The Coming Of Wisdom (20 page)

The scruffy old hawker recoiled in shock, and at once Wallie wished he could bite back his words, for that was a swordsman’s blessing. The hawker was frowning—an athletic young man with long hair . . . 

Wallie grinned. “As they say.”

The hawker’s eye flickered over Wallie’s shoulder, to about the spot where the sorcerers might have reached. “Not any more,” he whispered. “Not here.” Then he shouted, “Be off with you!”

Wallie glanced round and the sorcerers had passed. He set off again through the crowd, chewing on his snack. He passed a ship unloading baskets of vegetables, another loading tiles. Then be stopped in surprise, causing a man behind to bump into him and curse. Just ahead was a large, two-horse wagon, parked by a small ship. Sacks from the wagon were being carried up the plank by a gang of youths, and the plank squeaked loudly with every step. Beyond it the dock was heaped with goods—mostly long rolls of cloth, with a few anonymous bales and bundles. In front of the plank, closer to Wallie, the rest of the ship’s cargo had been spread out all over the ground, from ship to wagon: boxes and jars, but mainly copper and brass pots, shining bright in the sunshine.

What had caught Wallie’s eye among this clutter were two large, snakelike copper coils. Studying the collection of pots, he identified a couple that were as big as garbage cans and had lids and narrow spouts at the top. Hypothesis: the coils fitted on top of the pots. That meant distillation.

Wine, yes; beer, yes; but he knew of no words for brandy or moonshine or spirits or alcohol. Was this sorcery? Excited by his discovery, he headed toward the ship.

And there was Tomiyano, talking to a sailor. He saw Wallie at the same moment as Wallie saw him, and his face blazed with rage. He broke off his conversation and strode over.

“What in hell are you doing, Shonsu?” he demanded in a low and furious voice.

“Snooping,” Wallie said. “I am a Nameless One, though. Only swordsmen may search me.”

The captain was not amused. “There’s enough under that headband to kill you seven times over. You’re endangering my ship!”

Perhaps he was, but Wallie smiled innocently. “No I’m not. Your ship is safer with me ashore. Now tell me, see those copper snakes? What are they, and what are they for?”

Tomiyano looked around reluctantly. “I’ve no idea,” he said. “Come over here, out of sight.”

He returned to the bottom of the plank, and Wallie followed, safely hidden from general view by the high-piled wagon. The gang of grubby adolescents and young men continued bearing sacks on board, many of them trailing a trickle of yellow dust behind them, while a blowsy woman leaned over the rail and counted on an abacus. The older sailor wore a captain’s dagger and he was pulling sacks down from the wagon for his workers. The ship’s hull was shabby and badly in need of paint. It was a mean and dirty parody of the family ship that Wallie had left.

The captain was overweight, gray-haired, and looked both stupid and lazy, compared to the sinewy Tomiyano as their respective ships compared. He eyed Wallie suspiciously, but greeted Tomiyano’s return as an opportunity to break off work once more and continue their chat. When the next adolescent came for a sack, Wallie hauled one down and loaded it on his back. Then he did the same for the others; that would keep the captain talking.

Wallie eavesdropped. Down from Aus were shoals, said the sailor, and beyond those the Black Lands—no cities and no people for two weeks’ sailing. Captain Tomiyano should head up. Next city was Ki San, big and rich. No sorcerers there. Things had been slack in Aus ever since the sorcerers came. Ki San would pay more for luxury stuff like sandal wood. A big copper and brass city, Ki San. That was a natural opening for Tomiyano to ask about the coils—and the sailor closed like a constipated clam, an obstinate oyster. Coils he would not discuss.

Now Tomiyano’s curiosity was aroused, also, and he went over to examine the mysteries. Wallie joined him. The tubing was made from soldered copper sheeting, but it was skillfully wrought, and when Wallie picked one up he had no trouble in attaching it to one of the two big pots. The lids were tight-fitting, and both pots were empty, but they could only be intended for distillation. The old sailor was nervous and trying to change the subject, although in answer to a direct question he admitted that the goods were headed for the tower. Tomiyano, obviously intrigued now and being helpful to his silent companion, offered to buy one and was emphatically turned down.

“What would a sailor want with those?” asked a high-pitched voice behind them.

Wallie spun around and found himself facing two sorcerers.

One of them was holding a silver fife.

Both were strangely bulky in their cumbersome garments. The taller was a man of about forty, wearing a Fourth’s orange. A thin, suspicious face showed from under his hood, and his arms were folded inside his sleeves.

The other was in brown and had three feather marks. He was plumper and younger. His lips were curled in an arrogant sneer, close to the mouthpiece of that slim silver tube. Three notes on one of those had been enough to kill Random.

The remark had been addressed to Tomiyano, but both sorcerers were looking at Wallie.

Trickles of sweat ran cold on his ribs; he was trapped. On one side was the wagon and on the other the ship, with the sorcerers blocking the exit toward
Sapphire
. Behind him the way was obstructed by the litter of trade goods and the gangplank and the mountain of rolled cloth. He could think of at least three sutras that should have warned him, quite apart from common sense. Nnanji’s honor, Brota’s practicality, Jja’s love—he had spurned them all and now must pay for his folly.

Worst of all, he did not know what dangers he faced. Could a man outrun a spell? Even if he were facing only knives or swords, he would have little hope of escaping by dodging and taking to his heels, although the sorcerers’ gowns would impede them if it came to a chase. If all they had to do was blow into that fife, or they could chant some words to turn him into a charred corpse . . . 

“Just curious, adept,” Tomiyano said in a voice unusually humble. “We hadn’t seen anything like them before.”

“Curiosity is dangerous, sailor,” the Fourth replied, without looking at him, “especially for swordsmen of the seventh rank. Would you not agree now . . . Wallie?”

††††††

Impossible! Jja knew that name, and Honakura, and Nnanji. No one else in the World. Even had one of them been captured, there had been no time to extract information, by torture or . . . or by any means that Wallie could imagine.

Jja had spoken his name at the top of the gangplank. There had been no one within earshot. Not even Brota could possibly have heard that. It had to be invisibility. Or telepathy.

But if the sorcerers had either of those abilities, then they were unbeatable.

“Oh, you do look worried!” The sorcerer smirked. “And you told Jja that you would trust in the Goddess?”

No one
could have overheard that.

Wallie knew he had gone pale and he was struggling desperately to keep himself from trembling. Fear, yes. Fear of the unknown, more so. But mostly fury at his own utter brainlessness. Idiot!

“Move!” the Fourth snapped. “Move over there!” He nodded toward the plank.

The ship’s captain was perhaps not as stupid as he seemed—he had fled up to the safety of his deck. Work had stopped.

Wallie hesitated, then shrugged and turned. He picked his way through the pots, halting when he reached the plank to look back at the sorcerer.

“The other side—against the ship!” the Fourth commanded in his squeaky voice.

Obediently Wallie moved to the edge of the dock and ducked under the plank.

The sorcerer nodded in satisfaction. “I don’t like the smell of swordsmen.” His laugh was as shrill as his voice.

The junior sorcerer grinned. ‘Take off that headband!” he ordered. He had folded his arms like his superior, and the flute had disappeared. Was that perhaps a short-range magic?

Wallie shook his head and spoke for the first time. “I am a Nameless One, serving the Goddess.” His voice sounded steadier than he had expected.

“You are a swordsman of the seventh rank! And here we honor the Fire God. Take off that rag and tie your hair back.”

Wallie obeyed in silence.

Why did both sorcerers now have their hands hidden inside their voluminous sleeves? They seemed to be holding something in there, either a weapon or some sort of magical charm, Wallie assumed. A knife would be bad enough, and he had no idea how to fight magic. Their eyes were cold in the shadow of their cowls, but they seemed more relaxed, now that their captive was farther away. Could that mean that their spells would take time to operate, and they needed distance between them and their victims? If so, then Wallie had already been outsmarted, for now he was even more hemmed in than before, by the drop to the water on one side, the rolls of cloth behind him, and the chest-high plank in front.

He glanced down. The fenders and the curve of the bow left a gap between the dock and the peeling wood of the ship. There was room enough to jump there, into the deceptively innocent water. On Earth he would not have hesitated, but here even in harbor the water was free of floating litter except for a few fragments of wood. He could no longer trust to the gods to recognize his ignorance and save him from the piranha. He had been warned—miracles were never performed upon demand. That way of escape was closed.

“Jump if you wish,” mocked the senior sorcerer. “It will save me a spell and save the trouble of pushing you over afterward.”

“I’ll wait,” Wallie replied, as calmly as he could manage.

The sorcerer sneered at him triumphantly. Then he spoke to his companion without taking his eyes off the swordsman. “We should deal with the sailor accomplice first.”

“Leave him out of this!” Wallie shouted. “He never met me before today. I took his ship at sword point.”

“He tells fibs, swordsman. The usual penalty for perjury is a mouthful of hot coals.”

“He had no choice, adept! I was listening, in the deckhouse, with my sword at his sister’s throat.”

The Fourth hesitated. “I think you are lying, swordsman. But we shall be merciful. Show him what we use the kettles for, since he is so curious.”

The Third moved toward Tomiyano, gliding through the copperware pots like a ghost, seeming not to touch the ground. He went very close, peering into the captain’s eyes, causing him to step back warily, hard against the copper stills.

“So you want to know our business, do you?” The sorcerer sounded amused. He seemed the more confident of the two, and therefore by comparison the older sorcerer was not confident. That must mean there was hope—but where, and how?

Wallie could not see Tomiyano’s face, only his back, but he could hear the anger in his voice: “I apologize. I did not know they belonged to you.”

There was devilry brewing; the sorcerer’s voice was mocking. “Well, pick one up, and I will show you.”

“No,” Tomiyano snapped.

The sorcerer snapped also: “Pick it up!”

The sailor put his hands on his hips. “No!”

The sorcerer muttered something and waved a hand before the captain’s face. Tomiyano recoiled angrily; then he screamed and clutched at his cheek. He doubled over, cursing and stamping his feet.

Wallie clenched his fists and glanced at the Fourth. He was still watching the swordsman, apparently enjoying his impotent rage and fear.

Furiously Tomiyano straightened and grabbed for his knife.

It had vanished. The shock seemed to sober him; he turned a fear-filled face toward Wallie. He was pale with pain and there was a hideous burn at the side of his mouth. He was shaking his left hand as if the fingers hurt, also.

“Swordsmen cut off ears when people annoy them,” the Third said. “We are not so barbarous, but we like to remember those who transgress. That will warn any of my brethren who meet you in future that you are not to be trusted. Now, Captain Tomiyano, pick up that kettle!”

A crowd was gathering at a respectful distance behind the sorcerers, and the sailors were watching from above. Tomiyano shot Wallie a glance of fury. He knelt and wrapped his arms around the big pot. It was not heavy, and he straightened up, turning again to face his tormentor.

“We use them, Captain, to breed birds in,” said the Third. “You don’t believe me? Look!”

He reached out and pulled off the lid. With a loud flutter, a white bird flew up into Tomiyano’s face. Startled, he stepped back, tripped over a cauldron, and crashed to the ground in a clamorous rattle of metal and bouncing pots. The two sorcerers laughed heartily, and after a moment there was laughter from the sailor audience on the ship and also from the steadily growing crowd at the end of the wagon. Tomiyano rose shakily, while the bird circled away into the sky.

The junior sorcerer turned and floated back to the side of his superior, and they both looked across at Wallie.

“Now it is your turn, swordsman,” the Fourth said in his high voice. Wallie’s heart was racing, and he was wondering how long a spell took and how fast he could jump. He should have done it while the other was busy tormenting the sailor.

There was a pause, an agonizingly long pause, while sorcerers stared at swordsman, and swordsman stared back. Wallie kept his breathing slow and tried not to tense his muscles, but he was soon wishing that they would get on with whatever they planned.

“You were astonishingly stupid, Wallie,” said the Fourth. “Even for a swordsman, you were very stupid.”

“I don’t dispute that,” Wallie said. What was going on here?

The Fourth nodded faintly inside his cowl. “This is a very humble swordsman, Sorcerer Resalipi.”

Studying the shadowed face, Wallie thought he saw beads of sweat on it—the man did not want to kill. Perhaps if Wallie were to attack them, he could do it; but killing in cold blood is not to everyone’s taste. Wallie knew.

The brown hood turned toward the orange and whispered something inaudible. Was the Third offering to perform the execution?

“No, Resalipi,” the Fourth said, “I think a humble swordsman could be instructive. I give you a choice, Lord Wallie. You can die now, or you can crawl back to your ship on your belly, as a demonstration of your humility.”