The Death of Nnanji (26 page)

In a few moments the three of them emerged on the dock, back-pedaling to shed speed. The dock was even more crowded than the alley, with the people milling about between wagons, horses, and piles of goods. It was not the big-ship area, where
Triumph
had docked. He could see tall masts and yards there, farther upstream, but here he was at the shabby fishing port, the downstream end. There must be a hundred boats, but no sign of Addis.

“There’s the cart!” one of the boys said, pointing with an arm that still bore the marks of Vixini’s fingers. All three of them ran. But the cart was empty.

“There!” Vixini caught a glimpse of a sword hilt in a boat just pushing off.

“Yes!” His helpers both shouted at once. “That’s them!”

And they had gotten clear away. Already the breeze had caught their sail and the sword hilt had disappeared. There were three men aboard, none of them Addis. Addis might be lying unconscious on the gratings, or might be dead already, but if murder had been the objective, then why bother carrying him off? His death wouldn’t help anyone except as an act of revenge, whereas he might be worth a lot on the ransom market.

“Which is the fastest boat?” But that didn’t matter. It might take hours to settle that. The thing was to grab a boat, any boat, and get right after them. “Here! Share this.” Vixini handed a silver coin to one of his helpers and ran along the jetty, eyeing the boats. He saw one that looked cleaner and sleeker than the rest, with two men in it, doing whatever it was that sailors did in boats.

They looked up in terror as a swordsman boarded.

“Follow that boat! The one with the patch on its sail. My protégé has been kidnapped. I have gold for you and I am on the Goddess’s business.”
I also have a sword and I am bigger than both of you put together.

The younger one said, “Aye, swordsman!” and jumped to cast off.

“I’ll do that!” Vixini cut the rope with one slash, then the one at the stern. “I’ll pay you for them. Here!” He flipped a gold coin to the kid.

The older man was silently pushing off with an oar. Vixini sat down on a thwart, removed his sword and harness so they wouldn’t be seen by his quarry, and resisted an urge to bang his head against the mast thirty-two times. What an idiot! Why had he ever let Nnanji’s son out of his sight? His protégé! He had sworn a solemn oath, to
take him as protégé and pupil, to cherish, protect, and guide
. And had failed him totally.

Oh, Goddess, forgive me!

The Goddess might, but would Dad? How could he ever face either liege lord again if anything happened to the kid?

He wasn’t even certain that he was chasing the right boat, there were so many of them, but the one he had his eye on did have a patched sail and three men in it. He mustn’t even get too close. If they saw that they were being pursued, then Addis would go overboard right away. In moments there would be nothing left of him except bones, sinking down to feed the bone worms that lived in the ooze at the bottom. Bodies given to the Goddess could never be produced as evidence.

“I am Ryad, fisherman, of the second rank, and it is….” With many awkward pauses, the older man mumbled his way through the salute to a superior. He was a skeleton packaged in a much-used hide. He looked, in short, as if he ate about once a week and had never owned anything in his life. His hair had been trimmed with a blunt knife; his entire wardrobe comprised a rag tied around his loins.

“I am Vixini, swordsman of the third rank, and am honored to accept your gracious service. I mean you no harm, Ryad. As I said, my protégé has been kidnapped. I think they must be taking him to Soo. Can you take me there?”

Terror, followed by a grudging nod. Vixini tried to restrain his temper while he worked out the currents flowing here. They feared swordsmen, but he had discovered in the last half year that fear of swordsmen was still much more common in the World outside Casr than it ought to be. He had already given them gold, worth more than they had ever seen in their lives, likely. Were they worried he would take it back? The boat was old and well used; it reeked of fish, but it was still seaworthy; the ropes and sails looked good. Ah! “Is this your boat, Ryad?”

The fisherman shook his head vigorously. Apart from mumbling the words of the salute, he had not spoken. It might not be the swordsman who frightened him so much as whoever did own the boat.

“What’s your name?” Vixini asked the boy.

The boy was holding the tiller. He gabbled the words of the salute to a superior without attempting to rise, giving his name as Ryon son of Ryad the fisherman. He bore no facemark but he was no longer a boy. Although he had been naked earlier, he now had a rag draped over his loins for decency in the presence of a stranger Third. It might not go all the way around him if he tried to stand up in it. He was probably older than Vixini himself.

So Ryon could not afford the entry fee that many crafts charged, perhaps not even the necessary payment to the facemarker, and his father had never been able to advance beyond Second. Having been raised in a palace, Vixini found such poverty hard to comprehend. The boat he was following was still in sight, so he had hours to kill yet. He started asking questions, as gently as he could.

He discovered that Ryad was as short of wits as he was of material possessions. His son was a little smarter, but not much. No, the boat was not theirs. Their wages were room and board, meaning a share of the catch and permission to sleep aboard—in reality they were effectively serfs, required to stay aboard all the time, guarding the boat from piracy. The man who owned it would be so enraged when he found it gone that Vixini might well have ruined their lives already. He wondered how best he could handle this without doing even more damage. He wasn’t sure how much money he still had in his pouch and was reluctant to take it out to count it, for even what he had left over after paying for his protégé’s boots must seem a mighty fortune to these men.

Somewhere back in Ivo his furious father must soon abandon the hunt for the missing children and continue on with his mission, bringing the Tryst to Soo. That would not just be
Triumph
, but a whole fleet of vessels. Did the kidnapers hope they could turn back the invasion by threatening to kill Addis? That seemed utterly crazy. Shonsu would never yield to that sort of blackmail, although he would inflict a terrible vengeance later. And what could Vixini possibly do by himself to rescue his protégé? He was crazy, but madness was all he had left. By failing Addis he had failed a sacred trust, failed every test of manhood as a swordsman saw it.

“Honorable swordsman?” Ryad ventured, greatly daring.

Even his silence had alarmed them.

“Call me Vixini. No, call me Vixi, like my protégé does.”

Gulp. “Vixi, lord… the money you gave me… it was far too much. I do not even know what it would buy.”

And if he tried to spend it, he would be accused of theft.

“How much would be a fair fare to Soo?”

Neither Ryon nor his half-wit father knew, but eventually they suggested two sevenths. What sort of coin was a seventh? Vixini took back the gold and fished out what other money he had.

“How long until we arrive at Soo?”

Ryon asked Ryad. Neither knew. Yes, they had been there and would recognize it, but time was what happened between meals and sleeping. Not today, maybe tomorrow. Mention of meals made Vixini realize that he was hungry.

Wallie headed back to the dock. His next step must be to call a council of war of all the high ranks available in Ivo. Unless an unexpected Napoleon Bonaparte turned up to shine the spotlight of genius on the problem, the meeting would come to the same conclusion that he had reached with Yoningu and Endrasti: they must send a couple of ships down to Soo and put a landing party ashore to reconnoiter. It would be wise to take plenty of lumber and tools along to improvise a dock, and also some dinghies, so that the ships themselves could stand offshore, out of cannon range. Dinghies were rare on the River, probably because a ship was never far from the bank, either to beach or sit out a storm.

Just when you think things cannot possibly get worse…

Picking his way between the fencers, he came face to face with Master Filurz looking worried.

“My lord, have you given any special instructions to Swordsman Vixini?”

“Of course not.”

“I let him go ashore to buy boots for his protégé. I told him to come right back.” Shrug. “They should be back by now, I think.”

Devilspit!
as Nnanji would say. “Organize a search of the entire town. There can’t be many Firsts with curly hair, and not one Third as big as Vixini. Have everyone return here to the ship in an hour, so we don’t have to search for the searchers. Check out all the cordwainers.”

When the reports came in, they were much as he had guessed they would be. There could be no value in killing either of the boys, and it would take a fair-sized squad of assassins to damage Vixini. There would be little more value in taking Addis hostage—Wallie had long ago warned them that he would pay no ransom—but a sorcerer might not think that way. And if Addis was taken, Vixini would inevitably follow to rescue him.

A terrified cordwainer was questioned by eight different swordsmen and then brought down to the ship by a ninth to repeat his story to the liege. Stall keepers near his shop reported seeing the big Third hunting for his protégé. A couple of dockworkers had seen him commandeer a fishing boat.

There was nothing more to be done. They were on their way to Soo—Addis probably, Vixini certainly, for he could have no reason to go anywhere else, unless he had managed to keep the kidnappers in view, which was unlikely. Their fate was in the hands of the Goddess.

Wallie tried not to imagine returning to Casr without them.

Chapter 2

Concussion can take many forms.

They kept throwing him around, hurting him. Hard boards. Head hurt, oh Goddess did it hurt! Rocking. Voices. His head, his head! What was happening? Spinning… why was the World spinning? Dark. Awful stink. Oh, his head! Spinning. Nausea, need to up-chuck. Voices. Creaking, splashing. Where was he? What had happened? Going to buy boots with Vixi. Wet. Pissed in his kilt? Dark.

He was in a boat. They’d taken his sword. Lying on boards, smelly boards. Stinking cloth covering him. Voices. Head throbbing. World spinning, boat rocking. Going to barf.

“I think it’s alive,” a man said.

Sunlight exploded as the cover was hauled away. Addis cried out in protest, screwing his eyes tight shut. In a boat, rocking a bit. Water rushing.

A sail flapped. The voice said, “Watch that tiller!”

Terrible throb in his head. Gut churning. He shouldn’t be here. He was in trouble.

“Can you talk, Addis?”

He forced his eyes open a little. One of them hurt too much, but he managed to open the other enough to confirm that he was in a boat. Could see two men, likely another at the back, steering. Dirty brown loincloths, hair unkempt. Couldn’t make out facemarks.

“Sit up, Addis.”

Groan. Would hurt too much.

“Think we hit him too hard, cap’n.”

“Naw. Swordsmen have heads of stone.”

“If he’s going to die we might as well let the little fishes have him now. You going to die on us, Addis?”

I hope so. Just go away and let me do it in peace.

“You want a drink, Addis?”

After some thought, that did seem like a good idea. He’d got a mouth like a hot-weather shit house. He grunted and forced himself to sit up. His head almost burst, the boat spun in circles, his belly turned in the opposite direction. The nearer man dunked a dipper over the side and gave it to him. Holding it with both hands, he managed to take a few sips.

The boat was a one-masted fishing boat, fore-and-aft rigged, making good time in mid-River, going downstream. There were other sails, but too far away to call to for help. Not that he could shout. There might be other boats nearer, behind him, but he mustn’t show interest by looking around. Wasn’t sure he even could look around.

“Feeling better, Novice Addis?”

“Why’d you keep calling me that? My name’s Jjon.”

The man in the bow laughed. “Is it? Your parentmarks show mother and father both swordsmen. Were they both men?”

The others laughed. Yes, there were two others.

“Ask Mom that and she’ll cut your tripes out.” Goddess, even just talking hurt.

“And then there’s this.” The man held up a small something, too tiny to make out against the glare.

“Huh?”

“It’s a message, a sorcerer message. Now why would a boy swordsman be carrying a sorcerer message in his pouch? It says, ‘Nnanji sitting up, eating.’ Why would a boy called Jjon be carrying that in his pouch?”

Shit.

Fishermen couldn’t read. The bastard must be a sorcerer. Double shit.

“Didn’t know what it said. I found it. Was going to ask my mentor to read it for me. My name’s not whatever you said. It’s Jjon.”

“Will you swear that on your sword?”

He couldn’t, of course. If he forswore his sword, Dad would blot his facemark and throw him out of the Tryst and the craft, both. He’d stay a beggar all his life, a man without a craft.

“Some crook’s stolen my sword.”

“It’s here. I’ll let you hold it for long enough to swear that your name is Jjon. That’s fair, isn’t it, brothers?”

Addis told him what to do with the sword. Then he threw up all over the boat.

He kept hoping he would die, but he didn’t. Night came. The boat sailed on, over waters silvered by the light of the Dream God, filling the northern sky. He could probably squirm over the side before they could stop him, do it that way. Might be better than what sorcerers would do to him. Trouble was, River deaths weren’t always quick. The piranha sometimes only ate bits of people, spat out the rest.

What a fool! What a sucker! Shonsu had warned him he might get kidnapped. He must have forgotten, must have done something stupid. He couldn’t remember, but he had new boots on now, boots he had never seen before. He must have fallen into some trap. And what had happened to Vixi? Vixi wouldn’t have let him get taken without defending him. Vixi was probably
dead
!