Orcs (23 page)

The orcs watched as the wagon tailgates were lowered and the dwarves dismounted. They began leaving, in groups and singly, in different directions.

“So it’s a meeting point, not a village,” Stryke said.

“They must be drawing labour from the whole area,” Jup suggested. “That’s better for us. One of them is much less likely to be missed in this situation.”

Circling round, the wagons started their journey back to Trinity. The orcs kept their heads down as the transports passed, moving faster now they’d rid themselves of their load. Several dwarves, too, passed nearby without seeing them.

“So far, so good,” Stryke judged. “Now we wait until morning and hope there’s another pick-up.”

He allotted turns as lookouts and they settled down to their vigil.

The night passed uneventfully.

Shortly after daybreak, dwarves began drifting in to the meeting place. Jup tied a rusty-red bandanna around his neck, the emblem of an obscure and distant tribe. Then he smeared the garva-root paste over his cheeks, covering the tattoos. Stryke had feared that it wouldn’t look convincing, but it worked remarkably well.

“What we need now is a worker on his own,” he said, “and we need him at a distance from the glade.”

They all looked out for a likely candidate. One of the grunts nudged Stryke and pointed. A lone dwarf was wading through long grass over to their right.

Jup began to move. “I’ll do it.”

Stryke laid a hand on his arm. “But —”

“It has to be me, Stryke. You can see that, can’t you?”

“All right. Take Coilla with you, to cover your back.”

They set off, creeping low through the cover.

The others watched the dwarf they’d targeted moving towards the glade. At the same time they kept an eye on the other workers converging on the pick-up.

Suddenly the lone dwarf went down and there was a brief rustling in the grass. A moment later Jup popped up in his victim’s stead and began walking in the direction of the waiting wagons.

The orcs watched intently, ready to break cover and rush to his aid if anything went wrong. Jup moved with a relaxed, unhurried stride.

“He’s doing a good job of looking casual, I’ll give him that,” Stryke commented.

There was a movement in the grass nearby and Coilla re-appeared. “Is he there yet?”

“Nearly,” Stryke reported.

Jup reached the glade, which now had several dozen other dwarves milling around in it. It was a moment of tenseness, the first test of many. But neither the dwarves nor the wagon drivers paid him any particular attention. A few minutes later they began to mount the wagons. Having stood apart from the others, Jup now had to come into close contact with them. This was when his disguise proved either passable or worthless.

The orcs looked on with bated breath.

Mingling with the crowd, Jup climbed aboard a wagon. There was no uproar, no hue and cry. The wagons’ tailgates were secured. Whips cracked over the oxen and the convoy moved off.

Keeping very still, the orcs watched the convoy pass. A moment later, the coast clear, they followed. There was no deviation in the route back to Trinity.

But as the wagons rolled on to the road leading to the township’s gates, the orcs saw more humans working in the fields than there had been yesterday. Again, they were mostly women, and there were a larger number of guards protecting them.

The Wolverines had to be even more careful to avoid being seen, and there was a limit to how near the wall they could get. But they found a vantage point, crouching in a field of wheat, from where they could follow the wagons’ progression.

As before, guards appeared on the walls above and scanned the arrivals. A moment later the vast gates began creaking open. Again, there was a tantalising glimpse of the interior. The wagons moved forward and entered. Black-clad men rushed to shut the gates.

They closed with a booming crash.

Stryke hoped it didn’t mark a death knell for Jup.

18

The great gates slammed behind Jup with a terrible finality.

Without obviously appearing to do so, he looked around. The first thing he saw was several dozen guards, dressed uniformly in black and all bearing arms.

What he could make out of Trinity was formal to the point of severity. The place seemed to be arranged in a way that would have satisfied the most pedantic military commander. All the buildings were neatly positioned in rows. Some were cottages, made of stone with thatched roofs, of a size to house a family. Others were larger, barracks-like buildings, fashioned from timber. Without exception they were pristine in appearance. Further on, towers and spires of equal correctness poked above the rooftops. Arrow-straight roads and lanes cut through the concise landscape. Even the trees, of which there were a few, had been marshalled into regimented lines.

There were humans, men, women and children, going about their business in the stifling orderliness. Like the guards, the men were dressed in uncompromised black. Those of the women and children who weren’t wore clothes of bland plainness.

No sooner had he taken in the scene than Jup and his fellow dwarves, none of whom had spoken to him, or to each other in most cases, were herded off the wagons.

It was another moment of truth. Now he’d find out if the humans kept a list of their guest workers’ names. If they did, what followed was likely to be unpleasant, and almost certainly terminal.

As seemed fitting in a place obsessed by symmetry, the dwarves were mustered into tidy columns beside the wagons that had brought them. Then to Jup’s relief men went along the lines, finger-jabbing each dwarf in turn as they counted them. The human on Jup’s line moved his lips in the process, but passed him by without a second look.

Jup was wondering what happened next when there was a flurry of activity at the door of one of the buildings that resembled a barracks. The man he, Stryke and Coilla had seen the day before in his carriage, and whom they assumed to be Kimball Hobrow, appeared at the entrance.

His eyes were just as chill, his expression no less unsmiling. Jup wondered, as he had the previous day, how old the man might be. This closer look was hardly more telling than his first fleeting glimpse, but Jup reckoned him to be about middle-aged in human terms, though he always found it hard to tell when it came to that race. It was rumoured there was some kind of formula for working it out, similar to the one used for dogs and cats, but he was damned if he could remember it.

One thing of which there was no doubt, however, was Kimball’s charismatic presence. He radiated an aura of authority, of power, and not a little menace.

The settlers fell silent and parted to let him through. He made his way to a wagon and climbed on to the seat. It added to his already commanding height, making him an even more imposing figure. He scrutinised the dwarves. Despite himself, Jup shrank a little under that penetrating gaze.

Hobrow raised his hands in a gesture that called for quiet, though as there had barely been a sound since he appeared, this was hardly necessary.

“I am Kimball Hobrow!” he boomed. It came across as a profound statement rather than mere information. His voice was bass and silken, belying the slender frame it came from.

“Some of you are new here,” Hobrow continued.

Jup was glad to hear that. It made his position a bit more tenable.

“Those of you who have been here before will have heard what I’m about to say,” Hobrow went on, “but it bears repeating. You’ll do as you’re told and remember at all times that you’re guests, allowed here so my people can devote themselves to more important tasks.”

We’re going to be shovelling shit for them,
Jup thought.
What a surprise.

Hobrow scanned his audience with those beguiling eyes, in a pause obviously intended to hammer home his point.

“There are certain things we permit here and certain things we don’t,” he said. “We allow you to work hard at the labours for which you’re being well rewarded. We allow you to show deference to your betters. We allow you to express respect for our belief in the one true Supreme Creator.”

So much for the stick,
Jup reflected.
What about the carrot?

“We don’t allow laziness, insolence, insubordination, lax morals or profane language.”

Gods,
Jup realised,
that
was
the carrot.

“We don’t tolerate alcohol, pellucid or any other intoxicant. You’ll not speak to any citizen without first being spoken to, and you’ll obey without question any order given to you by a custodian or a citizen. You will at all times abide by the laws of this place, which are the laws of our Lord. Transgress and you’ll be punished. Like the Supreme Being, what I’ve given I can take away.”

He ran his steely eyes over them again. Jup noticed that few if any of his fellow dwarves met that disturbing gaze. He tried to avoid it himself, if only so he wouldn’t attract attention.

Hobrow plucked off his hat, revealing a shock of ebony hair touched with silvery grey. “We’ll now offer up a prayer for our endeavours,” he announced.

Jup looked to the others. Such dwarves as had hats were doffing them too. Following their example, and Hobrow’s, he bowed his head, feeling foolish and conspicuous. Why this was necessary, he didn’t know. He didn’t go through such a performance when he needed to speak to his gods. Whether they listened surely had nothing to do with whether you wore a hat or not.

“O Lord, who created all things,” Hobrow began, “we humbly beseech You to heed our prayer. Bless the labours of these lowly creatures, O Lord, and help us raise them from their ignorance and savagery. Bless too the efforts of we, Your chosen, that we might best serve and honour You. Strengthen our arm in pursuit of our mission as instruments of Your wrath, O Lord. Let us be Your sword and You our shield against the unrighteous and the blasphemers. Keep pure our race and smite without mercy our enemies and Yours. Make us truly thankful for the infinite bounty You bestow upon us, Lord.”

Without another word, Hobrow replaced his hat, climbed down from the wagon and headed back for the building he had come from. A knot of followers walked respectfully in his wake.

“Bit keen, isn’t he?” Jup remarked to the dwarf next in line.

This unsmiling individual ignored the comment. He did look Jup up and down, but without too much curiosity.

I’m going to love it here,
Jup thought.

A guard, or custodian, as Jup supposed he had to call him, took Hobrow’s place on the wagon’s seat. Several of his fellows hovered in the background.

“You new ones, stay here to be given your duties,” the man said. “Those of you who know your duties, go to your places of work.”

Most of the dwarves streamed off in different directions.

“Be back here at dusk for your transport away!” he shouted after them.

Jup and four others were left. Now that he was no longer part of a crowd he felt more vulnerable. The other four moved in nearer to the custodian. Not wanting to stand out, he did the same.

“You heard the master’s words,” the custodian told them. “Make sure you heed them. We have ways of punishing those who don’t,” he added menacingly. He consulted a sheet of parchment. “We need three more on the rebuilding in Central Square. You, you and you.” He pointed to a trio of dwarves. “Follow him.”

One of the other custodians beckoned and they went off with him.

The man went on to the next item on his list. “One needed to help dig the new cesspit on the south side.”

Jup decided it would be just his luck to pull that job.

“You.”

The custodian indicated the other remaining dwarf. He didn’t look like a beam of sunshine as a guard took him off.

As the last one left, Jup began to feel uncomfortable. It crossed his mind that they
had
realised his true intentions, and that this was a trap, designed to get him alone. The custodian stared at him.

“You look strong,” he said.

“Er, yes, I suppose I am.”

“You’ll call me
sir
,” the custodian informed him cuttingly. “All humans are
sir
to your kind.”

“Yes . . . sir,” Jup corrected, doing his best to suppress the resentment he felt at having to kow-tow to an incomer.

The custodian consulted his parchment again. “Another pair of hands are wanted at the arboretum kilns.”

“The what?” Jup quickly added, “Sir.”

“The hothouse. We’re growing plants there that need warmth. Your job’s helping to feed the fires that heat —” He dismissed him with a careless wave. “It’ll all be explained.”

Jup followed the custodian he’d been assigned to. The man was silent, and the dwarf didn’t try to start a conversation.

What Jup had hoped for was a job that gave him enough freedom to slip off and spy out this place. He didn’t know if that was what he’d got. But judging by the way they took security so seriously here, he doubted it. There might not be anything to show for this day other than callused hands. And maybe a lost head.

With Jup a couple of paces to the human’s rear, they walked along one of the precise avenues, passing buildings in all major respects identical. At the road’s end they turned right into another, which exactly resembled the one they’d just left. Jup was finding all the uniformity a bit disturbing.

They turned again. This time, the walkway was distinguished by something different: the largest building Jup had seen in Trinity so far. It stood a good four or five times higher than the surrounding houses, and was built of granite slabs.

What distinguished it apart from its size was a great oval above the double oak doors. The oval, a window, was equivalent in size to two or three humans laid head to foot. More remarkable, it was filled with glass. Jup had only ever seen glass once before, at Jennesta’s palace, and knew it to be a rare and expensive material whose creation was difficult. This glass was blue-tinted, and bore at its centre a representation, uncoloured, of the Uni X motif. He assumed it was a place of worship. His escort was watching him looking at it, so he dropped his gaze and pretended indifference.