‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m due to die before the Yellowing.’ He saw the look of shocked surprise on Steve’s face. ‘I’m not kidding. I was with Cadillac when he read it in the stone – right where it’s going to happen.’
‘And… do you believe it?’
Mr Snow shrugged. ‘He also said you’d be back in the time of the New Earth – and here you are. Sure, I believe in prophecy but who wants to listen to bad news? You keep telling yourself – “He’s a beginner. Maybe he got the name wrong, or the date”. To be honest I didn’t take it seriously. If I had, he’d be here and you’d be about to take a boat trip.’
‘So you sent him last year – with Clearwater to protect him.’
‘Yes. They were going to hand over the arrowhead, do whatever had to be done then hitch a ride back on one of Yama-Shita’s wheel-boats.’
It was getting worse by the minute. ‘Do you have any way of communicating with the Iron Masters in between these boat trips?’
‘Not directly, no. But I am in touch with the Sky Voices.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Steve. Terrific. ‘But apart from that, you’ve received no actual message saying they had arrived safely.’
Mr Snow threw up his hands. ‘We have the confirmation. Yama-Shita brought us the rifles. He is a man of honour whose word can be relied on. The same is true for all the Iron Masters. They have never reneged on a deal.’
‘But – as I understand it – the deal was to deliver a plane and its crew in exchange for rifles. They didn’t promise to return the pilot and passenger.’
‘True.’ A mischievous gleam crept into Mr Snow’s eyes. ‘You’re sharp, Brickman. A real shyster.’
Steve had never heard the word before but it didn’t sound like a compliment – in spite of the tone of admiration.
Mr Snow’s frown returned as he picked up the main thread of their conversation. ‘Cadillac and Clearwater were aware of the situation. I left it to them to explain things. The Iron Masters are intelligent people.’ He paused to tug at his beard. ‘I really didn’t think there’d be a problem.’
Steve’s heart sank as his master plan, already in tatters, was finally torn to shreds. ‘You’re insane, you know that?! I mean… how could you be so… irresponsible?’ The whole future of the clan is at stake and you…! Nobody ever comes back from Beth-Lem! Isn’t that what they say?!’
‘Not in the ordinary way, no but –’
‘Christopher Columbus! What a mess!’
Mr Snow motioned him to stay calm. ‘Look, let’s not get too overwrought about this. We’ve got three more days before the boats leave. We’ll be talking to Yama-Shita again. They’re on board his ship – I’m sure of it.’
‘Then why hasn’t he brought them ashore?’
‘Good question. You know what I think? I think he’s holding them back. You see, he knows we’re unhappy about the rifles so he’s… trying to pressurise us into accepting them.’
‘It’s possible,’ mused Steve. ‘I hope you’re right.’
‘Well, there’s nothing we can do about it. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.’ Mr Snow settled down wearily, wrapping his travelling fur around him. ‘Mother Mo-Town! This noise is terrible isn’t it? And so many people! This is what it was like in the Old Time. Wherever you turned there were human beings jammed shoulder to shoulder from horizon to horizon and living on top of each other in stone trees that reached all the way up to the sky! No wonder the world went mad…’
Steve squatted on his own furs close by. ‘What’s going to happen if Cadillac and Clearwater are not on Yama-Shita’s boat and you die at the end of the summer as predicted?’
Mr Snow uncovered his head. ‘I’d say the M’Calls are in for a rough time. Still… they’ll always have you.’ He lay back, then added. ‘Maybe that’s what Talisman had in mind when he sent you back to us.’
Maybe…
Away from the fires, the night air was chill. Steve rolled himself into his furs and tried to shut out the confused murmur of voices around him, the chanting and drumming from the more distant bull-ring. He managed to create a mental oasis of silence but the void was soon filled with a dark cloud of conflicting doubts and suspicions to which was added the burden of past and present betrayals, the secrets he shared with others and those known only to himself. He closed his eyes but sleep did not come. The kaleidoscopic images of love, death and jeopardy continue to swirl through his fevered brain till the first light of dawn.
The trading between the Plainfolk clans and the Iron Masters continued, the deals were struck. The dried meat, grain, furs and skins were carried aboard by the Mute journey-men – those destined to go down river; the weapons, cloth, knives, tools, pots, pans and all manner of useful objects were brought ashore. But no one, apart from Yama-Shita and his escort, appeared from the third wheel-boat.
Later in the afternoon of the fourth day of trading, Steve made his way to the post and joined a group of M’Call Bears sitting watching the proceedings from the edge of the square. After a long wait in line, the M’Call trade-council was wheeled in front of the platform and Mr Snow finally got to speak to Yama-Shita through his two interpreters. Steve didn’t need to hear to know what was said. The bad news was written all over the old wordsmith’s face. He bowed respectfully along with the rest of the trade-council and backed out of the square. Steve hurried round to meet them as they came out through the ranks of spectators. The ten-man council looked like they’d been hit by the Trans-Am Express.
‘They’re not on the boat…’
Mr Snow shook his head. ‘It’s worse than that. Cadillac does not wish to return.’
Steve’s bowels turned to frozen spaghetti. ‘What about Clearwater?’
‘Yama-Shita assured me that neither are being held against their wishes. Both are in good health and have been rewarded with many favours–’
‘But she ain’t coming back either…’
Mr Snow gestured helplessly. ‘Be reasonable. She just can’t leave him there.’
Steve threw a dark look towards the dais. ‘Do you believe this guy?’
‘I don’t have much choice. Like I said, they’ve never crossed us up yet.’
‘In other words you’re going to let them get away with it.’
Mr Snow gasped irritably. ‘Look, young man, just slow down. If Cadillac has, for whatever reason, decided to stay there, he is the one who’s crossed us up, not the Iron Masters. They are not getting away with anything.’
‘If they’re telling the truth. Why don’t we grab one of these boats then tell Yama-Shita to back and fetch Cadillac and Clearwater so as we can have a word with them?’
The suggestion caused the trade-council to catch their breath.
Mr Snow eyed him dismissively. ‘And to think you accuse me of being irresponsible. Just supposing we were mad enough to try and, by some miracle, we actually did manage to capture a boat – do you seriously think the other clans would just stand by and do nothing? They’d tear us apart!’ He gestured towards the platform where Yama-Shita and his samurai were concluding the last business of the day. ‘These trade-offs are their lifeline!’
‘Okay, okay, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. So what are you going to do?’
Mr Snow popped his cork. ‘Great Sky-Mother! I don’t know what I’m going to do, Brickman! She-ehh! Questions, questions, always questions! For the last fifty years it’s been the same, day after day after day! I’m sick and tired of coming up with answers–’ He rounded on the hapless trade-council. ‘– And being trailed by a sorry assed bunch of meat-heads who keep asking the same stupid questions and who never listen? He turned to the west and threw his arms out towards the setting sun. ‘Oh, Talisman! Why did you have to make me a wordsmith when you could have made me deaf and dumb!’ He pushed past Steve and stomped away.
The council watched him disappear with expressions of pained surprise. ‘What’s eating him?’ asked Flying-Tiger. ‘It was his idea to send
Cadillac and Clearwater to the Iron Masters. None of us wanted to make a trade for the rifles. He pushed us into it.’
‘What have you decided?’
Flying-Tiger responded with a helpless gesture. ‘We’re taking them, of course. What else can we do?’ He rolled his eyes heavenwards. ‘That’s the trouble with wordsmiths. If you don’t take their advice, you never hear the last of it.’
The trade-council murmured approvingly.
Steve laid a hand on the Mute’s shoulder. ‘Leave it with me.’ He went in search of Mr Snow and eventually found him sitting on a rock by the shore about a quarter of a mile down the beach to the left of the wheel-boats.
The old wordsmith ignored his arrival and continued to stare moodily out to sea.
‘I think I know the answer to my question, Old One…’
Mr Snow glanced at him briefly but said nothing.
‘You’re sending eighteen clan brothers and sisters down river. Let me take the place of one of them.’
‘You must be out of your mind…’
‘On the contrary. I’ve never been more serious in my life. I will go to Beth-Lem, find Cadillac and Clearwater, and bring them back to you – safe and sound.’
Mr Snow’s eyes remained on the horizon while he weighed up the proposition then turned to Steve. ‘Did your masters tell you anything about Beth-Lem? Do you have any idea of what you’re getting into?’
‘Nope, I haven’t a clue. I’m just going to have to play it by ear.’ He laid a reassuring hand on the old man’s shoulder. ‘Look, don’t worry, we’ll make it. You want ’em back don’t you?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘So do I. For all kinds of reasons.’
Mr Snow still looked doubtful. ‘Well, obviously I appreciate the gesture. I just hope you don’t live to regret it.’
Steve smiled. ‘You’ve got it wrong. If I live, why on earth should I have any regrets? Listen, there’s just one thing. I think they’ve made up the loading manifest for the journey-men and handed out the tallies. Will you be able to get me on board?’
It was Mr Snow’s turn to smile. ‘No problem. To these dinks, one Mute looks pretty much like another. But we might need to dye your hair.’
‘Then we’d better get started.’
The life seemed to flow back into the old Mute’s face. He slid down from the rocky perch and gripped Steve’s shoulders. ‘This is the last time I’ll ask – are you sure you want to go through with this?’
Steve grimaced. ‘I don’t have any choice. Probably never did. “The Wheel turns” – isn’t that what the Plainfolk say? In fact, I have a feeling that when you told the clan I had returned to perform a mighty deed in the name of Talisman you probably knew this was going to happen.’
Mr Snow shrugged. ‘You’ve built up such a flattering picture of my powers, I’d hate to disillusion you. Especially now.’ They began to walk towards the lines.
‘There’s something I need to know.’
‘Fire away…’
‘Is there any chance of smuggling a blade, or this quarterstaff aboard?’
‘Absolutely none. And to try could endanger others beside yourself.’
Steve grimaced. ‘How about if you were to use a little magic?’
Mr Snow rolled his eyes heavenwards. ‘I’m a summoner, not a conjuror. At the risk of rupturing myself I can move bits of heaven and earth around but I can’t make things disappear, or produce eggs from under people’s armpits.’
‘Okay, okay, I get the picture.’
‘There’s something else I think you ought to know.’ Mr Snow grimaced reluctantly like someone about to impart bad news. ‘When Cadillac left he was unskinned and dressed as a wingman. Clearwater, who was posing as his escort, kept her normal body markings.’
Steve frowned. ‘Why was Cadillac dressed up as a Tracker?’
‘I would have thought that was obvious.’
‘Come on. Don’t play games. This is important.’
‘He went as a Tracker because we didn’t want to upset the present relationship. The Iron Masters think of us as not being too bright – which most of us aren’t. If they found out we also had some very clever Mutes who know, for instance, as much as you do, they might behave quite differently towards us.’
‘But what about his name? Doesn’t that give the game away?’
Mr Snow couldn’t quite swallow his smile. ‘He’s using yours.’
‘I see… couldn’t he have used someone else’s – like Lou Kennedy or Fazetti?’
‘Well, he used Fazetti’s uniform but he cut the name tag off your fatigues. You probably remember it was missing when you first woke up.’
‘I thought someone had taken it as a souvenir,’ said Steve.
‘They had. It never occurred to us to build an arrowhead until you suggested it. We agreed, naturally. It was a heaven-sent opportunity.’
‘Yeah, I can imagine…’ said Steve ruefully. ‘But you know something? You’ve outsmarted yourself. As I understand it, they’ve never let anybody else go but they just might have made an exception in his case – because of the deal you struck with Yama-Shita. If he had gone as a Mute. But there’s no way they’re going to send back a Tracker – especially one possessing knowledge they can make use of. What would be the point? His knowledge is no good to you. As far as they’re concerned the only thing you can do with his brain is eat it.’
Mr Snow tugged at his beard. ‘You’re right… I just didn’t think of that. Full marks, Brickman.’
Steve savoured the moment of triumph. ‘So… I’m looking for Clearwater, and a dark-haired Tracker who answers to the name of Steve Brickman.’
‘You can’t miss him. He’s got a crew-cut.’ Mr Snow recovered his aplomb and put an arm round Steve’s shoulder. ‘There was no malice involved I can assure you. Look upon it more as a mark of respect. After all, it was you who taught him almost everything he knows.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ said Steve.
Eighteen
Having impulsively volunteered to go to Beth-Lem, Steve began to have second thoughts. Had he done the right thing – or had he been drawn into yet another trap by his amiable host? Mr Snow had already tricked him over the building of Blue-Bird and had manipulated his relationship with Clearwater. That much was certain, indeed, the wordsmith had cheerfully admitted his part in both affairs. But Steve also suspected him of causing his radio-knife to disappear and of masterminding the destruction of the back-up squad. Unfortunately, to believe this meant accepting that, in spite of being given the whole story, Mr Snow still did not trust him completely. He would be a fool if he did, thought Steve. But even as this cynical aside flitted through his mind, he sought to give the wordsmith the benefit of the doubt.
It was this ambivalence in their relationship that troubled Steve. From the moment of regaining consciousness in his presence, he had felt a natural affinity towards the old man that ran counter to his basic instincts for survival. He hungered for his friendship and counsel but lacked the honesty to confess his need; he wanted to believe yet was afraid to do so in case he became vulnerable. Maybe, he told himself, the wordsmith’s motive was more benign. Perhaps Mr Snow believed that by removing all means of contact with the Federation he was eliminating a source of pressure, putting him, in effect, beyond the reach of temptation.
It was all pure guesswork. It was impossible to tell what the wily old Mute was thinking or whether, as he loved to imply, he really did know exactly what was going on inside Steve’s head. Or was it just his own imagination working overtime? Had he become the victim of his own duplicity, unable to trust, therefore unable to believe that others might trust him, constructing labyrinthine conspiracies against himself when, in reality, none existed?
There was only one thing of which he could be certain. None of these lumps were the bone-heads he had first taken them for. It was a lesson he had been slow to learn, but in so doing he had gained a greater understanding of his own character – and also a littl
e humility.
Steve’s main worry was that Mr Snow had not been telling him the truth about Clearwater and Cadillac. As a master of devious game-plans, Steve foresaw a situation where he could be on board one of the wheel-boats and unable to get off while they were calmly disembarking, courtesy of Yama-Shita, from another. Leaving them heading for home and laughing like coyotes while he was carried off in the opposite direction.
It could be a neat way to get rid of him and would ensure that he wasn’t around to mess up their relationship any further. But with Cadillac now aware of Clearwater’s true feelings, what price that relationship now? Mr Snow had hinted that the young wordsmith had been less than overjoyed at what had taken place during his absence. It was Cadillac’s character which provided the answer to Steve’s present dilemma. The more he thought about Cadillac, the more convinced he became that Mr Snow’s report of what Yama-Shita had said was the truth. During the months of captivity, he had observed Cadillac’s almost obsessive preoccupation with status – what the Mutes called standing. The young Mute was, in many ways, a mirror-image of himself. Both were hungry for power, both had the same, deep-seated need to win recognition, to be somebody. Hence Cadillac’s vain hope – dashed by Mr Snow – that he might have been marked out as the Talisman, a hope he had revealed to Steve in one of their many discussions. In allowing Cadillac to draw on his own accumulated store of knowledge Steve had, quite unknowingly, given him the means to acquire the status he longed for, had put him within reach of real power. But there was an additional factor to consider. In cloning Steve’s memory banks, the young wordsmith had also acquired other mental processes that would influence the way he used this new knowledge. There was a strong possibility that Cadillac had become a split personality, able to think like a Mute and a Tracker. Not just any Tracker. But like Steve.
Viewed from that angle, Cadillac’s wish to stay with the Iron Masters made sense. He was the first Mute to have taken to the air. He had then built a craft capable of powered flight, albeit it with borrowed knowledge, had delivered it to the Iron Masters and had proceeded to instruct them in the techniques of its design and construction and perhaps, with their encouragement, had gone on to build other craft. Going east would have opened up fresh horizons, offered new challenges to his burgeoning intelligence. Cadillac had already alluded to the feelings of alienation engendered by his childhood experiences. As a straight, clear-skinned Mute he was already set apart from the rest of the clan despite the respect accorded him as Mr Snow’s chosen successor. Respect was not enough: Cadillac had to believe in his own worth, prove it by his own yardstick. And now he had a golden opportunity. Whatever he was doing had to be a lot better than the prospect of coming back home to watch your neighbours pounding buffalo hide. Yes… if he had been a Mute, that’s just how he, Brickman, S R, would have played it too.
First Family Page 37