Into the Thinking Kingdoms (6 page)
Read Into the Thinking Kingdoms Online
Authors: Alan Dean Foster
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #FIC009000
“Get them, quickly—kill them both!” bin Grue was shouting with mounting concern.
His servitors were no longer listening. No amount of guaranteed remuneration or personal loyalty could compel any man to face the raging quarter-ton Ahlitah. Freed from its stoned slumber, the cat was not only ablaze with a desire for revenge, he was hungry.
Bin Grue was courageous and even fearless, but he was not stupid. Beating a retreat back through the doorway, he vowed to regain possession of the emancipated feline and extract a measure of retribution from its liberators. Between the energized roars of the litah and the screams of men trying to get out of its way, the merchant’s audacious affiances went unheard.
The storeroom emptied in less than a minute. The litah would have settled down to eat, but Ehomba was at its side, fingers tugging on the thick mane. “We need to leave. The man who abducted you is no coward. He will try again.”
“Let him,” snapped Ahlitah, one massive forepaw resting on the back of an unfortunate fighter who had been too slow in fleeing. “I’ll deal with any humans who come back.”
“We don’t want trouble with the city authorities.” Breathing hard and still watching the back door, Simna stood on the cat’s other side. “If I were bin Grue, that would be my next step. Try to inveigle the local law into helping by telling them that there’s a dangerous, crazed animal on the loose in a populated area. A threat to the general citizenry.”
“I’m no threat to anyone but that muck master.”
“You know that, and I know that, and Etjole knows it too, but it’s been my experience that nervous humans tend to throw arrows and other sharp objects at large carnivores long before they’ll sit down to discuss events calmly and rationally with them.”
“Simna is right.” Straightening, Ehomba prepared to depart, spear in hand. He had restoppered the diminutive phial and replaced it in his pack. “We need to go.”
Still the furious predator hesitated. Then it turned and, with a parting snarl, followed the two men toward the front doorway. But not before pausing several times along the way to spray the interior of the storeroom with essence of large male cat, thereby ruining for good a succession of exceptionally rare and valuable commodities.
No one was waiting for them out in the street and there was no confrontation as they raced not back toward the waterfront, but in the general direction of the rolling, heavily forested hills that marked the landlocked side of the city.
“Bin Grue’s people probably haven’t stopped running.” Simna jogged effortlessly alongside his taller friend.
Ehomba ran with the supple, relaxed lope of one used to covering long, lonely distances by himself. “If we are lucky. What you told Ahlitah makes sense to me, too, but I think it may take the merchant some time to convince the authorities that there is real urgency to the matter.” The herdsman glanced at the sky. “It is still several hours to sunrise. At this hour he may have trouble finding anyone to listen to him, sympathetic
or
skeptical.”
or
skeptical.”
Simna nodded agreement. “Tell me, bruther—if it wasn’t sorcery, what
did
you use to rouse our four-legged friend from his trance? I’ve never seen anything, man or beast, released so quickly from the bonds of heavy sedation.”
did
you use to rouse our four-legged friend from his trance? I’ve never seen anything, man or beast, released so quickly from the bonds of heavy sedation.”
“It was a potion made for me by old Meruba. To wake a man unconscious from injury, so that he may have a chance to walk away from a place of danger.”
“Ah,” commented the swordsman knowingly. “Some kind of smelling salts.”
The herdsman looked down at him. “No salts, my friend. In the sheltered river valleys of my country there is an animal we call the oris. It is the size of a mature, healthy pig, has four short horns and long black fur that it drags upon the ground. Three red stripes run from its head along its back and down to the tip of its tail. The female defends itself against those like Ahlitah that eat meat by spraying from glands above its hind parts a scent that is God’s own musk. This is the same stink it uses to attract males of its kind, but it will also attract any other warm-blooded male animal in the vicinity. It can only hope that a male of its own kind reaches it first. When employed as a defense, it works by altering the intention of any male meat-eater that threatens attack, and by confusing any female predator.”
“I see.” Simna grinned as he ran. “So the perfume of this oris is irresistible to any male, and you roused our four-legged friend by letting him have a whiff of the stuff.” He found himself eyeing the herdsman’s pack. “When we again find ourselves in more accommodating surroundings, I might ask you to let me have a quick sniff. Just out of curiosity’s sake, you understand,” he added hastily.
“You do not want to do that.”
“Why not?” The swordsman nodded in the direction of the black litah, who was leading the way through darkened city streets. “He handled it without trouble.”
“The capacity of his nose is many times yours, or ours. But that is not the problem.”
“Hoy? Then what is?”
“Meruba’s bottle holds only a couple of drops, but they are not drops of oris musk. They are drops concentrated from musk taken from the glands of fifty oris.”
“Oh.” Simna frowned uncertainly. “That’s bad?”
Ehomba looked down at him. As usual, the herdsman was not smiling. “If need be, you will attack yourself.”
Simna ibn Sind considered this. He contemplated it from several angles, eventually coming to the conclusion that he fervently disliked every one of them.
“That’s nasty,” he finally confessed to his friend.
“Indeed it is.”
Again the swordsman indicated the big cat, pacing along in front of them. “Greater capacity or not, our swarthy friend seems to be managing the aftereffects with no difficulty.”
“So far,” Ehomba agreed. “Still, with oris musk one can never be too careful.” He met Simna’s eye as they ran, racing to reach the outskirts of sleepy Lybondai before sunrise. “Why do you think I am making sure to run
behind
the litah?”
behind
the litah?”
V
E
verywhere they paused for breath they asked if anyone had news of one Haramos bin Grue, but the people who lived on the outskirts of the great port city had little to do with sailors and traders and those who haunted the waterfront. These craftsfolk survived beneath the notice of the wealthier merchants and traders who dominated the commerce of the south coast of Premmois. At least the wily merchant had not lied about Hamacassar: those they questioned confirmed that it was indeed a real place, and the port most likely to harbor ships and men willing to dare a crossing of the vast Semordria.
verywhere they paused for breath they asked if anyone had news of one Haramos bin Grue, but the people who lived on the outskirts of the great port city had little to do with sailors and traders and those who haunted the waterfront. These craftsfolk survived beneath the notice of the wealthier merchants and traders who dominated the commerce of the south coast of Premmois. At least the wily merchant had not lied about Hamacassar: those they questioned confirmed that it was indeed a real place, and the port most likely to harbor ships and men willing to dare a crossing of the vast Semordria.
In the hilly suburb of Colioroi they did find several local greengrocers who had heard of bin Grue. He was known to them only by reputation, as an influential trafficker in specialty goods whose wealth placed him somewhere in the upper third of the merchant class, but who was by no means as celebrated or affluent or powerful as the famed Bouleshias family or Vinmar the Profuse.
Given the choice, Ahlitah would have scoured the city in search of the man who had briefly reduced him to the status of merchandise. “He not only stole my freedom, he pocketed my dignity and put a price on it.” Yellow eyes gleamed as the big cat’s words were subsumed in snarl. “I want to eat him. I want to hear his bones break between my teeth and feel the warm flow of his blood running down my throat.”
“Maybe another time.” Marking step and hour with his walking stick–spear, Ehomba led the way along the narrow road that wound through the low forested hills. With each stride the milling masses of Lybondai fell farther behind, and distant, fabled Hamacassar came a step nearer. “First I must fulfill my obligation.”
The black cat paced him, the top of its mane even with the tall herdsman’s face. “What of my dignity?”
It was always a shock when Ehomba lost his composure. Usually soft-spoken to the point of occasional inaudibility, it was doubly startling on those rare occasions when he did raise his voice. He whirled sharply on the litah.
“To Hell with your dignity! I am unlucky enough to be beholden to a dead man. That is a real thing, not an abstraction of self.” He tapped his sternum. “Do you think you are the only one with such worries? The only creature with personal concerns?” Making a grand gesture with his free hand, he took in the sloping seacoast valley behind them and the glistening blue sea against which it snuggled like a sleeping dog by its master’s side.
“My wife, my mate, lies uncounted leagues to the south, and my two children, and my friends, and none of them know at this moment if I live or am food for worms. That is a real thing, too. I would just as soon not be here as fervently as you!” Aware that he was shouting, he lowered his voice. “When we reached the southern shore of the Aboqua I was happy, because I thought we could find a ship in the trading towns of the Maliin to carry us across the Semordria. When we reached this place I was happy, because I thought the same thing.” His attention shifted back to the path ahead.
“Now I find that we must once again travel an uncertain distance overland to this place called Hamacassar before that will be possible. And who knows what we will find when we get there? More frightened seamen, more reluctant captains? Will we have to cross the river where this city lies and keep marching, keep walking, because in spite of what we have been told its ships, too, will not dare the ocean reaches? I do not want to have to walk across the top of the world.”
They strode on in silence for a while, ignoring the stares of farmers tending to their crops or children with sticks herding pigs and fowl, armadillos and small hoofed things with fluttering trunks and feathery tails.
Having inititated the silence, it was Ahlitah who broke it. “You have a mate and cubs. I have nothing but my dignity. So it is more important to me than to you.”
Ehomba pondered the feline reply, then nodded slowly. “You are right. I was being selfish. Forgive me.”
“Not necessary,” rumbled the big cat. “The impulse to selfishness is a natural impulse, one we are all heir to.” The great black-maned head turned to look at him. “I wish you would lose your temper more often. It would make you more catlike.”
“I am not sure I want to be more catlike. I—” The herdsman broke off. On his other side and slightly behind him, Simna ibn Sind was struggling to suppress his laughter. “What are you sniggering about?”
“You. You’re discussing philosophy with a cat.” The swordsman was grinning broadly.
Ehomba did not smile back. “What could be more natural? Cats are by their very nature deeply philosophical.”
The litah nodded agreement. “When we’re not sleeping or killing something.”
“You mistake babble for profundity.” Raising an arm, Simna pointed. “Better to concentrate on how we’re going to get through that.”
Just ahead, the hills gave way to broad, flat marshland of interminable width. It extended as far to east and west as they could see. On the northern horizon, a second range of hills lifted rounded knolls toward the sky, but they were quite distant.
Rushes and reeds rose in profusion from the marsh, and throngs of songbirds darted from tree to occasional tree like clouds of iridescent midges. Wading birds stalked subsurface prey while flightless, toothed cousins darted and dove through the murky water. Water dragonets with webbed feet and vestigial wings competed for food with their feathered relatives. Ehomba could see miniature jets of flame spurt from hidden hunting sites as the leathery blue and green predators brought down large insect prey.
That there was plenty of that to go around he did not doubt. The nearer they drew to the water’s edge, the more they found themselves executing the informal marshland salute, which consisted of waving a hand back and forth in front of their faces with ever-increasing frequency. Against the irritating insects Ahlitah could only blink rapidly and attempt to defend his rear with rapid switches of his tufted tail.
Simna was first to the water. He knelt and stirred it with a hand. Decaying vegetation bunched up against the shore, its steady decomposition creating a rich soup for those small creatures that dwelled within. Rising, he shook drops from his fingers.
“It’s shallow here, but that doesn’t mean we can count on walking all the way across.” He nodded toward the distant hills, partially obscured behind a rose-hued pastel haze. “Better to paddle.”
“Another boat.” Ehomba sighed. “It seems we are always to be looking for boats.”
They found one with surprising ease, but in addition to paddles, storage lockers, rudder, and a small anchor, it came equipped with an admonition. The orangutan who rented it to them wore a tattered shirt, short pants, and a rag of a mariner’s cap. As he advised them, he was continually reigniting the small-bowled, long-stemmed pipe that was clamped between his substantial lips.
“This is a one-way trip for us.” A reluctant Simna was counting out some of the last of his Chlengguu gold. “How will we get your boat back to you?”
“Oh, I ain’t worried about that, I ain’t.” In the haze-diffused sunlight, the blond in the reddish gold hair gleamed more golden than usual. “You’ll be bringin’ it back yourselves, you see.” He sat in the rocking chair on the porch outside his small wooden shack and bobbed contentedly back and forth.
Swordsman and herdsman exchanged a look. Indifferent to matters of commerce, the black litah sat by the water’s edge and amused himself catching shallow-loving minnows with casual flicks of one paw.
“Why would we be doing that?” Simna asked him straightforwardly.
Removing the attenuated pipe from his mouth, the orang gestured at the marsh with a long finger. “Because you’ll never get across, that’s why. You can try, but sooner or later you’ll have to turn back.”
Simna bristled at the ape’s conviction but held his temper. “You don’t know us, friend. I am an adventurer and swordsman of some note, my tall friend here is an eminent wizard, and that cat that plays so quietly by your little pier can, when roused, be terrible to behold. We have come a long way through many difficulties. No reed-choked, smelly slough is going to stop us.”
“It won’t be the fen that turns you back,” the orang informed him. “It’ll be the horses.”
“Horses?” Ehomba made a face. “What is a horse?”
“By Gleronto’s green gaze!” Simna gaped at his friend. “You don’t know what a horse is?”
Ehomba eyed him impassively. “I have never seen one.”
The swordsman did not try to disguise his disbelief. “Tall at the shoulder, like a big antelope. Leaner than a buffalo. Like a zebra, only without stripes.”
“Ah! That I can envision.” Confident once more, the herdsman turned his attention back to their host. “Why should a few horses keep us from crossing the marsh?”
The old ape squinted, staring past them at the concealing reeds and enshrouding bullrushes. “Because they’re mad, that’s why.”
“Mad?” Turning his head to his right, Simna spat, just missing the porch. “What are they mad at?”
With his softly smoking pipe, the orang made stabbing gestures at the swordsman. “Not angry-mad. Insane-mad. Crazy as loons. Deranged, the whole great gallumphing lot of ’em.” He stuck the pipe back in his mouth and puffed a little harder. “Always been that way, always will be. They’re why nobody can get across the marsh. Have to follow the coast for weeks in either direction to get around, it, but can’t get across. Horses. Lunatics on four legs. And a couple of ’em have eight.” He nodded meaningfully, seconding his own wisdom.
“That’s impossible.” Simna found himself starting to wonder about their hirsute host’s sanity.
“It’s more than impossible, no-lips. It’s crazy.” The orange-haired ape fluttered an indifferent hand at the endless reach of rush and reed. “But you three go on. You’ll see. You’ve got my little flat-bottom there. Paddle and pole to your hearts’ content. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get lucky. Maybe you’ll be the first to make it across. But me, I don’t think so. Them horses are thorough, and they’ve got big ears.”
For the moment, Ehomba chose to accept the old man of the forest’s narrative as truth. As a youth he had learned not to disparage even the most outrageous tale, lest it turn out, to his embarrassment and detriment, to be true. As they had already learned on their journey, the world was full to overflowing with the unexpected. Perhaps it was even home to insane horses.
“I do not understand. Sane or otherwise, why should a herd of horses care whether anyone crosses this marshland or not?”
Thick lips concaved in a simian smile. “Why ask me? I’m only a semiretired fisherman. If you want to know, ask the horses.”
“We will.” Rising from his crouch, Ehomba turned and stepped off the porch. “Let us go, Simna.”
“Hoy.” Favoring the ape with a last look of skepticism, the swordsman pivoted to follow his friend.
The boat wasn’t much, but the edge of the marsh was not the grand harbor of Lybondai. It was all they had been able to find. There had been other fisherfolk, with other boats, but none willing to rent their craft to the travelers. Without exception all had declined sans an explanation. Now the reason for their reluctance was clear. They were afraid of losing their craft to the horses.
With its flat, sturdy bottom and simple low wooden sides, the boat more nearly resembled a loose plank with seats. There was a rudder, which helped them to locate the stern, and the prow was undercut to allow the occupants to propel it over obstructing water plants. There were no paddles, only poles.
“Shallow all the way across, then.” Simna hefted one of the tough, unyielding wooden shafts.
“So it would seem.” Ehomba had selected a slightly longer rod and was similarly sampling its heft.
“Sadly,” declared Ahlitah as he hopped lithely into the unlovely craft, “I have no hands, and can therefore not help.” Curling up in the center of the floor, he promptly went to sleep.
“Cats.” Shaking his head, the swordsman eyed the litah with digust. “First cats and now, it would seem, maybe horses.” Placing one end of his pole in the water, he strained as he and Ehomba shoved hard against the sodden shore. “I don’t like animals that much. Except when they’re well done, and served up in a proper sauce.”
“Then you and the litah have something in common,” the herdsman pointed out. “He feels the same way about people.”
The marshland might have been a paradise if not for the mosquitoes and black flies and no-see-ums. To his companions’ surprise, Simna voiced little in the way of complaint. When a curious Ehomba finally inquired as to the reason for his uncharacteristic stoicism, the swordsman explained that based on the insect life they had encounterd on shore, he had expected it to be much worse out in the middle of the slough.
“Birds and frogs.” Ehomba’s pole rose and dipped steadily, rhythmically, as he ignored the rushes and reeds that brushed against his arms and torso. “They keep the population of small biting things down.” He watched as a pair of lilac-breasted rollers went bulleting through the bushes off to their left. “If not for such as them, we would have no blood left by the time we reached the other side of this quagmire.”
Simna nodded, then frowned as he glanced down at the litah dozing peacefully in the middle of the boat. “For once I envy you your black fur.”
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