Planet of Adventure Omnibus (28 page)

The group
took up their meager luggage, alighted and left the raft where it had landed.

At the edge
of the compound Anacho made inquiries of a dung merchant and received
directions to the Grand Continental, the best of the town’s hostelries.

Coad was a
busy town. Along the crooked streets, in and out of the ale-colored sunlight,
moved men and women of many casts and colors: Yellow Islanders and Black Islanders,
Horasin bark-merchants muffled in gray robes; Caucasoids such as Traz from the
Aman Steppe; Dirdirmen and Dirdirmen hybrids; dwarfish Sieps from the eastern
slopes of the Ozanalai who played music in the streets; a few flat-faced white
men from the far south of Kislovan. The natives, or Tans, were an affable fox
faced people, with wide polished cheekbones, pointed chins, russet or dark
brown hair cut in a ledge across the ears and foreheads. Their usual garments
were knee-length breeches, embroidered vest, a round black pie-plate hat.
Palanquins were numerous, carried by short gnarled men with oddly long noses
and stringy black hair: apparently a race to themselves; Reith saw them in no
other occupation. Later he learned them to be natives of Grenie at the head of
the Dwan Zher.

On a balcony
Reith thought he glimpsed a Dirdir, but he could not be certain. Once Traz
grabbed his elbow and pointed to a pair of thin men in loose black trousers,
black capes with tall collars all but enveloping their faces, soft cylindrical
black hats with wide brims: caricatures of mystery and intrigue. “Pnumekin!”
hissed Traz in a something between shock and outrage. “Look at them! They walk
among other men without a look aside, and their minds full of strange thinking!”

They arrived
at the hostelry, a rambling edifice of three stories, with a cafe on the front
veranda, a restaurant in a great tall covered arbor to the rear and balconies
overlooking the street. A clerk at a wicket took their money, distributed
fanciful keys of black iron as large as their hands and instructed them to
their rooms.

“We have
traveled a great dusty distance,” said Anacho. “We require baths, with good
quality unguents, fresh linen, and then we will dine.”

“It shall be
as you order.”

An hour later,
clean and refreshed, the four met in the downstairs lobby. Here they were
accosted by a black-haired blackeyed man with a pinched melancholy face. He
spoke in a gentle voice. “You are newly arrived at Coad?”

Anacho,
instantly suspicious, drew himself back. “Not altogether. We are well-known and
have no needs.”

“I represent
the Slave-taker’s Guild, and this is my fair appraisal of your group. The girl
is valuable, the boy less so. Dirdirmen are generally considered worthless
except in clerical or administrative servitude, for which we have no demand.
You would be rated a winkle-gatherer or a nut-huller, of no great value. This
man, whatever he is, appears capable of toil, and would sell for the standard
rate. Considering all, your insurance will be ten sequins a week.”

“Insurance
against what?” demanded Reith.

“Against
being taken and sold,” murmured the agent. “There is a heavy demand for
competent workers. But for ten sequins a week,” he declared triumphantly, “you
may walk the streets of Coad night and day, secure as though the demon Harasthy
rode your shoulders! Should you be sequestered by an unauthorized dealer the
Guild will instantly order your free release.”

Reith stood
back, half-amused, half-disgusted. Anacho spoke in his most nasal voice: “Show
me your credentials.”

“ ‘Credentials’?”
asked the man, his chin sagging.

“Show us a
document, a blazon, a patent. What? You have none? Do you take us for fools? Be
off with you!”

The man
walked somberly away. Reith asked, “Was he in truth a fraud?”

“One never
knows, but the line must be drawn somewhere. Let us eat; I have a good appetite
after weeks of steamed pulses and pilgrim plant.”

They took
seats in the dining room: actually a vast airy arbor with a glass ceiling
admitting a pale ivory light. Black vines climbed the walls; in the corners
were purple and pale-blue ferns. The day was mild; the end of the room opened
to a view of the Dwan Zher and a wind curled bank of cumulus at the horizon.

The room was
half-full; perhaps two dozen people dined from platters and bowls of black wood
and red earthenware, talking in low voices, watching the folk at other tables
with covert curiosity. Traz looked uneasily here and there, eyebrows raised in
disapproval of so much luxury: undoubtedly his first encounter with what must
seem a set of faddish and overcomplicated niceties, reflected Reith.

He noticed
Ylin-Ylan staring across the room, as if astonished by what she saw. Almost
immediately she averted her eyes, as if uncomfortable or embarrassed. Reith
followed her gaze, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He thought better of
inquiring the cause of her perturbation, not wishing to risk a cool stare. And
Reith grinned uncomfortably. What a situation: almost as if she were
cultivating an active dislike for him! Perfectly comprehensible, of course, if
Anacho’s explanations were correct. His puzzlement regarding the girl’s
agitation was now resolved by the sardonic Dirdirman.

“Observe the
fellow at the far table,” murmured Anacho. “He in the green and purple coat.”

Turning his
head, Reith saw a handsome young bravo with carefully arranged hair and a rich
mustache of a startling gold. He wore elegant garments, somewhat rumpled and
well-used: a jacket of soft leather strips, dyed alternately green and purple,
breeches of pleated yellow cloth, buckled at knee and ankle with brooches in
the shape of fantastic insects. A square cap of soft fur, fringed with two-inch
pendants of gold beads, slanted across his head; an extravagant garde-nez of
gold filigree clung to the ridge of his nose. Anacho muttered, “Watch him now.
He will notice us, he will see the girl.”

“But who is
he?”

Anacho gave
his fingertips an irritated twitch. “His name? I do not know. His status: high,
in his own opinion at least. He is a Yao cavalier.”

Reith turned
his attention to Ylin-Ylan, who watched the young man from the corner of her
eye. Miraculous how her mood had altered! She had become alive and aware,
though obviously twitching with nervousness and uncertainty. She flicked a
glance toward Reith, and flushed to find his eyes on her. Bending her head she
busied herself with the appetizers: dishes of gray grapes, biscuits, smoked
sea-insects, pickled fern-pod. Reith watched the cavalier, who was
unenthusiastically dining upon a black seed-bun and a dish of pickles, his gaze
off across the sea. He gave a sad shrug, as if discouraged by his thoughts, and
shifted his position. He saw the Flower of Cath, who feigned the most artless
absorption in her food. The cavalier leaned forward in astonishment. He jumped to
his feet with such exuberance as nearly to overturn the table. In three long
strides he was across the room and down on one knee with a sweeping salute
which brushed his cap across Traz’s face. “Blue Jade Princess! Your servant
Dordolio. My goals are won.”

The Flower
bowed her head with an exact modicum of restraint and pleased surprise. Reith
admired her aplomb. “Pleasant,” she murmured, “in a far land to chance upon a
cavalier of Cath.”

“‘Chance’ is
not the word! I am one of a dozen who went forth to seek you, to win the boon
proclaimed by your father and for the honor of both our palaces. By the wattles
of the Pnume’s First Devil, it has been given to me to find you!”

Anacho spoke
in his blandest voice. “You have searched extensively, then?”

Dordolio stood
erect, made a cursory inspection of Anacho, Reith, and Traz, and performed
three precise nods. The Flower made a gay little motion, as if the three were
casual companions at a picnic. “My loyal henchmen; all have been of
incalculable help to me. But for them I doubt if I would be alive.”

“In that
case,” declared the cavalier, “they may ever rely upon the patronage of
Dordolio, Gold, and Carnelian. They shall use my fieldname Alutrin Stargold.”
He performed a salute which included all three, then snapped his finger at the
serving woman. “A chair, if you please. I will dine at this table.”

The serving
woman somewhat unceremoniously pushed a chair into place; Dordolio seated
himself and gave his attention to the Flower. “But what of your adventures? I
assume them to be harrowing. Still you appear as fresh as ever-decidedly
unharrowed.”

The Flower
laughed. “In these steppe-dweller’s garments? I have not yet been able to
change. I must buy dozens of sheer necessities before I dare let you look at
me.”

Dordolio,
glancing at her gray garments, made a negligent gesture. “I had noticed
nothing. You are as ever. But, if you wish, we will shop together; the bazaars
of Coad are fascinating.”

“Of course!
Tell me of yourself. My father issued a behest, you say?”

“He did
indeed, and swore a boon. The most gallant responded. We followed your trail to
Spang where we learned who had taken you: Priestesses of the Female Mystery.
Many gave you up for lost, but not I. My perseverance has been rewarded! In
triumph we will return to Settra!”

Ylin-Ylan
turned a somewhat cryptic smile toward Reith. “I am of course anxious to return
home. What luck to find you here in Coad!”

“Remarkable
luck,” said Reith dryly. “We arrived only an hour ago from Pera.”

“Pera? I do
not know the place.”

“It lies at
the far west of the Dead Steppe.”

Dordolio gave
an opaque stare, then once more he addressed himself to the Flower. “What
hardships you must have suffered! But now you walk under the aegis of Dordolio!
We return at once to Settra.”

The meal proceeded,
Dordolio and Ylin-Ylan conversing with great vivacity. Traz, preoccupied with
the unfamiliar table implements, turned them dour glances, as if he suspected
their ridicule. Anacho paid them no heed; Reith ate in silence. Finally
Dordolio sat back in his chair. “Now, as to the practicalities: the packet
Yazilissa
is at mooring, and shortly departs for Vervodei. A melancholy task to take
leave of your comrades, good fellows all, I’m sure, but we must arrange our
passage home.”

Reith spoke
in an even voice. “All of us, so it happens, are bound for Cath.”

Dordolio
presented his blank questioning stare, as if Reith spoke an incomprehensible
language.

He rose,
helped Ylin-Ylan to her feet; the two went to saunter on the terrace beyond the
arbour. The serving woman brought the score. “Five sequins, if you please, for
five meals.”

“Five?”

“The Yao ate
at your table.”

Reith paid
over five sequins from his wallet. Anacho watched in amusement. “The Yao’s
presence is actually an advantage; you will avoid attention upon your arrival
at Settra.”

“Perhaps,”
said Reith. “On the other hand, I had hoped for the gratitude of the girl’s
father. I need all the friends I can find.”

“Events
sometimes display a vitality of their own,” observed Anacho. “The Dirdir
teleologists have interesting remarks to make on the subject. I recall an
analysis of coincidences-this, incidentally, not by a Dirdir but by a Dirdirman
Immaculate...” As Anacho spoke on, Traz went out on the terrace to survey the
roofs of Coad; Dordolio and Ylin-Ylan walked slowly past, ignoring his
presence. Seething with indignation Traz returned to Reith and Anacho. “The Yao
dandy urges her to dismiss us. She refers to us as nomads-rude but honest and
dependable.”

“No matter,”
said Reith. “Her destiny is not ours.”

“But you have
practically made it so! We might have remained in Pera, or taken ourselves to
the Fortunate Isles; instead-” He threw up his arms in disgust.

“Events are
not occurring as I expected,” Reith admitted. “Still, who knows? It may be for
the best. Anacho thinks so, at any rate. Would you please ask her to step over
here?”

Traz went off
on his errand, to return at once. “She and the Yao are off to buy what they
call suitable garments! What a farce! I have worn steppe-dwellers’ clothes all
my life! The garments are suitable and useful.”

“Of course,”
said Reith. “Well, let them do as they wish. Perhaps we also might make a
change in our appearance.”

Toward the
dock area was the bazaar; here Reith, Anacho and Traz fitted themselves out in
garments of somewhat less crude cut and material: shirts of soft light linen,
short-sleeved vests, loose black breeches buckling at the ankle; shoes of
supple gray leather.

The docks
were but a few steps away; they continued on to inspect the shipping, and the
Yazilissa
immediately engaged their attention: a three masted ship over a hundred feet
long, with passenger accommodations in a tall many-windowed after-house, and in
a row of ‘tween-decks cabins along the waist. Cargo booms hung over the docks;
bales of goods were hoisted aloft, swung up, over and into the holds.

Climbing the
gangplank, they found the supercargo who verified that the
Yazilissa
sailed in three days, touching at ports in Grenie and Horasin, then faring by
way of Pag Choda, the Islands of Cloud, Tusa Tula at Cape Gaiz on the western
thrust of Kachan, to Vervodei in Cath: a voyage of sixty or seventy days.