“I see no dishonor! He cannot yet serve the Goddess with his sword. He was trying to further Her purposes by the best means he has. I am amazed by his dedication. I applaud his heroism.”
Nnanji took a few deep breaths, calming himself with a visible effort. He smiled uncertainly. “Well, he is a spunky little devil, I suppose . . . ”
“He seeks to be worthy of his mentor.”
Nnanji’s face went red again. He mumbled something and turned away. Wallie and Honakura grinned at each other.
But now it was also time to think about repairs. Relations with the crew had been damaged.
“Tell me, protégé!” Wallie said. “Did you not instruct him to stay away from the girls?”
Nnanji turned around again, looking surprised. “Well, yes! But of course . . . ” He shrugged.
“Of course
what
?”
Nnanji smirked. “Of course he knew I did not mean it. No swordsman would take that order seriously, my lord brother!”
“I meant it! I took it seriously!”
Nnanji seemed puzzled. “Why? A swordsman? It’s an honor . . . ”
“Sailors may not think so!”
“Well, they should!”
Gods give me strength
! Wallie thought. Somehow Nnanji managed to combine the ethics of a puritan with the morals of an alleycat.
“I’ve told you, we’re not free swords. Even if we were . . . ”
Again the door swung open, this time to admit Tomiyano. He marched across to Nnanji and held out a hand. Tomiyano
smiling
?
“You should be proud of that brother of yours, adept!” he said. “He’s been in the tower!”
Nnanji shook hands, vacillated, and then registered modesty. “It was his duty, sailor.”
“Maybe so, but it took more courage . . . ”
Sapphire
was heading out into the River. News of Katanji’s exploit had flown through the ship like a flight of gulls. He being unavailable, men and women and children came flocking into the deckhouse to congratulate Nnanji instead. He began to swell like a pouter pigeon. Wallie and Honakura grinned at each other again.
Then Maloli arrived, and there was a sudden tension.
“Adept,” he muttered, “I’m sorry if anything I said earlier . . . We can all take pride in your brother. We’re glad that Diwa . . . was able to be of assistance. He is a courageous lad—and a man of honor!”
“Of course!” Nnanji shot a smug, I-told-you-so glance at Wallie.
“A good influence on Diwa, we’re sure,” said Fala. “Now we understand why he was in her cabin and we are glad that she could be of service to him.”
Nnanji kept his face straight, but only just. “He knows how a true swordsman should honor a lady, naturally.”
Uncertainly Fala said, “Naturally.” And blushed.
Wallie gave up. They were not all talking the same sort of honor, but he suspected they all knew what they meant—and he was the stranger here. Who could grudge anything to Katanji now?
By nightfall the rain had stopped, and Katanji appeared on deck for the evening meal. He was still shaky, and so stiff that he could hardly walk, but he put on a superb performance as Imp of the Year. Wallie and Nnanji, having obtained permission from Tomiyano to draw their swords on board, gave him the Salute to a Hero. He grinned mightily and kept his arm firmly around Diwa.
Yet damage there had been. Brota stated emphatically that Tau was the limit.
Sapphire
would continue as far as Cha to unload her marble, but no farther. If Lord Shonsu could not enlist his swordsmen at Tau, then he was going to be taken back to Casr. Then the family would settle down to a routine trading existence once more, probably on the Dri-Casr run. Their obligations to the Goddess had been satisfied, they said. Whether the Goddess agreed, of course, was something that only time would show.
Fair weather returned, and the River flowed now from the east. The mountains of RegiVul lay to the south. For several days, Wallie and Honakura stripped information from Katanji, layer after layer, as if they were peeling an onion. Nnanji sat beside them as recording secretary and filed it all away in his memory.
Katanji cooperated as well as he could. His powers of observation could not be faulted, and even under the terrible stress of imminent danger, he had continued to look. Yet everything he had seen had to be filtered through his own experience before it could be told, and through Wallie’s to be understood. Somewhere on that journey, facts became guesses.
Obviously the sorcerers had limitations. They could certainly be fooled, and that might be the most important lesson of all. But gold balls? Feathers in silver holders? Wallie began to feel that he was viewing a madhouse through a distorting glass. What was achieved by all that frenzied activity in the tower? What was being ground up with mortar and pestle—demon bait? What lived in the tub? How many sorts of thunderbolt were there, and why had fire demons been invoked only at Ov? How he wished that Katanji had been able to carry a camera on that perilous expedition into the tower!
What did sorcerers have against dyers and tanners? How much of their behavior was effective, and how much mere witch-doctoring? Some of it must be as meaningless and illogical as medieval alchemy, or Honakura’s fixation upon the holy number seven, and the more Wallie learned, the less sense it all seemed to make.
Day by day his frustration continued, until at last
Sapphire
drew close to Tau.
Although he still limped, one morning Wallie took up foil and mask. He would not yet dare to take on a highrank, but he could handle Nnanji. When the score reached twenty-one to zero, even the sweating redhead admitted that Shonsu was now restored to health and no longer in need of mothering.
“And me, my lord brother?” he inquired eagerly.
“Yes,” Wallie agreed. “You’re coming along well.”
“Fifth?”
“Very close. Certainly worth a try.”
The sun god in all his splendor could not have shone more brightly then. In a small army Lord Shonsu would not need a Sixth, so if Adept Nnanji could become Master Nnanji, then he would be sure of being second in command.
††††††
It was good to be ashore after so many weeks, even if his leg did hurt a little. It was fun to limp along the narrow, crowded streets with the seventh sword on his back, studying the traffic and the buildings while civilians warily made way for him. And Tau itself was a joyful surprise.
Each city on the River was different. Tau was barely a city at all, no more than a small market town. Watching it as
Sapphire
approached, Wallie had felt a strange recognition: thatched roots, brown oak beams showing on the fronts of the buildings, earth-toned pargeting. At first he had identified the style as medieval European, but he decided that it was more like Tudor when he started along the lane that professed to be the main street, for there he saw older structures, whose beams had turned black and pargeting white.
So Tau was a stage set of Merrie England. Upper stories jutted out to shadow the cobbled filth underfoot, while the strip of blue sky above was fringed by bristling eaves. Shiny bottle glass in the diamond windows obscured the interiors and flickered many-hued reflections back at the viewer, hanging signs portrayed the wares available within. Despite a constant lack of headroom that made his progress hazardous, Wallie was fascinated. Of course the loincloths and gowns were inappropriate, but he felt as if he had been transported to Shakespeare’s London, and he kept wondering whether there was a theater in town, and who composed its plays.
Brota had solemnly promised not to sail without him. He had come to seek swordsmen, but he felt as if he were a prisoner released, a child at a fair. At one point, when even his rank and prestige could not immediately clear a way for him, he turned around to grin at Nnanji and announce, “I like this town!”
Nnanji pinched his nose and said, “Yeech!”
Well, there was that . . .
The main thoroughfare was so narrow that two men’s arms could have spanned it easily, and here it had packed solid. Now Wallie saw the cause of the delay. A cart full of apples had locked wheels with one overloaded with glossy blue tiles, and the impact had spilled a shower of shiny red fruit into the mire. Peering over heads, he could see small boys squeezing in and out to retrieve this treasure, and its guardian engaged in a contest of oaths with the pusher of the tile cart. The invention was becoming more lurid, the genealogy more improbable, and the anatomical instructions more ruinous by the minute. A wheel on the tile cart had left its axle, and the entire load was in danger of collapsing. The resulting fistfight might easily grow into a riot. The crowd’s good-natured mockery was already turning to abuse as those with urgent business attempted to squeeze by with their bundles.
In the midst of all this confusion, a sword hilt was bobbing around like a floating cork, but its owner was apparently being ignored, unable even to get close to the problem. Wallie decided that the time had come for him to do a little swordsmaning.
He began to push and he cleared a path with sheer size where his rank had failed. With Nnanji at his heels, he reached the center of the turmoil and laid a heavy hand on Tiles’ shoulder. Tiles looked around angrily, then up apprehensively, then fell silent respectfully. Apples stopped a detailed pedigree of his antagonist at the fourth generation. Both waited with relief for instructions. Wallie ordered Apples and a beefy slave to lift one end of the tile cart, while he took a grip on the other and shifted his weight to his left leg. The cart was raised, and Tiles replaced the wheel on the axle. Nnanji had already begun to clear an exit for him. Soon the jam was thinning out in a few final ribald comments.
The ineffective local swordsman remained, now revealed as a very young and very small Second, staring white-faced and horrified at the visitor. He could not be much older than Katanji and he was no bigger—small wonder he had failed to impose his authority.
He reached a shaky hand for his sword hilt.
“Leave that!” Wallie commanded.
Gulping, the Second obeyed and made civilian salute, identifying himself as Apprentice Allajuiy. Wallie responded, but did not waste time presenting the youngster to Nnanji.
“I came to call on the reeve,” he said. “Lead the way to the barracks.”
His obvious nervousness increasing, Allajuiy pointed in silent dismay at the nearest doorway. Above it hung a bronze sword that Wallie ought to have noticed, side by side with an oversized boot.
“And where is the reeve, then?” Wallie asked.
“He . . . he is in there, my lord.”
Wallie glanced at Nnanji and received the puzzled frown he had expected. The two of them moved toward the door, and Apprentice Allajuiy took to his heels without waiting for formal dismissal.
The swordsmen stepped down into the cordwainer’s shop. It was small and cramped by tables of shoes and boots, the beams of the ceiling perilously low. Under the window, a Fifth and two Seconds were hammering away, their lasts on their laps. The floor around them was littered with scraps of leather, and its pungency perfumed the air. The door closed over the sounds of the street.
The Fifth rose hastily and turned to greet his visitors. At once his face took on the same apprehensive expression as the young swordsman’s had. He was around forty, heavyset in his red gown, and almost bald. He had arms like a wrestler, an old scar across his forehead, and a remarkable cauliflower ear. Cobbling must be a rowdy profession in Tau.
Wallie returned his salute.
“I seek the reeve,” he said.
The cordwainer’s craggy face did not welcome the news. “My father has the honor to be reeve, my lord. He will, of course, be honored to greet you, if your lordship can wait a few minutes?” He turned and plodded out quickly through a door at the back. His two juniors scrambled to their feet and fled after him.
Wallie’s quizzical smile earned a scowl from Nnanji.
“Something tells me that I shall not be doing much recruiting in Tau,” Wallie said. “I can’t consider a denunciation from you, oath brother—but they won’t know that. This might be a good chance for you to try conducting an investigation!”
Nnanji nodded, without losing his frown.
It was some time before the cordwainer returned, and he came alone. He had changed into a cleaner robe, but it was an older man’s garment. Nnanji’s brows dropped even lower.
“My father will be here shortly, my lord. He . . . he is elderly, and sometimes a little slow in the mornings . . . ”
“We are in no hurry,” Wallie remarked cheerfully. “Meanwhile, allow me to present my protégé and oath brother, Adept Nnanji. I believe he may have a few questions to ask.”
Worry became open terror. The burly man’s hands shook as he returned Nnanji’s salute, and Nnanji’s questions began at once.
“Tell me the names and ranks of the garrison, master.”
“My father, Kioniarru of the Fifth, adept, is reeve. His deputy is Kionijuiy of the Fourth . . . ” Unhappy silence.
“And?”
“And two Seconds, adept.”
Nnanji’s eyes flashed a predatory gleam. “Nephews of yours, by any chance?”
The cordwainer shuddered and nodded. “Yes, adept.”
“And where is . . . ”
At that moment a young woman led in the reeve.
He was a Fifth, but at least eighty; bent, wrinkled, toothless, and senile, grinning inanely around him as he was brought forward. His ponytail was a faint white wisp, the sort of thing that grew on grass stalks in ditches. He beamed at the sight of the visitors and tried to draw to make his salute. With much help from his son, he eventually did so, but then the cordwainer took the sword away from him to sheath it safely. Wallie managed to contort himself enough to make the appropriate reply under the low ceiling.
“In what way may I be of service to your lordship?” the reeve quavered. “Kionijuiy handles most of the work now. Where is the boy?” he demanded of the cordwainer.
“He’s out just now, father,” the cordwainer shouted.
“Where’s he gone, then?”
“He’ll be back soon.”
“No, he won’t! I remember—he’s gone to Casr, hasn’t he?” Master Kioniarru showed his gums triumphantly. “Went to the lodge!”