by Various
"You wouldn't feel a thing," Meinora smiled. "But don't get any ideas. Without amplification, you couldn't control your shield properly. You'd have protection, but your refraction control's entirely mental, and levitation direction depends on mental, not physical control, remember?"
"But how about you? You don't use amplification. Neither do several of the other team chiefs."
Meinora shrugged. "No," he admitted, "we don't need it, except in abnormal circumstances. But we don't go around scaring transvisors. They can't kill us, but they can make us pretty sick. You see we're a little sensitive in some ways." He shook his head. "No, the only advantage I've got is that I can spot a transvisor by her mental pattern--if I get close enough. There's a little side radiation that can be detected, though it won't pass an amplifier. When you've felt it once, you'll never forget it. Makes you uncomfortable." He smiled wryly.
"And you can believe me," he added, "when I do get close to a transvisor, I'm very, very careful not to frighten her."
* * * * *
Winter passed, and spring, and summer came. Nal Gerda, Officer of the Guard, stood on the small wharf below the old watchtower. He looked across the narrows, examined the cliff opposite him, then looked upward at the luminous sky. There were a few small clouds, whose fleecy whiteness accentuated the clear blue about them. Brilliant sunshine bathed the wharf and tower, driving away the night mists.
It would not be long before the new guard came down the cliff. Gerda stretched and drew a deep breath, savoring the summer morning air. Now, it was pleasant, a happy contrast to the sullen skies and biting winter winds he had faced a few short months ago.
For a time, he looked at the green atop the cliffs, then he transferred his attention upriver, toward the bend where the Nalen came out of the pass to blow between the iron cliffs of Menstal. The water flowed swiftly in the narrows, throwing off white glints as its ripples caught the sunlight, then deepening to a dark blue where it came into the shadow of the cliffs.
A sudden call sounded from the lookout far above, and the officer wheeled about, looking to the great chain which stretched from tower to cliff, to block river traffic. It was in proper position, and Gerda looked back at the bend.
As he watched, a long, low barge drifted into sight, picking up speed as it came into the rapid current. Polemen balanced themselves alertly in the bow, their long sticks poised to deflect their course from any threatening rocks.
Gerda threw off the almost poetical admiration of beauty that had possessed him a moment before and faced the guard house, from whence came a scuffle of feet and the clank of arms, to tell of the guard's readiness.
"Turn out the Guard." Gerda drew himself up into a commanding pose.
A group of men-at-arms marched stiffly out, followed by a pair of serfs. The leader saluted Gerda with upraised hand.
"The Guard is ready, My Captain," he proclaimed. "May the tax be rich."
Gerda returned the salute. "It will be," he stated positively. "These merchants have learned by now that to insult Portal Menstal with poor offerings is unwise in the extreme. And, mark me, they'll not forget!"
The barge approached and swung in toward the wharf in obedience to Gerda's imperious gesture. One of the polemen jumped ashore, securing a line to a bollard.
The steersman climbed to the dock, to halt a pace in front of Gerda. He folded his hands and bowed his head submissively.
"Does Your Honor desire to inspect the cargo?"
"Of course." Gerda's haughty glance appraised the man from toe to crown. "Quickly now. I've little time to waste." He glanced back at his clerk, who had a tablet ready.
"Your name, Merchant?"
"Teron, of Krongert, may it please you, sir. I have been to----"
Gerda waved an impatient hand. "Save me your speech, Higgler," he said curtly. "What's your cargo value?"
"Six thousand teloa, Your Honor. We have----"
"Unload it. I'll look at it." Gerda waved the man to silence.
* * * * *
As the bales of goods were placed on the wharf, Gerda examined them critically. A few, he ordered set aside after a quick check and a few questions. Others, he ordered opened and spread out. At last, satisfied with his estimate of the cargo's valuation, he turned.
"Your choice, Merchant?"
"I would pay, Your Honor," said the man, "to the tenth part of my cargo." He extended a leather bag.
"Don't haggle with me," snapped Gerda. "The tax is a fifth of your cargo, as you should well know." His hand sought his sword hilt.
The merchant's face fell a little, and he produced a second bag, which he held out to the officer. "I must apologize," he said. "I am new to this land."
"See that you learn its customs quickly, then." Gerda handed the bags to his clerk.
"Check these, Lor," he ordered. "I make it a thousand, six hundred teloa."
An expression of dismay crossed the merchant's face.
"Your Honor," he wailed, "my cargo is of but six thousand valuation. I swear it."
Gerda stepped forward swiftly. His hand raised, to swing in a violent, back-handed arc, his heavy rings furrowing the merchant's face. The man staggered back, involuntarily raising a hand to his injured cheek.
As a couple of the men-at-arms raised their pikes to the ready, the merchant righted himself, folded his hands again, and bowed in obeisance. Blood trickled down his chin, a drop spattering on his clothing. He ignored it.
"You would dispute my judgment?" Gerda drew his hand up for a second blow. "Here is no market place for your sharp bargaining. For your insolence, another five hundred teloa will be exacted. Make speed!"
The merchant shook his head dazedly, but offered no word of protest. Silently, he dug into his possessions, to produce a third bag. For a moment, he weighed it in his hand, then reached into it, to remove a few loose coins. Without raising his head, he extended the bag to the officer of the guard.
Gerda turned. Lor had gone into the guard house, to count the other two bags. The officer raised his voice.
"Lor, get back out here. I've more for you to count."
He tossed the bag to the clerk, then stood, glaring at the unfortunate trader. At last, he kicked the nearest bale.
"Well," he growled, "get this stuff off the wharf. What are you waiting for?"
He watched the barge crew load, then turned. Lor came from the guard house.
"All is in order, My Captain."
"Very well." Gerda looked at him approvingly. Then, he swung to the merchant, fixing him with a stern glare.
"We shall make note of your name, Merchant. See thou that you make honest and accurate valuation in the future. Another time, we shall not be so lenient. The dungeon of Menstal is no pleasant place."
He watched till the last of the bargeload was stowed, then nodded curtly.
"You may shove off," he said. He turned his head toward the tower.
"Down chain," he ordered loudly.
* * * * *
The windlass creaked protestingly and the heavy chain dropped slowly into the river. The barge steered to the center of the channel, gathering speed as it passed over the lowered chain.
When the barge had cleared, serfs inside the tower strained at the windlass in obedience to the commands of their overseer, and the chain rose jerkily, to regain its former position across the stream.
Gerda watched for a moment, then strode toward the guard house. He went inside, to look at the bags of coin on the counting table.
"Cattle," he growled, "to think they could cheat the Baron Bel Menstal of his just tax."
He stepped back out for a moment, to watch the merchant barge enter the rapids beyond the chain. Then, he swung about and re-entered the tower.
Inside, he sat down at his counting table. He opened the bags, spilling their contents out on the boards, and checked their count.
There were forty-eight over.
He turned to his clerk.
"What was your count, Lor?"
"Two thousand, one hundred, sir, and forty-eight."
"Very good." Gerda smiled a little. "For once in his thieving life, the merchant was anxious to give full weight."
Lor spread his hands. "He'll get it back, and more, at Orieano, sir."
"Oh, to be sure." Gerda shrugged indifferently as he scooped the coins back into the bags. He chose three small scraps of wood, scrawled tally marks on them, and went over to a heavy chest.
Taking a key from his belt, he unlocked the chest and raised its lid. He looked at the bags lying within, then tossed the new ones on top of them. As he locked the chest again, he saw Lor go to his account board, to enter the new collection.
The Officer of the Guard straightened, stretched for a moment, then glanced critically in at the windlass room. The serfs had secured the windlass and racked their poles. Now, they were sitting, hunched against the wall, staring vacantly, in the manner of serfs. The guardroom, its commander noted, was properly clean. He shrugged and walked out again to the wharf. Once more, he looked at the iron cliffs opposite him, then glanced downriver. The merchant barge had disappeared.
* * * * *
Beyond Menstal, the cliffs closed in still farther, to become more rugged and to form a narrow gorge. Between them, the Nalen took a tortuous course, turbulently fighting its way over the rocks. Eventually, it would drop into the lowlands, to become a broad, placid river, lowing quietly under the sunshine to water the fields of Orolies. But during its passage through the mountains, it would remain a dark, brawling torrent.
The merchant barge swept through the rapids just beyond Menstal, her polemen deftly preventing disaster against the rocks. At last, as the gorge became a little wider, the steersman guided his course toward a small beach beneath the cliffs. With his free hand, he thoughtfully rubbed his injured cheek.
As the boat's keel grated against gravel, he shook his head and stepped forward. For a moment, he fumbled under a thwart, then he brought out a small case.
"Konar," he called, "fix this thing up for me, will you?" He opened the case and laid it on the thwart.
One of the polemen laid his stick down and came aft.
"Pretty nasty clip, wasn't it, sir?"
Meinora grinned. "Guy's got a heavy hand, all right," he admitted. "Made me dizzy for a second. Almost got mad at him."
Konar raised an eyebrow. "I felt it," he said. "Good thing Ciernar and I backed you up a little. Wouldn't help us much to knock out the baron's river detachment right now, would it?" He reached into the case.
"Looks as though the merchants weren't exaggerating, if you ask me," he added. He approached Meinora, a small swab in his hand.
"Hold still, sir," he instructed. "This'll sting for a few seconds." He dabbed at the cut cheek, then reached back into the case for an instrument.
"Ouch!" Meinora winced. "Did you have to use that stuff full strength? After all, I can wait a couple of hours for it to heal." He shook his head as his companion turned back toward him, then dashed involuntary tears from his eyes and blinked a few times to clear his vision.
"No," he added, "the merchants aren't exaggerating a bit on this one. Bel Menstal's a pretty rough customer, and he keeps rough boys. Now, we'll see whether he's the guy we've been looking for, the guy with our equipment."
Konar focused the small instrument on his superior's face, passing it along the line of the jagged cut. "You didn't explain that part."
"Simple enough." Meinora grinned wolfishly. "Those coins were a Vadris-Kendar alloy. Now that they're out of their force field, they'll start to sublimate. In a couple of hours or so, they'll be gone, and someone will be asking a lot of questions. Set up the detectors. If the baron is the boy we think he is, we should be getting a fairly strong reading shortly after that guard's relieved."
* * * * *
From somewhere atop the cliff, a bell tolled. The hoarse voice of the lookout drifted down to the wharf.
"Relieve the guard."
Nal Gerda looked up. A line of men were coming down the steep path, stepping cautiously as they wound about the sharp turns. Gerda nodded and walked back into the guard room.
"Draw up your guard," he ordered.
He beckoned to two of the serfs.
"Take the chest," he directed, "and stay close in front of me."
Herding the bearers before him, he went out to the wharf. His guard was drawn up in their proper station, facing upstream, so that they could view both the steps from the cliff and the river. No traffic was in sight in the long gorge.
The new guard came slowly down the trail, formed at the foot of the steps, and marched to the tower portal. Their commander dressed their ranks, motioned to his clerk, and came forward, saluting as he approached Gerda.
"Anything unusual?"
"Nothing," Gerda told him. "Seven barges, this watch. Traders are gathering for the fair at Orieano."
"I know," the other agreed. "We'll have rich collections for the rest of the summer, what with fairs all down the valley. You'll be going to the Orieano Fair?"
"Got my permission yesterday. I'm to ride with the Baron. Have to give the merchants back part of their money, you know."
"Yes, I suppose so." The other grinned, then sobered. "I'll relieve you, sir."
"Very good." Gerda saluted, then turned.
"March off the old guard," he ordered.
The men started up the steps. Gerda followed the serfs with the money chest, bringing up to the rear.
Slowly, they toiled their way up the trail, halting at the halfway point for a brief rest. At last, they were at the top of the cliff. Before them, the castle gate opened. Within the tunnellike passage through the wall, two sentries grounded their pikes.
Gerda nodded to his clerk, accepted the account tablet, and followed his serfs, who still bore the money chest, into the castle.
Inside the main counting room, his bearers set the chest on a large table. The castle steward came toward them.
"And how were collections?"
"Reasonably good, sir. Seven barges came through during the night, with good cargoes." Gerda held out the tablet.
The steward looked at it, checking off the entries. "Meron, of Vandor--Yes, he would have about that. And Borowa? A thousand?" He nodded thoughtfully. "That seems about right for him." He tapped the tablet a few times, squinting at the last name on the list. "But who is this Teron? I never heard of him. Must have had a rich cargo, too."
Gerda laughed shortly. "He's a new one to me. He tried to get away with a tenth, then protested the valuation. I fined him an extra five hundred."
"Oho!" The steward smiled thinly. "What then?"
Gerda shook his head. "Oh, he was suddenly so anxious to pay the right amount, he gave me forty-eight teloa overweight. I'll know him next time I see him, I'm sure. I marked him well for receipt."
He inspected his knuckles reflectively, then took the key from his belt and opened the chest.
"You'll want to verify my count, of course?"
"Oh, yes. Yes, to be sure. Have to be certain, you know. And there's your share of the fine and overpayment to be taken care of." The steward reached into the chest, removing bags which clinked as they were dropped to the table. He stopped, to look into the chest with a puzzled expression on his face.
"And what are these?" He reached in, to withdraw three obviously empty bags. He looked curiously at the thongs which tied their mouths, then shook them and looked questioningly at Gerda.
"Why, I ... I don't know." Gerda looked incredulously at the bags. "Certainly, I had no extra money bags."
"I should think not." The steward frowned, then beckoned behind him. Two heavily armed guards approached.
"We'll have to examine into this."
As the guards came close to Gerda, the steward looked closely at the bags on the table, then picked one up, opening it.
"Borowa," he muttered after looking inside and comparing the tally chip with the count tablet. He weighed the bag in his hand. "Yes, it seems to be about rig
ht. Certainly not overweight." He picked up another, then still another. At last, he looked up.
"Of course, I shall have to count all of these carefully," he remarked grimly, "but I see no coin from this Teron you have listed." He stared coldly at Gerda. "And the tower lookout confirms that you had seven barges. That was a considerable amount. What did you do with that money?"
"Why, I counted it. It was all there." Gerda shook his head unbelievingly. "My count agreed with that of my clerk, and I dropped tallies in and closed the bags again." He looked uneasily at the two guards who flanked him. "Surely, you don't think I'd be so foolish as to tamper with the Baron's taxes? Think, man! I know the Baron's ways!"
"I'm not sure just what I think--yet." The steward shook his head. He picked up one of the empty bags, opened it, and gave it a shake. The small tally chip fell out and he picked it up, comparing it with the list on the tablet. Frowning thoughtfully, he opened the other two bags. More small blocks of wood fell out. He looked at the bags, then tossed them aside and looked coldly at the guard officer.
"It's witchcraft," cried Gerda. "I had nothing----"
"We'll see." The steward motioned at the two guards. "Search this man."
* * * * *
Dazedly, Gerda stood still, submitting as one of the guards went through his clothing while the other stood ready to deal with any resistance. The searcher made a thorough examination of Gerda's clothing, muttered to himself, and went over his search again. A pile of personal objects lay on the table when he had finished. At last, he looked at the prisoner, then faced his chief.
"He has nothing on him, sir, not even a teloa."
"So I see." The steward frowned, then looked at Gerda.
"You may reclaim your possessions now, captain. Is there any chance that your clerk might have opened the money chest?"
Gerda shook his head. "I don't see how he could, sir, unless he had a duplicate key, and that's hardly possible. I kept the chest locked at all times, and the key never left my person."
"And there is no chance that any of your men could have hidden anything on the way here?"
Again, Gerda shook his head. "None," he said positively. "I was behind them all the way, and would have seen if any had made any unusual motion."