Gary Gygax - Dangerous Journeys 3 - Death in Delhi (5 page)

"There's gratitude for you," Rachelle murmured in /Egyptian as Inhetep arose from where he sat with his back braced against the foremast.

"What did she say?" Vogalishi demanded suspiciously.

"She reminds you of your good luck to date and suggests you don't concern yourself about pursuers, Captain. She and I will see about the problem in a minute. Excuse us, please." So saying, and without waiting for formal leave, I he magister took Rachelle's arm, and they went to their cabin. "Get your bow and hand me an arrow."

Rachelle watched as he rummaged in a little box for some powders, mixed them, then poured out some liquid, turning it into a thick paste. He rolled the head of the arrow in that, so that the gluey mixture coated it. Then he breathed upon it and spoke a single word. Next he worked on the other end, laying a minor casting on the shaft and its feathers. "That should do it."

"How?" Rachelle caught the purpose of the first part of his magick. He had made the arrowhead incendiary, ignitable by a command from him at even so great a distance as a mile, far longer than she could send it flying to strike a target. The casting was a very minor one and impossible to detect in operation in a world full of minor bursts of heka energy at all times. "When the ship coming after us is close enough to be hit with that, their catapults will be in range, their archers too, and maybe even some hedge-magician winging nasty sendings our way."

"Trust me, my dear. The last little dweomer was a special one I recently developed with you in mind. The cantrip lends falcon's wings to the flight of the missile, more or less. I think it will carry the arrow a league, but let's not try anything so ambitious. When the pursuer is about a mile distant, just send your shaft to strike the sails."

When they were on the deck on the high stern, Rachelle's composite bow of horn and sinew ready, Vogalishi scoffed. "No one can hit a target at such a distance! Besides, what will a single arrow do, anyway? Never should I have believed—"

"Silence!" Inhetep commanded. Whether it was due to the wizard-priest's heka or tone of voice, the blustering captain snapped his mouth shut. "Let fly," he said aside to Rachelle. "Aim as if at a target a hundred paces distant."

Even she was surprised when the long arrow sprang from the taut string and went arcing into the sky to be lost from sight in the blink of an eye. Rachelle glanced aside to see the magister concentrating, eyes closed, counting under his breath. When he reached five, he stopped and spoke aloud the word for fire, looking at the sails of the enemy ship as he did so. She followed his gaze.

"The alchemical additive to the casting creates a shower of burning sparks, Rachelle," he said under his breath, not taking his eyes from the distant craft.

For a few seconds there was nothing unusual to see. Then there was faint smoke, pale gleam-ings, and disappearing canvas. There must have been confusion and panic aboard the pursuing vessel. The ship suddenly veered, sails fell, and it lost way. More smoke billowed from her. As the
Blue Cloud
gradually left the wallowing enemy vessel in her wake, it seemed that there was no longer any fire to contend with. She only had to replace a few lost sails. So much for that matter. At least it appeared that their captain wasn't absolutely villainous; he had claimed he had had to depart ahead of schedule because of a pursuer, and that ship following supported his claim. The man was now trying to embrace them as comrades. Rachelle stepped near Setne.

"Never will I doubt you again, mighty ones," Vogalishi told the two with a beaming countenance. Inhetep explained it was merely a new archery technique combined with the alchemical produce of the famous Mesta-f, whom they both knew and respected. That didn't stop the sailor. "Tonight we will feast in my cabin, and we shall get drunk." They did eat and drink, although both Setne and Rachelle avoided inebriation. The ship's master was too pleased to mind that, even ignoring Rachelle's breaking his first mate's finger when he tried to fondle her in drunken lechery. Perhaps Vogalishi was happy his lieutenant had tried first, thus saving the captain a painful lesson.

Indeed, Captain Vogalishi had much to be happy about. His vessel made safe passage in fewer days than he could believe from /Egypt all the way to its destination in Sindraj, thanks to his strange passengers. Better still, the two had paid him twice the value of such a journey when he should have paid them that sum! His larcenous heart filled with joy, the smuggler captain bid them adieu with no little regret that he didn't dare to try to impress them so as to assure that all of his trips were so easily made.

= 4 =

BOMBAY

As in Mersa Gawasis, the
Blue Cloud
stayed clear of the jetties, anchoring among a welter of nondescript craft in the harbor of the crowded city of Bombay. Captain Vogalishi brought in the ship with astonishing skill, finding his anchorage just as the first light of dawn began to reveal the shapes of the mass of buildings to the east. As if conjured by a jinni, there appeared around the newly arrived ship a swarm of little rowboats. Vogalishi's crew began to empty the holds of the
Blue Cloud,
the captain and his lieutenants issuing frantic orders in hushed voices so as to assure that each wheriy and skiff got the right goods. The confusion was total, and in that chaos, Inhetep and his companion slipped away. Just as one particular boat with only six small casks was about to shove off from the ship, the two tossed their gear into it and then followed, springing down and landing in the rocking barge without difficulty.

Before either of the two oarsmen in the row-boat could protest, Rachelle had her sword out, its point threatening one fellow's chest. At the same time, Inhetep held forth a pair of silver coins, their metal plain even in the first dim light of morning. "Take your choice," the amazon said slowly in Trade Phoenician. The men shrugged, one took the coins, and both set to work rowing. They bent their backs, and the little craft cut through the dirty water of the harbor, so that it was in a section of ramshackle buildings and old piers, well away from the
Blue Cloud,
when the edge of the sun finally pushed over the horizon to the left.

The magister had no idea as to where the rowers were going, but this place was as good as any for Rachelle and him. "There," he said loudly enough for both men to hear. "Steer the boat to the end of that small pier just ahead, and we'll leave you to your business." The rowers complied, evidently glad to be rid of the extra weight and potential danger their unasked-for passengers imposed.

"I haven't the slightest idea Where we are," Setne confessed to Rachelle as they left the waterfront behind and began making their way along the filthy lanes and twisting alleyways. "We'll need to buy some native garments, then find a place where we can have privacy for a bit."

"Let's do find somewhere more suitable, Setne.

These claptrap buildings and hovels are probably alive with rats and lice, and the odor is disgusting!" What she said was true.

In part, it was the odor of exotic cooking: the strong smells of strange spices and odd oils. But there was more, worse. Around them were dilapidated structures in various states of disrepair and decay. The sprawling city stank. It was bad enough at the water's edge, but here, away from that handy disposal medium, the refuse was piled everywhere. Rotting garbage combined with excrement and who knew what else to produce something perhaps suitable for a nethersphere but incredibly offensive to the human olfactory sense "Poor, I can understand," Rachelle said with disgust, "but never filthy!"

"They haven't access to any subterranean channels," the magister said tersely as he led her on toward their right, walking up a sloping back street already beginning to fill with incurious people going about their daily routine. That included the defenestration of slops and nightsoil. so he was careful to see that they stayed in the center of the brick-paved way. "What else can they do?"

"Cart the stuff away!"

"They haven't means, Rachelle, and their governor has no interest in what it's like here. He lives in a grand palace surrounded by bios-soms and parks, with a high wall to keep this sort out."

"Oh," Rachelle said in a small voice. She considered what the wizard-priest had told her. As did so many of Yarth's folk grown accustomed to the convenience, Rachelle seldom, if ever, thought about the labyrinth beneath the ground. Subterranean ./Earth was a vast, unmapped network of natural and artificial places which, as far as anyone knew, existed under all the continents of the world. Perhaps they even linked, delving down to the hollow interior. Rachelle didn't know, and she thought nobody else did, either. The underground was too alien, too dark and filled with vicious things to invite even the daring to attempt extensive explorations. Those humans who actually inhabited parts of the maze weren't interested in cartography, at least not for the benefit of those who dwelled in the sunlight above. In most communities, there was some access to the upper portions of the subterranean honeycomb. Into crevasse, abandoned mine shaft, or sinkhole went all that humanity aboveground wished to be rid of. Runoff water, sewage, street sweepings, garbage, castoffs of any sort, even corpses not honored by burial or burning were consigned to those deep places. And nobody ever questioned why the openings never clogged with that inpouring.

There were sometimes raids; nasty things crept forth from time to time to feed. Not a heavy price to pay for such convenience and cleanliness. Yarth had no waste disposal problems, by and large. Of course, there was also commerce between those below and mankind on the crust of vfiarth. All profited from that, especially those directly involved: the products of the light world traded in return for the minerals hidden in the dark and the strange handicrafts of those below. That a city of such size, probably one -with a million inhabitants crowded inside and against its walls, was filth-ridden was incomprehensible! "But if that's so, why have such a metropolis here?"

"Up those steps, girl, and stop fretting about the wretches in this slum. They don't care, and neither do those who are lords of the city." The magister was irritated with himself for choosing this particular part of the waterfront for them to land. He knew now that he should have been less anxious and waited for a spot nearer the northern edge. If had been more than a decade since he had been to Bombay. Only now was his memory serving him by enabling him to recall what he knew and had learned. He did remember some facts about this portion of the crescent-shaped eastern waterfront of the city. The bay was an excellent anchorage, but the city fronting it was the worst. He had opted to land in the poorest sector of that undesirable curve. As they finally climbed up and out of it, making a meandering way north and east, Inhetep admitted a little of his error to Rachelle. "We're now heading for the upper portion of Bombay. Well come to either the Girna or the Kurla Gate soon. Either will do."

"Where do they lead?"

"The Girna is a river gate whose road generally follows that watercourse northeast. The Kurla exit leads northward to the town of the same name up the coast—but we can follow a side road from there going more directly toward our destination." They were beginning to attract a few curious stares in this portion of the city. Setne looked around for a public house.

Rachelle spotted what he was searching for before the magister did. "Over to the right, Setne. There's a sign there which seems to indicate a tavern or the like."

"More probably a tea and eating house, but let's see." They entered, and Inhetep employed his fluent Hindi to inquire as to exactly what the establishment offered. The woman whom he asked was suspicious, but answered quickly and made it plain that whatever the two foreigners wanted, they would have to pay first. "We need a room and breakfast," Setne said carefully.

"Twenty chuckrums!" the proprietress shot back instantly.

She named a silver coin whose value equalled 250 /-Egyptian dinars. Inhetep laughed and countered, "Ten annas."

The woman threw up her hands in disgust but quickly said, "Ten chuckrums."

"Twelve annas, and we'll have tea and vegetable curry brought to us in our room at that price."

"The third door to the right," she said without a smile. "Be sure to give the boy something when he brings you your tray." She called something to a man nearby, and he went off toward the back, hopefully to get the food ordered.

The room was smallish and not too dirty. The door was flimsy, the bed rickety. There was a stand with wash bowl and water pitcher, though. The only other furnishing in the place was a battered brass table centered on a threadbare rug. "Home at last," Rachelle breathed in mock satisfaction at what she saw. "Dare I . . . ?" she asked, eyeing the bed.

"I'll rid it of vermin," Inhetep said, as he hastily employed a minor charm to do so. "There, my dear. Make yourself comfortable." She did just that, while the magister pulled out the coffer from his knapsack and began to rummage around inside. Rachelle, knowing about that container, wasn't surprised to see his arms disappear past the elbow despite the coffer's seemingly shallow depth. The wizard-priest had dweomered it, of course, so that it held a volume of things a hundred times greater than its apparent size. Just as he uttered a satisfied sound at having located what he was searching for, there was a rapping at the door. Setne slammed shut the cover of the coffer and called, "Enter," in Hindi.

The "boy" who entered was the same man who had been ordered to the kitchen by the sour-faced proprietress. Without word, the fellow dropped the tray on the brass table, looking expectantly at Inhetep. Setne inspected it to see that it was what he had ordered, spotted chutney and chapati bread alongside the vegetable curry. He breathed in. The aroma was quite good! He turned and smiled at the waiter. He got no greeting in return. The man didn't look any happier than his grumpy and suspicious mistress. Despite the stone-faced look, the magister handed the fellow a couple of rupees. "Thank you, my good man," he said firmly, opening the door. The waiter grumbled as he left.