The Burning City (70 page)

“Scraped-off skins?” Whandall asked. “Covered with black marks?”

“I never saw it,” Shanda said. “Writings, yes, witnessed by Lords in every generation, granting them privileges. Promises made long ago.”

“By dead men.”

She shrugged. “Still promises, written and witnessed. Written and witnessed.”

Summon them up and ask… but this is Tep's Town.
“If they lost that charter?”

Her eyes twinkled, just a touch, like the young girl he'd known deviling her governess. No one else saw it. “They'd never do that. It would be like—like it never was, wouldn't it?”

“How is Miss Batty?” Whandall asked suddenly.

“She married a senior guard,” Shanda said. “But I didn't know for
years. Samorty dismissed her after we…” She glanced at her daughter, then said it anyway. “Spent the night in the forest.”

“They keep a shop in Lord's Town,” Roni said. “Her daughter is learning to be a governess. For my children after I'm married.” Roni was very serious.

“And Serana?”

Roni smiled. “She's chief cook, which means she doesn't do any work and orders everyone around.”

“Even me,” Shanda said.

“Good. Tell her I remember her puddings. Wait. Here…” He found it tucked under an Owl Tribe basin. Rosemary in a little parchment bag. “Tell her to crush this and rub some on red meat before roasting. Bison or goat or terror bird. And I'll send her some spices with the next caravan I send in here.”

“Oh, good. You will be back?” Roni asked.

“If this works out. Shanda, I will need some help. Chariots. I'll need at least two—three would be better—with drivers. Lord's horses, not ponies! If I send my clerks around to look for trade goods, I want to know they can outrun gatherers.” And because he'd seen Morth mapping out a path a day-walk long!

“I'll send for drivers,” Shanda said. “The kinless hire out, but it will be better if your people are with a Lordsman. Fewer problems—I know. Roni, your cousin Sandry and his friends. Do you think they'd like to do this?”

“Sandry?” Whandall asked.

“We know a Sandry,” Green Stone said. “Master Peacevoice Waterman brought him. To assist us. Said he was a clerk.”

Shanda smiled thinly. “I hope you're not angry?”

Whandall grinned. “I'd guessed he was more than a clerk,” he said. “What of the others? Will they be drivers?”

“Sandry will,” Roni said. “I'm not sure about all the others.”

“We'll send several,” Shanda said. “Whandall can choose those he likes best. I'll have them here in the morning. And I'll speak to Master Peacevoice Waterman about deceptions.”

And what will you say to him? “Be more clever next time?”
“Thank you. Now, who sells me tar?”

“Us,” Shanda said. “The Black Pit belongs to the Lords. A kinless family takes care of that for us. Roni, see to that, please. Find out how many jars Whandall will want, and arrange for them to be filled and sealed and brought here. It's time you learned some of that aspect of city management, I think.”

“It's a man's job, Mother.”

“Of course it is, but if women don't understand these things, how can we make sure the men do them right?” She grinned at Whandall, the old Shanda again for an instant. “I'm sure our merchant prince understands,” she said.

“And if I don't, Willow will explain. My wife,” he said, in case she'd missed it earlier. Both of us married, with children. Right? Right.

He was ready for bed when Morth came in. “I walked up Observation Hill,” he said. “I used to go there a lot. Those ruins at the top, that was an old kinless fort. I can see the ocean from there, way off. I couldn't
see
anything, but with my talisman I perceived the elemental.”

“Talisman. Another doll?”

“Yes. It won't last long. Whandall, the elemental perceived
me.
I should go out to look for myself. Sea Cliffs.”

“Take a fast chariot. I'll have chariots tomorrow.”

Two hours after daybreak, seven chariots clattered into Peacegiven Square and drew up in a line in front of the Lordsman camp. An earnest young driver in Lordsman armor stood beside each one. One was Sandry, no longer wearing a clerk's cap. The horses were big grays, matched pairs at each chariot. They were well groomed and well fed. The chariots would hold two adults. In each chariot was a leather sheath holding a long thrusting spear and two shorter throwing spears ready to hand between driver and passenger.

They were smaller than Whandall remembered. He'd imagined Lords' chariots big enough to hold half a dozen men. They looked that big coming at you, but of course that was silly. Not even the big Lord's horses could pull such a load.

Master Peacevoice Waterman walked up and down the line examining each horse and driver. He muttered something and one of the drivers flicked dust off his gleaming armor. Another tightened the harness of his horse. When Waterman was satisfied, he strode briskly to Whandall's tent. “Chariots and drivers waiting inspection, sir!”

Morth and Whandall crossed the square to the waiting line. Whandall moved closer to Waterman. “I'm not used to chariots,” he confided.

“Not surprised at that,” Waterman said. “Trick is to spread your feet out, brace one against the sidework. There's a brace built into the floor to wedge your other foot against. Bend your knees so there's some spring in
them; otherwise, you'll bounce right out when you hit a bump. Chariots are fast, but they tire the horses fast too.”

“Are these horses tired?” Morth asked.

“Not too bad, sir; they led these in at first light, no load. The horses that pulled the chariots here from Lord's Town are resting up. They'll all be fresh come tomorrow morning.”

“Good. Who's the best driver?”

“For what purpose, sir?”

Morth considered.

Finding the right questions wasn't easy here. “Speed. Distance,” Whandall said. “We might have to cross most of the city. Maybe fighting.”

“Best
fighting
driver would be young Heroul there.”

Whandall regarded the charioteer. Young, clear eyed. Armor polished. He stood impatiently. “Is he reliable?”

“Depends on what for,” Waterman said. “He'll take orders just fine. And he's got the fastest horses in the corps.”

“Who for just speed and distance and a passenger who can't fight?”

“That's not Heroul. He likes to
win,”
Waterman said. “You can depend on young Sandry there. Lord Samorty's grandson, he is, and best officer cadet in the corps.”

“Lord Rabblie's son?”

Waterman looked at him oddly. “Reckon they called Lord Rabilard something like that when he was a lad. Yes, sir, that's his father.”

And the Lords still talk about family to strangers. Brag, even. Not like Lordkin. Like
us.

“He'll be steady, then?”

“I'd trust him,” Waterman said. “You needn't tell him I said that. Cadet's head doesn't need more swelling.”

“Thanks. You won't need to introduce us.”

“Reckon I won't, sir,” Waterman said.

“Morth, you take Sandry, then—”

“No, I want speed,” Morth said. “You said that one is fastest?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I'll take Heroul. And put some handhold lashings in that chariot. If you don't know how, I do. I had one of these in Atlantis.”

Whandall stood uncertainly in Sandry's chariot. It was hard enough keeping his footing on streets. The potholes rattled him around inside this bucket on wheels. It would be a lot harder going across country. If Sandry noticed Whandall having difficulty keeping his footing, he didn't say anything about it.

“Can you carry an old man in one of these?” Whandall asked.

Sandry nodded. He needed all his attention to avoid a young Lordkin who had darted into the street. Then he answered. “Yes, Wagonmaster. We can strap a chair where you're standing, strap a man into the chair. But you're doing fine.”
For a beginner
, he didn't add.

“Not me,” Whandall said. “Morth.”

“He didn't seem that old.”

“He can get older fast.”

“Oh. Aunt Shanda says she's known you a long time,” Sandry said.

“Yes, more than thirty years.” He looked at Sandry and made a decision. “Did you ever know of a servant girl named Dream-Lotus? Kinless, from the Ropewalk area.”

“No, but I can ask,” Sandry said. “Is it important?”

“Not very. I'd just like to know. Turn right just ahead there.”

The streets were in worse repair, and there were more burned buildings than Whandall remembered. “Now left.” Ahead lay the Serpent's Walk meetinghouse. Curse, it had a roof now! And a new fence. Oversize cactus plants grew against the fence. Two kinless were raking the yard, although it didn't appear to need raking.
Neat
, Whandall thought.
Wanshig always was neat after he came back from the sea.

The Placehold looked neat too. In Whandall's time there was a half-ruined house down the block. That was gone, its lot planted with what looked like cabbages tended by kinless, and a small cottage stood behind the cabbage patch.

Whandall pointed to the front door of the Placehold. “Stop just there and wait for me. You won't be allowed inside.”

Sandry nodded. He looked glad of the armor he wore. “Sure you'll be welcome?”

“No,” Whandall said.

“What's the best way out of here?” Sandry asked.

Whandall chuckled. “Straight ahead, left at the end of the block. And stay in the middle of the street.”

“You know it.”

Boys lounged at the doorway. That hadn't changed. “Tell Lord Wanshig that Whandall wishes to speak with him.” He lowered his voice so that Sandry wouldn't be able to hear. “Whandall Placehold.”

Two of the boys ran inside. Another stayed in the door staring at Whandall's tattoo.

The doorway stood invitingly open. Whandall grinned to himself. At least one, probably several armed Lordkin adults would be in there, one behind the door waiting for anyone to come in uninvited—

A girl about fifteen came to the door. She wore a bright dress, too fancy for housework. “Be welcome, Whandall,” she said, loud enough that everyone near would hear.

“Thank you—”

“I'm Firegift, Uncle Whandall. My mother is Wess.”

And calling me Uncle says I'm accepted as one of the men of the Place-hold, not that she's Wanshig's daughter
, Whandall thought. She could be, but she won't claim that. Just her mother. The Lordkin ways were coming back to him, but as a half-remembered dream.

“Lord Wanshig is waiting upstairs.”

Wanshig sat at one end of the big meeting hall. It seemed full of people, none Whandall could recognize. Except Wess. She stood in the doorway of the corner room. The room that was his, with her, for a while, when Whandall Placehold was the eldest man in the Placehold. A lifetime ago.

She was still pretty. Not as pretty as Willow, but to Whandall no woman ever had been. But Wess was a fine woman still! Firegift went to stand by her mother. They looked more alike, side by side, than they had when they were apart.

“Hail, brother,” Wanshig said.

“Lord Wanshig.”

Wanshig laughed hard. Then he got up and came to Whandall, slapped hands, hugged him in a wiry embrace that showed Wanshig hadn't lost his strength. Neither had Whandall, and they stood half embracing and half testing for a minute.

“Been a long time,” Wanshig said.

“That it has. You've come up in the world.”

Wanshig looked at the ornate knife Whandall wore. “So have you.”

“That's nothing,” Whandall said. He took off the knife and sheath, revealing a plainer and more functional blade underneath. “A present,” Whandall said, and held out the ornately decorated knife. “Among others. I'm rich, brother.”

“That's nice—”

“I can make the Placehold rich,” Whandall said. “I'll need help doing it. Actually, I'll need Placehold and Serpent's Walk together.”

“After lunch you'll tell me,” Wanshig said. He gestured, dismissing the men and women who had crowded around. “You'll all meet Whandall later,” he said. “Give me time to talk with my brother.”

Brother. We had the same mother. Not necessarily the same father, and in our case certainly not the same. Lordkin!

The others went away or settled in corners of the big room.

“We'll eat in here,” Wanshig said. He led Whandall into the big corner
room. A table had been set up, and Firegift was bringing food and tea. “You'll remember Wess. She's my lady now. First lady of the Placehold,” Wanshig said.

Whandall didn't say anything.

“What? Ah. That's right; you'll remember Elriss,” Wanshig said.