March Upcountry im-1

by David Weber

“I will,” Roger promised. “If you’ll show me. I’ve always had someone to do it for me, but I think servants are going to be in short supply on Marduk, and Matsugae didn’t know how, either.”

  “I’ll show you how. And it can be our little secret.”

  “Thanks, Despreaux. I really appreciate it. Maybe you can get a medal for it,” he added with a laugh.

  “The Order of the Golden Braid?”

  “Whatever you want. As soon as we get back to Earth, I’m rich again.”

  “Rich city,” Kosutic said.

  This was the third bazaar the team had found, and it was of a piece with the others. The majority of the market was permanent, wooden stalls set side-by-side on narrow alleyways. There were also occasional open areas where temporary carts were set up, selling everything imaginable, but most of the trade was in the back alleys.

  Kosutic had initially entered those with care. She’d been on enough planets and around enough alleys to know that they contained both the best and the worst available on worlds like this. The Marines had dispensed with armor, and if she gave them the chance, these Mardukans could be a nasty proposition at close quarters. So she was slow. And careful.

  As it turned out, the alleys were generally the best part of the market. The small shops were very old and established, and had not only the best items, but better prices. Unfortunately, the products weren’t what they wanted.

  The region was a supplier of raw material and gems. There was more than sufficient food and leather goods available for their purposes, but what they really needed—pack beasts and weapons—were expensive and hard to find.

  She stopped at one of the small booths selling weapons as a sword on its back wall caught her eye. The Mardukan running the booth squatted on a stool, and still overtopped her. Even by Mardukan standards he was a giant, and it appeared that he might not always have been a merchant. His left true-arm ended in a stump at the elbow, and his chest was an Escher painting of scars. Both horns had been capped with bronze points that were wickedly sharp, and a hook depended from the arm stump.

  He looked up at what she was staring at, and slapped his hook with his remaining true-hand.

  “You know that?” he asked.

  “I’ve seen it before,” she said carefully. “Or something similar.”

  The weapon was unlike the others she’d seen in the bazaar, for the steel was damascene. The black and silver water pattern was clear as day. The blade was long for a human, short for a Mardukan, and curved to a slightly widened end. It was neither precisely a katana nor a scimitar, but something in between.

  And it was flat out beautiful.

  She’d seen swords of that type on several worlds, but all of them were much more advanced than this one’s tech level. Or than the local tech level, at least.

  “Where is it from?” she asked.

  “Ah,” the merchant said, clapping his cross hands. “That’s the sad part. This is a relic of Voitan. I have heard of you visitors, you ‘humans.’ You are from a far land, so do you know the story of Voitan?”

  “Some of it,” Kosutic admitted. “But why don’t you tell it to me from the beginning?”

  “Have a seat,” the local invited, and reached into a bag to extract a clay jug. “Drink?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Kosutic looked over her shoulder at the small group which had been following her around. Besides Koberda’s squad, it consisted of Poertena and three of Cord’s nephews. “You guys go circulate.” They’d each been given an Eterna-light and a lighter. “Do a little trading. See what they bring. I’ll be here.”

  “Do you want someone to stay with you, Sergeant Major?” Sergeant Koberda asked. His tone was mild, but the orders had been fairly strict.

  Kosutic raised an eyebrow at the merchant, who grunted in reply.

  “No,” she said with a headshake. “I’m just gonna sit here and shoot the shit for a while. I’ll give a holler when I’m ready to head back, and we can link up.”

  “Aye.” Koberda gestured at his squad; he’d seen a place that looked a lot like a bar a few alleys back. “We’ll be circulating.”

  Poertena followed Denat down the alleyway. He figured that three of Cord’s nephews counted as “a group,” and the Mardukan swore he knew the best pawn shop in the city.

  The shopkeepers and artisans to either side of the narrow way looked up with interest as he passed. Word of the humans’ arrival had spread through the grapevine, but he was surprised that there wasn’t more overt curiosity. On most human planets, there would at least have been a group of children following him around, but not here. For that matter, he didn’t see any children or women, and hadn’t since they arrived in the area.

  “Where are tee women?” he asked Denat as the Mardukan took another turn. Poertena decided that if they got separated he would be in trouble finding his way back.

  “The shit-sitters lock them away,” the tribesman said with a grunt of laughter. “And the children. A stupid custom.”

  “Well, I’m glad you got pocking respect for tee locals,” Poertena said with a bark of laughter of his own.

  “Pah!” Denat spat and made a derisive hand gesture. “Shit-sitters are for killing. But if we kill one, it’s the knife for us, as well.”

  “Yah.” Poertena nodded. “I guess they probably give a fair trial and slit your throat.”

  “No.” Denat stopped for a moment to get his bearings. “The town law doesn’t apply to us. If we violate a town law, we’re turned over to the tribe. But for a killing, the tribe will give us the knife as quickly as the town. And any townsman found violating our laws is turned over to the town. Just as our tribe judges us more harshly than the town would, the town judges its people very harshly.

  “Ah.” He’d obviously located the landmark he sought. “This way. It’s close now.”

  “Put why do tee town kill t’eir folk for breaking your laws?” Poertena was confused.

  “Because if they don’t,” Tratan said from behind him, “we’ll burn their abortion of a shit-city to the ground.”

  Denat grunted in laughter but clapped his hands in agreement.

  “They dare not offend us too greatly, or we’ll attack them. Or camp outside Q’Nkok and pick them off in the open until they don’t dare step outside their gates to relieve themselves. But they can also attack us, attack our towns. We had a war soon after this city started to grow, and it was terrible on both sides. So we keep the peace.”

  “For now,” Tratan said with a hiss.

  “For now,” Denat agreed. “And here we are.”

  The shop was similar to all the others, if a bit smaller. Made of some hardwood, it was abutted on both sides by other shops and looked to be about five meters deep, but the opening was half covered with a leather curtain that shadowed its interior. Inside, dim shapes of piled skins and containers could be barely discerned, but there were more goods piled outside on a leather ground cover spread out into the narrow alley.

  The products were a magpie’s nest of gewgaws. There were a few spearheads, some jewelry (ranging from decent to quite bad), tools for wood and metalworking, cups and platters, candle holders of ruddy brass, leather and wood boxes (some elaborately decorated), spice containers, and a myriad of other items piled haphazardly.

  Squatting in the midst of this disorder was an old scummy. His right horn was broken at the tip, and the mucous covering his body was patched and dry, but for all that, his eyes were bright and interested.

  “Denat!” The merchant got creakily to his feet. “You always bring such interesting things!” he continued, eyeing Poertena.

  “Time to do a little trading, Pratol,” Denat laughed. “I brought a few things, and my friend here wants to show you some others.”

  “Of course.” The merchant pulled a bottle and some cups out of one of the boxes. “Let’s see what you brought. I know you’ll cheat me, as you always do, but if you promise not to take too much of my money, perhaps we can bargain!”

 
“T’at sounds like we goin’ to tee cleaners,” Poertena observed with a chuckle of his own. It felt like home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The “tavern” was a large tent, open on all sides and located on one side of the square that defined the beginning of the bazaar. A series of upended barrels at one end served as the bar, and behind the barrels the carcass of some unknown beast turned slowly over a large brazier.

  There were several long tables scattered throughout the tent, and the Mardukans gathered at them shoveled in the barleyrice, meat, and vegetables being served with gusto.

  The square was a bazaar in its own right, with temporary booths scattered around its periphery. It wasn’t a planned opening—simply a space between one of the Great Houses, a warehouse, the bazaar, and a drop off. Two roads led out of it: one down past the warehouse, and the other up past the Great House. The square was also, clearly, a hangout for the guards from the House. They strode around in their leather armor and carrying their broad headed spears as if they owned the area, which in a way, they did. The merchant eyed them warily, and Koberda doubted that they paid for most of their trifles.

  The NCO looked up from his heavily spiced stew and waved to Poertena. The armorer had picked up another scummy, this one an old guy, and he looked pleased with himself.

  “Hey, Corp,” the Pinopan said. The tables everyone else was standing at came nearly to his head, so he found an empty barrel, rolled it over, and upended it to provide himself with a highchair. “Watcha eating?”

  “Some hot shit,” Andras said, taking a pull on his beer and waving at his mouth. “I don’t know what they’re putting on that damn stew, but it is hot, hot, hot.”

  “Sounds good!” Poertena headed for the bar.

  “I made a deal with the guy,” Koberda said. “We all eat free for one of those Eterna-lights.”

  “Ayah!” The new scummy clutched his head. “That I didn’t need to hear! I’ll go see if I can negotiate being included in it!”

  Denat laughed and picked up the jug in the middle of the table. He shook it, took a sip, and grimaced.

  “Pah! Shit-sitter piss!”

  “Better than that rotgut you served,” PFC Ellers said with a laugh. The grenadier took another bite of meat and sipped more beer. “At least you can taste something of the beer.”

  “Hey,” Cranla, the third of Cord’s nephews, protested. “We just expect some taste in our drinks.”

  “Taste, sure,” Ellers agreed. “But did you have to add the turpentine?”

  Poertena turned back up with a large platter and put it on the table. The table was long, constructed of a thick slab of almost black wood taken from a single trunk. The humans had occupied one end, and the tribesmen gathered around them, snatching at the hot slices of meat on the platter. There were also slices of fruit, and a sliced root the humans didn’t recognize. It was good, though—somewhere between a sweet potato and a white potato.

  “Smells good,” Denat said, popping a piece of the highly spiced meat into his mouth, then choked. “Ayeeeeii! Peruz!” He grabbed for the beer jug as the spice kicked in.

  “Pock!” He took a huge gulp of beer and gasped. “Whai-ee! I guess that beer’s not so bad after all!” he wheezed.

  * * *

  “Where are you, Koberda?” Kosutic asked over the communicator.

  “Ah, my squad is just finishing up lunch, Sergeant Major,” the NCO replied, putting down his cards and looking around.

  The squad was sprawled around the tables, taking it easy. The heat of the day had been building, and most of the Mardukans had beat it for cooler climates. But it wasn’t really all that bad under the tent: no more than 43 Standard, or 110 on the old Fahrenheit scale.

  Poertena had started up a poker game. He’d apparently taken the old Mardukan merchant for a ride dickering over a couple of Eterna-lights and lighters. Now the old guy was trying to get his own back . . . in a game he’d never played before.

  Koberda picked his cards back up and looked at them in disgust. Poertena had let him exchange some of his imperial credits for a few pieces of the local silver and copper. He knew he should’ve kept them in his pocket.

  “Fold.”

  Poertena looked over his cards at the old Mardukan. The merchant looked at his cards, then at the pot.

  “I raise you,” the Mardukan said. He thought about it, then tossed one of the Eterna-lights into the pot. “That should be worth more than that pile.”

  “Yeah,” Poertena agreed with a smile. “Or lunch for twelve.”

  “Ayah! Don’t remind me!” Pratol snapped.

  “Pace it,” the Pinopan said. “Koberda got taken!”

  “Well,” the squad leader said, wondering just how much the little Pinopan had squeezed out of the obviously experienced pawnbroker, “somebody did.”

  Poertena gave his cards another glance and shook his head.

  “Fold.”

  “I like this game!” Pratol gave a couple of grunts and reached out with all four arms to scoop in the pot.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Poertena said as he dealt the next hand. “Just you wait.”

  “Hah!” Tratan said suddenly. He had gotten sense and dropped out while he still owned his weapons. “Look at those shit-sitter pussies!”

  A group of five armed scummies was passing the eatery. The Mardukans were armed with swords, which they carried in the open, rather than scabbarded. The swords were long, straight, and broad; they would have been two-handed weapons—at least—for any of the humans.

  Unlike other guards the humans had seen, these wore full coverage leather armor, with plate patches on the shoulders and breast. They were obviously guarding the lone unarmored scummy in the middle of their formation, who carried a small leather purse slung on a strap around his neck. Apparently, he had less than total confidence in the stout-looking strap, since he also clutched the purse in both true-hands.

  “What’s t’at?” Poertena asked. He picked up his cards and stayed very, very calm.

  “Gem guards,” Pratol replied. He tossed in two for draw.

  “Pussies,” Tratan repeated. “They think all that fancy leather makes them immortal.”

  “I wouldn’t mind some armor.” Koberda picked up the beer jugs and shook them, looking for one that wasn’t empty. “If Talbert’d had some armor, she’d still be here.”

  “Yeah,” Poertena agreed as he drew two cards. It was down to three players, and that was too few for a good poker game. Denat was still hanging in, though. He’d traded a couple of nice gems to Pratol for some silver and credit on goods. Now he was trading on some of Tratan’s silver and the edge of his credit. Poertena glanced up at him as he looked at his draw, then set his cards down in disgust.

  “Fold.”

  Poertena looked at his own cards and didn’t smile. Fortune favored the foolish.

  “Raise you.” He looked at his pile, and flicked over a tiny lapis lazuli. It was an exquisite royal blue, shot through with lines of raw copper.

  “Hmmm.” Pratol pushed over a pile of silver and added his own lapis, slightly larger and polished into a large oval. “See you and raise.”

  Poertena looked at the pile and rolled over a ruby.

  “See you an’ raise, ag’in.”

  Pratol tilted his head to the side suspiciously, then pulled out a tiny sapphire like a flick of blue fire, and placed it carefully atop the pile. The blue and red gems were of a piece, dark but translucent. The gems of the region were its greatest treasure, and watching them glow in the center of the table made it abundantly clear why that was true.

  Poertena picked up the sapphire and the ruby and put them side-by-side. Then he looked at the rest of the items.

  “I t’ink the pot’s light,” he said.

  “Okay.” Pratol tossed a few pieces of silver and a small citrine onto the table. “Now it’s not.”

  “Call,” Poertena said. “Four sevens.”

  “Crap!” The merchant slammed down his cards. “I sti
ll like this game.”

  “I’m out,” Denat said. “I want to keep my weapons.”

  “Why, young tribesman?” a new voice asked. “I’d be happy to sell you more.”

  Kosutic and the merchant she’d stopped to talk with were both smiling as they watched everyone else jump. They’d approached the group so silently that no one had noticed them coming, and Koberda cleared his throat.

  “Ah, Sergeant Major, we were just . . . uh . . .”

  “Gathering energy for the coming march?” she asked. “Don’t sweat it, Koberda. But you need to keep at least one person alert at all times. We’re still not out of the woods here. Clear?”

  “Clear, Sergeant Major,” he said, and then an eyebrow crooked as he noticed the oddity sticking up over her shoulder. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Yep.” Kosutic drew the sword over her shoulder. The ripples of silver and black were muted in the overcast gray sunlight, but it was clearly a work of art. “I like it, but I actually got it for the prince. It was designed for the child of a king, so it’s human-sized.”

  “Yeah.” Koberda nodded. “I can understand that. But what about other weapons?”

  “Alas,” the hook-handed merchant replied, “this isn’t a good area in which to look for large supplies of weapons or armor. The weapons available here have mostly been made elsewhere. They’re from T’Kunzi, or even relics from Voitan, as is this one.”

  “Folks, meet T’Leen. He used to be a trooper until he lost the arm. Now he sells swords.”

  “Spears and knives also. Anything with a blade. Mostly to the guards of the gem merchants and the occasional group of mercenaries,” T’Leen said, fingering one bronze-capped horn. “Or the House guards, occasionally. There are both independent gem merchants and those of the Houses in the town. Although,” he added, “the House merchants sometimes make it . . . hard on the independents.”

  “Pah!” Pratol said, looking up from his examination of the poker deck. He really liked this game. It was better than knucklebones because it included elements of bargaining and skill as well as luck. Very interesting.