Mark of the Cat and Year of the Rat Page 43

  Pushing the pace now—he wanted to get this behind him as soon as possible—Shank-ji circled out around the bases of the cats. Two more spires rose before him but he could see no one waiting. He ordered the men to stay.

  On the other side of the first spire, well out of the sight of the waiting company, dark figures arose as if they had been buried in the sand. Four of the man-rats! Shank-ji limped more slowly. There was no human with them. Was it then that the August One of the messenger’s speech was one of these disgusting creatures?

  They were separating, two in each side, though still spaced evenly. Shank-ji could see that they were carrying a square sheet between them. It was slick of surface and emitted a greenish light, the color of rotting algae.

  He halted; they came briskly on. About five feet away they stopped and the pairs facing each other, and planted the square firmly in the sand. There was a constant flickering across its surface, and now it showed red.

  One of the man-rats—it might have been the messenger, but they all resembled each other so closely he could not be sure—came on a pace or two.

  “The August One has come,” he pronounced as formally as a Chancellor on court day.

  Shank-ji hid his uneasiness as he pointed to the mirror-like artifact on the surface of which light was now whirling as might sand in a forceful wind.

  “That—” he nodded toward the display, “is the August One?”

  The man-rat swung partly around. In his hand was a short rod, which appeared as if it had suddenly been called into existence. The night was dark about them and the rod was black; yet, by some quirk, it was fully visible.

  It was aimed for the center of the red swirls. They slowly coalesced into a solid figure at which Shank-ji stared, unable to look away.

  The figure, gathering substance steadily, had the likeness to one of the Outer Regions, but no resemblance to the monsters about it. Moments later it was not only brightly clear but appeared somehow to step away from the surface where it had materialized. Very real eyes met and held Shank-ji’s. He tried vainly to break that contact but discovered he could not.

  Now the menacing stranger grew taller until it fairly towered over him. A robe, which lacked any of the rich embroidery or gem embellishment common in the Outer Regions, cloaked the newcomer from throat to the sand underfoot. No decorated belt, no sign of wealth or position, could be seen. The features of the face on which thin lips curved in a taunting smile were narrow and easy to view, for there was no mustache, while black hair was drawn tightly up in a double knot.

  The man-rats were on their knees, their heads bowed. Their master spoke. His voice was rich, warm; Shank-ji might be meeting with a well-regarded friend.

  “Greetings, August One, who should be.”

  Yes, a warm voice, yet something in that greeting carried the sting of a lash laid across the Shank-ji’s face. He swallowed the insult but something silenced his answering.

  “You have at last made up your mind, it appears. I am not one of prolonged patience. My offer still stands, however. I possess powers unknown to your kind, as the Outer Regions will discover. And I am owed a blood debt that must be paid. This I say—we shall join forces. The warriors of the Queendoms have become soft—you yourself have remarked upon that. There is little real unity. Do you believe that this new August One can draw all together to act in accord?”

  “He is a nothing!”

  The other smiled. “Quite sure of that? But of course. However it might be well that he have no longer any chance to be otherwise. He will proceed from Kahulawe to Azhengir, or so he believes. You will have new warriors to swell your force. It is left to you to see he does not finish the Progress.”

  Shank-ji, drawing heavily on his will to break the other’s hold for a breath or two, spoke:

  “No aid goes unpaid for—in one form or another. What is the price?”

  “Wise, oh, wise indeed! Yes, there will be a price. I cede future rule of the Queendoms to you. Be enthroned as the August One. I shall claim the desert lands and for them I have plans. There my rule will hold. Also—There is a certain one from Valapa with whom I wish to settle an old matter. When the time comes you will seek out and send to me the doll maker.”

  During their meeting Shank-ji had come to accept the reality of this solid figure before him. Now he started, fear clutching him as the nearest man-rat raised the rod. The figure vanished in an inky cloud. The rising wind scattered a few wisps of blackness leaving nothing but sand to be seen.

  Tricks—he had heard of such tricks, which twisted a man’s sight leading him to report the impossible. Undoubtedly this had been staged to confuse and frighten him. Still uneasiness gnawed him. Had he taken a step he would regret?

  The sky was growing lighter and his leg ached. Before him was the need to plan. He was hailed a warrior, command capable, foreseeing danger and preparing for it to ensure himself ultimate advancement. This was the task at hand.

  Allitta:

  The young Leader Jaclan stood at the door of my chamber when I had no more than draped my shoulder shawl to form a riding place for Kassca.

  He saluted me as he might a superior officer and suggested that he summon a carry chair. I refused; I did not wish any undue notice. Many noble House Mates and daughters took a guard with them if they went into the crowded sections of the cities. I had seen that custom in my earlier visits to Kahulawe, thus Jaclan’s escort would be common.

  Here time had been reversed; there was more faring forth by day and the streets between the round domed houses were crowded. This was no city to be compared with that which was the core of Valapa. The bubble-like dwellings common to the lesser Queendoms were designed to be storm resistant and situated some distance from one another. They looked very insignificant for there were no guardians to give them color.

  However, much carving on the outer walls was common and I was aware that only a few rooms existed above their foundations in the more pretentious homes. Carvings of Kottis and cats covered the visible walls and there was a name standard in place by each outer door.

  No one rode in any of the crowded slits leading to the open market place. Nor did I see any carry-chairs. We were kept to a slow walking pace, so great were the crowds, but I believed we went unnoticed.

  We emerged at last into a large oval space that was walled and divided with merchants’ booths. Apprentices cried wares and some, such as the makers of weapons, beat small belt drums.

  Those selling food were already besieged and we slipped past their booths as quickly as we could, though beguiling smells beckoned. Those I sought, however, would not dishonor their rank by eating so in public.

  “Leader Jaclan,” He had offered his arm and, as well as was possible, he kept the press from me; “I wish the jewelry, the scents, the fine material for robes—” I laughed, “as is ever so, for a woman.”

  He lifted his head high to see as far ahead as possible. “High One, I do not think that such traders are in position near here. But there is a crossway near. Do you wish to try elsewhere?”

  I heartily agreed and found that he had chosen well, for I began to distinguish acquaintances known in my own trading days. Those were not whom I sought—but rather their customers.

  I came to a halt a little to one side of Vaslonga’s booth. Three women elaborately robed and jeweled, their hair piled and pinned under fanciful headdresses, shopped there. They examined scarves stretched high on a line to display their involved patterns properly. I recognized the eldest had been one of Ravinga’s best clients. Each time we had come to Kahulawe she plied us with new orders. The frenzy of an obsessed collector possessed her. Her dwelling must be entirely walled with figures and noted Queens and major warriors of the past. She had a love of history and legends and often discussed rare finds with the doll maker.

  I moved close to the stall, reaching out to touch the silver fringed border of a green scarf on which sported gold and silver furred Kottis engaged in play. Kassca reared half way out of my shaw
l and sounded a demanding mew.

  Vaslonga looked up, her eyes alight, and she would have welcomed me. However, I made that touch to my chin in a well-known trade signal. The collector asked a question and she turned to answer. Five scarves had been selected and the buyer passed a laterpay coin to be redeemed at her home. When they were gone Vaslonga smiled and reached for the green scarf. “No storm for you, Allitta. By the grace of the Essence you have indeed climbed high!” There was warm affection in her hail.

  “You are well engaged also, Vaslonga. I saw the price symbol on one scarf and notice it was adjusted—upward—a few moments ago.”

  “Hrangle-van-Jessley does not worry over prices—” She paused, “I wonder if she will continue long so uncaring. Hrangle House founded its prosperity on the fur trade—Sand Cat furs. I do not wonder at the new decree. This August One has always been a friend of animals, more friend to animals than most men.”

  Again she hesitated and then continued, “His brother is here. It is said that he has made his peace and entered Imperial service. Why, not long ago I myself saw him at Placky’s knife table along with one of the Diamond Guard, the two of them chatting away like shield mates.”

  Interesting—but I wanted information of another kind. When I left Vaslonga I had made a small beginning—a name, some scraps of gossip and a direction to the House of Hrangle.

  I was ready to make my next contact.

  At the Fair of Kahulawe:

  This was the first trading fair Jaclan had seen. There were no fairs in Valapa, only streets of shops wall-to-wall, open for business all year long. However he saw some wares new to him and the richness of many along this lane surprised him. There were guards—not drawn from the Sapphire regiments but hired by the merchants. What impressed him was their official bearing and quickness to spot a thief. Even while the Companion spoke with the merchant she seemed to know, he had witnessed two arrests.

  They were at a stall now displaying a number of small favors: carved animals, beasts out of old legends, rings and wristbands. Some necklaces lay upon a dark cloth to better show fine workmanship. He longed to buy a carving of two Kottis wrestling. It was quite small, but he was sure that at this booth the price would equal a month’s pay. He was still intent upon it when he heard a hail.

  “Jaclan! If you haven’t parted with what’s left of the last pay, we’re bound for the Hissing Cat—they serve good wine there.”

  Kalikur wavered closer to the young warrior who was with him; it was clear that both had been wine tasting. Jaclan was somewhat surprised to see the August One’s brother, the subject of much recent barracks gossip. He still wore a hint of a sullen frown and his glance dismissed Jaclan, though he made a small raise of hand.

  Kalikur shortened introductions: “—Kalikku—who has taken Imperial Service—Jaclan of the August One’s personal guard. So you be sword brothers after a fashion.”

  Jaclan was sure that Kalikku was no more pleased at this introduction than he was.

  “To the wine shop, warriors!”

  “I am on duty—” Jaclan glanced at the Companion who was listening to an elderly trader explain a new game played on a painted board with carved inch high figures.

  Kalikur looked around. He dropped his voice somewhat. “And a very pleasant duty it must be. She, Kalikku, is the August One’s chosen Companion.”

  Jaclan’s hand dropped to sword belt. “The High Lady is not to be spoken of so—” He snapped.

  Allitta had nodded and the trader was wrapping the game in a thin mat of split reeds. Jaclan hurried to join her, snapping his fingers to one of the bearer boys he had hired to carry purchases.

  He was angry. Kalikur’s speech was certainly not acceptable. Yes, the whole court by now was well aware of the Queen’s rage. He had not missed the fact that their wanderings this day had been watched. At least two members of the crowd had entirely too great an interest in them. There was the stout woman in the too revealing yellow robe, and before her a hunter. His belt supported so many tools of his trade, skinning knives and the like, that it was near dragged out of shape.

  Jaclan made careful note of each of the followers, to be able to report them to the captain. That officer might also be interested in Kalikur’s new associate.

  “I think, Leader, that I have seen enough. We shall return to the palace.”

  As she turned back he looked hastily at the crowd. Kalikur and Kalikku were gone. And he could see nothing of the blowsy woman draped in that poisonous yellow robe. Nor was there any well-armed hunter.

  CHAPTER 19

  Allitta:

  Kassca graciously accepted a bite of algae cake rolled about dried meat. I was trying to be patient. No word had come from Hynkkel-ji; he must still be in council. Also the message I sent to Ravinga had brought no answer. It was beyond my power just to sit here.

  I had not summoned the Captain of my personal guard to go to the fair, as that was against court etiquette. Now I wished both to repair any ill feeling this might have caused and obtain an escort I could trust. Not that I believed that Jaclan would play me false.

  However I had not missed his meeting with Kalikku and the dubious Kalikur. If Jaclan was unaware of our suspicions of the Queen’s guard, he could innocently make some remark which would serve us ill.

  When Captain Sanspar arrived she faced me with all the stiffness of a military servant obeying orders. That she was resentful of my choice of the morning’s escort was plain.

  “Is it possible to obtain a carry chair bearing the insignia of some local family? I would pay a visit in the city and pass unknown.”

  “It can be done, High One,” she returned curtly.

  To take her somewhat into my confidence now was my best move. I waved her to a cushion seat.

  “The August One has asked that I make certain inquiries on his behalf. Rumor is always ripe in the court. We travel now with some who believe that they have reason to do him ill.”

  To my surprise she nodded. But then the affair of the Queen and Berneen must have been widely gossiped.

  “This morning I abode by custom,” I admitted openly. “Now I can choose my own way—”

  Again she surprised me. Leaning forward as if to decease the space between us, and speaking in a much lower voice she said: “This day you were followed. The Leader knows his duties well, as does his Captain. I was summoned to hear his report.”

  “Followed!” I chewed on that and it was sour. “By a certain Kalikur of the Queen’s guard—or perhaps the August One’s brother?”

  “Not so. There were two, yes, but not those you name. One was a woman of the Daughters of the Night,” she fairly hissed that. “At least she was so robed. The other was a hunter. They were never together, yet neither lost sight of you, House Heart.” She had returned to my family title.

  “A hunter?” There would be little liking for Hynkkel-ji among hunters now. Most of their prey had been Sand Cats. Theirs was a dangerous trade of which they were very proud and they would resent having to hunt wild oryxen or other game, most of it being harder to find.

  Captain Sanspar’s thought marched with mine. “There are a number such here. They cannot find employment. They are bold and dangerous men.”

  “Which is all we need.” I sighed. It seemed that the Outer Regions supplied more trials with the coming of each day. However I was not to be turned from my own quest by things that were still shadows.

  “That you and the Captain of the Progress know is a support. However, what I would do has importance for the here and now. Who will carry the chair?”

  “I shall select with care,” she replied. Her resentment had melted.

  “I go to the House of one Hrangle, a dealer in furs. Those of his clan may not be friends. Or on the other hand they may welcome me, believing I can influence the August One to withdraw his decree. She whom I would see is the House Mate, Hrangle-van-Jessley. I must see her, if I can, before night.”

  “It is said; it will be done.” She arose, sa
luted and was gone.

  In the Tavern of the Dark Dune, Kahulawe:

  Kalikku yielded to the urging of his companion to be introduced to a tavern which seemed a favorite of warriors, not the place any of a noble house would use. They had to push their way through a door that was almost corked, into a room where any newly come nose was assaulted by a mixture of odors, none of them pleasant. Kalikur pushed past one table where a tune was beat out, empty bottles for sticks to drum. Voices were raised in a new version of raucous songs known to caravaners.

  “The Rats, oh, the rats, they use their teeth.

  They take their prey with ease.

  Why does he not draw sword from sheath?

  But the blade above or the blade—beneath—

  No man or woman sees!”

  Kalikur continued to urge Kalikku toward a table not far from that of the would-be bards. So even this trash could so mis-say his brother and no one cared. Well, why should he? Except that he wanted nothing so much as to choke the singer with his own teeth—He drooped down on a stool as Kalikur pulled at his arm. The song continued, growing louder, stressing further shortcomings of the “he.”

  “They express themselves most valiantly,” the Queen’s guard observed. “But their caterwauling gives us good cover. You have indeed done well for yourself, joining the August One’s service. Our leader will be pleased. What you can learn and pass along will be worth even more than another’s sword.”

  One of the servants slid two murky glasses and a red bottle before them. Kalikur poured for both. He was quick to swallow his own portion.

  “To the captain!” he gave a husky toast.

  Kalikku did not drink, nor even glance at his companion. He had known this meeting would have to come; still he did not feel ready for it.

  “Snow Cat scooped out your tongue? Do you have anything now for our leader?”

  Kalikku gave the glass a slight push. “I am no longer in that one’s service—” he began when Kalikur’s hand shot forward and imprisoned his wrist in a hold he knew that he would have trouble breaking.