“The true measure of intelligence,” Darzek muttered, “is one’s ability to adapt to the impossible. I know this is absolutely impossible, but I saw it, and I’m going to believe it. I know that creature did not come from a member world of the Synthesis. Therefore a non-member world has somehow achieved interstellar travel right under the collective noses of agents of Rok Wllon’s Department of Uncertified Worlds without anyone noticing. Rok Wllon will have conniptions when he hears about it, and I sincerely hope we’ll both survive long enough so I can have the pleasure of telling him.”
The presence of an alien in the carriage of the Duke of OO gave Darzek an instant solution to half of his problems. It was all the explanation he needed for the strange metal detector, and for the pazul—whatever that might be—and even for the electrical generator, though why an alien would go to the trouble of disguising it in the technology of Kamm would probably remain a mystery.
For all of five minutes Darzek felt elated. Then he began to consider the new problems raised by the presence of the one-eared alien, and for the next hour he felt increasingly depressed. What could aliens possibly want on the world of Kamm? And why would they be passing out pazuls to the decrepit nobility of this small island?
When finally he looked out at the docks again, the black-capes were still prowling there. Watching them through a half-open square port, he wondered what had gone wrong. The knight had taken one glance at him and instantly turned in pursuit. As far as he knew he had done nothing, committed no action that had not been readily accepted elsewhere, but in some way he had betrayed himself.
It would be safer to stay where he was until dark; except that the members of the crew might return at any moment, and he couldn’t predict how that complication would work out. Also, he was deeply concerned about Sajjo.
“Sailors,” he told himself, “do go ashore occasionally. Why shouldn’t I?”
He left the cabin, pretended to fuss about the deck until the patrolling black-capes were as far from the ship as they were likely to get, and then he leaped ashore and strode boldly along the harbor. He passed a black-caped lackey without a glance; the young priest seemed to pay no attention to him. Darzek exchanged the traditional crossed thumbs greeting with a passing sailor and turned into the fairgrounds through a break in the stone wall.
The duke’s free entertainment had ruined the day’s business. Many vendors had closed, but a few of them were still trying to salvage something from the sparse crowd that remained. Darzek threaded his way among the rows, looking for his own cart. He saw it and started toward it; and then he whirled and pretended to interest himself in an innocuous pile of wood ornaments amid a cluttered peddler’s display.
Black-capes swarmed about the cart. Stealing an occasional sidelong glance, Darzek saw them bring up his tandem of nabrula, kick the beasts into position, harness them, and lead the cart away. There was no sign of Sajjo.
He turned his back on the pleading peddler and walked toward the harbor. There, ten meters from a stony-faced, black-caped lackey, he sat down and dangled his feet over the edge of a dock.
Something had to be done, and at once. And he hadn’t the faintest notion of what it could be.
CHAPTER 13
Twice Darzek got to his feet. Each time sober reflection convinced him, before he had taken a step, that his best course was to wait for darkness. He could not rescue Sajjo without first finding out where they had taken her. If he, already a fugitive, drew attention to himself by making inquiries in that seething fair, the black-capes would instantly invite him to join her.
And his tiny amulet stun weapon could not cope with the army of priests that continued to rampage through the fair and around the docks. He should have no trouble in learning where the black-capes took their prisoners, and in darkness he could even invade the duke’s castle, if that were necessary.
He sat down again, and dangled his feet, and tried to figure out what had gone wrong so suddenly. One glance, and a knight had taken after him. The seizure of his cart was even more unaccountable. On the other hand, two black-caped lackeys were at that moment standing watch within thirty strides of him, and neither showed the slightest suspicion of this idle sailor. Had the priests been warned about a peddler and his daughter? And who could have given such a warning?
All of Darzek’s special equipment was with the cart. He doubted that the black-capes would discover the secret compartments, but for the moment it was lost to him. He had only his amulet.
Out in the harbor a ship was approaching, clumsily tacking toward the docks. Darzek watched it idly for a few minutes, and then he returned his thoughts to the question of what to do about Sajjo. When he glanced up again, the ship was drifting some eight or ten meters from the dock, and the captain, standing atop the low cabin, was pointing insults at Darzek with flickering fingers.
Look away, you sniveling dirt digger! On your feet, you depraved offspring of a hornless nabrulk! Look away!
Startled, Darzek scrambled to his feet. A deck hand swung an arm deftly, and a thick rope shot at Darzek. He ducked out of the way, stumbled, fell on his back on the muddy cobblestones. The heavy rope landed across his chest with a thud, and he lay there for a moment, temporarily stunned. Two passing sailors seized the rope and hauled lustily. They were joined by others, and the ship was slowly drawn toward the dock.
Darzek got to his feet confusedly and started to walk away. The ship’s captain took a long leap from the top of the cabin to the dock, seized Darzek’s shoulders, and spun him around. He towered over Darzek, brawny, red-faced, unusually large for a Kammian, and his hands shook with anger as he flashed insults under Darzek’s nose.
Dirt digger! Sniveling dirt digger! When does a sailor refuse to look away? Don’t think I won’t report this! I’ll have you hack digging before your ship sails! He gave Darzek a searching scrutiny. I’ve never seen you before. You’re too old to be an apprentice. Who’s your master? Darzek made no response. Let’s see your chip, the captain demanded.
Darzek’s only recourse was to bluff. He drew himself up and demanded, Who do you think you are?
It was the wrong question. The captain reared back in rage. Who do I think I am? Why, you sniveling dirt digger, I’ll show you!
His hands clamped on Darzek’s throat. Sailors were gathering around them, and Darzek saw a black-cape edging closer. As he struggled dizzily, fighting for breath, he knew that only his amulet could save him—his hands were clutching it—and to use it would be fatal.
Suddenly the captain’s hands relaxed. He backed away and stood looking past Darzek respectfully. Darzek, rubbing his throat, felt a hand on his shoulder. As he turned he gripped his amulet again, expecting to find himself face to face with a black knight; but it was another sea captain who confronted him, an older man, obviously a veteran of distinction, for he wore a special, multiply tiered captain’s hat.
For a moment he scrutinized Darzek. Then, without a word, he motioned Darzek to follow him and turned away. As Darzek set out after him his one thought was to escape, and he looked about vainly for a hiding place. Then two black-capes halted and saluted when this captain approached them, and Darzek decided that the situation had complexities that might work to his advantage.
The captain led Darzek to the far end of the harbor and aboard a large ship. Without a word he opened a door, stepped aside to let Darzek enter the cabin, and then followed him. Then he barred the door. Compared with Darzek’s previous ship, this one was designed for luxury cruises. The furnishings were opulent. The captain pulled out a polished, elaborately carved chair for Darzek, arranged another for himself across a polished, elaborately carved table, and from a tall jug poured cider into two tumblers. He pushed one at Darzek.
Then, before Darzek could lift the tumbler, the captain’s hands spoke. I’m Captain Wanulzk. What is your name?
He was slim, almost fragile-looking, and as small for a Kammian as the other captain had been oversized, but Darzek sensed the toughness his slight fr
ame concealed. His bronzed face was calm and confident, his dark eyes alert and penetrating. It was, Darzek thought, searching his recollections of Kammians he had known, an honest face. This captain was intelligent, rather than cunning. He would outmaneuver an enemy, but he would not deceive him.
Needing time to think, Darzek raised the tumbler and sipped. It was a sailor’s cider—the sip burned his throat.
Obviously this captain was a personage. Sailors and black-capes alike respected his importance. He had saved Darzek from a tense situation that could have ended disastrously.
Darzek wanted to know why.
He sipped again. The captain kept his eyes on him, waiting, and finally he said, I understand that your real name would have no meaning for me, but I must call you something. What name are you using?
Darzek almost dropped the tumbler.
He set it down carefully and replied, I am Lazk. He was about to add, A humble peddler, when he remembered the stolen sailor’s clothing he was wearing. At the moment there was no possible way he could account for himself, in any respect.
Lazk, the captain repeated. He jerked a shoulder with satisfaction. My old friend Bovranulz told me about you, but of course he had no name for you.
Darzek was too dumfounded to speak.
Bovranulz told me a peddler at the OO-Fair would be in desperate need of help and merit it. And though Bovranulz described you with care, the scrutiny of every peddler at the fair would not have identified you with certainty even if there had been time to do so. I had to wait until the trouble developed, and it was complicated by the cursed duke and his amusements. I saw the black-capes chase you, but by the time I reached the docks you’d disappeared. It wasn’t until I saw a sailor behaving with shocking insubordination that I realized what had happened.
Darzek continued to examine the situation warily, determined that his desperate need for an ally should not trap him into a fatal error. He decided to tell the captain only what the black-capes already knew and see how he reacted.
My young daughter was taken by the black-capes, Darzek said.
The captain’s right hand cupped an exclamation.
My cart, also, Darzek added. And my three nabrula. Would it be possible to find out where they were taken? A poor peddler cannot easily replace a cart and nabrula, and a dearly loved daughter is beyond price. I don’t even know what Sajjo could have done to offend them.
The captain regarded him with evident amusement when he spoke of his cart and nabrula, but obviously he considered the daughter a serious matter. Her name is Sajjo? he asked. He got to his feet and left the room. When he returned, he again barred the door.
He sat down and leaned forward, and his hands spoke with intense seriousness. I don’t know where you come from or who sent you or why. But Bovranulz says you are unlike these other outsiders that pollute Storoz, that you are a friend of our people, and I have no choice but to believe him. Too many times my life has depended on him, and he has never failed me. So I believe, and I will do what he asks. He asks that I tell you what the League knows about Storoz.
Darzek shaped a question. The Sailor’s League?
Yes. Officially we have no interest in the internal affairs of Storoz. In actuality, most of us are Storozians. This island is more than a home to us—it is our birthright. Even if the dukes honor our Free City charters and leave us alone, we cannot ignore the iniquities they perpetrate in the provinces of our fathers and the cruelties they inflict on our relatives. Officially we have no interest, but we take a very active private interest. Through that private interest we have learned much. Do you know that the Duke of OO—a remote ancestor of the present duke—once was King of Storoz?
Darzek signaled an affirmative.
He was Ruler of Storoz and Protector of the Faith—which means that he ruled both in this world and the next. He controlled the government of his people and also their religion. He had another title that few now remember: Keeper of the Winged Beast. The kingship was hereditary, but there was an earlier tradition that the king in his arbitrariness forgot: the kingship once was held by different dukes in turn according to a system no one now remembers except the dukes themselves. The dukes deposed him; but then they could not agree on a plan for rotating the kingship again, so each duke became ruler of his own province, and the office of Protector was taken by the ruler of the mountain province, which always had been the Realm of the Winged Beast. All this you know?
Only a little of it. Please continue.
Do you know that the Protector is attempting to revive the kingship?
Darzek signaled a negative. But it does not surprise me, he added.
He is. The dukes are distrustful—even the Protector’s own brother, the Duke of OO, is distrustful. Each would enjoy ruling all of Storoz, but none would enjoy being subservient to another duke. And because the Protector is the Duke of OO’s brother, the others fear that the Protector is plotting to restore OO to the kingship. The Duke of OO fears that the Protector is plotting to take over the kingship himself and again combine the offices of Ruler of Storoz and Protector of the Faith.
The Protector swears that none of this is true. He is dedicated to the principles of the religion he protects, and he would cheerfully surrender his office to a legal king, chosen in the same time-tested and divine manner in which kings were selected in the past.
You said no one but the dukes remembered what that was, Darzek observed thoughtfully.
Probably no one has ever known except the dukes and the Protector. We know only that the kingship was held by different dukes in turn, and that is the system the Protector would restore. Now all of the dukes are currying favor with the Protector, and his favor has a price—the restoration of the old religion. For long years in Storoz, religion has been a matter of conscience. One worshiped the new or the old or none at all, as one chose. But now the old religion rules in OO. The cursed black-capes terrorize the people and force them through fear to worship the Winged Beast. You have seen it. Some of the other dukes are ready to do the same, as the price of the Protector’s favor.
But you permit black-capes in the Free Cities, Darzek observed.
The captain scowled. Of course. Freedom of choice still counts there, and it isn’t freedom if one isn’t free to worship the old as well as the new. He paused for a moment, and then he continued, There are these outsiders. I don’t know who they are or what they seek. Do you know?
No. I did not suspect their existence until I saw one in the duke’s carriage today. Does the Duke Merzkion have outsiders as guests?
From time to time.
And—the Duke Fermarz?
From time to time. We don’t know for certain, but we assume that all the dukes have had such visitors. A few have made them guests.
Darzek spoke slowly. There are two questions: What they seek, and what they offer for it. Since there is talk of reviving the kingship, they may be offering to make their hosts king—in return for certain favors.
And—the favors?
I can answer only that they would be bad for the people of Storoz and bad for people anywhere on this world. Eventually they’d be bad for the duke that granted them, but a duke who wants to be king does not think beyond the kingship.
That is our belief, the captain said.
If the outsiders have visited all of the dukes, they may be promising more than one duke that they’ll help him become king.
It’s even more complicated than that, the captain said gloomily. There is more than one kind of outsider. In addition to yourself, that is.
Darzek stared at him. Then he reflected that members of the different human races probably would have impressed the Kammians as being more than one kind of outsider, and different kinds didn’t necessarily mean outsiders from more than one world. How different? he asked.
Their features are entirely different. I have seen them myself. One kind has a strange physical construction around the hack of its head, from one side to the other. The other kind has a
small, round opening on each side of its head, high up.
Darzek took a deep breath and wondered why he was accepting that shattering information so calmly. He asked, Are these different kinds of visitors in contention with each other?
The Duke of OO entertains only the one kind. The Duke Merzkion entertains only the other kind. Beyond that, we know for certain that one kind tried to turn a duke against the other kind.
To Darzek, this information was at least as devastating as a pazul. Some of the dukes may he making promises to both kinds of visitors, hoping to gain the support of both, he pointed out.
The captain gestured his agreement. His gloom had deepened. They are scoundrels cheating one another, and the people of Storoz must pay the winner.
Are there any good dukes? Darzek asked. Dukes worthy of the honor of the kingship and able to use power for the benefit of all?
Two. Two out of eleven—or twelve, if we count the Protector. Thus has the blood of our royalty rotted.
I know lands where two out of twelve would he something to he proud of, Darzek told him. You said the dukes feared that the Protector was conspiring to bring the kingship to his brother, the Duke of OO. Is he?
The ancient religion is harsh. Its dicta are cruel and merciless. The Protector believes that harshness and cruelty are purifying and should be applied relentlessly. He hopes to restore the ancient religion to its former high status and thereby revive the ancient glory of Storoz. He is dedicated. If there is an ancient religious canon for the selection of a king, I think he would apply it honestly—and unswervingly.
Then he’s a fanatic, Darzek suggested. And incorruptible.
In matters of religion, we know of nothing to indicate that he is not. And since his brother, the Duke of OO, is dedicated to the pursuit of life’s pleasures and the avoidance of its responsibilities, our feeling is that the Protector would not help him become king. He knows as well as we that this would be a catastrophe for the people of Storoz. But if the Duke of OO gains the kingship honestly, certainly the Protector will do nothing to prevent that.
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