Saart and I rumbled out of a side door in the wooden fence surrounding the customs area, and turned to the city. Its skyline rose above me, the largest mercantile firms in the city center over twenty stories tall. Another huge building was in the midst of construction, scaffolding covering the metal exterior. Where the structure showed through, the polished steel gleamed in the morning sunlight. No other city I knew of had so much metal in once place.
“Did you have to tell Amra about the Kirian maggot flu?” I asked him.
The speaking tube between the pilot and engine sections crackled a moment before Saart’s voice came through, gruff as usual.
“Boy, you’ve been tiptoeing around that girl for the last six cycles. Would you have ever told her if I didn’t?”
I thought about that a moment. “Probably not.”
“Then it’s a good thing I did. I may not have a lady-friend myself, but I know how to treat one. If she leaves, our books are going to be as muddled up as they were when you were in charge of them, and no one wants that.” Not to mention what it would do to me.
I blew out a breath. Saart stayed out of the money—and relationship—side of the business as much as possible. But when he decided to comment, the old Festuour was usually right.
“Fair comment,” I said. And we left it at that.
The two of us consulted over the speaking tube as I drove and he shoveled coal. We bought the transport almost fourteen cycles ago, just after we met. I had been a fresh-faced teen, Saart older, but fed up with working in a repair shop on Festuour. We met in a bar one night, hit it off, decided to go into business, and never looked back.
Between the two of us, we figured out where the old junkyard had been, on the outskirts of Kashidur City. If it was still there.
It took the better part of two hours to find it, tucked away between a warehouse storing bins of minerals and ore, and a newly constructed store selling replacement parts for wagons and transports. The yard was smaller than I remembered. I could see the ridge of another vehicle like ours, but this one rusted beyond use, with a hole blown in one side large enough to run through. The transport we bought had been in better shape than most.
We pulled into the yard to a chorus of dogs barking. The junkyard mutts were all chained up, though well taken care of. I hopped down from the pilot’s cabin. A few moments later Saart huffed down the stairs from the steam engine, wiping coal dust from his glasses off on his fur.
“Well, now what?” He adjusted his bandolier and glasses, though I saw he had unbuttoned a couple pockets to make sure his larger, heftier tools were within reach. He didn’t have the same attraction to guns Bhon did.
“Now we hope the old coot is still alive,” I answered.
We threaded a path through the junk. Someone was obviously here. The dogs would have been loose to guard the yard if they were out. Saart pointed to a little shack, hidden behind a stack of broken cartwheels. I had vague memories of finishing our business deal to buy the transport in there. The piles of broken parts and garbage had grown since then, almost covering the building. As we progressed, the path narrowed, until we were slithering sideways between stacks. I heard Saart grunt as he pushed through two piles of broken tile shingles, stacked on top of each other.
The entrance to the building was blocked by the huge, outreaching forelimb of a system beast carcass, evidently too run-down to be useful. The junkyard owner must have been working on it. This one was shaped like one of the predatory thrycovolars of equatorial Festuour, long drained of any magical energy and fallen on its side. I reached out to move the jointed forepaw to clear the doorway, but my hand went dead as I touched the beast. I pulled it back sharply, shaking it, holding it to my chest.
“What? What happened?” Saart was next to me in an instant, looking me over.
“We’ve reached the majus,” I told him. The feeling was starting to come back to my hand. There was no way we could get to the building without moving the beast, or at least its forearm. “Help me shift this thing.”
“Hey in there!” called Saart. “Do you want customers or not?”
No answer.
“Come on. Even if he doesn’t, we have to see him.” I put my shoulder to the bear-cat monster’s foreleg. The feeling in my arm started to drain away, but the layers of clothing in between helped. Saart didn’t have that luxury, and hissed through his pointed teeth as he pushed. Time was wasting, but by resting every few moments, the feeling would come back to our extremities, and the forepaw, as big around as my body, began to move with a shrill squeak. Once it was out of the way, there would be enough room to slip through.
“Almost there!” Saart said, and gave a final heave with his considerable bulk. With a screech, the paw jerked forward and I, one hand outstretched, fell face-first into the body of the thrycovolar.
I felt suddenly weak and sleepy, and blackness descended. Strange dreams invaded, of cold lands and metallic horrors, with a treasure guarded by magic and bat-faced shadows dressed in rags.
“Wake up.” I swam toward the gravelly voice, and opened my eyes. I was confronted with a shaggy, none too clean face, surrounded by long unkempt hair—it was older, but familiar. As my head cleared, I saw we were inside the little shack. Had Saart carried me in?
“My little surprise traps most who try to find me,” the bewhiskered man said. He was wearing a shaggy brown leather cloak, buttoned down the front, and not much else. Bare, dirt-encrusted feet poked out from beneath it. Even inside the shack, there were piles of junk. “But Prot, if you wanted to visit, you should have sent word ahead.”
I thrust away the last of the dreams. Did the old majus actually remember my name from our one business deal fourteen cycles ago? I looked to Saart, sitting gingerly on a pile of broken tables. He shrugged. The man had been strange when we first met him.
“How is the war transport treating you?” The man was looking me over as if I was a long-lost son, not a customer. “Still running smooth? I see you lost a couple sections since the last time we met.”
“I…no, we haven’t lost…” I paused, gathering my thoughts. I pressed one hand to my left eye. The field on the broken system beast had been like those on the crates, sucking away energy. That convinced me we were in the right place, though I wished I hadn’t fallen into it. “That’s why we’re here. We need your help.”
The man looked confused for a moment. “With the transport? I have some spare parts, but…” He gestured with one gnarled hand at the junkyard in general.
“With what’s in the other two sections,” Saart said. His nose was wriggling as if he smelled something off. “We need a majus.”
The man snorted. “I don’t do that anymore. Gave up the whole pomp of it for peace and quiet out here.” His words were punctuated by his dogs, barking at the transport.
“But—” I pointed a thumb back to the door.
“Yes, there are exceptions,” he snapped, and just for a moment, I saw the regal bearing of a majus, before the man slumped again. “I don’t have much of my song left. Spent too much when I was young and now I’m reduced to tinkering in my junk piles here.”
“We only need your help for a few hours—” I fumbled for a name.
“Call me Colonel,” he said. I remembered he had gone by his rank before. He had been in the Methiemum army, back in the war with the Sathssn. Probably how he came across so many of the ill-fated transports.
“Colonel,” I agreed. “We need you to open some cargo crates for us. They’ve been sealed by another majus of the House of Potential. There are none who can be spared and the cargo is time sensitive. Saart and I wondered if you could help.” It was how we knew so much about the House of Potential. The Colonel had still acted as majus then.
“Time sensitive, eh?” The Colonel scratched at his dirty beard with one hand, dislodging a small shower of dandruff. “As in expensive?”
I sighed, wondering how much this would cost me. “They’re medical su
pplies ordered for the victims of the Shudders epidemic ravaging the southern continent,” I told him, without much hope of it helping.
“So you’re saying you’ll be paid well by a government institution for delivering emergency supplies on time,” he said. “We can discuss my price when we get there.”
Saart threw up his hands and stalked out of the shack, grumbling. I signaled for the old majus to follow.
The trip back was uneventful, and much shorter, now I knew where I was going. Fortunate as well, as the Colonel had a rather unique odor. He gabbed on the whole time, remarking how well the transport was kept up, asking Saart keen questions about the engine, and occasionally poking at one of the buttons on the dash. I didn’t even know there were shutters to close the front windows. It would have been more helpful if I had not found out while driving.
The same old woman let us back into the customs area, and I backed the cab and engine in front of the other two sections. As we emerged, the woman eyed the majus with her usual frown and one raised eyebrow. He was dirty, ragged, and hairy. Not in any way the upright symbol the maji liked to present to the universe. He nodded back, as if this was all familiar to him. It might have been—he could have been stationed here, long ago, to open portals. They might have even met each other.
“Let’s get this…majus to open those crates, Prot,” she said, pushing us toward the cargo section. “You’re blocking up my area.” She was at least willing to let the Colonel through, but I could practically feel her disbelief.
The others crowded around as we walked. “Is that the majus you bought the transport from?” Amra asked, tucking her wrap in close so no one would step on it.
“Pretty sure,” I said. “Otherwise I’m going to have a dirty beggar I found in a junkyard inspecting my cargo. That and he knocked me unconscious with a magical trap.”
“Are you—?” she started, and I waved the question away.
“Just…strange dreams.” The images while I was unconscious unsettled me. This job was playing with my head. I looked to the sun, but it was far past where I had hoped. We arrived on Methiem in the morning, but had spent much of the day at a standstill. Of our original twenty hours, there was maybe half that time left. Could we deliver the cargo at night? Would we want to? I wasn’t sure I wanted to be in a dark warehouse with whoever was supposed to receive this cargo.
The offending crate was still in the middle of the cargo section. Bhon and Kamuli had heavy wool gloves to protect their hands, one pair for three-fingered Festuour and one for Methiemum, and turned the crate so the plate was visible on top again. The customs woman grunted at this, but said nothing, as the Colonel creaked up the stairs to the rear hatch.
He bent over the box, fingers hovering a mere hairsbreadth away from the strange plate. I glanced down at my own hand, remembering the tingling when I touched the device and the system beast. The majus seemed to suffer no such setbacks, although his face fell.
He looked at me, and it was as if all the raggedness and dirt fell away. “I can open this,” he said, “but I have a price.”
Always maji, and their prices.
“What?” I said through gritted teeth. Our remaining funds were running low. The more I spent, the more Amra and I quarreled. Our little store was drawing away like a stone sinking to the bottom of a deep pool.
“You must do the right thing with this cargo, Prot,” the Colonel told me. “It is imperative you succeed. Much more rests on your decision than you think.”
We all stared at him, but his face was deadly serious. My heart lifted a little at the lack of monetary compensation, but there was such earnestness in his face. Well, hadn’t I always done the right thing, minus a few smuggling runs? I would admit to occasionally taking advantage of a gullible customer, but somehow I knew the majus was not talking about that. I met his eyes.
“I promise,” I said, and my crew looked at me as if I was speaking nonsense.
With a click, the little shape on top of the crate cracked in two, and we all jumped save the Colonel. He picked up both pieces and reverentially gave them to Bhon.
“Let’s see what’s inside of these here crates,” he said.
With evening fast approaching, Bhon levered the top off the crate, the only resistance to her crowbar that of the nails.
We all looked in on the nest of shavings and little glass jars.
“Medicine,” Bhon said.
Kamuli helped her pull the top away. “She is right, as far as I can tell.” She dug one dark hand into the crate, shifting wood shavings aside, bringing out a jar filled with small pills.
The customs woman leaned forward through the hatch, clipboard and pen held ready. “Those are the anti-seizing drugs, though I don’t know why there’s an extra delivery,” she said. “And the others?”
“We can’t open all of them,” I told her. “I’m liable to lose payment already for this one.”
“I have to make sure,” she said stubbornly. “This one could be a decoy.”
I cast about, my gaze landing on the Colonel. “Could you open all of them?” It would take time we didn’t have, but if the first crate passed inspection, the others should as well.
“No.” The Colonel shook his head. “I don’t have that much song left.” I closed my eyes.
“But I can do one better.” He pushed through Kamuli and Bhon, raising one old hand to trail along the boxes. He shuffled along the narrow path to the rear of the cargo compartment, turned, and came back the other direction, his other hand now making a rasp as it slid down the wooden surfaces. As he got closer, I saw his eyes were closed and his head was cocked slightly, as if he was listening to a faraway song.
“By their energy potential, the crates all contain the same thing,” he pronounced. “Each is filled with containers, and each container has a supply of dense manufactured pellets.” He took one more step forward and took the glass jar from Kamuli, considering. He closed his eyes again, his right ear next to the jar. Then he put his head to the nearest crate.
“Yes. As far as I can tell, they all contain the same objects as this one.” He opened his eyes again. “Will that satisfy you? This delivery is as urgent as he says.”
The old customs woman drew in her eyebrows, but agreed. “It’ll have to do. It seems you are clear, Prot. I hope you are still in time.” She gave the old majus a stern glare, ripped off a signed piece of paper from her clipboard, gave it to me, and exited the transport. I followed her, but the Colonel cleared his throat loudly.
I stopped, and exhaled, gesturing my guards out. “Take that jar with you,” I told Kamuli. The majus nodded at my action.
“You want me to do something else with this medicine,” I told him when we were alone, “and that’s going to cut into my profits even more. What do you know?”
But the majus only smiled sadly. “I told you I’m out of that business. I no longer get involved in these things, Prot. Bad for my health.” He scratched at his beard. “Speaking of which, my pension from the Council of the Maji has long since run out. Surely twelve percent isn’t too much to spare for keeping you on time.”
“Barely on time,” I countered. “I can spare five percent, and that’s it. More than that and my accountant will injure me greatly.” How many more jobs would we need before we could stop traveling the homeworlds? After this delivery, staying on Methiem was starting to sound better all the time.
“Make it ten and we have a deal,” the Colonel said.
“Seven, and I try to ‘do the right thing’ with this cargo.” I stared at him a moment, trying to divine by sheer will what the old man had meant by that. For all I knew he wanted me to give the medicine away, but I didn’t think so, based on his willingness to take my money. He stared back impassively for a moment, then spread one hand in agreement.
I turned away. “I’ll get your payment,” I told him, and went down the stairs.
Behind me, I heard him call to Amra. “Come help an old man
down out of this thing.” She went to him, and stood talking while I got my last pouch of Nether glass. He might tell her the story of how we bought the transport. He liked to talk enough.
When I returned, Amra gave me a funny look and went to the pilot’s section. I gave the Colonel the pouch and he hefted it with one hand, a little grin on his dirty face. “What was all that about?" I asked.
He shook his head. “Simply imparting some advice to your lovely accountant. Good luck. And be careful. I can find my own way back.”
I wasn’t planning on taking him back to his junkyard. I turned away with a halfhearted wave, calling to get the transport ready to roll out of the customs yard. We had taken far too long, I didn’t want to make the delivery at night, and now I had a mystery to follow up on.
While the others connected the sections of the transport, I investigated the jars myself. Each glass container was marked discretely on the side with the crest of the Sureriaj family that had made it: Nara, Frente, Baldek, Perchet. I sifted through the crate, taking one from each house, but counting up fractions in my head.
Three of the great families who had contributed to this shipment were fairly liberal with regard to aliens. The Baldek were not. What were they doing sending medicine offworld? I wondered what ‘Frente’ Masnaith’s true name had been.
I took a few more of the Baldek-marked jars, just to make sure, one each from the other houses, set them aside, and closed up the crate. I heard the thunk of the connecting bolt between sections and took the jars with me.
“All ready?” I asked Saart outside.
He tucked a hefty wrench away in his bandolier and nodded, adjusting his glasses with his other hand. “We going to get these things delivered tonight? Don’t have many hours left.”
“No.” By the lack of reaction, he wasn’t surprised. His glance trailed over the jars I had tucked in my arms. “But the warehouse is on the other side of Kashidur city. Let’s park on the outskirts tonight so we can be ready to deliver these Vish-cursed things at first light. We’ll still be within our time limit.” Barely.
Merchants and Maji: Two Tales of the Dissolutionverse (Dissolution Cycle) Page 6