The Ancient Enemy (50 page)

"Yes."

"The weaving skills of your people are remarkable, far in advance of anything in our empire."

Thru made no reply, taken aback by this turn of events. Then he recalled the "Chooks and Beetles" on the admiral's wall.

"Your admiral likes our work well enough to hang it up."

Filek licked his lips, embarrassed and humiliated by this plainspoken fellow from the strange New Land.

"Yes. It is beautiful work. Please take off your clothes for the examination."

Thru simply stared back. Filek remembered that Thru was bound at the wrists and took up a knife and cut Thru's clothes off him.

"You think I am an animal."

"Yes, of course. We are all animals. That much is obvious."

"But you think yourself superior to my kind."

"Well, of course. You are inventions of some sort. Who are these Assenzi that my daughter talks about? What is all this about a message?"

"Just let the message go to where it's supposed to go."

"That is not up to me. That is up to the admiral."

"The message is from the Assenzi. It is not wise to dabble in their business."

"Please breathe in deeply."

Thru hesitated, wondering whether to resist or not. Then with a sigh he relaxed and allowed the man to listen to his chest through the strange flexible tube he wore around his neck.

Later the man struck his knees with a small mallet and wrote things down in a notebook.

After palpating Thru's back, belly, and abdomen Filek wrote more notes. And all the while the thought that this creature had saved his daughter and brought her back to him safely weighed on him. He found it hard to concentrate on the notes. How could he let them kill this fellow, to whom he owed the life of Simona, his only child, his only link to the future?

When the examination was over, Filek looked carefully toward the door. He was about to do something that could threaten his own life, but he was impelled to do it anyway.

"You see this?" He held up a detachable scalpel blade, a thin sliver of sharp steel.

Thru nodded.

"Open your mouth."

Thru's eyes widened, but he did as he was told. The man put the sharp metal onto his tongue.

"Keep it hidden," Filek whispered in his ear.

Then the door was opening, and the burly men were there to escort Thru back to his cell.

They left him in the dark cell and slammed the door on their way out. Soon afterward the screaming began. Someone was being tortured, and Thru was sure he knew who it was. He gritted his teeth, his anger rising until it threatened to overwhelm his mind. Why were they torturing her? What purpose could it serve? It was easy to hate them.

The little blade glittered faintly in the dark where he'd spat it onto the floor. Now he maneuvered to get it into his hand. Unfortunately, it was only an inch or so long, and he was bound too tightly at the wrists to be able to flex his hand far enough to bring the blade to bear.

For a moment or two he was stumped. Then he felt a crack in the floor under his bare foot and immediately began to explore further. Soon he'd found a narrower crack and wedged the sharp blade onto it.

Then he was able to lower his wrists onto the blade's edge and after an initial jab or two into his own flesh began to saw into the tight thong that bound him. The blade was very sharp, and soon the thongs parted, and he was freed.

He pulled the little blade loose and put it back in his mouth, pressing it gingerly into his cheek to keep it from cutting him. He took a deep breath and stood up to explore the inside of the cell. It was tiny, as he'd expected. The hatch covering the window was fastened with simple wooden pegs. He undid them, and a waft of the night air spilled in. Immediately he felt refreshed, and told himself he could succeed, even if the odds against him were acute.

He lifted the hatch. Great Red Kemm was above the horizon, so the night was yet young. He pulled the hatch back and lifted himself out. The water splashed alongside the ship's hull down below, but the sea was relatively calm, and the ship's motion was slight. He discovered that he was looking out from a deck about halfway down the ship's side. He noted that the ship's timbers were lapped, but that there were regular cracks that he might take for handholds and toeholds. He studied them carefully. The tumblehome below curved inward, rising up to the rail of the sterncastle above.

The screaming he'd heard had come from somewhere up there. The admiral was somewhere up there, too.

He heard voices above, saw a hatch open and a bucket emptied over the side. The hatch doors were set in frames that offered the best footholds. He centered himself, took another breath, then got his other leg out of the hatch and stood on the hatch frame. The first step up, to the top of the hatch frame, was simple. After that he groped above for further holds. There was a seam two feet above the hatch, and another about three feet farther up. Then came the next hatch. His confidence grew. He might just be able to do this.

He got up onto the seam, found a smaller seam just below the next hatch, and heaved himself up. Now his weight was on the toes of one foot, jammed in that narrow crevice. He searched for a way to reach the top of the hatch, but it was just a fraction too high.

Then there was a noise, and he heard the pegs being pulled out inside the hatch. Desperately he shifted his weight, stabbed his other foot into the narrow seam, and clung to the ship's side out of view of the hatch.

A moment later the hatch popped open and a bucket of slops was hurled into the sea. Then the hatch slammed shut again, the pegs were rammed back into place, and he swung back and got a foot up on the side edge of the hatch and steadied himself while he found a handhold on his left. His other foot was aching from the strain, and there were trickles of sweat running down the sides of his head, but he hadn't fallen into the sea.

Fortunately he had a small stroke of luck and found a wider seam at shoulder level. He levered himself up until he could get his toes onto the top of the hatch frame, and a moment later he was clutching the ship's side while taking in another triumphant breath. His toes hurt, but he'd climbed one whole deck. Encouraged, he went on.

Eventually the tumblehome steepened to a vertical slope once more, but there were larger hatches and decorative woodwork that gave easy footholds. He climbed more quickly and eventually reached the rail.

On the deck in front of him stood a couple of men, one gripping a large steering wheel, the other standing by the far rail staring out to sea. Thru ducked back down below the level of the deck and began to move sideways toward the forward edge of the sterncastle. As he went he paused by the open windows and listened carefully.

A few windows along, inside his cabin, Admiral Heuze lay on his bunk cradling his wounded hand. The hand hurt. He felt a phantom twitch from his missing foot. By the wrath of He Who Eats, if this kept up, there wasn't going to be enough left of him to enjoy his final victory.

Hitting the fornicating little impudent monkey had been a stupid thing to do, but Heuze had been provoked. There were many elements in the situation that were provoking, and he'd just snapped there for a moment.

He felt the wounded hand with the good one. The stump of his little finger felt odd under the bandage. By the purple ass of the Great God, he'd never forget the humiliation. Having to kneel in front of Nebbeggebben and expiate for the disastrous battle by cutting off his own finger.

It was either that, as they'd explained, or they'd take something else off that he would miss far more. He was fortunate that great Nebbeggebben was so forgiving. His blunders had cost them thousands of casualties and two ships. By rights, said some less-kindly souls, they should be handing him over to the priests.

Heuze had wanted to scream in frustration. His blunders! When it had mostly been that fool Uisbank's fault.

He sobbed for a moment, then brightened.

At least Uisbank was in worse shape. He was in the hands of the monkeys. God, Heuze hoped they were doing something really unpleasant to the stupid bastard right then.

Still, he reflected, as the pain in the hand ebbed again, this had been a much better day. First had come the news from the south, and then the recovery of the girl and the capture of the little monkey fellow. Impudent but interesting, that fellow. When they put it to the questions, they would hear some interesting information, he was sure.

The girl had been questioned, lightly; Heuze had promised Filek that she would not be maimed. Nor would she be given to the priests, despite their urgent appeals for her heart to be thrown to He Who Eats.

She had painted a lively picture of the monkeys. They had kings and a religion of sorts, apparently. Thought themselves the image of men, and yet they feared men deeply as a demonic "Man the Cruel."

Good, thought the admiral sleepily. That would make it easier to terrorize them when the time came.

The girl had also pleaded with him to send the message on to the Emperor. He hadn't made up his mind about that. He thought he might even just burn the thing and forget all about it. He didn't want to be sending messages back to Shasht yet. There was nothing good to report, so there could only come trouble from that direction.

The little scroll lay on the polished table at his side. It had an odd, archaic look to it. Two small polished wood handles, a strip of fine vellum bound with silk and sealed with wax. It unnerved him for some reason that he could not quite put a finger on. The girl had claimed it was written in "words of wonder," whatever they were.

The priests had raged at him about the whole matter. They'd demanded the girl and the monkey. Heuze chuckled to himself on the verge of sleep. Fuck the sodomistic priests. The girl would live. He Who Eats would have to wait. Perhaps he would even send the girl back to Shasht with his report, later, when the situation was worth reporting back about.

And then there was the good news from the south. That was in the other message on the table, a naval packet in Shasht style, in sober ink on plain squared paper. Not one of these weird, wizardly scrolls.

It was a damned interesting message, too. Captain Rukil of the frigate
Barracuda
had returned from a three-month-long scouting expedition to the southern waters. His most important news was that there was a large island, about a thousand miles to the south. It was a drier, rockier place than this, and it held only a sparse population of the monkeys. Their little towns had no walls, so they would be much easier to dispossess than the populations in the northern region.

Heuze had realized that this was the only good move open to him. The battle on the beach had produced unacceptable casualties. Their next fight had to be one they could win easily. So, he would take the fleet south, and from the southern island they could raid up the long fjords that ran deep into the continent. Then next spring, when they'd rebuilt their strength, they'd come back and resume the conquest.

Shasht wasn't built in a day, and Aeswiren was defeated three times before he took the throne. Heuze was no fool. All right, he'd made a mistake. They all had. Especially the sodomizing priests. They'd grievously underestimated the monkeys. But that would stop!

Actually, he was getting to the point of maybe letting the men put the priests to the sword. Nebbeggebben, too, while he was about it. The priests were nothing but an irritant, and life would be easier without them.

He slipped into slumber, and began to snore.

He awoke with something sharp and uncomfortable pricking the side of his neck.

"What?" he gasped. The prick deepened instantly. He froze still.

"Be quiet," hissed a voice in his ear, "or I cut your throat."

"Who? What?"

"Ssh!" The prick grew much sharper.

"Fine," Heuze whispered. "Please don't..."

"Have you read the message?"

Heuze was thunderstruck. It was the fornicating little monkey! How in all the names of hell had it managed to get free and get in here?

"Well?" the sharp metal stung the side of his throat.

"No."

"Why did you hurt Simona?"

"She was being questioned. The process is always uncomfortable."

"You are not to hurt her again."

"Well, of course not; her questioning is done with."

"I want you to read the message. Now!" There was a tug on his ear. The admiral moved to sit up, while the knife at his throat never budged. The little fellow was very strong for his size.

It was awkward in this position, but Heuze managed to light the lamp after a few scratchings in the dark with a match. The monkey was right beside him, holding Heuze's own dagger to his throat.

"Open it."

With shaking hands the admiral picked up the little scroll. The damned thing was like something out of the first dynasty. The paper had a heavy, creamy feel.

"Go on, read it."

Heuze broke the seal and pulled it open.

The words were written in a dense script, flowing evenly across the small page. The characters were unknown to him, but their shapes were intriguing, nonetheless. Sinuous loops and whorls of thick ink flowed past his gaze. There was something hypnotic about the shapes, and they seemed to move of their own accord. Heuze wriggled uncomfortably. What the hell was this?

"I can't read this. It's meaningless."

And then the script began to flicker with tiny gleams of color. A spark flowed through the symbols, tiny lights glimmered within the page. His eyes widened. What in the world?

And then with something that was almost a physical blow his mind was opened up like a hatch being lifted, and before him, as real as if he was actually there, hovering hundreds of feet in the air among them, stood a city of gigantic towers.

A swelling roar of noise rose up from the streets far below.

Then everything went black, and he seemed to float in nothingness. Admiral Heuze wanted to scream, but he didn't seem able to control any part of his body.

There was a weird little voice in his ears, a rustling, papery little voice.