Down in The Bottomlands (37 page)

A very young Tawantiinsuujan officer tried to take charge of the newcomers as soon as they were out of air-rifle range of the front line. "Come with me," he said. "I want to get a complete written record of everything you saw and did while under the control of the forces of the Emirate."

"No," Ankowaljuu said.

"Hell, no," Park agreed.

"But you must," the lieutenant said. "Proper procedure requires—"

Ankowaljuu said,
"Aka
to your proper procedure, boy. I am
tukuuii riikook
to the Son of the Sun. Proper procedure is what I say it is." He produced the documents that proved he was what he claimed. The young officer's eyes got big as he read them. He put a hand over his eyes, as if Ankowaljuu were the Son of the Sun himself. "Better," the
tukuuii riikook
nodded. "Now get us moving toward Maita Kapak, so I can carry out my duties."

Within ten minutes, Park found himself bucking along in a goodwain different from one of the Emirate's only in the color of its canvas top and that of the accompanying soldiers' uniforms. "I admire the efficiency," he said to Ankowaljuu, "but I wish the ride were smoother."

"You mean you want peace and kidneys both?" Ankowaljuu exclaimed, as if he was asking much too much.

Maita Kapak's encampment proved far more imposing than Hussein's. The Emir was not even caliph, commander of the faithful, merely a secular prince. The Son of the Sun, though, claimed divine descent, and lived in pomp that did its best to make the claim seem real.

Prominent as his office made him, Park might have waited weeks before gaining an audience with the ruler of Tawantiinsuuju. The words
tukuuii riikook,
however, melted obstacles as if by magic. The sun was not yet down when Ankowaljuu and Park were ushered into a tent just outside the Son of the Sun's pavilion.

"His Radiance will see you shortly," a majordomo said. "Just don one of these packs—" He handed out a pair of what looked like hikers' backpacks. Ankowaljuu, who knew the routine, strapped on his without comment.

Park balked. "Why do I have to wear this silly thing?"

The majordomo sucked in a shocked breath. "It is a symbol that you would bear any burden for the Son of the Sun."

"In the old days, Judge Scoglund," Ankowaljuu said, grinning slyly, "it would have been no symbol, but a fully laden pack. Be thankful you get off so easy." Park sighed and put on the pack. If the locals didn't think it looked stupid, he supposed he could stand it.

A servant stuck his head in and said, "The Son of the Sun will see his
tukuuii riikook
."

Maita Kapak had been conferring with his aides. As Park came in with Ankowaljuu, he nodded to Tjiimpuu and Kwiismankuu, the only two he knew. Kwiismankuu nodded back; Tjiimpuu kept his face still. Park had no chance to speak to either of them. The servant was taking him straight to the Son of the Sun.

He followed Ankowaljuu to his knees and then to his belly as they offered the Son of the Sun their symbolic burdens. "Rise," Maita Kapak said.

As Park gained his feet, he got his first good look at Tawantiinsuuju's master. Maita Kapak was older than he, younger than Tjiimpuu. He bore something of a family resemblance to Tjiimpuu, in fact; considering the inbreeding of Tawantiinsuuju's royal family and high nobility, that was not surprising. Like the foreign minister, he wore plugs in his ears. His were of gold, and almost the size of saucers. The vestigial muscles in Park's own ears quivered at the thought of supporting so much weight.

The Son of the Sun said, "So, Ankowaljuu, why have you chosen to exercise the
tukuuii riikook
's privilege?" As he spoke, he tossed his head. Park was sure the gesture was unconscious: instead of a crown, Maita Kapak wore a tassel of scarlet wool that descended from a cord round his head to cover most of his forehead. With that fly whisk so close to his face, Park would have done some head-tossing, too.

"Radiance, I present to you Judge Ib Scoglund of the International Court of Skrelleland," Ankowaljuu said. "He has, I believe, a plan to bring us peace now, and perhaps even an enduring peace, with the Emirate of the Dar al-Harb."

Before Park could speak, Tjiimpuu said, "Such a plan would have been easier to bring off before the fighting started. Now passions are aroused on both sides."

"Nobody listened to me before the fighting started," Park said. "You people and the Emir got me down here and then ignored me. I think the whole appeal to the International Court was just so you could feel righteous about the war you felt like fighting anyway. But this one's not as much fun as Waskar's, is it, now that you're in? No big breakthroughs here, just a bloody fight no one is winning."

"We may yet force the Muslims back," Tjiimpuu said.

"Or we may not," Kwilsmankuu said. Ignoring Tjiimpuu's glare, the marshal went on, "If you have peace terms you think fair, Judge Scoglund, I will listen to them."

"And I," Maita Kapak said. "The prospect of enduring peace especially intrigues me. The only reason we and the Emirate did not go to war years ago was that we thought ourselves too evenly matched. So it has proved on the field. I will listen."

"You may not like what you hear," Park warned him.

"If not, I will send you back to the Emir and go on fighting," the Son of the Sun said. He sounded perfectly calm and self-assured. All the Tawantiinsuujans in earshot nodded, even Ankowaljuu. If Maita Kapak said it, they would do it.
So,
Park thought,
this is what being an absolute monarch is all about.
 

He began, "First, Radiance, you will have to write down and publish the tenets of the faith of Patjakamak."

"Never! `Everyone is a religious
kiipuukamajoo
'!" Tjiimpuu and Kwiismankuu said together. They stared at each other, as if unused to agreeing.

"Your faith does not forbid it." Park looked first to Maita Kapak, then to Ankowaljuu. "So I have been told." Reluctantly—in this company he was of lowest rank—Ankowaijuu nodded.

"It may not forbid, but it certainly does not ordain," Maita Kapak said. He asked the same question Hussein had: "What is the advantage of breaking a centuries-long tradition?"

"If you put your beliefs down in writing, the Muslims will recognize you as People of the Book," Park said. "That means those who worship Patjakamak in the Emirate will be able to keep their religion if they pay a yearly tax, and it means you won't be pagans to the Muslims any more. It will gain you status. Not only that, but you could put a similar tax on the Muslims of Tawantiinsuuju. It would"—he glanced at Kwiismankuu—"be only fair."

"Let me think," Maita Kapak said. He did not ask for advice, and no one presumed to offer it. One of the few advantages of absolutist states, Park thought, was that decisions got made quickly. The Son of the Sun did not have to convince or browbeat stubborn, recalcitrant thingmen into going along with him. All he had to do was speak.

He spoke: "It shall be done." Park expected some kind of protest, but none came. Having heard their ruler state his will, Tjiimpuu and Kwiismankuu would carry it out. That was a big disadvantage of absolutist states: if Maita Kapak made a mistake, nobody warned him about it. This time, Park didn't think he was making a mistake.

"Thank you, Radiance," he said, bowing. "I might add that the Emir Hussein did not think you would do this. In fact, we had a sort of—" he had to ask Ankowaljuu how to say "wager" in Ketjwa "—on it."

"Trust a Muslim to guess wrong about what we will do." Tjiimpuu's chuckle had a bitter edge. "They've been doing it since their state first touched ours, almost three hundred years ago."

Maita Kapak picked up something that went by his foreign minister. That made sense, Park thought: since no one spoke straight out to the Son of the Sun, for his own sake he'd better be alert to tone. Now he asked: "Why do you mention this wager, Judge Scoglund? What were its terms?"

"To let me settle the dispute between the Emirate of the Dar al-Harb and Tawantiinsuuju, and to accept the settlement I set down. Will you also agree to that, Radiance, or will this useless war go on?"

"Anyone would know you are not one of my subjects, Judge Scoglund," Maita Kapak said. Fortunately, he sounded more amused than angry. Park wondered just how close he'd come to lèse majesté—pretty close, by the expressions on the Tawantiinsuujans' faces. The Son of the Sun said, "Let me think"; then, after a pause, "First tell me the terms you propose."

"No," Park said. Boldness had got him this far, and suited him in any case. He went on, "You and Hussein agreed to put yourselves under the authority of the International Court when you summoned me. If you didn't mean it, keep fighting and send me home."

"I tried that," Tjiimpuu said. "It didn't seem to work."

Park grinned at him. "No, it didn't, did it?" He worried a little when he saw the look the foreign minister was giving Ankowaljuu. If Maita Kapak went along, though, the
tukuuii riikook
couldn't be in too much hot water. If . . .

The Son of the Sun had screened out the byplay. He was like Allister Park in that: when he was thinking, he let nothing interfere. Finally he said, "Very well, Judge Scoglund. If the Emir thinks you have terms that will satisfy both him and me, I too will put myself in your hands. How shall we become friends?"

"I doubt you will," Park said. "Being able to live next to each other is something else again. Your becoming People of the Book will go a long way toward solving that, as the Muslims will lose their ritual need to persecute you out of existence."

"What about our need to show them the truth of our religion?" Kwiismankuu said.

Park scowled; he'd forgotten that Patjakamak had his holy terrorists too. After some thought, he said, "I do not know, sir, if you have heard that, before I became a judge, I was a Christian bishop, a senior priest. I am not trying to change your religion—you and the Muslims have both had enough of that, I think. But I will tell you one of the things we Christians try to live by. We call it the Rule of Gold: do to others what you want them to do to you." For once, he thought, the real Ib Scoglund would have been proud of him.

"There are worse ways to live than that, perhaps," Maita Kapak said. "So. Have we heard all your terms of peace? If we have, I tell you I am well pleased."

"Not quite all," Park said. "I was summoned to
give my judgment on where the border should lie between Tawantiinsuuju and the Dar al-Harb, especially in this disputed sector. My judgment is that the best line between you is the Ooriinookoo River." He walked over to a map, ran his finger along the river, and waited for hell to break loose.

The Tawantiinsuujans did not keep him waiting long. "You thief!" Tjiimpuu cried. "Did you bother to notice that we are east of the Ooriinookoo now, and in territory that has been ours for a generation?"

"Yes, I noticed that," Park said. "I—"

"It cannot be, Judge Scoglund," Maita Kapak interrupted. "Were this land I myself had won in war, I might think of yielding it. But I would be forfeiting my inheritance from my father Waskar if I gave it up. That Patjakamak would never suffer me to do."

When the Son of the Sun said
it cannot be,
his subjects heard and obeyed. He turned back in astonishment when Allister Park kept arguing: "Radiance, I have good reasons for proposing the Ooriinookoo as a border."

"What possible reasons can there be for giving up a third of what Waskar won?" Maita Kapak said in a voice like ice.

"I'm glad you asked," Park said, pretending not to notice the Son of the Sun's tone. "For one thing, the Ooriinookoo is a wide, powerful river. That makes it a good border between countries that do not get along well—it keeps them apart. I think Kwiismankuu would agree."

The Tawantiinsuujan marshal jerked as if poked by a pin, then nodded as both Park and Maita Kapak looked his way.

"Not only that," Park went on, "but having such a border would make it harder for Muslim zealots to get into Tawantiinsuuju to work harm on your people."

Kwiismanknu nodded again, this time without prompting. Tjiimpuu, however, said, "I thought you told us we would be free of Muslim zealots if we became a People of the Book."

Damn the man for listening,
Park thought. Aloud, he said, "Your problem with them will certainly be smaller. No one can promise to make all fanatics happy, though: if they could be made happy, they wouldn't be fanatics. Having the Ooriinookoo as a border will help keep them out of Tawantiinsuuju, though, because they won't be able to sneak into your land so easily as they can now."

Maita Kapak started to say something, stopped, looked annoyed at himself. Park doubted the Son of the Sun often found himself of two minds. When he did speak, it was to ask his aides, "What do you think of acting as the judge suggests?"

"Militarily, it makes good sense, Radiance," Kwiismankuu said.

"Even from the religious point of view, it could be worse; so many of the people on this side of the Ooriinookoo are still Muslims, despite our best efforts to bring them to truth." Tjiimpuu did not sound happy about what he was saying, but said it anyway. Park admired him for that. The foreign minister went on: "If Your Radiance is able to reconcile a withdrawal with your principles—"

"No!" said a man who had been quiet till then. His tunic bore a large sun image, picked out in gold thread. From the size of that sun, and from the way he had dared interrupt Tjiimpuu, Park figured him for a high-ranking priest.

"Tell me why you say no when these others agree, Viiljak Uumuu," Maita Kapak said.

"Because, Radiance, you were right when you first rejected this mad scheme," Viiljak Uumuu said. "Patjakamak would turn away from you, reject you, cast you from his grace, should you decrease his realm by so much as a clod of river mud." The priest burned with outrage at the idea.

Well, there goes the ball game,
Park thought. Religious fanaticism had started this idiot war, and religious fanaticism would keep it going. Just when he was beginning to think he'd talked Maita Kapak around, too. But fire and brimstone—or whatever their Tawantiinsuujan equivalents were—could drive out logic every time.