the birds as we are.”

  Qu’yuma nodded. “Good. Later you can tell me why you’re sure. And Sandry, I think the magic items they sell come from inland.”

  “Yes, sir. So do the Bison Tribe. And after last night we’re pretty sure of it. The trade comes from what they call the Inland Sea, but it comes over land.”

  Qu’yuma nodded. “That’s close to what I had deduced,” he said.

  “But sir, if they can reach that area by sea, why do they need land travel?”

  “Costs, I’d say. It’s a long way.” Qu’yuma pointed southward. “Their charts are secret, but I bought one off a merchant skipper. It’s interesting. There’s a long neck of land they call the Forefinger, not more than forty leagues wide, but it goes five hundred leagues, maybe more, straight south. No wind and no water most of the way down, so the only way around it is to row, only oarsmen need fresh water. If you carry enough water to keep oarsmen alive, there’s not much cargo.” He shrugged. “So it’s a thousand leagues and more by sea to get fifty leagues straight east, and then you have to come back again. Much easier by land.”

  “But they’re blocked by the birds,” Sandry said.

  “Precisely. And you can deal with those?”

  “So far,” Sandry said.

  “Is it easy?”

  “Well, it’s not simple.”

  “Good. Make sure the captains believe it’s very hard to do. No false modesty.” Qu’yuma turned and waved. “Here come the others. Want me to sit in on this conference?”

  “I wish you would. Thank you for offering.” And for asking, for that matter, since you can pull rank on me anytime, and we both know it.

  “There’s a lot to learn about these captains,” Qu’yuma said. “And not much time. The main thing is dignity. Their leaders think they have earned their positions through hard work.”

  “And have they?”

  “Sometimes. Usually. They’ve all been successful ship captains, and that’s something. Even so, sometimes it’s influence and bribes. They’ll promote anyone. We put more stock in breeding than they do.”

  “And sometimes end up with Regapisk in charge,” Sandry said under his breath.

  “
Look what happened to him.”

  “Uh—sorry, I hadn’t meant you to hear that.”

  “I have very good hearing. It is one of the qualifications of a diplomat,” Qu’yuma said. “Condigeo finds us odd. We find them strange. But we are more alike than they believe. Aha. Your people are arriving. And I do believe that must be my daughter’s rival.” He looked down at the street below.

  Green Stone and the others arrived in a wagon drawn by bison, but Qu’yuma was watching Burning Tower dismount from Spike and tie the one-horn to a rail in front of the building.

  “Rival, sir?”

  “Well, her mother put it that way,” Qu’yuma said. “I’ve known for years you were never going to be my son-in-law. Roni’s going to grow up to be like her mother, and it takes a special—well, let’s say that you don’t have the temperament to be married to someone like your Aunt Shanda.”

  “Yes, sir. I thought I did, once, but now I’m sure you’re right.”

  A horse-drawn wagon arrived. Marines carried Commodore Pergammon into the building. It was time for their meeting.

  There were only five captains, including Commodore Pergammon and First Captain Granton. Pergammon was placed in a chair at the center of the table. Another man, darker and in wizard’s robes, sat behind Pergammon and between Pergammon’s ever-present marine attendants.

  Clerks with parchments and pens sat at each end of the table. The captains sat side by side on both sides of Pergammon. Sandry and Green Stone sat opposite Pergammon, with Burning Cloud and Clever Squirrel to Sandry’s left and Lord Qu’yuma to Green Stone’s right. The two groups eyed each other suspiciously.

  “Greetings. It’s not our way to have ladies in our meetings,” Pergammon began bluntly.

  “Burning Tower is my sister and one of the owners of the wagon train,” Green Stone said. “And Clever Squirrel is our shaman. It is our way.”

  Not really, Sandry thought. They don’t always bring women to their meetings. We do, sometimes, but often as not, the Bison Tribe leave the women at home just as we usually do.

  Pergammon shrugged. “As you will. Welcome back, Lord Qu’yuma.”

  “Thank you, Commodore. When I heard my nephew had arrived, I thought it best to return.”

  “Your nephew,” Pergammon said. “You Lords all seem to be related.”

  “Indeed, it is true,” Qu’yuma said. “Difficult to keep track of all my relatives sometimes.” His smile was disarming.

  The clerks wrote furiously. Clearly they were recording everything said, but Sandry didn’t think they were as good at this as the Lords Witness clerks were. They certainly didn’t write as much.

  “Well. It’s pleasant chatting, but there’s work to be done,” Pergammon said. “Lord Sandry, I have a proposition for you. But do I put it to you or Lord Qu’yuma?”

  “Perhaps to both,” Qu’yuma said. “Lord Sandry is a highly competent officer, but perhaps not overly experienced in matters of commerce.”

  “All right. To both of you. We want to hire your wagon train to go to the Inland Sea and back.”

  “It’s not my wagon train,” Sandry said.

  “No, but it’s not much use without your army, is it?” Pergammon demanded. “What we need is to get wagons to the Inland Sea and back. We’ll pay well.”

  “Bison Tribe does not usually hire out as carriers,” Green Stone said. “We prefer to be traders. But we often have partners in our adventures.”

  “Partners. And what would that be, partnering?”

  Green Stone smiled. “We share. Each of us owns half the cargo. Each of us pays half the costs.”

  “Half the cargo. And what would that cargo be?”

  Green Stone’s smile broadened. “Why, Commodore, you would know far better than I what the most profitable cargoes are! I think I know what I wish to buy at Inland Sea, but for the most part, what I buy here and what I will take there for exchange will duplicate what you send and buy.”

  Pergammon snorted. “Qu’yuma, are all your people like this?”

  “They’re not my people,” Qu’yuma said. He looked from Burning Tower to Sandry. “At least not quite yet. But yes, I think you will find there are few fools here.”

  “What do you think you’ll be buying at the Inland Sea?” Pergammon demanded.

  “The ladies of Condigeo gave my sister a wonderful present last night,” Green Stone said. “A magical box. I am sure I could make enormous profits on such a cargo. But perhaps you know of even more profitable items. We would be pleased to learn.”

  “You’re doing all the talking,” Pergammon said. “But it’s the Tep’s Town Lords who have to do the fighting. Qu’yuma, what’s your price here?”

  “Oh, we’re content to learn. And perhaps, say, a tenth part of the value of the cargo that returns here. Of the whole, of course.”

  “A tenth! That’s ruin!” Pergammon said.

  “I thought it generous,” Green Stone said. “Without them, there will be nothing at all. I can’t fight the birds. And it’s clear you can’t either.”

  “So you’ll give them a tenth of your share if we’ll do the same,” Pergammon said. “We’ll have to confer about that.”

  The other captains gathered around Pergammon. There were whispers, but Sandry didn’t understand any of what they said. Finally they took their seats.

  “A tenth, then,” Pergammon said.

  “Clearly we asked for too little,” Qu’yuma said politely.

  “But we pay the protection bets before we divide,” Pergammon added.

  “Half,” Qu’yuma said. “Pay half from the undivided profits, then you will pay the rest from your share alone.”

  “Robbery,” Pergammon muttered. He glanced at the other captains. Clearly they had anticipated this, because they all nodded. “All right,” Pergammon said. “Now, as to how we do this: much of the best cargo for the Inland Sea is large and heavy, heavier than you will like for your wagon train. We propose to send part of that by ship. It should arrive not long after you get there.”

  “And I own half of that cargo too?” Green Stone said.

  “If you buy it, you own it, yes,” Pergammon said.

  “You buy it. I pay half. When it gets to the Inland Sea, your people divide it, and I choose which half I take,” Green Stone said.

  Pergammon conferred with his captains again. “Done.”

  Now they tediously dictated every part of the agreement, and each clerk wrote it down. The two accounts were compared and the documents passed around for inspection. Sandry couldn’t read Condigeano, and he didn’t think Green Stone could either, but Qu’yuma examined the parchments and nodded approval.

  “It is done. So say I. So say you all?”

  The four captains said, “Aye,” in unison.

  “It is agreed, Green Stone of Feathersnake?”

  “Aye.”

  “Qu’yuma and Sandry of Lordshills, is this agreed?”

  “It is.”

  “Then it is done. Witness Jaguar and Cormorant.”

  “And Coyote,” Clever Squirrel said. The look in her eyes that usually appeared when Coyote was present wasn’t there. It was a bluff, Burning Tower thought, but nobody called her on it.

  Chapter Eight

  Protection Bets

  First Captain Granton led them down the stairs to the docks. Green Stone dropped back a few steps and, when Sandry and Qu’yuma followed, asked, “What is a protection bet?”

  Sandry shook his head.

  Qu’yuma said, “I hope to learn a little more about that. My best information is that captains bet against themselves to reduce the risk of a voyage.”

  “How does that work?”

  Qu’yuma answered with a shrug.

  First Captain Granton led them to a teahouse. The sign above the door showed a ship superimposed over a large bell. The ship on the sign looked like one of the wide, fat ones Sandry had noticed that morning. Granton led them inside and up to the second floor.

  To their left was
a public room. Men and women sat and talked in low tones as they drank tea and ate cakes and dried fish. Captains and merchants, Sandry thought. Mostly. And who are these others?

  “Ladies, it is best if you wait here,” Qu’yuma said. He indicated the public room.

  Burning Tower started to protest, but her brother’s frown cut her off. Sandry smiled faintly as Tower let Clever Squirrel lead her to a table.

  Granton led the men through a doorway to the right. Two burly guards sat just inside. They waved greeting as Granton came in. Qu’yuma, Green Stone, and Sandry were waved in only after Granton said, “We have business here.”

  “Certainly, Captain.” A young lady, pretty, expensively dressed, came to greet them. “Will you want your own table?”

  “Yes, that will be best,” he said.

  The room was about the size of the public room, but with fewer tables. Like the public room, it faced onto the sea, but there was no balcony outside the window, only thick thatched eaves jutting out below the windows. It would be difficult to hear anything said in this room down in the streets below, and when he looked out the window Sandry saw armed marines. No one would be listening down there.

  Their table was near the window. A liveried waiter brought a pot of tea and cups. Sandry sipped. Mild tea, no hemp flavor that he could detect. He had seen wine bottles in the public room, but there were none here.

  After a moment, a plainly dressed man in his thirties left his own table and came over. “Captain Granton,” he said. “Do we have business?” He bowed.

  Granton and Qu’yuma stood, so Sandry and Green Stone did as well. “Betting Master Calafi, I present Wagonmaster Green Stone of Feathersnake and Lord Sandry of Lordshills,” Granton said. “You already know Lord Qu’yuma.”

  “Indeed I do. May I join you?” The voice was smooth, educated Condigeano with only the tiniest trace of an accent. Perhaps it is no accent at all, Sandry thought. I haven’t met all that many Condigeanos. But this man has never been a captain—I’m sure of that.