Passages

by Olan Thorensen

  “And how would you know whether anything I say would require me to fulfill a code of honor?”

  “I suppose I can’t be absolutely sure, but if such a code exists, I would think you won’t violate it if your crew hears you give the pledge.”

  “You’re an interesting man, Kaldwel. I’m inclined to think it might be to Buldor’s benefit to help get you farther along on your quest to reach Caedellium.”

  Adalan turned and yelled at his crew. Whatever he said in the Buldorian language, men stopped working and gathered in the center of the main deck. He spoke several names, Mark assumed, and three men stepped forward from the rest.

  “These three of my crew speak Suvalu. I’ll speak to them so you’ll understand. They will then tell the rest of the crew what I said.”

  Adalan leaned on the aftcastle railing.

  “In my family’s name and honor, I declare I will see that this man’s family reaches Buldor safely. Once in Tortut, I will arrange for the family to be settled in living quarters and will look to find employment for the woman. After that, my obligation is fulfilled.”

  One of the three crewmen spoke loudly to the others. Mark watched their faces, as curiosity turned to puzzlement or nods of approval. The speaker looked up to Adalan and rattled off something.

  “Some of the crew are wondering why I would invoke my family honor for a foreigner. They don’t need to know why, only that it has been given. I’m sure that some of them might not care if I broke my word, but most would disapprove, and word would spread that Adel Adalan’s word is not to be trusted.”

  Two hours later, Mark hugged Maghen and kissed the top of Alys’s head, while a crewman carried their possessions onto the Wicked Woman. Among the items he took with him were one of the double-barreled shotguns with the stock cut off to make it more concealable, two pistols, and his knife.

  He didn’t want to kill anyone, and he would only try to grab Huthor if he thought he could do it without fatalities. But if he made the attempt and it went south, he’d do anything necessary to anyone who tried to stop him from getting back to the ship.

  From the piers, he walked to the next parallel street. Waiting there was a one-horse rented cart driven by Gulgit and with Haldakit sitting on the cart’s bed.

  “I hope I don’t regret this, Kaldwel,” said the Rustalian. “Part of me wishes I’d left yesterday, so I wouldn’t know how all this turns out.”

  “It’s only two days until you said when you’d leave,” said Mark.“Maybe even earlier if everything works out today.”

  “Hurumph!” Gulgit snorted. “If it was just you, I wouldn’t be doing even this much, but Maghen doesn’t deserve to be stranded alone, and I’m fond of Alys. Just remember, I’m only an onlooker to report back to Adalan if you won’t be returning. I’ll also keep an eye on Haldakit and the cart, but I’ll leave and walk back to the harbor if it looks like I might get directly involved. Whatever happens, Haldakit and I are leaving tomorrow afternoon, along with Yusup and Tazeeb. That’s assuming the other two haven’t already left for Rustal.”

  Mark climbed up to sit beside Gulgit, who snapped the reins to urge the horse on. Underneath the seat were some typical items of Sulakoan women’s clothing and shoes Mark had bought at a nearby shop. He assumed Huthor would be dressed in clothes too expensive not to be noticed.

  They arrived at the plaza at mid-morning. Mark didn’t know exactly when Halari would appear, if he did at all, and wanted to be early not to miss Huthor. It also gave him time for further daylight study of the plaza

  Despite being named a plaza, the space more resembled a market because permanent stalls demarcated avenues running in a perpendicular grid work. Most of the avenues were too narrow for more than one wagon at a time, but two avenues would accommodate two wagons with room to spare. If Halari intended to have himself and Huthor on display, Mark figured he’d use the two wider paths.

  Gulgit circled the plaza, until they decided on a wide alley where Haldakit and the cart would wait. It was a quarter mile from the center of the plaza and emptied onto a major roadway that passed near the harbor.

  “Haldakit will stay with the cart, while I keep you in sight,” said Gulgit. He then told something to their guide and climbed off the cart, concealing the other double-barreled shotgun under his coat. Mark hadn’t asked questions when Gulgit cut both stocks off the two shotguns. He now noticed Mark’s questioning look.

  “Never hurts to be ready for whatever happens.”

  At the edge of the plaza, Gulgit said, “Here’s where I’ll start keeping you in sight. If I’m careful enough, even you won’t know I’m around. Good luck.”

  “If I don’t see you again, thanks for everything, Gulgit,” said Mark and turned to walk away.

  First, he circled the entire perimeter of the plaza, then systematically walked each avenue at least twice—four times for the two largest avenues. The entire time, his mind searched for inspiration—a plan giving him an advantage, however small. Finally, he admitted nothing was obvious. He was still stuck on how to grab Huthor without getting into a deadly fight.

  He thought he might have glimpsed Gulgit a few times, but he studiously avoided trying to confirm it. By now, the market was in full operation. Every avenue was crowded with people, small hand-pulled carts, and a few horses and wagons. As the crowd grew, the noise level increased because people had to raise their voices to be heard.

  An obelisk towered over the center of the square, and the intersecting widest avenues merged to an equally wide space encircling the obelisk. A series of steps surrounded the structure on all four sides. Mark sat halfway up the steps and thought. An hour passed. If Halari and Huthor were coming today, it would be soon.

  He rose and climbed to the base of the obelisk. From there, he could see over the stalls and the people. Scores of men and a few women sat on the steps or walked up to what had to be a monument commemorating something. He brushed his fingers over Sulakoan words chiseled into the square base.

  He couldn’t see a way around it—he didn’t have a plan. He would just watch for Halari’s carriage and hope some opportunity presented itself. If it didn’t, he would come back the next day after trying to think of something. There were two problems with that strategy: the added day wouldn’t guarantee he could come up with a plan he hadn’t thought of today, and the message from Huthor said they didn’t come every day. Mark had only two days for Huthor to be at the plaza. If she didn’t appear by the next day, he would leave on the Buldorian ship.

  He slowly walked around the base of the obelisk, constantly surveying the plaza and watching for what might be Halari’s carriage. He counted the first circumnavigations but lost count around eleven. Every time he spotted a carriage or any wheeled vehicle that appeared to be a carriage from his vantage point, he watched it until he felt confident it wasn’t Halari’s.

  An odd movement caught his eye. On the north edge of the plaza, four white frond- or feather-like objects moved along the tops of the stalls. When they came to an intersection with one of the narrower avenues, he got a glimpse of the objects as part of a gilded carriage.

  That’s got to be them, Mark thought. Only someone wanting to be noticed would own something so garish. Halari wants everyone to know who he is.

  As the carriage turned into one of the wider avenues, Mark got a better look at what was coming in his direction. Four horses with red-and-gold trappings pulled a long, low carriage. The driver and a guard with a short musket sat in an elevated forward box. Following the carriage rode the second guard, holding his mount’s reins in his left hand and his right hand propping a musket against his thigh.

  Mark circled the obelisk to where he was mainly hidden from the carriage view but could peer around the stone to observe. The driver made no pretense of sharing the avenue. He rode down the middle and forced pedestrians, horses, and other wheeled vehicles to move to the side to let Halari pass.

  What a dick, Mark thought, although I guess it probably confirms this
Halari either is an important person or has influential friends. However, now what do I do?

  He waited, hidden, as the carriage entered the roundabout, and he got a good look inside. Huthor and Halari sat side by side in the open-air passenger compartment. She again wore the silver-and-gold collar and chain. The carriage circled to the opposite side of the obelisk and started down another wide avenue. Once the carriage occupants and the mounted guard had their back to him, Mark followed, moving quickly.

  The carriage created an open space behind it as it paraded down the avenue, but people and conveyances quickly began filling the vacuum—enough so that Mark had to quicken his pace to close with the carriage. Both guards looked right and left as if perusing for danger. The rear guard once looked over his shoulder to the rear. Mark tensed, ready to pull out the shotgun, but the man’s gaze passed over him without stopping.

  He could see the top of Halari’s head but not Huthor’s.

  She’s short, he thought, but I saw her from the obelisk.

  The closer he got, the less he considered abandoning the attempt—not when another castaway was so close.

  He stayed at the edge of the void left by the carriage until all the occupants and the trailing rider were looking forward. Breaking into a run, he whipped out the shotgun to hold in his right hand. He came up on the right rear of the mounted guard. Then he reached up, grabbed the elbow of the arm holding the musket, and jerked. With a yelp, the rider flew off the horse. He hit the ground with another yell, this one of pain. Mark didn’t know how badly the man was hurt, but he kicked him under the jaw—hard.

  Halari’s head rose and turned to the rear. The seated guard swiveled around, saw Mark running forward, and rose to his feet. He scrambled to bring his musket around. He froze when he saw Mark twenty feet away, the double-barreled shotgun pointed at him and Mark shaking his head.

  Please don’t be an asshole and try anything, Mark thought. Live to fight another day or whatever you do.

  The guard opted for discretion and raised both arms, letting his musket drop to the ground.

  Suddenly, Halari yelled something, and the driver snapped the reins. The horses jumped forward, unexpectedly for the surrendering guard. He fell out of the box, and a rear wheel rolled over his arm.

  Ignoring the guard’s scream, Mark fired one of his shotgun barrels at the driver hunched in the box. Wood exploded off the back of the box. Yet it must have absorbed most or all of the pellets because the carriage picked up speed as the horses found their footing. Mark could see the driver’s arm flailing a whip at the horses’ backs.

  “SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!” Mark yelled as he chased the carriage. Something was happening with Halari and Huthor—arms swung, Halari’s head bobbed up and down, and Huthor’s head appeared once and disappeared again.

  People ran in all directions, as the carriage careened from side to side. Some were not agile enough, and Mark ran past and over bodies, a few motionless and others writhing.

  He was falling behind. The carriage was almost at the end of the wide avenue. Once it turned the corner and got more separation, it and Huthor would be gone. He figured his only chance was a shot as the carriage turned ninety degrees to make the turn. But it would be a fleeting window, and if the driver were smart, he’d turn, almost touching the stalls to present the briefest profile.

  As if on cue, the carriage drifted left, brushing against stalls’ awnings and running over more people—men, women, and children.

  Twenty yards behind the carriage and almost thirty yards from the corner, Mark jumped onto a table of fruits, scattering them, to the owner’s outrage. The driver would be too small a target to risk hitting, so it had to be one of the horses.

  The two lead horses swerved left into the turn, as Mark brought the shotgun up. There was no time to aim. He fired the second barrel as soon as the shotgun aligned with the horses.

  He jumped off the table and ran. The carriage had continued, so he didn’t know whether he had hit anything or not. Most people sprang out of his way. A few did not and were knocked aside, which hardly slowed him. He turned the corner and leaped over a crouching woman holding a baby.

  Thirty yards away sat the carriage, askew with a back wheel jammed between the front and rear wheels of a freight wagon. The left rear horse lay on the ground, its head swinging back and forth. The other horses pulled the reins and straps in all directions, shaking the carriage but not freeing it from the wagon.

  Mark ran to the carriage. He dropped the expended shotgun and pulled out a pistol. There had to be armed men stationed around the market to keep the peace, men who would arrive at any moment after hearing shots and yelling.

  The driver was missing. Halari clasped one hand to the other blood-soaked arm, his eyes wide and staring into Huthor’s face as she kneeled on his lap, a small knife to his throat. On the carriage floor lay a pistol next to the symbol of Huthor’s slavery—the gilded collar and chain.

  “Huthor!” Mark yelled in English. “If you can understand me, we have to go!”

  She looked at him, her eyes wild, then turned back to Halari.

  “My name’s Heather!” she said, also in English. Spittle accompanied the last word and showered Halari’s face.

  All lingering doubts fled from them both; they each knew the other was from Earth.

  “Kill him or not,” said Mark, “I’m leaving.”

  Seconds passed. Mark was about to grab her knife arm when her shoulders sagged, and she looked again at Mark, her eyes less wild.

  “Leaving? I can really leave?” she said wonderingly.

  He nodded.

  “What about Halari?” she asked.

  “I’ll knock him out so he can’t follow.”

  She flushed, whirled back to her ex-master, and jerked the knife from his throat. She plunged the blade into his leg above the kneecap. Halari howled.

  Mark grabbed her hand, pulled her out of the carriage, and began running. They wove around people and wagons, heading in the direction where Gulgit was supposed to be. As they passed a clothing stall, he grabbed a brown cloak and tossed a gold coin at the stall’s owner.

  “Here,” he said to Heather, “drape this around you to hide your clothes. Your face is too famous, and the clothing marks you as a more important person than we want anyone to suspect.”

  She threw the cloak around her shoulders and grabbed a scarf from the stall. “This will help. The gold coin would cover a whole wardrobe if we had time.”

  It was the first time Mark had the opportunity and the time to evaluate whom he’d just freed. No doubt, she was of Asian ancestry with the epicanthic skin folds covering the inner corner of each eye. However, her English identified her as native-born American. She was short, not much more than five feet tall, and he guessed he was well over twice her weight.

  By the time she finished with the scarf and the cloak, he could see her hands and shoulders trembling. Her face was paler than it had been.

  “Keep hold of yourself,” he urged. “A wagon is waiting.” He grabbed her hand once again. “We won’t run again until we’re off the plaza completely. We don’t want to draw more attention.”

  A small crowd had gathered around them but not too close. The people moved aside as Mark approached, and within half a minute they merged into the market throng. He couldn’t tell whether the talk and shouts he heard behind them were part of the normal market noise or if it had anything to do with their escape.

  “What are the people saying?” he asked Heather without slowing. She didn’t answer, and he had to ask again.

  “Most is normal,” she said, gasping, “but a few are wondering about the shots.”

  He looked down and behind him. He was almost dragging her. Her face was red, and her mouth gaped in the struggle to draw in air. When they exited the plaza, Mark broke into a run for the alley where the cart and Haldakit were supposed to be waiting. When Heather almost fell, he swooped her up and continued running. Moments later, they reached the alley. There was
no sign of Haldakit, Gulgit, or the cart.

  Hoofbeats on the cobblestone alerted him that something was behind them. He hoisted her over his shoulder and reached for one of the pistols.

  Suddenly, a voice shouted from behind Mark.

  “Stop running, dammit,” yelled Gulgit. He sat in the cart with Haldakit, pulling up the horses.

  Mark unceremoniously dumped Heather onto the cart’s bed and jumped on himself. “Haldakit was supposed to wait where we left him and the cart.”

  “I ran to bring him closer when I saw you take off after Halari’s carriage.”

  Mark didn’t comment further on how they could have easily missed each other. After all, they were together, which was all that mattered.

  Gulgit said something to Haldakit in Rustalian, then turned his head toward Mark.

  “I told him not to go too fast and draw attention.”

  Mark looked at Heather. She was holding onto the edge of the bed with one hand and had a death grip on Mark’s coat with the other. Her eyes closed, and tears streaked her face.

  “Huthor . . . uh . . . Heather. You were on the plane the aliens crashed into? The United flight?”

  She opened her eyes and nodded but didn’t speak.

  He needed her in the present and not inside her mind, in case something happened that required her to respond quickly.

  “Where were you living? I’m from Berkeley.”

  She mumbled something.

  “Where?”

  She cleared her throat. “San Mateo. My family lives in San Mateo.”

  Her eyes seemed to focus, and she looked around. She let go of the bed’s edge and grabbed the front of his coat.

  “Where are we going?! They’ll be after us. I should have killed him. I don’t know why I didn’t. He’s connected to important families and has connections to the city’s authority. I’ve seen and heard him with people who are obviously powerful.”

  “Relax. I’ve got a way out of the city.”

  “But we should go faster,” she said in desperation.

  Mark shook his head. “Going faster will just draw attention. Here.” He reached under the cart’s seat and pulled out the clothing and the shoes he’d bought. “Change into these so you’ll be less noticeable.”