Watson, Ian - Black Current 01 (28 page)

 
          
From
Pecawar, dear Pecawar, word continued to flow that all was well.
From Gangee and the other towns, likewise.
In each a militia
was now being hastily raised, though how effective these might prove I could
hardly judge by the example of Jangali. Jangali had always boasted an athletic,
spirited, tough guild in its junglejacks. Before long, teams of 'jacks were
marching about Jangali armed with machetes, axes and bill-hooks. No doubt this
was fine for morale— but good for what else? There was only wild jungle
opposite, and for long leagues northward.

 
          
Meanwhile,
leaders of the jungle guild and our own river guild conferred for days on end
about what to do. Coded messages were flashed, as well as plain—shorelubbers
noticed no difference. I began to worry that Marti had been all too right about
the absence of authority.

 
          
But
then, ten days after the invasion of Verrino, a tight-lipped Tamath instructed
me to accompany her to a meeting at the hall of the jungle guild.

 
          
The
Jay-Jay Hall, as it was known locally, was a massive wooden edifice on the edge
of the new town: a real temple of tree-trunks roofed by great beams and naked
rafters, with clerestory windows for light and air. Entering the Hall was like
boarding a great land-ship, largely devoted to an empty hold. The principal
chamber contained no furniture at all, as though it was an insult to giant
trees to trim them into tiny chairs. Instead, everyone sat on tasselled
cushions arrayed on the waxed plank floor—and you'd better be sure to leave
your boots in the lobby.

 
          
I
was seated cross-legged beside Tamath. Twenty 'jacks and riverwomen were
present in all; and before very long a 'jack dressed in the typical baggy
trousers and scarlet jerkin, and sporting braggartly black moustaches, was
asking:

 
          
"And
why should Jangali
be
invaded
soon?
Tell me that! If I was a westerner, sod his guts, first I'd
secure Verrino. Wrap it up tight. Rule the place till the people knew nothing
else. After a year or two I'd pick off Sarjoy, then Aladalia, as leisurely as
can be. Sew them up too. Where's the hurry? It's us who are in the mess, with
our trade routes cut in half. We're wasting our time marching round the town
with axes on our
shoulders, that
should be lopping
trees."

 
          
A
boatmistress said, "Well,
I’d
hurry.
Because the current might come back!"

 
          
"Come
back? Why should your mascot come back? You're crying for the moon."

           
I'd sometimes wondered what a moon
must look like.
A ball of rock floating above the clouds?
A kind of cold sun?
The jibe was insulting.

 
          
"I
hope you aren't suggesting that women have become like children suddenly. To
operate our trade routes you need fully experienced—"

 
          
"Persons.
Male or female.
And
s'pose those Sons send boats to raid, like pirates in some Ajelobo romance,
who'll be best to fight them off? Those as knows sails and needles? Or those
who know axes?"

 
          
"Mister,
it takes time to learn the ropes."

 
          
"And
maybe we've got time.
Five or ten years."

 
          
Another
junglejack spoke up. This man was older, with a birthmark—a squashed cherry—on
his cheek.

 
          
"You
riverwomen certainly need to buck your boat crews up with those of the axe, as
my friend says. A woman's no match for a hefty man in most fights. But there's
danger in hanging back from the fight too long. We might find ourselves stuck
in mid-air with no momentum. We simply can't let those Sons pour thousands of
soldiers over the river. And I'll tell you why. Judging from what that stupid
snitch of a girl said
,
those westerners are a lot
poorer than us materially. Now they'll have heaps of our own goods to use
against us. No matter how much they mess up the places they capture, they'll
only get richer and stronger."

 
          
So
the river guild—or Tamath—had already told the jungle guild about my travels. .
. .

 
          
I
was incensed; I spoke without thinking. "That stupid snitch is sitting
right here!" I said loudly. I only realized after I'd let this out of the
bag that I must have been present for a reason: as a card for our guild to
play. But what card could I be?

 
          
There
were a few intakes of breath. Men's eyes bored holes in me. Women looked
embarrassed. Tamath snarled softly, "Shut it!"

 
          
"Okay,
okay," I muttered.

 
          
"Well,
well!" declared Moustache. "I'd say the river guild owes us one for
that. Why's
she
here?
So that we can send her up a jungle giant without a safety line?
Or spit her on a spine-tree? Or stick her on a bonfire? Then both guilds shake
hands afterwards?" His loud voice sounded more threatening than perhaps he
meant it to, I had to remind myself.

 
          
Surely
this wasn't the card that Tamath hoped to play?
To toss me up
into the treetops as a way of repairing inter-guild relations?

           
"We don't
quite
go in for that kind of thing/' Moustache went on acidly.
"You misunderstand our little annual festival."

 
          
"Nothing
of the sort was in our minds," protested Tamath. "We can discuss
her
later on." She addressed the
man with the birthmark: "Sir, we agree with you that time isn't our
friend. And when I say 'our', I include everyone living on the east bank—man or
woman, from Jangali to Gangee. So therefore. . . ." And she glanced at the
quaymistress of Jangali, a plump silver-haired woman named Poula.

 
          
"So
therefore," continued Poula smoothly, "we must urge the recapture of
Verrino as soon as possible. How may this be accomplished? First, we should
restore communications with the towns of the north so that we can co-ordinate
efforts. We should build balloons to carry couriers over the occupied zone—and
spy on it. This can be done."

 
          
A
'jack whistled. "Can it, just?"

 
          
"We
think so. There'll need to be tests."

 
          
"And lightweight couriers!
Now I see where the girl
fits in."

 
          
Poula
ignored this. "Next, we need weapons which can match those pistols of the
Sons. Guineamoy will have to manufacture these. Therefore Guineamoy must be
strongly defended. The Sons might attack Guineamoy next."

 
          
"Knowing about its workshops, as they do."
Moustache glared at me.

 
          
"Oh,
a fool could tell from all the smoke!" said Poula.

 
          
"Really?
Then why didn't the Sons attack Guineamoy to
begin with?
Why Verrino?"

 
          
Maybe
the answer to that was that Doctor Edrick had wanted some decent spectacles ...
I suppressed this flippant thought.

 
          
"Three
reasons. Guineamoy must have seemed our strongest town. They may not have known
quite what they were up against."

 
          
"Now
they do. And the answer is: not much!"

 
          
"Next,
Verrino is close to Manhome South, where those 'Crusaders' might be more
influential. Unless we strike back and win, they'll soon be influential
everywhere in the west. Finally, the Sons had a convenient launching place at
Minestead. So now Guineamoy must be defended." Poula looked round the
meeting. "Defended by whom?" she asked rhetorically. "And who
will recapture Verrino with the weapons made in Guineamoy? Success in this
enterprise requires a stout team who can lay off their ordinary guild work for
weeks without disrupting essential supplies such as foodstuffs. . .

 
          
"In a word, the junglejacks.
Women
'jacks can carry on jungle guild business in the meantime, on a trimmed-down
basis."

 
          
Moustache
stared at Poula. "So what you're proposing is that we prune our own guild
down to the women members—and turn the other ninety-odd per cent of us into
your army!"

 
          
"It'll
be
everyone’s
army: the army of the
east. But an army, yes. Meanwhile, riverwomen will be busy ferrying fighters
and weapons. Don't
worry,
we'll be doing our
bit."

 
          
"Aye, by shipping us off to a foreign town.
Men don't
go gadding about like your lot, with a lover in every port. Some would say:
what's Guineamoy to us that we should quit our homes, leaving Jangali
unguarded? Some might say we could survive quite well on our own, from the
Bayou down to Tambimatu."

 
          
Surely
some Jangali men must have come from Verrino originally! Yet it was a truism
that new allegiances thrust out old.

 
          
"Don't
worry about your home town. The jungle protects Jangali adequately from
attack."

 
          
"Exactly!"

 
          
Poula
wagged a finger.
"Until the day when the Sons come
sailing upstream—picking off one town then the next!"

 
          
"She's
right, you know," said Birthmark.

 
          
Moustache
subsided somewhat. "So we're to pack our bags, and garrison
Guineamoy?"

 
          
"Yes,"
she said.

 
          
"While the Guineamoy guild make lots of pistols and things,
for us to go to war with?"

 
          
"We
haven't time to mince words or be diplomatic, Sir. Yes, yes. It's the only way.
Guineamoy are prepared to tool up to make swords and pistols. And explosive
bombs which you can catapult from a boat deck, or drop from a balloon. And
incidentally," she added, "please don't think too harshly of Yaleen.
She did tell us about their guns and how the Sons govern the West; that's
useful."

 
          
But
I wondered whether she was defending me personally, or simply the honour of the
guild. . . .

 
          
"Almost
as useful," snapped a 'jack with a vein-smashed drinker's face, "was
what she told them about
us!
And
about the poison those Barbra weirdos use."

 
          
I
winced. I did manage to stare back at him, though perhaps my face was as
flushed as his.

 
          
"We'll
need to discuss your proposal," said Moustache. "We'll give you an
answer tomorrow."

 
          
"Guineamoy
already agreed," said Poula.

 
          
"Maybe
that's because they're closer to the action, and a bit more exposed? And maybe
the almighty river guild promised to remit their cargo fees for the next couple
of years?"

 
          
Poula
snorted. "Next you'll be fretting in case we charge you for troop
transport!"

 
          
She
didn't actually answer his question, though. This, I thought, was foolish. If
the 'jacks sailed to Guineamoy, sooner or later they would discover whether
there was anything in this wild surmise. And who would fight with a stout heart
if they even suspected that they were being diddled?

 
          
Yet
who was I to criticize?

 
          
"Tomorrow,"
repeated Moustache. He stood up, in one smooth scissoring action. Other 'jacks
followed suit.