The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers (68 page)

As Vasen said, they could always cut his throat later.

Someone finally thought to throw over a boarding ladder. It clattered against the side of the icerigger. The tiny raft pulled up alongside. Clasping the ladder cables in both hands, the Tran in the bow climbed toward them, moving smoothly for a biped balancing awkwardly on three sharp chiv instead of a flat foot.

Then the Tran was standing on the deck, confronting half a hundred hostile stares with an aplomb and air of assurance Ethan could only admire.

He was skinny to the point of emaciation, being no broader than Ethan himself, though he appeared healthy enough. After surveying his audience with a rigorous half-smile, his gaze settled on the three humans. Double eyelids blinked against winddriven particles of ice.

“ ’Tis true? You are truly from a world other than this?”

“It’s so,” Ethan shot back. “We prefer not to be thought of as strangers, however. We’d much rather be thought of as friends, though appearances suggest you feel otherwise.”

“Contraryso, offworlder. We would wish it similarly. I hight Polos Mirmib, Royal Advisor and Guardian of the Gate.”

“Which gate?” Hunnar’s tone made his response sound like much more than a question. “The one we were invited to pass safely through, or the one that has been used to entrap us?”

“The gate to Moulokin, of course,” replied Polos, appearing unaffected by Hunnar’s hostility and avoiding his insinuations diplomatically. “That is a gate made not of stone or wood, but a gate mostly of the mind.”

A belligerent voice sounded from close by Hunnar: Suaxus-dal-Jagger. “I’d heard that the Moulokinese were famed as shipbuilders, not philosophers.”

Mirmib executed a smile. “Recreational metaphors are a personal affectation. Do not ascribe such wordplay to my people as a whole. They are for the most part stolid, honest, not especially imaginative folk, who wish nothing more of life than to enjoy a good day’s work, a hearty meal and warm fire at day’s end, and the love of their mates between days.”

His voice took on a slight sharpness as he continued. “To outsiders, Tran and otherwise, these things may seem a peasant’s way of life, simple and uninspiring. We enjoy being uncomplicated.” The sharpness disappeared. “Enjoy we also guests, visitors who bring to us news of the strange places to which we of Moulokin rarely venture.”

“Because you’re afraid to?” challenged a voice from up in the rigging. A mate shushed the sailor.

Mirmib had the control as well as the diction of a diplomat. He did not grow angry, as he would have been justified in doing. “We do not travel because we find in the stories travelers tell to us all we wish to know of far regions. As none we are told of sound superior to fair Moulokin, we see no reason to leave it. Better to remain and let others perform the arduous task of travel for us.”

His gaze focused on Ethan. “As travelers from a place so far distant I cannot comprehend it, you must have still more exciting tales to tell us.” Ethan started to reply, but Mirmib raised a paw to forestall him.

“Before that can be done, before we can greet you freely as guests and friends, that simple way of life I have described to you must be insured against violent disruption. So that the second gate may be opened to admit you to our home, to my home, I would ask that you pile your weapons here before me where they can be collected and stored safe for you by the gate patrol, to await your departure.”

He added a few additional words, but they were drowned out by the angry and uncertain outcry this request produced among the sailors who had gathered about.

B
ALAVERE LONGAX FINALLY STEPPED
forward. His presence quieted the crew. “From where I was raised and have lived a long life, no Tran will enter yea even the home of a neighbor without retaining at least a knife.”

“You must be mistrustful of your neighbors.” Mirmib sounded unperturbed, but did not modify or drop his demand.

“Suppose,” Hunnar ventured pragmatically, “we refuse?”

Mirmib made the equivalent of a shrug. “I will be saddened by what might happen. You are trapped here between walls even this wonderful vessel cannot break. In seconds I, or others if I am unable, can call on large numbers of waiting soldiers to rally against you. You may still be able to escape, though I think not. In any case, many would die, of mine and yours. I would rather not speak of such unpleasantness. As Guardian of the Gate, I give my warmth in promise: none of you will be harmed and you will be welcome as proven friends.”

He turned to near-pleading. “Surely this custom seems strange to you. ’Tis a requirement for strangers we insist upon. On subsequent visits to Moulokin such will be not required. You are an unknown and judging by this ship, powerful factor. My people are insular and suspicious. This request has preserved us in the past when prevaricating, jealous visitors would have pillaged us. Please, I implore you, execute this gesture of good will! We wish your friendship, not your blood.”

Hunnar seemed ready to reply. Ethan hastily put a restraining hand on the knight’s arm, felt the tenseness beneath the fur. “It’s time for us to take a chance, Hunnar. If they really wanted a fight, why send a single unarmed representative to advise us of their intentions? That’s poor salesmanship. They could have attacked as soon as we passed through the first gate.”

“Why attack if they can win the
Slanderscree
without a fight?” the knight protested. “This thing is unheard of. To enter a strange city is difficult enough, but to do so without weapons is to invite justified murder of all of us, fair retribution for such stupidity.” He growled at the human. “No, it is not a thing to be considered!”

Ethan spoke anxiously. “Hunnar, this whole long trip we’ve taken together, from Sofold to Arsudun to here, was not to be considered either. Yet we’ve done it. The idea of a confederation of Tran city-states was not to be considered, and here we are trying to implement
that.
Each day you, Balavere and the rest of the crew do things none of your people imagined doing.

“Now is the time for boldness and risk-taking, not for reverting to primitive superstitions and dying customs.” He paused, aware that Balavere, Elfa, and the rest of the assemblage were watching him steadily, some without affection. He kept his poise, and kept his eyes on Hunnar’s.

Mirmib spoke into the ensuing silence. “I understand not all of what you refer to, offworlder, but your position I can naught but concur with. I believe strongly that we will be friends.”

“Spoken firm if not well.” Hunnar shook Ethan’s clinging hand off, turned to glare at Mirmib. “Be this an excuse for treachery, know that my companions and I have walked into Hell itself and have returned after spitting at the inside of the world. Even unarmed, we would not go like k’nith to the slaughter.”

“You talk too much of slaughter.” Mirmib looked sad. “Having much to protect, we of Moulokin are no strangers to killing. But we are less fond of it than outsiders seem to be.”

“Where do you want them?”

Mirmib looked across at Elfa. She had her own sword out, ready to turn it over. The diplomat’s voice turned deferential.

“Here will be sufficient, noble lady.” He indicated the section of deck in front of him.

Sailors and knights trooped by, dropping off bows, crossbows, swords, axes, weapons of every kind. Ta-hoding invited Mirmib to inspect cabins and below-decks storage holds for additional weapons. The Moulokinese declined politely, accepting Hunnar’s word that the entire armory of the crew was being deposited at his feet.

Ethan reflected that while Polos insisted he belonged to a simple working people, they were more than sophisticated enough to have evolved an inflexible, efficient procedure for dealing with potentially bellicose strangers. He didn’t doubt the diplomat’s claim that his people were no strangers to killing. Mirmib had likely overseen this turning in of weapons many times in the past.

As steel and bone rattled unmelodiously on the ever-mounting heap, Hunnar moved to stand next to Ethan and whisper. “Your proposed confederation and your own life may end with your blood steaming on the streets of this city, Sir Ethan.”

“Even in my business, you eventually reach a point where you have to trust someone, Hunnar.”

“You speak highly of trust, Sir Ethan,” Hunnar said wryly, “yet I notice that neither you nor your companions have stepped forward to place your weapons of light on the pile before us.”

“As long as this fellow doesn’t recognize them as weapons, there’s no need to overextend ourselves where we don’t have to.” Ethan’s rationalization sounded unwieldy as he muttered it. “In my business, it’s also a good idea to have an ace in the hole.”

“Would that we had a hundred such aces,” Hunnar agreed, expanding on the analogy without understanding it. “ ’Tis interesting to note that you do not regard trust as an absolute, but as a term with definitions which vary according to the situation.”

“I didn’t mean—” Ethan started to argue. But Hunnar, trying hard to conceal his evident pleasure at this revelation of human morality, walked away before the salesman could reply.

Polos Mirmib studied the imposing heap of weapons as the last sword was laid atop the metal and bone pile. Edges and points gleamed in the dim canyon light.

“For those who profess to offer naught but friendship, you travel well-armed.”

Elfa offered a candid response. “We also have much to kill for.”

“Well put, my lady.” Mirmib executed a light gesture of modest admiration.

“What now?” September’s impatience made him sound nervous, which he wasn’t. “We just push the lot over the side? Or do you have somebody waitin’ to come pick them up and tag them for us?”

“Neither.” Mirmib showed the giant his widest non-tooth smile. “Your willingness to so comply with a custom of gravest imposition is sufficient proof of your good faith and, I hope, true intentions,” He gestured idly at the armory. “You may repossess your weaponry. Your actions have told us what we wished to know.” While those of the crew standing around stared stupefied at the diplomat, he turned and walked to the railing. A mild gust of Tran-ky-ky’s unceasing, arctic winds made him stumble and Ethan reflected again on the other’s fragility. Like many sentients of great character, Mirmib wore his steel and iron inside.

He shouted to the two Tran waiting on the tiny raft alongside. Ethan caught only isolated scraps of sentences. The accent used here was thick and slippery.

One of the Tran blew several indelicate notes on a horn. This mournful baying was answered by a jubilant blare from a horn on the first wall. Another horn sounding from the second wall, up ahead, was followed by several more, until the canyon reverberated like a thranx concert at mating jubileejee.

When the final mellow flat had retreated into crevices too small to return it with audible force, Ethan was able to make out cheers from the Moulokinese soldiers lining the massive walls ahead and behind. The small raft moved away from the
Slanderscree
’s shadow to assume a waiting position near her bow.

“Where is your captain?” Mirmib asked. Sliding his own sword back into its sheath, Hunnar used his free hand to point to the high helm deck. Ta-hoding stood staring curiously down at them. “I will join him, to aid in directing you to our city.”

Ethan joined several others in following Hunnar and Mirmib up to the wheel. While Ta-hoding received instructions and conferred with Mirmib, Hunnar drew Ethan aside.

“See, the cables barring the gates fore and aft have been taken in. We could break the gate behind us and escape.”

Ethan eyed his massive, hirsute friend. “Is that what you wish to do?”

“I do not. You accuse with your questioning, friend Ethan.” It was Hunnar’s turn to walk away for a different reason.

Ta-hoding had the necessary sails reset. Slowly the icerigger moved toward the second gate, swinging delicately through the tight bend in the canyon. As they squeaked through the gate, the soldiers on the walls studied the ship and its occupants intently. Unlike the
Slanderscree
’s passage through the first gate, however, the watching warriors jostled one another and chattered freely among themselves. Their weapons hung easily from paws or lay forgotten against walls and rocks. A few even exchanged hesitant questions with members of the icerigger’s crew.

The canyon grew no shallower as they followed Mirmib’s raft up the ice. Sheer basalt walls towered steadily higher above them. Before long the canyon wound around to the east and started inland again. The walls hemming them in seemed to lower slightly, and breaks where a man might climb upward began to appear in the hitherto vertical cliffs.

Now that they were facing the interior of the plateau once more, Ethan could see over the bow the dense clouds they’d found so intriguing from out on the ice ocean. They continued to hover persistently in one place, succumbing to the dispersing effect of the wind only with reluctance. Their initial familiarity now came home to him.

Similar clouds clung possessively to the plutonic highlands of Sofold, Hunnar and Elfa’s home island. That puissant grayness was a great upwelling of steam, not smoke. Issuing forcefully from volcanic fissures and vents, it would renew itself as fast as it could be blown away. That explained the illusion of the “hovering” clouds.

Volcanic heat provided the base for Sofold’s foundry and much of its wealth. So in addition to a reputation for fine shipbuilding and an impregnable canyon locale, Moulokin also enjoyed this additional important resource.

He moved to stand next to the diplomat Mirmib. “ ’Tis true there are foundries up there,” the emaciated Tran admitted, “but they are neither owned nor operated by us.” In response to Ethan’s look of surprise and consternation, he explained, “We have an agreement with the people who operate the foundries.”

“They’re not Moulokinese?”

“No.” And he formed a peculiar expression Ethan could not interpret.

He intended to pursue the question, except the
Slanderscree
abruptly turned hard to starboard. They were proceeding up a side canyon. Sailors fought with spars and sails, but for a new reason. Now that the icerigger was traveling southward and no longer heading inland, the wind from the plateau all but vanished as soon as the ship had fully entered the branch can yon.