Wallie was starting to twitch with excitement. “Nnanji! When Katanji was leaving the tower he saw shelves with boxes on them. How did he describe them?”
‘”Leather boxes,’” Nnanji said with a frown. “The second time he said ‘brown leather boxes’ and the next time, ‘flat boxes.’ Lots of them, he said.”
Books! Sorcerers bought all the finest leather—vellum! Would it even be possible to steal books and learn to read again? To learn magic? This changed everything!
Sorcerers were literate
! Meanwhile . . . “What the devil do you suppose is keeping Katanji?”
Then birds hurtled skyward, horses reared in their traces, and heads turned. Out by the fast boat where the cart had gone, where the sorcerers had gone, where Katanji had gone, a cloud of smoke rose slowly into the air.
The hard, sharp crack of a thunderbolt rolled over the harbor.
Wallie Smith knew that noise.
That was no thunderbolt—that was a shot.
The coming of wisdom.
†††††
So the lesson may be learned
.
Idiot!
Tomiyano and Nnanji collided in the doorway and the swordsman lost. The captain went aloft at high speed, and every rope in the moorings was bouncing as other sailors did the same. Nnanji recovered his balance and made a second try at the door; then discipline asserted itself, and he rushed back to his mentor.
“Katanji!” he said. “I want to go and see!”
Wallie stared blankly, right through him. The rest of the crew came hurrying in with frightened looks. Out on the roadway the patrolling sorcerers started to move quickly, heading riverward and almost running. Braver souls in the crowd followed them, while the more timorous headed toward home.
“My lord brother! Lord Shonsu!”
“Horse pee,” Wallie replied in a whisper. His mind was in turmoil. He had barely recovered from the staggering discovery of writing, had not had time to work out all the implications of it. Yet perhaps without that shock to disturb his thinking he might not have made this other incredible leap. The mental bonfire blazed like a sun. Ideas were racing through his head so fast that he could not keep track of them. The World had turned upside down for him.
He had been a blind, witless, stubborn fool! It had all been there for him to see. He screamed and thumped his fists against the deckhouse wall in a fury. Horse urine and fire blazing in dark forests. Thunderbolts and mining near volcanoes. Fire demons and boiling tubs. Magic fifes and mosquitoes. Birds in pots and long sleeves. Maniac! Why had he not realized?
My lord brother
!
Wallie roared: “Tomiyano?” He looked around and Tomiyano was missing. He grabbed Brota by the shoulders. “Aus!” he shouted. “The ship where I met Tom’o. What was it loading? Did he tell you?” Then he realized that he was shaking her and stopped.
She gaped at him in terror. “He said sulfur, my lord!”
“Sulfur?” Another new word to Shonsu. “What is it used for?”
“I use it to fumigate the cabins sometimes, my lord.” Brota was quaking before the madman.
MY LORD BROTHER
!
Sulfur it was, then. A whole shipload of sulfur? He should have guessed right there. The sorcerers exported sulfur from Aus to the other towers. And Katanji had seen charcoal in the tower. Gunpowder! Primitive black powder: fifteen parts potassium nitrate, three parts sulfur, two parts charcoal . . . The Goddess had chosen the soul of a chemical engineer, and he had been too damn dumb to see why. They would know potassium nitrate as saltpeter, perhaps, a meat preservative . . . never mind now. That tub in the stairwell of the tower that had frightened Katanji so much when it spluttered . . . that was why the sorcerers built towers, or one reason—they were shot towers. Drip molten lead down a tower into a vat of water—of course it hissed and steamed! But that meant that they likely did not have rifling yet, only smooth bore.
Fire demons were cannons full of grapeshot, or possibly shrapnel bombs—no wonder the bodies had been ripped and shattered!
“Katanji!” he wailed. “You told me! You offered me wisdom, and I didn’t take it!” The others looked at one another in dismay.
So the sorcerers had skulked for millennia in their mountain retreats, hemmed in by the swordsmen, but they had known of writing. With writing knowledge became cumulative. They had piled up knowledge, age after age, until they discovered gunpowder. The Chinese had known of gunpowder for centuries before they made weapons from it. The sorcerers had invented firearms, primitive certainly, but enough to kill swordsmen.
But not likely very accurate. Slow to reload! That was why the sorcerer in Wal had not shot Nnanji—he had not had time to reload after killing the port officer.
The coming of wisdom—the coming of sorcery. Wallie had wondered why the sorcerers had never seized cities until fifteen years ago. That fact alone should have told him. Only a leap in technology ever changed the course of history like that.
Then the fog began to clear, and the first thing that came into view was Nnanji’s face, distraught and bewildered—Nnanji, bereaved of the last of his family and now betrayed by a mentor behaving like a raving madman. All around him clustered the shocked and worried faces of the crew, a deckhouse full of frightened people looking to him for leadership. Nnanji first.
“I want to go and see, my lord brother!” Perhaps Nnanji had said that before, several times.
“No! You could not help.” What to say? Wallie plunged ahead. “Nnanji, the tryst has begun. If Katanji has died, then he is only the start. The minstrels will sing his name forever, first in the list of the glorious!”
That was the right note. Nnanji’s bony shoulders straightened, and he nodded solemnly.
Wallie said, “But suppose he isn’t dead? Put yourself in the sorcerers’ place. You have uncovered a spy; what do you do?” Five minutes before he would not even have considered the possibility of a thunderbolt spell missing its target.
“Take him in to the tower for questioning, of course,” Nnanji said. “No!” His lips moved as he began to run through the sutras, the Manual of Swordsmanship. “It’s likely he came from a ship, and they’d have to pass by too many ships. Take him on board their own boat to be safe. Alert the tower against an attack. Post guards at the end of the dock to protect the tower? Start a ship-by-ship search.”
“Good!” Wallie nodded. “I was thinking the same. But we’re swordsmen, and they’re not! They might just be stupid enough to bring him past here.”
Nnanji’s eyes gleamed, then his face fell again. “That’s only if he’s alive, my lord brother.”
Then he yelped and Wallie realized that he had taken hold of Nnanji’s shoulder and was squeezing it like putty. He let go. “Let’s assume he is until we know otherwise. We’ll ambush them!” There were mutterings of disbelief around him: fight thunderbolts? Had Tomiyano been there he would have made one of his sarcastic comments about swordsmen.
Then Tomiyano’s feet thumped against the deck and he came bounding in. “He’s alive!” he shouted. “It looks like he’s hurt, but they’ve got him on his feet.” Tumult and cheering.
“
Quiet
!” Wallie roared. He swung around to look at the crowd in the deckhouse. That was bad. The sorcerers would want to know where this disguised swordsman had come from, and if the tower was watching for unusual activity, then an entire crew pouring through one door would wave flags galore for them. Casting a spell by rubbing a plate? “If they bring him past here, then Nnanji and I are going to rescue him. Do you want to help?”
“Yes,” said the crew, almost as one.
“It’ll be dangerous,” he warned. “We may lose more lives in the attempt.”
Uproar! They were with him; damn the torpedoes! Ever since the pirates, Shonsu had had an army ready to hand.
Nnanji was grinning wildly now. His hero was heroing again, and there was going to be action.
Wallie closed his eyes for a moment, rattling plans around in his head like dice in a box. Then, “Okay!” he said. “We have very little time. Do exactly as I say, with no arguments at all. First thing—when I shout ‘Charge!’ you all throw yourselves flat on the ground! Got that? It’s a code. ‘Charge!’ means lie down. Fast! ‘Up!’ means up. Think of these thunderbolts as throwing knives—they probably have about the same accuracy, but I think that each sorcerer can only throw one, and then there will be a space of a few minutes until he can throw another.
Have you got that
?” He repeated it.
If he was wrong on that guess, he was going to lose a lot of friends very shortly. Why did he think that, anyway? Part of his brain was throwing up answers to questions he had not had time to ask it yet. Because the sorcerers had only been acting this way for fifteen years, since they first seized a city, and a technology that succeeds does not advance very far in fifteen years —that was why. The fire-demon cannons might be new, but there were none of those here. With a sensation of launching himself into space he started throwing out orders, hardly knowing himself what words were going to come out of his mouth.
“Linihyo, Oligarro, Holiyi, Maloli, you bring those ingots up from the dock and—”
“They don’t matter,” Brota began.
“
Quiet
!” the swordsman roared again. “I said no arguments!” No one had spoken to Brota like that in years. She crumpled into shocked silence. He turned back to the sailors. “Get as many more as you can manage up from the hold. No time to rig the boom. You’ll have to manhandle them. Stand them on edge against the bulwark on the dock side. Okay? Move!”
The ingots were incredible good fortune—if the gods were withholding miracles, they were still allowing good luck. A bronze ingot would stop a lead musket ball.
“Nnanji, take off your sword for now. I want six good swordsmen down on the dock, scattered around and out of sight. Women—they’ll be less conspicuous. Place them and then come back for weapons. Move!” Nnanji’s sword and harness fell by the doorway, and he was gone, shouting names as he went.
“Sinboro, take Fia and Oligata, go aloft. You stay, send them down when there’s any news.
“Diwa, all the children and noncombatants belowdecks and keep them there unless the ship goes on fire. Lina and the old man, as well. And not in the cabins, right down in the hold.
“Lae, an ax beside each cable. You may have to cut and run if this doesn’t work.
“Cap’n? How many sorcerers?”
Tomiyano hesitated. “Demons! Didn’t count. I think just two or three out where Katanji is. The patrols . . . maybe another eight. They’ll be out there, too, by now. That’s cowls only.”
Wallie nodded, satisfied. “It’s only cowls I’m worried about. Get the swords up.” He ran his sketchy plan through in his head, and it was not good enough—he would get himself killed. “Brota, I need something that looks like a head.”
Her fat face quavered all over. She did not know whether to laugh or scream. “A head?”
“With a foil on it.” That took time to explain. By the time she stumped off, the first messenger boy was back from the lookout—Oligata.
“They’re bringing him in,” he said, panting and wide-eyed with excitement. “Seven sorcerers and Katanji.”
“Great! Tell Sinboro to keep an eye on the town. There may be reinforcements coming. Back to your post, herald!”
Sword in hand, Wallie led the rest out on deck and told Nnanji that his brother was coming, the ambush was going ahead. The sailors had strung ten of the ingots along the side against the bulwark, invisible from the dock. But would they be strong enough? He moved two single-handedly, putting one beside each of the cables.
Brota reappeared with a foil and a head-sized basket wrapped in black cloth. The end of the cloth even looked like a ponytail. He stuck the foil through the knot and studied it with a grin. “Puppet show,” he said.
“You’re madder than usual today, Shonsu,” she remarked nervously.
“On the contrary. I’m sane for the first time since Aus.” He glanced around the deck, wondering how many dozen things he had overlooked. “You and Jja lie down by the hawsers, behind those ingots, because I think they’ll stop the thunderbolts. But first I need cloths to cover the swords.”
“It will take a large ingot to hide me!” Brota rolled her eyes and waddled off obediently.
Wallie turned to watch the crowd, which had not thinned out much. There might be a lot of innocent people hurt soon. He was suddenly tempted to call the whole thing off, to pull in his troops, and run. The only thing that stopped him was the thought of torture. Oh, Katanji!
He had five men and one boy on deck, standing expectantly around him. Nnanji with six women and girls on the roadway—he could see Fala by a heap of bales, talking to a woman from another ship, and Mata on the other side chatting with two sailors. The space by
Sapphire
was comparatively clear, as they had unloaded no cargo, but the rest of the dockway was cluttered with heaps, and there were wagons waiting, people pushing or standing, more wagons coming. This was going to be chaos on top of chaos.
He turned to the shiny-eyed Nnanji. “Take swords down to the others. Keep them wrapped until they’re needed.” He motioned the men in to listen. “Remind them to lie down fast whenever I shout ‘Charge!’ Nnanji, the one thing I’m most worried about is torture. We musn’t leave any wounded, and that includes your brother!”
Nnanji just nodded, but his grin showed that he was not contemplating failure.
Wallie explained. “We’re going to show ourselves on deck and challenge, then duck. I hope that that will draw their . . . their thunderbolts. It will be noisy! Then we attack before they have a chance to cast any more spells.”
Tiny Fia dropped to the deck, wrapping her hands under her arms to cool them. “Shonsu, they’ve turned the corner.”
“Okay. Go back up. Tell Sinboro that you’re all to stay up there now. Expect lots of noise!
“Off you go, Nnanji. Stay out of sight until we come over the rail. Oh, Nnanji? Tell everyone to aim for arms, not head or body.”
The ginger eyebrows shot up, and a question was stopped on the brink of being asked. Nnanji dashed off with his bundle of wrapped swords in one hand, his own sword and harness in the other.