The Burning City

by Larry Niven

  "Ah. Your girl?"

  I already told you more than you have to know! But the question seemed innocent enough. Maybe people here talked about such things. Tras Preetror had.

  Willow wouldn't understand him. Whandall said, "I hope so."

  Kettle Belly smiled. "Good. Fine-looking girl. Here, follow me. We'll get you something to eat."

  "Thanks. We could use fire too."

  Kettle Belly laughed heartily. "A Valley of Smokes harpy can't make fire?"

  Whandall wanted to resent that, but Kettle Belly seemed so friendly and well intentioned that he couldn't. Instead he laughed. "Never learned how...ever needed to."

  "Guess I understand that all right," Kettle Belly said. "You come on with me, then." He turned to one of the children. "Number Three-"

  "I'm Four."

  Kettle Belly roared laughter again, and gave instructions. He turned back to Whandall. "I told him to let Mother know we've got company. And he'll look up Haj Fishhawk's wife. She came from the Valley of Smokes; she'll be able to talk to your friends. When you're ready to trade those one-horns, let me know; I'll give you a good price and show you how to drive bison."

  "Why would I want to sell them?"

  Kettle Belly smiled indulgently. "Well... something might come up."

  Ruby Fishhawk was at least fifty, a kinless woman with soft eyes and long fluffy hair gone white. As soon as she met Willow she began asking questions about family. Who was Willow's mother? Who was her father's mother? In minutes she found that Willow's father's mother had married Ruby's aunt's brother, and Willow's mother's brother was Ruby's cousin.

  "But you're tired. Kettle Belly says you don't have fire! How long?"

  "Three days," Willow said.

  "You poor thing! Come with me; I have a bathtub. I love my husband, I love the trader folk, but they don't bathe properly! Sweat lodges are all very well, but there's nothing like a proper bath! Come on; I'll show you-"

  "What about the horses?" Willow asked. "Whandall can't handle them ..."

  Ruby grinned as if Willow had made a good joke. "We'll take care of that." She spoke rapidly to Kettle Belly.

  He nodded and pointed to a second and larger corral beyond the circle of wagons. There were two of the one-horned stallions. Each stood in his own part of the corral. One had the company of two gray shorthorn mares. The other was alone. They eyed Whandall's team and snuffled. Whandall's mare whinnied.

  Girls younger than Willow carried fodder to the corral. One of the girls was watching the strangers with evident curiosity. Kettle Belly gestured and she came over to them. She was shapely, a little younger than Willow and just beginning to show as a woman. Whandall found her pretty in an exotic way. Her hair was long and straight, tied with a bow of orange ribbon, and she smiled at Whandall.

  Kettle Belly spoke rapidly, finally saying "Whandall." The girl smiled, and nodded to Whandall. "Her name translates to Orange Blossom," Kettle Belly said. "You'll learn to say it, but not now. I think she likes you."

  Orange Blossom smiled shyly.

  "She'll take care of your one-horns. Your wagon will be safe enough here next to mine."

  Orange Blossom began to unhitch the horses. Whandall watched, wondering what to do. The horses and wagon were all they owned. He saw that Kettle Belly was watching him with wry amusement.

  "It'll be all right, lad," Kettle Belly said. "Think about it, we're Bison Clan wagon traders. Everyone knows who we are. If we were thieves, would any town trust us? It's not like we could run! Not with bison pulling the wagons!"

  Orange Blossom slipped a bridle on the mare. She didn't bother with the stallions. She led the mare toward the corral, and the stallions followed docilely.

  "Young colts," Kettle Belly said. "Give them another year, they'll fight. Right now they won't be any problem."

  Ruby was still talking. "Well, that's all settled, then. Come, Willow." She led Willow off into the circle of wagons.

  "She hasn't heard her own language since the last time we went to Condigeo," Kettle Belly said. "She has kinfolk there. Kinfolk as she reckons them, anyway. Well, come on, lad, there's better things than bathtubs! Tell the youngsters to go with Number Four there; he'll find them something to eat."

  "Number Four?" Whandall asked.

  "Ho, we don't give boys names like they do in the cities," Kettle Belly said. "When they're old enough, they find their names. Until then we just call them by their father's name, unless there's so many they have to have numbers. Anyway, Four will see the kids are fed. You come with me."

  Whandall explained to the Ropewalkers and Millers who had been listening without comprehension.

  Carver thought he should stay with the children. Carter had a different idea. He wanted to go with Whandall. Whandall was about to say it was all right with him when he saw that Carver didn't approve. "You'd better help your kin," Whandall said.

  "All right, Whandall," Carter said.

  Kettle Belly led Whandall to one of the big wagons. The wagons were roofed over with hoops covered with some kind of cloth. The roof was high enough that Whandall thought he would be able to stand under it, but they didn't go inside. Kettle Belly led him around the wagon and into the circle.

  An awning had been attached to the top of the wagon and led out to poles, so that it made a high-roofed shed to shade them from the sun. Large boxes made low walls around the covered area. The area under the roof was carpeted, and there was a bench just outside it. Kettle Belly sat on the bench and began pulling off his boots. He indicated that Whandall should do the same.

  "We mostly take off our shoes before we go in," he said. "Saves the women some work."

  Whandall considered that. It was a new way of looking at things.

  The carpet felt strange to his bare feet. He had seen carpets in Lordshills, but he'd never walked on one. These were brighter in color and seemed sturdy. He thought the Lords would pay well for one. "How are these made?" he asked.

  "What, the carpets? Woven," Kettle Belly said. "From wool. This one was done by hill shepherds. They weave them in winter." He turned back a corner of the carpet. The underside was covered with thousands of small knots.

  "It must take a long time."

  "It docs," Kettle Belly said. "This one probably took eight or ten years to make. You can get cheaper ones in towns. Weave won't be as close, flax and hemp threads in the wool. There may be some for sale here when the market opens tomorrow. Have a seat."

  They sat on wool-stuffed pillows. The pillows were woven of a coarse material like the carpets, but they had different designs. Kettle Belly sat with his legs out, his back against one of the wagon boxes.

  If you had to live out of a wagon, carpets were a good idea, Whandall thought. "Do they sell good carpets here?"

  Kettle Belly smiled. "Well, I wouldn't want the Firewoods Town people to hear me say," he said. He watched Whandall react to that and grinned. "Marsyl carpets look all right, but Marsyl Town doesn't get cold enough in winter. Sheep here don't have the best wool. We buy Marsyl carpets when we're headed south and we don't have a full load. They sell all right down Condigeo way."

  "You're not going south," Whandall guessed. Tras Preetror had said that Condigeo was six days' sail south of Tep's Town.

  "Right."

  Kettle Belly clapped his hands. A woman about his age came out from behind the wagon boxes. She was darker than Kettle Belly and considerably thinner. Her skirts were leather with designs tattooed on them in bright colors. Some of the tattoos were emphasized by colored thread sewn into patterns. Her dark hair was pulled back and tied with a ribbon but not plaited like the men wore theirs.

  Kettle Belly stood when the woman came into the enclosed area, and after a moment Whandall did too.

  "Whandall, my wife Mirime. I'm afraid she doesn't speak much Condigeano." Kettle Belly spoke rapidly in a tongue that meant nothing to Whandall, but he thought he heard the word harpy. Mirime didn't look happy with her new guest, but finally she nodded and went out betw
een the boxes to what must have been another room. In a moment she returned carrying a tray with two cups and a bottle. She set it down on the carpet, bowed slightly, and left.

  Kettle Belly waved Whandall to the cushions. He filled both cups and handed one of them to Whandall. The cup reminded Whandall of the thin-walled cups the Lords used, and like the Lords' cups it had figures painted on it. There was a ship on one side, and a woman with a fishtail on the other.

  It was filled with a wine that smelled wonderful. Whandall was about to gulp it down when he saw that Kettle Belly sipped at his, then watched Whandall. Whandall sipped too. It was smooth and sweet, nothing like the wines he'd had in Tep's Town. He sipped again. In moments the cup was empty.

  Kettle Belly refilled the cup from the stone jug. "We saw big smoke last week," he said. "Burning?"

  Whandall nodded. "Yes."

  Kettle Belly clucked. "Never did understand that. Why would you want to burn your city down?"

  "Not everyone wants to," Whandall said.

  "Sure. Ruby Fishhawk told me. There's two kinds of harpies, ones like her who put the fires out and the other kind."

  "Kinless and Lordkin," Whandall said.

  "Yep, that's what she called them."

  "Lordkin follow Yangin-Atep," Whandall said. "When the fire god takes a man, the Burning starts." The wine cup was empty again. Kettle Belly filled it without being asked. Whandall drank more.

  "Lordkin do other things," Whandall said morosely.

  "Thieves, aren't they?"

  "We gather. In Tep's Town that's not stealing. Not for Lordkin."

  "It is here," Kettle Belly said.

  "Willow is kinless," Whandall said. He hesitated. The wine burned in his stomach. "So are the others. But I'm Lordkin."

  "Well, of course you are," Kettle Belly said. The laughter was back in his voice, and his smile was broad.

  "You knew?"

  Kettle Belly roared with laughter. "Whandall, Whandall, everybody knows."

  Whandall frowned. "How?"

  For answer, Kettle Belly called out, "Mirime! Bring the mirror."

  The woman came back in carrying a bronze mirror that Kettle Belly polished with a clean soft cloth, then handed to Whandall. "You don't have a mirror, do you?"

  Whandall looked.

  He saw a bright feathered serpent with a man's face under it.

  "Other places, other customs," Kettle Belly said. "Tep's Town isn't the only place that has tattoos. But they're said to be gaudier among the Lord-kin harpies, and Whandall, no place have I seen anything like that! It's why no one was afraid of you, you know."

  "I don't understand." Whandall found the wine buzzing in his head and heard his speech thicken. "The tattoo, it's prob'ly Atlantis."

  "Atlantis! But you're not from Atlantis."

  "No, no ... made friends with an Atlantis wizard," Whandall said, wondering why he was talking so much to this stranger.

  "Well, he did you proud. But Whandall, anyplace you go, anything you do, it'll he known all up and down the road in weeks." Kettle Belly said. "You're the easiest man to describe on the Hemp Road!"

  "Is it ugly?" Whandall asked.

  "Takes getting used to, I'll say that," Kettle Belly said. "But once you do, it's sort of pretty."

  Whandall drained his cup and held it out again. Kettle Belly leaned over to fill it, then stopped. "Sure?"

  "No. Dumb." Whandall's fist closed, hiding the cup. "But this, my brother was looking for this."

  "Meaning?"

  "Good wine. Wanshig was sure. Never tasted anything like this, but he was sure. Like I was sure there's a way out an' I finally found it."

  Kettle Belly nodded understanding. "Question is, can you hold it?"

  It wasn't a familiar term to Whandall. It? Wine. "Sure."

  "I hope so," Kettle Belly said. "Lad, I hope so. You're not the first, you know."

  Whandall frowned the question.

  "Other Lordkin harpies come out. Why do you think we call you harpies? Most don't last. The lucky ones get put back. Most get killed when it's too much trouble to put them back."

  "What happens to the rest?"

  "There aren't many. You met Ruby Fishhawk. There are two harpy guards with Lonesome Crow's wagon train, and I hear tell of a harpy leather smith up in Paradise Valley. Not sure I know of any others. Maybe a few more women."

  Whandall thought about that. "There's no way to put me back."

  "I knew you were smart. You can control yourself too. Sober, you can, anyway."

  How would he know that? What magic did they have here?

  "Tell you what, let's have some water," Kettle Belly said. "More wine with dinner. First let me show you around."

  Chapter 41

  The wagons weren't like Whandall's. They were well designed and bigger. There were cargo wagons and wagons to hold bales of hay and fodder, but every family had one that was like a house on wheels. Those were covered by a roof of closely woven cloth held up by metal hoops, and they had a complicated harness arrangement to attach them to the weirdly shaped bison.

  "Keeps our Greathand busy," Kettle Belly said. "The blacksmith. And lots of leatherwork. But there's no magic needed. Lots of people on the road. Magic runs thin along the Hemp Road. Best not to depend on magic too much."

  Whandall nodded. "There's not much magic in Tep's Town."

  "That's what they tell me," Kettle Belly said.

  "You call it the Hemp Road."

  Kettle Belly shrugged. "There's other commerce. Probably as much wool as anything else. But hemp's a stable product. Always a demand for good hemp. Fiber, rope, smoking flowers, hemp tea, hemp flower gum. You can always get a good price for good hemp."

  "Doesn't it try to kill you?" Whandall asked.

  "What, hemp?"

  "Maybe it forgot how," Whandall muttered. Kettle Belly looked at him strangely but didn't say anything.

  The wagons they lived out of were bare inside. Kettle Belly explained, "We don't so much live in the wagons as just outside of them. The wagon boxes nearly till the wagons when we're on the road, and make the walls when we're in camp. See, some of the boxes open from the side, some from the top. Stack the boxes, spread the canopy roof, spread the carpets, lash everything down, and you've got your travel nest. We can be done an hour after we make camp if everyone works together."

  It was all new to Whandall. No Lordkin, no kinless. Just people who worked like kinless but kept what they made... .

  "Who owns all this?" Whandall asked.

  "Well, that's complicated," Kettle Belly said. "Lot of this stuff is owned by the wagon train. Most families own a cargo wagon; a few own two; I own three. And every family owns a house wagon and team of bison. That's the bride's dowry." He grimaced. "Five girls I've had. Married off two. Three to go, three more outfits to buy! But my girls get the best. You should see what I'm having made for Orange Blossom. There's a smithy fifty leagues up the road, makes great wagons. Like this one. We'll collect hers next time we're through there, sometime this summer. She'll have to beat the boys away with a stick after they see that rig!"

  Like kinless, Whandall thought. Kinless men took care of their daughters. Lordkin men seldom knew who their children were. A boy could look like his mother's man, and then it was pretty clear, but you never knew with girls.

  Dowry. A new word, and Kettle Belly talked so fast Whandall wasn't sure of everything he had said. There was too much to learn. And yet. Whandall grinned broadly. He had learned one thing-he had a chance here. A real chance.

  The market area was a field beyond the town. There were tents and wagons with platforms, and an air of messiness as townsfolk and wagoneers hastened to set up the fairgrounds. "It'll look pretty good in the morning," Kettle Belly said. He led the way to a large tent at one corner of the field. Orange Blossom supervised as four children worked to lay out carpets, set up tables, and generally make preparations.

  "So, Whandall, got anything to sell?" Kettle Belly asked.

  "You
can see the wagon's empty-"

  "Mostly I see it's got a false bottom." Kettle Belly chuckled. "No telling what you've got in there. Of course that's the idea. Anyway, I won't charge you much to set you up a table in my tent."

  "Is this a good place to sell?" Whandall asked.

  Kettle Belly shook his head. "Depends on what you're selling. Oh, well, not really. Not a lot to buy here, either, other than food and hay, leastways not going north in spring. We'll buy some berries. Crops ripen here quicker than they do up north; sometimes you can turn a good profit moving berries north while people are sick of winter food. But they won't have much, and you have to be careful. Berries spoil fast if you hit u stretch where the magic's weak."

  "Then why do you stop here?"

  "Heh, lad, we don't have any choice. The bison go only so far, then they stop for a couple of days. Have to let them rest up and fill their bellies. That's most of this town's excuse for existence, wagon stop on the Hemp Road." He eyed Whandall critically. "And now we have to come to some agreement."

  "What does that mean?" Whandall turned wary, and crouched slightly.

  "Knife fighter. Lonesome Crow tells me you harpies are good at knife fighting," Kettle Belly said.

  "Good enough," Whandall said. "What kind of agreement?"

  "Boy, you keep asking for information. It cost me to learn what you want to know. Should I tell you for free?"

  Whandall considered that. "Wizards trade information," he said. "Tellers trade stories. I studied with a teller."

  "Yes, but you don't know anything I need to know," Kettle Belly said. "Leastwise I doubt you do. Stories are good. You can eat off good stories. Any night you have a good story, dinner's free. But what do you know that I need to know?" By now he must have seen Whandall's grin.

  "Great Hawk Bay," Whandall said. "They'll pay well for herbs and spices."

  "Depends on the spices," Kettle Belly said. "We don't get that far west. There's a market in Golden Valley that pays better than Great Hawk, for that matter. Great Hawk's on the sea, they get ship trade. Whandall, do you have Valley of Smokes spices in that wagon bottom?"

  Whandall considered his options. None of them seemed very good. Might as well tell the truth. "Some."