The Coming Of Wisdom (23 page)

This time Wallie laughed, in spite of the tension building around the deck. “What else did she tell you, then, after you had complimented her on her excellent perry?”

Gathering confidence, Katanji said; “Her father was killed by the sorcerers, my lord, so I didn’t think she would betray me, although she noticed my facemark. They didn’t use fire demons here. The garrison was hosting their annual banquet and the sorcerers came. They sent in a challenge.”

“And the swordsmen would all be two-thirds drunk—or four-thirds. What happened?”

“They all ran out the front door, waving their swords and . . . and shouting, my lord. She said the sorcerers slew them by calling down thunderbolts.”

“Thunderbolts?” That was new.

“A flash of lightning,” Katanji said solemnly, “and a clap of thunder. As each one came out, he was struck down. It wasn’t like Ov. They weren’t torn to pieces or chewed, my lord. Almost no marks on the bodies at all, she said. A few burns, but almost no blood.”

And from another wisdom gain
 . . . “Go on!” Wallie said.

“Then the sorcerers ordered everyone out, checking for survivors hiding among the guests, she said. They found a couple trying to climb out a back window and they killed them, too. Then the sorcerers burned down the hall to make sure. Eighteen died, the whole garrison. And she thought about another dozen had come to town since and been killed, at various times, my lord.”

“Very well done!” Wallie said. “Nnanji, I think you should overlook the matter of going ashore without permission.”

Nnanji nodded, grinning proudly.

Katanji looked relieved. “The sorcerers have driven out the dyers.”

“They’ve done
what
?”

“All the dyers have left town. The woman did not know why, but it has raised the price of textiles, and clothes.” He glanced over at the crew. “And leather . . . I thought the sailors might be interested.”

Nnanji growled. “Never mind that! What else that matters?”

“That’s about all . . . Oh, my lord? The next city up is Ki San, and there are no sorcerers there. But the next one on this side is Wal, and there are. Are sorcerers, I mean. She didn’t know about any other towns, not even Ov.”

The People did not travel much, except for traders and sailors and minstrels. There were no newspapers or TV stations.

“You have done very well, novice! That is excellent information. And you uncovered all that in very little time.”

Katanji flushed, obviously very pleased with himself and enjoying the praise. “I didn’t have time to talk with anyone else, my lord.”

“Nnanji, you will instruct your protégé in sutras seven seventy-two, seven eighty-three, and seven ninety.”

Nnanji nodded—those dealt with military intelligence and espionage. “And eight hundred and four, my lord brother!” He grinned briefly—cats.

“However,” Wallie said, “that facemark of yours will heal properly in a few days, novice. I don’t suppose that we shall be sailing back into Aus again, but if we do, you will not try that same trick again, is that clear?”

“Of course, my lord,” Katanji said, not quite humbly enough to stop Nnanji scowling at him suspiciously. Then he was distracted. The shapely Thana had come out of the fo’c’sle door and been greeted by broad grins. Was this what the sailors had been waiting for? She was not wearing her sword. There were no weapons in sight except for the captain’s dagger.

“So?” Honakura remarked. “You think that now the mighty has been spurned and you have gathered wisdom from another? What about earning armies and turning circles?”

Wallie glared at him. “You tell me!”

“It is your riddle, my lord.”

“Yes, but you’ve seen something, haven’t you?”

“I think so.” The old man leered. “It was something you said yourself, my lord, but it seems so obvious that I hesitate to—”

“Trouble!” Nnanji said.

Thana was holding two foils and two fencing masks and she was heading aft, toward the swordsmen.

“Adept Nnanji?” She stopped alongside the mainmast, slim and ravishing and still clad in only the two skimpy strips of yellow cotton. She smiled endearingly. “You promised me a fencing lesson?”

Nnanji gulped audibly. “How can I fight facing that?” he whispered.

Wallie had other worries. “It’s some sort of trap. For gods’ sakes, check her foil before you start.” That notion did not come from the sutras or from Shonsu’s swordsman instincts—Shonsu would never have thought of that sort of treachery. Shonsu had never seen
Hamlet
, Act V.

Nnanji shot him a look of incredulity. “And anyway there isn’t room to draw, let alone fence!” He glanced up at the more open area of the poop deck. That would still be small.

Wallie shook his head. “See how short those foils are? And this is where the fight would be if pirates boarded, so it makes sense to practice here.”

The largest clear space on
Sapphire
’s main deck was before the mainmast, where Thana was standing, but it was minuscule by a landlubber’s standards, cramped between the dinghies and the forward hatch. The crew were spread all around it, waiting with unconcealed glee.

“Delighted, Apprentice Thana.” Nnanji did not sound convincing.

“Let me hold your sword,” Wallie said, thinking of all those overhead ropes. “And don’t underestimate her!”

Again Nnanji registered disbelief—he might be suspicious of trouble, but he obviously did not doubt his ability to outfence a female Second. Wallie was not so sure. The swordsmen sported very long swords, as long as a man could possibly manage with one hand, and they were fond of flamboyant leapings and swashbuckling strokes that would certainly not work on shipboard.

Nnanji glanced overhead, drew his sword carefully, and handed it to Wallie. He paced over to inspect the foils Thana was offering. Frowning, almost as if she had guessed Wallie’s warning, she held out both and let him choose. He obviously liked neither, but he took one and tried a few swings with it. Then he stepped to the center of the cramped space and turned to face her. They donned their masks.

“Best of seven, adept?”

Nnanji lowered his foil. “I thought this was a lesson, apprentice?”

“Of course, adept. Foolish of me.” She guarded at quarte.

“Try that a little higher,” Nnanji’s mask said. “Better. Now?”

Thana lunged, Nnanji recovered and fell flat on his back on the hatch cover. Thana shouted, “One!” The crew howled.

He lasted a fraction longer on the next passage, standing his ground as well as he could while the blades whirled. But then he started to recover again and either he was uncertain what was behind him, or the effort of remembering spoiled his concentration. A cut to the head connected. “Two!”

He had overlooked the possibility of jumping up on the hatch cover, which would have given him more room, but then Nnanji had never seen pirate movies. On the third pass he attacked furiously and managed to gain ground. Thana recovered easily, backing away between the mast and the stays. It was fast and devilish close-in work, quite unlike the style Nnanji was used to. He caught his foil in the shrouds, and Thana jabbed him in the ribs. “Three!”

The crew was screaming like an aviary of parrots. Wallie was clenching his teeth and cursing through them at the same time. If Thana was a Second then the water rats judged rank much harder than landlubbers, but he was impressed with the swordsmanship being displayed and thinking that he wouldn’t mind some of that close-in practice for himself.

The ship rolled . . . 

“Four!” Thana yelled triumphantly. She pulled off her mask and capered about, taking bows and being loudly cheered.

Scarlet-faced, Nnanji slunk back to his friends like a whipped dog, still holding his foil and his kilt, and mask. He had been gone about three minutes. Avoiding his mentor’s eye, he leaned forward against the rail as if he were about to double over and throw up.

The unwelcome guests had been shamed at their own game. After the fun would come the business.

Tomiyano sauntered across, jumped up on the aft hatch cover, and put fists on hips. Three sailors slipped by behind him to stand opposite the visitors—close to fire buckets.

“We’re going to put you off at the first jetty, Shonsu. You can walk from there.”

Nnanji straightened and turned around.

The ship had crossed the River and was skirting the bank at a safe distance. Wallie saw farms. There would be jetties. “I remind you, Captain,” he said with faked calm, “that I paid our fare to the first port at which I can enlist a band of swordsmen.”

The sailor sneered lopsidedly. “Who would serve under you, Shonsu? The first swordsmen you meet will put you on trial for cowardice. The contract can never be fulfilled. You’re going ashore, and good riddance!”

To call a swordsman a coward must lead to blood as surely as lightning led to thunder. Tomiyano might be seeking to provoke a fight so he could kill the passengers, gaining the seventh sword and whatever else of value they possessed. The absence of the children was ominous. However, the adolescents like Matarro were present, so probably bloodshed was not the main intention. But it was certainly being offered as an option.

It was not an option Wallie could accept. Nnanji had just been shown up as useless under shipboard conditions, and even Shonsu could not prevail against a blizzard of flying knives.

Nor, even if his pride would allow it, could he appeal to Brota, for she had been informed in advance and so must have agreed. He could acquiesce and go ashore, relying on the Goddess to prevent the ship from leaving, but obviously the sailors were no longer worried about divine intervention, and Wallie thought they were probably right. He must not demand more help from that quarter. He had been given
Sapphire
as a man might be given a cantankerous steed, and it was up to him to ride her. In epics, heroes never fell off.

To go ashore meekly now would be to resign his commission—he felt certain of that. It might be another test, or the start of punishment. But there was absolutely no satisfactory way out.

And Nnanji was waiting to see what he would do.
Be a swordsman now
!

Wallie still held Nnanji’s sword. “Catch!” he shouted and threw it, hilt first. Tomiyano caught it like a circus juggler. The other sailors reached hands down to the buckets and then froze.

“What the hell?” the captain demanded furiously.

Wallie took the foil and mask from Nnanji’s nerveless hands, ignoring his startled stare.

Again he shouted, “Catch!” He threw the mask.

Tomiyano dodged. It struck the shrouds, fell, and clattered away across the deck.

“What the demons are you doing?” he roared.

“As you please.” Wallie walked forward to the edge of the hatch. “Sailor Tomiyano, I, Shonsu, swordsman of the seventh rank, do hereby empower you as a posse for the purpose of resisting a passenger, armed with a foil.”

“What? You’re crazy!”

“We’ll see.”

“What are you playing at?”

Wallie sprang up on the hatch cover. “Sailor, you are an insolent dog. You are about to be whipped. Guard!”

He leaned forward and struck with the foil. Tomiyano parried and instinctively riposted. Wallie parried that and lunged. In the background, Nnanji’s voice said, “
Devilspit
!”

Clang-clang-clang
 . . . For a few moments Wallie summed him up. He was fast and he had some very good routines. Much better than Thana. About a Sixth, maybe? Then Wallie got down to business. He smashed the foil across the sailor’s chest, raising a red welt. The captain swore, lunged, was parried. On Wallie’s riposte, the foil button ripped a strip across the sailor’s ribs. Then Wallie deliberately bloodied his nose; it was dangerous to strike so close to his eyes, but it would hurt. The torrent of blood was very satisfying.

Recovering before the onslaught, Tomiyano jumped down backward from the hatch cover. Wallie followed and drove him in fast reverse around his own deck, thrashing and cudgeling without mercy.

And why had he embarked on this insanity? Not just to impress Nnanji. Nor the sailors. He was signaling to the gods:
Here is my flesh, and there is a sword. If my life is forfeit, take it. If sentence has been passed, then carry it out
.

Foil against sword was an impossible handicap. Tomiyano could take risks that Wallie could not, for all he would suffer was another welt, while Wallie’s first miscalculation would be his last. He must also hit hard, while Tomiyano was wielding Nnanji’s sword, and none could ever be better sharpened—it would cut flesh as easily as air; a touch could be fatal.

Yet Wallie had two advantages. It was astonishing how much Shonsu’s muscles could accelerate that foil within a few inches of movement, how hard he could hit with it. And, although the captain was astonishingly good, Shonsu was the best in the World.

There was no contest. It was a massacre.

And the crew could do nothing. Their captain was in no real danger. They could hardly intervene unless he called for help. And Tomiyano would not call for help when the odds were so much in his favor—Wallie had judged his man correctly.

There was no sound but the rasping of breath, the strident clamor of metal, and the steady pounding of Wallie’s boots as he stamped, left foot following right. Horrified sailors scrambled clear as the butchery came their way. He had done this before—Shonsu knew how to fight on a ship’s deck. His style of fighting had changed completely. Neither the clutter nor the moving deck impeded him at all.

Foil and sword whirled in noisy silver fog. Tomiyano back-stepped almost as fast as he could go, parrying as well as he could, never connecting. Wallie followed relentlessly, knocking the man’s offense aside as if he were a paralytic, shredding his defense like paper. Soon both men were gasping and sweating, but the captain was also pouring blood. His back and chest and ribs were battered and skinned, as if he had been flogged.

“That’ll do!” Wallie panted. “Throw down the sword.”

But the fight went on.

Tomiyano was a proud man. He would not quit. He would not call for help. He had tried everything he knew and been thrashed in spite of it, and still he would not quit.