Paul O Williams - [Pelbar Cycle 04]

by The Fall of the Shell (v0. 9) (epub)

  Udge raised her eyebrows. So the Ardena agreed to the just- punishment of Brudoer. What did that mean? Was she part of an active opposition? Udge felt uneasy. What the Ardena supported probably ought to be opposed. But perhaps she had won, after all. It was not a bad plan, then, to have proposed the punishment of Pion. Perhaps all would draw together behind the proper rule of law. And if Brudoer remained recalcitrant, beyond the whippings, he could be excluded as an incorrigible. Surely that was reasonable. Or she could keep him on in the cells.

  “Agreed,” said Udge. “It shall be as Bival requests unless I hear any further objections.” Udge was greeted with silence. The Protector’s guardsmen rapped to signal the end of the meeting. Udge rose and retired through the Protector’s door. Several of the council noted that Finge did not rise. One nudged her. The old woman slumped over, and was sustained by her neighbors.

  “I . . . I . . she murmured. Guardsmen were summoned to take her to the infirmary.

  That night, Bival sent Arlin for Warret and met him in the darkened Judgment Room. He entered on the guardsman’s arm; unwillingly, and stood opposite his wife. “So you did it. All that talk of goodwill, and what you did was to arrange to have the boy whipped. You and Udge. And you made it look like mercy.”

  “Trust me, Warret.”

  “Trust you? You’ve played me for a fool. You know what you are. An unkept promise. Like all women.”

  Bival turned away, almost thought to leave, then said, “Perhaps you saw a promise in your own mind—one that was never really made.”

  Warret laughed bitterly. “It’s the same in the end. To me. It’s a story told by an old servant maundering on. Wind howling in the towers, inarticulate except for its threat. That’s what you are to me.”

  Bival put her hands to her face, then dropped them. “The Ardena . . . agrees with me, I think. It is the best for the boy. I don’t see any other way. You must believe me.

  “The Ardena? Even she has betrayed us. She found out we meant to defend Pion.”

  “You did? You agreed to that?”

  “Of course. I don’t plan to be led around by the nose anymore.”

  “This is sedition.”

  “Sedition against injustice is perhaps just.”

  “Perhaps. Warret, I see you have gone too far. Listen. Please listen. If anything comes of this punishment tomorrow, it will be bloody. The guardsmen are ready. Please. Do not resist. If you plan to do anything, just wait a few days. If you’re going to leave, do it then. Udge will think she has won. She x;an’t watch everyone all the time. No one will be hurt then—if you plan it right.”

  “So that’s your strategy. Get us to wait, then when we prepare, you’ll be waiting for us, and you’ll have had your little party with the lash. No distractions.”

  “No. No strategy. I know you’ll do nothing for me anymore. I’ve given that up. Please go to the Ardena. I’m sure Arlin will take you there. Ask her. Tell her what I said. If you’re going to leave, just wait three days or so. Please.” “Leave? You want me to leave? What do you have in mind?”

  “Nothing. I don’t stand to gain in any way. You must see that. Isn’t it obvious? By calling the council meeting this morning I know I have alienated Udge. I expect to be replaced soon enough. I may leave myself. There’s nothing here now. Is there? Threerivers is empty—a body full of sickness, feeding on itself.”

  Warret looked at her. Was she sincere? What was she up to? “I’ll talk to the Ardena,” he said and turned to leave. Bival motioned to Arlin, who accompanied him.

  In the morning, Brudoer heard the cell door open. It was the guardsmen ready for him. He made no attempt to resist, but simply mounted the broad stairway in the middle of the body of guardsmen, watched by faces at each landing. As before, he emerged onto the terrace. It was still winter, but he could see the channel clear in the river far below, though the banks were still bound with ice. As they brought the boy out onto the terrace, an eagle, cruising the bluffs, floated overhead, then veered aside and glided well out over the river. Brudoer watched it, saw it mount on a gust, teetering, mastering the air, free and alone, until he was roughly jerked around to face the Protector above. “You will have time enough to watch birds when you have apologized and received-your punishment, boy. Now, have you an apology for Bival?”

  “I. need no apology, Protector,” Bival blurted out. “I wish all this to end.”

  Udge glared at her. “I understand your concern, South-counsel,” she said benignly. “However, we are dealing with a matter of law and justice here, and with a very difficult person. We cannot let him loose among us unreconciled to our ways. Now, boy. What do you say?”

  Brudoer laughed. “I say you are the remnants of old vomit, occupied only by maggots. You mistake your ordure for ideas. Your breath is a pile of fish entrails. The vile ugliness of your entire being might make one mistake you for rich fertilizer, but you would kill any garden.” Brudoer paused. Why were the guardsmen not stopping him? He had run out of the insults he’d planned. But he added, “You are an offense to justice, to mercy for the young. Craydor would have hated you and thrown you out of here a long time ago.”

  “Is that all, boy? I’m glad to see you are on speaking terms with Craydor and know what she would do. Have you no more insults to add to your offenses? Perhaps you would like to compare my speech to something.”

  “Your speech? It’s the rumbling belly of an old wild cow. An odorous wind, Protector.”

  “Indeed, that is good, but somewhat of a cliche. What else? Surely you have prepared further provocations.”

  Brudoer looked down. “No, Protector. Will they not do? I had expected to be gagged before now.”

  “That is all, then?”

  “All? Isn’t it enough? We all know that you’re destroying this city. I’m only a boy, and I see it well enough. You and this ghastly crew of old women with their minds all gone to ashes.”

  “Ah. Yes. And have you anything to say about them?” Brudoer looked around on rows of severe faces. “Only that you are all mindless. Nothing I ever say will make any difference to you. Your minds are made up about every^-thing and are about as changeable as the fossil shells in the bluffs. You obviously think you’re made fit to rule simply because of your sex. That’s absurd.”

  “You are articulate for a child, Brudoer, but surely you cannot evoke Craydor and still claim that men should rule.

  Perhaps you would prefer the Shumai way, where the men rule.”

  “Of course not. Any idea that being a man or a woman will make somebody better able to rule is silly. You have to look at the person.”

  “Indeed. Well, friend of Craydor, now that you have spoken nonsensically but at least civilly, are you ready to retract your insults?”

  “No. I have thought of another. You never had a child, Protector, because you are such a loathsome old bag of guts that no man would ever look at you. You couldn’t even force them into it.”

  Udge’s hands tightened on the arms of her chair. “Yes. I see,” she said. “Enough of this, then. Guards, give him all six strokes. I see- no need to prolong this. Then we will return him to the cells and after thirty days exclude him.” “No,” the Ardena shouted. “No. The council has decided.”

  “Do I hear any other objections, now that you have seen him again?” Her eyes swept across the rows of severe but troubled faces. No one said anything. “Proceed.”

  The guardsmen stripped Brudoer’s tunic and undershift off. His gold bracelet glittered in the winter sun. A guardsman looked at it. “Protector, it’s a gold bracelet. Very fine.”

  “Gold? Take it off. Let me see it.”

  The guardsman struggled with the bracelet for some time as all waited. Brudoer began to shiver in the wind. “Boy,” the Protector called. “Remove it for the guardsman.”

  “It’s mine. It stays where it is.”

  “Then break it off with your short-sword, guardsman.” “It’s Craydor’s work. You’ll break that like everything else yo
u touch of hers—her city, her people,” Brudoer shouted.

  “Craydor’s? And you say it is yours?” Udge laughed. “Remove it, guardsman.”

  The woman looked at it closely. “It is very beautiful, Protector. It may be Craydor’s work. It’s extremely fine. I am reluctant to destroy it.”

  The Protector frowned. “Brudoer—I will give you your choice. You may remove it so we may see it. If it is really yours, we will return it. You see, you have many witnesses. If you don’t, We will destroy it.”

  “I will remove it, Protector, if you agree to have Bival read the inscription to the assembled council.”

  Udge frowned again. What did this mean? “Cilia will read it,” she said, shooting a look at the compliant West-counsel.

  Brudoer hesitated. Turning, he looked at the Ardena. She nodded slightly. Twisting, Brudoer deftly removed the bracelet and snapped it together before anyone could see how he did it. He handed it to the guardsman, who passed it up to the Westcounsel. She held it up to the light, and, squinting, read it: “This bracelet is the gift of Craydor to someone who has been in all of the first three cells for a full term of punishment—proof of his misuse by authority. It is for no one else. The rich and powerful will seek to have it, but if they gain it from him, it will be by force and injustice alone. Craydor, Founder of Threerivers.”

  Cilia turned to see hatred burn from the Protector’s eyes. Udge reached out for the bracelet, took it, and held it to the light. “This is a poor time for such a joke, Cilia. It says no such thing. You should be ashamed. It says nothing. This is some trick. How would he get it? He has confederates. It must be from the museum.”

  “Let me see it, Protector,” the Ardena shouted, across the crowd. “Let us all see it.”

  There was a moment of silence, then Cilia said, her voice trembling, “I was only joking. It says nothing.”

  “You stinking convenience!” Brudoer shouted. “You know you read it right. You know that’s what it says.” “Enough!” the Protector said. “We have had enough. Tie him, guards.”

  Brudoer was wrestled up against the wooden rack that stretched his arms. The guardsman took up the whip and as the drum sounded, lashed it across Bradoer’s back. The boy grunted. The drum sounded again, and the lash stung again across Brudoer’s bleeding back. Brudoer said nothing, but as the third lash fell, he let out a wild yell of pain and anguish that seemed endless. The guardcaptain hesitated and turned to look at the Protector, who didn’t move. The drum thumped again, but the guardcaptain was staring over the Protector’s head.

  “Guardcaptain, do your duty,” the Protector said. “Fire,” the guardcaptain shouted. “The Broad Tower is on fire.” She was looking over the heads of the crowd. The guardsman at the drum whirled and said, “Good Aven, it is. Guardsman, sound the alarm. ” All stood and turned. Udge saw thick smoke pouring from the windows of her private tower.

  “Guardsmen, dismiss this body! Return the boy back to prison. Quick. The city must be saved.”

  “The city?” the Ardena shouted. “The city, you old leak in the roof? You. You mean you, just the way you stole the boy’s bracelet for yourself.”

  Udge turned toward her momentarily, but hurried off, anxious about her things.

  The guardcaptain looked at the drum guard. “Come. Help me take the boy down. I think he’s had enough now, anyway.”

  As they worked on the ropes, the drum guard asked, “Was there writing in the bracelet?”

  The guardcaptain grimaced. “Yes,” she said.

  That night, Rotag came to the fourth cell to bathe Brudoer again. “We can talk,” she said. “The guard is one of ours.”

  “Ours? Ahhhhhhh. Don’t. Not there.”

  “We have to clean it. Can’t you apologize? Must you drag us all through this?”

  “What does Father say?”

  “Father? Listen to me,” she said, shaking him slightly. Brudoer drew in his breath. “I’m sorry. Listen. You are tearing the city apart.”

  “I? That old rot Udge is. Look. She even stole my bracelet. With all she owns.”

  “Yours? What was that story about an inscription? Where did you get it?”

  “In the third cell. You will not tell? Craydor left it there for anyone smart enough to find it.”

  “The inscription?”

  “It was there just the way Cilia read it.”

  “I don’t understand. Hold still.”

  “What about the fire? What was that?”

  “A fire. Somebody piled a lot of old food sacks in the Protector’s front room and lit them. They were dampened and made a lot of smoke.”

  “Who?”

  “Who? Who knows? I don’t know how to get in there.” “Yes. Of course. I will be all right here. Don’t worry about me.”

  “How could you talk to her like that? Where did you pick up all that bad language. You are making it so hard.” “X don’t care anymore. I don’t care about anything. Look. Gamwyn is gone. We are all discredited. I am learning things down here. Let me alone about it.”

  Rotag sighed and gently patted her son’s back dry. “I can’t take much more of this.”

  “I .can.”

  “I could hear you cry out from the second level. My heart almost stopped. Is that how you take it?”

  “I tried not to. It was easier to.”

  Eventually Brudoer’s mother left. Reasoning with the boy had been like talking to her own husband. Her hands were trembling from her inability to make him see reason.

  Brudoer lay for a long time in pain. Then he lifted his eyes to the walls. They were nearly bare, with no inscriptions, just a frieze of river mussels like that in the previous cell, and some of the stone patterns, though much larger. He sank in disappointment. No. Craydor’s messages meant something. He would have to see what.

  9

  Gamwyn walked downriver on the west bank, having crossed on a log. He made slow progress because he had to feed himself, largely by fishing and by gathering the few winter seeds. Penetrating deeper into Tusco territory, he tried to estimate how close he was to the U Bend settlement. Finally he decided to strike westward from the river and walk south well out of the range of the black-leather-clad police patrols of the Tusco.

  Jaiyan had said they called themselves the Nicfad, that they had dogs that could trace the scent of a man as if a road led to him. He described them as large and short-haired, with long, hanging ears, generally well-behaved, but ferocious when urged on by their handlers.

  The Pelbar boy moved south about eight ayas west of the river, as well as he could tell it. He had no weapon but his folding knife and a wooden spear with a fire-hardened tip. Several times he crossed ancient tracks of artificial stone—concrete, the Pelbarigan people had begun to call it.

  Winter was moderating. Already the early duck flocks moved northward. An unseasonable thaw brought mud and discomfort, since Gamwyn had no way of keeping his feet dry. Then another snow brought him even more misery. He walked on, wondering how soon he could go east to find the river again. Suddenly, as he capped a rise, he saw it, not a half an ayas east. He had unknowingly drifted toward the river. Frightened, he began moving west again, plowing through the fresh, wet snow, his feet soaked. For food now he looked to the small, tough roots of the wild carrot, which he located by their dried tops.

  At last he made a camp and set rabbit snares, finally falling into a shivering sleep, only to wake early to find the shapes of a man and a dog standing over him.

  The dog let out a low, throaty growl, and Gamwyn cringed from it, but the man jerked its collar and it sat. He was a Nicfad. He prodded Gamwyn with the end of a long, iron-tipped stave.

  “Up. Up, you,” he said.

  Gamwyn stood, still cold. “What? Who are you?”

  “You come,” the man said, slipping a black, braided-leather noose over Gamwyn’s head and jerking it. Gamwyn fell, and the man jerked him upright. “Come.”

  Gamwyn dumbly obeyed, walking through the snowy prairie, utterly mis
erable. Ahead five black-clad men were approaching, with three more dogs. When they met, the men set the dogs around the boy and stood aside to confer.

  At last one of them, larger than the rest and wearing a white crest on his hat, walked over and stood opposite Gamwyn. “You boy from the Sentani’s river station. He see you.” He jerked his head slightly. “Peshtak, eh. Come to spy?” Then the man laughed a long, evil laugh. “Good. You come to stay then.” His voice was slow and thick. Gamwyn could scarcely make out his meaning.

  “I’m not Peshtak and I’ve done nothing. Let me go.” The man stared at him, then swept up the end of the leather rope and jerked Gamwyn off his feet and dragged him through the snow about fifty paces, then dropped the rope and stood over him as the boy gasped for breath. “We talk. You listen. Now, follow.”

  The party set off at a brisk pace. Gamwyn had a hard time keeping up. Soon he saw the river again, and realized that they were very near the U Bend settlement. He had strayed nearly into it, the river having meandered westward.

  From the hill they were descending, he could see the river did make a large U-shaped loop to the west around a fairly narrow neck of higher ground surrounded by a palisade wall, on levees. In the neck, Gamwyn could make out concentric circles of buildings from the center of which rose a large, white tower. Beyond that were fields laid out for farming. Much of the loop of the bend also lay in fields, and at the tip of the loop, behind more palisades, which had small log guard towers, stood rows of buildings, low and nondescript. Those would be the slavehouses, Gamwyn thought, his heart sinking.

  Eventually they reached the river’s edge. It was largely ice-free now. Gamwyn was shoved onto a log raft, which the Nicfad poled and paddled across the broad stream. The boy stood flanked by the dogs, who seemed to pay no attention to him.

  When at last they reached the east bank, below the palisade, the tall man again picked up the rope and led Gamwyn off the raft, then turned and faced him. “Take good look around,” he said. “This your home now forever. You try to escape, we capture. We always capture. Dog smelled you many strides away. We never kill when we recapture. We cut off your foot.” He laughed again. “Then we fit you with wood stump so you can work in fields again. Now, you come.”