The Seascape Tattoo (15 page)

“Do you know what it reminds me of?” Neoloth said.

“Educate me.”

“Some years back, there was a naval war, and the press-gangs were at work. The streets were clear of young men. I noticed that. The ways that people reacted … seemed similar.”

They shopped until Neoloth and a hired servant were bending under a load … but wandering closer to that dark wall. It was constructed of something that looked like blackened bamboo. There was a pathway, well-grooved and roughly perpendicular, leading west to the harbor. They heard footsteps coming and followed the hired porter back into the shadows.

Around the corner came a string of miserable-looking wretches, half of them … children. Sobbing.

He watched the prisoners disappear through the gate like sheep herded to slaughter. “What is this?”

“Just slaves, sir,” the hired man said. “It's safe now.”

“They look new-captured,” Aros growled. “I didn't see a slave market in the city. Some of those specimens look promising. Where could I find them?”

“Oh,” their servant said. “They're for special use.”

“By whom?”

“It is best not to ask, sir.”

Neoloth looked at the wall and continued on.

*   *   *

Neoloth talked to everyone he could reach, including a scroll salesman, a weary pimp, and a gaggle of aging prostitutes. He bought drinks for rug merchants, one of whom had sold something to the castle on the hill. After hours, he wrangled an invitation to meet a man who traded in ancient scrolls and, through him, a group of scholars so pale and withered they might have been moles. Despite their obvious withdrawal from the world, they seemed to know everything and everyone and were open to wine and conversation.

*   *   *

Aros was walking down the street, the shadows of dusk reaching from every tavern and storefront. A strange metallic clanking sound reverberated behind him, as if a sack of base-metal coins were following him down the road.

He ducked into a doorway and drew his sword. The strange
“Ching! Ching!”
sound came closer. And then …

Aros's eyes widened. A man in a robe, an official of some kind, passed his doorway, huffing as his feet ran in circles. He was riding two wheels linked by a bar. How did he avoid falling over?

Aros replaced the sword in its sheath and watched, mystified, as the man leaned right and turned a corner instead of falling over. “What the feathered hell?”

*   *   *

Puzzled and troubled and slightly drunk, Neoloth found his way back to their rooms. Aros found him there hours later, drawing diagrams.

“What do you have there?”

“Just beginning to feel my way around,” Neoloth said.

“Learning anything?”

Neoloth looked at him cannily. “We heard that a month ago a royal ship docked in the harbor and two masked female prisoners disembarked. They seem to have been taken to the Tower, which is the main prison block, protected by the army barracks.”

Aros perked up at that. “Where?”

Neoloth stabbed a finger at the map. “Here.”

“How do we find out if she's there?”

“We will,” he said confidently.

“And if she is?”

Neoloth grinned at him. “We'll think of something. What have you learned?”

“People don't talk much to strangers. But I have the sense that most of these changes have happened in the last two years. There is a group called the ‘Thousand.' Or maybe it's a place. Hard to tell, because you can't ask the same question twice without drawing attention. They seem to have gained power in the capital.”

Neoloth nodded. “The king hasn't been seen for a year. Maybe more.”

“I'd heard that, too. And there is something else.”

He dropped a metal tube on the table.

Neoloth examined it. Glass at both ends, both rounded. “What is this?”

“You tell me.”

Neoloth looked into it. Through it. Out the window, and saw the magnification.

“Spyglass,” he murmured. “Never seen lenses so…” He examined them more carefully. “Look here.”

Aros leaned in.

“See this tiny screw? I've never seen one that size. And the way the tube is sealed…”

Neoloth sat down and stared at it.

“What are you thinking?” Aros asked.

“More mysteries. The little ships. The small cannons.”

Aros grunted. “You still think that is what those devices are?”

“Yes. They are worn like weapons. The men carrying them walk like giants.”

The barbarian nodded. “Like master swordsmen, but without the discipline.”

Neoloth smiled. “Well said. And this spyglass. Never seen anything as fine.”

“I saw something as well,” Aros said. “Some kind of machine that a man rode like a little horse. Two wheels, a bar between and a bar for steering. Very odd.”

“I am beginning to suspect,” Neoloth said, “that the oddities will only increase. Next week is a holiday of some kind. In it, the women of the kingdom lose their minds and engage in the kinds of foolishness generally reserved for men of a certain type.”

“A certain type?”

“Yes, you know. Like you. It is all very entertaining, in a muscle-headed sort of way. I heard two things.”

“And what are those?” Aros asked.

“One, that it was almost canceled this year. There was a general outcry.”

“And the other?”

“That the general's wife, Jade, participates in a boat race.”

“Ah!”

Neoloth smacked his hands down on the desk. “And tradition says that the winner is blessed of the gods and will receive a vision. It is a celebration of the wife of one of their deities. The near cancelation implies that worship has changed. Something has happened. Is happening.”

“Yes,” Aros agreed. “And it also suggests a possible approach, don't you think?”

The two men smiled at each other.

 

SEVENTEEN

The King

From the third-floor window of their bedroom, General Silith could see across the rows of empty taverns, shops, homes, and brothels to the shore. That was where the citizens were, in a vast crush of humanity as dense as the flotilla in the bay beyond. This was where his beloved wife, Jade, was preparing to go, and he just couldn't understand. Last year, a boat had capsized, and three women had drowned. Four years ago, it had been two losses. To Silith, the crowd below seemed a famished mob, and that was the most dangerous kind.

“Must you participate in this anachronism?” the general asked. “You don't even worship this petty god. It is unseemly in a woman so … mature.”

“Mature” or not, Jade Silith was a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty, even if her figure was fuller than it had been on their wedding day. She was still a delight to his heart. “Husband,” she said. She stopped brushing her lustrous mane and frowned, lips in a playful pout. “Allow me a bit of fun in my declining years.”

They laughed. Despite the fact that this was a hard man, there was affection between the two.

“General!” a soldier said, running up. “The king wishes to speak to you.”

The general frowned. “Kindly tell him I'll be there shortly.” He turned to his wife. “I suspect that he hasn't been drinking his teas.”

“Husband,” she whispered rigidly. “Be mindful.”

His gaze grew distant. “Very soon, now, the time for caution will be past. Are you prepared?”

“Yes.”

As she kissed him, he stroked her hair fondly.

“In all this bright and terrible world,” he said. “There is only one thing I love.”

“Once,” she said, “there was more than one.”

He held her. Kissed her again. “Come. Let us meet the people.”

He led her out of the wing of the castle. It might be thought odd that the general lived there instead of in the barracks area. But if that was true, no one commented upon it in his presence.

“I give to you … Jade!”

She mounted the chariot's low step. The crowd cheered. Some of those cheers were encouraged by the soldiers.

General Silith turned to one of his men. “The usual arrangements have been made?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let the games begin!”

*   *   *

Jade traveled along packed streets down to the docks. The other boatwomen smiled and bowed, dressed in identical blue uniforms that matched Jade's own boating dress.

Her female attendant bowed respectfully. “A good day for a race, mistress.”

Jade smiled. “Oh, I'm quite certain that my husband has arranged for it to be anything but a race. But at my stage in life, I have to admit that I enjoy the fact that he bothers.”

The assistant helped her onto the ship, coiling rope around her arm. “The general adores you.”

“I grow tired of this charade,” Jade said. “However entertaining it has been. I know the message: my husband loves me and wishes me peace. I will win this one last time and then retreat from the field.”

The assistant paused. “If you win … will you ask the same question? The question you've—”

Jade cut her off. “Is there another?”

*   *   *

The crowd parted before General Silith's carriage and heeled behind it, a ship plowing through human waves. The horses pranced as the coachman brought them to a halt at the castle's side entrance. As soon as Silith disembarked, it pulled out toward one of the four stables.

As Silith entered, the guards clicked to attention up and down the corridor. They could not, he thought with a smile, have responded more briskly had he been the monarch himself.

His smile broadened but then flattened to a mere trace by the time he reached the throne room.

King Corinth hunched upon his grandfather's throne, a massive work of gem-encrusted gold and silver, intended to overawe supplicants, whatever their status or intent. Corinth was an old man, almost child-like against the massive throne. At first glance, he might have seemed imperious, but if you looked more closely there was a vagueness to his eyes, an unkempt bird's-nest quality to his hair that suggested something … a bit off. His advisors clustered on every side.

The general bowed deeply. “Your Majesty. How can I serve you?”

“General Silith,” the king said, voice shaking. “Cousin. Good for you to come.” He paused, then with a thin smile, said, “Bishop to king three.”

“Knight to rook four, Your Majesty.”

King Corinth chuckled. “Well played. Now to business. I know that you and your wife celebrate this holiday … religiously.” The king chortled. “Yes, religiously. Oh, my, I made a joke!”

The room tittered with polite laughter.

The general's mouth curled upward, but his eyes were unchanged. “Yes, Your Majesty. You did indeed.”

“Yes. Well … I wanted to speak with you because the accountants say that you have made several large withdrawals from the treasury and purchased…” He turned to the slight young man beside him.

“What was it he purchased?”

“Slaves, Your Majesty,” the younger man said. “He purchased two boatloads of slaves, mostly natives captured in war by the Aztecs.”

The king frowned. “Those fellows who tear the lungs out, aren't they?”

“Hearts, sir,” the general said.

“Yes, of course. Hearts. Nasty.”

He looked away a bit distracted and unfocused.

“Your Majesty?” General Silith nudged.

“Oh, yes! At any rate, I wished to know what this influx of labor represents. My minister of labor is concerned that it represents a threat to the honest working men of Shrike, and I wished to be certain this was not the case.”

“Your Majesty,” the general said, “it is not. Your previous minister of finance, regrettably ill, had no issue with the expenditures. These bondsmen do not threaten the honest working folk of Shrike and are merely helping us to build the workshops in which the Thousand can produce some of the luxuries Your Majesty enjoys.”

To the side of the throne was an ornate clock with a broad, hand-painted face. In the momentary silence, it clicked and whirred merrily.

“Oh, yes, marvelous. Marvelous.”

“Like this,” the general said. He produced a cylinder of hard yellow material, the size of his forefinger. “It's a pen that never gets your fingers dirty. Look, the point pulls back when you do this—”

“Your Majesty,” Minister Kang said. “Perhaps the general would be kind enough to explain more about the children.”

The rotund minister and the general locked eyes. It was a war of wills, and Kang never blinked.

“The children?” the general asked.

“Yes. There are so many things afoot in the kingdom these days. The general manages not only the army, but this …
spiritual
group as well.”

Something about the way he said “spiritual” indicated that he considered it anything but.

“In addition, there are many new vessels in the fleet, new weapons in the army, all from the workshops hidden in the black forest. The secretive workshops.”

“Secrets!” the king shrieked. “Secrets! The Thousand agreed to supply us with the fruits of their labors, but the conditions were too extreme! None of us get to see what they're … ah…”

Again his attention seemed to drift.

“Your Majesty?” Lord Kang's young assistant said politely.

“Oh, yes.” His eyes refocused. “What was I saying?”

“I believe you were asking what they are doing in the black forest, Your Majesty.”

General Silith stepped into the breech. “Since we gave them the land in the black forest, our army has lost not a skirmish. Our coffers are full. Our trade ships travel without fear of piracy. And all they ask is their privacy, Your Majesty. We can revoke our agreement, but all that will happen is that the Thousand will travel where they can work their wonders without interference.”