Angel Isle

by Peter Dickinson

  “Oh…er…thank you…,” said Saranja.

  “And if there is anything I can do in return…”

  “You don’t have any food in those saddlebags, I suppose,” said Ribek quickly.

  “Indeed, I do. I’ll be only too delighted….”

  Prattling on, the man moved to the side of his mule and with deft fingers unbuckled a saddlebag. Maja sat down to wait with her back against a rock. An unknown time later she was lying curled on a rug on some kind of swaying platform with a smell of horse and harness in her nostrils and fragments of salt fish and soft bread in her mouth. She had no memory of how they got there but they tasted as if they’d been very good indeed.

  CHAPTER

  12

  Then it was day. Maja was lying on the ground now, and in her own bedroll, by the feel of it. Low voices were talking close by—Ribek’s and…Oh, yes, the stranger they had met last night. Something to do with water mills. The stranger seemed to know a lot about water mills. She groaned and tried to sit up, but every joint and muscle complained, and she let herself collapse and groaned again. Instantly Ribek was at her side, his arm under her shoulders.

  “Don’t move,” he said. “We’re staying here. Saranja says the horses have got to have a full day’s rest. Here, try this. It’s something Striclan brewed up. It’s good for aches and pains, he says.”

  Gently he eased her up enough for her to sip from the mug he was holding to her lips. The blood-warm liquid had a heavenly, rich, autumnal smell, and was both sweet and bitter in the mouth. A tingling glow flowed through her as she sipped, and she lay back down with a sigh.

  “My sister’s only twelve,” he explained to someone, “and we must have done getting on two days’ march yesterday. She’s been doing too much anyway. She was a plump little thing when we set out, but look at her now.”

  “Of course she must rest. And your brother too,” said the stranger’s soft voice. Striclan must be his name. Something funny about him. Not now. Later.

  “A little gentle exercise this afternoon,” the man went on. “And I will give Miss Saranja an unguent with which to massage her. I would do it myself, but I imagine that as her guardian you would prefer…”

  “She’s a child still. No harm,” said Ribek, obviously relishing his role as official protector of the two women. Huh! Maja thought. We’ll see what Saranja has to say about that!

  “Spiced pumpkin bread for breakfast, Maja,” said Ribek. “He’s got a traveling larder in those saddlebags of his. I’ll toast you some.”

  It was as near heaven as Maja could imagine, lying in the morning sun—still welcome after the night chill of the desert—with Ribek feeding little squares of Striclan’s toasted pumpkin bread, oozing with wild honey, between her lips. Funny name. Funny man. She could sense his oddness through Jex’s mild shielding. Forcing herself into something like wakefulness, she concentrated on the stranger.

  Yes, there he was in his magical essence, just as she’d have expected, busy, eager, interested, self-confident, like quick, cheerful, clever music, music to dance to. But under that, almost unnoticeable beneath the surface dazzle and fizz, something much slower, much more deep and thoughtful, like huge cloud-islands drifting along on a summer day, grand and calm, but full of hidden thunder.

  Interesting, but not now. Too tired.

  She slept dreamless, and woke again, this time in the evening cool. Her left forearm, lying close beside her cheek, had a pleasant, pungent smell and was faintly greasy to the touch. She eased herself up without a twinge and looked around.

  Something had woken her—Ribek’s voice, “Hold it!” and a sudden rush of movement.

  Benayu was asleep beside her, as if he had never woken. Beyond him, Saranja had been grooming Pogo, but had just turned and was staring over Maja’s shoulder. She dropped her brush and broke into a run. Maja too turned.

  Ribek was there, sprinting toward three people a little distance away. One of the men was the stranger, Striclan, who’d been talking to Ribek about water mills when Maja had first woken. The other two were squat, dangerous-looking men. Each of them had a knife in his hand. Striclan was holding his staff across his body in both hands as if he was about to try and push them away with it. He gave it a quick twist and it came apart. One piece fell to the ground. He flicked the short piece in his left hand at one of the men. A cloud of powdery stuff shot into the man’s face and he staggered back, coughing and choking. The other man had dropped his knife and was backing away because the point of the narrow sword Striclan held in his right hand was pricking into his throat. Ribek slowed, reached them, picked up the two knives and said something to Striclan, who nodded, apparently unperturbed. He spoke briefly to the second man, who walked off, cursing, to help his friend.

  Striclan picked up the fallen section of staff and slid the sword blade into it, screwed the bit that had held the powder back into place and was holding his staff again. Saranja joined them and they walked back together to where Maja was sitting.

  “…on the open road, in lonely places, perhaps,” Striclan was saying. “But in my experience Imperial way stations are much too well run to allow this sort of thing to happen. The authorities in Talagh…”

  “They seem to have lost their hold for the moment,” said Ribek. “They’re too busy with what’s happening around Tarshu, I suppose. You know about Tarshu, I gather.”

  “To say I know would be an exaggeration. I was hoping to go to Tarshu, but was turned away, with no reason given. Since then I have heard only rumors, but they have been consistent enough to compose a truthful scenario. The city is said to be under seaborne attack by invaders generally referred to as pirates, though they appear to be much more disciplined and organized than any pirates I have had the misfortune to encounter….”

  “Where we come from, we call them Sheep-faces,” said Ribek.

  Striclan giggled, mysteriously delighted. He fished a little pad and stylus out of his pouch.

  “That’s good. That’s very good indeed,” he said. “I must make a note. But surely that means that someone in your area must have met, or at least seen, some of them, in order to bestow a visual sobriquet upon them. You told me your mill was among the northern mountains, whereas I understood this incursion to be a purely coastal affair….”

  “Just rumors, same as you,” said Ribek. “A sort of flying ship with a human crew exploring the passes into the Empire. Fierce fighting the other side of the Great Desert. That sort of thing.”

  Striclan nodded, apparently accepting this as a perfectly good explanation, and made another note on his pad. But Maja had sensed a sudden stirring of his deeper, other self, as if what Ribek had told him had been much more interesting and important than a few improbable rumors from a remote corner of the Empire.

  “And that unpleasant phenomenon we encountered last night?” he said. “Some of the others here in the way station escaped much as I did, thanks to Miss Saranja here. They are talking of it having been a demon of some kind. Furthermore, travelers from the south reported that some kind of storm demon had recently attacked the city of Larg, and been driven off by magical means. I had been under the impression that demons, if they ever existed, were a phenomenon of the distant past, of the same order as rocs and unicorns, but the consensus seemed to be much what you were saying about that pair of thugs just now, that these two, and perhaps others, had emerged because the relevant authorities were preoccupied with the struggle around Tarshu. Can that be the case?”

  “It was a demon all right, wasn’t it, Saranja?” said Ribek. “Or you wouldn’t have been able to deal with it.”

  “I suppose so.”

  Striclan was writing on his pad again, and seemed not to notice the grudgingness of her tone, and the slight headshake. Ribek answered with a nod and a hand gesture to say he knew what he was doing.

  “And the possibility of one’s encountering further such, ah, creatures?”

  “Last time it happened, far as I know, was several hundred yea
rs ago. It wasn’t quite like this, as what you call the authorities are still there, only they’re busy at Tarshu. That time they’d been pretty well wiped out, and suddenly there were demons everywhere. Even so, I wouldn’t think this one and the one at Larg can be the only ones.”

  “Ah. In that case, how would you feel about my traveling for a while, if not in your company, at least in your general vicinity? I’m afraid this may seem an impertinent request on so short an acquaintance, but let me explain. I am employed by a wealthy scholar, who has dedicated his life to compiling an encyclopedia describing all the various peoples of the Empire. He is particularly interested in their beliefs about, and interactions with, magical and other paranormal phenomena. No single man could complete such a task in a lifetime, so he employs me, and others like me, to investigate and report on allotted areas, and he then collates our reports. I joined the Highway a little north of here, having completed an investigation of the desert tribes, and was on my way to Larg to dispatch my report. But I was very alarmed by our encounter with that creature last night, and if others of that kind are likely to beset the Highway, I would prefer to be in the company of someone who is equipped to deal with them, as Miss Saranja so evidently is.”

  “We weren’t going to Larg, I’m afraid,” said Ribek. “We’re traveling north.”

  “I can equally well send my report from Farfar. I shall have to go there in the end. But please don’t feel that you are under any obligation to agree. The obligation is wholly on my side. And of course I won’t ask you to make up your minds on the instant. I must water my poor mule, and perhaps we can meet later this evening and you can tell me what you’ve decided.”

  “Of course,” said Ribek, rising with him. Striclan bowed to Saranja, raised a hand in farewell and turned away. They waited for him to move out of earshot.

  “Why did you tell him all that?” said Saranja. “He’s been very helpful, but I don’t trust him.”

  “So that he’d tell us stuff about himself,” said Ribek. “He’s got to have seen Sheep-faces too, or he wouldn’t have thought us calling them that was funny. What did you make of him, Maja?”

  “He’s like what he is, I think. Only there’s someone else inside him. Someone secret.”

  Ribek nodded.

  “Let’s go and water the horses,” he said.

  “I haven’t finished grooming Pogo,” said Saranja.

  “Bring him when you’ve done,” said Ribek, reaching for Rocky’s halter. “You bring Levanter, Maja. I want to know more about this fellow. We’ll probably have to wait in line. See what you can pick up. Come along, old boy, water.”

  There were a horse and a mule at the trough, another waiting next in line, then Striclan with his mule, then another horse ahead of them. All these desert way stations had deep wells reaching down to water sources far below, with a horse trough beside them. The system was that two animals drank at a time while the well-master’s slave wound the buckets up and down to keep the trough filled. The travelers waiting next in line haggled over the fee and bribe with the well-master, as Striclan was doing now. Maja could sense his enjoyment of the process. The only strange thing about him was that he seemed absolutely unshaken by his encounter with the demon last night.

  Ribek handed Rocky’s halter to Maja, unhooked his flask from his belt, emptied it into the sand and hooked it back on. He fished in his wallet and withdrew the water-charm he’d made last evening. Casually he swung it beside his hip, as if he merely needed something to fidget with while he waited. Maja felt the strange magic flow, far gentler than the old tribeswoman’s insistent, almost bullying tone. Ribek wasn’t commanding the spirit, he was asking. Maja felt the spirit’s weary answer. Ribek persisted, pleading, and it gave in and Ribek looped the cord round his wrist and left it dangling.

  The two animals at the trough finished drinking and their owners led them away. The next horse and Striclan’s mule moved to take their places, and the man immediately ahead of Ribek began the absurdly elaborate process of dealing with the well-master.

  As if for something to do while he waited his turn, Ribek wandered over to the trough, unhooked his flask again and filled it from the flow of the next bucket into the trough. He put it to his lips, swigged, sluiced the water round his mouth and spat it into the sand. As he returned to his place he offered the flask to Striclan.

  “Like to make sure,” he said. “Lot of arsenic in some of these desert wells. Only a trace here, plus a bit of copper.”

  “If you say so,” said Striclan. “I doubt if I’ve that fine a palate.”

  Nevertheless he took a mouthful, sluiced it round as Ribek had done, but then swallowed.

  “I believe I can detect the arsenic,” he said. “Copper, you say? Curious.”

  He sounded completely casual, but for a moment it was as if that hidden inner self had come alive, full of interest, thoughtful.

  “Just a trace,” said Ribek, and returned to Maja. As she waited for him to settle with the well-master she wasn’t surprised to see Striclan making a rapid note in his pad. The other man’s horse finished at the trough and she led Levanter to take its place. A moment or two later Rocky joined him, while Ribek strolled round to the wellhead and emptied his flask over the edge, swilling the water round as it gurgled out.

  “I’m hoping there’s a trace of his saliva round the rim,” he murmured. “Let’s see.”

  He took the charm from his pouch again and started to swing it. The magic flowed, and the spirit answered at once. Ribek listened for a moment, and laughed aloud.

  “What’s up?” said Maja.

  He bent to whisper into her ear.

  “He’s one himself.”

  “One what?”

  “Sheep-face.”

  “He can’t be! Anyway, he doesn’t look like one.”

  “He wouldn’t, because he’s a Sheep-face spy. All is explained.”

  “He was really interested in what you said about tasting copper in the water.”

  “I wonder why.”

  “We can’t let him go to Larg! If he tells the Sheep-faces there isn’t any magic there—”

  “Shhh! Yes, that’s a point. We’ll see what Saranja says, and then we’ll have to wake Benayu up.”

  What Saranja said was, “I’m no good at pretending.”

  “You don’t have to. Just act like you would do anyway. The poor chap’s completely in awe of you. You saved his life and you can bind demons. He absolutely worships you. You’re a simple country girl and you don’t know how to handle it, so no wonder you act a bit surly.”

  “I don’t think he’s in awe of anyone. What he said was some of the truth. The Sheep-faces want to know all they can about magic, and that’s what he’s here to find out. I can bind demons, thanks to Zald. If he finds out about Zald he’ll grab it and run. Now that the Watchers have woken the demons against them he’ll think it’s just what they’re looking for. And what about Benayu, when he’s well enough to start doing things again?”

  “How’s he getting on, Maja?”

  She concentrated. Benayu was dreaming—a bad dream. She knew because she could feel the horrible strange magic, still potent, even like this.

  “He’s having a nightmare about the demon,” she said. “We’d better wake him up.”

  Ribek knelt, slid his arm under Benayu’s shoulders and eased him up to a half-sitting position. His head lolled.

  “I can’t do anything,” he muttered. “I mustn’t.”

  Ribek put his other arm round him and hugged him to his chest.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “Saranja’s here. She’s got Zald.”

  Benayu snorted, sat fully up and stared round.

  “Stupid. Stupid,” he said. “You know it’s only a dream, but…What’s happening?”

  “Remember that chap we met in the desert—said his name was Striclan?” said Ribek, and explained. Benayu didn’t seem very interested, but thought about it a little while, then smiled sourly.

 
“Back in the mountains Saranja told me I might need the Pirates—Sheep-faces—whatever they call themselves,” he said.

  “That settles it,” said Ribek. “I’ll tell him he can come along. It’s not only demons we may be running into, and with you out of action he’s got some useful tricks if we hit trouble.”

  They barely needed to pretend, even Saranja. Striclan was cheerful, interested in everything, told the most amazing stories, and so obviously liked to be helpful. He took a lot of trouble with Benayu, brewing him healing remedies and strength-giving tonics, and seeing there was plenty of iron in his food, and things with strange names like proteins and vitamins. He exchanged herbal lore with Saranja and persuaded Ribek to teach him kick-fighting. Ribek said he was remarkably good at it for somebody starting so late and with a figure like his.

  “You never know what might not come in useful,” Striclan said. “These are dangerous times. And that reminds me, it’s all very well for Ribek to rely on his skill with his feet, but the rest of you ought to be able to defend yourselves, too. I have a little switchblade knife for Maja—here. I will make an arm sheath for it, but in the meanwhile put it in your belt-pouch, Maja, and I’ll show you how to use it if you have to. You can kill a full-grown man with it if you know where to strike. I believe there are serious penalties for carrying anything like a sword without a license, which is why I carry my rapier concealed in my staff. It would be difficult to arrange anything of the sort for Miss Saranja and Benayu. The best I can suggest is that I should cut quarterstaffs for them and again show them how to use them. In fact it is possible to strike a damaging blow with a well-balanced quarterstaff. It is certainly far better than nothing.”