A Solitary Journey (42 page)

‘What always fascinates modern researchers are the frequent references to dragons and sorcerers and heroes once the old historical records reached the millennial period of Andrak history, and the impact of this cultural passion for fantastic tales is evident still in the names of our cities and places. There are remnants of old ballads and tales kept on record in the capital’s public library that attest to the popularity of these tales amongst the peasant populations, and the names of famous mythological characters like King Dilun and Amuchki the Evil Adviser and Dragonlords with unpronounceable names still entertain the superstitious souls of our people in the country regions. Truth is, they wouldn’t know a dragon if it bit them.’

FROM
E
XORCISING THE
A
NCIENT
D
EMONS
: A S
TUDY OF
A
NDRAK
M
YTHS
BY ERIC AEDWYN

W
elcome to Central Andrak!’ announced Captain Marlin heartily as the
Waverunner
crew dropped anchor. Ships of all shapes and sizes flying different colours to show their origins filled the harbour, and small boats navigated between the larger vessels in a flurry of water business.

Meg stood beside A Ahmud Ki and gazed across the green water and array of ships at the grey buildings squatted beneath a veil of brown air. Smoke—white, black, grey—spiralled out of a hundred chimneys into the haze, making the city look like it was burning. ‘So much smoke,’ she murmured.

‘Factories I told you about,’ said Marlin. ‘They spew out smoke all day every day. If you want to see a dragon, look at a factory—all belching fire and steam and smoke, dirty stench and consuming people. That’s why I don’t want to be a landlubber. Give me the open elements on the ocean any day.’

‘What do the factories do?’ she asked.

‘Make things. You pour wood and coal and metal and water and people in one end, mix it all up with fire, and things come out the other end.’

Meg noticed A Ahmud Ki was staring silently at the scene, until he asked, ‘What is that?’ Suspended high above the city haze was a yellow-and-green object shaped like a fat unripe tomato.

Marlin snorted. ‘That’s a dragon egg,’ he said dismissively.

‘I don’t understand,’ said A Ahmud Ki.

‘It’s a big bag of hot air that floats. See the contraption underneath? That’s a basket carrying, say, maybe five or six people. They call them dragoneers, the crazy people who fly them. You’ll see plenty of them in Lightsword, if you’re heading there.’

‘Lightsword?’ A Ahmud Ki asked.

‘The capital. It’s inland, maybe two days of travel.’

A Ahmud Ki nodded to Meg as if to suggest Lightsword should be their destination and she noted how remarkably he had changed his appearance in the last cycle aboard the
Waverunner.
Taking Marlin’s advice, he’d removed his hair braids and cut his hair to shoulder-length, adding a black dye to give it a salt-and-pepper hue. His beard was bushier and darker and the darker frame of beard and hair made his elongated eyes look larger. Close up, his heritage remained visible in his elegant face with its high cheekbones and angular features and his eyes betrayed him most of all, but the altered hair and beard would serve to disguise him from casual observers. In Andrak, his name would be an Ashuak name—Jon Kushel—Meg’s suggestion when they were discussing a name for him. ‘It was my father’s real name,’ she told the captain and A Ahmud Ki.

‘Make sure you have what you brought with you,’ Marlin advised. ‘Time to go ashore.’

Meg adjusted the grey leather vest she’d acquired from Marlin, making certain that Whisper was secure and out of sight. ‘Where would I start to look for child slaves?’ she asked.

Marlin pointed across the harbour to a collection of sheds on the wharf. ‘Slave traders used to take their cargoes to the Slave Market. That would be a good place to start—after you’ve been cleared by the Port Authority.’

‘Port Authority?’ Meg asked.

‘No one comes into Andrak without being registered and cleared. Government regulation.’

‘You didn’t tell us about this,’ A Ahmud Ki complained.

‘There’s a lot you don’t know,’ Marlin replied, grinning. ‘Port Authority won’t bite. They just keep records. You’re only in trouble with them if you’ve already done something wrong that they know about.’

Climbing down the rope ladder into the longboat without losing Whisper proved a challenge for Meg who hoped the rat would not suddenly decide curiosity was a better choice than circumspection, but the goal was achieved and the longboat crew rowed quickly and expertly between the anchored ships to deliver their passengers to the docks. Captain Marlin gave Meg and A Ahmud Ki directions to the Port Authority building before farewelling them. ‘Good luck searching for your children. If they have a good master or mistress then I’m sure you’ll be able to buy their freedom. People here who have slaves don’t mind money in exchange. If not, then be careful with what you do. If you need a ship, just ask for me along the docks. There’s a tavern called the Three-breasted Harpy. It’s owned by Alan Derry. He’ll tell you where I am. You’re always welcome aboard the
Waverunner.
’ Then he walked away and disappeared in the crowd of dockside workers busy loading and unloading berthed vessels.

Meg took a step towards the Port Authority building, but A Ahmud Ki grabbed her arm. ‘We don’t need to go through there. We can just walk out.’ He
indicated the traffic along a road leading away from the docks where no one appeared to be checking who was coming and going.

‘Marlin said we had to,’ she reminded him. Feeling the energy pulsing at the point where his hand rested on her arm she slid it gently from his grip. He shuffled nervously. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

‘I’m not so certain this disguise is as good as we think,’ he argued. ‘What if someone recognises me?’

‘As what?’ she asked, surprised by his sudden uncertainty. ‘You’ve been dead a thousand years.’

His left eyebrow rose and he grinned. ‘I didn’t think of it like that.’

They crossed the busy wharf, dodging the handcarts pushed and pulled by the dockside workers, sometimes glancing up at the loads flying overhead on cranes towards the holds of the waiting cargo ships as the shadows crossed their path. Outside a two-storey stone and wood building they paused while Meg read the sign proclaiming it as the entrance to the Port Authority. ‘The language has changed,’ A Ahmud Ki noted as he reached for the door handle.

‘How?’ Meg asked.

‘Spelling,’ said A Ahmud Ki, ‘and Captain Marlin and his crew all had a different accent to their Andrakian tongue.’

Meg had noticed the difference between A Ahmud Ki’s speech and Captain Marlin’s expression aboard the ship, but it seemed insignificant to her because people in her village of Summerbrook spoke a different version of Shessian to the language in the city. She assumed there was only a matter of different dialect between the two men. The difference, though, wasn’t place—it was time.

The building opened into a large white-washed room where three men and a woman sat at a dark central table. Two men in green uniforms, wearing sabres and
shouldering thundermakers, were watching Meg and A Ahmud Ki closely. ‘This way,’ a voice said to their left. A young woman with short brown hair gestured towards the central table so Meg and A Ahmud Ki approached the panel of officials.

‘Welcome to Central Andrak,’ said a round-faced man with sandy-hued hair. ‘You can speak Andrak?’

‘Yes,’ Meg answered.

‘Good,’ the official remarked. ‘Who are you and where are you from?’

Meg glanced at A Ahmud Ki and said, ‘I am Meg Farmer. This is Jon Kushel. We are from Western Shess.’

The round-faced man studied her and then A Ahmud Ki, his smile unwavering, but Meg noticed that his companions were also studying them closely, the man on the right peering through the strange glass-and-wire apparatus on his nose as he scribed. ‘And on what business have you come to Central Andrak?’ the round-faced official asked.

‘Curiosity,’ A Ahmud Ki replied.

‘And looking for family,’ Meg added, annoyed at his intrusion.

The official’s gaze rested on A Ahmud Ki. ‘What did you say your name was?’ Meg noted an edge to his friendly tone as if he thought he’d found something to pursue.

‘Kushel,’ A Ahmud Ki replied. ‘Jon Kushel.’

‘And what is your occupation in Western Shess?’

‘I’m—’ A Ahmud Ki hesitated and shrugged, casting a quick glance at Meg.

‘He’s a farmer,’ she said.

‘Was,’ A Ahmud Ki corrected. ‘There’s been a war. Northerners came and took my farm. That’s why I came here. I want to make a new start.’

The official’s smile faded. ‘Don’t like your chances. Farming is not making much money these days, what
with invention and the factories.’ He seemed to be analysing A Ahmud Ki. ‘You’ve never been in Andrak before?’

‘No,’ A Ahmud Ki answered.

‘What about your family?’

‘His father and grandfather were shipmasters,’ Meg explained. ‘They might have come here in the past.’

‘You seem to know a lot about his family,’ remarked the woman on the panel, who fixed Meg with her serious dark eyes.

‘We’re related,’ Meg replied. ‘We had the same grandfather.’

‘And now you travel together.’

Meg shrugged. ‘Our families were killed and driven out by the Kerwyn. Our children were sold into slavery. We’re all that we have left.’

‘But you don’t look alike,’ the woman noted. Whisper suddenly wriggled, slid out from Meg’s vest to the floor and scampered a few steps across the room where she sat up, sniffing.

‘Rat!’ the round-faced man declared, pointing.

The soldiers by the door unsheathed their sabres and started for Whisper. ‘No!’ Meg cried, holding up her hands as if to ward the soldiers away. ‘She’s harmless. She’s my—my pet!’

Whisper, assessing the volatile situation, bolted between the startled soldiers’ legs and squeezed out of the door. ‘You’re telling us you have a
pet
rat?’ the woman panellist asked.

Meg stumbled on her answer, finally saying, ‘Yes.’

‘The rat will have to be turned over to the local Eradication Officer,’ the woman informed her. ‘We have a rat-free environment in Central Andrak.’

Meg went to argue that Whisper wasn’t a harmful rat, but she felt A Ahmud Ki’s pressure on her arm and tingling in her spine. She glanced at him and he was
shaking his head. The woman official was staring, awaiting an answer. ‘I understand,’ said Meg, trying to veil her reluctance. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘The rat will have to be caught and killed,’ the woman reiterated. ‘That is the law.’

The round-faced official turned to his companions. A quick conversation took place before he looked at Meg and A Ahmud Ki and said, ‘Marc will fill out your details on the Authorisations. Truthful declarations are mandatory. If you lie to us and are found to be lying you will be arrested and deported. Wherever you go in Central Andrak you must carry your Authorisations at all times. If anyone asks you to produce them, especially a member of the Peacekeepers, you must do so. Failure to produce your Authorisation could lead to instant arrest, imprisonment and deportation on the first available ship. If you travel beyond the Central Andrak borders you will have to apply for new papers to enter those regions and carry them with you as well. If you intend to remain in Central Andrak beyond a calendar year you are expected to apply for full citizenship or leave. Do you understand your responsibilities?’ Meg and A Ahmud Ki exchanged glances before they nodded. ‘Good,’ said the official. ‘Once again, then, and on behalf of the Central Andrak government and the Port Authority, I welcome you to Central Andrak.’

‘Whisper will find her way back to you,’ A Ahmud Ki reassured her as they stood outside the Port Authority. ‘She has every time so far.’

‘But here it’s different,’ Meg argued. ‘She doesn’t know this place and she doesn’t know these people are deliberately killing every rat.’

‘She’s smart. You underestimate her.’

She gave him a disdainful look which made him smile.

‘We’d better find somewhere to stay,’ he continued, ‘at least until we find out how to get to Lightsword.’

‘Why Lightsword?’

‘The old capital was called The Great City. I had a secret fortress beneath the old castle. That’s where I need to go.’

‘Well, I’m looking for my children,’ she reminded him, ‘and my journey begins over there,’ indicating the Slave Market sheds. ‘I don’t know where it will go from there.’

‘Let’s at least find a place to stay until we have answers,’ he suggested, ‘and we’ll need money.’

‘I can make some more gold,’ she suggested.

‘A little. We don’t want people’s attention. Enough to get some coin from the markets, wherever they are. We should start.’

She cast a searching eye over the wharf. ‘I wish I knew where she went,’ she murmured.

‘You speak strangely,’ said the moneylender as he weighed the piece of gold that Meg passed to him. ‘What part of the land do you come from?’

‘Not from here,’ she told him. ‘Shess. It’s a sea journey away.’

‘Ah yes,’ the moneylender said, adjusting his metal scales. ‘I know this place. My brother went there nine years ago. You have a queen.’

‘Not any more. The Kerwyn have taken over.’

‘So you are refugees,’ he said. ‘Then Andrak will be your new home.’

‘Perhaps,’ she replied.

The moneylender removed the gold and opened a ledger. He cleared his throat as he peered over his thick nose. ‘For this much gold I can offer you five thousand notes.’

‘What’s that worth?’ she asked.

‘In Shessian money? I wouldn’t know,’ he said. ‘In Andrak, it’s about a man’s annual income.’

Meg looked at A Ahmud Ki for confirmation, but he was studying a wall map by the door. ‘I’ll take it,’ she said.

The moneylender grinned, his blue eyes sparkling. ‘I will write you a money mark and you can get your notes within two days from any Central Andrak money-house.’

‘Two days?’ she blurted. ‘We need money now.’

‘Oh that
is
a problem,’ said the moneylender, ‘but I can fix it for you. I will lend you a hundred notes. That should see you for food and somewhere to stay for the week while you find your way.’

‘That’s very kind.’

‘No, not all. You just sign this paper to say you will pay the money back by the end of the week with a little interest and I will get the notes for you.’ He placed a paper and a thin object in front of Meg’s hand. She picked up the thin object, studying it carefully, noting the cylinder of black ink inside its glass outer case. ‘You press the point against the paper and it writes,’ the moneylender explained. ‘It’s called an autoscribe. Clayton invented it six years ago.’ Fascinated, Meg pushed the autoscribe against the paper and signed her name while the moneylender opened a metal drawer to produce a wad of papers which he put on the bench before he took up the paper and the autoscribe. ‘We have a deal.’