The Texts Of Festival (15 page)

The force of the blow spun Nath round but he swung on Oltha and seized him by the throat.

‘You wrong. I settle you! Now!’

Swiftly Oltha chopped him hard in the ribs. Nath lost his grip and doubled up in pain. Oltha stepped back and drew his knife.

‘Crystal turns warriors into weaklings. Weakling must die!’

He raised his knife to finish Nath. There was a flash of light as a figure came through the tent flap. He turned to see Iggy standing just inside the tent, his face twisted into an evil smirk and a gun in his hand. Iggy shook his head.

‘Too bad, chief. Too bad.’

Oltha took a step towards him, his knife raised. Then the gun exploded and, to Nath, it seemed as though a section of the back of Oltha’s head just fell apart. His round spiked helmet rolled across the ground.

Nath gawped at Iggy in surprise.

‘You kill chief.’

‘Sho’ kid, he was gettin’ together t’ waste you. I take care of my buddies, aint I always tol’ you that?’

Nath looked puzzled.

‘But you kill chief. That could start war right in camp.’

Iggy shrugged.

‘Maybe, unless …’ He looked sideways at the tribesman.

‘You tell everyone you done it.’

Nath became alarmed.

‘Then tribe kill me.’

‘Not if it was a fair fight. The way I heard it, if’n you kill the chief inna fair fight, you get t’ be chief unless some cat challenges you, ri’?’

‘Ri’, but Oltha die by gun, and he only have knife.’

‘Catch!’ Iggy tossed his gun to Nath. He then pulled a second gun from inside his shirt and threw it on the floor beside Oltha’s body.

‘Now it looks like a fair fight, don’ it?’

Slowly Nath nodded.

‘It look, an’ that makes Nath chief of tribe.’

‘You reckon you can take care of any challengers?’

‘None challenge Nath!’

At the sound of the shot, Slick took his pipe from his mouth and squinted towards the city.

‘Those boys sure do argue some.’

He took another pull on his bottle and leaned back against the tree. Jaybee shaded his eyes to get a better view into the town.

‘Crowd gathers before one tent. You got glass-for-long-seeing?’

Slick rummaged in his pack and produced a battered pair of binoculars.

‘Here, you think somethin’ cookin’?’

Jaybee peered through the binoculars for a while; then he lowered them and glanced at Slick.

‘Shaman comes to tent. It means that a chief was in fight. Body brought from tent. Maybe chief, maybe Oltha.’

‘If th’ shaman’s been called, somethin’ up f’ sure. Take another look an’ see what’s happenin’.’

‘… And you bear witness that fight was fair?’ The shaman looked hard at Iggy who smiled and spread his hands.

‘Fairest I seen. Nath was jus’ too good f’ th’ chief, despite the fac’ tha’ th’ chief wen’ for his gun firs’.’

‘Then it is done.’

He turned to the crowd.

‘All respect Nath as chief of tribe. If none challenge, then he sing for Oltha. Who challenges?’

Nath scanned the faces of the crowd. No one moved; then to his surprise he heard Iggy speak softly.

‘If no one else’ll challenge, then maybe I will.’

Nath opened his mouth but a vision of the wrath of the tribe if he revealed the deception made him keep quiet. The shaman faced Iggy, gripping his staff tightly with his wrinkled, tattooed hand.

‘You are not of tribe. You have no right of challenge.’

‘I figure I gotta right, by way of th’ alliance I gotta right, an’ by the fac’ of we have fought in battle. Don’t that give me a right?’

The shaman pondered for a while and turned to the crowd.

‘Iggy claims right of challenge by alliance. Will any say him no?’

The crowd remained silent and the shaman again faced Iggy.

‘How challenge you?’

‘I challenge Nath to fight at sunset wi’ hand guns under the common rules of gun law, as set down in th’ texts of Cash.’

‘That a rule of Festival.’

‘Tha’s how I’m makin’ it.’

‘Ways of Festival not ways of tribe.’

‘Tha’s my challenge. Take it or leave it.’

Again the shaman paused for thought. Then he raised his carved staff, the symbol of his authority.

‘The challenge stands!’

Iggy looked at Nath.

‘Till sundown, kid.’

Then he winked.

As the crowd carried Oltha’s body away, Nath watched Iggy walk away and tugged his beard in bewilderment. Whatever Iggy was up to he could only wait and go along with it.

A fraction before sunset Winston pushed into Nath’s tent. Nath, who sat loading his handgun, looked up watchfully.

‘What want you?’

Winston studied the tribesman.

‘I’m coat-holdin’ f’ Iggy, an’ I jus’ come over to see you got things clear.’

‘I clear.’

Winston sat down opposite Nath.

‘Le’s jus’ go over it, though, so’s there’s no mistake, ri’? You start from either end o’ th’ strip. You from th’ east an’ Iggy from th’ west. Yous both walk towards each other until you think the moment’s ri’ an’ you draw an’ fire, okay? The one who draws first an’ shoots straight kills th’ other. Unerstand?’

‘I said I clear.’

Winston stood up and made for the door of the tent. Before he stepped outside he looked back at Nath and winked. ‘Iggy said t’ tell you things ain’t always what they seems.’

Then he left.

A little later, as Nath walked to the eastern end of the strip, he couldn’t shake the confusion that all the winks and the strange message had caused.

He took up his position at the end of the strip and suddenly realised that he had been manoeuvred into walking straight towards the setting sun. A hundred or more paces away, at the other end of the strip, he could see Iggy silhouetted against the glare. He was bareheaded, wearing only a shirt, trousers and boots. A heavy handgun hung in an ornamented holster. Nath stood still for a few moments, checked that his own gun rested easily in his belt and then, slowly and cautiously, began to walk down the strip. Squinting into the light he saw Iggy also start to move.

As they drew closer he heard Iggy call out to him.

‘Hey kid.’

He halted and stood still, hand poised above the gun in his belt. Iggy kept on calmly walking.

‘Hey kid, they gotta text in Festival that goes: “He not busy bein’ born is busy dyin’”, you believe that?’

Nath felt himself slipping deeper into confusion. His brain whirled; what game was Iggy playing? Iggy stopped, some ten paces away. His eyes had formed coloured patterns from staring into the sun. Iggy’s long shadow reached almost to his feet.

‘They also got an old, old sayin’, kid: “Never give a sucker an even break”.’

Iggy’s right arm suddenly flashed into movement. Nath clawed frantically for his own gun but Iggy fired and a crushing pain smashed into Nath’s chest and he spun round and crumpled to the ground.

15.

A crowd, almost as large as the one for Celebration, gathered round the Highway Gate to watch Valentine lead his four hundred horsemen out to do battle with the outlaws. For the first time in many people’s memory a lord of Festival was leading his troopers out of the city against an enemy.

The crowd milled over the highway and a line of guards on foot struggled to keep the approach to the gateway clear.

Further down the road Frankie Lee and his companions, guns hidden under their coats and the merchant Ardbrass bunched up in the middle of them, were waiting, mingling with the outside of the crowd that stretched out to the North Gate of the Merchants’ Quarter.

Rank after rank of horsemen rode past, broad-brimmed hats shading their faces; guns bumping on the shoulders of their blue surcoats that carried the colours of the lord and the various merchant guilds. Fifty in all, eight abreast, they were the largest army to ride from Festival since Starkweather had disbanded his troops. Alone in front of the column, Valentine rode a large black gelding. Although unpopular he still managed to overawe the crowd, sitting upright on the big horse. His black leather tunic with its gleaming metal plates, and his high black boots and black helmet with the circular gold design made him look every inch the supreme warlord; he had even received a ragged cheer from the press of spectators.

In the dust thrown up by the four hundred horses, the supply wagons and the carriages bearing the court ladies and textkeepers rattled out of the gates. When the last one had passed, the Highway Gate slammed shut and the crowd started to disperse.

Slowly, with their captive in the middle of them, Frankie Lee and his boys made their way towards the North Gate of the Merchants’ Quarter. Although the gate was, as usual, open to the milling traffic, it was surrounded by extra guards who looked round watchfully. Obviously, after the incident of the previous night, the merchants were taking no chances. Frankie Lee signalled to the group to halt and turned to one of the men near him.

‘Listen Ace, split back an’ get your wagon, okay? Th’ one wi’ th’ cover. We gotta be a bit suss about gettin’ inside the Quarter.’

Ace hurried off and Frankie led the group back the way they had come and along the north side of the Backstage wall. As they rounded the corner of the wall and started to walk towards the arena, Ace came into sight, driving his covered cart drawn by a single mule. As he reached the little group of armed men he halted the mule and leaned over the side of the box.

‘Wha’ now, Frankie?’

Frankie Lee turned to the men.

‘Yous all get inside an’ keep your heads down.’

Then, as the men hurried round to the back of the wagon, he jabbed his gun into Ardbrass’s ribs.

‘Climb up onna box, Mistuh Ardbrass.’

The merchant scrambled up beside the driver and Frankie Lee followed, stepping past him and squatting down out of sight behind the wagon’s cover. He looked round the men who crouched on the floor.

‘Okay yous men, jus’ keep it quiet till we’re through the gate.’

He turned and poked Ardbrass with his pistol.

‘Okay merchant, you jus’ sit there an’ act natural. Remember I’m behind you an’ if you yell you’re dead, got it?’

The merchant licked his lips and nodded. Frankie Lee crouched lower behind the box.

‘Ri’ Ace, take her away.’

The wagon bumped and rattled down the track that ran beside the wall, out onto the highway. Then it swung to the left down towards the North Gate of the Merchants’ Quarter.

Joe Starkweather limped up and down his room. The enforced confinement was beginning to get on his nerves. From his window he had watched Valentine form up his troopers and ride out on the highway. He had watched them disappear down the highway with deep misgivings. If Valentine managed to lose a large portion of that force it would leave the city with little hope of defending itself in any way. He thought grimly of how it was quite likely that Valentine and his officer corps of posturing courtiers would lead their men into a total disaster. The fact that Valentine had rushed off with most of the troopers in the city, before the scouts had even returned to tell him about the size and organisation of the outlaws, did not improve Starkweather’s opinion of the lord’s military ability.

He ceased his pacing and futilely rattled the handle on the heavy wooden door.

‘Hey guard, wha’s happenin’?’

He hammered on the door with the end of his stick. ‘Guard! Hey guard!’

For some minutes he continued to beat on the door and yell. Finally he heard a voice from the end of the corridor. ‘Okay, okay, you ain’t gotta beat th’ place down.’

Keys rattled in the lock and a young, pimply trooper whom Starkweather didn’t know stuck his head round the door.

Wha’s all the noise about, you lookin’ f’ trouble?’

‘I’d suggest you use a few more manners talkin’ to me, you punk.’

The guard stepped through the door, pulling a short club from where it hung on his belt. Suddenly recognition dawned and his jaw dropped. He lowered his club.

‘Mistuh Starkweather, I didn’t know it was you. I thought it was …’

Starkweather cut him short.

‘Okay, leave it out. Wha’s happenin’ now Valentine’s split? Are you in charge of the prisoners?’

‘Me an’ ol’ Tom. There’s only us and recruits and a coupla of old ’uns lef’. Most everybody rode out to fight.’

‘Pissed at bein’ left to mind the fort?’

‘Well…’

The guard looked young and awkward at this gesture of friendship.

‘… Looks like it might be th’ only battle in me time.’

Starkweather scowled. ‘You think so?’

‘Sure, after th’ boys clean up them outlaws, I reckon it’ll be a long time afore we get any more trouble.’

‘You’re an optimist, kid. Any word about what happens to me? When do I get outta here?’

‘Captain never lef’ no word, so I guess the orders to keep you here gotta stand. Sorry, Mistuh Starkweather.’

The guard started to open the door but Starkweather stopped him.

‘Anything in your orders that says I can’t have a bottle or more weed?’

The guard looked blank.

‘I guess not.’

‘Okay. Then kid, you wanna run along an’ get them for me. I got an account at the Chance.’

‘Sure, Mistuh Starkweather.’

The guard slipped through the door. As the keys again rattled in the lock Starkweather sat down on his bed. The germ of an idea had started his brain working. Getting out might be hard but not impossible.

In front of the North Gate the bottleneck of travellers forced the cart to a halt. Beside them stood a group of hard-faced retainers who grimly surveyed the passing traffic. Frankie Lee pressed his gun gently into Ardbrass’s back to remind the merchant that he was still there.

One of the retainers glanced up at the wagon and spotted Ardbrass sitting on the box.

‘G’day Mistuh Ardbrass.’

The merchant seemed paralysed. Beads of sweat were breaking out on his smooth chubby face. Frankie Lee pressed the gun harder into his back and hissed at him.

‘Answer him.’

‘G’day Oaks.’

The merchant’s voice sounded strained and unnatural but the retainer appeared not to notice and the wagon jerked as Ace eased it through the gate. Once inside the Merchants’ Quarter they were able to increase their pace; Frankie Lee watched as they bounced down the rutted avenue between the tents and banners of the various small merchants and the more permanent structures of the guilds and cartels. Finally they halted in front of a medium-sized tent. Above it a green banner fluttered, bearing the device of Aaron the gunsmith.