The Secret City (13 page)

When they first saw me at that fancy place, a lot of the people made that same gesture I’d seen at the beginning—as if brushing away flies. I asked Olowpas what that was all about. He tried to tell me, but he used words I’d never heard before. I don’t think he wanted me to know.

I didn’t understand the music and the dancing at all. It seemed random, and the voices were so artificially high and squeaky. Olowpas said it was very subtle, very intellectual—that it takes a long time … “Of knowing and schooling on it. Study, I think you’d say, to appreciate.” I felt more of a barbarian than ever. He told me: “Watch the dancer’s fingers and foreheads. Watch the little dip of the knees. Count beats. That’s fifteen, sixteen, and now back to one again….” I still couldn’t see anything to it. My parents used to say how funny and primitive everything was back on that other world—how they had to try hard not to laugh at their dancing and their music and their idea of what was food. I had that same problem there. I had a hard time not laughing, it seemed so silly. I can understand, now, why my parents longed for their homeworld just as I feel more comfortable back where I was born.

At least I’d figured out the bed by that time. I had a good sleep.

I have a little pack with three homing devices. They’re smaller than they used to be. My new one is just under my skin in my earlobe, and it’s no bigger than a grain of rice. I have others for Lorpas and the two men. I carry them in a sort of locket around my neck. It even holds the tiny pointers for inserting them.

N
OW I SIT, HEAD UP, MOUTH OPEN, TONGUE
out … like I used to do when I was a little kid. After doing that for a while, I lick where the hail splinters have settled in the folds of my dry-suit.

Then I realize I’m freezing. I miss my thick mop of hair. Sometimes, when the wind was really bad, I held it over my face with my teeth. This stiff stuff on it makes me all the colder. Olowpas wouldn’t let me wash it out there. He said I’d have to wait till I got back here. He said it was important though he never said why.

This is a terrible season to be up here, but it’s the right place. There are burn marks on the ledge right next to me. I hope nobody else got hurt besides that one dead man. But there’s no way I can study these marks now. I have to get off this ledge until the wind stops blowing.

I hug the high side of the cliff and go back the way we came. I find a sheltering tree where I can wait out the storm. I wonder if all this hail and wind will wash away more signs of what happened.

I curl up with those “hot bars” they gave me. They have things like that here, too, but we never had any. Mother talked about them all the time. She also talked about those socks with batteries. She hated the Secret City because she was always cold, but she saw to it I was warm. Actually mostly too warm.

Except for my head, I’m dressed right for this storm. They gave me a dry-suit, thin and soft. They couldn’t give me anything that might reveal to the natives that we were aliens so this suit is not unlike their underwater suits here. They gave me some emergency food—that terrible-tasting paste. Every time I try to force myself to eat some, I don’t care how hungry I am, I stop. Then I get hungrier and try again but I can’t. Olowpas didn’t think I’d get sick from it nor from the water back there because they gave me pills for that when I was in that cell. I thought, Thanks a lot, but I didn’t say it, but, well, I guess, yes, thanks a lot.

What if they sent me back here alone because I’m one of the kind of people that doesn’t matter? What if I’m a peasant or an untouchable of some sort and everybody has to make that brushing-away flies gesture when I’m around? I know I have no education. That’s another reason I don’t matter. All I know is what my parents and Mollish … especially Mollish … taught me. Mollish was a good teacher, though. If I’d listened, and read the books (we did have lots of books), I could have learned just about everything there is to learn. I wonder what Lorpas thinks about no education or only as much as I got when I wasn’t looking at the ceiling. I wonder how much education he has.

I can die trying to find these two men and nobody cares. Well, Mollish does. She loves me in spite of how I behaved. (Except I’ve changed.) And Lorpas. Does he? Not enough to follow me back there. I can’t wait to tell Mollish that she was right about that world … that I’ll believe everything she says from now on. And I have so many things to tell Lorpas. I really don’t care if I ever find those two men. Except I did promise to try.

The storm lasts the whole night, but the morning is bright and clear. I go back to the ledge and search for signs of what happened. I see more burn marks and signs of someone going over the side—torn pieces of cloth and what looks like a whole chunk of skin and spots of blood where they went over. What if Lorpas is down there dead or. wounded? What if he’s been lying here all this time while I was back there having a fancy dinner and a concert?

I scramble—mostly fall and skid—down the scree. I leave bits of the dry-suit on the rocks. It’s not very strong. I find two bodies at the bottom. They’re already eaten past recognition, but I recognize the clothes. Mollish is hardly there anymore. Her red-streaked hair is still in its neat bun. Part of her is dragged away. I can’t look.

Then I look. I want something to remember her by, but there isn’t anything I can take without moving her. Then I think, her scarf because it’s partly off already and I don’t have to touch her. And then I think, this is Mollish. My Mollish! I touch. I put my hand on her arm … the bone of her arm. Then I hold what’s left of her hand. (The other arm and hand are dragged away.) I sit with her. I talk to her. I apologize for not learning more of what she wanted to teach me. I apologize for running around climbing trees when she needed help. Then I put on her scarf. She knit that herself. It smells of death, but that’s not just anybody’s death.

Another dead person is close by. Hardly anything left of him either, but clothes and bones. There’s one of those tubes they use to return us with, partly covered up with scree. I cover it with even more scree. Olowpas was worried about those getting in the hands of the ignorant natives. They could harm each other, but I don’t know what else to do with it right now. And who would be out here, having fallen down in exactly this spot?

I look all around at the bottom of the cliff, but Lorpas isn’t here, thank goodness.

I climb back to the trail and sit with my back to the wall. I don’t know which direction to go. What would I have done if I were Lorpas and found me gone?

On the mountain across the way I can see three waterfalls rushing down. I remember seeing them as we were crossing the ledge back then. I remember being happy. I sit. I watch a red-tail soar out from right above me. I think: Mollish, look! I forget she’s dead even as I’m mourning for her.

Finally I cross the ledge and go on towards the Down. Maybe Lorpas left me some sign. I’m a good tracker, but I don’t find anything. I guess the storm washed everything away.

Then I think: Wouldn’t Lorpas and that other man … if that man is with him … wouldn’t they want to get back to the Secret City to be near all those beacons? Maybe Lorpas changed his mind and wants to go home where he thinks I am. Then those homers are the only way.

I sat around so much it’s already late. I camp in a nice spot. I wrap Mollish’s scarf around me. It doesn’t smell so bad anymore, now it smells more of weather and of pine forest. Or I’ve gotten used to it. To death.

There’s stars! I never thought about how nice it is to have them. I always thought a lot of shiny dust and two moons would be better, especially with each moon a different color, but one’s enough if you like stars.

I don’t know what to do. There’s no way I can find the men if they’re already somewhere out in civilization. Though … maybe … since we all look so odd…. I can go to all the little towns and ask. Olowpas gave me money. I think quite a bit, though what do I know, we didn’t use money up at the Secret City.

Except I don’t know the way in either direction. For the whole first part I was just enjoying being with Lorpas. I’ll have to blaze a trail as I go so I can backtrack on myself if I need to.

LORPAS

E
MILY HAS DRIVEN THE TRUCK TO OUR NEXT
camping spot. Then she rode her pony back to us and helped push the cows to where she parked. There’s another corral there but hardly any shade this time, so we sit in the shade of the truck. Jack wets his kerchief from our canteen, takes off his hat, and wipes his face and neck exactly like I do. Our hats are on the ground beside us when …

(Jack has been wearing a big black cowboy hat Corwin lent him. It’s just like Emily’s. Mine’s just that old floppy hat that belonged to Ruth’s husband. I’m leaning back wondering if I’ll be able to pry Jack loose from that hat when the time comes to give it back. Or maybe Corwin will let me buy it when we get paid. Or maybe there’s one just like it in town.)

… when, whoosh, here comes an arrow—swishing past me so close I feel the rush of air. On it goes, into Jack. Not into, just streaks a bloody line across his cheek, captures a piece of his ear, and twangs into the ground beyond us.
Almost
a very good shot.

As with all face wounds, there’s a lot of blood.

We all … Corwin and Emily, too … duck down and after that we look for a good place to duck to, but there aren’t any, any better than where we already are.

I stand up and show myself, my hands out and up in a gesture of surrender. “Youpas, Youpas, I’m the one you want. This is Narlpas. He’s stranded here from Betasha. Don’t shoot him.”

Now I’ve done it. What kind of funny names are these? And where is Betasha? Will Youpas think he has to kill Corwin and Emily now to keep our secret safe?

His next arrow swishes right by me.

But Corwin has a pistol I didn’t know about. He shoots all six shots, no questions asked, into the sagebrush in the direction where the arrows came from. I rush to the bushes. Youpas lies—flat on his back. At first I think he’s got to be dead or hurt and I go to help, but he kicks up at me. I notice he takes care not to glance into my eyes in case I freeze him again.

I easily outfight him. I’m larger and, as a vagrant and a bum and now and then in jail, I’ve fought lots of times before. By the time Corwin comes up I’ve got Youpas in a half nelson.

Corwin was shooting blind. Not a one of his shots hit. I’m thinking it would have been nice if he’d have wounded Youpas just a little bit.

Youpas looks exactly as he did before… like the wild mountain man he is … all in hand-sewn dearskin with odd designs all over it. His hair, like Allush’s, is a tangled mop, as is his beard. (Was he thinking of coming into town like this?)

In spite of how he looks, Corwin says, “Looks like another brother.” We’re clearly two … or rather three now, of a kind.

I say, “Yes,” at the same time that Youpas says, “No.”

We’re too similar for Corwin not to believe me instead of Youpas.

I put more pressure on Youpas’ neck and he says, “Yes.”

Narlpas and now Youpas? And I yelled Youpas twice. I say, “This is Hugo.” It sounds a little like Youpas. It’s the best I can do on the spur of the moment. “Another one of us Norths.”

Corwin is concentrated on the job at hand, as usual—in this case untying a lead rope from a halter so as to tie up Youpas—but Emily always pays attention and she’s sharp. She’ll have noticed I called Jack, Narlpas. And she won’t forget I shouted, Youpas, and that now I call him Hugo.

She looks at us as if she suspects all sorts of weird things. Besides, what she has liked about Jack from the start is his strangeness. And now here’s one of us, clearly same family, shooting at the others of us, with, of all things, a bow and arrow, and here I am, presumably the older brother (the only one with graying temples) trying to keep everybody in line. Here’s Jack, a not-so-dumb dummy, young, but too stocky and thick to look young to them. And I yelled, He’s from Betasha. You don’t say that about one brother to another.

At least I’ll be able to communicate with Jack. That is, if Youpas will cooperate—but what makes me think he will?

Corwin ties up Youpas’ hands while Emily, looking more motherly than you’d think a thirteen-year-old could, bandages Jack’s face and ear.

Corwin says we’ll take Hugo to the police as soon as we get back.

“Let me talk to him. I can persuade him to go back to the mountains where he belongs.”

But Corwin doesn’t think he belongs anywhere except locked up. I know he’s right, but I can’t let that happen. Trying to kill people … it won’t be at all like me being in jail a few days for vagrancy.

“I’ll get him out of here as soon as we move the cows.”

Corwin gives me that contemplative look of his. I can practically see the thoughts turning around inside his head. Without us he and Emily will have to take the cows down alone and then Corwin will have to ride back for the truck and trailer. On the other hand, here’s three big guys wearing out his horses, one is dangerous, and one is smitten with his daughter. On yet another hand he likes me and, in a way, he likes Jack. But another hand, Emily is a tough, capable girl. On the other hand she’s his only child.