[Jan Darzek 04] - Silence is Deadly

by Lloyd Biggle, Jr.

  Midpor was the smallest of the Free Cities, located at the head of a long, finger-like bay that cut deeply into the island. That indentation made it the port city closest to the Central Province, and it handled the imports and exports for the population of that province living east of the mountains, as well as those for the Duke Tonorj, whose province surrounded it. So rugged were the central mountains, and so difficult the passes, that a long haul from the coast was easier than a trip through the mountains. For this reason, the port of OO handled the commerce directed to and from the western part of the Central Province, even though Midpor was the nearest port.

  So the dukes’ destination obviously was on the eastern side of the mountains, or they would not have selected Midpor as a starring point. Darzek strolled from the Synthesis headquarters toward the harbor of the pretty little city and made a startling discovery. Midpor was being abandoned. Half the dwellings were empty already. Merchants were moving out their stocks, and many of the warehouses and commercial buildings were empty or being emptied.

  He moved through a partially deserted mart and climbed the life pyramid to look down on the bustling activity of the harbor—all of it directed at loading ships. He saw no ship being unloaded. As he watched, the germ of a plan occurred to him.

  Obviously the Sailor’s League was abandoning Storoz. The number of empty houses in Northpor was increasing. Rumors had reached him of similar trends in the other Free Cities. The sailors were convinced that the Duke of OO, or another duke equally evil, would become King of Storoz, and that his first act would be to take the Free Cities by force and attempt to hold the sailors’ families for ransom. As rapidly as possible they were moving to the Free Cities the League held on the continents.

  The Duke Tonorj, whose province surrounded Midpor, had a foul reputation. The Midpor evacuation was being rushed. The Duke Lonorlk, whose province surrounded Northpor, was more highly regarded, and the Northpor evacuation was proceeding with less haste. In Southpor, a Free City long accustomed to being ignored by the senile Duke Borkioz, it had scarcely begun.

  The implications were clear enough. By the time the new king was selected, the famed Free Cities of Storoz would be reduced to the status of ghost towns, and Storoz would be economically ruined.

  The immediate significance to Darzek was that all of the Dukes of Storoz were about to descend on this little city, accompanied by vast entourages—because on such an occasion no duke wanted to appear less magnificent than his fellows—and no one in Midpor knew they were coming! The city’s merchants were emulating the sailors. They were disposing of their stocks, salvaging what they could, and moving their families. The dukes would find an empty city awaiting them, with every kind of housing available and nothing to eat.

  Darzek walked back to the business community and eventually found the person he wanted, a sort of provision or commissary broker, whose scribe filled a page with calculations while they talked. Darzek rented warehouses and stables, bought wagons and nabrula, and then went scouting around with the broker, picking up bargains in food stocks that businessmen feared to be stuck with after the city was abandoned. In the process, they happened upon an entire warehouse of dried namafj. On being assured that the price was a genuine bargain, Darzek took all of it. He had been searching for the proper role for himself, and the vending of dried namafj suited him perfectly. The odor was less full blown than that of the overripe namafj he’d encountered in OO and not really an unpleasant smell, but it was penetrating enough to conceal all traces of his human stench.

  He left the broker to carry on for him and returned to Northpor. There he conferred briefly with Sjelk, telling him to round up unemployed youths who were experienced in driving and caring for nabrula, and to start buying animals and wagons. Then he went to the harbor to talk again with captain Wanulzk and the Duke Dunjinz.

  A ship? Captain Wanulzk exclaimed. You want a whole ship? Just for yourself? I can easily arrange passage for you and as many as you wish to take with you, but ships are in short supply.

  I know, Darzek said. The sailors are leaving Storoz. So are most of the merchants. But this is critically important.

  But why do you need a whole ship?

  Not a ship. Ships. I have no idea how many I’ll need. I just want to make certain that they’ll he available.

  Critically important? the captain echoed, his hands fluttering doubtfully.

  Critically, Darzek told him. The future of Storoz depends on it.

  Very well. You’ll have all the ships you need.

  * * * *

  In the captain’s cabin, Darzek had a long talk with the Duke Dunjinz. He wanted to know the exact size of the party each duke was likely to bring with him to Midpor. The Duke Dunjinz had not even decided on the size of his own party, but when pressed by Darzek, he discussed his fellow dukes astutely, and Darzek performed approximations, and they arrive at working averages. Each duke could be expected to bring some thirty knights, thirty knights’ lackeys, and an additional thirty lackeys, retainers, and servants for himself. Rounding the total off at a party of one hundred for each duke, Darzek deduced that some eleven hundred people would be setting out from Midpor for the mountains.

  Darzek took his leave of the two of them, having received the captain’s promise that two ships would be available for him the following day. He went from the harbor directly to the business community, found another broker, and began buying stocks of food.

  The dukes and their eleven hundred followers would arrive in Midpor, expecting to outfit themselves for their journey to the mountains, and such was their secrecy that there would be no one left in the abandoned city who could sell them a morsel of food or supply a single wagon or nabrulk.

  No one, that is, except Jan Darzek, in his role as Lazk, the vendor of dried namafj.

  CHAPTER 17

  Darzek arrived by ship in the now almost deserted city of Midpor with Sjelk, Sajjo, and fifty newly hired wagoners, along with a shipload of wagons and nabrula. Wesru and Hadkez were left in Northpor, although Hadkez protested bitterly that the mart there was about to close and there was nothing for a perfumer to do—for the full tide of exodus now had struck Northpor as well. But Darzek wanted the Synthesis headquarters in Northpor to remain functional.

  He immediately sent Sjelk and Sajjo to sift through the Midpor unemployed for those with experience in handling nabrula or foodstuffs. The unemployed were the one segment of the population that remained. They neither had a place to go nor a means of getting there.

  Darzek put his wagoners to work moving the food purchases he had made in Midpor to his own warehouses, and as soon as ships began to arrive with purchases Darzek had made in Northpor, that food, also, had to be moved and stored. Already it was evident that more wagons and nabrula were needed, and Darzek sent Sjelk down the coast to Eastpor and Southpor, which also were in the process of abandonment, to buy everything available and also shop for bargains in food.

  By the time the dukes began to arrive, Darzek had placed himself on the verge of bankruptcy, having spent all of the capital accumulated by agents of the Galactic Synthesis and in addition imposed a severe strain on his credit.

  But with the arrival of the first ducal party, he was solvent again. The dukes brought their riding nabrula, as well as transport for the personal effects of their entourages, but all were accustomed to buying foodstuffs and nabrula fodder when and where they wanted them, and none had brought transport for that purpose. Neither had any of them considered the logistics of moving eleven hundred people from the coast to the mountains and the demands that this would make on the impoverished peasant villages along the way.

  The number of nabrula required to move this procession over the rough roads of Kamm stunned Darzek. There would be more nabrula than people, and this route lay through long stretches of country where there was no edible natural food for the creatures. Darzek had to plan for an entire convoy of wagons loaded with nabrula fodder, which of course added to the numbers of nabrula that w
ould have to be fed.

  Darzek was able to meet the expedition’s transportation needs from his stock of wagons and nabrula and his pool of unemployed wagoners. And once he had supplied the transport, he was ready to sell the dukes the necessary wagonloads of provisions for the trek to the mountains and back.

  Going about with his daughter Sajjo—who seemed more like a partner to those watching, since Darzek consulted her deferentially about all kinds of transactions, and her astuteness pleased him as much as it amazed those he was doing business with—and his sons, which Sjelk and his leading assistants were assumed to be, Lazk the provisioner and family quickly became the most respected and sought-after business establishment in Midpor. Even Lazk’s peculiar insistence on handling personally the dried namafj he urged upon the travelers was respected.

  I got my start in business with dried namafj, he would say. Can’t eat the stuff myself. You buy and sell and store and process dried namafj for years and see what it does to your appetite. But there’s more nourishment in it per wagonload than anything else you can transport. I say if you don’t want to arrive where you’re going hungry, carry at least a quarter of your provisions in dried namafj.

  As more dukes arrived, speculators began to appear. They had belatedly arrived at conclusions similar to Darzek’s and hoped to make a killing; but the provisioner Lazk, with efficiency, service, and reasonable prices, already had established himself as the expedition’s official provisions merchant. He was able to supply everything the dukes needed, and he—and he alone—had permission to bring his own train of wagons with the expedition to resupply the ducal parties along the way. So secure was Darzek’s position that when the redheaded Duke Dunjinz arrived, he could only gape in amazement while his retainers transacted business with the famous provisioner Lazk.

  Except for the senile Duke Borkioz, who had arrived early because his family feared that he might muddle his journey and lose his chance at the kingship, none of the dukes put their entourages in dwellings. They were ready to travel, and they moved into fields just beyond the Midpor city wall and set up their tents. By the time the eleventh duke, the Duke of OO, arrived, the tent city beyond the wall was far more populous than the abandoned Free City within it.

  Captain Wanulzk himself brought the Duke of OO and his party, and after they had landed, Darzek slipped aboard the ship for a talk with the captain.

  Bovranulz is with the duke, the captain said. He’s still a prisoner, but I managed a word with him. He says he is well treated and we shouldn’t concern ourselves about him.

  Darzek described his new profession. I’ll accompany the dukes with all the wagons I can acquire, equipped with double loading hoards. And according to my calculations, that, plus the food the dukes are taking themselves, won’t begin to get this royal mob to the mountains and back. None of the dukes has an inkling of the problems involved. When was the last time eleven hundred people went anywhere on Storoz?

  The captain couldn’t remember such an event. But why should they need so much food?

  Moving that many people over the lanes of Storoz is going to be slow. On the way out, I’ll encourage the dukes to eat from my wagons instead of their own. The moment a wagon is empty, I’ll send it back to Midpor for another load. That way there’ll be a continuous stream of provisions overtaking us or meeting us on the way back. That’s the only thing that’ll keep this expedition from starving.

  All the dukes are talking about you, the captain said. They think you’re a genius. Is there anything I can do to help?

  Yes. Bring in enough food to refill my warehouses after we leave for the mountains—and keep refilling them. Even if the expedition gets back here safely, I have a feeling that the dukes may wait in Midpor a long time for ships to take them home.

  The captain smiled. I’ll do that. Then he added slyly, Will you be needing more dried namafj?

  Especially dried namafj, Darzek said firmly.

  That was well thought of. Have you found a use for the special scent our friend Nijezor prepared for the Duke of OO?

  No, Darzek said. I brought the crock along with me, and I intend to take it all the way to the mountains, just in case I think of something. Thus far, the only thing I’ve been able to compare it with is nabrula manure.

  Darzek warmly bade the captain farewell and went back to the Synthesis headquarters, where Sjelk and a scribe were making lists of independent vendors and artisans Darzek intended to take along with him. Harnesses would break, clothing would wear out, wagons would break down, doctors would be needed both for Kammians and for nabrula, tools would be required—the immensity of the task of transporting eleven hundred people and their nabrula staggered Darzek. That evening he began to move his wagons and drivers, and those of the independent vendors and artisans, out beyond the city wall where the dukes had established their entourages.

  The Protector had arrived, and Darzek studied him carefully from a distance—tall, lean, incisive in look and manner, a leader accustomed to command, an ascetic whose eyes flashed fanaticism. His character was indeed the mirror image of that of his self-indulgent brother, the Duke of OO, but to Darzek that simply made him a different kind of villain. He doubted that the Protector’s victims felt any special consolation because the cruelty inflicted on them was sanctimonious.

  The Protector was clothed in black and mounted on a solid black nabrulk, a creature so rare that Darzek had never seen one. With him was a retinue of a dozen black knights, and these priests of the Winged Beast, like their leader, disdained the luxury of tents. They unrolled their sleeping rugs wherever they chose to lie.

  Darzek made his evening rounds carrying a basket of dried namafj, his trade-mark. Sajjo drifted along with him, sometimes the dutiful daughter following obediently at his heels, sometimes a wraith flitting unnoticed among the tents, seeing everything that happened, looking in on private conversations.

  The rolling meadow was an incredible mélange of tent-covered wagons, of caravans, of separate tents of all shapes and sizes and colors, of cooking fires and sputtering torches, of restless nabrula. Darzek moved slowly through the encampment, and the sheer confusion that reverberated everywhere seemed so magnificently contrived that Darzek felt for it the kind of affection he would have had for a singularly bad work of art. He felt the same way about the accompanying noise and also about the stench of the haphazard sanitary conditions.

  At the enclave of each duke, he paused to talk with the duke’s own commissariat. He was known to all the sentries, who allowed him to pass without challenge; but each enclave had an inner circle of tents and wagons where no outsiders were permitted, and these Darzek scrupulously avoided.

  He had a long conference with the Duke of OO’s commissariat, since the duke’s entourage had just arrived and still hadn’t purchased its needed supplies. Darkness had come on by the time they finished. Darzek promised delivery in the morning—he was getting rich, which couldn’t have mattered less to him—and as he turned away he felt a soft touch on his arm.

  It was Sajjo, and she tapped out a code they had invented between them so they could talk in the dark.

  She had found Bovranulz.

  Where? Darzek responded.

  She motioned to him to follow her. They slipped between the shadowed tents and into the forbidden inner circle of the Duke of OO’s enclave. Sajjo pointed. It was not Bovranulz’s own distinctive tent but one indistinguishable from the others.

  Darzek parted the flaps and looked in on darkness. Cupping his hands about his hand light, he pointed it at the interior and turned it on.

  The gaunt, elderly form was seated on the edge of a cot. The wrinkled face grinned as its sightless eyes embraced Darzek.

  Bovranulz’s fingers were barely discernible in the dim light. Greetings, my friend. Did you receive my message that we would meet at Midpor?

  Darzek’s mind shaped the one question that mattered above all others. “Did the duke make you his captive because you refused to tell him who would be chos
en king?”

  No, my friend, the fingers answered. He took me captive because I did tell him, and he feared that I would tell others. Bovranulz does not conceal the truth, nor does he fear to speak it. The duke made me his prisoner because I told him who would be chosen king.

  “Who?” Darzek’s mind demanded.

  The Duke of OO, the fingers replied.

  “Is there no way to change that? No way to make another duke the king?”

  None, the reply came. The picture is drawn. The Duke of OO will be chosen King of Storoz.

  * * * *

  Two days later, the procession began to move westward at dawn. It was an interminable, utterly chaotic beginning because no one was in charge. The Protector and his personal escort of knights moved at the head of the line on their riding nabrula. Immediately behind them came the party of the Duke Merzkion, because his group was encamped at the extreme western edge of the meadow. The entourages of the other dukes contended for positions, and a knight of the Duke Suklozk fought a death duel with a knight of the Duke Pabinzk on the lane they were disputing and killed him. While they fought, passing wagons, carts, riders, even pedestrians—for there was no way to keep impoverished foot peddlers from tagging along—veered around them, showering them with clouds of dust as the heavy traffic churned the seldom-used lane to powder.

  Few had thought to carry water, and though there were frequent small streams, the panting nabrula rushed into each one they encountered and fouled it for kilometers before drinking and cooking water could be drawn from it. Not until the third day did the dukes themselves realize that something had to be done to ease the water problem and settle the daily squabbles and duels that took place along the line of march. A capable knight of the Duke Rilornz was placed in charge, and after that things went much more smoothly. And there were no more duels.

  But the procession continued to move slowly.

  Each night, when the various entourages broke their line of march to encamp, Darzek made his rounds. He routinely took orders from those wishing to replenish supplies: crocks of flour, weights of dried meat or fish, bales of nabrula fodder.