Into the Thinking Kingdoms (36 page)

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Authors: Alan Dean Foster

Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #FIC009000

BOOK: Into the Thinking Kingdoms
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“Sure they can.” Simna was still smiling. “Etjole, pack up the rest of your pebbles.”
The herdsman scooped the remaining stones into the little cloth sack. Old Broch watched his every move to see if he might overlook any. When it was clear that the herdsman had not, the supercargo sighed regretfully and left.
“Well then.” Planting both palms firmly on the table, Stanager pushed back from the table and stood. “Welcome aboard the
Grömsketter
, gentlemen. I’ll have Broch show you to your cabin, and we’ll see about getting your oversized companions properly settled below. You have two days to enjoy the sights and delights of Hamacassar. Then we set sail downriver for the Semordria, far Calex, and the unknown.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Ehomba executed his half bow. “Is there anything else we should know before we depart?”
“Yes.” Turning her head to look at an expressionless Simna, she declared sweetly, “If this foreign creature doesn’t take his hand off my ass I will have Cook mince and dice him and serve him tomorrow morning for breakfast hash.”
“Hoy? Oh, sorry.” Simna removed the offending hand, eyeing it as if it possessed a mind and will of its own. “I thought that was the chair cushion.”
“Think more carefully next time, foreigner, or I will prevent any further confusion by having the errant portion of your anatomy removed.”
“I said I was sorry,” he protested.
“Your eyes argue with your words.” She led the way out of the mess.
Later, as they followed old Broch through a narrow passage, Ehomba leaned down to whisper to his companion. “Are you mad, Simna? Next time she will have you quartered!”
A dreamy lilt tinted the swordsman’s voice. “Her beauty would drive a man mad. A little sunburnt, yes. A little hardened by the weather, to be sure. But to see her at ease on a broad bed, divested of mariner’s attire, would be worth a couple of those diamonds to me.”
“Then I will give you the diamonds, but keep away from her! We have yet to enter the Semordria, much less cross it. I am a good swimmer, but I do not want to have to exercise that skill in the middle of the ocean.”
The swordsman was quietly outraged. “You ask me to deny myself, bruther. To go against the very substance of my being, to refute that which comprises a most basic portion of myself, to abjure my very nature.” He deliberated briefly. “How many diamonds?”
By the morning of the third day all was in readiness. Standing tall on the helm deck, the old woman who handled the ship’s wheel waiting for orders alongside her, Captain Stanager Rose gave the order to let go the fore and aft lines and cast off. With becoming grace, the
Grömsketter
waltzed clear of the quay and slipped out into the gentle current of the lower Eynharrowk. Adjusting sail and helm, she aimed her bow downstream. With only the mainsail set, she began to make use of the current and pick up speed.
Ehomba and Simna had joined the Captain on the stern while Hunkapa Aub lounged near the bow and the black litah slept curled atop a sun-swathed hatch, his long legs drooping lazily over the sides.
“A fine day for a departure.” Stanager alternated her gaze between the busy crew, the set sail, and the shore. Only when she was satisfied with the appearance of all three did she devote whatever attention remained to her passengers. “We’ll be through the Narrows by midmorning. From there it’s easy sailing to the delta and the mouth of the Eynharrowk.” At last she turned to the two men standing next to her, once more focusing on Ehomba to the exclusion of his shorter companion.
“Did you sleep well, herdsman?”
“Very well. I love the water, and the cabin bunks are sturdy enough so that my spine does not feel like it is falling out of my back.”
“Good. Later, Cook will begin to amaze you with her invention. We’re fortunate to have her. A ship may make do with a poor navigator, feeble sailors, even an indifferent captain, but so long as the food is good there will be few complaints.” Her tone darkened. “Enjoy the river while you can, Etjole Ehomba. Where it is smooth the Semordria is wave-tossed, and where it is inoffensive the sea is deadly. Throughout the crossing each one of us must be eternally vigilant. That includes any passengers.”
Simna nodded somberly. “As long as one can see the danger, it can be dealt with. Sometimes even made into an ally.”
She frowned at him for a moment, then looked away, returning her attention to the view over the bowsprit. “Your presence here is not required. You may relax in your cabin if you wish.”
“Thank you,” Ehomba responded courteously, “but after so long afoot it is a pleasure to be able to simply look at and enjoy our surroundings.”
She shrugged. “As you wish. If you’ll excuse me now, I have work to do.”
“Mind if I tag along?” Like a debutante donning her most expensive and elegant gown, Simna had put on his widest and most innocent smile. “I haven’t been on that many boats. I might learn something.”
Her expression was disapproving. “I doubt it, but you’ve paid well for the run of the ship.” She started forward.
“Now then,” the swordsman began, “the first thing I want to know is, what areas of the
Grömsketter
are off limits to us?”
Turning away from them, Ehomba moved to the rail and watched as the outskirts of industrious, hardworking Hamacassar slid past. They were on their way at last. Not on the Semordria itself, not yet—but on their way. How much farther they would have to travel to reach Ehl-Larimar once they landed on the ocean’s far shore he did not know. But whatever it was, it too would be crossed. Somewhere, he knew that the shade of Tarin Beckwith was watching, and whispering its approval.
The Narrows were comprised of opposing headlands whose highest point would not have qualified as a proper foothill on either side of the snow-capped Hrugars, but on the otherwise plate-flat floodplain they stood out prominently. Accelerating as it passed through, the vast river’s volume was compressed, causing the
Grömsketter
to pick up speed. As they drew near, Ehomba saw that what at first appeared to be trees were in fact more of the extraordinary triangular towers that they had first encountered on the southern outskirts of greater Hamacassar.
With Stanager absent from the helm deck, he wandered over to query the stolid, stocky woman behind the ship’s wheel. “Your pardon, Priget, but what are those odd free-standing spires?”
“You don’t know?” She had a thick accent that he had been told instantly identified her as coming from far upriver. “They’re the time gates. They’re what has kept Hamacassar strong and made it the preeminent port of the middle Eynharrowk. Kept it from being attacked and looted for hundreds of years. The Gate Masters’ guild watches over them, decides when they are to be used and when kept closed.”
Ehomba pondered this as the helmswoman nudged the wheel a quarter degree to port. “What kind of gates did you say they were? Does time gate mean they are very old?”
“No. They are . . . hullo, what’s this?” Setting his question aside, she squinted to her left. Moments later Stanager was back on the high stern, Simna trailing behind like an eager puppy.
She ignored both men. “You see the flags, Priget?”
“Yes, Captain. How should we respond?”
Stanager looked conflicted. “The flags are small and still a goodly distance off. Hold your course and we’ll see what they do. They may be testing us, or flagging a small boat somewhere close inshore.”
“Ayesh, Captain.” The helmswoman settled herself firmly behind the wheel.
Sensing that now was not a good time to lay a raft of queries upon the Captain, Ehomba and Simna both held their questions. The
Grömsketter
continued to slip swiftly downriver, using its mainsail more for steering than propulsion in the heightened current.
Following their eyes, Ehomba saw what they were scrutinizing so intently. Near the base of the second triangular monolith on the south bank stood a cluster of reddish buildings dominated by a three-story brick tower. Atop this formidable structure was a mast from which presently flew three large, brightly patterned flags. The designs that were of such evident significance to Captain and helmswoman meant nothing to him, nor to Simna. He also thought he could see several figures waving both arms above their heads.
A hand came down on his shoulder as the swordsman pointed. “See there, Etjole. Something is happening.”
Between the towers that stood on opposing headlands a deep blue glow was coalescing. Shot through with thousands of attenuated streaks of bright yellow and white like captured lightning, the effulgence extended from the crests of the towers down to the surface of the river, clearing it by less than half a foot. From the depths of the potent luminescence there emanated a dull roar, like an open ocean wave curling and breaking endlessly back upon itself. The glow flowed swiftly from tower to tower, as far as the eye could see. Remembering what Priget had told him of the structures’ purpose, Ehomba imagined that the deep cobalt light must extend to encircle all of greater Hamacassar.
“That’s it.” Stanager looked resigned. “They’re calling us in. Priget, steer for the inspection docks.”
“Ayesh, Captain.” The helmswoman promptly spun the wheel. Slowing only slightly, the
Grömsketter
began to turn sharply to port.
“What’s happening? Why are we heading in?” Relaxed and talkative only moments ago, Simna was suddenly nervous.
“Probably only a random check,” the Captain assured him. “The Gate Masters run them on occasion, both to flex their muscles and remind travelers on the river of just who is in charge, and to ascertain the condition of the time gates.” She nodded toward the dense blue radiance. “Those, at least, appear to be functioning flawlessly.”
“I do not understand.” Simna spoke both for himself and his friends. “What are these time gates? What is that banded blue glowing?”
Stanager Rose did not smile. “You really are from far away, aren’t you?”
“Captain,” the swordsman told her, “all your long and difficult journeys notwithstanding, you have no idea.”
She spared him barely a glance before turning back to Ehomba. “The streaked blue glow is Time itself. The ancient Logicians of Hamacassar long suspected that time traveled in a stream, like the Eynharrowk. So they found the Time that follows the great river and channeled it. Here Time flows through a canal, much like the hundreds you have seen crisscrossing the city itself. It runs through the time gates and can be turned on or shut off by a master gate that lies to the northeast of the city. When the master gate is opened, Time is allowed to run in a circular channel all around the border of Hamacassar. Until it is closed and the time stream shut off, no one can enter or leave the city. No criminal may flee, no enemy enter.” She nodded forward.
“As you can see, it flows as effectively over water as across the land.”
“What would happen if you just tried to run it?” Simna was a direct man, and it was a direct question.
By the Captain’s reaction, however, not a well-thought-out one. “Why, any vessel attempting to sail through would be caught in the currents of Time and swept away, never to be seen or heard from again. I don’t know what that would be like, because no ship or person who has been caught up in the time flow has ever come back out to speak of the experience.” She nodded toward the rapidly approaching outpost. “We’ll see what they want and then we’ll be on our way again. I’m sure it’s nothing of significance, and will likely cost us half an hour at most.”
Despite the Captain’s reassurances, Ehomba was distressed to see a double line of heavily armed soldiers drawn up on the dock. They carried crossbows and battle swords but wore little armor, impractical in the heat and humidity of the Hamacassarian lowlands. They wore uniforms of streaked emerald green and sandals instead of boots, again in keeping with the practicalities imposed by the climate.
Waiting to greet the
Grömsketter
as it bumped up against the dock were half a dozen men and women of varying age. All wore similar colors, but much finer fabrics. The single toga-like garments were belted at the waist with yellow-gold braid, and extended only as far as the knee. Sleeves ended at the elbow. Shading their heads were peculiar tricornered hats that mimicked the design of the time gates. None of the assembled were smiling.
Clinging to the mainmast rigging with one hand and leaning out over the water and the dock as the ship pulled in, Terious hailed the gathering. “Good morning to you, virtuous Gate Masters! Do you wish to board?”
A stern-faced, handsome man in his forties replied. “Only if necessary,
Grömsketter.
We won’t keep you long. We’re looking for someone.”
“A fugitive?” Behind the helm deck railing, Stanager was murmuring aloud to herself. “We’ve hired three new men and one woman for this crossing. I wonder if all were thoroughly checked?” Leaning over the rail, she shouted down at the Gate Master. “Does this person you seek have a name?”
As she spoke, preoccupied faces turned in her direction. Ehomba and Simna stood close by. Suddenly another of the Gate Masters, an older woman, spoke out sharply.
“No name, only an aura—and there he is!” Raising an arm, she pointed sharply.

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