by Dave Duncan
Basket-fox bared his fangs in what usually implied a smile. “Their knights bless them thus?”
“No blessing needed. Even I could do it, after a fashion. I am not skilled, but give me some workers of wood and I will show you roughly how it works.” Lynx’s life at sea had been brief, but he had seen how Papillon sailed into the wind, and Jorge could assist him.
“It shall be so.” The big cat head nodded. A furry paw patted Lynx’s shoulder. “It is strange! I trust you more than my own sons, for you have no friend but me. Even Night-fisher believes in you only because I told him to.”
“I owe you my life, lord. I will serve as I can.”
“Go and do so,” Basket-fox growled. “Quickly, before the ritual begins. Order whatever you require. You speak with my voice.”
Relieved that he would not have to watch the slaughter, Lynx ran to the top of the long staircase and started down. Night-fisher would be surprised to see him coming on his own two paws instead of rolling down as dead meat. Maybe next time.
Meanwhile, he must find Jorge. Put a sail on a dugout canoe and it would tip over in a twinkling. So tie two of them together for stability? Add a mast…a rudder and perhaps a keel board?
2
The workers in wood were probably slaves—Lynx did not ask, and it was an unimportant distinction in El Dorado. They tended to collapse and bury their faces in the dirt at the sight of a jaguar knight, but he cured them of that by threatening to kill them if they didn’t behave. What else could he do? If he smiled, half of them fainted.
After some hours and several unexpected swims, he managed a successful maiden voyage on his ungainly craft, which he privately named Celeste. He strengthened the rudder, had his workers attach splash boards along the gunwales, and tried again. The moon was full, so he sent Jorge and the carpenters home at sunset and worked on through the night with a fresh team. Getting the sails right was the hardest part, and finding a satisfactory way of attaching the boom was almost as bad, but just before dawn he sent word to Basket-fox that he was ready to demonstrate sailing.
They had hardly left the dock before the old knight yowled with delight and insisted on taking the tiller. He learned the knack of steering in an astonishingly short time, as if he had an instinctive feel for the way the catamaran would respond. Soon he was running before the wind, tacking back, chasing down terrified paddlers in canoes, even deliberately ramming them just to watch them tip over. In high spirits he returned to his palace and summoned friends. Jaguars began arriving at the dock in canoes or palanquins or just appearing, sometimes accompanied by Eagles and sometimes with dusty feet, as if they had actually walked the streets. Seeing that Celeste was becoming dangerously overloaded, Lynx made his excuses and left them to it.
That night he was summoned. As he trotted through the grounds with Night-fisher at his heels, Basket-fox appeared ahead of him in what had been an empty patch of moonlight. That was not surprising. What was surprising was that he hailed Lynx with a formal greeting due a brother knight.
He added, “Your dancing canoe was a magnificent feat, Plumed-pillar!”
“It was a trivial trick, silent killer. I am happy to have amused you.”
“A valuable amusement.” The old monster chuckled deep in his throat. “I have given some thought to your entourage. A single stripling is not enough.” He nodded at a nearby tree; a fully fledged warrior became visible in the shadows, complete with spear and shield, labret, and plumed headdress. “You remember Corn-fang, now a taker of one captive? A most promising warrior who has seen the shame of following the imposter Flintknife and will be overjoyed to serve the real Plumed-pillar again.”
Who had been bribed, in other words. Astonished, Lynx thanked his mentor for this further generosity and spoke a suitable greeting for a knight acknowledging a taker-of-one-captive follower. Corn-fang came forward to touch the ground before his new-or-restored lord. By Tlixilian standards he was an impressive sight in his finery, although he would have driven whole armies hysterical back in Eurania.
Unless Basket-fox was being exceptionally devious, even for him, he would not donate followers to a man he intended to kill very soon.
Another knight materialized—an Eagle, his great hunched shape towering over them all, feathers shining in the moonlight. This time there were no flowery greetings. Ignoring warriors and Jaguar-imposter, the newcomer spoke directly to Basket-fox.
“We see few guards posted. None is blessed.”
“No knights?”
“Not one.”
The Jaguar bared his fangs in what looked like an enormous yawn, but probably was not. “Then we shall have sport!” He turned to Lynx. “Plumed-pillar, we go to Seven Reeds to find the Hairy Ones’boats and knock holes in them! The mighty Frowning-whisper, here, will carry us on the Spirit Wind—four Jaguars and three twenties of warriors. You wish to accompany us?”
Lynx dutifully said, “I shall die of shame if you forbid me.”
The cat-man grunted. Moonlight shone on his eyes. “But you will come only to observe, not to fight. You will instruct Corn-fang and Night-fisher that they are to guard you closely, and are not to seek out captives, nor attack anyone who is not threatening you.”
That seemed entirely reasonable to Lynx, who was already wondering what he was letting himself in for, but honor required a protest, so he protested.
Basket-fox cut him off with a snarl. “Jaguars’ weapons are sleep and madness and mindless terror. When a knight chooses to close in battle and gather captives with his own hands, he must go unseen or the enemy will roll over him like an avalanche. You would be a stain on the grass before they even noticed you were a fake. You will come along only to observe, so that you can copy the Hairy Ones’ work for us.”
Oops! Lynx should have seen how the wind blew. And the Tlixilians were still thinking of dugout canoes, not planks. “Lord, knocking holes in the boats will do little harm. You should go prepared to burn them or steal them.”
Growl! “Is it so?”
“Also, may I suggest that capturing the men who do the work would be advantageous? We could use their skills.”
Any great lord might glare when contradicted, but few as effectively as Basket-fox. “Star skimmer, do you see where the workers sleep?”
The eagle knight clicked his beak a few times, whatever that meant. “There are shelters nearby. We can bring back captives on the usual terms.”
“And tools!” Lynx said. “Anything made of metal, all or part.” He knew no words for nails or spikes.
“No!” The Eagle’s beak shut with a noise like an ax. The knights were divided between Traditionalists and Progressives, and most Eagles were Traditionalists.
Lost in a jungle of tangled values, Lynx saw he might as well push on as try to turn back. If he must risk his neck on some madcap sabotage raid, then he would prefer that it made sense. “To take the Hairy Ones’ tools would be the hardest blow you could strike.”
“Tools are not a matter of honor!” the Eagle declared.
“But let us hear how warriors of the Hairy Ones think,” Basket-fox said. “Continue, Plumed-pillar.”
Blades were not soldiers, but one thing Ironhall taught was the value of reconnaissance, and it sounded as if the Eldoradoans had not done theirs yet. “I don’t know what we are assaulting, lord. If it were me, I would have the noble Eagle send a scout across tonight and leave the actual attack for another evening.”
Basket-fox’s talons flashed in the moonlight. “You dare?”
Frowning-whisper uttered a shriek that might denote either fury or amusement.
Lynx gaped in sudden terror and hurled himself to the ground, groveling. “I mean no disrespect to my lord! I know not how I have offended the most terrible one!”
Basket-fox snarled dangerously. “Stupid, ignorant foreigner! I will forgive your ignorance just this once. Rise.” He retracted his claws with what seemed like an effort. “Your suggestion has merit, though, and I will allow you to accompany me.
You will oblige us, terror of the dark?”
Frowning-whisper said, “I am humbled by your trust.”
“Tarry a moment!” The old knight spoke to empty air. “Raging-stone, stand down the Furious and the Flesh Eaters.”
Lynx was still shaking, hard put to keep his fangs from chattering. That had been a very, very narrow escape! He would never volunteer to go alone into an enemy camp, but his imperfect Tlixilian had been understood as an insult to Basket-fox’s courage or judgment or something. Of course the mission would not be certain suicide if the enemy truly had no eagle knights at Seven Reeds, as Frowning-whisper claimed, but it still felt like going into battle armed only with fingernails.
The Jaguar turned to stare fixedly at him, and he felt a strange sensation that the moon was growing brighter, like a strange colorless sunlight. The bats and crickets and the frogs in the lake sounded louder. How long had the air born this rich medley of scents? Even its touch on his skin felt suddenly meaningful. He was being blessed.
“We are ready now, friend of stars,” Basket-fox said. If the old cat felt scared out of his whiskers, as Lynx did, he was not showing it.
The moon lurched a third of the way around the sky. The air chilled, changing scents and sounds; the frogs’ chorus barked louder and nearer. Yet Lynx experienced none of the giddiness he had felt the first time he rode the Spirit Wind. Sheer terror yes, dizziness no. He glanced around quickly, registering a sawpit and stacks of tree trunks and cut planks. The Eagle had set them down in a secluded spot…them? There was no sign of Basket-fox. Panic surged until Lynx realized that he had no shadow, so the moon was shining through him. Old Kitty-cat would be somewhere close.
With his heart still thumping like a drum, Lynx padded toward the nearest gap, moving as quietly as he could, although his steps on the dry clay sounded abominably loud. When an invisible paw touched his chest, he barely suppressed a shriek of terror.
Whiskers tickled his ear. “Mud!” said an anonymous whisper.
Lynx nodded. He was still shivering as he edged around the puddle.
In the next few minutes—which felt like weeks—he established that the Distliards were constructing a fleet ashore, but close to a canal leading into the lake. The boats were larger than he expected, capable of carrying forty or fifty men. Several were near completion and would burn nicely. Best of all, he found a well-built shed with a massive iron lock on the door, a device that must have come from Eurania. He paced out the building’s dimensions, remembering that his stride was longer than human.
Then he set off to explore the rest of the site, occasionally being warned off some particular course by a touch of his unseen companion’s paw. He found pickets, crouching around small fires that seemed painfully bright, like fragments of the sun itself, but the men were relaxed, and might just be keeping watch for thieves. He inspected the rough shelters where the workers slept, peering inside a few to estimate how many there were.
What next? He had a sudden hysterical mental image of his enormous, near-naked feline self dining at high table in Ironhall, expounding on his military exploits in the Hence Lands to the horrified candidates. Join the Blades and see the world….
A paw detained him. He waited. It did not move. He began to feel alarmed. Another touched his other shoulder, turning him to look leftward. Still, for a moment, he remained puzzled. Then he saw a movement…another…and yet another. He almost cried out in terror as shadows transformed into misty outlines of warriors, a gang of them drifting silently through the shrubbery, crossing his path not ten paces ahead. The paws urged him farther around and he saw another squad. The whole camp was filling up with armed men.
The moon jumped again and he was back in El Dorado, right where he had started, with the old scoundrel Basket-fox himself and an Eagle. About a hundred armed warriors were kneeling around the area—naturales did not line up in rows like Euranian soldiers. To Lynx’s shame, his front paws began to shake violently as realization of his narrow escape sank in.
“We are in your debt, star gatherer,” Basket-fox said cheerily, looking up at the monster beak. “You will see that Frowning-whisper is properly reprimanded?”
“He will not live long enough to repent his shame.” The eagle apparition vanished just as Lynx realized that it had not been Frowning-whisper.
“Return the men to the barracks, Taker of Seven Captives,” the Jaguar said. “Tonight is not auspicious. Tomorrow, perhaps, they will get a chance to show their mettle.” He thumped Lynx’s shoulders with both paws, in a sort of half hug. “That was very well done, Plumed-pillar! I applaud your warrior courage!”
“I don’t understand!”
“No?” Basket-fox rumbled a deep purr of amusement. “Your dancing boat upset the Traditionalists today. I knew the Tephuamotziners had at least four knights at Seven Reeds yesterday, so I was sure that Frowning-whisper was lying and would betray me, but without your daring offer I might have lost many men proving that. Fortunately I had the mighty Star-feather watching over us. What was that house you found so interesting?”
Lynx gulped and pulled his wits together. “My lord’s words warm the world. That house must be where they keep their tools, lord. Stealing those, or at the least destroying them, will do more to slow them than even burning the boats themselves. They probably have sails and ropes in there, too, and those must also be stolen or burned.”
“We shall discuss it later. Come, tonight we shall feast.”
The attack was launched the following night. No less than six Jaguars and two Eagles had listened attentively as the imposter knight told them what should be done to inflict maximum hurt on the enemy. A flotilla of canoes set off just after sunset; another army rode the Spirit Wind after them when the moon was high.
Lynx was left behind. He protested both loudly and sincerely, because he had developed a proprietary interest in what was now his plan, but he had made himself too important to risk. Knowing how disappointed his two warrior retainers would be, he begged that they, at least, be allowed to participate, and again was denied. Around midnight he walked over to the pyramid and started up its evil, blackened stairs, still reeking of blood from the recent slaughter. Probably this was forbidden behavior, for Corn-fang and Night-fisher seemed much perturbed, but they followed in silence as good bodyguards should.
Lynx ignored them. In the small hours of the night, he sat in lonely misery on the top of the pyramid and stared out across the moonlit lake to a distant yellow star glowing near Seven Reeds. Thanks to him, the Distliards’ shipyard was ablaze, their boats and materiel turned to fire and ash. He had postponed the Allies’ assault on the floating city for months. He had, in a very small way, altered the course of history. If he did a good job as shipwright and grand admiral, he might change it even more.
He had no idea which side Athelgar favored in this war. It might be that Lynx was supporting his King’s enemies, but his duty to his ward gave him no choice. It hardly mattered, because he would never see Chivial again.
Sheese, Ironhall, Quondam—Chivial had never been very kind to the former Alf Attewell, so why was he so bitterly homesick?
3
We are wasting time!” Flicker repeated furiously. “Rojas is singing lullabies until we drop our guard, so he can storm the house and take all the gold. The dealers he promised will never appear. Even if Blood-mirror-walks and the others do reach El Dorado safely, do you think the Emperor will send a jaguar knight here to bargain with you? You can stay here and rot if you like, but let me go inland!”
“You must learn to be patient,” Wolf said in fatherly fashion. Flicker was an explosive mixture of ability, ambition, and impotence, needing to vent his frustration regularly. The Chivians held a conference every week and always had the same argument. They had been a month in Sigisa, but that was not long enough for their messengers to have reached El Dorado, let alone bring back a reply. Even news of the war was scanty, although rumors suggested that the new Caudillo was faring better than his predecessor
s.
“Besides, it’s Long Night! Enjoy the festivities.”
Nothing could be less like Chivian midwinter than a sultry tropical evening on a patio in Sigisa. Surf rumbled on the beach, palm trees waved their tresses in the trade winds. With the sun asleep behind the ranges, moths were swooping lovingly around the lanterns, and frogs were tuning up. Here Don Lope and Dona Dolores lived a lazy, rich-folks life, gathering gossip and seeking to learn more about this strange new world. The Chivians had shed their sea-voyage scrawniness, except for Flicker, who was as gaunt as ever, restless and impatient for action. They had a team of servants to pamper them; Hick and Will had even acquired live-in companions. All such outsiders were liable to be recruited by the Alcalde’s minions, but the inquisitors regularly identified the spies and sent them packing.
Amid the vice and squalor of Sigisa in general, the ever-charming Don Ruiz de Rojas ran a bizarre parody of high society. Wolf and Dolores were frequent guests at his soirées, mingling with many other interesting guests—smugglers, pirates, spies from Isilond and other Euranian powers, also gentleman adventurers who tended to die young in brawls or vanish upcountry, where they would doubtless leave their bones.
“Why don’t you let Flicker go, if he’s so anxious?” Megan asked quietly.
Mutiny? Flicker had never won any support before. Wolf glanced at Dolores, to see what she thought, and was surprised to see her wearing her dead-fish inquisitor face. Did that mean she was trying to hide surprise or was anxious not to take sides? Personally, Wolf would love to let Wonder Boy go blundering off into the jungle and get himself killed, but the interests of the mission must come ahead of personal feelings.
“Firstly, because the mainland is enormous and infested by warring armies that kill strangers with no questions asked. Or answered. Secondly, because we are already too few. We need Flicker here. It would be crazy to divide the team.”