 
Blood & Dirt

#1 in The Exploits of Roger Fee

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by Dai Alanye

Copyright 2013, 2019—Dai Alanye

Edition 1.26

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Blood & Dirt is an original work of fiction. All characters, locations and incidents are creations of the writer's imagination. With the exception of possible satirical references, any resemblances to actual happenings or to persons living or dead are strictly coincidental.

Blood & Dirt is a specially-edited version of the earlier story Blood & Earth, modified to serve as the first volume of a series: The Exploits of Roger Fee.

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Blood & Dirt

Chapter 1 — Give Me the Female!

There we were, Vera and I, bobbing in the middle of the Great Lagoon, our small single-master locked to a pirate's larger craft and facing the boss sea-raider himself.

He called out in Flœklægh, the lingua franca of the lagoon and its environs.

"Hear, man of dirt—give me the female and it will go better for you."

I managed to keep my return shout steady, partly due to the concentration necessary when speaking an alien language.

"So, man of blood—what use have you for a female of dirt?"

Before the grapnel had been thrown I'd maneuvered to keep the outrigger toward the pirate boat, preventing their immediate boarding. Waves hissed and slapped in the fifteen feet of water separating me from the muscular bronze humanoid—too close a distance for comfort.

The pirate glanced at the audience—his crew—then back.

"Pay heed: When has a true man no need of an additional female?"

Hoots arose behind him—even on Nov Austrasia it was deemed wise to laugh at the boss's jokes. But the crossbowman beside the chief laughed not, nor did his aim stray from my chest.

The pirate continued, "If no use to my lusts, yet might she gain us costly gifts."

"So:" I hated this guttural throat-clearing tongue, not least due to the need to make each statement a declamation. "Might not I also gain you gifts?"

"Know this, man of dirt: The true man rejoices not in wealth alone, but in deeds of boldness—the quelling of adverse life and the desolation of lands. Yet give up the dirt female—this woman of Earth—and your death shall be speedy. Thus say I, Bahkælt."

How wonderful. But I signaled agreement, remembering not to nod—for such meant negation here—but rotating my head as though relieving a stiff neck.

"Thus I bring her."

I stepped to the cockpit where Vera Dardani lay prone and stiff with fear—shanghaied by me, and now facing capture by these savages. Reaching down for her, I continued the bend into a dive to the deck.

The archer's bolt skimmed my bare back as I snarled at the little witch who'd put me in this position.

"Now will you give me that pistol?"

She made no response, and I snatched the automatic from her flaccid hand. Wriggling under the deck, I laid my right eye against a sliver of light between shrunken planks of the aft starboard side. The pirate chief was starting to edge along the outrigger's rear boom, and no doubt the crossbowman was climbing to a vantage where he could shoot at my lower frame. No time to think of that.

I brought the muzzle up to the crack, resting the barrel against my temple and trying to aim by kinetic sense. The discharge half-deafened me as the bullet plowed the crack wider. Muzzle blast blinded my right eye, and the left snapped shut in excruciating sympathy.

§

Chapter 2 — Welcome Aboard

Curled into fetal position under the deck, I tried to convince my good eye to open, but the right had closed so tightly the left refused to obey. And now the girl began to scream.

"Are you hit?" I shouted.

The screaming continued.

Prying open my left eye, I managed to make out through tears that no blood spurted, though a bolt stuck deep in the boards near her hip.

"Shut up! You're not hit!"

She screeched on.

I raised my head and blearily made out the bowman on top of the pirate deckhouse. His bolt clipped the top of the combing at the right place to take out my teeth, had they still been there. I was slow to peek again and saw the crossbow rising into position. I snapped a shot off-target but at least his missile went wide.

Bobbing up once more I caught the bowman with his foot in the stirrup, cocking the weapon. Taking careful left-eyed aim and timing the dipping of the boat, I placed a shot in his gut. The bronze figure twisted before rolling off the deckhouse.

I kicked at the girl's shoulder, stopping her in mid-scream. Left eye still propped open, I lay back half under the deck, waiting for boarders to show above the combing. None did but—Lord love me!—the pirate's mast was moving. I sat up as their sail began to rise, thinking of taking another shot. But no—no point needlessly taking life even if I could shoot. And more important under the circumstances, ammunition wasn't available at what passed for weapon shops on Nov Austrasia.

Odd, though—I heard splashing to starboard.

·

I extended an oar to the barbarian I'd shot—the first one—and he clambered over the gunwale, coughing and blowing after his dunk. Sprawled on the deck, he drew his chopsword and tossed it aside. A heavy cough shook his sturdy frame.

"Heed Bahkælt's plea: I offered you, man of dirt, a speedy death. I now beg the same."

This was more like it!

"Listen:" I said. "Your life you shall keep if you take oath to serve me."

He turned aside, speaking as if to himself.

"I! Serve this pale misshapen male who brought me down with alien thundermote, not honorable edge? My soul would shrivel within me—my body enfeeble."

It was the indirect speech employed among acquaintances, conveniently avoiding the declamatory mode.

"Hear, Bahkælt: Have you not, by accepting my aid, given up your life to me?"

"Nay, man of dirt. I am become, rather, your guest just as the newborn offspring—thrust unwilling into the world—is esteemed a cherished gift, to be offered all welcome and hospitality."

What gall!

"Know, man of blood, that it is otherwise on the dirt world. Thus must I declare—become my aide and minion in full ardor or resume on the instant your previous means of reaching land."

He again spoke aside. "What choice is this—low slavery or a grave beneath billows? Who is made made fish-like to cleave the sea to depths unplumbed? Better the first, which will surely end some day at death—his or mine—if not before." He turned to me. "Know that I, Bahkælt, accept your dictate, lacking in honor though it might be."

"Thus take..." I caught myself. Better to use ceremony, however slight, in this society. I snatched up his sword—short, heavy and one-edged—and handed it back to the him.

"Retain your ordnance for use in my behalf should occasion arise."

The pirate graciously accepted the return of his weapon then displayed the cause of his fall into the sea—a bloody groove on the inside of his right thigh. Painful enough and fearfully close to his reproductive tackle. A pretty good shot, considering.

In the middle of my dressing the wound Bahkælt said, "I ask, glaucous master: Do females of dirt endlessly croon thus? If so it is well I took her not aboard my vessel lest the crew be irritated and depart for other employ."

I'd been too busy to notice, but true enough—Vera's screeching had been replaced by continual low moans. What was wrong with the girl?

"Are you hurt?" I called. "If not, shut up! We're safe as houses now. Make yourself useful and get on the steer-board."

She ceased yowling and sat up to stare but made no move, while the boat bobbed and dipped in the light chop, yawing every which way. I finished tying a rag to hold the pad on Bahkælt's wound.

"Tell me, blood-man: Can you steer?"

"Queries he thus a mariner of my stripe? Have I not captained my own ship, necessarily knowing every skill and trade on board? Hear, Master..."

"Hold, Bahkælt: Call me by name—Roger."

"I take heed, Lahzhl. What means this name in men's terms?"

"Know that it is Renowned Spear. What is yours in words familiar to me?"

"In the ancient tongue it is Crimson Slice—that is, Wounder. I go now to steer."

He went, and I swung the yard to catch the breeze, then tightened its halyard to slightly raise the sail. Bahkælt expertly met the prow's swing. I hauled, then sheeted home—the light boat immediately heeling and steadying. I pried the pirates' grapnel from the forward gunwale, tossing it and its line on the deck.

The outrigger seemed light upon the water, the breeze having freshened during the hour we'd maneuvered and confronted the pirates, so I reeled the balance-weight farther outboard, righting the boat sufficiently to avoid fear of tipping, then went aft to sit in the cockpit beside my erstwhile enemy.

I studied the hominoid, while he glanced at me between sights at wave and sail.

"I wonder," he said to the air at starboard, "what course Bahkælt should steer?"

This informal means of speaking was new to me, having so far met and dealt with natives only as one stranger to another. I attempted it now, addressing my speech to the mast.

"This lagoon holds many islands amongst which we need slip, but the south shore has inlets with ports where a boat might be sold, and those things obtained that are needful for journey overland."

"Perhaps the man of dirt would wish to anchor at Frogfoot town, well up the stream of like name, whereunto this wind, should it hold, might deliver us with one sleep, assuming no untoward delays."

I approved his suggestion since it was, in fact, the exact place I'd planned to go.

"Take heed, Bahkælt: Steer to Frogfoot, always hoping the winds hold favorable."

Vera now whined in English, "I'm thirsty."

"Look in the chests—you found my gun easily enough."

"Did you expect I'd let you kidnap me at will?"

"You wanted a boat ride and I gave you one."

"You lied!"

"Never mind! Get drinks for us all."

Resentment showed in every line of face and body but she brought jugs for us before slumping with her own into the farthest corner.

I gulped deeply, then eyed her.

"You surprise me. I expected more hardiness from one of your nation."

She scowled, not meeting my eye.

"I am no true daughter of the eagle, raised like a goat among white crags. My mother was a Frenchwoman of Algerian descent, and I an only child, my father treating me as some precious gilded figurine, spoiling me at every turn. If I am weak-willed it is not my fault alone—he loved me too well."

"Too well!" What a load of BS that was. "He's traded you off readily enough."

"Fool!" she spat out. "My father is four years dead—my mother too. It is my uncle."

"What? But I..."

"My father's testament entrusted me to him, unknowing what fell envy lay dormant in his brother's heart. That one fenced me about with the scrip of solicitors, and with cold men and hard women, too—holding my body and fortune both imprisoned. Before I reach full age he would marry me to that beast who bought your allegiance. And the wealth my father left... That is their aim—to have it for themselves, those two."

"He told me..."

"You are a fool."

§

Chapter 3 — To the Oars

I, a fool?

Likely enough—taking on this high-risk assignment, chancing my life on an alien world where what passed for law wouldn't bother to avenge my death nor make much effort to prevent it. And tasked with persuading—abducting, in fact—a runaway to return her to the embrace of a loving father and would-be groom. Heaven knew I hadn't wanted this. I'd give plenty to be back on Earth living my humble but relatively safe life, enjoying my family.

By all that was holy!—why had I taken this job?

Aw, why try to kid myself? It had been that 100,000 euro check.

"Open the envelope, Mister Roger Fee," Carlo Khoury had said. And when I had, and my jaw finished dropping, he added, "One-fifty thousand American."

Not quite, but almost $140,000—fully enough to snag me. And, he went on, another E400,000 was in the offing. Total: nearly $700,000. Not really big money, but plenty big enough for me. Carlo—whose true name no doubt was Khalid—wanted me badly.

I was immediately suspicious. Was he aware my last job had brought me only $55,000 plus a lightly-padded expense account—and that it had been four months back? Surely he did, for I'd been referred to him by that very client, who was apparently grateful if not generous.

I resisted, of course, protesting that this wasn't even vaguely similar to my typical kind of investigation, not to mention the probable strong-arm aspect. I'd never been off-planet, knew nothing of Nov Austrasia, hadn't... But none of it mattered to him except the recommendation, and the fact that I knew how to keep matters confidential.

So my objections had been overcome. Truth to tell, they had all been for form's sake—the sight of that check had instantly convinced me. I'd be able to protect my own daughter with that money—subsidize my parents' care of her while they kept her safe from my ex-wife.

The harridan—Mari's mother— couldn't touch her via the law, but protecting against less-than-legal attempts was critical. My ex-helpmate didn't want her out of love, but was obsessed—obsessed!—with revenge against me. If I hadn't wanted Mari, neither would she—she'd have looked for some other mode of attack.

So I was a fool, little question about that. But had I been fooled? Was Vera's story true—even in part? It ran against my interests to believe her. And besides—although upon seeing her I'd had an impulse to forget the assignment and run off with her myself, so lovely was she—it hadn't taken long for that emotion to be replaced by its near opposite.

We passed an islet, and the breeze dropped—the boat barely keeping steerage way. My new bronze buddy tended the steer-board, skillfully adjusting its angle to make the most of the now-capricious northish breeze. But as I scanned the horizon, a blemish came into view to westward—a smudge that might be a boat similar to ours or—more likely—similar to Bahkælt's quondam yacht.

"Attend me, Bahkælt: Would your former crew, doubtless having by now elected a temporary captain, attempt to regain you? Or would chagrin at having abandoned you constrain them?"

What I really wished to know was whether they had chickened-out due to my use of a firearm, but felt it less than tactful to directly ask.

"Know, Lahzhl, that I claim it most unlikely, though it pains one's self esteem to declare so. My jests found little favor with them, and I hindered their amusements too often, as when I made the offer of your prompt death."

Huh? "Can this be true?" I asked the distant boat.

"Without doubt," he told the same object. "By way of example, a score of days bygone we took captive the remnant crewman of a captured vessel. Upon our landing on a small isle for purposes of refreshment, my fellows hauled him ashore. Making a much wider blaze than was needful to prepare our repast, they cut the muscle cords behind knees and elbows, then propelled him into the midst of it, fending his egress by prods with tree branches. He showed more stamina than most, prolonging the amusement, yet his dolorous cries too ardently assaulted my ears. I took up my bow and put a bolt through his throat, spilling his life-redness upon the embers—thus bringing the frolic to a precipitous end.

"Loudly did the crew protest my action, and predictions of ill-fortune were made. Truly, one less sanguine than myself would have foreseen what has befallen me."

I happened to look at Vera during the recitation. Her face was a study in revulsion, as surely was mine.

Upon Bahkælt's conclusion she accused me in English, "Now see what you have wrought."

"Me! I have nothing to do with his past actions, either good or foul. I only hope to control his future ones. But I see you understand Flœklægh."

"Yes, and speak it better than you. But you provide confirmation, Mister Renowned Spear Fee, of my earlier accusation—you are without doubt a fool. Ask your minion the identity of yonder ship, and what it foretells to us."

I had an inkling of what she hinted, and turned to my minion.

"I ask—what boat might that be, and whence."

"Were one to speculate," he told the gunwale, "most likely said vessel belongs to one of the princedoms of the southern shore, or of the islands near to them."

"Could not the craft be peaceful, one hopes?"

"All have hopes, certainly, yet to mine eye it looks a high-riding war-launch rather than a merchant cog deep-laden. We males, therefore, must strengthen our resolve in anticipation of providing some gratification for them—as must that female, too—ill-armed and short-manned as we are."

Startling news, and it took me a few seconds to absorb it and make a plan, such as it might be.

"So, Bahkælt, let us to the oars, and stretch our limbs. You," I said, looking at Vera and switching to English, "get hold of yourself, and take the steering. If you've any spirit at all—or any hope of life—pay attention to my commands."

She stood and came immediately to the arm of the steer-board, showing so little emotion I was surprised. Perhaps she had worked out her fears or possibly subsumed them in anger toward me. Whatever it was, so be it.

Bahkælt and I un-shipped the oars and began to pull—him with full nautical skill, me taking several strokes to gain the proper rhythm, for my experience was years ago. We made our efforts felt, however, and soon had the boat skipping o'er the waves at a fair rate. Before long we cleared the lee of the isle and began to move at a rapid pace. Between oars and the following wind it was easy to guide the craft, so Vera needed little in the way of direction.

"We shall keep at it for a time," I said to the world in general, "until we have a goodly lead on yon argosy." Always assuming we could out-run it, for with the breeze on its beam it might be making good speed itself.

So it proved. We pulled heartily enough, but I tired in time, and although we had gained under the impetus of sail and oars, as our pursuer neared and altered course to intercept, it took the wind on its quarter, seeming to increase in speed, although still two or three miles behind. I rested—as perforce did Bahkælt—and I encouraged Vera by some subtle praise of her efforts.

"You've done this before, have you?" And when she denied any experience, I added, "Hmm. Well, perhaps this boat is naturally easy to steer."

"Show me your skill, why don't you?"

But I declined, claiming to need all the rest possible—not far off the truth. From boating in my teen years I wasn't a complete tyro as coxswain, nor did I require further practice.

In time our presumed enemy approached within four hundred yards, and I felt we needed to renew efforts. The wind had shifted a point eastward. We seemed to sail best with the wind between stern and quarter, and up ahead was a large island to starboard. By yawing to take the breeze aft of starboard we could hope to maximize progress, and zip right into the dead zone behind the island. The other boat hadn't yet used its oars—perhaps couldn't or wouldn't for some reason. I proposed to gamble that we, with oars and sail, could maintain better speed in the lee of the island than they. All it required was some effort from the two of us, combined with a lot of good luck.

The other course of action was to let them approach, then pick them off with the pistol. But crossbows had more effective range—could be aimed better due to a longer sight path—and there would be several to my one slug-thrower. Nor had I a great supply of ammunition.

Should I be guessing wrong about our relative speeds, however, we would let them come within twenty yards before I started shooting. I assumed they would barge right down upon us, not being familiar with alien weapons. Perhaps they would withhold their missiles, preferring to take us in hand to hand combat—more satisfying to barbarian notions.

All in all, we could only attempt to choose the best of bad choices. Bahkælt and I bent to the oars, making a strong but slow beat designed to conserve my stamina for as long as possible.

·

I had donned shirt and hat with the lowering of the sun, and sweat now soaked both. A stern chase is a long chase, true enough—but a session on oars makes the leader appreciate a long chase, as well. Stroke after brutal stroke we made while the breeze did its best to help, yet they gained steadily, and the far side of our hoped-for refuge refused to approach at any reasonable rate.

A ranging shot came as we were abreast the western point of the isle. Despite the following wind it fell fifty yards short. Another hundred or so strokes we made, my back and arms crying out for rest, before another shot came. It halved the distance.

"Shall I turn?" Vera called.

"Gradually. Make no... gasp—sudden changes."

A few score more pulls, and another crossbow bolt in the water, at least twenty yards back and to the side. Were we maintaining adequate distance from the shore? Fatal to run aground.

"Nother... few degrees," I panted.

The foe held their previous course for some seconds—perhaps concerned with grounding their larger craft, perhaps wanting to work down our port side and come upon us broadside.

A bit farther—and as the shore seemed to recede, I ordered another slight turn and then another, until we were headed south by west, the wind now coming from the starboard side of dead aft. Did the boat seem to dash more rapidly against the wavelets?

Another ranging shot fell behind us, slightly closer than before. I glanced at my partner in travail. He also showed the effects of our service. Another slight adjustment to heading and I felt the first lessening of the breeze.

The other boat, its sail reaching more skyward than ours, and its position bringing it a fresher breeze, began to noticeably gain. A high-arcing shot crossed our stern, splashing into a crest not two yards distant. Vera slid down behind the combing, little though it would protect her from such plunging shots. Bahkælt and I instinctively amplified our efforts. For a few strokes we gained, the next shot falling well short.

But the wind weakened further and they began to close in.

§

Chapter 4 — Schemes

I now had the ill-luck to catch two crabs—allowing the oar-blade to twice slap a wave-top rather than dig in. Our heading altered and—worse yet—we lost a few yards. A blizzard of crossbow bolts rose and fear lent a species of insane strength to my arms and perhaps as well to those of my fellow rower. The boat sprang forward and by some miracle—whether vouchsafed by the singular God of Earth or one of that multitude respected on Nov Austrasia—not a bolt in the dozen struck us, though one glanced off Bahkælt's oar-shaft.

Our assailants stretched over the side in their eagerness—leaped upon the gunwale to obtain a bit of vantage—while Vera dropped the steering-arm to glue herself to the deck. Who could blame her? Yet even this aided us, for the veering steer-board headed us farther from the enemies' course—gaining a few yards and a few seconds. Another volley reached toward us to fall short, and at the same instant they completely lost their breeze. We crept away despite my weakening efforts.

One mighty belated shot followed, malignly poising on high before plummeting directly toward the stern, slashing a huge splinter from the combing above Vera's body and ricocheting into the bilges. She had no screams left in her, and simply froze—ignoring our shouts for several seconds.

We continued—though easing our efforts—opening a large gap. Our stubborn pursuers dismounted their outrigger—necessarily dropping the sail to avoid danger of tipping should a gust strike—then swung out two great sweeps with a pair of men on each. Even so we pulled away, gradually lengthening the distance to near half a mile. At this point they gave it up and changed their heading to southward in an attempt, no doubt, to regain the wind.

"Hear me, Lahzhl," my fellow oarsman said. "They will await us come the dawn, standing to and fro where the winds be more brisk."

My response was interlarded with deep breaths. "I hear and... doubt not. What counsel... have you?"

"Thus: That we drop the sail once distance and darkness begin to dim their sight, and anchor near those islets to our starboard fore, where by moonlight the mast might appear a spindly tree-stem and the hull but another spray-slick rock among many. After refreshing ourselves with food and drink and sleep we can take thought under night's cloak as to a course different from what they would predict of us."

"So: You have... said well."

A few more feeble strokes by me, and Vera spoke up.

"Let us trade places. I can hardly do worse than you, inexperienced though I am."

My arms trembled, my back ached and my thighs were cramping—and I had caught enough crabs to feed a platoon.

"Do so," I croaked, and signed Bahkælt to stop. Passing the mast, I lowered the sail then slumped into the cockpit, taking up the steer-board arm while Vera commenced her apprenticeship in rowing. She soon began to surpass my recent feeble efforts.

"Hear now: Slow your stroke," I called. The other boat had become a dim shadow. "No need for hurry now." I steered more westward, heading for a string of rocky islets that extended south from the island.

* * *

The pirates poured over the gunwales, one leaping into the cockpit and striking my arm. Half-paralyzed, I threw a roundhouse punch and...

"Imbecile! Waken and stop thrashing. Here—take this." Barely visible in the weak light of one small moon, she held out a bowl and jug.

"Urk, uur-rrgk." I cleared my throat and slowly sat up. "Thanks. Where are we?"

"At the place we were headed before you slept or fainted. An hour or more you've been gurgling there on the deck."

"I've had little sleep of late."

"The devil's work takes a toll, I'm sure."

Spoiled brat.

"Were you happier back there?" I sneered.

"You English have a saying—From out of the kettle, into the blaze."

"Frying pan and fire. And I'm not English."

"No matter. There I was being held for ransom, here I am likely to be slaughtered. You can hardly claim to have improved my lot. But let us speak business—what would it take for you to turn your coat?"

I laughed. "What!—you've gold or diamonds sewn into your hems?"

"My credit is worth something, I assure you. But al Khoury no doubt fee'd you well, Mister Fee?"

"Your weak pun contains some truth. You can hardly hope to top his payment."

"True, perhaps, if he has bid for you in the millions."

This sank in slowly. "Are you claiming...?"

"No need for claims. My father's trust runs until I reach twenty-five years age. In little more than three years my fortune will be at my own disposal—yet before then I can certainly give a mortgage against it for a goodly sum. Of course, to interest a lender I must be able to show assurance of future freedom to control it—this is what my gaoler uncle denied me, and what al Khoury would hope to continue to deny after a forced marriage and my guarded seclusion."

She closely eyed me as I took it all in. Could I believe her? Probably not—she was a crafty manipulator, I was sure. Was there any truth in what she claimed—or truth mixed with lies? But even if true, did I wish to ruin my business reputation and open myself up to a suit for breach of contract?

She tired of my ruminations and turned away.

"Wait!" I wanted more background. "What happened to your father?"

"An accident while driving the narrow winding roads of the Riviera of France. They loved to race—both of them. It was a shock but not a surprise."

"Are you sure...?"

"Of what?"

"Could it have been your uncle—or Khoury?"

"Khoury, I do not know. But my uncle showed genuine dismay at first. Only later did he alter—possibly after al Khoury approached him. But all in all, I think a true accident is most likely. Those betrayers saw an opportunity and moved to take it, justifying themselves in their greater need and their greater ability to use my father's wealth. I would strew it foolishly, you see."

"Is that true?"

"What matters it? Had I promised to endow madrassas and orphanages, or to purchase bonds and five-star hotels, or to re-route the Jordan River... Rest assured they would still have justified themselves some way or another."

This casual cynicism made me respect her more than any pathetic sob-story could have. But business was still business... and I had accepted an assignment.

I took a spoonful of the porridge and must have grimaced.

"Is it insufficiently seasoned for your finely-tuned palate?"

"I wish it were at least hot."

"What—would you have a fire to guide our enemies to us?"

"I said wished—not that it ought to be."

"Have a care what you wish for."

How true was that? I had wished for money, and look where it had got me.

* * *

Something wakened me in the dim pre-dawn. While we had been keeping a watch some feckless sentinel had slept and forgot to wake the others—me, I was fairly certain. Ah well, we still lived and breathed.

I looked to see what had broken my slumbers, and made out a form on the rocks—Vera. She had jumped into the water to retrieve the grapnel. As I watched, she heaved on the rope to gain a bit of slack, then freed the treble-hooked device, swinging it a couple times before tossing it aboard. I jumped out of the way.

She took a run and made a flat dive and a couple of strong strokes—grasping the gunwale to fling herself out of the water and tumble into the cockpit before I could offer a hand.

"You're in a mighty hurry!"

"Tiger-eels," she said, meaning the amphibian creature I had heard Terrans at the spaceport compare to a cross between shark and piranha, with some snapping turtle thrown in.

"They're truly that bad?"

"Who would wish to find out, foolish Fee?"

"Why not send our bronze buddy?" I glanced where Bahkælt was weighing the anchor-stone.

"You know little of this place, do you? They are more massive than we, and cannot stay afloat without great effort. Surely you saw when you plucked him from the water."

"Oh. But why not ask me?"

"And thieve you of that rest you so obviously need? How little you must think of my efforts at benevolence."

Hmm—I was on the losing end of the battle of wits this morning.

"Well, I'll say this—you swim like a fish."

"Do you mean that for a compliment? At least say seal, as we are both mammal."

Her dark clothing clung like a seal's sleek pelt.

"Yes... No one could mistake you for anything less."

Even in this dim light a blush showed through her deep Mediterranean coloring. Our score was now tied.

"Ho!" Bahkælt called. "Where away shall we?"

The wind had come around to easterly during the night, although this might soon be tempered by a sea breeze if the sun burned off the mist.

"I say, let us tack into the wind while they naturally assume we would choose to run before it."

Agreement was immediate and unanimous. We worked past the end of the rocks then made a long run to the southeast through low mist banks. As the day lighted with the rising of Nov Austrasia's solar companion we dropped the sail while putting over the steer-board, then raised it on a tack to northeast. We drove no great bow-wave, but the sea was calm and the sailing easy. Nor did we hear any sound of any other boat working in our vicinity. All seemed rosy as I once more engaged Vera in conversation.

"Why do you never speak to him?" I indicated our companion.

She gave me a pitying smile. "First, unlearned man, the females of his species—or of the local culture, certainly—are meant to work unremittingly and say little where the affairs of males are concerned. Second, his being ignorant of my ability to understand the tongue might confer upon me an advantage at some point."

No doubt about it—she was a clever vixen. I'd do well to stay alert around her.

"You're in better spirits today, girl."

"Having observed your captive's loyalty, I believe the chance for survival better than my previous estimate. But you had best offer him some pay to cement your hold upon him."

"They are so mercenary?"

"You mistake again. Rather, if he accepts a gift from you, it demonstrates his status as your vassal—for honor demands he make the counter-gift of his service."

"I see."

"I doubt not that as a corsair he has upon him more portable wealth than you—in the form of rude jewelry, for instance. But if he refuses not your gift it gives you an assurance he will remain true."

And what are your plans? "Have you no money to gain his loyalty, Vera?"

"It was part of Hamid's scheme to render me unable to buy my way free nor pay a creature to carry a message. Indeed, not the slightest of monies would he allow me. Yet even had I wealth I could purchase no loyalty, for I am but a low unworthy female in his eyes."

Her smile was pure saccharine.

I digested this irony. "And how did this Hamid come into the picture?"

"He was one of al Khoury's creatures, lent to my uncle to keep me more secure—to limit any chance for escape. He befriended, then professed love for me."

"Tricked you into eloping."

"No, not tricked—for I merely led him to think his charms had me infatuated. In reality I saw a chance to escape—even if it was out of the pot and into the kettle, as you English say—and was willing to use him. As it happened he was less daring than to attempt to become my lover, and planned only to hold me for ransom. He did not want to reduce the value of his merchandise, so left me untouched. And perhaps, as some have hinted, his taste runs not to women."

"By some, you mean..."

"Well... myself, for one."

Of course. "Again, though, I'm not English."

She shrugged. "Six of one, a dozen of the other."

Leaving her to steer, I went forward to squat beside Bahkælt. "So, warrior—how long to Frogfoot now?"

"Hear me: This wind will cause delay unless we make a far southing, then scud before it. Yet if Eurus* gives way to Notus*, who can say how lengthy the journey?"

He meant, if the east wind became southerly.

"So," I said, "we must maintain the wind upon our port side in any case, but should make our heading to the south."

"I declare, Lahzhl, that when the solar orb attains halfway to its zenith we might put the breeze on our port aft, thereby making direct for Frogfoot stream insofar as intervening islands permit."

We immediately tacked to again head southeast, assuming we were far outreaching yesterday's pursuers. The wind held steady and the sun cleared off the surface mist to give us a fine hazy day—for a while at any rate.

·

"Hoy, there, Admiral of the Ocean Seas!"

Vera again, waking me from a much-needed snooze.

"What now?"

"I wish you to take a sight to our right rear."

"Starboard aft," I corrected, ducking past the mast. "What is it?"

" Perhaps companions from yesterday, Admiral Fee."

"We should have left them far... Where away?"

She pointed, and after gently massaging my right eye, which still declined to do its proper duty, I made out a smudge west by south of us, possibly on a converging course. "Very doubtful," I assured her. "They couldn't yet have stopped looking west for us."

"If they ever went west. Perhaps they reckoned the same as you."

"As we did—don't put all the blame on me. But it's just as likely someone else. Not to worry—it'll be hours before they get close, assuming we don't outrun them or they don't change course."

·

[*I use the Greek names for wind gods rather than confusingly add more terms in Flœklægh for what amounts to the same things. Of the cardinal winds, Boreas was the north wind, Notus the south wind, Zephyrus the west wind, and Eurus the east wind.]

§

Chapter 5 — Guess Again

Vera wasn't prepared to let me off easily.

"Your prophesies of good fortune seem open to question," she gibed.

"If it weren't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all."

"What do you mutter?"

"Merely a saying—an American saying."

It was past noon. The boat that had chased us yesterday—or one very similar to it—had drawn near enough to be seen as no peaceful trader. Though starting well to south and far back, their being slightly faster and keeping closer to the wind meant we could foresee interception within a few hours, and I had no idea how to evade them.

We cruised an empty sea, driven by a wind as steady as the trades with only far distant clouds to south and east that might be indicative of land. Nowhere to hide nor any chance of pulling yesterday's trick. But I had to do—or pretend to do—something.

"Come steer."

"Have I not steered most the day?"

But she took the steer-arm while I went forward to commune with nature and Bahkælt.

I scanned before us, seeing nothing new—then sat beside him. He glanced at me, and I said, "Hear now: Should wind and current stay steady we must gain distance, or as well turn and fight."

"I hear: What would you?"

Yes, that was the question, wasn't it?

"If we keep this course they will be upon us before dark," I addressed the bow. "If we turn south toward those distant lands or islands they will gain the faster. If we tack northeast all remains the same..."

"Too far northeast," he told an oarlock, "will put us at the entrance to the great sea, where this frail craft was never meant to swim."

Certainly true. I had come here via the ocean in a heavily-built and well-manned ship, proof against ocean waves and pirates both. On the lagoon a daily hour's bailing kept our shallop buoyant, but even crossing the entrance bar would wrack our timbers, changing leaks into jets. No matter that the Polynesians had dared oceans in their outrigger canoes, this plank-built half-decked tub would become a sieve when tossed by those large rollers I had viewed while entering Dwœntul Lagoon.

"And if we run before the wind," I continued, "we must turn back toward our start to have any hope of foiling them."

He mused to the fore-stay, "To break out the oars again will bring fatigue, and battle will find us less hardy when they finally overtake. Better, perhaps, to accept what the gods have chosen for us—face about and run down to them. A quick death is to be preferred to lingering."

He had a point. If we could come crashing down on them and accept only one barrage of crossbow quarrels, I might leap aboard and down several before they realized what they were up against. But I wasn't ready to go fatalistic as yet, and a mere fifteen bullets to face twenty or more foes would require feats of marksmanship I couldn't lay claim to.

We sailed on.

·

The sun of Nov Austrasia pursued its downward course. By mid-afternoon our adversaries were within a mile of us, and closing steadily. How odd that they should chase so doggedly a poor bucket such as ours. I put the question to Bahkælt—how would a vessel of the southern shore be so early apprised of us?

"I declare that on reflection one might doubt whether this foe is from the lands of Notus. The craft follows too steadily, and it is known that southerners, in addition to practicing all manner of deceit and cowardice, are prone to despond. Yea, its rig—while different from that of my clan's immediate environs—might hail from our Borean hinterlands. Thus I conclude—considering the small degree of peaceful congress between the north and south of the great lagoon—that details of our voyage might be yet undisclosed here."

"They are, in other words, likely from the north. Tell me: Could our pursuer—northern or southern—know that the woman is on board and of value?"

"I respond yes, if northern, for the prize offered was great, and word of it would quickly travel among our allies. Indeed, our empery might have been but one of many urged to capture her. And to see hair on board a boat would instantly alert any who viewed."

He meant Vera's raven locks, for females didn't work the sea in this culture—her long hair would allow our immediate identification.

"Let me inquire what wealth was offered you."

"Indeed, I hesitate not to inform you—her weight in brass. A clan-chief's harem-mate—a respected sturdy worker and proven offspring-bearer in retention of youth—could hardly be priced higher. I say nothing of beauty in this instance."

"One of his race could hardly see beauty in one of mine," I mused.

"And yet this bold woman of dirt evokes us more nearly than my pale companion."

I nearly snorted. What a laugh! Vera's complexion somewhat resembled his, for she was dark olive in hue—fully as dark as his more reddish cast. But the idea that her hawk-like visage in any way resembled Bahkælt's bald chinless goggle-eyed pug-nosed face was hilarious. Still, let him keep his illusions if such they were.

Our period of leisure was brief, for he gave a wordless cry, and I jumped to my feet and stared. Beyond the starboard bow the surface showed turbulence and a few crests. Shoal water!

"Grab an oar," I roared, forgetting all formality of address. "Vera! Ready to go about," and I rushed to loosen the halyard. "Now!" I leaped on the sail to force it down.

She pushed on the steer-board, and Bahkælt dug in the port oar. The poor shell of a boat pivoted and swung onto the opposite tack. I rushed to switch the yard, then raised the sail. "A couple points more," I told Vera, indicating north by east.

We skirted the shoal by a comfortable margin, but I looked closely ahead to see if we had got into a pocket. Apparently not. "Back to the east," I told Vera. But here was Bahkælt.

"Oh hear, Lahzhl: I abase myself for unwariness. In the dry period the water..."

"Hold! All is well."

Behind us our shadowers had matched the course change, but instead of tacking had weared, turning not across the wind but with it before straightening on the new course. They lost both speed and distance, pivoting twice the arc we had traversed. At more than half a mile I couldn't tell how much they'd given up, but it had to be a hundred yards—perhaps two-hundred or more. Hallelujah! They had cost themselves at least half an hour. If I could get them to follow suit each time...

Only one way to find out—do it again as soon as possible, once we were past the shoals. I shinnied up the mast as high as I dared. Yes, not only did the shoal water extend from east to west—it also extended some distance south. But we were almost past it, so in a few more minutes I could... I could... I...

No—forget the piddly tacking!

Down I slid. "Ho, Bahkælt!" He attempted to renew his apology but I interrupted, explaining my plan. Then back to Vera, making sure she understood.

And now, I had only to guesstimate courses and timing—and a guess was all it could be. I stared at the other boat and at the shoals, my head swiveling like to twist off my neck. It was coming, coming, coming...

I loosed the sheet and stood ready at the halyard.

"Now!" Down went the sail while Vera pulled the steer-arm and Bahkælt used his oar on the starboard side. Over with the yard and sheet, then up with the sail, and there we were on the other tack, ready for more. I gaped as the pirates hesitated, then wore again before straightening on... On what course?

Yes! "Vera! South and a point west. Be ready to come about if we spot more shoals. Otherwise... pour the coals to it!"

I adjusted the yard, then my sturdy crewman and I bent to the oars. With luck this last maneuver had further confused and delayed our pursuers. But in any case we were going to cross their bows a mile ahead, and leave them befuddled—perhaps grounded or at least checked by the shoals, if I had guessed with any accuracy. If, if, if... Pull, my merry men! Er, merry man.

* * *

"You are far too certain of yourself, Roger Fee."

We had gained miles—miles! Before our foes managed to get on our tail again—though by that time my body was a wreck—we were among the islands adjacent to the southern shore, inching between rocks and over shoals they couldn't clear. We had continued to sail—with exceeding caution—even after dark, then anchored well hidden away. I felt certain we had eluded them this time.

But I had not eluded Vera—she was on my case again, referring to a matter distant in both time and place.

"Him you assassinated..."

"Not killed."

"The force you used..."

"No choice, with that helmet."

"His clan will make blood-feud. You gave no challenge, and struck from behind."

She'd been happy enough to escape at the time.

·

After a few inquiries I had learned of her whereabouts—in the territory of Clan Radiant. Perhaps Clan Illustrious would be a better interpretation—or Famous, or... whatever. She and Hamid had made quite a stir since few humans toured—much less lingered—on the north shore of Dwœntul Lagoon. They were guesting with the clan-leader, a type who might correspond with an ancient Irish king, back when every bailiwick on the emerald isle had its own pretensions of social and political glory—and its own king, Druid, bard and earthen fort.

For days I stayed clear of her and the man she called Hamid until learning there was a sing-song upcoming, to be held in the king's [let me use that convenient term] hall. Everyone who was anyone would be there—that is, those of the priestly, warrior and land-owning classes. Merchants and craftsmen—much less hewers of wood and drawers of water—would find invitations hard to come by. But I, an automatic celebrity due to my alien status, could hardly be refused entry.

So it proved. And as I had hoped and assumed, Vera Dardani was in attendance. But in attendance upon her was an armed and armored member of the native race. The hominoids of Nov Austrasia are not large, in general, although sturdy. But this one was large—near as tall as I, and more heavily built. Nor would he leave Vera's side.

"You were fortunate," she now informed me, "that Hamid was not there. With his presence also, you could never have freed me."

"You're so sure."

"Without question. He is trained and very diligent. As anyone would certainly be, if caring for an investment worth millions."

"And why didn't he make an appearance?"

She hesitated. "He seemed ill after eating."

"An allergy to some alien dish?"

"Perhaps. Or perhaps some substance—soap, it might be—polluted his food."

I said not a word, only looking at her—waiting her out.

"When I learned of your presence I deduced you had come for me and would use the excuse of the king's fete to make contact. I only hoped you were the decisive type who would take immediate measures upon seeing an opportunity."

"You judged rightly."

"Contrarily, perhaps, for you were impulsive and impatient—determined to take action at once, regardless of lack of knowledge about a situation."

Impatient—yes. Impulsive? You decide, dear reader.

I first observed from near the entrance, pacing side to side to gain a sufficient view. The hall was large and open, spanned by massive trusses of hewn timber pegged and mortised together. The fire-pit was planked over, all eating benches and stools jammed back against the sleeping cabinets that lined the walls. Vera and her escort were in the rear, near but not next to the ruler's retinue.

Inside, a quasi-circular dance formation twirled round the hall—some sort of war or hunting ritual set to various percussion rhythms. I got the sense of it, took up a spear from an arms rack against the entrance wall, then joined in—stomping, leaping, brandishing the spear, yodeling in a manner vaguely similar to the other dancers. It was all, fortunately, somewhat free-form.

One complete circuit and a quarter more, then I dropped out to catch my breath while sauntering along in the wake of the dancers—soon passing Vera. I slowed to speak to her, asking brightly, "From Earth?"

She eyed me sardonically. "Where else?"

"Your bodyguard know English?"

"None."

"Would you like to take a boat-ride tonight? First stage back to Earth."

She only nodded, and I moved on. The nod meant Yes to me but would signify a negative to the locals who might be watching. Good enough.

I rejoined the dancers, and on coming past again, sang out, "When a disturbance starts later, be ready to move to the exit."

She looked steadily at me but made no response. I decided to assume this meant Yes again, and that caution dictated she give no overt answer. What would I have done had she said No—been unwilling to leave? Luckily the question never came up. In the event, everything went smoothly—so smoothly as almost to guarantee later trouble.

Male locals wore a sort of kilt or sarong, with a loose blouse and short cape on their upper bodies. I had obtained a sarong, using my own shirt and a windbreaker in place of the blouse and cape. Pockets were my need, and their clothes knew them not.

I now went to use the male privy at the right rear corner of the hall, a built-out alcove shielded by a curtain. Taking a place at the end of a considerable line, I waited my turn—attracting much attention and some comment. Part of the reason was that I had hair, which adult native males do not. Were I, as might be assumed, an adolescent, my place should have been in the female line, at the left rear corner. Perhaps my stature and the shortness and lightness of my crew-cut blond hair convinced the others I belonged in the male line. Perhaps they made me allowance as a foreigner. Perhaps they thought me ill or mad. All these were discussed under a general misapprehension that I couldn't understand the language.

Had the breeze set from the other corner, I would have needed to pretend to be an adolescent in order to use the female privy. Had it been from a third direction... Well, not so simple, but I would have thought of something.

After some time in line the prior occupant courteously hooked the curtain to one side and I entered, dropping the curtain back in place. The facilities consisted of a pit in the rammed-earth floor, its rim much splattered. I briefly made use of it against later need.

I fished out and lit a sulfur candle, then reached as high as I could—about a foot higher than anyone to be seen outside—and inserted it deeply into a capacious crack between two timbers of the back wall. After waiting a minute to be sure it remained lit and active, I exited in the proper manner, doing my bit with the curtain.

As I strolled off I heard the succeeding customer give a "Whoof!" Then, "What nostril-searing effluvium has the demon discharged?"

Another said, "Hear me: A diet of polecats might create suchlike stench."

And another, "I declare it is well such non-men have their own world. Praise the gods it is vastly distant."

And so forth, while I acted as though their remarks communicated nothing to me. I took station next to one of the torches that lighted the place, casually turning back to the assemblage of comedians, and continuing to act unaware of their humor—increasingly mixed, as it was, with genuine dismay. I made as if to yawn in the native fashion, arching my body and stretching my arms overhead. The smoke candle partly hidden down my sleeve took fire, and I turned to shield it with my body while jamming it behind the torch sconce. In a few seconds I began to stroll toward Vera's location.

There she was—the guard still hovering over her. I stopped twenty feet short of them—turning to watch the dancers, and extending my gaze toward the privy. Smoke from both candles was rolling on the floor and roiling up toward the ceiling. Bronze figures crowded back away from the smoke and sulfur dioxide [poisonous in high concentrations, I fear] until they disorganized the dance.

I stepped nearer Vera, and spoke ventriloquist-like from the corner of my mouth. "When the excitement mounts, I'll step in front of you and walk in the direction of the entrance. You run past me, and I'll trail behind. Keep going toward the shore once you're outside."

So I did, and so did she—I following close behind the guard who trailed her. The entrance was packed, and we all halted. "Force your way through," I called. She started to worm forward, with little effect. The guard caught on, however, and began tossing bodies right and left—making a path for his charge and himself. I in turn made use of the turmoil and the relatively open passage thus created.

Once outside, Vera broke into a fast trot, the guard nearly treading on her heels. She cagily led him past a stand of high vegetation, and once we were hidden I took out my cosh and stove-in his helmet.

I hope his skull was less injured, and not just because I fear bloodthirsty clan members searching for me. Despite Vera's reveling in my belligerent act, and despite a need to often appear callous in this line of work, I don't enjoy harming my fellow sentients, human or not.

What kind of a person do you take me for?

§

Chapter 6 — Sleepers Wake!

"A vessel!"

"Nnhn?" I awoke hard, still worn from yesterday's exercise and late hours. "Lord above!—what now?"

"Shh!" She tugged at my sleeve and pointed.

Had Nov Austrasia a decent-sized satellite there might have been some way to make out what had caught her attention, but the night sky, though clear, afforded minimal light, and the sun wasn't yet hinting its presence. "I can't..."

"Sshhh!"

Just an early fishing boat, as it turned out. Her wary eyes had made it out against the light sea while we hid against the dark background of an islet.

After it passed she turned to me and hissed, "You are too lax. I... We might have been in danger."

"Assuredly, were we sardines or some other fish."

If looks could kill...

She had a point—I was a poor sentry. But I needed my rest.

* * *

The wind continued to shift toward south, settling about southeast by mid-afternoon, and weakening. Despite dodging shoals and islands we made good time, leaning on the oars when needed but not working over-hard. We sighted many small boats, most of which gave us a wide berth.

"Say, Bahkælt, why these fishers and carriers seem to fear us. Surely they think no boat this small a raider?"

"Here is the long and short of it: They love us no better than we love them, but being cravens, they dare not risk offending."

I took his boasting with the usual grain of salt.

"Well, then: Better for us and them both."

"Agreed, for should we aim at ravishing them of their humble goods—to gain needed food and drink, as might be—yet we would delayed be at least, and their coastal guards might make sail to defend against us."

"Tell me of Frogfoot Stream, for we have passed outflows aplenty."

"In truth, but none of like size to that we seek, flowing through its many winding outlets and shifting bars, and bearing resemblance to that for which it is named."

Was this an alien Mississippi?

"So: Is there not a main channel up which we might slip with little delay or need of handling sails and oars?"

"Know that there is—yet with the winds adverse, even in this season of low water the current will do its best to fling us back to the raging sea."

I hadn't seen any rage as yet, but this sounded discouraging.

"Say further—will the wind continue to swing?"

"I say it is unlike to remain discrepant. In this season Boreas and Eurus should predominate, but for some reason better not to elucidate, the gods have chosen to operate against us—perhaps to send a warning. May I ask—have you offended some number of them recently?"

"Er... I would state No, but who can understand the gods?" I hoped he wasn't overly religious—or should it be superstitious? At any rate, a non-committal answer seemed wisest.

"Yet respond to me, Bahkælt: How long unto the stream we seek?"

"I must claim less than full familiarity with this sound we navigate, yet it might be but part of a day. When the current shows a set to the north or east, and the sparkling wavelets turn earthy brown, these will be signs of approach. One more sleep at most, be assured."

* * *

"Beautiful weather," I offered. "If we wander an alien planet at the risk of life, at least the climate is enjoyable—the vacation spot of the galactic neighborhood."

"The dry season is one thing," Vera responded, "but wait until the wet."

"You've experienced it?"

"Certainly not—I've been here but three Earth months. Yet I've experienced monsoons back home, and no doubt this world's will be as bad or worse."

"Is it about to turn?"

"I think not. Why?"

"Our buddy says the winds are blowing out of order—should be north or east."

"Can't we wait for a shift?"

"Speed is our friend. We need to keep ahead of rumor, if possible, or the whole world will be out to capture us—and we need the north wind to get up this Frog-river."

She shook her head. "I only hope you haven't tossed me from pot to pan."

"You hope! Spare some sympathy for me, the law-abiding laborer in this vineyard of criminality."

"Law-abiding," she scoffed. "I scoff at your pretensions. Having seen you break law after law on Nov Austrasia, I doubt either the Code Napoleonic or British law could withstand you."

"When in Rome... This is a violent society and monkish behavior is impractical."

"The universal excuse—I must do it to him lest he do it to me. Not for you the Golden Rule, but a kind of leaden rule."

What was the point of arguing? Did she think diplomacy and fine manners would have loosed her metaphorical bonds? I merely shrugged, but she wasn't done.

"By your lights you should have shot that guard—pushed the hard cold muzzle of your pistol into his back and pulled the trigger. Twice, to be certain he couldn't harm you in his dying throes. And when that pirate ship came near..."

"No."

"No? No what?

"No—I couldn't shoot. Post-hypnotic suggestion."

"But Bahkælt..."

"Imminent threat to life. As he came toward me with his chopper the inhibition was released, but when they sailed away I couldn't get off a shot. Not that I wanted to, of course—not much. And you know what's funny?—except you won't be laughing—I'm not sure I can do it if your life is in danger. Perhaps only when mine is imperiled."

"What little sense this makes! Why carry a pistol you cannot use—do you plan merely to threaten with it?"

"Did your friend Hamid have firearms? Of course not—they're forbidden. Even paying a hefty sum for a permit didn't gain me the right to shoot whenever I like."

"Permit—or bribe? And Hamid has no overwhelming need such as yours. He is skilled with edge weapons—especially the knife—and hand combat."

"Excellent for the great Hamid, but as for me... It might wear off—will wear off eventually. In the meantime, I'm restricted by an artificial inhibition."

"Give your useless weapon to me—I suffer from no inhibition."

It'll be a really cold day before I... "Should it prove necessary, rest assured I'll turn it over to you." Or as soon to Bahkælt. "What training have you had?"

"I'm skilled at clay targets..."

"Shotgun. What about pistols?"

"I have shot them on occasion. My father had no hesitation about instructing me."

"But that was years ago. I assume your uncle has been less than eager to arm you?"

She grimaced. "That is true, but familiarity remains. You may let me see it."

I was tempted to unload and give it to her, just to see how she handled it. But I knew she wasn't a team player—that she had her own ideas about what constituted her welfare. She might throw the thing overboard.

* * *

We let the current drift us to a partly sheltered anchorage, Bahkælt probing with an oar to assure we didn't hang up on some mudbar. We had reached brown water but the wind languished, and it was getting dark. Better leave further exploration until tomorrow.

The delta showed in the distance—low-lying and covered with brush—but we made out no actual passage. Good light would be needed before we attempted to ascend the river—good light and a favorable wind, for I'd no intention of learning the profession of galley slave.

"Tell: What think you?" I asked.

Bahkælt pondered. "I say the flow seems strong for this season, caused by nearing an open channel rather than mere leakage of marshy flux."

"So—and the wind?"

More pondering. "I must ask, Lahzhl: Have you failed some god or gods—neglected your duty thereby?"

I looked away from him, entering into casual mode. "What duty might there be that I should owe?"

He also went indirect. "In Dulb, what god did this outlander profess? Or was his esteem divided among many?"

"The governmental seat delayed me for so brief a period that no god came to my attention, nor was I introduced to any beliefs. Might this explain matters?"

"If no overt worship, to what god could he be assigned? Would he be considered a traveler, a devotee of the noble profession of arms, a procurer of females—all of which have prescribed modes of worship? Or would he, an atheistic outlander, fall under the sway of the Nameless One, protector of those who choose to die unconsecrated? A complex matter, theology."

"Thinking of the possibilities, one would tend to choose the Nameless One—for professing the one God of Earth might, to native opinion, consign me to the unconsecrated. But is a casual choice acceptable?"

"A man—even a male of dirt, one would suspect—should choose, or be chosen—from among the gods available here, as the importation of foreign cults must necessarily be prohibited by local doctrine, if not by the decrees of rulers. Of this I am convinced."

"If only one knew what might be required of oneself—assuming there existed a responsibility to this Nameless One."

"Fortunately, the clear rationality of religion among my folk makes devotion a simple matter. One need only render [garble-gabble] to the secular authority."

Huh? "Yet is [garble-garble] so simple a concept?"

"[Garble-gabble] is a foremost principle among us, assuring that ill-luck sent by the gods is a rare and sometime thing, so man may pursue his life under the guidance of reason instead of mystical caprice. One assumes this doctrine will eventually spread to alien cultures, giving a predictability to life hitherto unknown to lesser breeds."

·

"And he brought up this doctrine of [gibble-gabble] as if it answered everything."

Vera frowned. "What [gibble...?] Do you mean [garble-gabble?]" She laughed and pointed a finger at me. "What sort of preparation did you make before undertaking this quest to abduct me from my reputed lover? Did you bother to open a book—view a vid? Did you assume you could muddle-through in the typical English way?"

This stung, considering how much effort I had put into study.

With a sneer, I said, "I didn't realize my knowledge of language and culture were so lacking by your high standards."

"Don't think my criticisms unkindly meant."

"Certainly not—ridicule is a well-known European conversational mode. In fact I spent nearly every minute in study during the trip in ultra-space. Nineteen days subjective, and even during sleep I played language discs. All things considered, I've done well, I should think."

She rushed to reassure me. "Forgive my mirth—you have done well. No doubt under pressure from al Khoury you had little free time before setting off."

First belittle, then build up—a conscious strategy on her part, or a naturally acquired form of asserting control over mere men?

"But what is this [garble-gabble?]"

She grinned. "A tax on non-believers. It is administered by the clan-leader, and no doubt brings much income, for the natives are regularly accused of non-conformance to whatever mode of worship they are required to profess, along with those they might freely choose."

"You mean...?"

"On Earth, should you wish to set-up an enterprise, certain regulations must be followed, requirements met, fees paid. So it is here, but enforced arbitrarily. Should a male wish to acquire better household effects—pots for cooking, perhaps—and order one of his wives to sell the old utensils he might stand accused of failing to recognize the god of commerce, or the god of pottery, or... Assuming the accusation is upheld he must pay not only the particular accusing church but fill the coffers of his clan-leader as well, by donating to the Nameless One. It is a most convenient system whereby the secular authority is vigorously upheld by the religious."

"Amazing! And Bahkælt portrays this as the epitome of reasoned policy."

"More amazing is that they have no organized atheistic movement. But why care you? Surely a man of your ilk has few religious scruples—or any other kind. And this Nameless One is a blatant self-interested superstition at best."

"Of course. But I—we, it should be—depend upon our bronze buddy's advice, and his habit of bringing the gods into every doubtful question is frustrating to say the least. If I conform to his belief perhaps he'll stop ascribing the unknowable to my religious failings, and give more useful answers."

"I see. And for what great question have you recently appealed to your sea-going oracle?"

"The wind—where has it gone, and when will it again come from the north? I've no intention of rowing our way up this river."

"Ah! You have at last come to the correct pythoness. But I see that you are startled."

"Not startled—I simply..."

"The ancients of my native land were prone to seek enlightenment from seers who ensconced themselves in underground caves, using snakes for familiars. These women were reputed to have great power and subtlety, but tended to give misleading replies. I will try to do better by you."

All this was said archly, attended by smiles and flashes of her brilliant eyes. She could be quite charming when she wished. But business called.

"The wind," I prodded.

"During my time here the winds have generally been moderate and steady by day and even by night, tending to come out of the northeast. But... it does not continuously blow, nor always from the same direction."

"Therefore...?"

"Your pythoness—your Sybil—predicts... but not in verse, as that would require time to compose—that the breeze will reappear very shortly, blowing from its usual quarter, and more strongly than recently."

"How strongly?"

"No gale, certainly. It is as if the north wind renews himself by a brief holiday in the Elysian south, then shows his strength. Yet I must warn—in case you take me too much at my word—that this is based on casual observations over a mere eighty or so days. Don't be irate should it prove I've misled you."

The next day showed Vera's prediction still in abeyance, so while we swayed at anchor to the tiny ripples of current Bahkælt fished the muddy waters in the hope of adding some diversity to our diet. I told him of Vera's weather knowledge, including her description of the wind's renewal. It had an effect.

"I aver this female of dirt has qualities not often seen among the women of blood. It is uncanny, and not an omen for good, I fear."

"Allow me to ask whether you believe she has brought us good or evil so far?"

"This question is worthy of consideration. On the one side, we have been menaced repeatedly. On the other, we have as often escaped through the application of your cunning and my valor. The matter is open to further proof, it would appear. Hst!"

His bobber had jiggled. He handled the line, ready to strike.

"Ho!" The bobber disappeared—jerked beneath the opaque water. He gave a strong yank, then hauled in. The fish, although seemingly large, was no fighter. He pulled it from the water and... "Ai-ya! The jaw-worm!"

No sooner had he hooked a fish than a tiger-eel had struck, turning a possible two-pounder into an unbodied head. He shouted a number of terms unfamiliar to me before calming and turning my way.

"I must beg excuse for venting my rage in unseemly words."

"Hear: I blame you not. What is worse for the fisher than to be cheated at the moment of triumph? Better to have caught nothing than be so abused."

"This male feels and thinks like a true man," he told the fish-head. And to me, "I tell you, these demons are the scourge of the entire lagoon—a pest the eradication of which would be among the greatest boons ever offered mortals. We are debauched of our food while the slimy beast sinks into the mire to digest in peace, safe from vengeance."

I could only commiserate. Then we got into my religious failings. I transmitted Vera's thoughts without mentioning their source, leaving him in a quandary. We decided to reexamine the theological situation in Frogfoot, putting off a solution but soothing his qualms about associating with me.

Darkness came, and we upped anchor and silently rowed a couple hundred yards to confound any potential attack, for we'd been observed by far too many boats during the day. Then to sleep, with my nervous companions swearing to keep watch without me.

§

Chapter 7 — Brown Water Ops

Pitch black! The boat rolled and jerked, waves splashed and spray flew. Vera had got her north wind and then some.

Nothing showed except the crests of breakers at the island behind us—nothing could be heard but wind and waves and Vera mumbling in some unknown language. I tried to rise but almost fell, Bahkælt catching me. Something about the anchor-stone. Dragging—the anchor dragging, and we'd find ourselves entering the delta sideways if it lost all traction or the cable broke

"Hold tight," I yelled, sparing a thought for Vera. Bahkælt and I staggered to the bow, grabbing any hold we could find until reaching the anchor line. We heaved—on our backs with feet against the gunwale, trying to gain some slack—no easy job with the wind roaring down on us and spray in our faces. We gained and lost our grips, then gained again, pulling till joints cracked and muscles cramped.

Finally getting a good bight, I held firm while Bahkælt crawled to the mast and belayed it. I relieved him, and he loosed the bitter end, then threaded the cook-stone—provided with a hole in the corner for this specific purpose—over the cable. Next came the job of easing the stone down the line and around the mast, and finally over the side, then gradually releasing the bight, taking care not to let it go with a rush that might snap the frayed cable.

We waited to make sure the anchor no longer dragged, difficult as it was to tell under those conditions—then worked our way back to the cockpit. But soon we had to rouse ourselves to bail, the spray and the working of seams in rough conditions having filled the bilges. To add insult to injury, a few raindrops pelted us from low-hanging scud.

"Is all well?" Vera shouted into my ear.

"If the cable doesn't break."

"God help us! Should I pray more?"

"It can't hurt. Try English so I get some good from it."

"Don't blaspheme, you madman—have we not already enough to worry us? But why did this happen?"

"You must have set your cap wrong."

"Not the wind—I mean the anchor coming loose."

"Not loose—dragging. When the boat pitches up and down it tends to lift the anchor off the bottom, losing some traction."

"In the name of Heaven, why not use a bigger stone in the first place? You must have struggled an hour or longer."

"Heavy to handle. The classic method is to let out more cable so the anchor sees no upward pull. But we hadn't enough rope to begin with, so let's hope the extra stone will do the job."

"And no lifeboat or jackets, nor can our friend swim. We will be in a difficult way if the boat founders, not even considering the tiger-eels."

But I had so worn myself out that I fell asleep in the middle of the discussion—storm or no storm, eels or none.

* * *

The sun rose in a bright sky, the wind strong but less so than last night's half gale, blowing from a point or two west of north. I was for once the first up but had mercy on my companions and didn't wake them. To kill time, I took up the bailing bucket.

When all were up and starting off, we were forced to head almost directly into the wind so as to gain offing, not willing to risk grounding on any bars the river outflows might have created. After some heavy work with sail and steering we turned west, easily spying the entrance to the main channel by all the boats and ships clustered before it, waiting their turns to head upstream in single file. The brisk north wind carried them easily against the river's flow, piling water over any shallows.

Gauging our approach, we nipped into line ahead of a larger craft coming from the west. Based on that crew's response, we had taken their spot, for they sailed close upon our stern-post, hurling many a curse over their bow.

"Tell me: Should we fear attack?"

Bahkælt scorned the idea that these effete southrons would dare show the initiative to do us injury. "Know, Lahzhl, had I my bow, one shot would gain us a hundred fathoms clearance."

He didn't use fathom, of course, but a native term that meant much the same.

Vera pointed upward. "Why are so many birds overhead?"

The birds—avis-oids would be more accurate—were concentrated about the other boat, merely flying over us as they circled. Some of their crew were tossing things into the air—small fish it seemed. I questioned Bahkælt.

"It is thus: They reward the flutterers for leading the way to shoals of fish."

But... "I ask, are these the same that showed them where fish were gathered?"

He gave his equivalent of a shrug. What mattered if it was the same individuals?

"Tell me: Do they reward the birds before setting out?"

"I respond: No, Lahzhl, for they have as yet caught no fish to give them."

Er, okay.

We were soon between the arms of the channel, following accurately in line under the theory that if the boat in front made its way safely, we should too. So it was to prove. The channel twisted about, forcing continual adjustment of sail and steering, but the wind was always able to help so we needn't use the oars. Mid-afternoon we cleared the delta, but the boats still kept in file for the most part, only a few showing themselves both daring and fast enough to attempt to pass.

One of those, as it happened, was our friend of the entrance. It surged up on our stern, only veering at the last moment, and gradually overtook us, passing to port since our outrigger was to starboard and theirs the opposite. Their prow came about midships to us after a quarter hour. Vera was steering, staying directly behind the boat we followed. She looked over at me but I indicated she should keep her course, not slew off to give our rival extra seaway—for who knew the width of the channel.

They forged on, coming nearly to our bows before some danger or narrowing ahead caught their attention. They veered toward us, shouting furiously in an attempt to cause us to yield. Vera looked at me but held the bar steady, and I smiled approval. They didn't intend to run afoul of us, I was sure, but might have hoped their bow-wave would nudge us aside.

"Steer a little into them," I said, intending to overcome any effect their approach would have. Perhaps they misinterpreted this as an aggressive action, for loud cries again rose, along with various gestures. One fellow picked up an oar as if to fend us off.

Instead they dropped one of their sails, taking a bit of way off, once more trailing in our wake. We kept on, trying to ignore them. It must have been two or three miles before they tried again, gradually working up our port side. As before, they overtook only gradually, but eventually got a lead and hung on to it, half the crew scowling at us and calling threats and insults.

As their stern passed our mast, I decided in my simple trusting American fashion to attempt to mend fences.

"Hear me: Have you fish to sell?"

They stared as if surprised to hear a pale alien speak a man's tongue. On the other hand, perhaps they were astounded at what they considered sarcasm—one never knows with these touchy fellows. One stepped back from the rail and bent over, calling out something incomprehensible. He reappeared with a fish in each hand, propelling them my way one after the other.

Immediately the rest of them followed suit, crying out, "Fish it wants—fish it shall have." Dead fish flew toward us by the dozen—most of them, fortunately, ill-aimed.

I dodged behind the sail, and Vera was partially shielded. Bahkælt, though, stood defiantly upon the fore-deck, neither ducking nor even attempting to fend off the catch of the day. I picked up a couple and hurled them back, pitching one strike, but Bahkælt only glowered. As they pulled away the scaly barrage ceased, and he turned and stomped his way down the deck, ferociously kicking fish overboard, ending with a jump into the cockpit, where he sent a few more flying.

"I demand answer!" he shouted at us. "What do you?"

We were doubled over in laughter, Vera having trouble holding her course. We weren't merely laughing at him, of course, but at the whole ludicrous situation. Yet it wouldn't do to answer lightly with him in such a rage. I looked to Vera for inspiration.

"Cursing them," she offered.

Not quite right. " Hear! We scorn them with our laughter."

He didn't join in, but at least began to calm. She and I, though, had to avoid looking at one another for several minutes lest we break into guffaws again.

"Tell me," I finally asked him, "how much wealth those fools threw away."

"So," he said. "Now you see, Lahzhl, what lack of dignity and good sense the hotter southern clime engenders in this heedless folk."

·

Not wishing to risk hitting a bar or snag after dark, we scanned the banks for a place to dock. Tomorrow we would be on our own as we headed toward Frogfoot settlement, but how would we find our way upstream?

"I wish to know: Have you not..." I couldn't say pilots, for the word in Flœklægh was unknown to me. "er, males who guide vessels safely in this river?"

He asked the mast, "Who would he have guide the boat but those sailing it? What thinks he, that one who sails the sea can be dismayed by a mere stream?"

"Hear, Bahkælt: In our world many narrow waters have such men who, of great familiarity with local conditions, come aboard to prevent calamity."

He kept to indirect mode. "Can mariners of his world be so timid or unskilled as to often need aid in steering? Do they undertake only voyages less exacting?"

"Know this: In ships similar to yours our past navigators made voyages unguided across large parts of our world—even fully round it." I considered mentioning Columbus, Magellan, Drake.

"Does he not know I and many another have sailed the four corners of Dwœntul Lagoon with none to point out directions but ourselves?"

No point in arguing further—he had no conception of relative difficulties. The idea that sailing across a landlocked body perhaps two- by three-hundred miles could compare to explorations of Earth's oceans was ludicrous—a millpond to the Maelstrom. Yet he managed to have the last word.

"Moreover, if all harm be avoided, how then to winnow less-able captains from those of higher skills? He who loses ship or drowns himself will likely not earn future command, to the ultimate improvement of all navigation."

·

Bahkælt spotted a suitable place to tie-up on the river's left bank, and pointed us toward it. As we neared, the boat jerked and wobbled, and we crossed into an eddy. Our speed increased as current now aided wind. I stood by the sail, and as we approached dropped it a bit late, Vera cutting the boat to starboard to lay our port side against the pier. But our greater speed combined with her inexperience caused the prow to strike, almost pitching Bahkælt overboard. He recovered and leaped onto the pier to make us fast, while I rose from my sprawl to drop a fender over the side.

I turned to criticize her but she was already apologizing, and I knew full well it shouldn't be held against her.

"No harm, no foul," I told her.

We needed to negotiate with the owner or manager, and she urged me to do it rather than depend upon Bahkælt's already frayed temper. So I jumped onto the pier and did the necessary. I immediately learned one reason for Bahkælt's rancor toward the southrons—they spoke directly, looking one in the eye. More comfortable from my outlook, but it was easy to see how the lack of formality would strike those used to more ceremonious speech patterns.

Negotiations were no problem once the man got over the shock at seeing an alien, and we were allowed to dock in peace and buy food. Soon the cook-stone was being used for its primary purpose, and we enjoyed our first fresh food in many days.

Well tired, Vera and I decided to sleep, but Bahkælt—un-trusting of these degenerate south-siders—declared he would watch all night, regardless of our slacking off. He was dead to the world when we awoke with the dawn but we chose to let him sleep, figuring—based on his assurances—the upstream leg of our voyage wouldn't be especially difficult.

But getting free of the pier was. I had assumed we could simply push off and drift into the main stream, but no such luck as eddy-current and wind combined to lock us tight against it. I cast off the line while Vera shoved with an oar, but the boat merely rocked against the pilings. I joined her and we managed to slip a few feet toward freedom, but the current resisted, trying to shove us to the bank. Our efforts became more frantic.

Last night the proprietor had left us alone. Today, though, he and others gathered to ogle, and our struggle to release the boat brought them closer. Soon came hoots of laughter and comments on our seamanship, while a youth squatting on the edge of the pier reached down one leg to kick water at us. Vera, near the stern, received this splash, and her reaction excited the crowd. They jammed the edge, jeering and calling misleading advice, and the boy repeated his successful trick.

Vera burst out, "Are there no eels in this water to take off a few of his toes?"

The mob was appalled by this sally in understandable Flœklægh. A male leaned forward almost in her face and shouted, "If this froward female wants eels, let her dip her own extremity—preferably her head!"

This was too much. She shortened her oar and drove it into his knee. As he stumbled and yelped in agony she jeered, "Forgive my clumsy blow, noble sir—I had aimed somewhat higher."

This communicated the same insult as to an Earther, and the crowd—nearly all male—became maddened. That a female should be so disrespectful!

Several things happened at once. Bahkælt, wakened by the noise, jumped to his feet, chopsword in hand. While I—fueled by a gush of fear-induced adrenaline—gave a stupendous push that brought our midships past the pier's end—the boat starting to rotate under the current's impetus. The excited crowd nudged the boy into the river, and a man in the second rank squeezed forward to swing a stick at Vera's head, which Bahkælt parried with a vicious backhand cut.

I gave another shove, pushing us past the pier's end. Some of the mob looked ready to jump onto the boat, but Bahkælt raised his sword and shouted, "Know that the foot which touches this deck shall instantly from its leg be parted!"

As the boat whirled free and turned prow upstream I dug in my oar to steady it. "Steer!" I yelled to Vera, and she grabbed the steer-board arm. I aligned the yard and raised the sail, and we skimmed away, followed by a few ineffective missiles. A man forced his way to the corner of the pier with a crossbow, but we were fifty yards off and moving swiftly. By the time he cocked and loaded we were at distant range, and he held his shot.

·

Getting away from the pier had caused us a bit of sweat, but once free and into the main current all went well. The channel appeared wide here and the river curved but moderately, so for experience I allowed Vera to handle the sail while I steered. All went so smoothly we had leisure for sight-seeing and conversation.

At one point she joined me in the cockpit, leaning against the transom with her head back, a smile curving her perfect lips as she surveyed the cumulus skimming overhead.

"You're enjoying this life," I accused.

She threw me a grin. "I'll not deny it."

Good, I thought—so much the easier to get her back to Earth.

I said, "The poor little rich girl partaking the life of a peasant. Marie Antoinette milking the goats at... wherever."

"Petit Trianon. But you'll find me somewhat different from her—less ignorant of the world of the commoners and uninterested in playing milkmaid. You'll admit, though—have I not proved an adequate sailor?"

"You've shown me a lot—including courage."

"Yes, once I got over early despair... You see, I thought I had played a trump card by running away with Hamid, then was badly disappointed when his true motive was displayed. I leaped at the chance to join you. And then to have matters tumble down when our friend and his pirates attacked was simply too much for my optimism to overcome. But all has turned out fairly well, and I hope to be over such childishness."

"You've enjoyed having me as a tour guide?"

She chuckled. "I will admit that in the company of a perceptive man abduction can be most pleasurable—in its early stages, at least."

I laughed in turn, observing her from the corner of my eye. What a liar—she appeared absolutely sincere. Hollywood had missed a bet—not only was she beautiful but a natural actress.

She gazed at me a few seconds, then said, "And all this is justified by concern for your child? That is, to protect one man's daughter you would injure another man's child? You redden! All to the good, for it shows some conscience remains."

What response could I make? To delay an answer, fortunately some pilotage was needed.

"Get on the sail—heading change in a minute." She went to the mast—still keeping her eyes on me, while I looked anywhere but at her.

As for Bahkælt, he glanced continually toward her—surprised at her knowledge of the language maybe, but perhaps more surprised by her spirit, so very different from the females of his culture.

§

Chapter 8 — Turn Not Away

The river bore a moderate number of boats and ships upon its dark bosom. It was no Mississippi or Amazon, but of respectable width—in this part plenty wide enough for several boats abreast. Peering deep, the water here was dark but clear—a bucketful would look like weak tea. No mud stained it at this time of low water.

Clusters of buildings appeared along the banks, and between them vegetation grew down to and even upon the mud flats that indicated high-water mark.

"What's the rainy season supposed to be like?" I asked.

"The streams overflowing, the sky pouring or drizzling nearly always for one or two months, perhaps, then trailing off over a few more weeks. Similar to the monsoon season of India, I would say, and every low spot well flooded."

Some of the houses were up on stilts—built of vertical stakes similar to bamboo, and roofed with thatch. Children played, adults moved purposefully, animals wandered. Behind all, the forest rose deep and shadowed, the dry leaves reflecting golden.

"Beautiful in its way, is it not?" she mused.

I nodded. "Exotic... like you."

"You cannot beguile me, Mister Fee—I know you for a flatterer. You hope to soothe me, to keep me content while I'm led to prison."

Flatterer? Takes one to know one.

"But exotic isn't exactly praise—is it, Miss Dardani?"

"Never mind the play of wit—let us speak of meaningful things. Your daughter—how old?"

"Eight."

"A child."

"In years, but you can already see the woman developing in her. She realizes her power to manipulate—particularly men. She's bright."

"Like her mother?"

"Her mother is bright... but also half mad. Mari shows none of that. She's very rational—surprisingly so for a child."

"But she plays, surely. Eight is an age for that—to pretend, to build worlds."

"Certainly. I'm not trying to say she's too mature or sober—she acts her age. But when I discuss matters with her... Let's say she wants something and I've said No. She'll bargain once she realizes I'm not to be cozened or affected by a tantrum."

"Do you find that pleasant?"

"Rationality is comfortable."

"But her mother?"

"Quite the opposite."

"What does she look like—your former wife?"

"Oh, I..."

"Wait—don't say! I'll tell you instead. No, don't look skeptical. Quite beautiful in an austere fashion, tall and slim—and light coloring. Her hair blond—true blond—or perhaps red, with that clear pale skin the British often have in their cloud-strewn isles. Her eyes are gray, and she has those freckles northern women have. And wears tweed suits and brogans, with a man's hat." This last was said laughing.

"Congratulations!"

"I am right?"

"Congratulations on getting it all wrong."

* * *

A couple of hours and our goal came in sight—many buildings and piers around the outlet of a small tributary, and well beyond it upstream the rapids that prevented further navigation. I steered toward the river's right bank.

Vera settled herself beside me again. "I am not confident of your plan to take us overland."

"Either that or wait ten or so days for an ocean-ship."

"And why not? Surely it would be more comfortable than blundering through the forest. They have fierce beasts here, you must be aware."

"If we wait, this southern shore will be searching for us, as well as the northern. And no doubt your Hamid will have a watch set on the ships. It's unwise to wait, so the best plan is to get far away as quickly as possible. Besides, I have a map—there'll be no blundering. The only question is when a caravan leaves here for Terra-port."

"You have a map? Why haven't you shown it to me?"

Because you'd likely steal it and run off, sweetie.

But I only shrugged.

"Well—may I see it?"

Hmm—could it hurt now? Probably not.

"Can you read a map?"

She gave me a sardonic look, so I got it out and handed it over.

"Oh—how strange!"

"It's not a road map, I'm afraid."

"Certainly not—there are no roads whatsoever. But I can make it out. How can you be sure it's accurate?"

"It's created from a satellite survey. See—these are contour lines, and..."

"I realize that, foolish man—but where are the artifacts, the names?"

"See that outline?—a city on a large river."

"You consider this a large river? It's no Danube or Rhine, I assure you."

"Find a larger, then... So far as I can tell, this town corresponds to the map, and is the terminal for the caravan that wends its way to Terra-port. Show me I'm wrong."

"Did you know about this Frogfoot beforehand?"

"Not by that name, but... But it's supposed to be the center of commerce on the south shore, and several miles up a large river."

Her finger traced the shoreline and islands, settled on the delta, followed the river upstream to the rectilinear designation for a city, split by a smaller stream.

"Well! You might be right, it seems."

"Thanks so very much for the vote of confidence. Supposedly caravans leave here every several days, which I hope means soon. I figure we've lost Hamid but he'll quickly be on our trail, with us standing out like sore thumbs among the natives. But we should have two or three days head-start."

"That is all?"

"Simply a guess. But if a caravan is leaving tomorrow or the next day we'll be on it."

"And if not? Do we simply sail away and try later?"

"Don't be sarcastic. If we have to wait, we'll strike off on our own to throw them off the scent, then we'll catch it up down the trail a distance." Her lip curled, but I cut short any objection. "See—the trail goes along the river. We'll try to find a small boat at the portage, and take it upstream as far as possible, then go ashore and camp out to wait for the caravan to go by. Simple, no?"

"Simple? Simple-minded, surely—all supposition. How do you know the caravan won't be warned to capture us? Or how do you know Hamid won't have out-guessed you, and receive you with open arms when we ask to join the trek? It all seems so..."

"Yes, yes—don't get wrought-up. We can..."

"You must hire guards—warriors. It's the only hope."

"Now wait a minute..."

In fact, I claimed more optimism than I felt. Topographically the map could be trusted, but the caravan trail was guesstimated, made by connecting the few places it showed in the open, out from under the massive trees that dominated inland vegetation. Still, we'd know it when we stumbled across it. After all, how far off could the map be?

* * *

"Ho, there—off with you!"

We had just tied to a substantial pier slightly up the tributary when a bulky native popped out to shoo us away.

"Hear me," I called. "Are you Master Wlesptis?"

"Who, what..." His scramble slowed to a waddle.

"Downstream we inquired, and to Master Wlesptis were we referred. Be you he, perchance?"

"You... You are a dirt-male, yes?"

"True enough."

"With you is a dirt-female, yes?"

"As you may for yourself see."

He halted several paces away, breathing deeply. "So. What would you of Master Wlesptis, sir?"

"I hight Lahzhl. Behind me you descry a noble sea-craft which is presently excess to my needs. Those downstream stated that you commerce in such vessels."

He peered to either side of me, rubbing the backs of his hands together. How I wished I knew more of the body-language of Nov Austrasia's natives.

"Many such a hulk has Master Wlesptis. At present they be a drug upon the market."

Well! I might not know his body-language but I recognized the type—auto salesman, real estate agent, pawn broker—and at Frogfoot town, water-craft dealer.

"Regrettable, Master, yet might you wish a closer peep for curiosity's sake?"

"Little time have I, but a brief viewing will no doubt suffice."

"That is well, for we must hurry on our way soonest."

He skipped aboard nimbly enough, and proceeded to give our poor boat the most thorough inspection it had likely experienced in many a year. I interjected an account of its virtues, hoping not to seem too eager.

"All the way across the great lagoon we flew, out-racing two pirate ships."

"Merely a run before the wind, then?"

"Both with the wind and against it, according to the relative positions of the pursuing craft."

"You gave it much hard use, then?"

"I would not say hard use when speaking of a craft that meets the waves so lightly."

"It is fragile-built, so must but crest the waves lightly lest damage result."

"Yet it weathered the recent Boreal blast with no damage."

"You rode that storm at sea?" He professed horror. "What severe if hidden damage must it have caused! A new owner would be wise to haul it out for inspection and tightening of seams."

"It takes on little water, needing but light bailing-out."

"The bilges are low, tis true. Perchance you bailed just short of my pier."

Vera had stayed by my elbow throughout the tour, and could no longer resist.

"This fellow is determined to cheat you, countering every remark you make. Beware!"

Wlesptis stared at her, but she had used English. "In your eerie world," he said, "do females concern themselves with the affairs of males?!"

"She merely reminds me of her need for relief of bodily functions. Ook!" Blasted woman! She had jabbed me in the short-ribs.

Wlesptis turned away and continued his tally of our boat's deficiencies. "The sail, I warrant, will soon fray in a brisk wind; the anchor is in danger of loss due to its worn cable; starboard aft a seam has split full open, and a great lath been splintered from the combing; this thirsty deck cries out for an oil ration; here have we an oar chipped in the blade." And so on and so forth. Finally, in what was doubtless a tone of disdain, he asked, "Has this sailing-bucket a name?"

I thought fast. "Wave-dancer."

My turn to receive his stare. "A more aberrant cognomen rarely have I heard. Aya! There is no help for it—little can I offer you in payment for this debilitated craft."

"Enough!" Vera muttered. "This dog has insulted you in every way possible. Let's be off to find a more reasonable huckster."

Wlesptis stiffened. He couldn't understand the language, but perhaps the tone came through.

"Dares a female enter into commerce with men?"

"Assuredly not!" I stepped out of Vera's elbow-range. "Expressly not one so stupid as she." But she had a point, of course—we were taking forever and getting nowhere. Tactics must be changed.

"Master Wlesptis, I fear I have been too froward in this matter." I assumed the posture of a penitent. "Truly this poor battered craft is unworthy of your attention. Better I had stopped by some other pier and chaffered with one of less repute than you." I considered. "Worse, perhaps—this boat might well be of no value to any in Frogfoot town. I should break it up for firewood rather than burden a true mariner with its manifold faults."

"Be not hasty, good Sir Outlander. I would..."

"Let it be, Master. No longer will I trespass upon your time and patience."

"No, no—think not so."

"I pray you forgive my insolence in asking a price of any size."

"Nay—turn not away, good if bizarre creature."

Soon he was handing over a few ounces of gold and a pound or so of silver, and Bahkælt was hiding his glee at how the southron had cheated himself.

Yet Wlesptis's face held what passed for a smirk on Nov Austrasia. He had obviously still managed to cheat me, if by a lesser amount than he'd first hoped.

"Well, now." Wlesptis whetted the backs of his hands. "Well, now. Let us repair to my chapping-hut and drench our throats with fine infusions while exercising our jaws upon exquisite viands. Then to await the appearance of the bargain-assessor and your unworldly friends."

We stared at one another.

"Await...?"

"Yea. In civil bounds such as this an official must affirm all sales and purchases to assure no untoward dealing. A mere formality, as you already clutch the price in your paws. There is—ahem, ahem—a trifling tax imposed upon all sales, of course."

Bad enough, but... "Friends?"

"Indeed. They came to me not two days past at the arrival of the caravan from your alien enclave, with protestations of concern for your welfare."

Vera's eyes were about to pop from her skull but I kept a cool demeanor.

"Welcome news indeed, good Wlesptis. In what period are they expected?"

"Be not impatient—the adolescent is already brisk to inform them... And the assessor to be informed, as well. We may relax for some small time."

"We must go!" Vera stated in a penetrating whisper. "Move yourself, you fool."

"Shut up!" I said from the corner of my mouth. "Since the arrival is not immediate, Master Wlesptis, I shall avail myself of the interval to perform a brief vow, sworn on the commencement of our voyage—and to allow the female to perform that bodily function the need for which makes her so fretful."

"But... but the bargain-assessor..."

"Accept this trifle," I handed him a silver bit, "and buy additional refreshments while we rush to carry out our requirements." I winked, hoping the grimace meant the same here as on earth. "Let not all precious nectars be consumed prior to our return."

"But, but..."

I turned to hotfoot it upstream toward the caravanserai.

§

Chapter 9 — Crossing Over

Bahkælt loosened his sword.

"Bold indeed is this male of dirt," he said to the cobbles. "Yet might not the wiser course be to slip aside from these enemies?"

Vera demanded, "Why go this way? Better throw the money back at that thief and leap into the boat. You cannot face my uncle's trained assassins."

I said, "Know, Bahkælt, we shall indeed soon slip aside." To Vera: "Tell me if Wlesptis is still watching."

She looked. "He is."

We approached a side alley.

"Hear me, both! Let us slow our pace as if we've all the time in the world." I set the example. "Look again."

"Yes, he is turning aside. There! He's within his hut."

The entrance was abreast. "Look once more—still clear?"

"Still inside."

Down the alley we skipped.

·

Sometime later—it might have been two hours—four natives crossed the bridge to a low island in the tributary to Frogfoot River, covered in the dry season with temporary structures. One of these folk was taller than common but bent with age, two were ordinary Nov Austrasian males, and one a Nov Austrasian female. At least, so it would be thought from their clothing and accouterments.

Two males carried crossbows, the female was loaded with her husband's spear and buckler—as should be, for females existed to work and carry loads in this society. Each had a large rucksack supported by waist and head straps. Despite the heat, three were hooded.

Above, the star of Nov Austrasia ceaselessly smote the land from a clear sky, only on occasion dimmed by clouds or filtered by thinning tree-leaves of the late dry season. Suffocating humidity and the odor of dying things rose from wide mudflats while the hooded travelers scuffled along, their breathing punctuated now and then by a weak but heartfelt curse.

"Should I survive heatstroke, Roger Fee, no matter my fate I shall have you hunted down and slowly roasted to death."

If Vera was still able to talk she must be relatively well off, for I couldn't spare any energy from sweating, while under his load Bahkælt reeled from the heat. Only our guide was relatively comfortable, having no need to mask his features.

Once past the peak of the half-moon bridge our tasks eased as we managed to stumble into a shelter on the island, dropping the sacks but retaining our sweltering hoods. After a brief rest punctuated by peeks through the chinks of the shelter wall, we hired two porters to carry the sacks on the rest of the foot journey.

To the other side of the island—this sandbar risen from the waters during the dry season and clustered with the equivalent of cheap vacation cottages—then onto a ferry to reach the stream's south bank, and from there uphill by foot over the two-mile portage that brought us above the rapids of the Frogfoot.

·

After fleeing Master Wlesptis down the side alley we had looked for shops, quickly finding one that seemed to meet our needs. Recalling Vera's advice about offering a reward to Bahkælt I gave him a generous share of Wave Dancer's price to enable him to make his own purchases, and in we went. The place exceeded my hopes, proving to be a sort of outfitting store for travelers.

We bought clothing, camp-gear, weapons, preserved food... Everything needful except pigment to bronze Vera's skin and especially mine—therefore our need to wear hoods, a punishment voluntarily shared by Bahkælt out of some misplaced sense of comradeship. We engaged the services of Uybvahk, the proprietor's son, to guide us to the upper end of the portage.

Of our unworldly friends we saw no sign, having given them the slip so easily that I was suspicious. Still, what possible reason could they have for deliberately holding off? Here we were, ready to travel farther on the great river, and them nowhere in sight.

·

"How far might these frail vessels ascend the massive flow?" I asked. The pirogue operators were doing their best to suggest polite disdain for our custom, but lack of business had them crowding eagerly round us.

"Indeed, pale being, were this the time of high water the great river would allow passage for three or four sleeps."

"But in the dry?" And what did a sleep mean? Fifty miles? More?

"Ah... now in the dry, but two sleeps."

Yet high water meant swift current so perhaps there was little difference, as progress would now be speedier.

"You have no sails with which to forge more readily?"

"No, outlandish one, for these craft are narrow-built to handily split the water, and with tricksy winds a sail might easily tip them."

Each had an outrigger, albeit short and stubby, on either side, so one would think a small sail would cause few problems, but this wasn't the time to debate local design practices. Perhaps the aborigines, poor swimmers according to Vera, were especially concerned about being dumped into the water.

As I dickered, Vera was ready with nudges and sotto voce suggestions which I rigorously ignored. She stood facing our back trail, ever convinced her pursuers must be hot upon our trail. Bahkælt was glumly silent, put out by the attention given our guide, a mere Southron.

And now Uybvahk made a formal request to join us.

I had seen it coming since shortly after we entered his father's warehouse. His eagerness, once over the initial shock of meeting aliens, was acute. I felt sorry for his father. The older man had also seen the signs right off, and when Uybvahk had filled his own rucksack and taken weapons his intention had been clear.

I was glad to have an extra pair of weapon-bearing hands, only hoping there'd be no clashes between Bahkælt and the southerner.

* * *

A jungle hike promised little enjoyment despite our having gained a smidgen of experience during our two camp-outs on the upstream journey. Debarking in mid-afternoon of the third day we quickly organized our trek, took a compass reading, and set off through brush near the river's edge, heading for the tall timber on a hillside before us. Yellowed foliage rustled beneath our feet, bringing recollections of fall walks back home. The air, though, was hardly fall-like—almost dense with heat.

Our burdens were heavy. We carried provisions for five days, optimistically estimating the caravan trail to be a three-day trip away. Should it take longer Uybvahk assured us small game was to be had.

Bahkælt whispered his doubts. During the depth of the dry season no self-respecting animal would willingly stir from shelter—and besides this, none of us was an experienced hunter.

But I felt we could all afford to starve for a time should it prove necessary. Water was a more serious matter, for its weight meant we carried only two or three days supply, and would need to find some way to replenish it.

As the ground rose, we extricated ourselves from the brush into easier if steeper going among trees. Atop the ridge we rested, dropping our gear to sweat more freely.

I plotted a reverse azimuth along our trail and found we were already several degrees off course, having been lulled by an easier slope into tending to the right. Pacing along the spine of the ridge to find a clear view, I took a sight at a prominent tree on the next height, trying to correct for the error. The vantage revealed several more ridges to slow and tire us—and who knew what lay beyond them?

"How is it?" Vera called. "Have we strayed already, Jaeger Fee?"

"Never fear—you have a guide of great skill and experience."

"Truly? Please introduce me to him."

No response was the best answer, yet it was tempting to sass back.

"Have you sufficiently recuperated, Miss Dardani? If so, let me show you our immediate goal."

She strolled up to me, the two Austrasians trailing after. I took care to explain my method of progressing first to Bahkælt, then to Uybvahk, and finally to Vera. Uybvahk showed some puzzlement at my bringing the female into it, not yet having fully internalized Vera's status.

We set off down the southeastern ridge-side, digging our heels in and clutching at saplings and weeds. Halfway down I surrendered to necessity, getting out a line and roping us together while explaining the technique. I placed Bahkælt in the lead to establish his rank, followed by Vera, Uybvahk, then myself as the most experienced climber.

Two ridges later I was willing to call a halt despite hours of daylight remaining. My legs quivered from fatigue, and though all the others seemed fresher none argued to extend the day's journey. The trees cast a light shade but practically killed what breeze there was, so we gladly doffed most of our garments, simply lolling on the ground for an hour before attempting to set up camp.

The natives insisted we avoid the open to protect us from some fearsome animal they supposedly knew. A nearby treeless area had allowed growth of a deep thicket like a stand of giant prickly rhododendron, the tough stems two or three inches in diameter and closely set.

"It is the basilisk," Vera informed me. "You know it not? Picture a hybrid of bear and wild boar—quite large and fierce. I have viewed a juvenile at a distance, and while staying with Clan Radiant watched a large hunting party set off for one—some thirty males well-armed with spear and shield, or with pole-ax. They returned with their trophies but many showed injuries, while two were carried. Consider well the bronze creatures' earnest cautions, dear Renowned Spear."

We ate a cold meal before hacking a narrow right-angled path twenty feet into the thicket, to sleep contorted upon shallow roots.

Daybreak and uncomfortable sleeping woke us early. We stretched and moaned, then started right off, munching breakfast on our way. Shortly we came upon the deepest-yet ravine, and descended in one stage to the bottom, finding a series of puddles that might have been a stream during the wet. We drank the balance of our water before filling canteens and bags, planning to go thirsty until the evening halt and boiling time.

A brief rest, then we crossed the valley, ready for the next steep climb.

§

Chapter 10 — Fire When Ready

The day's final ascent was a killer and we again halted early, on the broad top of the worst ridge yet. Our legs and much of the remainder of our bodies were protesting and many moans could be heard, coming primarily from me.

After re-acquiring a bit of energy we scouted for a campsite but located no suitable thickets. Next we considered a tree platform but few trees had limbs low enough to easily climb, and those all young and spindly. Finally a massive four-trunked specimen came into sight, the base perhaps ten feet in diameter, made of neighboring saplings grown together. The trunks flared into a vase-like shape capable of supporting a large enough platform.

"How high can this so-called basilisk reach," I asked Vera, "and can it climb?

She deferred to the Austrasians. The consensus was that twelve feet would do, since the creature's bulk was such it neither jumped nor climbed. The proper saplings for framing would need to be found and cut, along with—lacking nails or pegs—some sort of vine to tie them together.

The grumbling started as I gave orders for making a fire.

"Hear this as well: clear from this space all fallen leaves so we may make a proper blaze to boil water and heat our food."

You'd have thought I'd condemned them to hard labor. It was the fatigue, of course, or so I presumed. To set an example I immediately searched for firewood, keeping my eyes open for potential lumber as well. Bahkælt tagged along, drawing closer as we went. Beyond range of the others he began his complaint.

"Attend me, Lahzhl. This skulker who wormed his way into your employ..."

"Oh Bahkælt—what choice had I? Were warriors present I would have engaged such, but time permitted no inquiries."

"So, Lahzhl: Yet more hindrance than help is he. When ascending, I am certain he holds back the cord, requiring me to exert more effort."

"Hmm."

"And know that as a warrior... At danger's first hint, on his toes will he surely be. Such are these craven Southrons."

I managed to calm him by the time we returned with laden arms. With Vera accompanying him to obtain more wood I lingered to start the fire, using a bundle of twigs to brush away the dead leaves my minions had missed.

"Misled you are, I fear, Lahzhl."

It was Uybvahk, slipping up behind to startle a year's growth out of me.

"What?"

"That one who claims to have been a pirate freeborn. What he lacks in discretion is supplied by arrogance. Woe for me! Not attending to my male parent's well-earned wisdom, into peril have I lured myself. Twill be but some deity's goodwill should I safely return to native haunts."

Fatigue had sucked the spirit from them both, but I noticed Uybvahk's implication that my judgment was questionable. And couldn't I similarly construe Bahkælt's complaint? Were these the first rumblings of mutiny?

But in a couple hours all seemed blithe. The fire was nearly burnt to embers, casting a red glow as the sun lost its brilliance behind low clouds. We had eaten, boiled our water supply, collected a fine stack of saplings and branches, and I was gathering my energy preparatory to boosting Vera up so she could secure the rope and begin hoisting building materials.

At this cheery point she fluted in my ear, "I am displeased with this latest sentient acquisition of yours. Don't look so surprised—as you English say, he is on my nerves."

"Gets on your nerves."

"No matter. He won't meet my eyes and shows a wish to avoid me, treating me more shoddily than one of his own females—until today. Coming down that steepest slope I fell and rolled. I held out my hand, saying, Please assist me. He pulled most sharply on the rope—painfully, even. I sully my hands with no outlandish female, said he."

"We're tired and sore. Not surprising if we become short-tempered."

"He or me?"

"Both."

"Ha! But we already know your weakness in evaluating persons. Are you aware of how Bahkælt views him? You might soon lose one of your band via a duel."

"And here we are whispering about them, and they watching us closely for clues. This hardly helps matters."

"I've stated it before—you are a fool, Roger Fee."

"Tell me something I don't know."

I was about to order to her climb the tree when both of us started at Uybvahk's screech and leap for his crossbow. It was a basilisk itself, peeking around another huge bole not sixty feet from us.

Bahkælt grasped his spear and buckler as I dove for my own crossbow. Nor was Vera behindhand, taking her stance with buckler and spear beside Bahkælt.

Uybvahk's bow was cocked directly using a hook strapped round his shoulders. Hard on his back, perhaps, but quicker than mine which had a lever requiring three or four pumps. He shot, striking the beast's shoulder just as I laid a bolt into my rail. I had time to note the fault in Vera's description. No hybrid of boar and bear stalked toward us but a ferret the size of a Kodiak, and tons heavier.

I shot, striking it in the breast. Though my weapon was stronger and carried a heavier bolt than Uybvahk's, it had as little effect. The basilisk came on, seemingly cautious—not rushing but pacing forward. Bahkælt and Vera thrust at its muzzle—once and again. Her spear-point pierced its cheek and the animal snapped sideways, tearing the spear from her hand. Bahkælt thrust a third time, Uybvahk's bolt pierced its nose.

The basilisk sneezed thunderously, swiping with a forepaw and retreating. The bolt tore lose, and the animal came on again. I aimed at the nose but saw my bolt glance off its sloping forehead. Bahkælt thrust at an eye, Vera grabbed six feet of flaming branch and jammed it at the beast's maw. It caught the red-hot tip in its mouth, twisting and immediately spitting it out, leaving Vera unarmed once more. She grasped her buckler by the edges and stooped to the fire.

The screeching of the basilisk and our shouts and screams must have been loud enough to wake the dead.

Uybvahk shot, Bahkælt thrust, I shot, Vera flung a scoop of hot coals—the beast hissed and retreated. The drift of leaves we'd inadvertently made began to smolder and flare. The basilisk lumbered sideways, coming in again. Bahkælt thrust and Vera sent a larger scoop flying at the beast, dazzling it and halting its advance. The stench of singeing hair hit us as the fire crept slowly round the ring of leaves, a slight breeze urging it northward.

The basilisk dodged leftward past the smoking leaf-pile and came on. Bahkælt struck it solidly in the muzzle, his spear penetrating bone and sticking. The basilisk flipped its head and batted at the spear, ripping it from Bahkælt's grip and out of his reach. He drew his chopsword, we both shot, Vera flung more embers that this time struck about the animal's paws. It pranced away as leaves flared and a small bush near its hind quarters exploded into flame.

The basilisk twisted to snap at this new pain, and Uybvahk put a bolt deep into its side. I shot, hitting its abdomen. It writhed this way and that, flames and smoke now all round it. It made as if to charge, then turned and rushed off northward, inchingly pursued by the fire.

·

We clung to the boles all night, climbing as far as we dared in hopes of getting above the smoke. Although the wind was southerly, so weak was it that the flames worked their way against it, surrounding us with fire. Clinging and coughing, we expected little sleep that night.

I noticed Vera's glare.

"Why did you not shoot it?"

"What?"

"Shoot the beast—your pistol?"

Truth be known, I had forgot my firearm until this moment, but it wouldn't do to admit it.

"Such small bullets would have been ignored by so huge a beast. More than that, I need to hoard them against meeting with hostile humans or Austrasians."

She sneered—disgusted and more than a little unhappy.

"So I must be ready to fend off the next as well?"

"Certainly... if you have another forest to set alight."

·

Daylight showed smoke rising all round us, and as we started off our path was blackened until we came to the lip of the ridge. It appeared the entire broad peak had burned or was in the process of doing so. Off north smoke rose higher and broader as the fire advertised its success in passing on to the next ridge.

We were dirty, tired and somber but gradually our spirits rose. Bahkælt and Uybvahk displayed some mutual tolerance, and Vera grinned when I told her in a deep voice, Only YOU can prevent forest fires. Not that she recognized the slogan.

We made remarkable distance for folk who had gone without a night's sleep.

* * *

In another day and a half we cut the caravan trail and saw no evidence of a recent passage. I sat the troop down under concealment and explained my plan.

"Hear well: We must gain the outworld settlement, yet if our enemies have numbers on the caravan, perhaps bearing weapons of greater force than ours, we must avoid and mislead them, even at the risk of foregoing the journey.

"This I propose—that one of you go forth to intercept the caravan as it passes, calling out to its chief to stop and haggle. If an underling accosts you, offer ample bounty to gain his favor and facilitate a meeting with the leader. You must tell of your female who is of status exceedingly high, for she is stolen from a clan king who purchased her at great price. Tell him that you must be assured there are no males aboard who might attempt to steal her back, nor outworlders of a violent nature. Better yet, no outworlders at all.

"If all is well and the caravan-chief a male of honor, chaffer not too much over price, but readily agree. You will then come to fetch her, and on your return we will accompany you, striking a new bargain when we achieve the caravan."

I scanned them both. "Tell me: Is all fully understood?"

After a moment both rotated their heads in acknowledgment.

Bahkælt pointed to Uybvahk. "This I say: there sits he who should confront the strangers. For as all know, when lies be required none exceed the skill of Frogfooters."

Uybvahk eyes bulged more than normal, but he shot back,"I accept with gratitude the fawning accolade of this northern barbarian."

My face must have shown shock, for Vera chuckled, speaking in English.

"Be easy, Roger Fee. These are mere jests between warriors. The affair of the basilisk has brought them to respect one another."

That night it clouded over, and by morning a few raindrops had fallen, a forewarning of the oncoming wet season. We were nearly out of food and Uybvahk's small game hadn't shown themselves. Perhaps they awaited damp weather.

·

Two days more and the caravan appeared round a turn in the trail not a mile off. Uybvahk took position by its path while we shrank farther back into concealment.

Hardly had he reached the trail than two bronze spear-warriors leaped from the foremost wagon and trotted ahead, arriving at his side well in advance of the plodding caravan.

After speaking briefly one of the guards jogged back, shouting as he went. Four men of dirt leaped down, running with pistols in hand. The remaining Austrasian guard reached out a hand to detain Uybvahk, but he pulled loose and ran toward the forest, the guard halting to leave pursuit to the Earthmen.

We instinctively shrank back but Uybvahk raced to one side to avoid bringing them down on us. They fanned out, one of them heading in our direction.

I pulled out my pistol and took a step forward, leaning against a tree to steady my aim. Bahkælt nudged me and took the crossbow from my back, cranking it with slow, quiet strokes. I handed him a bolt just as the man approached and slowed to a walk, crouching in turn—possibly having heard the ratchet. Bahkælt raised the bow to his shoulder, his complexion and clothes blending well with the dry foliage.

The cautious Earthman paced forward, pistol up in both hands, scanning right and left in small arcs. He hesitated thirty feet away, and Bahkælt loosed—the bolt taking the man low in the throat. A wordless moan and his hands went to his neck, the pistol falling. He tugged at the bolt, then slipped to his knees, choking and gagging on his own blood before rolling on his side.

It's a horrid thing to watch someone die by violence.

Vera started forward but I grabbed her arm.

"His gun!" she insisted.

"Leave it! A human would want it but not a native—and you might be seen."

We shrank deeper into the forest, heads swiveling to spot both Uybvahk and his other pursuers.

§

Chapter 11 — The Wet

Our two Austrasians strode toward the village elder to begin the ritual exchange of belittling insults that initiated haggling in this culture. After a half hour of blather, Uybvahk—chosen to palaver due to the presumed similarity between his dialect and that of the villagers—handed over the silver that would pay for food and shelter during the rainy season. Vera and I stepped forward to meet the assembled population who would host us.

We'd put another hungry day's hike behind us and withstood two or three brief rain-showers after linking-up with Uybvahk a half mile into the forest. Vera's persecutors had chosen to quit the chase early, no doubt hesitant to follow a native into unknown territory—perhaps half convinced he'd related a true story. We could, I suppose, have tried to pick off or capture them, but there was no assurance we wouldn't suffer casualties, nor could we be sure others weren't on the caravan or even settled at the spaceport. The wisest course seemed to be to wait them out.

Besides, casual murder doesn't suit my style.

Needless to say, such caution and patience weren't admirable traits to my captive spitfire. I was once more accused of inborn idiocy.

"Are we to rot in these primitive surroundings in order to accommodate your perverse ethical sense?"

"Let's never forget whose poor judgment led to your being here in the first place."

"My fault, you attempt to say, while your lack of foresight takes us from pot to kettle."

"Frying pan to fire. And let's hike not argue."

"You are correct. It is pointless for me to waste my spirit arguing with the most stubborn man I've ever met. I wonder, though—is it likely your child will know you when eventually, if ever, you return Odysseus-like to your home? This thought saddens me more than my own unenviable fate."

Yeah, I'm sure it does.

"I assumed Hamid would have fewer men," I said.

"Just himself and one other, else more than a hired native would have watched me."

"So these must belong to..."

"You are slow of thought, Roger Fee. Al Khoury, of course—to assure success, and by taking me from you to deny you your fee." She laughed but remained bitter. "You have much to learn of intrigue. Being American you are naive beyond imagination."

At least she'd finally got my nationality right. And tactful of her not to mention I'd probably be killed when they recaptured her.

* * *

Beehive-like thatched huts crouched on platforms raised a foot and a half over the forest floor—to stay above expected floods, as it turned out. The streets—or aisles, rather, for there was no plan to them—were packed dirt, little different from the areas around each hut, simply bearing fewer signs of vegetation. Open spaces occurred randomly, having neither purpose nor design, while businesses—craft operations—appeared to be pushed toward the perimeter.

As we neared the hamlet's center we heard a piercing hiss from within a high and sturdy log corral.

Holy Jerusalem—a basilisk! A small one, to be sure, but a lethal critter nonetheless. One more thing for me to worry about—a dangerous pet. Those logs, pegged and intertwined with vines, looked to be a weak prison for such a beast. The wet season food supply it was, we were informed. In a month or so, when it had added a few hundred pounds more flesh and fat, it would be put down—an exciting, not to say terrifying, task—then butchered and eaten or smoked. The thought was enough to gag a maggot, but Bahkælt assured me it was quite a delicacy.

Yes, he might well think so.

Vera reminded me of the hunt she'd witnessed part of. "Why would they take such chances if not for good eating—eh, Mr Fee?"

"Believe as much of that as you wish, my girl, but I intend to approach the coming banquet with intense circumspection."

She laughed at my daintiness, as she put it, but I figured to watch her devour a few basilisk chops and steaks before digging-in myself. I was told the beasts ate anything they came across, hardly an inducement to appetite. Still, the same could be said of an equally repellant Earthly beast, the swine—and I had nothing against a typical pork roast.

·

With few exceptions it now rained every day, either one long shower or several intermittent ones—big drops pelting down, knocking dead leaves from the trees, turning dusty soil to mud. At least we could bathe, but it was a dreary world we looked out upon.

The wind swooped out of the southeast quadrant across thousands of miles of warm open ocean, saturating itself with moisture that it unloaded over land a degree or two cooler. Not that the ocean itself didn't get plenty of rain, I imagined. The folk here reveled in it, however—adults foreseeing renewed hunting and anticipating a surfeit of crops. The little children—those too young to be loaded with chores—treated this new world like a giant wading pool.

Our two associates reacted similarly, while Vera and I were less ecstatic.

Rain was the daily forecast, only varying in intensity from drizzle to deluge. The atmosphere took on a liquid quality—heavy with moisture, thick with damp. Inside our hut, drips accompanied the unceasing downpour—a few from leaks in the thatch, others from condensation.

Outside all was mud as the water rose, coming close to the floor beams, sweeping sluggishly through the village. It would rise for a day or three, then drain off and fall sometimes to nothing, leaving behind gasping relatives of the tiger eel to be pounced upon by villagers at risk of fingers and toes, then eaten as delicacies.

They were, in fact, quite tasty.

Not so the basilisk, soon coming piece by piece regularly to our table. The flesh had an odd flavor akin to turtle, and was tough as the worst flank steak from the oldest mule in Georgia. Vera and I tenderized the cuts with the backs of our knives, mercilessly beating the pseudo-beef then slicing it across the grain to stew with vegetables. One or two episodes convinced us not to attempt roasting. No doubt it was nourishing, for neither of us lost much weight.

The method of sacrificing the basilisk was unique—enough to cause fits of madness in animal lovers and vegetarians.

Distracting the creature to the far side, the villagers swiftly erected a sturdy frame in the pen, behind which an adolescent would present himself, earning an attempted strike from the beast. A trap in the frame would close like a guillotine upon the animal's neck, half strangling and holding it fast, although the corral's log walls quaked. No matter what inevitably followed, the basilisk's insensate hunger assured it always fell for the trick.

Two adults then entered the corral, each swinging a couple rocks spaced at the end of a rope to tangle a rear leg in an action similar to lassoing. More manpower assisted in stretching out the legs, and one by one they were staked and tied down. The front legs were treated likewise, the locals taking no chances even with this less than full-grown beast. As it was they had quite a fight on their hands, especially if a rope slipped loose. In the end, though, the animal was stretched out on its belly, even its tail tied to one side.

Every soul in the village unto babes in arms was there for this rodeo-like spectacle, as if a mob of five-year-olds were tackling the biggest, meanest Brahma bull in all Chihuahua. Howls and hisses of the beast, shouts and screams from the many spectators split the heavens. Gobbets of mud flew stories high as claws gouged the saturated soil, spattering everyone within a quarter mile.

Perhaps I exaggerate, but only slightly.

Oh, what I'd give for the telly rights to a struggle like this—more intense, surely, than the attack by Pygmies on an elephant. What must it have been like to capture the critter in the first place, even when recently hatched and much smaller?

And then, after the maddened animal was exhausted and firmly trussed... a leg would be chopped off at the knee, and the wound seared with a red-hot blade.

To say the basilisk resented this paints only the dimmest picture. It hissed and screeched like the braking of a runaway locomotive, its energy renewed by pain.

As the rainy season progressed, one by one these operations took place until the animal was stumping around on four shortened legs, biting at its wounds. I was hardy enough to watch only the first, but the Austrasians considered it fine sport. Perhaps they had good reason to hate the beasts but I wouldn't have had the stomach for it under any set of circumstances. Vera did her best to view more, simply to be able to demean my weakness—but she soon found excuses not to attend.

After that the scalpels moved higher, from the drumsticks to the thighs, and still the basilisk would not die, retaining its spirited viciousness until killed outright by butchery of its abdomen—rolling and twitching on its belly in a parody of attempted escape.

I can't say its torture hit me worse than watching a human die, nor was it quite enough to make me into a vegan but it tested my hypocrisy to the limits, half spoiling the early meals we made.

But the taste partially spoiled them as well.

* * *

Our two companions shared their own small hut, leaving Vera and me to enjoy one equally small, a partial divider down the middle offering some privacy. The locals assumed we were mated, two weird aliens of clearly opposite sexes—nor did we bother to disabuse them. By ourselves, however, we operated in a kind of armed truce as the incessant rain slowly drove us stir-crazy.

Our clothes became threadbare, wearing rapidly in the high humidity. Vera dressed lightly, the damp fabric clinging to her. As raggedness revealed more hints of her bodily charms the effect on me led to a certain physical stress, my only defense being to avoid looking in her direction. She, as might be expected, strove to make things worse.

"How fortunate I am to have a guardian—or is it warden?—so highly solicitous of my honor."

I hazarded a glance, unable to see past the divider or through the dark as we lay on our respective pallets.

"Are you awake, Renowned Spear? Give me some sign."

"Yes."

"So terse of speech, wasting not a syllable. You say little to me these days, and look upon me not at all. Have I grown repellent in this sultry weather? Has my skin wrinkled? Do you feel a sense of disgust toward me? Men—some men, certainly—once found me attractive."

No reply was the safest response.

"You English are so cold, so self-controlled. Were you a man of my own nation... It is little flattery that you avoid me in order not to spoil the merchandise, and thereby risk reduction of the fee you hope to earn. Not so, Lahzhl?"

I was again silent, but she gave a gusty sigh.

"Do you never dream of me, man of cold northern isles—never think of me as your own, a slave to love? Would you believe me if I confessed to... But it is better not to reveal too much—not over-gratify your masculine ego."

"Go to sleep, Vera."

She laughed and went silent—having accomplished her aim, as I lay awake for some time. It was all too typical a night.

§

Chapter 12 — Terraport and Terra

I lost count as the rains continued for about fifty days, building to a peak before slowly tapering off. We each adapted in an individual way. Near the end I lost my resentful hate for Vera in philosophical meandering, while her enmity for me seemed to reach a zenith. But as downpours abated, returning brightness rescued our sanity. She calmed, and I came out of my stupor.

·

Not long thereafter, when the new dry season had well commenced, the following encounter—as reconstructed later—took place at Terraport.

Two armed natives presented themselves at the Terran station, pounding with spear butts upon the heavy gate, demanding reward. They showed the port-guard certain artifacts rescued from a basilisk's belly, leading him to call for his captain. And when the captain of the guard had interviewed the natives...

"No, Pasker, you've misunderstood. More schooling for you, my lad. Not rescued, but salvaged—and not from the beast's stomach but from its dung. The mound washed away in the heavy seasonal rains, you see, and they saw something glinting."

"They're asking a great weight in exchange, sir."

"Bargain with them—that's what they expect. Get them down to half what they ask. They'll take near any metal except steel for some reason—copper, silver, gold, bronze. Corrosion resistance wanted, you see—rust is bad luck. And no light metals—no aluminium, for instance. I imagine they'd be quite pleased with monel, and we've a store of bolts in that. Try it on them. They'll play the very devil trying to reforge it, of course, when they get back to their village. Not our concern, though."

"Yessir."

"You gave them refreshments?"

"The standard, sir—bully beef and orange drink. Er, whose d'you think this is, sir? Was, I mean."

"Composite-frame pistol with remains of cartridges—think I know, even after what the beast's juices did to the metal. I imagine it's that investigator fellow. His belt buckle, too, and this shoe sole."

"And the cross and ring, sir?"

"High-carat gold. See how much better they've held up than the brass and steel? Most likely that girl he was after. Quite a fuss when he stole her out of that petty chiefdom up north. And all for naught, eh?"

"Terrible way to go, sir."

"My Lord, yes! A couple of mouthfuls for one of those horrors. Can you imagine—there's a syndicate wants to import them for zoos back home. What if one broke loose, eh? Crazed fools. Well, work your bargain out with the natives, and I'll take these to Admin. Must get a coroner's jury going. Nor I don't half envy the fellow who's to tell her brother the sad news—him and his men waiting around so long, hoping against hope she'd turn up."

* * *

A month later our Austrasians accompanied us to the station, where I divided the remaining funds between them—two-thirds going to Bahkælt. Quite a hefty reward in their eyes, and the adventure had supplied ample material for boasting tales once each returned home.

"I assure you, Lahzhl," said Bahkælt at our parting, "on the journey north I shall watch over this feeble youngling as though he were mine own offspring."

Uybvahk countered, "Should I, upon return to Frogfoot, learn my true father has entered into concourse with the ancestral spirits I shall avow myself to this one..." He indicated Bahkælt. "as consolation for his unfitness to produce heirs."

We wished them good fortune, and off they went while Vera and I entered the compound, ready to elaborate upon the fairy-tale of our emissaries.

Not a few there were astounded by our liveliness, considering we'd been devoured by a basilisk.

"Raided our hut," I said. "Seems it ate everything with human scent on it."

"Climbed a sturdy tree," we claimed, "and the natives eventually drove it off."

The recovered items were returned to us. The gold in Vera's cross and ring had come through unscathed, though both were scarred by stones in the basilisk's craw. My pistol was half dissolved, and nothing remained of my gear but a buckle and one sole. We had sacrificed valuable items to the captive basilisk in order to give credibility to the story of our demise. The gun was the most critical for proof, perhaps, but I rated my boots quite highly, and Vera's cross held great sentimental value for her.

As we immediately assured ourselves, Vera's brother and his crew had returned to Earth shortly after the coroner's verdict of death by misadventure, no doubt informing al Khoury of the destruction of his hopes. With them long gone we were thus able to safely depart, using fictitious names for greater security on arrival at Earth.

·

We took our time at Terraport, easing into civilized behavior and putting on weight. Vera dyed her hair and brows deep red, grew her nails and garishly painted them, added dangly earrings and loud clothing plus high-heeled shoes. I let my hair remain well below my ears, removed the beard but retained heavy sideburns, and cultivated a fine large mustache. We assured each other we'd never be recognized.

Terraport being run by the English, they were a bit rigid about official proprieties. But naturally assuming we'd lost our identification to the basilisk, once we'd explained our perilous situation they were agreeable to some conniving and issued provisional visas in identities of our own choosing.

When the next ultraship finally arrived Ralph Detwiler and Andrea Zupan were entered on the passenger list without inquiry. Upon the shuttle landing, only Customs and the need to finagle some funds delayed our scooting directly to my parents' home where Mari was under guard to prevent a possible kidnapping by my mad ex-wife.

We remained vigilant, though, right up until the time our hired car entered the gates of their compound.

§

Chapter 13 — Daughter of Eagles

"That's quite a woman, Rog."

"I know, Dad."

"I know you know—I've said it often enough. Your mom worries, though. Doesn't want her Sonny-boy stolen by some gal like that."

"Not a chance, Dad."

"You don't have to tell me, but your mom won't believe it. Everyone wants her boy. Heh-heh-heh. But me, now, I'm sorta proud you associate with someone like that."

Vera got along well with my father—Dad bantering as hard as he could go and Vera following her instincts to charm any male within visual range.

My mother didn't appreciate this exotic outsider threatening to break the proper allegiance of every member of the household—yet where else could the girl be safe? Miss Dardani had to stay, but pray Heaven it wasn't for much longer—two lengthy months thus far.

Vera was slightly stand-offish toward me and I encouraged it. She spent much of her time with Mari, treating my daughter as the younger sister she'd never had. My mother worried about that, as well... as did I.

"Roger?"

"Mom."

"I hate to interfere..."

Of course.

"...but I can't believe it's good for Mari to spend so much time with that woman."

"I know, Mom."

"She's so... Brazen's not the word I want—but she's so sure of herself for a young woman. So... so much more than confident—like the world will fall at her feet."

"She's been through a lot for her age."

"You don't want Mari like that—grown up before she's ten."

Nine years old now, and a perceptive child. Self-contained and dignified around strangers. People often took her for older. I saw a new animation in her, what having a playmate—one considerably older but of a playful nature, ever ready to charm even a child.

And Vera was nothing if not charming. Every man and boy about the place seemed to feel he had hopes.

* * *

Dad's phone jangled, and he had it to his ear before the second ring.

"Yeah?"

Visitors were coming, and we went into action.

I called Vera, outside with Mari.

"Hello?" She answered in the American fashion, her accent scarcely noticeable.

"Torque wrench," I said.

"Transit."

It was T-for-Tool day.

"Where are you, Vera? You've got four minutes."

"Is it three black vans? They're mine."

"Four minutes to get Mari in here," I yelled.

"Carl's on his way," Dad said, "but the boys are on their tractors out north. Ten minutes at best to unhitch and get here."

Carl would be in the hayloft with the fifty-cal and RPG, Dad hoping every minute he wouldn't start a fire if he had to light one off at these visitors.

"You and Mom..."

"Right." He went to escort my mother down to the safe room in a corner of the basement. Dad would be at a loophole and both would be armed.

As was Vera, carrying a long-barreled pistol with a demountable stock, effective to perhaps one-hundred yards. But I didn't want her shooting it out with anyone, especially with Mari nearby. Vera's main protection was that she was worth money on the hoof and worthless dead—her father's will had seen to that. Every pfennig of those millions would go to an Albanian Catholic monastery in the event of her death unwed.

* * *

"Now, Roger Fee, it is farewell."

Vera had been escorted to meet with her new security team while I stood guard at my place, rifle still at the ready. She had satisfied herself and reentered, and now stood close to me behind the closed front door.

I nodded and tried to smile. "Good luck to you, Miss Dardani."

"And so, Mister Fee, what fee will you have?"

She grinned a little, but for some reason I had no smiles in me.

"My agreement was with Khoury."

"Which you sacrificed for me. You English are so lacking in realism."

"As you wish."

"Surely I am worth al Khoury's price—which would be what? Approaching a million at present exchange rates, no? I will calculate and pay this to you, Roger Fee—Renowned Spear that was. The total—for you will likely feel required by your Quixotic standards to return his initial payment, no?"

I opened my mouth but couldn't reply. Heaven knew I needed money but I couldn't bring myself to ask for it from her.

"Take this." She handed me an envelope. "Eight-thousand American in a banker's check my associates obtained for me. It can be part payment until my representations are accepted. And should I happen to overpay it will be proper, for you afforded me much amusement once I overcame that initial fright. Indeed, rarely have I had more agreeable entertainment. For true adventure I could recommend your company to any."

She added in a judicious tone, "Naturally the client would need first to get herself in what you call a scrape, would she not? Nor could she expect any donative in the form of romance, eh? But I should not prick you this way. It is my pride, you see."

She stepped closer. "There was a time, Lahzhl—a good long time—when I felt that you and I... But seeing you in what you call your bosom of family—that is your term, is it not?"

"More or less."

"Once and for all time I could see that caution and quiet denote your preferred mode of life. My recent travels, I fear, have spoiled me for that. I must seek adventure with another."

"It wouldn't have..."

"No, certainly not—say nothing more. But now I've made you blush often enough, and should go. I thank you, Roger Fee. May you and your family—especially darling Mari—find your wishes come true."

With that she was gone, probably never to be seen again by me. I sighed and knuckled my eyes one by one.

·

Later, after everything had been hashed over with the household—especially concerning the money we hoped to see—I was alone in the living room with Mari, evening coming on and all the world quiet about us.

"How are you, Little Pullet?"

As always, the name made her smile.

"Fine, Daddy."

She leaned against my knee and I pulled her closer to kiss her cheek.

"Are you going to miss Vera?"

"I guess so. She was lots of fun, but..."

"But?"

"She always wants to pick the game, Daddy, and where to play and when—like she always has to be in charge."

Has to be in charge. Yes, such was Vera Dardani, daughter of eagles.

§

Chapter 14 — Play It Again

Scarcely two months after Vera Dardani's departure a fateful call came. I'd enjoyed nine weeks of delectable relaxation in the bosom of my family while watching Mari blossom under the ministrations of her new tutor, a young woman chosen for her knowledge of critical subjects—English, math, history, geography, firearms safety and marksmanship. Beauty, I assure you, was a mere bonus not pertinent to the job.

But those two months also passed without the hint of an acceptable assignment. I turned down two locate-and-rescue requests that stemmed from publicity about the Dardani woman, who was now an international celebrity of sorts.

No thanks. Vera's rescue had been at least one too many.

Yet I was almost ready to go on the dole. Unusual expenses—the recruitment bonus for Miss Angel Degades, for one—and unrelenting inflation ate into my funds. Nor could I be certain when (or even if) Vera Dardani's promised payment would be made. In fact, by the time it arrived my debts might top the sum.

So I was primed for acceptance of the most petty task, the grittiest of chores. But no more rescues on distant worlds, thank you.

·

Answer, I sub-vocalized. "Fee Investigative Projects."

"Hah! Free, eh? Always pleased to hear that, heh-heh."

_A comedian, and one with a thrusting, self-important voice._

"Who is this?"

"Simon Beckinsale, Esquire—solicitor and attourney at law. And I must say, Mister Fee, for a businessman you are almighty difficult to locate. But not to further beat round the bush after wasting days searching you out, my client wishes you to locate and return to Earth his son, Master Wa..."

"No!"

"...Master Watson Watterson III of Porth Partington, Bucks, in th..."

"No! Too arduous, too dangerous."

His voice rose. "...in the United Kingdom. Master Watson the third has got himself into an awkwa..."

"NO!" That's not my sort of..."

Louder still: "...awkward fix. Five-hundred thousand U S. Two-hundred thousand upon acceptance of assignment, ten-thousand immediate retainer once you agree to meet—cover your expenses coming over here."

"I told you, I... I... I......" The size of the fee gradually registered.

"Where and when do you wish to meet, Mister... er?"

"Beckinsale. Simon Beckinsale, Esquire."

_"Where and when do you wish to meet, Mister Esquire?"_

{End}

Thanks for reading Blood & Dirt. Feel free to comment or criticize, or to inform me of typos or other errors. If you wish, put up a review at the site where you found this. If you enjoyed this story please consider downloading the 2nd story in The Exploits of Roger Fee, entitled Venom & Sand.

Venom & Sand Second exploit of Roger Fee

Darts & Dryads Third exploit of Roger Fee

Lovejoy's World Wally and Keira, in mutual despite, tour a prison planet

You'll See! Initial campaign in the war between the sexes

Hide the Child Jancy hides Robbie from his real father

Additional works are available online or are in various stages of completion, including sequels to certain of those above.

And remember: Neither superheroes nor anything supernatural. Merely ordinary people, similar to you and me, caught up in extraordinary situations.

Dai Alanye
