The Coming Of Wisdom (33 page)

“We assume that a swordsman of my rank qualifies as being mighty, and spurning is a mild description of what I got in Aus.”

Obviously intrigued, Tomiyano scratched his head. “How do you earn an army?” he asked warily.

He did not speak the natural continuation of the question: How did Lord Shonsu earn an army after what he had done in Aus? If that tale arrived before him, he would be refused at best and denounced at worst. If it became known after he had enlisted swordsmen, then it would detonate a mutiny. His contract with Brota had specified that he was to be given passage to the nearest city where he could recruit swordsmen, but could Shonsu ever recruit swordsmen now?

Which might be why Honakura had been suggesting that
Sapphire
’s crew might be the army in question. They had all been nimble with a sword even before Nnanji began his lessons, and his training was rapidly giving them a versatility and polish they had never had before. Nevertheless, Wallie could not believe that he was expected to fight several cities’ worth of sorcerers with a dozen or so amateurs, half of them women, and he certainly was not going to mention the idea to Tomiyano. The swordsmen and their companions might be tolerated now as a necessary evil, but
Sapphire
’s crew were not soldiers. Warfare had no appeal for them, and fire demons were certainly not in the contract.

“I don’t know how one earns an army,” Wallie said. “I am sure that the lesson part concerns the sorcerers—somehow, there must be a way to fight them. But it’s the circle part I wanted to ask you about.”

“What circle?”

‘The one we’re turning!” He chuckled at the sailor’s puzzled frown. “So far we know of four swordsmen cities to our left, on the right bank—Ki San, Dri, and Casr straight ahead there. Tau comes next, I’m told.”

“So they say.” Then the sailor pulled a face. “We’re traders, Shonsu, not explorers. Traders trade back and forth—usually between two cities, sometimes a stretch of three or four. If the Goddess does not return us to Hool, then we’ll trade here just as happily. Ki San and Dri will do fine. I admit I like the climate, though I’m told the winters are bad. We’ll study what sells and what’s needed. We weren’t even planning to go on to Tau, but I suppose we still have to find you some swordsmen. If there are none in Tau, then we’ll bring you back to Casr. Or Ki San. You’ll be on your feet by then.”

Wallie had been hoping that Tomiyano would have been more inquisitive. He ought to know more of the geography than Honakura and Katanji had been able to uncover; but obviously not, Brota had shown the same lack of interest.

“On the left bank, Captain, we know of Aus and Wal—sorcerer cities. Next comes Sen. But I know of another one ahead, further upstream.”

“What’s that?”

“Ov.”

“But . . . ” The sailor scowled. “That was where you’d come from, when we met you? That’s weeks back, Shonsu!”

To a sailor there were only two directions in the World: up and down River. Distance was measured in days. Patiently Wallie began to explain, drawing invisible maps on the hatch cover with his fingers. The River made a loop—north from Ov, then west, around or through the mountains, and then south to Aus. The Black Lands upstream from Ov were the same Black Lands that lay downstream from Aus. There was the god’s circle that must be turned.

He had worked it out during his convalescence, only to discover that his companions already knew. Honakura had seen it first, on the top of the pass, or so he claimed, when Wallie had pointed out the River ahead and had argued that it must flow south. Nnanji had probably learned it from Katanji.

Eventually logic overcame the sailor’s prejudices. He nodded.
Sapphire
was sailing up the west side of a loop. Already the mountains of RegiVul lay to the east and south, and they had been northeast of Aus. At Ov, they had lain to the northwest.

“You expect us to take you all the way around to Ov, Shonsu?” he demanded angrily.

“I have to go back to Ov, Captain, and turn the circle. Whether that means the city itself or the manor house where we started, I don’t know. Whether we travel there on
Sapphire
or not, I don’t know. But it would help if you asked some sailors in Casr. How far is it? How many cities have the sorcerers seized? The old man says he knows, but he’s just guessing.”

Seven, of course, Honakura said—it would have to be seven. Wallie had not disputed the point, because he was developing a hard respect for the priest’s superstitions.

Then boots thumped on the old polished planks, and there was Nnanji, hot and sweaty and grinning, fencing completed for the time being. Behind him, the city of Casr was drawing near. “You will be staying on board, my lord brother?” he inquired.

“I will,” Wallie said. He noted once more the subtle signs of change in Nnanji—the tiny pause that came before he spoke and after others did, the calculation hidden below the habitual joviality, the secret pride in his own competence. Wallie’s lectures on the theory of thinking and responsibility had been promptly followed by practice in white water, and no one of Nnanji’s age could have come through that without a few scars. On the surface he was still the same impractical idealist, an irrepressible rapscallion, but something deeper had been awakened now. Blind hero worship had become considered respect. Being Nnanji, he would forget nothing.

“I’ll stay, but I don’t see why you can’t do a little exploring,” Wallie said. “You could visit the garrison in Casr and talk with the reeve.”

Nnanji’s smile vanished. Evidently he had already considered the possibility. “I think that might be inadvisable,” he said softly. “They will ask if I have a mentor—who and what rank. And if the reeve hears that there is a Seventh in town, then he will certainly come to call.”

Wallie was about to suggest that Nnanji could tell lies—but of course he wouldn’t. Based on his experience with the venal Hardduju at Hann, and the Cowie incident in Ki San, Nnanji now had a strong distrust of reeves.

“You might learn something about sorcerers, though,”

“I still think it would be inadvisable . . . brother.” Nnanji was being respectful, but he was prepared to be stubborn. “You are not yet restored to health.”

Wallie sighed. “As you wish. But, Nnanji . . . that oath we swore was the oath of brotherhood.”

“Yes?”

“Not motherhood.”

Nnanji grinned and pointed a lean arm at the fo’c’sle. “Go to your room, Shonsu!”

Evidently Tomiyano was still mulling the god’s riddle. “Suppose we did sail all the way to Ov, my lord? Why Ov? What happens there?”

“Captain,” Wallie said sadly, “I’m damned if I know. Maybe I missed something?”

††

After Casr the weather broke, as if to hint that summer was aging and might die soon. In rain and fog and gloom they came to Sen. Black Sen, the sailors called it, and the name fit—black basalt walls and black slate roofs, morbid buildings over noisome narrow alleys glittering icily in the wet. Cramped against the River between two cliffs, the town had bloated upward in tenements of five or six stories, turning cramped streets into tenebrous canyons. Even the docks were black, and the sorcerers’ tower seemed no more depressing or ominous than the rest of the city. The pedestrians and the horses cowered along in the wet, hunched and dejected.

Katanji watched the arrival through the porthole in Diwa’s cabin. So far he had not been summoned to the deckhouse, where Shonsu and Nnanji would skulk while
Sapphire
was in port. It was too late now to send Nanj to get him, for the ship was already close to the dock, but they might yet send Jja.

Diwa fretted nervously at his side. He had his slave loincloth ready, and his makeup. That was a mixture of lampblack and goose grease, Matarro had said. They used it to lubricate the capstan. Matarro did not know that Katanji had purloined some, or the other use he had found for it.

Shonsu had torn him apart when he had learned that Katanji had gone ashore in Wal to talk to the slave gang under the wagon, although he had been pleased enough to get the eyewitness reports that Katanji had gathered. The port officer had fallen off the gangplank when the thunderbolt struck him. He had not been turned into smoke, as Brota had said. There had been two sorcerers waiting on the dock . . . the man had been dead or unconscious . . . they had taken his pouch and pushed him over into the River . . . 

That news had pleased Shonsu, but he had still been molten, claiming that Katanji had disobeyed orders. That had not been true. As they left Aus, he had been told not to go ashore if
Sapphire
ever returned there. Nothing had been said about other sorcerer ports. Nanj had confirmed that, quoting the big man’s exact words.

“Very well!” Shonsu had said, glaring black murder. “But in any other sorcerer port, you don’t set foot on the gangplank! You don’t even go on deck! Is that clear?”

Perfectly clear—Katanji went in and out portholes when he was being a slave, anyway. Tactfully, he had not mentioned that he had gone ashore again in Wal, the next day, and had roamed the town for hours.

And now Shonsu had asked Brota to visit Sen so he could gather wisdom. Sailors and one old priest—what could they learn? What could swordsmen discover by hiding in the deckhouse and peering out windows? Wisdom was Katanji’s business; the god had said so.

Sly, sneaky old Honakura had found out what he was up to, and he had deflected Shonsu a couple of times when the conversation had veered onto dangerous territory. But even he now said that next time must be the last time. “Then you must tell them novice. And they’ll have to stop you. But it’s worth one more try.”

The dock was coming up fast now, on this side. Had the ship turned, then he would have had to nip across to the cabin he shared with Matarro.

“Good!” Katanji said. He pulled off his breechclout and began tying on the black loincloth.

He had Diwa well trained now. She held up the mirror she borrowed from her parents’ cabin. He reached for his grease pot and spatula.

“Hold it still, wench!” he said. Her hands were trembling.

“Oh, Katanji! It’s so dangerous!”

“I’ve told you! I’m a swordsman. Danger is my business. A swordsman’s woman must be strong as well as beautiful . . . and you
are
beautiful.”

That took her mind off danger. She blushed a rich, dark shade—very rewarding—and her hands steadied. He smiled and concentrated on his makeup again. “Only the fair deserve the brave, Nanj says.”

She whimpered a little. She was a pretty thing, nicely rounded. A few more years and she’d be as disgustingly fat as her Aunt Brota, but right now she was just very cuddly.

“There!” He had done. It was nice to have a girl he could look down at. Mei was too tall for him. “I can’t kiss you now, or I’ll smudge it. But I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

She laid her cheek against his neck. “Be careful, my darling. I’ll feel terrible if anything happens to you.”

The ship bumped gently into fenders. He put his arms around her and was surprised to discover how hard it was to take them away again.

“Nothing will. Now, keep a good lookout. And get down here fast when I signal!”

He opened the porthole a crack. The lines had been tied. There was a pile of bales just in front . . . perfect. He opened the flap wider and slithered out onto the cold, wet dock.

The crowds were thin because of the rain, but people were walking with their heads down, not looking around, and that suited Katanji very well. He kept his head down, also, walking with a slave’s listless shuffle. It was good to get out of his boots; he shucked them whenever Nanj was not looking, but rarely got away with it for long. The wisp of loincloth was lots more comfortable than that kilt. He felt like a kid again, running around with the sun shining on his butt, not having to strut about with his head up, being a swordsman. He still could not think of himself as a swordsman, no matter how much Nanj shouted at him.

He headed up one of the narrow streets. It was gloomy enough that no one could possibly see anything wrong with his slave stripe. This would be the last time, and he must make it pay, gathering lots of wisdom.

He chuckled at the thought of Nanj. His ponytail would stand straight up, and he’d scream like Aunt Gruza. Shonsu would roar, but in secret he would approve. Yet he would not overrule Nanj in a thing like this. The big man liked to learn things—so did Katanji, and there were not many people like that around. Well, today he would find out plenty to add to what he had learned in Wal. Then the two of them would sit down together, and he’d give Shonsu all the wisdom, and Shonsu would shake his head admiringly and say, “Well done, novice,” in that deep growl of his. Then even Nanj could not scream too much.

He caught a glimpse of the tower down another alley and turned that way.

Then he reached the square and ducked into a doorway to take a look. Just like Wal and Aus—the bag-heads had pulled down buildings to make their tower and leave an empty space around it. This was as close as he had gone at Aus, but in Wal he had walked right by the tower and picked up some of that swordsman intelligence that the sutras listed. He could do that now, but this tower looked exactly like the others. He could see a big raised door for unloading wagons, so there would be another, smaller door on the far side. No windows for at least three spans above the ground, then there were thirteen layers of windows in all. The stairs they would have to climb! But exactly alike. Sorcerers must have a sutra for building towers.

He walked across the square, counting his paces to the tower and alongside the tower and past the tower. Then he worked his way round the streets to come out another alley and did the same thing in the other direction. Square tower, twenty-two paces each side, as he had expected. The doors were the same—heavy wood with bronze scrollwork on them, bronze feather shapes. And again there was a pit in front of each door with a bronze grating over it.

Why? The pit was shallow, and the gratings did not look hinged, so they were not traps.

A lot of bronze: expensive! Birds, too. There had been birds round the other towers, strutting about on the ground and fluttering clumsily out of his way as he passed. Something to do with feather facemarks? He was standing on a corner, wondering what to do next, when the small door opened and a sorcerer of the Second came out with a basket and started throwing something on the ground. The birds all gathered around, so it must be food.