by Dave Freer
He was not to know that there were thoughts of revolution and rebellion going through those two heads as well.
They paddled on downstream. It was one of those days that never quite lost the mist, although there were occasional thin washes of weak sunlight. Soon Cap was asleep in the bow. Leyla looked carefully at him. "With the mix of pills he's fed himself he won't wake for eight hours," she said critically. "He's had that cold brewing for at least a week."
"Bet you," said Keilin with a grin, pulling at his oar, "that our lord and master will say it all happened because I made him jump into the nasty cold water."
"Likely," snorted Bey, but he offered no more comment, just stared out into the mist.
"One thing I want to know, Keilin. Just why did it have to be a barrel, a whole bloody barrel of my favorite perfume? Do you know what the stuff costs for a mingy one-ounce bottle?" Leyla asked smoothly. "Couldn't it have been something cheap and nasty, if you're going to pour it over soldiers, and into the river? And how," she showed her teeth a little, "did you choose that particular perfume?"
Shael, sitting beside her, flushed. The blush spread, and both her complexion and Keilin's became brick red to puce around the ears. "Because he's a peeping tom," Shael said finally, in a small voice, "and because I stole a tiniest little bit of it once."
"Tiny bit! Like half a bottle, little sister?" Leyla teased. "You owe me. When you two have figured out how to do that, without the Morkth added, I want a whole barrel to myself. To swim in."
Keilin noticed that Bey was unusually silent. Usually he would have inserted at least two obscene and probably accurate comments given such an opportunity. And S'kith too simply stared out across the wide river. Always he looked toward the distant Morkth-held eastern shore.
They saw other, larger vessels twice. But by dodging into the reed margins they stayed clear of any possible pursuit. By evening, when Cap had woken and querulously demanded hot broth, which a silent Beywulf made from dried beef shavings, they were far from the disastrous quays of the morning. It was decided to tie up for the night hidden in the tall reed-and-rush fringes. After a very plain scratch supper prepared by a disinterested Beywulf, they all settled for sleep, except for Keilin who took the first watch. Soon it was quiet, except for the usual sleep sounds and the relentless song of the mosquitoes.
The boat rocked slightly. "I can't sleep, Cay." She came across and sat down next to him.
"I'm sorry about your father, Kim." Without thinking he'd slipped back into regarding her as Kim, rather than Shael or Princess.
She sighed. "I thought he was dead . . . back in Shapstone. I'd become rather used to the idea. I didn't really mourn him then, and after this morning's scene I can't even pretend to mourn him now. I'd forgotten how he did everything only to please or help himself. How he used people. I'd also forgotten just how much he frightened me. Am I like that?" she asked, her voice small, plaintive.
Keilin was inherently truthful. He had always found it a severe disadvantage. When he did need to lie it sounded so insincere that he was inevitably caught out. He was sure he'd only got away with it with Cap because Cap was feeling unwell. So this time he took less chances and opted for at least the margin of the truth. "When I first met you, yes."
"You're a beast, even if it is true." She didn't sound terribly upset about it. "And next time you have fantasies about me, please make sure I'm not touching my core section too."
The boy wished an obliging river monster would come and swallow him, seat and all. "I . . . I just needed a diversion . . ." he stuttered, dry-mouthed.
"Oh, am I just a diversion?" she whispered.
"God, do I only open my mouth to change feet?" he groaned. "Ow! What did you do that for?"
She'd leaned over and bitten him on the shoulder, quite hard. "For peeking. Or should I say staring. And for your unflattering memory of the size of my breasts. Just because you have a preference for overendowed milch cows." She thrust her chest forward as she said it.
"Who was lying on my bunk wearing nothing but a bit of warm perfume then?" he asked, vaguely indignant, confused by the hand stroking the bitten shoulder. "Anyway, I remember perfectly." He swallowed. "I looked at them for a long time. They were just perfect."
She bit him again. "That's for staring." Then she kissed the spot. "And that's for the . . . compliment. Cay. Just put an arm around me. I didn't love my father, but he was there . . . and I'm all alone now."
A confused boy-man put his arm around her. "Only if you promise not to bite."
She snuggled in closer. "Well, I suppose that leaves me several other interesting options."
She lay silent against him for a while. After a few minutes Keilin dared a movement of the hand, soft and stroking. No response. He listened to her breathing. Deep and regular. He spoke her name quietly. Still no response. The cloud had broken and the stars stared down. Keilin sat there, ground his teeth, and looked up at the stars, suppressing a howl of frustration with difficulty. He lowered her onto his unrolled bedding, and tucked it round her. He supposed they had been awake for nearly forty stressful hours, but just a few more minutes . . .
He looked down at the sleeping girl, and said quietly to himself. "So you're in my bed, again. Fat lot of good it's doing me." He felt the bites on his shoulder, and tried to think about something else for the rest of his watch. He was not very successful.
Morning brought them a cold, clear sky, and an hour downstream, the start of the great delta. It took several hours to cross the main channel and enter the maze of narrow twisting waterways of reeds and tufted rushes that winter had killed, but not yet stripped and blown down. The winter wind scythed among them, whistling and rattling. And all the channels looked alike. They might have spent several weeks wandering them if they'd not come on a marshman who, suitably bribed, showed them the way, and provided a lunch of smoked eel and gumbo.
Keilin found the complex seafood flavors in the gumbo delectable, although Cap moaned that it was tasteless. S'kith ate with slowness and precision, chewing and tasting. Bey had half a plateful in silence. He didn't even seem to notice what he was eating. Keilin resolved to find out what was wrong, but a very distracting small personage dragged his attention away.
S'kith, however, was not so easily distracted. They'd stopped on a small island to eat and stretch their legs, and he walked over to where Bey was sitting, staring off into space. "You do not eat."
"Yah. Now bug off, Morkthy. Just leave me alone, see."
"But the food is very good. Not as good as yours, but still good. What is wrong?"
"You like my food now, do you? Not still worried that it's hot?" Bey managed to stir some interest.
"No. I have learned that this does enhance the flavors, and also it warms the body. But what is wrong?"
"Not your problem, Morkthy . . . Just worrying about my boy." Beywulf sighed, and took a wary look to see if Cap was sitting well out of earshot. "See, I've followed Cap for seven years. He's a hero to my people for what he's done for our children. Damned good in combat he is too. But . . . he was ready to spend young Keil's life, just like that, back on that quayside. Damn core sections are worth more to him than all of us put together. Now, he's going to take an army against your kind. An' my son'll be one of them. He'll be killed." Bey looked briefly toward Cap again. There was plain and fancy murder in his eyes. The message was clear. If this man was dead . . .
"They are not my kind. The Morkth are the creatures that make humans into less than animals. I hate and fear them in ways that you cannot even begin to understand. I would kill them all. I would kill them for my children's sake. But not at the expense of any of my children."
"Your children, Morkthy—I mean S'kith—did you get some on those girls in Port Lockry, or is there something I don't know about?"
"I had at least 11,312 children still alive when I left the hive. A few will have died. The hives swap human broodstock, as well as children. Some of my own will be in FirstHive."
"You
're serious? Eleven thousand kids! Mind you, I've never known you to tell a lie, or tell a joke for that matter."
"I still struggle to understand jokes. But I do not lie. Let me explain how the hive works . . ." He went on to explain to the horrified Beywulf how he had fathered so many children. "So you see . . . when we attack FirstHive, we will attack the living place of some of my children. I am not unhappy about this. They must be freed from the hive. But I want to keep them alive. I will make you a deal. I will destroy the Morkth communications and power net. Their heavy weapons are tied into the power net too. Only the anti-aircraft units have independent guidance and power. The hive will be nearly helpless. It will be butchery, not war. In exchange I ask only that your people care for the young Morkth children . . . help them to become wild-human. Teach them how wonderful real food is. The brood women too. If you free the warrior sows they will help you, if you speak my name. The worker sows will probably just die. Will you agree? I have recently begun to understand the concept of honor. You are a man of honor."
"You flatter me, S'kith. But yes, anyway. My people love kids. But don't let Leyla hear you calling women sows. She'll skin you before she listens to the rest of the story."
Before any further confidences could be exchanged, they were interrupted. "Let's get this show on the road. I'm keen on my own decent bloody bed in Dublin Moss," Cap called, struggling to his feet. By that evening they'd bought horses and had left the swampy delta margins behind, and they had a comfortable night in a halfway decent inn. The next afternoon would see them in Dublin Moss.
Coming over the hilltop they could suddenly see the Moss Peninsula. It was both breathtaking and bizarre. Blue-and-red-layered sinuous and twisted cliffs snaked and eddied about the green, jagged diamond shape, the rock forming endless oil-on-water patterns. Where the sun shone directly on the cliffs they reflected in mirror dazzle, silvery bright and confusing. The deep-blue sea all around was snaggled with sea-stack teeth and the mostly clifflined shore was tumbled white with heavy surf. On the far side they could make out the slate roofs and white walls. The breeze brought the sound of the waves and the gulls up to them.
Shael said it for them all. "Is it for real?"
Bey chuckled. Both the talk with S'kith and the sight of his home had lifted his spirits tremendously. "Aye, she's a pretty sight, isn't she? And also next to impossible to invade. Probably the most defendable spot on the whole planet. The cliffs are a fairly soft micaceous schist. Mostly they overhang, and they're rotten. No fun to try to scale, believe me. There are a good few thousand miles of natural maze walls. You can get hopelessly lost even if you've lived there all your life. We've had a few attempted attacks, which have usually ended with the would-be attackers paying us to get them out. Bugger of a place to live though. You can shout to the neighbor's farm, but it can take you all day to walk there."
Cap said tiredly, "Stop bragging, Bey. Let's get on. It'll take long enough anyway."
The way onto the peninsula was a knife-blade ridge. The sea crashed and rumbled three hundred feet below, but the breeze still lifted salt spray and occasional spume up from the rolling rock chasm on either side. It was plain that the ridge had been narrowed. They could see the tool marks on the salt-greasy rock. They left the horses a hundred yards short of the ridge, at the hostelry which had sprung up for just that reason. Bey had to be forcibly restrained from buying everyone a welcome-home beer there. They set out along the ridge.
The wind pulled at them. And one never knew which side it would blow from next. The path was barely man-wide. Keilin was very glad he hadn't had that beer. But there was worse to come. The path ended abruptly as the ridge dropped fifty feet in a jagged cliff. A swaying cable bridge spanned the next hundred yards. And there were no guide rails. "How do we get across?" demanded Shael. "I can't walk that thing."
Bey chuckled. "Crawl. Like everyone else. Why should you non-apes have it any easier?" Cap set off.
Shael turned her big eyes on Beywulf. "Can't I go by sea?" she pleaded.
Bey shook his head. "This is easier than the sea path. That makes even the dolphins feel queasy. Come on, big beam. It's not so bad once you're going." He gestured across the gap. "This is Cap's fortress. He's spent three hundred years improving what nature'd made pretty good already."
The town was twenty miles off, as the crow flies, or about forty-five by the shortest land route. And that involved swing bridges, ladders and hoist baskets. Much of the land was farmed, lovingly cultivated. The countryfolk greeted Beywulf with cheers, friendly obscene comments and, from the women, invitations. Cap, however, they treated with awe, and almost infinite respect. He expanded like a sunflower at noonday in the glow of their admiration, examining children, giving pats on the head, and accepting small gifts. It was plain that mobilization here would be eagerly responded to. It was also plain that some who might like to respond to the call could never. Mostly the folk looked much like Bey, although the buxom girls were generally less hairy, but there were also many with malformed limbs . . . or eyes empty of intelligence. In the places Keilin knew, such folk would probably have been abandoned or would have died. Here they showed all the signs of love and care.
It was after dusk when they reached the tavern that Bey had been looking eagerly ahead for. It was already a busy evening there, with calloused hands holding beer tankards, and a happy, warm raucous noise emanated from the public room along with the scent of roast mutton, garlic and rosemary.
"Bumps!" bellowed Bey joyfully from the doorway. "Why's the service so bloody slow in this dump?"
A brief silence fell across the pub, till a broad man in a wheeled chair came forward, grinning broadly. "You noisy bastard. Want a beer, or do I chuck you out?"
For an answer Bey picked him up by the elbows, holding him above his head. "Beer first. Hell, beer for everybody! Then later you can chuck me out, as usual." He looked around at the cheerful room with its polished brassware, gleaming dark wood and a jam-packed bar. "I see you've let the bloody place go to wrack and ruin. Lost most of my blooming customers, too. Probably drunk my damned wine cellar dry as well."
"The old one was too small to keep all the rotten turnips in, so we dug a new one. There might be a few bottles so like cat's pee that nobody has drunk 'em yet. Hell, Bey! It's good to have you home."
"Grand to be back, old man. Where's the boy?"
"Flambéing the orange and brandy sauce for somebody's duck. Probably set the kitchen on fire by now. Just like his dad. You go see him while I dole out beers. I hope you've got the silver for it, 'cause your tick's no good here any more! Are this bunch friends of yours, or do I throw 'em out?" Then he caught sight of Cap standing in the shadows. "Sir! Cap! Come in, come in. If you'll honor the house, that is?"
Cap stepped forward. "I'll have dinner in the private dining room, Bumps, and my usual chamber."
He walked through the now silent room. As he arrived at the far door people began raising their tankards and glasses and calling his health.
The man in the wheelchair led the rest of them through to a table at the back of the room, near the big open fireplace. The room was not the province, as in most of the other taverns Keilin had seen, of a male crowd. In fact, it was about half and half. There were also a few children eating. The comments and invitations as they passed were thus not restricted to wolf whistles for the girls. Keilin kept a tight grip on S'kith's elbow, and seated him firmly, before he could respond to some of the comments from the girls. Within a minute heavy foaming pewter tankards of a brown nutty brew had been plonked down in front of them by a barmaid who made a careful point of rubbing her large and barely contained bosom across Keilin's cheek.
Sweating, Keilin was glad she'd chosen him and not S'kith, despite the look of pure poison Shael gave him. Minutes later Beywulf came through. With him was a giant. A younger carbon copy of Beywulf except for two things. He outtopped the broad man by at least two feet. And his hands were enormous, each with six long spidery fingers.
; "Leyla you know, boy, but Princess Broad-Beam, Keil . . . and my friend S'kith. I want you all to meet my son Wolfgang."
He turned to S'kith. "I've only one boy. But what I lack in numbers I make up for in size." Pride shone from every inch of the broad face.
To their surprise S'kith rose to his feet, extending a hand. "I am pleased to meet the son of a great foodmaker, and an honorable man."
The boy betrayed his youth, with his embarrassment, as he enveloped the hand in a web of fingers. "I'll be cooking for you tonight, sir. But I'm not in my old man's league yet. He's a legend hereabouts. Hard to live up to."
"Nonsense, my boy. The addition of anise to that soup in the kitchen was masterful. They'll be talking about you when I'm long gone."
The boy grinned. "That wasn't what Bumps said. Or at least he said they'd still be swearing about the bloody mess for twenty generations. Wanted to know if I'd left my brains in a bucket, ruining good onion soup like that."
"Absolute rubbish. We'll start with it to prove him wrong. Then the duck, I think. Only don't flambé the sauce in the kitchen. Do it in a chafing dish here. The customer needs to get his eyebrows singed to be suitably impressed. Then those lamb shanks, and an almond tart to finish. I leave the choice of side dishes to you . . . as long as they include the stuffed artichoke bottoms. And to prove your worth, the wines are also in your hands."
* * *
It had been a memorable evening, full of wonderful food, cheerful conversation and hauntingly beautiful and sad music. It was strange. The loud cheerful extrovert nature of the people showed a very different facet in their songs. There was a sea-deep bitterness and terrible poignancy in those lyrics. They were a people wronged, a people exiled. And they would not forget.
That wasn't the only strange thing. Another had been S'kith, after the delicate crumble of the almond tart with its caramelized sugar lacework and lathering of yellow cream, leaping to his feet—and it was amazing he could still leap with all that food in him—and shaking Wolfgang's hand furiously. He then demanded that the boy help to teach his children to cook. Puzzled, and not a little alarmed, Wolf had nodded. And Bey had shouted with laughter. "You've just acquired a couple of thousand sous-chefs, son."