Wine of the Gods 05: Spy Wars (9 page)

Tony chuckled. "Guess I should have brought my guitar. Instead of disappearing into the woodwork as working folk, we could stand out as the scruffy performers."

"I don't think so." Mike poked into the wagon. "The researchers had a ton of suggestions, based on other cultures at about this level. We'll need to find out about guilds and so forth. And perhaps carry more of Brock's goods with us into the City. Would you guys mind being cramped for the rest of the trip?"

They moved on in the morning, the weather warming pleasantly as they drove steadily along. First stop, Brock's Dry Goods, for some sacks of last year’s wheat and two small bales of a fine soft wool. The big horses could easily swing along at six kilometers an hour for hours, and by trotting only on the gentle down slopes they made fifty kilometers easily. Three days got them to the town of Wallenton, where their wagons again earned them dirty looks and suspicion. They bought fruit and meat, and followed the road to Karista.

They had company on the road now, generally open wagons, whose drivers eyed them suspiciously, and occasionally verbally protested their right to share the public camping spots scattered along the roads. A few wagons were similar to theirs, but not painted, or painted white, some with the names of companies on them. They bought white paint at the next town sizable enough to have what they needed. They camped an extra day to scrape down the wagons and paint them, and dress a bit more drably. The pinto horses were still a liability, though. Villages and towns got closer together and they finally came to the City.

Karista was more or less in the position of San Francisco in this contorted version of North America.

They'd chatted with their fellow travelers over the last few days, and had picked up a general knowledge of where things were in the city. Mike took the teams out with their smallest instruments to quarter the city for signs of the Oners presence. Damien became the de
facto merchant. Their wheat sold quickly for a tidy profit, and the wool sold for double what they'd paid for it. Damien was feeling quite the successful businessman until he offered a small cut synthetic ruby. He retreated under threats of calling the city guards, damn Travelers, nothing but thieves and murderers . . .

"Once we're established as honest businessmen we can try that again." Damien scowled. "We're definitely going to have to work for our money.

Then they inquired about the cost of renting a place to stay. Bear squad remained in town while the rest of them left the City late in the day and made the weary horses backtrack to their last camping spot.

"Well, San Francisco is one of the most expensive places to live on our World too." Rich Covey grimaced at his own joke. "So . . . what about the suburbs? I'd prefer that to the slums."

Mike nodded. "We'll look around, say, halfway from here to there. See what we can find."

After three days of gradually lowering their requirements, they became the proud tenants of a half acre pasture with an open shed. Six months rent in advance, no doubt because of the pinto horses. The two wagons full of electronics were backed up to the shed, which they used for their living quarters, giving them adequate space.

Bear squad reported that freight hauling appeared to be reasonably lucrative, and would get them all over the City to check for the presence of the One. Damien scraped together the last of their mostly counterfeit funds for an open wagon, and headed for town with one team.

The dock foreman eyed the pinto horses and scowled up at Damien. "I'll send my men with you to unload. Can't afford for any of this to go missing from here to there. Your nephews can lend a hand around here until you get back."

Tony, Max and Carl scowled back. "Certainly." Damien jumped in, forestalling argument. "I'm not real familiar with town, so having your fellows along will work out fine."

That got another scowl. And bellows for Murph, Wale and Beezo.

Murph had foul breath and directed Damien through a maze of streets to an anonymous back door in an alley. They made short work of unloading. Damien got down long enough to see the store's back room and peek through at the front, before he drove back to the docks, taking more main streets.

Murph grinned. "So you weren't that lost, eh?"

"Close enough." Damien admitted.

Four deliveries up and down the hills of the city later, he and the horses were all dragging and ready to quit. The foreman shook his head. "Pity, got plenty more if your horses were fit to work."

Damien straightened his back. "I have another team. I could switch and come back?"

"Good." The foreman grinned. "Those nephews of yours know how to work, got any more of them?"

"Two more, actually."

"Bring them along."

Mike and Allie both gave him stern looks as he hauled the other soldiers off. "Remember we aren't here to get rich, and the teams need to get around town."

"Once we're established, and I know the town, they'll be coming along with me on deliveries.
All over town, for legitimate reasons, and no one looking twice."

They delivered through increasingly empty streets. Their last delivery was on their own, three small boxes, well after midnight. Joe and Richie laid down in the back swearing to never
be rude to longshoremen again, while Damien got lost without a native guide. The watchers must have thought he was alone. One fellow crossed the street just ahead of the horses. Macy tossed her head and stopped as the man waved an arm in her face. Four more figures raced up and vaulted into the back of the wagon. A variety of surprised yells and three left faster than they'd come. Joe held up the last one.

"Want him?"

"Only if he can tell me how to find Finnie Street." Damien eyed the leggy bundle of rags. "How about it, kid? You get me to where I'm trying to go, and earn an honest penny?"

"I'm not a kid!" The high voice belied the claim. After another suspended moment, "You need to go right three blocks."

Three blocks later he turned onto an unmarked street, and four blocks later found a store with a Finnie street address painted on the front door. Two more blocks and he was handing over the boxes to a grumbling jeweler who thought tomorrow would have been fine for delivery.

"I think the bargemen
were in a hurry to get away, and paying for warehouse space for a few hours is silly, not to mention just begging for thieves." Damien ignored the jeweler's glance at the pintos, and bid him a good night.

The kid got a penny, and Joe and Richie were snoring within a block.

That set the routine for the next two weeks, including the bundle of rags hiring out to give directions. Damien quickly learned to bring lots of extra food, the kid was a bottomless pit. Code knew the gossip about half the people they were delivering to, and a cheap tavern with good ale, and a passable cook for the occasional lunch. It was a good place to meet to swap teams. The Sooty Duck had little else to recommend it. The prostitutes were over-aged and filthy. This World apparently had some reasonably effective contraceptives, as only one of the whores had a baby.

"Handy, that." Damien muttered, fending off the attentions of three women, probably in their forties, but looking older. They apparently rented a room jointly and rotated. At the moment they were bored and dangerous. He really hoped the guys would hurry up with the other two mares. Tony and Carl had left with the morning team, leaving him helpless in the claws of these women, who, old or not, were female and it had been too damn long . . . "I don't do that. Can't."

Sussy snickered. "Like I can't tell what's going on in your pants? Hey, Barto, you got any Havwee temple water? Got a boy here that needs it bad!"

Damien shuddered. He wasn't even sure what Barto's gender was. His, her or its age was considerable. The old creature snickered. "Wine. You gotta keep the water in wine or it goes bad, it does." The three whores flocked over to it, chattering away and Damien finished his sandwich in peace. He drained his ale and set the tankard down as they flocked back.

"Try this. We'll see if the stories are true." Norma giggled hideously. They filled it a quarter with something that looked more or less like red wine, and then started passing the bottle around between the three of them.

Damien winced to think of wine poured into a mug with the dregs of ale, but took a sip anyway. Damn! Where'd that old wreck find good wine. He savored the rest of it, and wondered if he could buy a bottle . . . except that he wasn't carrying much money, in as much as he was saving every penny for decent quarters. "Sorry ladies, even after that fine wine I haven't much money . . . " he staggered up and they grabbed him. He vaguely thought he was awfully drunk for one ale and a little bit of wine, then the beautiful ladies were steering him into their room and he was working off about six month's celibacy in as many minutes, no, not worked off yet . . . Some interminable amount of time later he'd worked off every second of frustration in his adult life, and paid forward a good ways as well. He finally managed to pull himself out of the pile of happily complaining women, find his clothes and escape.

He found Mike and Max just backing the mares into the traces and climbed up onto the wagon. "Note to self. Avoid the wine they have around here."

"Not good, eh?" Mike looked him over and grinned. "Or is it merely uninhibiting?"

"'Merely' is the wrong word to use anywhere in the vicinity of that wine. They called it Havwee temple water." He clicked his tongue at Blue and Sombrero, and tried to look repentant. He felt great. He pretended he didn't see the others heading inside.

Allie caught a radio message. From a DONA Agent, of all things. In the City.

"I thought the Colonel corralled them." Tony shook his head. "Just sending away, barely coded, happy little idiots talking to the Government."

"All it says is that they've delivered the Council's reply to th
e king." Allie snorted. "I suppose they're good cover for us."

Mike nodded. "Oner bait. We'll just see how long the idiots last."

"They said they'd told the king they'd wait two weeks for his reply. So maybe they'll go away quickly."

A week later they intercepted the DONA agents' relay of the king's reply. It was brief and negative, but apparently the agents were staying to talk to the diplomats from the other nations.

They had managed to accumulate a respectable sum of money. "We can even afford to rent an actual house, at this rate. Do you want to wait until you've picked up at least a general location? We could look for a place close to the Oners."

"Exactly." Mike glanced back at the team wagons. "Once we locate them, we'll shift most of the equipment inside, and monitor them around the clock. So I hope you aren't planning on keeping the guys."

Damien nodded reluctantly. "I'll keep that in mind, when renting. But well located or not, we'll need better quarters for next winter."

"We know the One World has agents in town. They must have a presence here. However damn well shielded."

1361
Southern Hemisphere Fall /Northern Spring

City of Discordia, Auralian Empire

Discordia was a huge city. Oscar and Bran had managed to get out of the strange vehicle and boat and away from the docks, then a little illusion to get their clothes nice and fashionable, their hair darker so they weren't so obviously foreign and they strolled up the hill to the Palace. The Oners were easy to spot, wearing the loose pants and belted loose shirts as if they were indecent. Solti Mubera had turned over a section of the palace to the Oners, and they were drilling the local militia in the use of l
ong guns similar to the Earthers'.

Bran waved him over. "Quartermaster's there. If we get some uniforms we won't have to worry about illusions as much." He warped light around himself and Oscar did likewise. A
faint touch to suggest to the quartermaster that he needed to check something in the other room, and they picked out everything they would need and were gone before he returned.

They found empty beds and slept in them, ate breakfast with the troops and waylaid two of them and took their places on the training grounds.

"How can you idiots forget so much overnight?" The Oner glared down at Oscar. "I thought we were getting the best, for this demonstration. One help us!"

Oscar fumbled with the long gun, trying to not display his complete ignorance.

The Oner snatched the weapon and showed him how to load it, slowly and carefully. Oscar repeated his motions satisfactorily, and the drill sergeant turned to the next man, who didn't look a bit like Bran. With the advantage of Oscar's lesson, he managed well enough. Then they formed up and marched around carrying the guns, stood with the guns in any of three positions, and finally marched out to the target range to actually shoot the 'rifles'.

They were instructed on aiming and firing, avoiding shooting their fellow soldiers, then issued five 'live' 'rounds' each. The sharp recoil surprised him the first time, but his next four shots at least hit the painted target. Bran actually received praise for his five near center hits.

"It's just an odd sort of crossbow, stop thinking it's something strange and you'll be good too." Bran glanced across the grounds toward their barracks and stiffened. "Here comes trouble."

Oscar winced. "I thought that sleep spell would last all day." He stepped out of rank and dodged around a corner, warped light and hustled back the other direction.

"Well, learning the weapons isn't really what we need to do anyway." Bran said. "Let's go see if the Solti is dining with the Oner officers."

Their targets were dining in the absolute privacy of the harem.
Very unusual. The Solti, three Oners, something like a hundred women. Huge eunuch guards were at the entrance and spotted around the dining room. Oscar followed a tray of food through the entrance, then veered off. ::We need different disguises, if we're going to hear anything. We'll get bumped if we go closer while warped.::

::We're too small to pass as eunuchs, so it'll have to be harem girls.:: Bran snickered.

::Some of them are pretty well covered up,:: Oscar pointed out. ::And there's always illusions . . . although I think we may need to be cautious using it around these Oners.::

::Yeah,:: Bran looked around. ::Let's go find some clothes.::

They slipped back to the back of the women's area and found the deserted laundry room. They released the light warps and started looking for long pants. Two girls hustled in, their arms full of clothes. They all four froze for a moment, then the girls looked around cautiously, and started grinning. "Ooo! All ours!"

It took awhile, as the women—a
ll hundred of them at one time or another—were quite certain that they must bathe, be completely shaved, perfumed, their eyes made up and then dressed appropriately, with scarves over their hair, except for the artistic curls escaping to the front. As the women sighed over Bran's red curls he muttered something about keeping his hair shorter. Oscar nodded, looking at the appalling apparition in the mirror. Blonde waves around the big blue eyes, then the scarf looped tantalizingly to hide the rest of the face.

They scooped up trays and sallied out to serve fruit and cheese. Then wine. Then desert. Then more wine.

"Such pretty red hair. I don't remember you, but I will tonight!"

Bran dropped his eyes demurely and turned away, and managed to only squeak when the Solti pinched his butt. The Solti chuckled and turned back to his guests. "So, I shall see you in Fascia then."

The Oner commander nodded, as he shoved off one of the lounging couches the Solti apparently enjoyed lolling around on. "Thank for your hospitality, Solti."

Bran scooted quickly into the back, but Oscar lingered a bit.

"I'm sure the Amma will be impressed with the excellence of the troops we have trained."

Oscar slipped into the back, where a girl with an illusion of bright green eyes and very red hair was leading the Solti off.

"We need to get out of here." Bran muttered in his ear.

Oscar shook his head
, grinned. "I'm not sure about that. I believe the Solti is headed for Fascia, to take credit for these trained troops. Surely the Solti will be taking some of the girls along with him, and since we could use a ride to Fascia as a next leg of our ride home . . . "

Bran snickered. "
I'll bet the Amma's guards will be so busy looking over the soldiers, that the women will just be hustled into private quarters. "

"On a fancy yacht or some such, not a troop transport. But if you'd prefer . . ."

"Oh, shut up, you've made your point. We can pack some of those fancy guns, take them to General Rufi."

They
snuck out to spy on the officer's training sessions during the day. And the girls kept them even busier the three nights before the Solti's yacht was ready to depart. The Solti hand picked his (current) favorite twenty-five wives to take along, and somehow that included the rather tall redhead and blonde.