Past Imperative

by Dave Duncan

  “Shouting doesn’t help,” T’lin sighed. “Kick him.”

  Eleal kicked in her heels. “Wondo! Zaib!”

  Uttering a muffled belch of disgust, Lightning lurched to his feet and Eleal found herself staring down at the top of T’lin Dragontrader’s turban. The dragon strolled insolently forward, picking his way between his sleeping mates, but in a moment he began to curve around. He did not want to leave the herd.

  With much kicking and directions of Whilth! and Chaiz! she directed him to the open meadow and tried Varch! He eased into a feeble pretence at a run, but in a moment he looked behind him and slowed down again. Then he began to curve to the left. Eleal drummed her heels on his scales and scolded. He straightened momentarily but soon started edging around to the right. In a few minutes she admitted defeat, afraid she was about to be taken ignominiously all the way back. “Wosok!” she said, and was relieved when her stubborn mount accepted the compromise. He lay down, still disgustingly close to the herd and facing toward it.

  Another dragon had risen from the mass and was approaching at a slow run. It came willingly as far as Lightning, and then balked. Gim shouted angrily; Eleal was secretly pleased that he did no better than she had done. His mount settled on the grass, nose-to-nose with Lightning as if to compare notes on this disgraceful waste of valuable sleeping time.

  “Stupid lizards!” Gim muttered. His pack and lyre were strapped alongside the baggage plate at his back. His face was pale and unweathered under the black turban, unconvincing as the face of a wrangler. “Why all this wosok and varch stuff anyway? Why not teach them to understand good, honest Joalian?”

  Eleal restrained a snigger—what Gim Wrangler spoke was a long way from true Joalian. “Because common words like ‘run’ may differ between the dialects. The dragon commands are the same all over the Vales, and they’re very old. So T’lin says,” she added to forestall argument.

  Gim grunted.

  “You’ll like Sussland,” she said cheerfully. “It’s much warmer and more fertile than Narshland.”

  “And the people riot all the time.”

  “Sussia’s a democracy.” She hoped that was the right word. “They meet every year to elect the magistrates.”

  “So do we. The adult men, anyway.”

  “But in Narsh the elections are a foregone conclusion. In Suss it’s always a free-for-all. So T’lin says.”

  Gim mumbled something sadistic about the dragon trader, ending the conversation. The two of them sat in shivering silence, not even looking at each other.

  The east was growing brilliant and color had returned to the world. Lightning was revealed as a nondescript dun, Gim’s mount was a glacier white. Eleal realized that the city gate was clearly visible now, so she must be visible to the guards on the parapet. Eventually she could stand the quiet no longer. “He’s not bringing the whole herd?”

  “Evidently not.” Gim twisted around in his saddle to see what was happening. Nothing was. “Maybe they’re going to head off in the opposite direction after we leave,” he added, sounding as if he’d just thought of that. “Lay a false trail.”

  Then a third dragon emerged from the herd and came racing toward them. It was dark-colored and soon recognizable as Starlight, but he seemed to have no rider. He slowed as he reached the watchers. Someone cried, “Zomph!” shrilly, and he continued on at a smooth run.

  “Gods preserve me!” Gim said, kicking angrily. “Wondo, Beauty, you scaly horror! Zomph!”

  Beauty and Lightning rose as one, taking off after the newcomer. The meadow rushed past so fast that the wind seemed to fade away. Dragons were a smooth ride.

  “Zomph!” Gim yelled again, but Beauty and Lightning were already going flat out. Gradually Beauty fell behind, despite Gim’s curses. Starlight was still pulling ahead, making a race of it.

  Then he veered to avoid a clump of bushes and Eleal caught sight of a small figure cowering over in the saddle, almost hidden by a bulky pack strapped to the baggage plate. Garments streamed in the wind, stirrup leathers and hill straps were flapping free. The light flashed on a strip of steel, but she had already guessed that the rider must be Sister Ahn.

  Apparently Gim had not realized that T’lin was missing. He could do nothing about it even if he did. Eleal twisted around and stared back at the dawn. Already the camp was invisible and the city was receding into the distance, with the spires of the temple dominating its skyline. Another dragon was coming in pursuit.

  The old woman must certainly be crazy. She would be killed if she fell off. “Zomph!” Eleal yelled, kicking madly. Lightning could go no faster, though. He was breathing hard, while white steam poured from his nostrils. Starlight was younger.

  The river had disappeared. The bizarre little caravan was racing along an obvious track now, with scattered cottages and dry stone walls. The hills of Narshslope marched alongside to the north, drawing no closer. The sun rose suddenly and in minutes the dragons were chasing their own long shadows over dry wheel ruts and scraggly grass.

  So Eleal Singer had escaped from Narsh, if not yet from Narshvale. As far as she could remember, the western end was closed. Rilepass led north to Sussland and Fandorpass east to Lappinland. There were other passes to the south that she did not know, leading to Tholand and Randorland, but she recalled none to the west. Soon she thought she could see brightness in the distance, probably morning sun sparkling on the dew-wet thatch roofs of a village. That must be where this road went, and probably where it ended.

  Then a largish stream blocked the way. The trail dipped to a ford and Starlight balked, because dragons disliked water. He wheeled around, apparently with no objection from his rider. Lightning made gasping sounds of approval, and slowed. The three dragons came together, uttering joyous roars, nuzzling each other in greeting.

  Gim’s jaw dropped when he saw the old woman crumpled in the saddle. He leaped down, shouting “Wosok, Starlight! Wosok!”

  Eleal made Lightning crouch before she dared dismount, and then she went to help Gim. The old woman seemed unconscious, but her twisted hands still held a fierce grip on her staff and the pommel plate. Carefully avoiding the sharp-looking sword, the youngsters dragged her from the saddle and lowered her to the grass like a heap of washing.

  She blinked up at them, her eyes watering. When she spoke, though, her creaky voice sounded amazingly calm. “The Maiden be with you, child. Introduce your friend.”

  “Gim Wrangler, Sister.”

  “He is not mentioned,” Sister Ahn proclaimed, as if dismissing Gim from consideration. She struggled up to a sitting position and began tucking white strands of hair back under her wimple.

  “He rescued me from the temple.”

  “The god rescued her!” Gim said.

  Sister Ahn nodded. “Praise to the Youth. But the Maiden is worthy of thanks also. I did not injure the dragon with my sword, did I?”

  Gim bent and inspected Starlight’s flank. Starlight turned round and puffed grass-scented steam at him.

  “A couple of faint scratches on his scales. Nothing serious.”

  “How did you make him leave the herd?” Eleal demanded.

  “I gave him some nice hay and told him how beautiful he was. It is always best to pay in advance, whenever possible.”

  “The dragon trader didn’t know, did he?” Eleal said.

  Sister Ahn frowned at her, and then suddenly smiled. Probably her smile was well intentioned, but it seemed just as gruesome as it had two days ago, involving much crunching of wrinkles and a display of lonely yellow teeth. “Sometimes action must come before explanation,” she explained wryly. “I always wanted to try a ride on a dragon!”

  She took a firm grip on her staff and held out an arm. Gim helped her rise, studying her with rank disbelief.

  “You’ve never done it before?”

  “I implied that, did I not? Had I not over
heard you, young man, I would not have known the correct command. Now, what place is that?” Apparently her watery eyes were not as useless as they seemed.

  “Morby, sister. Just a little place.”

  “Never heard of it.” Her tone implied that it was therefore of no consequence.

  “It has a wonderful bakery,” Gim said wistfully.

  The fourth dragon arrived in a scramble of claws, being greeted by belches from the others. T’lin Dragontrader seemed to hit the ground running before it had even stopped. His face was flushed with fury and he towered over the nun.

  Sister Ahn attempted to straighten, but the move merely emphasized her hump. Her long nose was about level with the middle of his chest.

  “You stole my dragon!” His fists were clenched.

  “Borrowed it, merely. Time was short and you would have argued.”

  “By the moons, I would have argued! And now I suppose you expect to accompany us to Sussland?”

  He was speaking much louder than usual. The dragons were all watching curiously. Eleal caught Gim’s eye. He did not seem to know whether to be amused or concerned. Neither did she.

  “Accompany you? I don’t know anything about you,” the old woman proclaimed. “You are not mentioned. It is written, Before the festival, Eleal will come into Sussvale with the Daughter of Irepit. This is Thighday. The festival begins tonight, does it not? You don’t expect to negate holy prophecy when the goddess Ois failed, do you?”

  T’lin shook his fists futilely and then grabbed his beard with both hands as if to keep them from doing violence to the maddening old woman. Starlight was Dragontrader’s personal mount. They had been together as long as Eleal could remember. She had never seen rage portrayed so clearly, not even when Trong Impresario played Kaputeez in The Vengeance of Hiloma.

  “Is that so? Really so? As I understand your discipline, sisters of the sword always offer value in return for service.”

  Sister Ahn nodded complacently. “Always.”

  “Today the price for passage to Sussland is one million stars, payable in advance!” T’lin pushed his bristling red beard almost into her face. “Well?”

  She raised hairless brows. “Or something greater?”

  “Greater? Name it!”

  “Your life, my son. Without me you would presently be chained in the city cells.”

  T’lin made a choking noise.

  “Why do you think the guard did not come after you?” she asked pityingly. “Do you believe they are all so stupid, or that the priests of Our Lady are?”

  T’lin wavered. “What did you do?”

  “I told them I had seen a black dragon with two people aboard climbing over the wall and heading in the direction of Nimpass. A mounted patrol left immediately and all the rest went back to—”

  “You lied?”

  “Certainly not!” Again Sister Ahn tried to look down her long nose at him, but he was still much too tall. “I was vouchsafed a vision of this, in a dream. It was very clear.”

  T’lin Dragontrader moaned and covered his face with his hands. Eleal bit her lip to restrain a snigger. There was silence, until Gim said hesitantly, “It was odd that the guard did not come after us, sir.”

  “Not odd at all!” the nun sniffed. “I gave them my oath that I had seen what I said. Sisters of my order are impeccable witnesses. Courts have accepted the sworn word of a Daughter over the testimony of phalanxes of magistrates. You owe me your life, Dragontrader. Or if not, at the very least they would have impounded all your worldly goods. I have paid fairly.”

  36

  CREIGHTON SEEMED TO HAVE AN INFINITE CAPACITY TO astonish. First he had produced ancient woodland gods out of pagan legend, and now Gypsies. Gypsies were thieves, poachers, charlatan fortune-tellers, and altogether not the sort of people whose company any self-respecting gentleman would cultivate. Nor was this encounter a sudden impulse, for he had obviously been recognized. A man was approaching. There was no smile of welcome on his face, but he was not scowling either.

  “Get your bag,” Creighton said, “and then wait here.” He jumped down.

  Edward followed and retrieved his suitcase. Without a word, the Gypsy took charge of the dogcart and pony. He was nattily dressed, although his clothes had more elaborate pleats and stitching than those of any ordinary Englishman. His waistcoat was too fancy, his hat brim too wide, and he had a colorful kerchief around his neck. He returned Edward’s smile with a sullen glance and led the pony away. Only now did Edward register that the dogcart was an outlandishly gaudy affair of shiny brass fittings and bright-hued paints. So were three or four of the wagons, in varying degrees. Others were plainer, scruffy by comparison.

  Creighton was already in conversation with an elderly woman sitting by the fire. She was so muffled up in bright-colored clothes that she resembled nothing more than a heap of rainbows. She said something, nodding, then looked up to stare across at Edward. Even at that distance he sensed the piercing dark eyes of the true Gypsy. He tried not to squirm.

  Waving to him to follow, Creighton headed for one of the gaudiest of the wagons. When Edward arrived, he was regarding it with distaste.

  “I don’t suppose the police can put the bite on you in here, old man,” he said, “but I can’t answer for fleas.” With that, he trotted up the ladder. Edward followed. By the time he was inside, Creighton had stripped off his hat and jacket.

  There was barely room for the two of them to stand between the chairs and table and stove and shelves and various bundles and boxes. The air was heavy with an unfamiliar scent, and everywhere there was color—reds and greens and blues rioting on walls, furniture, garments, and bedding. The ceiling had not been designed for a six-footer. At the far end were two bunks, one above the other. From the assortment of clothes littered everywhere, this was home to a large family, and the lower bunk had pillows at both ends. In the middle of it lay a notably new and clean pigskin suitcase. Edward assumed it had been stolen, but when Creighton had stripped to his undervest, he began stowing his shirt and waistcoat in it.

  “Close the door, man! They said we could help ourselves to anything we find. I don’t suppose there’s much here that will fit you. Have to do the best you can.”

  Edward began to undress. “Sir, you said the guv’nor was killing time in Africa. My uncle Roland accused him of engaging in devil worship because—”

  “Terminology depends on whose side you’re on. One man’s god is another man’s devil. I’ll explain about your father later.” Creighton was rummaging through heaps of garments.

  “And where does Christianity fit into this?”

  “Anywhere you want. Good King George and his cousin the Kaiser worship the same god, don’t they?” Creighton held up a pair of pleated black trousers and frowned at them. “Britain and Germany pray to the same god. So do the French and the Russians and the Austrians. They all trust him to grant victory to the righteous, meaning themselves. Here—these look like the longest.” He handed them over. Then he selected a pink-and-blue shirt and wrinkled his nose.

  “Something wrong, sir?” Edward inquired, discovering that the pants did not reach his ankles.

  Hrrnph! “Just wondering about, you know, cleanliness.”

  “I don’t think you need worry. They will. You must be paying them handsomely? Or Head Office must be?”

  Creighton shot him a glare that would have softened horseshoes. “Just what’re you implying?”

  “Well, anything that’s been worn by a gorgio will be mokadi, and will be burned as soon as we leave.”

  “What?”

  “Mokadi—ritually unclean. In fact I suspect they’ll burn the whole wagon.”

  “Burn the?…” The hazel eyes scowled out from under hedges of eyebrow in the sort of glare Edward had not faced since he was one of the crazy imps of the Fourth Form. “What the devil do you know about Gy
psies?”

  “They quite often camp at Tinkers’ Wood, sir, near the school,” Edward said blandly. “A family named Fletcher.” He reached for a rainbow-embroidered shirt.

  “Out of bounds, I hope?”

  “Er, yes, sir.”

  “They’re swindlers and horse thieves!”

  “Oh, of course!” Fascinating people—even as a prefect, Edward had sneaked out at night to visit them. “They’ll steal and lie and cheat any gorgio who comes within miles. That’s just their way. But isn’t it also true, sir, that they’ve been known for centuries as the finest spies in Europe?”

  A reluctant smile twitched the corner of Creighton’s mouth. “I daresay.”

  “The true Rom are about the most fastidious people in the world.” Edward was enjoying this. “They make high-caste Brahmins look like slobs.”

  Hrrnph! “I suppose their fleas are frightfully pukka, too?”

  “I doubt if they’re as fussy, sir.”

  Creighton laughed approvingly, and proceeded to dress. Edward wondered if he’d just been tested in some way….

  “You feel spooky at all?”

  “No, sir. Should I?”

  “This is a node, I think.”

  “It is?”

  “Well, of course here I’m no more certain than you are. I can always detect virtuality on Nextdoor, but here’s trickier. The Rom prefer nodes for campsites, for obvious reasons. The headman’s name is Boswell, by the way, but the real power is his mother. You look awfully sweet in that shirt. Old Mrs. Boswell’s a chovihani—a witch, and a good one. Be respectful.”

  “Oh gosh, sir! I grant you I saw a miracle this morning. I met Puck himself, an Old One. I know I would not have believed this yesterday and it was the experience of a lifetime—but please! Do I have to believe in Gypsy witches now?”

  Creighton flashed him another menacing, hazel glance. “Caesar, Alexander, Napoleon, Bismarck, Jenghis Khan…. You ever study any of those men in your fancy school, Exeter?”

  “Some of them.”

  “They all had a lot of what’s called charisma. Know what I mean by that?”