by James Enge
He turned his eyes back up the stairwell and met the gaze of the whitehaired guard who was leading the way upward. "That's right!" Okhurokratu said, in a relieved tone. "No point getting us into trouble."
"Don't be trying to be talking him into it," called Snellingu from below.
Morlock said nothing. He thought he heard someone saying, Kree-laow.! Kree-laou ' He looked into an unglazed window as they passed it on the stairwell but could see nothing within: the light difference was like a black curtain.
As they climbed, Morlock kept his eyes on the funicular ways. He would have liked to see the gears within the tower, but he thought he understood how the ropeways worked. There was one upward way and one downward way that were in constant motion. At regular intervals, crews atop the towers attached the rope-woven cars to the upward way and detached them from the downward way.
They finally reached the top. Morlock looked with interest at the crews hitching and unhitching the basketlike cars. When a car came down the way, the crew fixed it to the tower with an anchor like a great hook. The passengers got out and trudged away via the down staircase on the far side of the tower. Then the crew unhooked the car from the ropes and carried it over to the near side of the tower. They anchored it, hooked it to the upward rope, but did not fasten the hitch, so that the funicular ropes ran through the hooks without carrying the car away. They motioned the waiting passengers to embark. The waiting passengers were Morlock and his two guards: the way had apparently been cleared before them.
The crews were looking very unhappy in the fierce light and humid air, but they didn't appear to be slaves.
The guards sat down at some distance from him: white-haired Okhurokratu at the left-hand window, opposite to Morlock, scar-faced Snellingu with his back against the wicker-screened window in the front of the car. They had probably been warned against coming within reach of his ghostly hand. This was wise, as Morlock would certainly use it against them if he could. It had occurred to him that if he could distract one of them with it long enough to get a spear, he might kill them both, in which case matters would be very different indeed. He could not hope for real escape, but he did plan on causing harm to those who would kill him.
Morlock covertly tested the wicker screen on his right by pressing his elbow against it. It didn't give much. Probably it would be difficult to kick one of the guards out without being speared by the other. If he was going to try anything on the funicular, it would be best if he freed his hand first. He thought about the difficult task of teasing forth the wire from the seam while the guards were watching him, and wondered if he could get them to distract each other.
The crew cast off the anchor of the car and simultaneously did something to the hitches, fixing them to the cable leading upward. The car jerked into motion and carried them out over the city.
Morlock asked the watchers, "Are they all free citizens on the roof crews?"
"Yes," Okhurokratu said. "They tried slaves a few times, but it never worked. Not lively enough when it counts. It used to be free workers on every spoke down to the ground, and things worked better then."
Snellingu made a rude whistling sound with his wounded lips.
"My old gray-muzzle used to work the gears," Okhurokratu said. "Since they went to using slaves, he hasn't had an honest day's work and I've got to support him. A free citizen, supporting his gray-muzzled dad and half his brothers. Can you feature that?"
"The funiculars are working the same way they have been always doing, and you are just being angry about your sloppy-lazy family, which is boring to me."
"Ah. You don't know what it's like."
"I am knowing; you are all the time telling me. I am not caring."
"Ah. You-"
"So, Khretvarrgliu," said Snellingu. "You are being impressed by our funicular ways? Is it not being impressive? Don't be listening to my partner; he cannot be being happy unless he is being unhappy."
This turned the conversation back to Morlock, which was awkward, as he had the tip of the wire between his thumb and index finger. "Could be improved," he said. "It's a long walk up."
Both the watchers laughed. "Of course it's a long walk," Okhurokratu said. "What would you do about that? The funicular has to be high so it can clear the mesas."
"The same sort of gears that power the funicular could work ropes running up and down the tower. Put platforms on the ropes; people can ride up." He was hindered by the lack of a technical vocabulary in Sunspeech-and, anyway, he really only wanted to distract them.
The watchers fell silent, distracted by the image in their minds of elevators rising and falling. "Too much work for the tower-slaves," Okhurokratu said eventually. "They're only flesh and blood."
"Get other crews. The gears could be worked from the ground, or from the top of the tower. Adding another level there might be the best thing."
The two watchers looked at each other. Morlock deftly palmed the wire now freed from the seam.
"They would never be going for it," said scar-face doubtfully. "The big-teeth."
Morlock shrugged. He looked at a hand crank on the ceiling of the car. Nodding toward it, he said, "That's for-" He paused. He didn't know the Sunspeech word for emergency, though he had been in many and caused more than a few. "If the ropes stop," he concluded finally.
"Yes," grumbled Okhurokratu. "Happened to me, once-on the up way, which is the worst. Had to crank for half the afternoon just to get to the next tower. That never happened when they used free workers."
Snellingu rolled his eyes. "How would you be knowing? You have been saying you were only a pup when they were had starting to use slaves."
"My gray-muzzle told me."
Both watchers turned their gaze directly at Morlock, now-not especially interested in him, but efficiently minding him. There was nothing he could do while they were watching him, so he looked out the window.
They were riding high above the city. Morlock felt strangely inspired, almost the way he had felt when he was flying. The city had a kind of beauty, seen from here: it was full of trees, bristling with lair-towers. There were running streams, silvery in the bitter sunlight, and open pools that glared back at him. He saw the citizens going about their business in their day shapes in the cruel summery light. None of them looked up to see him pass on toward his death. They would go on doing the same thing tomorrow when he was dead. In that moment, they almost mattered more to him than he did to himself, even though they looked smaller than ... than those ratlike things with the human faces.
"Were you two there when I was arrested?" he asked the guards.
They looked uncomfortable. "We were only doing our jobs," Okhurokratu said defensively.
"Yes," agreed Snellingu.
Morlock wondered why they said that-why they thought it would make a difference to him. But since they clearly had been there, he asked the question he really wanted an answer to. "Did you see that thing inside the old citizen-the thing running him like a puppet?"
"Were-rats," White-hair said, and scowled. "I hate those guys."
"Why are you hating them?"
"They smell bad, and I can't understand what they say, and they make me feel creepy. And that meat-puppet they had really bothered me."
"The old citizen," Morlock prompted him, when it seemed like he would say no more.
"Citizen my third testicle. That thing-didn't it bother you?" he asked his partner explosively. "Now I have nightmares that half the people I run into are just meat-puppets run by were-rats. It would explain a lot of what's wrong with this town. But you're not bothered; I can tell by the smug expression on your face."
"Not me. I would be knowing."
"How?"
"They are smelling bad. You are saying so."
"Where do the were-rats come from?" Morlock asked. "Do they have a borough, like Dogtown or Apetown?"
"The were-rats are living on Mount Dhaarnaiarnon. Everyone is knowing that."
"I'm not from around here."
&
nbsp; "I am almost forgetting. Even though you are smelling like a never-wolf."
By now they had reached Runaiaklendon Tower. Morlock was hoping for a moment or two of distraction as they disembarked and reembarked on the funicular car-but they didn't disembark at all; the guards kept their seat and the tower crew hustled the car and its passengers from the Twine- Runaiaklendon line to the Runaiaklendon-Nekkuklendon line.
By now Morlock's cupped right hand was resting lightly on the manacle binding his thigh. If he could open that lock, it would effectively free his hand ... and give him a weapon, as the leg manacle swung on the end of a short chain might do a lot of damage in the right hand (that is, Morlock's).
Unfortunately, it was no good. The wire rasped audibly against the metal of the manacle. Morlock could hear it, and he knew the two werewolf watchers heard something, too: their ears seemed to twitch. He moved his hand away from the manacle in a way he hoped did not look furtive. He would have to wait until there was more noise and less alertness.
The noise came at every changeover, but unfortunately the guards' alertness increased then also. When they were riding up the final line, from Iuiunioklendon to Wuruklendon, Morlock had to admit to himself that he would not be able to free himself before he arrived at his place of execution.
The funicular anchor on Wuruklendon was the lowest of all-not even a tower, really, just a raised platform. The door of the car was opened from the outside, and white-haired Okhurokratu, all friendliness dropped, stood and gestured with his spear at the door.
Morlock stood and walked out the door into the late-morning sun.
On the platform the crew was standing well clear of him, fearful looks on their faces. Around the anchor-station on the ground was a small army of campaign volunteers, divided into companies of the Sardhluun (black-andgreen tunics), the Neyuwuleiuun (red-and-green tunics) and the Aruukaiaduun (resplendent in blue and gold). They were armed, also, and their weapons were in their hands.
Wurnafenglu stood at the head of the Sardhluun volunteers. "Come down, Khretvarrgliu, come down!" he cried. "We have an errand at the Stone Tree!"
The Sardhluun werewolves cheered him enthusiastically, the others of the Alliance less so.
"That's our next First Wolf, partner," Okhurokratu remarked quietly to Snellingu behind Morlock. "And I hate that guy."
"I am not liking this," the scar-faced partner replied. "I am being glad the Sardhluun dogs will be doing the actual kill."
"What's to like? It's a job, partner. Citizens don't have to like their jobs; they just have to do them."
Morlock walked down the wooden steps, trying to conceal the wire in his hands without seeming to conceal anything.
This station was different from the others. Most of the gears were underground, but one set was exposed to the outer air, just below the platform. He gazed hungrily at it, and couldn't help speculating on how their efficiency might be increased.
The slaves working the wheels on the upper level looked up from their work and saw him as he descended. He recognized none of them, but they seemed to recognize him; some seemed to be muttering kree-laow. He nodded at them and turned away toward his enemies.
The line of weapons bristled as the volunteers lifted them threateningly against him. He looked at them, rattled his chain, and smiled. Some of the ones nearby turned their eyes away and seemed embarrassed. But no one lowered a weapon.
The volunteers surrounded Morlock like an honor guard, the nearest ones a spear's-length distance from him on every side. He walked among them and tried to see past them.
Wuruklendon was strangely like a wilderness. If anyone had ever lived there, it was so long ago as to leave no traces. There was underbrush and small trees-and rising over all a great gray branching structure that stood against the misty blue sky: the Stone Tree. It did look like a leafless tree, but Morlock guessed it had been built, rather than grown. The ends of the branches seemed to trace out three-dimensional representations of higherspace polytopes. He would have been interested to know if the branches changed position over time, but he doubted that anyone within hearing distance would answer his question.
Not far from the trunklike base of the Stone Tree was a dark hole in the ground, bordered by a crumbling stone wall. The Well of Shadows, no doubt.
Beyond the well, the ground fell steeply away and the eastern slope was littered with the shapes of tombs, mausoleums, and monuments all the way down to the hilly plain at the base of Wuruyaaria's mountain. This was the necropolis of the city, where wealthy and wellborn citizens honored their dead.
Between the well and the tree was a wooden platform with three levels.
The volunteers parted, and Morlock was prodded with spears to step forward and climb the scaffold to the highest platform, where there were leg manacles on chains that were nailed to the wood.
Once there he turned and looked out at the crowd gathering for the rally, and the execution.
A volunteer in the green-and-black tunic of the Sardhluun had followed Morlock up the stairs. With a grim look on his face, he knelt down and fastened the manacles to Morlock's ankles. Then he stood and looked Morlock in the eye.
"So much for you, Khretvarrgliu," he said. "My brother died in the Vargulleion on New Year's Night."
"I hope I killed him," Morlock said.
The Sardhluun volunteer's long face worked, as if he were trying to spit, but could not quite manage it.
"If your mouth is dry," Morlock said, "perhaps Wurnafenglu can moisten it for you."
It was a version of an insult he had heard Lakkasulakku shout at Hlupnafenglu on one high-spirited afternoon recently. He had no clear idea what it meant. But the Sardhluun volunteer obviously did. He staggered backward; one foot missed a stair, and he tumbled down the long wooden scaffold to the bottom.
A small, ugly victory on the way to an even uglier defeat. Wurnafenglu looked at the fallen Sardhluun volunteer, who was carried away unmoving, looked up at Morlock, and smiled, exposing all of his white sharp teeth. He pointed at the sky and turned away, still smiling. Morlock spent some time wondering what he had meant. Enjoy your last noon. Your time is short. The eclipse is coming. Something like that, perhaps.
The three gnyrrands of the Alliance had gathered on the third platform, along with their reeves and cantors. Citizens without colors or weapons were gathering to watch the rally, but they were still outnumbered by the sea of armed and uniformed volunteers. The Alliance had found so much success with their last rally that they were taking no chances at all with this one. If the outliers and the Goweiteiuun showed up, the gnyrrands and cantors would be killed, with as many of their volunteers as seemed necessary. The election would end today. So ran the rumor of the crowd as it reached Morlock, standing alone on the high scaffold. His hand rested naturally on the manacle binding his thigh.
Wurnafenglu was forcefully asserting his right to speak for the entire Alliance before the execution. The other two gnyrrands of the Alliance seemed unhappy about this, but the one in Aruukaiaduun colors was a nonentity, not even addressed with respect by his own cantors, and the Neyuwuleiuun gnyrrand lacked Wurnafenglu's fierce hunger for the crowd. Also, they were constrained by the time, if they were really trying to orchestrate Morlock's execution with an eclipse-and time was certainly an issue: one of the reeves had mounted a sundial on the corner of the platform, and was constantly consulting it.
Presently, Wurnafenglu mounted to the second platform and began to speak. His speech was about the grief and the glory of being a solitary citizen of Wuruyaaria. From solitude came strength and courage; from unity, weakness and fear. But when the strong united with the strong bravely to oppose the cowering weak, were they not creating a kind of disunity that led to greater strength? But if some would weave the city into a disharmonious unity, weakening its strength, then the city must defend itself by cutting that part of itself out, like a gangrenous limb. So Wurnafenglu reasoned with his audience, taking both speaking parts.
The reeve w
atching the sundial made a significant gesture.
Two other reeves opened a long box: in it lay a long spear, painted black and green. Beside it glittered Tyrfing, unsheathed and unbound in any way that Morlock could see.
Someone in the crowd shouted that the sun was disappearing. Everyone looked up, including Morlock. Cries of wonder and fear swept the crowd, and Morlock was not immune from the same feelings. He wished, at some time in his long life, he had spent some time understanding the mysteries of eclipses, the subtle gestures of the stars, all the open secrets the sky unveiled every night.
Wurnafenglu shouted in a commanding voice, "And so the sun itself demands the death of the never-wolf who poisoned the city!" This drew the eyes of most, if not all, of the crowd back to him. One of the reeves, the one wearing Neyuwuleiuun colors, handed Wurnafenglu the spear dark with Sardhluun black and green.
Morlock pulled the unlocked manacle free from his leg. He reached out his still-manacled hand and called loudly, "Tyrfing!"
In the faded light of the vanishing sun, the monochrome blade flew glittering through the air to Morlock's outstretched hand.
Wurnafenglu gaped for a moment, then realized what had happened. He charged up the stairway to the execution scaffold.
Morlock shattered the shackles on his right ankle and then Wurnafenglu was upon him. Morlock swiftly brought Tyrfing up to parry Wurnafenglu's spear.
Tyrfing's edge sheared away a strip of black-and-green pigment from the spear's shaft. Underneath, the spear gleamed like glass.