The Tritonian Ring and Other Pasudian Tales (5 page)

             
"My lord, as this will be the last time—"

             
"Don't bother me now!" said Vakar.

             
He finished packing and told Fual: "Get your gear too."

             
"Are you taking
me,
sir?"

             
"And why not?
Get along with you. But remember: You shall steal nothing except on my direct order!"

             
Fual, who had been a professional thief before his enslavement, departed looking thoughtful. It now occurred to Vakar that once they touched the mainland Fual could easily run away. He must try to learn more of what went on the mercurial Aremorian's mind; Fual's attitude towards him might make the difference between life and death.

             
A snuffling from the bedroom attracted Vakar's attention. Bili huddled sobbing under the blankets.

             
"Now, now," he said, patting her awkwardly. "You'll find another lover."

             
"But I don't wish—"

             
"You'd better, because there's no knowing when I shall return."

             
"At least you might
...
" She rolled over, throwing off her blankets, and slid her plump hands up his arms. "Oh, well," sighed Prince Vakar.

-

             
They paused as they topped the pass to look out over the irrigated plain on which stood
sunny Amfer
é
. The spires of the city shone distantly in the afternoon sun on the edge of the blue
Sirenian Sea. The capital of Zhysk was laid out as a miniature of mighty Torrutseish, with the same circular outer wall, the same sea-canal running diametrically through it, and the same circular harbor of concentric rings of land and water at the center.

             
Vakar twisted on his saddle-pad to look back at his convoy of two chariots, one carrying Fual and the interpreter Sret, the other the baggage. They were all splashed with mud from fording streams swollen by the melting of the snow on the higher peaks. Vakar rode
horseback
instead of in a chariot because, in a day when equitation was a daring novelty, it was also one of the few physical activities wherein he excelled. This was not entirely to
his own
credit, but was due in some measure to the fact that the average Pusadian, standing six to six-and-a-half feet, was too heavy for the small horses of the age. Though Vakar was small for a Lorskan, his boots cleared
the
ground by a scant two feet.

             
"Shall we be there by sundown?" he said to the nearest charioteer, who replied:

             
"Whatever your highness pleases."

             
Vakar started down the slope, slowly, for
without stirrups not even
an accomplished rider can gallop downhill without the risk of being tossed over his mount's head. Behind him the bronze tires of the vehicles ground through the gravel and squished in the mud. Vakar smiled wryly at the reply, reflecting that if he asked them if the tide would obey him they would no doubt say the same thing.

             
They drew up to the walls of
Amferé
at sunset, to wait in line behind an ox-cart piled with farm produce for the last-minute rush before the gates were closed. The people were tighter in coloring than those of Lorsk, lending support to the legend that a party of A
tl
anteans had set
tl
ed Zhysk some centuries back.

             
When Vakar identified himself, showing his seal-ring, the guard waved him through, for there was peace at the moment between Zhysk and Lorsk. Vakar rode for the citadel at the center of the city, meaning to sponge on the King of Zhysk. The citadel comprised an island surrounded by a broad ring of water. The palace and other-public buildings stood on the island, and the outer boundary of the ring formed the harbor, instead of three concentric rings as in Torrutseish.

             
When Vakar arrived at the bridge across the oversized moat (a bridge that had been the wonder of all Poseidonis when built, as the continent had never seen a bridge longer than the length of a single log) he found that the guards had already stretched a chain across the approach for the night. A guard told him in broad Zhyskan dialect:

             
"King Shvo's not here. He's gone to Azaret with all his people for the summer. Who's calling?"

             
"Prince Vakar of Lorsk."

             
The guard seemed unimpressed, and Vakar got the impression that the fellow judged him a liar. He tugged his mustache in thought,
then
asked:

             
"Is his minister Peshas here?"

             
"Why, didn't ye know? Peshas lost his head for conspiracy two months gone. Eh, ye could see it on its spike from here, rotting away day by day, but they've taken it down to make room for another."

             
"Who is the minister then?"

             
"
Himself
has a new one, Lord Mir, but he's gone home for the night."

             
Under these circumstances it would be more trouble than it was worth to try to talk his way in. Vakar asked:

             
"Where's the best inn?"

             
"Try Nyeron's.
Three blocks north, turn right, go till ye see a little alley but don't go in there; bear left
...
"

             
After some wandering Vakar found Nyeron's inn.
Nyeron, speaking with a strong Hesperian accent, said that he could put up Vakar and his party for six ounces of copper a night.

             
"Very well," said Vakar and dug into his scrip for a fistful of copper, wondering why Nyeron had looked surprised for a flicker of an eyelid.

             
After the usual period of weighing and checking they found a small celt of just over six ounces.

             
"Take it and never mind the change," said Vakar,
then
turned to one of the charioteers. "Take this and buy a meal for all of us for Nyeron to cook, and also fodder. Fual, help with the horses. Sret
...
"

             
He paused to notice that Sret was speaking in Hesperian to Nyeron, who replied with a flood of that tongue, in the dialect of Meropia. It seemed that Sret, a small man with a long ape-like upper tip, had onced lived in Meropia and that he and Nyeron had acquaintances in common. Although he had never visited the Hesperides, Vakar had a fair acquaintance with their language by virtue of having had an Ogugian nurse: However, being tired from his day's ride, he said impatiently in his own tongue:

             
"Sret!
Haul in the baggage and see that nobody steals it until we're ready to eat. And not then, either."

             
Sret went out to obey while Nyeron shouted for his daughter to fetch a wash-basin and
a
towel. A handsome wench appeared lugging a wooden bowl and a ewer, in one door and out
another that led into the dormitory. Vakar followed her with an appreciative eye. Nyeron remarked:

             
"A fine piece of flesh, no? If the gentleman wishes, she shall be at his disposal
...
"

             
"I've had all the riding I can manage in the last ten days," said Vakar. "Perhaps when I've rested
...
"

             
He went back to the dormitory for the first turn at the wash-basin and found Fual beside him. Vakar, scrubbing the grime off his hands with a brush of pigskin with
the
brisdes on, said:

             
"How are we doing, Fual?"

             
"Oh, very fine, sir.
Except
...
"

             
"Except what?"

             
"You know it's unusual for one of your rank to stop at a vulgar inn?"

             
"I know, but fortune compels. What else?"

             
"Perhaps my lord will excuse my saying he hasn't had much experience with inns?"

             
"That I haven't. What have I done wrong?"

             
"You could have got lodging for three ounces a night, or at most four, if you'd bargained sharply."

             
"Why the boar-begotten thief!
Am I a dog? HI
knock
his teeth—"

             
"My lord!
It wouldn't become your dignity, not to mention that the magistrates would take a poor view of the act, this being not your own demesne. Next time let me haggle, for my dignity doesn't matter."

             
"Very well; with your background I can see you'd make
a
perfect merchant."

             
Vakar handed over the washing-facilities. By the time the last of the party had washed, the water and towel were foul indeed. They ate from wooden bowls with the dispatch and silence of tired and hungry men, washing down great masses of roast pork and barley-bread with gulps of the green wine of Zhysk and paying no heed to
a
noisy party of merchants clustered at the other end of the long table.

             
When they turned in, however, Vakar found that the chatter of the merchants kept him awake. They seemed to be making an all-night party of it, with a flute-girl and all the trimmings. When the flute-girl was not tweetling the men were engaged in some game of chance with loud boasts, threats, and accusations.

             
Vakar stood it for a couple of hours until his slow temper reached a boil. Then he climbed out of bed and knocked aside the curtain separating the dormitory from the front chamber of the inn.

             
"Stop that racket!" he roared, "
before
I beat your heads in!"

             
The noise stopped as four pairs of eyes turned upon him. The stoutest merchant said:

             
"And who are you, my good man?"

             
"I'm Prince Vakar of Lorsk, and when I say shut up—"

             
"And I'm the Queen of Ogugia. If you foreigners don't like it here, go back—"

             
"Swine!" yelled Vakar, looking for something to throw, but Nyeron, cudgel in hand,
intervened
:

             
"No fighting here! If you must brawl, go outside."

             
"Gladly," said Vakar. "Wait wh
il
e I fetch my sword—"

             
"Oh, it's to be swords?" said the stout merchant. "Then you must wait while I send home for mine. As
it's
drunk the blood of several Gorgonian pirates it shouldn't find a Lorskan popinjay—"