City of Jade

by Dennis McKiernan

  Once more the warders opened the portal, revealing a narrow passage that went forward a short way and then turned sharply leftward. Into this corridor they went, the way lighted by luminescent Dwarven lanterns. Pipper nudged Binkton and pointed overhead, where machicolations gaped in the ceiling, and high up to either side were arrow slits.

  The passage jagged left and then right and then left again, and they came to another iron gate. When this one was opened, a vast, well-lit chamber stood revealed, and Dwarves crossed thither and yon, emerging from and disappearing into passages to left and right.

  Anvar stopped the wain beside one of these openings, and Brekka leapt to the stone floor and said, “We are here.” As the buccen scrambled down, Brekka and Anvar unladed the chest and duffle bags.

  “Leave the case behind,” said Brekka. “I’ll make arrangements for someone to come and take it up. But first I’ll show you to your quarters, and if you are in mind of a bath, I’ll show you where that is, too. Then I will introduce you to DelfLord Dalek, to make arrangements for your show.”

  “Well, then,” said Dalek, stroking his black beard shot through with silver, a glitter of anticipation in his dark eyes, “how can we aid you in putting on your performance?”

  Pipper looked about the throne room and, glancing at Binkton, said, “Have you a chamber with high ceilings, one much larger than this?”

  “The training chamber, DelfLord?” suggested Brekka.

  Dalek pondered a moment and said, “The banquet hall, mayhap.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Brekka. “The Chakia.”

  Frowning, Pipper looked at Brekka, but no further explanation was offered.

  “Might we see both?” asked Binkton.

  Dalek stood and motioned them to follow, and he and Brekka led the way through the twisting corridors.

  Although the banquet hall was suitable, the training chamber was even better, for it had tiers of benches along the walls that could be moved to seat part of a large audience, and Dalek informed the buccen that additional benches would be brought in to add to the seating. Brekka and Dalek stepped to one side and held a brief whispered conversation, and finally Dalek turned to the Warrows. “The training chamber it is, yet what you will see here you must vow to never reveal.”

  Binkton looked at Pipper and that buccan shrugged; then together they agreed to the terms.

  Much of the following day was spent with a multitude of Dwarves-all under the Warrows’ guidance-driving pitons at different levels into the stone walls and the rock ceiling above and stringing lines between or hanging trapezes thereon or fitting fixed rods into the walls. They also constructed a stage with wings and a platform above concealed by a high curtain, with a ladder going up even higher. The tiered benches were moved out from the walls and arranged in a long, curving row facing the stage. Additional benches were set out before these in echoing arcs so that all in the hall could see. And, as they had in Junction Town and Luren and Gapton, the buccen arranged for the aid of two stagehands-Brekka one and Anvar the other-and instructed them as to their duties.

  That evening, a great many Dwarves gathered in the hall for the first performance, but they took no seats whatsoever. Peering out from behind the curtain concealing the high platform, Pipper and Binkton looked at one another in puzzlement.

  “What’s that all about?” whispered Pipper.

  “How should I know?” snapped Binkton.

  “What I mean, Bink, is why aren’t they finding places to sit?”

  Binkton took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Finally he said, “I think they are waiting on something.”

  “Yes, but what?”

  Binkton groaned. “Do you think I am an expert on Dwarven doings?”

  “Maybe they are waiting for Dalek,” said Pipper.

  “Perhaps.”

  But Dalek came and still no one took seat.

  But then chatter echoed down the halls, and moments later Dwarven children reached the entry, and fell silent as they walked past the assembled adults and to the front of the hall. But then they, too, stood waiting.

  Finally, a large group of lithe beings entered, each one mantled from head to foot in swirling veils, their steps silent, their progress somehow elegant. And all the Dwarves, but for Dalek, knelt upon one knee as they passed by. These graceful creatures were a half a head taller than most of the Dwarves.

  “Chakia,” whispered Pipper. “These must be the Chakia.”

  “Females, you mean?” asked Binkton.

  “Yes. Don’t you remember the diary of Beau Darby?”

  Binkton nodded. “Female Dwarves.”

  “Don’t be too certain of that, Bink,” said Pipper. “Beau himself wasn’t sure, and Tipperton said they were beautiful. I can’t imagine a Dwarf, male or female, as being described as beautiful.-And look. See how they are revered? What kind of creature would cause such regard?”

  Binkton snorted and asked, “Why would someone not a Dwarf ever consider being the mate of a Dwarf?”

  Pipper shrugged, but then said, “They tell that Elyn of Jord loved a Dwarf.”

  “That’s just a legend, Pip.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Oh, Bink, perhaps this is what we are supposed to keep secret.”

  “That Elyn loved Thork?”

  “No, no. The Chakia of this holt. The children, too. Mayhap we’re supposed to keep quiet about how many there are. Perhaps the numbers of the Chakka, as well.”

  “I don’t know what it is we are supposed to keep quiet about, except absolutely everything we see herein, just like we vowed.-Now, get ready, for it looks like they’re all finding seats.”

  As the Chakia took places in the front rows midmost before the stage, and the Dwarven children-all males-sat alongside them, the remaining Dwarves spread out among the benches and tiers behind. They all sat when Dalek did so at the very front.

  Anvar stepped to the fore of the stage and called out in the Dwarven tongue of Chakur, announcing Fire and Iron.

  Pipper, now waiting at the top of the ladder, peered down through a space between the concealing foredrop curtain and the high platform, to watch as Anvar turned and pointed upward; that was Pipper’s cue.

  And Pipper in red and trailing orange and yellow ran to the end of the springboard and leapt outward and plummeted down, to the screams of the Chakia and the shouts of the Chakka and the cries of the children below.

  As Pipper and Binkton ran back out from the wings to take another bow, ’mid the clapping and cheers Pip looked over at his cousin and said, “I thought those Dwarves were going to charge the stage and save you from the Spikes of Death.”

  They straightened and then bowed again to thunderous applause, and Binkton said, “I think they were simply trying to stop the Chakia from wailing for fear of my life.”

  On the next bow, Pipper said, “The Dwarves did seem to have trouble holding back when it seemed the Chakia were in distress.”

  And the very next bow, Pipper added, “I thought one of the Dwarves was going to throttle me when I almost touched a Chakia during our blindfold mental act.”

  “Keep that in mind the next time, bucco,” said Binkton. “Now hush, while I make my challenge.”

  Binkton stood and raised his hands for quiet, and when it fell he called out to Dalek, “My Lord Dalek, no irons or gaol can hold me. Have you one in this holt?”

  The next day they took Binkton to a seldom-occupied lockup, one now and then used to hold someone who had gotten too deep in his cups and had become belligerent. Not that being thrown in a cell was a common occurrence among the honorable Chakka. Typically, violence was settled with more violence, fists being the weapons of choice, but occasionally a winner of such a bout went on a rampage, in which case several Chakka would haul the perpetrator to the tiny prison and shut him in, much to his chagrin when he finally sobered.

  Just like his jailers elsewhere, the warders thoroughly searched Binkton, and finding no lockpicks or other devices, they shut him inside. And then as ag
reed, they left him alone. When they were gone, he slipped the long length of wire out from his belt. The tip of one end of the wire had previously been bent at a sharp angle to act as a single lockpick, and this was what Binkton first tried to use, to no avail. Carefully, he examined what he could see of the interior of his restraints, and then he bent the other end of the wire into a peculiar shape and tried again. It took Binkton four candlemarks to escape from the Dwarven fetters and cage, but escape he did. And when the Chakka smiths asked him how he had done it, Binkton showed them the weaknesses he had finally discovered in their shackles and in the lock on the door. “The irons were easier than the cell, but both were quite difficult,” he said. “Even so, I stand by my claim that no gaol can hold me, not even a Dwarven one.”

  The locksmiths growled and one of them said, “Next time, Waeran. Next time.”

  Five days and four house-packed performances later found the Warrows waiting alongside Pendwyr Road for the southbound Red Coach to appear. With them were Brekka and Anvar.

  “Where will you go?” asked Anvar.

  “Argon Ford Town,” said Pipper.

  “And then maybe to Rivers End,” said Binkton.

  “But ultimately to Caer Pendwyr, where we hope to open our own theater and music hall,” said Pipper.

  “You’ll need a King’s license to do so,” said Brekka, “and those are difficult to come by.”

  “To say nothing of the cost,” said Anvar.

  “Well, if all folks reward us like your DelfLord did, the coin shouldn’t be too hard to acquire,” said Binkton.

  “Here comes your ride,” said Brekka, pointing up the road.

  The Red Coach rumbled to a stop alongside the junction, and no one got off. Anvar and Brekka hoisted the trunk up to the footmen atop, and then stepped back.

  “Take care, my friends,” said Anvar, “especially in Rivers End. They say it’s a rough place, what with Rivermen and the like prowling the streets.”

  “I think they can handle themselves,” said Brekka. “After all, I’ve seen them in action.” Then he turned to the buccen and added, “Nevertheless, Anvar’s advice is good, so watch out for those who would do you harm.”

  “Don’t worry, we will,” said Pipper, and he and Binkton clambered aboard the Red Coach, and the driver clucked his tongue and cracked his whip and off toward the mighty Argon River they went.

  28

  West Bank

  FIRE AND IRON

  MID AUTUMN, 6E6

  When the Red Coach rumbled into Argon Ferry Town, Pipper and Binkton had the driver stop at the Sturdy Oar, an inn recommended by Brekka. They unladed their gear and took a room, and the next morning after breaking fast they asked the innkeeper, one Tarly Oates, a tall, skinny man, whether there were any theaters in town. He laughed and said, “Nowt in West Bank be there such a thing, and nowt across in East Bank nuther. Nar, you’d have to float downstream to Rivers End or fare across and all the way to Caer Pendwyr to find such.”

  “Wull, then,” asked Pipper, “what about an inn with a stage and a high ceiling?”

  The ’keep scratched his head, then said, “The Clearwater.”

  “The Clearwater?” asked Pipper.

  “That’s what he said,” growled Binkton.

  “What I meant, Bink, is just where is this Clearwater Inn?” Pipper looked up at Tarly.

  “Bain’t no inn, ’cause bain’t no rooms, but a saloon instead, and adown by the water ’tis, at th’ corner o’ Mudlane and Tow. Used t’be a warehouse, it did, till they built them new ones up by the landings. But, fair warnin’ ’bout the Clearwater; we call it th’ Bilgewater instead, ’cause them drinks they serve-ale and such-bain’t as fine as those here’t th’ Oar, and the regulars, well, much o’ them be a lawless crowd, Rivermen that they are.”

  Binkton’s face fell. “Oh. Rivermen, eh?”

  “That’s what he said, Bink,” snapped Pipper.

  “I heard what he said, Pip,” Binkton snapped back. Then he turned once more to Tarly. “Only Rivermen frequent the place?”

  “Nar. Now and again th’ toffs ’n’ their ladies and their bodyguards find it amusing to swagger along the ’front, ’n’ they make a parade of it, and them gents and ladies sometimes even drop in t’sample the swill.”

  “Swagger along the ’front? You mean the waterfront?”

  “Yar.”

  “How do we find this place?”

  The man pointed leftward. “Go yon till y’come t’Mudlane. Then head f’r th’ river. Right along the bank y’ll find Tow. And right there’ll be the Bilge.”

  “Why do you even want to know, Bink?” asked Pipper.

  “I thought we’d go look at it anyway.”

  “But it’s Rivermen, Bink. Lawless. Didn’t you hear the man?”

  “Yes, I heard him.” Binkton started for the door, saying, “But he said the gents and ladies also come to the tavern. So, I’m going to take a look regardless.”

  “He said they only sometimes swagger along the ’front. It’s not like they’ll be there every night.”

  But Binkton simply shook his head and stepped out from the Oar.

  “This is a big mistake,” growled Pipper, yet he followed his cousin into the street.

  Still quibbling, the buccen turned to the left and headed for Mudlane.

  Unlike many of the thoroughfares in town, Mudlane had no pave-stones, and the Warrows followed the narrow dirt lane down to a road running along the steep bank of the river.

  “Oh, lor, Bink, look at the Argon,” marveled Pipper. “Makes the Dinglerill look like a piddling leak, it does.”

  They stood and surveyed the width of the mighty flow: fully two miles across it was, and it meandered southward to empty into the Avagon Sea some three hundred miles hence. And more or less equally divided by the grand run was Argon Ferry Town itself. The half Binkton and Pipper found themselves in was known by the locals simply as West Bank, with East Bank being on the opposite shore.

  The buccen turned and looked leftward, and on both sides of the river some two miles upstream, they could see the docks where the ferries were moored, while others plied across the waters both coming and going. As to the ships themselves, though neither Pipper nor Binkton knew the kinds of craft they eyed, some were swift pinnaces but most were barques, all ferries being fore and aft rigged and nimble in the wind, though each carried oars to be plied by strong men should the air lie calm.

  And up at the piers where the ferries docked, the Warrows could see a bustle of activity, with carriages and wagons arriving and leaving, but the buccen could not tell what was afoot, though Pipper said, “It’s probably the on-lading and off-lading of passengers, don’t you think?”

  “You’re probably right, Pip,” replied Binkton. “Cargo, too. It looks like goods are moving in and out of those warehouses at hand.”

  The Warrows then slowly turned about, taking in what they could see on both sides of the river: Extending southward from the ferry slips to run past the Warrows and reach far downstream, tow paths ran along the banks, nearly twelve miles in all-ways to be used by drovers and horses to pull wayward craft against the current and back to the piers should the need arise, especially on the days with no wind whatsoever during flood season, for then it was all the rowers could do simply to get from one bank to the other; hence, the street the Warrows stood on was simply called Tow.

  And there at the southwest corner of Mudlane and Tow stood the Clearwater Saloon, clearly a former warehouse.

  Pipper turned and looked at it and muttered, “Come on, Bink, let’s go look at the Bilge.”

  The place was perfect for Pipper’s aerial show, with numerous beams and joists high above, and down below and against one wall there sat a platform they could use as a stage. As for the Spikes of Doom escape, that act would work equally as well with a drape of canvas hanging down from a crossbeam to use as a high curtain, and behind that high curtain another crossbeam from which Binkton could dangle. And with more hanging c
anvas to serve as wings to the stage, they could as well use their secret-paneled, flame-painted chest in which to disappear.

  They spent the rest of the day planning, and then most of the evening negotiating with Tager Lynch, owner of the Clearwater. Finally, they came to terms, the Warrows agreeing to pay for the canvas curtains should the act not bring a fair return to the tavern. Likewise, the buccen agreed to pay for the broadsheets and handbills, again under the same provisions. But should the performances bring in enough additional income, then the buccen would get a quarter of the new. Haggling over this last took the most time, for it seemed Tager set his nightly income higher than what it was in reality, but Binkton surveyed the meager crowd and bargained him down.

  The next day the buccen went to a printer and arranged for handbills and broadsheets. The printer also offered to supply a group of urchins to put up the broadsheets and distribute the handbills all over town, but especially to the higher-class residents, for a fee, of course. As well, the Warrows paid the ferry fees for half the urchins to cross to the other side and post and distribute them there as well. That same day, Binkton and Pipper purchased the canvas and hired men to help set all up.

  A day or so later the printing was done and the broadsheets went up in both town squares and all of the common marketplaces. And the handbills were distributed widely over both West and East Banks.

  They announced that in three days, straight from the mysterious land of the Boskydells, the extraordinary and quite rare Warrows of Fire and Iron would put on their first remarkable show, with amazing aerial acts and incredible feats of escape, this last by a strange and wily Warrow that no gaol could hold.

  Pipper and Binkton then went to the captain of the city watch and invited him to the first performance.

  “I’ve heard of you, Binkton Windrow,” said the captain, a tall, angular man with a scarred face that sported a narrow moustache. “Rumors travel fast by the Red Coach.”

  “I’m flattered,” said Binkton. “But, you see, no rumors are these, but they are facts instead. The truth is, no gaol can hold me, not even yours.”