“Good question,” Peggol said, astringent as usual. “We don’t know whether it’s really there, who planted it if it is, where it is, or if it’s ready. Other than that, we’re fine.”
Liem’s voice turned savage: “I wish all the tourists were Tarteshans. Then we could question them as thoroughly as we needed, until we got truth from them.”
Thoroughly, Radnal knew, was a euphemism for harshly. Tarteshan justice was more pragmatic than merciful, so much so that applying it to foreigners would strain diplomatic relations and might provoke war. The tour guide said, “We couldn’t even be properly thorough with our own people, not when one of them is Toglo zev Pamdal.”
“I’d forgotten.” Liem made a face. “But you can’t suspect her. Why would the Hereditary Tyrant’s relative want to destroy the country he’s Hereditary Tyrant of? It makes no sense.”
“I don’t suspect her,” Radnal said. “I meant we’ll have to use our heads here; we can’t rely on brute force.”
“I suspect everyone,” Peggol vez Menk said, matter-of-factly as if he’d said, It’s hot tonight. “For that matter, I also suspect the information we found among Dokhnor’s effects. It might have been planted there to provoke us to question several foreign tourists thoroughly and embroil us with their governments. Morgaffo duplicity knows no bounds.”
“As may be, freeman, but dare we take the chance that this is duplicity, not real danger?” Liem said.
“If you mean, dare we ignore the danger? — of course not,” Peggol said. “But it might be duplicity.”
“Would the Morgaffos kill one of their own agents to mislead us?” Radnal asked. “If Dokhnor were alive, we’d have no idea this plot was afoot.”
“They might, precisely because they’d expect us to doubt they were so coldhearted,” Peggol answered. Radnal thought the Eye and Ear would suspect someone of stealing the sun if a morning dawned cloudy. That was what Eyes and Ears were for, but it made Peggol an uncomfortable companion.
“Since we can’t question the tourists thoroughly, what shall we do tomorrow?” Radnal said.
“Go on as we have been,” Peggol replied unhappily. “If any of them makes the slightest slip, that will justify our using appropriate persuasive measures.” Not even a man who sometimes used torture in his work was easy saying the word out loud.
“I can see one problem coming soon, freeman vez Menk-” Radnal said.
“Call me Peggol vez,” the Eye and Ear interrupted. “We’re in this mess together; we might as well treat each other as friends. I’m sorry — go ahead.”
“Sooner or later, Peggol vez, the tour group will want to go west, toward the Barrier Mountains — and toward the fault line where this starbomb may be. If it requires some finishing touches, that will give whoever is supposed to handle them his best chance. If it is someone in the tour group, of course.”
“When were you thinking of doing this?” If he’d sounded unhappy before, he was lugubrious now.
Radnal didn’t cheer him up: “The western swing was on the itinerary for tomorrow. I could change it, but-”
“But that would warn the culprit — if there is a culprit — we know what’s going on. Yes.” Peggol fingered the tuft of hair under his lip. “I think you’d better make the change anyhow, Radnal vez.” Having heard Radnal use his name with the polite particle, he could do likewise. “Better to alert the enemy than offer him a free opportunity.” Liem vez Steries began, “Freeman vez Menk-”
The Eye and Ear broke in again: “What I told Radnal also holds for you.”
“Fair enough, Peggol vez,” Liem said. “How could Morgaf have got wind of this plot against Tartesh without our having heard of it, too? I mean no disrespect, I assure you, but this matter concerns me.” He waved toward the Barrier Mountains, which suddenly seemed a much less solid bulwark than they had before.
“The question is legitimate, and I take no offense. I see two possible answers,” Peggol said. (Radnal had a feeling the Eye and Ear saw at least two answers to every question.) “One is that Morgaf may be doing this deceitfully to incite us against our other neighbors, as I said before. The other is that the plot is real, and whoever dreamed it up approached the Morgaffos so they could fall on us after the catastrophe.”
Each possibility was logical; Radnal wished he could choose between them. Since he couldn’t, he said, “There’s nothing we can do about it now, so we might as well sleep. In the morning, I’ll tell the tourists we’re going east, not west. That’s an interesting excursion, too. It-”
Peggol raised a hand. “Since I’ll see it tomorrow, why not keep me in suspense?” He twisted this way and that.
“You can’t die of an impacted fundament, can you?”
“I’ve never heard of it happening, anyhow.” Radnal hid a smile.
“Maybe I’ll be a medical first, and get written up in all the physicians’ codices.” Peggol rubbed the afflicted parts.
“And I’ll have to go riding again tomorrow, eh? How unfortunate.”
“If we don’t get some sleep soon, we’ll both be dozing in the saddle,” Radnal said, yawning. “It must be a couple of daytenths past sunset by now. I thought Moblay would never head for his cubicle.”
“Maybe he was just fond of you, Radnal.” Liem vez Steries put a croon in the guide’s name that burlesqued the way the Lissonese kept leaving off the polite particle.
Radnal snapped, “Night demons carry you off, Liem vez, the ideas you come up with.” He waited for the militiaman to taunt him about Evillia and Lofosa, but Liem left that alone. He wondered what ideas the two girls from the Krepalgan Unity had come up with, and whether they’d use them with him tonight. He hoped not — as he’d told Peggol, he did need sleep. Then he wondered if putting sleep ahead of fornication meant he was getting old.
If it did, too bad, he decided. Along with Peggol and Liem, he walked back to the lodge. The other militiamen and Eyes and Ears reported in whispers — all quiet.
Radnal turned a curious ear toward Evillia’s sleep cubicle, then Lofosa’s, and then Moblay Sopsirk’s son’s. He didn’t hear moans or thumpings from any of them. He wondered whether Moblay hadn’t propositioned the Krepalgan girls, or whether they’d turned him down. Or maybe they’d frolicked and gone back to sleep. No, that last wasn’t likely; the Eyes and Ears would have been smirking about the eye — and earful they’d got.
Yawning again, Radnal went into his own sleep cubicle, took off his sandals, undid his belt, and lay down. The air-filled sleepsack sighed beneath him like a lover. He angrily shook his head. Two nights with Lofosa and Evillia had filled his mind with lewd notions.
He hoped they would leave him alone again. He knew their dalliance with him was already an entry in Peggol vez Menk’s dossier; having the Eye and Ear watch him at play — or listen to him quarreling with them when he sent them away — would not improve the entry.
Those two nights, he’d just been falling asleep when Evillia and Lofosa joined him. Tonight, nervous about whether they’d come, and about everything he’d heard from Peggol and Liem, he lay awake a long time. The girls stayed in their own cubicles.
He dozed off without knowing he’d done so. His eyes flew open when a koprit bird on the roof announced the dawn with a raucous hig-hig-hig! He needed a couple of heartbeats to wake fully, realize he’d been asleep, and remember what he’d have to do this morning.
He put on his sandals, fastened his belt, and walked into the common room. Most of the militiamen and Eyes and Ears were already awake. Peggol wasn’t; Radnal wondered how much knowing he snored would be worth as blackmail. Liem vez Steries said quietly, “No one murdered last night.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Radnal said, sarcastic and truthful at the same time.
Lofosa came out of her cubicle. She still wore what Radnal assumed to be Krepalgan sleeping attire, namely skin. Not a hair on her head was mussed, and she’d done something to her eyes to make them look bigger and brighter than they really were. All the men
stared at her, some more openly, some less.
She smiled at Radnal and said in a voice like silver bells, “I hope you didn’t miss us last night, freeman vez Krobir. It would have been as much fun as the other two, but we were too tired.” Before he could answer (he would have needed a while to find an answer), she went outside to the privy.
The tour guide looked down at his sandals, not daring to meet anyone’s eyes. He listened to the small coughs that meant the others didn’t know what to say to him, either. Finally Liem remarked, “Sounds as though she knows you well enough to call you Radnal vez.”
“I suppose so,” Radnal muttered. In physical terms, she’d been intimate enough with him to leave off the vez. Her Tarteshan was good enough that she ought to know it, too. She’d managed to embarrass him even more by combining the formal address with such a familiar message. She couldn’t have made him look more foolish if she’d tried for six moons.
Evillia emerged from her cubicle, dressed, or undressed, like Lofosa. She didn’t banter with Radnal, but headed straight for the privy. She and Lofosa met each other behind the helos. They talked for a few heartbeats before each continued on her way.
Toglo zev Pamdal walked into the common room as Lofosa returned from outside. Lofosa stared at the Strongbrow woman, as if daring Toglo to remark on her nakedness. A lot of Tarteshans, especially female Tarteshans, would have remarked on it in detail.
Toglo said only, “I trust you slept well, freelady?” From her casual tone, she might have been talking to a neighbor she didn’t know well but with whom she was on good terms.
“Yes, thank you.” Lofosa dropped her eyes when she concluded she couldn’t use her abundantly displayed charms to bait Toglo.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Toglo said, still sweetly. “I wouldn’t want you to catch cold on holiday.”
Lofosa took half a step, then jerked as if poked by a pin. Toglo had already turned to greet the others in the common room. For a heartbeat, maybe two, Lofosa’s teeth showed in a snarl like a cave cat’s. Then she went back into her cubicle to finish getting ready for the day.
“I hope I didn’t offend her — too much,” Toglo said to Radnal.
“I think you handled yourself like a diplomat,” he answered.
“Hmm,” she said. “Given the state of the world, I wonder whether that’s a compliment.” Radnal didn’t answer. Given what he’d heard the night before, the state of the world might be worse than Toglo imagined.
His own diplomatic skills got a workout after breakfast, when he explained to the group that they’d be going east rather than west. Golobol said, “I find the change from the itinerary most distressing, yes.” His round brown face bore a doleful expression.
Benter vez Maprab found any change distressing. “This is an outrage,” he blustered. “The herbaceous cover approaching the Barrier Mountains is far richer than that to the east.”
“I’m sorry,” Radnal said, an interesting mixture of truth and lie: he didn’t mind annoying Benter, but would sooner not have had such a compelling reason.
“I don’t mind going east rather than west today,” Toglo zev Pamdal said. “As far as I’m concerned, there are plenty of interesting things to see either way. But I would like to know why the schedule has been changed.”
“So would I,” Moblay Sopsirk’s son said. “Toglo is right — what are you trying to hide, anyhow?”
All the tourists started talking — the Martoisi started shouting — at once. Radnal’s own reaction to the Lissonese man was a wish that a trench in Trench Park went down a lot deeper, say, to the red-hot center of the earth. He would have shoved Moblay into it. Not only was he a boor, to use a woman’s name without the polite particle (using it uninvited even with the particle would have been an undue liberty), he was a snoop and a rabble-rouser.
Peggol vez Menk slammed his open hand down on the table beside which Dokhnor of Kellef had died. The boom cut through the chatter. Into sudden silence, Peggol said, “Freeman vez Krobir changed your itinerary at my suggestion. Aspects of the murder case suggest that course would in the best interests of Tartesh.”
“This tells us nothing, not a thing.” Now Golobol sounded really angry, not just upset at breaking routine. “You say these fine — sounding words, but where is the meaning behind them?”
“If I told you everything you wished to know, freeman, I would also be telling those who should not hear,” Peggol said.
“Pfui!” Golobol stuck out his tongue.
Eltsac vez Martois said, “I think you Eyes and Ears think you’re little tin demigods.”
But Peggol’s pronouncement quieted most of the tourists. Ever since starbombs came along, nations had grown more anxious about keeping secrets from one another. That struck Radnal as worrying about the cave cat after he’d carried off the goat, but who could tell? There might be worse things than starbombs.
He said, “As soon as I can, I promise I will tell all of you everything I can about what’s going on.” Peggol vez Menk gave him a hard look; Peggol wouldn’t have told anyone his own name if he could help it.
“What is going on?” Toglo echoed.
Since Radnal was none too certain himself, he met that comment with dignified silence. He did say, “The longer we quarrel here, the less we’ll have the chance to see, no matter which direction we end up choosing.”
“That makes sense, freeman vez Krobir,” Evillia said. Neither she nor Lofosa had argued about going east as opposed to west.
Radnal looked around the group, saw more resignation than outrage. He said, “Come now, freemen, freeladies, let’s head for the stables. There are many fascinating things to see east of the lodge — and to hear, also. There’s the Night Demons’ Retreat, for instance.”
“Oh, good!” Toglo clapped her hands. “As I’ve said, it rained the last time I was here. The guide was too worried about flash floods to take us out there. I’ve wanted to see that ever since I read Hicag zev Ginfer’s frightener codex.”
“You mean Stones of Doom?” Radnal’s opinion of Toglo’s taste fell. Trying to stay polite, he said, “It wasn’t as accurate as it might have been.”
“I thought it was trash,” Toglo said. “But I went to school with Hicag zev and we’ve been friends ever since, so I had to read it. And she certainly makes the Night Demons’ Retreat sound exotic, whether there’s a breeze of truth in what she writes or not.”
“Maybe a breeze — a mild breeze,” Radnal said.
“I read it, too. I thought it was very exciting,” Nocso zev Martois said.
“The tour guide thinks it’s garbage,” her husband told her.
“I didn’t say that,” Radnal said. Neither Martois listened to him; they enjoyed yelling at each other more.
“Enough of your own breeze. If we must do this, let’s do it, at least,” Benter vez Maprab said.
“As you say, freeman.” Radnal wished the Night Demons’ Retreat really held night demons. With any luck, they’d drag Benter into the stones and no one in the tour group would ever see — or have to listen to — him again. But such convenient things happened only in codices.
* * *
The tourists were getting better with the donkeys. Even Peggol seemed less obviously out of place on donkeyback than he had yesterday. As the group rode away from the lodge, Radnal looked back and saw park militiamen and Eyes and Ears advancing on the stables to go over them again.
He made himself forget the murder investigation and remember he was a tour guide. “Because we’re off earlier this morning, we’re more likely to see small reptiles and mammals that shelter against the worst heat,” he said.
“Many of them-”
A sudden little flip of sandy dirt a few cubits ahead made him stop. “By the gods, there’s one now.” He dismounted. “I think that’s a shoveler skink.”
“A what?” By now, Radnal was used to the chorus that followed whenever he pointed out one of the more unusual denizens of the Bottomlands.
“A s
hoveler skink,” he repeated. He crouched down. Yes, sure enough, there was the lure. He knew he had an even-money chance. If he grabbed the tail end, the lizard would shed the appendage and flee. But if he got it by the neck-
He did. The skink twisted like a piece of demented rubber, trying to wriggle free. It also voided. Lofosa made a disgusted noise. Radnal took such things in stride.
After thirty or forty heartbeats, the skink gave up and lay still. Radnal had been waiting for that. He carried the palm-sized lizard into the midst of the tourists. “Skinks are common all over the world, but the shoveler is the most curious variety. It’s a terrestrial equivalent of the anglerfish. Look-”
He tapped the orange fleshy lump that grew on the end of a spine about two digits long. “The skink buries itself under sand, with just this lure and the tip of its nose sticking out. See how its ribs extend to either side, so it looks more like a gliding animal than one that lives underground? It has specialized musculature, to make those long rib ends bend what we’d think of as the wrong way. When an insect comes along, the lizard tosses dirt on it, then twists around and snaps it up. It’s a beautiful creature.”
“It’s the ugliest thing I ever saw,” Moblay Sopsirk’s son declared.
The lizard didn’t care one way or the other. It peered at him through little beady black eyes. If the variety survived another few million years — if the Bottomlands survived another couple of moons, Radnal thought nervously — future specimens might lose their sight altogether, as had already happened with other subterranean skinks.
Radnal walked out of the path, put the lizard back on the ground. It scurried away, surprisingly fast on its short legs. After six or eight cubits, it seemed to melt into the ground. Within moments, only the bright orange lure betrayed its presence.
Evillia asked, “Do any bigger creatures go around looking for lures to catch the skinks?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Radnal said. “Koprit birds can see color; you’ll often see shoveler skinks impaled in their hoards. Big-eared nightfoxes eat them, too, but they track by scent, not sight.”
Down in The Bottomlands (and Other Places) Page 7