"Hold it!" Charlie screamed. "I—I do want to see Lord Dzenko. Very much. I can't wait." To Hector he added, "Take it easy, clansman. I, uh, I will honor Lord Dzenko with my presence."
"Weel, weel," muttered the Hoka as he sheathed his blade. "But 'tis nae true Scots name, yon Dzenko."
"Oh, he's a Lowlander, I'm sure," Charlie improvised.
"Lowlander?" For a second the Hoka frowned, as if he were about to be Bertram and declare that Dzenko was not a name from anywhere on Earth. Luckily, however, he recalled that he was Hector, who didn't know any better. "Aye, nae doot, syne your Hieness says so."
The Talyinans relaxed. "Come," snapped Mishka. "We ride."
An hour's stiff travel downhill brought them to a cove, a notch in the wilderness where nobody dwelled.
A large rowboat or small galley lay beached. They shoved it off and climbed aboard. One soldier stayed to tend to the animals. These were seldom transported across water; yachis bounced too much.
- Chapter 8
Mishka had spoken little. Now he ordered Charlie and Bertram into the cabin. The boy knew the reason.
It explained his having been accosted in the ravine, rather than openly in town. Lord Dzenko must want everything kept secret.
Oars creaked and splashed. The boat drove forward at a good pace. Charlie wished he could look out, but the cabin had no portholes. "Ah," said Hector shrewdly, "noo I see! Yon laird be a closet Jacobite, and ye're aboot tae conspire wi' him against the usurper." He sighed. "If ainly I'd wits tae help ye twa plot! I'm nobbut a rough, unlettered Hielander, though, wi' naught tae offer save his steel and bluid." He fumbled in his pouch. "And, aye, my sporran holds money, and a sandwich, and"—he drew out his flask—"a wee bit whisky, should my prince hae hunger or thirst."
"No, thanks," Charlie whispered.
The boat docked at a village below the castle. Mishka gave hooded cloaks to the human and the Hoka, and his guardsmen surrounded them closely while they went up the path to the stronghold.
In spite of his worries, Charlie was gripped by what he saw. Here was no medieval ruin or restored museum piece. This was a working fortress.
Gray stone blocks were mortared together to form a high wall. On its parapets tramped men-at-arms in mail, archers in leather jerkins. At intervals rose turrets. From flagpoles on their tops blew banners which were not merely ornamental, but which told who the owner and his chief officers were and identified battle stations for each member of the garrison.
Behind a main gate of heavy timbers and strap iron, a flagged courtyard reached among several stone buildings. Greatest of these was the keep, a darkling pile whose windows were mere slits. Wooden lean-tos edged the curtain wall, wherein the manifold workaday activities of the castle went on.
Porters carried loads; grooms tended yachis; blacksmiths and carpenters made the air clamorous; bakers and brewers filled it with odors which blended with woodsmoke and the smell of unwashed bodies.
Females and children were present, too, as well as small domestic animals and fowl walking freely and messily about. Everybody seemed to have a task, though nobody seemed in a hurry about it. Voices chattered, laughed, swore, shouted, sang snatches of song; wooden shoes thumped on stones.
Mishka dismissed his troopers at the entrance to the keep and himself conducted Charlie, Hector, and Toreg inside. The walls of an entry room bore tapestries and hunting trophies. The floor was carpeted with broad-leaved plants, whose sweetness relieved the reek of smoke from a gigantic feasting chamber where an ox-sized carcass was roasting.
By the dim interior light, Mishka pointed to a spiral staircase off the entry. "Follow that, if it please you."
At the fourth-floor landing, he received the salutes of two guards and opened the door "Come," he said,
- Chapter 8
"and meet my lord Dzenko."
Title: Hokas Pokas
Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson
ISBN: 0-671-57858-8
© 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R.
Copyright: Dickson
Publisher: Baen Books
- Chapter 9
5
The Redheaded
League
Within, the stone of a fair sized room was relieved by rugs and by plastered walls whose frescoes depicted battle scenes. The scarlet pigment used for blood did much to brighten things, for otherwise there was only a shaft of sunlight through a narrow window. A few carved chairs were placed at irregular intervals. In one of them, sat a gaunt middle-aged New Lemurian, his face deeply lined, the blue of his crest sprinkled with gray. He wore a flowing rainbow-striped robe and silver necklace, and his whiskers were gilded.
Mishka clicked heels. "Lord Dzenko, here have brought you, unbeknownst to others as you bade, the fiery-topped person who may be the Deliverer of the Prophecy. Also, for good measure, his guide—my lord will remember Toreg—and, er—"
"Sir Hector MacGregor," said Charlie in haste, before the Hoka could declare himself a commoner. It might be protection against indignities.
Hector was quick to pick up the cue. "Aye," he declaimed, striking a pose, "an ancestor o' mine was ennobled after the Battle o' Otterburn. Let me tell ye. Ìt fell aboot the Lammas tide, when the muir-men win their hay—' "
Charlie shushed him, "My name is Charles Edward Stuart. My father is captain of the ship which lately flew in from the stars. He expects me back soon."
Dzenko smiled. "I trust we can oblige him. Pity that the strange law of your folk—or perhaps their weakness—binds him from coming after you in force."
Charlie gulped. Living so close to the League's enclave, this baron must be more sophisticated about it than most.
"But do be at ease," Dzenko urged. "My only wish is to welcome you, the Prince of the Prophecy, our rescuer from oppression."
"Huh?" exploded from Toreg. "But, but, Lord—him? Why, he's not even one of our kind!"
- Chapter 9
"Does the Prophecy anywhere say he must be?" Dzenko purred. "Indeed, have you ever heard of a dweller on our world who has red hair?"
"N-no, Lord," Toreg admitted. Excitement seized him. "Could it really be? Could Olaghi in truth be overthrown, and I get my rightful job back?"
"The councils of the mighty are not for common ears," Dzenko said. "You may go, Toreg, and greet your old comrades." The guide bowed and rushed out. "You stay, Mishka," continued the baron. The gigantic guardsman placed himself at parade rest in a corner.
"You know I'm nothing of the sort," Charlie protested. "This is only a, a coincidence."
"Conceivably. Though a wise saw has it that `Chance is the hand of heaven which hauls us.' " Dzenko rose, to take the human's arm in a confidential manner and lead him across the room. "Upon receiving the news, I, ah, did feel it my duty to investigate further. If nothing else, your presence might cause unrest among the populace."
"Maybe," Charlie admitted. "I suppose I'd better go straight back to the compound."
Dzenko's grasp tightened on his elbow. "On the other hand, perhaps you had better not."
To and fro they paced. Hector stumped behind them. "See you," Dzenko went on, low-voiced, "I say no word against our beloved King Olaghi. He would demand my head on a pikeshaft did I call him aught but a good ruler. Yet is any ruler ever as good as he might be? There are even some who call him a tyrant. Mind you, I say this not myself, but some do. When rumors start flying, a prudent man wants to know whether or not they hold the truth, so he can advise the people who are dependent on him. Now naturally, I don't imagine there's aught to this talk about your being the young Prince who'll perform the Five Feats and dethrone the wicked ruler of legend, but still, at the same time—"
He talked in that vein for several minutes. Charlie got the impression he was really stalling. Meanwhile, a clamor grew below them, shouts, running feet, occasional blasts on the crooked Talyinan trumpets.
"Mishka!" said Dzenko at last. "See what that noise is about and shut them up."
Though sharply spoken, the order had a false sound in Charlie's ears, as if rehearsed well in advance. But the guardsman clattered out at once and down the stone steps.
"The commoners are quite impetuous, you know." The baron sighed. "Get them overheated, and bloodshed is apt to follow."
Mishka reappeared, hustling Toreg along in front of him. The racket from below pursued them, louder than ever, hardly muffled when the door closed.
- Chapter 9
"Well, Sergeant, what goes on?" Dzenko demanded.
"This clown here went right out and told them the Prince has come," Mishka snarled. He gave Toreg a shake.
"What?" Dzenko's anger seemed more deliberate than genuine, but the guide quailed.
"Y-you didn't tell me not to, lord," he stammered.
"I didn't?"
"Did you? I, I—"
"Stupid lout!"
"Yes, my lord." Toreg cowered.
"Be quiet!" barked Dzenko. He turned on Mishka. "What do they want? And make sure you get things straight."
Stung in his pride, the officer flushed and responded stiffly, "I hope my lord does not confuse me with this yachi-brain."
"Fry and sizzle you, numbwit!" roared Dzenko. "Will you answer a simple question or will you not?"
"Yes, my lord," said Mishka, sulkier yet. "They want to see the Prince shoot the bellfruit off the head of his friend."
Dzenko relaxed. "Well, well," he said. "I was afraid of something like this. That's why I was anxious to handle matters discreetly, Charles. Take an old legend, and the commoners will believe every word of it.
Now what is our wisest course?"
"If you sent me away—" Charlie began.
Dzenko shook his head. "No, I fear that won't do."
"Won't do?" asked Charlie, dismayed.
"Won't do," Dzenko emphasized. "I appreciate your not wanting to have any truck with a foolish folk tale. But I have my people to think of. They're wildly agitated. Nought will calm them down again until
- Chapter 9
they see you shoot at the bellfruit. I hate to ask you—"
"I hate to refuse—" Charlie tried.
"But, as I was saying," proceeded Dzenko, "if you do it not, they'll suppose it's because you are an impostor, and the custom around here is to roast impostors over a slow fire. Of course, my guard and I would do our best to defend you. But on Olaghi's orders, they are so few these days that I much fear the peasantry would overwhelm them and take you from us. And really, it's not such a stiff request, is it? All you are asked to do is shoot bellfruit off the head of your best friend, using a crossbow, in the fog at fifty paces."
Charlie's stomach felt queasy. He seized after an excuse. "But my best friend isn't here! He's far off on Earth."
"Come, come," chided Dzenko. "We see your best friend, right at your back. I'm sure he'll be willing to help. What say you, Sir Hector?"
The Hoka's bearlike head nodded vigorously. "What mon dares say Hector MacGregor doesna trust the aim o' his ain true Prince?" he snorted. "Aye—I'll stand target wi' a bellfruit, or an apple, or a walnut, where noo sits my bonnet."
"Tell me, my lord," Charlie asked. "As long as I try to do it, will that satisfy them? I mean, even if I miss?"
"Oh, yes. Should you miss, they will indeed be saddened, to know you are not the Deliverer after all. But none can fairly say you refused to try. What few complainers remain will not be too many for my guardsmen to handle."
"And . . . once I've taken this shot, Sir Hector and I are free to leave? Go back to the compound if we want?"
"My dear boy! Leave? Go back? After shooting the bellfruit off your best friend's head? Certainly not!
You must continue to do the other four Feats and liberate the kingdom."
"Sure, sure," said Charlie. "But that's if I shoot the way the legend tells. Suppose I miss."
Dzenko waved his hand. "Why, then you can go wherever you like, do whatever you wish," he replied airily. "Except for their disappointment, it won't matter much to anyone."
"Okay, I'll do it."
- Chapter 9
"Good!" Dzenko beamed. "I knew we could count on you."
It was necessary to wait for the evening mists to blow in off the sea, in order that every condition of the poem be fulfilled. Charlie and Hector were kept in the upstairs room meanwhile, under guard of Mishka.
But servants brought them a sumptuous lunch. And to his surprise, Charlie found that the sergeant was, in his way, both intelligent and decent. He actually apologized for the trouble he had caused.
"In a tide of shmiriz, I roused my lord from slumber," he explained. "Later I bethought me how foolish I had been. Think of my astonishment when I got orders to bring you hither. As my lord's sworn man, I must needs obey." He sighed. "Ah, 'twould be wondrous were you in truth he who shall cast the yoke off us. But though you deny it, I wish you well."
"Dzenko doesn't seem to take the legend seriously," Charlie said. "So why did he want me brought here in the first place?"
"He told you 'twas to make certain matters will not get out of hand."
"Is that the whole truth?" Charlie asked, thinking how calculated the scene this afternoon had appeared.
"Well, he's a deep one, my lord is," Mishka admitted.
"We've need o' craftiness, if we're to avenge Culloden," Hector declared. Charlie knew he referred to the battle in 1746, when the last Jacobite force was defeated, but it seemed late to do anything about that.
Near sunset, an honor guard fetched them. They tramped out of the castle through an awed silence.
Every native in the neighborhood had gotten the word and come to watch—close-packed lines of amber-skinned beings in mostly drab clothes, held back by armed troopers in ring mail or jerkins. The procession went to the north shore of the island, where a course had been marked on the beach.
Surf boomed, nearly invisible in a chill, thick fog which tolled over the waters. That mist smelled of salt and seaweed, but the low sun turned it golden. Solemnly, Lord Dzenko removed Hector's cap and placed on the furry round head a purple fruit the size of a clenched fist. The Hoka stood unflinching, nothing but love and encouragement in his beady gaze. Mishka took Charlie's arm and, just as gravely, strode fifty huge paces over the sand before he stopped and turned.
A few trusted warriors accompanied them. Nobody was allowed near Hector and Dzenko. Spectators along the strand were dim blurs in the mist.
"May the gods guide your aim," said Mishka as he put a cocked crossbow in Charlie's hands.
- Chapter 9
Another soldier whispered, "How sure our baron is of the Prophecy's fulfillment, that he stands right beside the target!" For at this distance, both of them were lost to sight.
Charlie hefted the weapon. Its wooden frame was cold and damp. He was astonished at the weight. The cord that powered it had been wound tight. The short quarrel rested in a groove in the stock. Its razor-sharp steel head would go clear through Hector if it struck him.
The human hesitated. Mishka was standing close, able to see what he did entirely too well. Charlie tried moving the crossbow around, but these warriors were made of stern stuff. Although the deadly quarrel swung past their noses, none of them blinked.
Abruptly a gust of wind brought a streamer of fog which turned everything hazy. Charlie swung the weapon to his shoulder. He had to miss but dared not be obvious about it. Yes, he thought, this must be the right aim, to put his shot safely out into the waves. He squeezed the trigger. The crossbow twanged, banged, and slammed back against him.
For a moment, only the surf spoke. Then to his stupefaction, cheers began to lift from the crowd he could barely see.
"Struck! Struck fair and square! . . . Cloven through the core! . . . A wondrous firing, nay, incredible, miraculous! He is the Prince of the People! Rejoice, rejoice!"
Through the fog loomed the lean figure of Dzenko and the stocky one of Hector. The baron held in his left hand the halves of a bellfruit, in his right a crossbow quarrel.
"Congratulations, my Prince!" he shouted.
"We didna doot ye for a meenute," Hector added.
* * *
Night brought clear air and a nearly full moon. The moon of New Lemuria is smaller than that of Earth, but also closer. It shows larger and brighter in the sky and raises higher tides.
Charlie looked out the window of the upstairs room, upon a castle turned to silver and shadows. The hush of night contrasted with the din of evening's celebrations. Charlie was alone with Dzenko.
The nobleman sat near a brazier which glowed to fight off the chill. He toyed with a knife such as every Talyinan carried. Candle flames made the blade shimmer against gloom.
"You faked that test," Charlie accused him. "You knew I'd aim wide and out to sea. You arranged for
- Chapter 9
nobody to be near enough to see what happened. As soon as you heard my bow go off, you palmed the bellfruit on Hector's head and let a split one fall from your sleeve, along with a quarrel."
Dzenko smiled. "Sir Hector believes you struck truly, Prince," he answered.
"A Hoka will believe anything, if it suits his fancy!" The adulation lavished on Charlie the past hours had emboldened him. "Why did you do it? You've visited the League compound often. You know I'm not allowed to meddle in your politics."
"But you are allowed to travel," Dzenko pointed out. "If the natives choose to interpret your actions in special ways, that's scarcely your fault, is it?"
"Do you really mean for me to do those silly Feats—or rig them for me the way you did this one?"
Dzenko stroked his whiskers. "We can but try."
"I won't!"
"I fear you must." Dzenko's tones stayed low and smooth. "The whole of Roshchak has the news.
Already boats must be bearing it elsewhere. I warned you what the reaction would be to an impostor.
Well, what of the reaction when hopes are blasted? Besides your own life, Charles, think of the other lives that would be lost, as people rose in rebellion and, lacking proper military guidance, got cut down by Olaghi's army. No, face the fact: You have a destiny."
"To do what?"
"To help overthrow a cruel tyrant. I know you Earthlings want to see more freedom in this world. Well, for years Olaghi has been taking away what there was."
"I, well, I have heard—from Toreg and Mishka—some complaining about you barons having to pay heavy tribute and reduce the size of your armed forces. But that's just your class and the professional warriors who feel hurt."
Dzenko shook his head sadly. "Prince, consider. Where can we barons get the means to pay off Olaghi, except out of our commoners? And in addition, his tax gatherers squeeze them directly—heartlessly.
Those who are ruined by it must go either into beggary or into Olaghi's immediate service. I suspect that is the real purpose behind the new taxes, not any need of the kingdom. And as for whittling down the household troops of the barons, it does more than make them unable to revolt. It means they can no longer patrol their fiefs well. Thus bandits and pirates are again rising up to prey on the people." He lifted his knife. "Prince," he said, and his voice rang, "by this, my steel, I charge you to help me right these grievous wrongs. If your spirit be true, you cannot refuse."
- Chapter 9
Charlie understood that he had no real choice. Unless he could somehow give Dzenko the slip, he was in the baron's power. If he didn't cooperate, he could be quietly murdered—or maybe tortured till he yielded.
Yet was Dzenko's cause an evil one? Charlie harked back to various unhappy remarks which Pomfrey had let drop. The Plenipotentiary frankly wished that Olaghi had never been born.
Suppose he, Charles Edward Stuart, did play out this charade of the Five Feats. As clever a leader as Dzenko would find ways to make them come out right. Afterward, Dzenko could be left in charge of the kingdom. He was said to govern his own province effectively, and he should be far more agreeable to suggestions from the League than Olaghi was.
As for Charlie, he saw himself as a liberator, a man on a white horse—no, yachi—riding down the streets of Bolgorka, capital of Talyina, while crowds cheered and threw flowers. Later they would erect statues to him. . . .
"My father will be frantic," Charlie protested weakly.
"I will send him a message that you have decided to accept my offer of a guided tour through the whole realm," Dzenko answered. "He can proceed on his voyage. I have League funds available, to buy passage home for you and your companion after you have completed your mission."
"My father will be furious," Charlie said, but without force. When he heard the facts, Captain Stuart would have to admit that his son could not have behaved otherwise.
Title: Hokas Pokas
Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson
ISBN: 0-671-57858-8
© 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R.
Copyright: Dickson
Publisher: Baen Books
- Chapter 10
6
Songs of Experience: The Tiger
For the sake of discretion and, he said, the youth's personal safety, Dzenko sent Charlie off before dawn, in care of Mishka, to a hunting lodge he owned in the woods. There the two of them spent four days.
Mishka taught his charge the rudiments of the knightly arts—yachi riding, the use of weapons, the correct forms for boasting of one's own prowess. Charlie declined to study shmiriz guzzling.
In the evenings they talked. Far from being an ignorant roughneck, Mishka was widely traveled and had many stories to tell. He had been born in another province to a poor fisher family. After an adventurous career as a sailor, he enlisted in Dzenko's guard largely because he wanted to be near the League compound and learn more about the strangers from the stars. In a few years he had risen to the top. He had been saving his pay and hoped before long to retire to his birthplace and marry.
He in his turn asked eager questions. When Charlie remarked that he must be exceptional, Mishka said not. Though most Talyinans were illiterate, respect for learning was ingrained in the peasantry, as well as the aristocracy.
"Then you can't believe this nonsense about my being the Prince," Charlie said.
"M-m, I don't know," the trooper responded. "My father always taught me the Prophecy was a direct revelation from one of the gods. You wouldn't want me disrespectful of my father, would you? Of course, maybe you're not the Prince."
"I know I'm not."
"Do you? Nothing in the Prophecy says he'll be aware of it himself till after the Five Feats have been performed, any more than it says he'll've been born on this world. We just took for granted he would be.
Let's wait and see how things go, hai?"
Charlie almost blurted forth how the first deed had been faked but stopped himself in time. Mishka's code of honor would not let him admit his lord might have acted less than ethically—not without much better proof than was available here. Such an accusation would only lose Charlie his friendship, and the human felt very alone.
Hector could have come along but had elected to stay behind and supervise some craftsmen in the construction of a set of bagpipes. In addition, he had weavers prepare an ample supply of cloth in
- Chapter 10
different tartans.
At the end of the waiting period, Toreg arrived to fetch Charlie and Mishka. The human asked about the message to the League compound, and Toreg said he wasn't supposed to deliver that till the end of the week's absence originally planned. For the same reason, they would travel by night to Avilyogh. That was a tricky stretch of water, where no master of a sailing vessel dared move after dark, but Dzenko was commandeering a motor ferry.
The motor, Charlie discovered, was a treadmill in a well amidships of the big craft, geared to a pair of paddle wheels. Ordinarily, it was powered by steerage passengers, while the wellborn took their ease topside. Now Dzenko put to work the members of his retinue. These were a couple of dozen soldiers, a personal servant or two, and a court minstrel named Hasprot, whose duty would be to commemorate Charlie's actions in a suitable epic poem. The baron's grown sons were left on the separate islands which he had given them the administration of. It would not have been wise to go in a large, conspicuous company. The king might hear of that and look into the matter.
Despite his excitement, Charlie slept well in the bunk assigned him. Soon after dawn, they entered the harbor of Vask, chief town on the steeply rising, thickly forested island of Avilyogh.
The community resembled Grushka in both size and architecture, except for being dominated by a huge circular building of rough stone. Dzenko said that was the Councilhouse, where the adult males met to consider public business. It was also the home of Igorsh, baron of this province, who presided over meetings, though he could vote only in case of a tie. "Why, that sounds kind of, uh, democratic," Charlie said.
"Avilyogh is backward," Dzenko answered. "Its lords never have managed to put the commoners in their place and run things efficiently."
Startled, Charlie gave the master of Roshchak a long stare. But events moved too fast for him to ponder.
In minutes the party had docked, disembarked, and were trampling through the streets. Females and children stared; some cheered, probably because newcomers broke the monotony. Few males were about. Dzenko had sent word ahead to Igorsh that he had a vital matter for discussion. So most of the local electorate were assembled to hear it.
At the center of the Councilhouse was a great circular chamber, its flagstone floor surrounded by tiers of benches. Above, a ring of windows admitted light and drew off some of the smells which the crowd of seated fishermen and farmers bore with them even when they were dressed in their dull-colored best.
Nevertheless, wealthier males held burning sticks of incense.
Lord Igorsh occupied a massive chair in the middle. It was mounted on a revolving platform, so that his guardsmen could turn him to face anyone speaking from the benches. He was a stout person, who, instead of a robe like Dzenko, wore ordinary jacket and trousers. His sole finery was a shabby red cloak
- Chapter 10
and a gold chain of office.
Local courtesy did not require him to rise. Instead, he lifted an arm and boomed, "Greeting, excellent colleague. As head of the Grand Council of Avilyogh, I welcome you and your folk to our sacred gathering place. We are honored by your visit—" Having run out of set, formal phrases and being as bewildered as his people—who had uttered a gasp when Charlie and Hector appeared—he began to flounder. "But I must say this is . . . is rather sudden and . . . um . . . mysterious? Yes, mysterious. My lord of Roshchak must forgive us that we have had no time to prepare a reception suitable to his dignity."
Dzenko laid his hand on the hilt of the sword he bore, raised the other palm, and posed with knees bent, right foot forward. It looked ridiculous to Charlie, but evidently had a solemn meaning in Talyinan culture. The buzz of talk among the encircling commoners died out.
"What says the ancient wisdom?" belled Dzenko. " `Haste is a weapon to harry foes home. He who moves swiftly escapes the springing of traps.' "
"True, true," replied Igorsh. "Well is it written: `Wise are the words of the war-skilled among us.' "
Dzenko twitched his whiskers and waggled his ears in acknowledgment of the compliment. "But also,"
he said, not to be outdone either in urbanity or learning, " `Knowing is he who draws nigh to good neighbors.' "
"Indeed." The other nodded. " `Friends are the fiercest of weapons 'gainst foemen.' "
" Àlliance is bound to be better than battle.' "
"Yet `Shunned is the ilnya by all other animals.' "
"However, `Causes in common make curious partners.' "
" `Greatest are gains that in goodwill are shared.' "
" `The first and the foremost of profits is fame.' "
"Well, well," said Igorsh, rubbing his hands together, "if that's settled, no doubt we can work out the details at leisure. Ah . . . your message hinted at a possible arrangement between our fiefs, for mutual benefit . . . something warlike, you implied?"
"Yes," Dzenko drew his sword and waved it flashing aloft. He pointed to Charlie. "Behold our Deliverer, the Prince of the Prophecy!"
- Chapter 10
Another gasp turned into a roar. Igorsh himself needed a few minutes to recover from amazement and shout for order. He had no gavel, but his guardsmen beat weapons on shields until at length there was silence again.
Dzenko told the story with skilled oratory, taking a good half hour about it. Part of that was due to interruptions. The members of this parliament behaved—to Charlie's mind—like large-sized children, jumping up and down at dramatic moments, howling forth proverbs, slogans, and deep-sea oaths. But doggedly, Dzenko made his point clear. He emphasized the presence of many witnesses when the first of the Feats had been performed.
Charlie felt guilty at going along with the fraud. But the enthusiasm of the Avilyoghans was genuine.
Why should they take the risks and make the sacrifices of rebelling against Olaghi, were the king not in truth a despot who ought to be overthrown?
Finally—"Well told, Lord Dzenko!" cried Igorsh, and rose to flourish his own blade. "I think I may speak for a general consensus, that this land will fully support the Prince once he has done us the honor of slaying that curse under which we have suffered since time immemorial, the Sorrow of Avilyogh!"
Cheers thundered between the walls. Charlie forgot how tired his feet were from standing. It struck him that he had no idea what he was supposed to do.
"What says the Council?" called Igorsh, sweeping his gaze around the benches. "Would three days hence be a good time to hold the slaying?"
The males applauded. But Dzenko raised his blade to call for attention.
"May I remind the distinguished Council of the reason for my own speed in coming hither?" he said. "It were well for the Prince and those who follow him that they be far from here long before the tyrant Olaghi learns about the miracle. He will not sit idle, you know."
"True," said Igorsh doubtfully. "Still, anything less than three days is rather short notice. After all, the town will want to raise the head tax on people coming in to see the slaying. Our food vendors will want to lay in extra supplies to sell. Besides the inns, many private households will want to prepare rooms for rent. Not to mention manufacturers of souvenirs—"
"I propose for your consideration," said Dzenko, "that the advantages of such activities be weighed against the possibility of Olaghi sailing into Vask Harbor with his battle fleet and reducing the town to ashes."
"Hm, yes, there is that," agreed the Council chief. "Day after tomorrow, then?"
"This afternoon," said Dzenko firmly.
- Chapter 10
"But really, my dear colleague—"
Dzenko nudged Charlie. Since the baron of Roshchak must have some plan, the human could only pipe up, "Today. I've got to do it my own way, don't I?"
Igorsh sighed. "Ah, well. A sad thing it is, to think upon the many folk who would wish to see this event and meanwhile enjoy the sights and cooking of our town. But if they must miss it, they must. Tell me, 0
Prince, how do you mean to slay our Sorrow?"
"Why, uh, that is—" Charlie stuttered.
"The Deliverer keeps his own counsel," Dzenko said smoothly.
"He can use my boat!" cried a voice from the stands.
"No," shouted others. "Mine! . . . Mine! My boat, I say—"
A barrel-chested individual in leather clothes stood up and roared hoarsely, "What need has the Prince for a boat? Can a boat fare on dry land?"
Another large person, whose knitted garments smelled of fish, bounced to his feet and retorted, "Dry land? Show me dry land at the bottom of Grimsa Deep!"
"Grimsa Deep? Who said anything about Grimsa Deep?"
"Where else?" demanded the second male. "Do you suppose the great decapod—the gods rot his tentacles for the nets he has torn and the catches he has stolen—do you suppose he lives anyplace else?"
"What babble is this?" bawled his opponent. "Dare you pretend some mere sea monster is the Sorrow of Avilyogh? Nay, what can it be save the Rookery of Tetch?" He directed his words at Charlie. "From those unclimbable heights descend huge flocks of xorxa birds. to ravish the grainfields of every farmer for three days' journey around. What could be sadder?"
"Decapod! Xorxa birds!" A plump male in a fur-trimmed robe stood erect. "Have you lost your wits, men, to even hear such maunderings? What was ever the Sorrow of Avilyogh but the bandits who lurk in the Hills of Nitchy, robbing the caravans till no honest merchant can send a consignment overland from one end of our island to, another? Know you how exorbitant sea freight has become?"
The clamor grew with more candidates offered. Just before people came to blows, Igorsh had shields beaten again. And Dzenko's voice cut through, crying, "Hold! Hold! I speak for the Deliverer!" until the
- Chapter 10
assembly was seated and quiet.
"Enough of this," said the baron scornfully. "Did you think the Prince himself knows not what is the Sorrow of Avilyogh?"
He paused for effect. "Well, what is it?" Igorsh asked at length.
"Why!" Dzenko spread his arms wide. "What but the Giant Demon Ilnya which has prowled your hills throughout the centuries? What but its accursed existence has spoiled your luck and brought these other misfortunes on you? Now no more! Today the Prince will seek out the Demon and slay him, and a golden age will come to Avilyogh!"
Males stared at each other. Charlie caught some of the puzzled murmurs: "Demon? . . . Giant Ilnya? . . .
I never heard . . . Well, at least it isn't that decapod 'Tisn't your fool Rookery, either. . . ."
Meanwhile Igorsh inquired plaintively, "But where is this creature? I, ah, I must admit my own memory is somewhat hazy on the subject. It's, ah, not ordinarily discussed."
"Of course it isn't," Dzenko said. "Doesn't that prove how cunning the Demon is? But fear no more. In the interests of expediting things, esteemed colleague, I took the liberty of dispatching huntsmen of my own to your island. They landed secretly and, armed with magical knowledge given them by the Prince, scouted out the lair of the ogre. I have a map they made. According to it, the Prince should be able to get there in a mere few hours."
Many people shuddered to think the fiend had been so near them for lifetimes, and they never aware of it. They drew signs against evil. There was no further argument.
It wasn't that New Lemurians were stupid, Charlie thought . . . they were by nature as intelligent as humans. But they were brought up in an environment where countless superstitions were believed.
Nobody had ever taught them to ask for scientific evidence before accepting a story.
If any did suspect this was being staged, they must be keeping quiet for the sake of getting rid of the hated King Olaghi.
* * *
A party left Vask before noon. It consisted of Dzenko's following, plus Igorsh and some of the more prominent citizens of his baronry. Conversation was impossible while bouncing along on a yachi, and Charlie had much time to brood. He hardly noticed the woodland scenery as he climbed the heights of the island.
When they stopped for lunch, he drew Dzenko aside into a thicket; a nearby waterfall helped cover their
- Chapter 10
low words. The noble had beckoned a certain member of the troop to come along. This was a weather-beaten sly-eyed male who, while equipped like a soldier, was actually the huntmaster of Roshchak.
"Hadn't you better tell me what's what?" Charlie proposed.
"You do need instructions," Dzenko agreed. "Boraz, are you sure everything is in order?"
"As of yesterday morning, it was, Lord," the hunter replied. To Charlie he added, "I stayed behind when the rest of my gang returned, to care for the ilnya, and got back barely in time to catch the ferry."
"Care . . . for . . . the ilnya?" Charlie spoke in a daze.
Through his mind passed what he had heard about beasts of that kind. An ilnya was a carnivore, the size of a tiger and not unlike one in appearance, save for blue fur, short tail, and enormous hind legs which helped it run down its prey. The distribution of such species throughout the islands meant there had been land bridges in the past.
Fear chilled him. "I don't know anything about ilnya hunting," he said thinly.
"You need not," Boraz said. "My men and I captured this brute and chained him in a cave. You will go in alone. How declares the Prophecy? `Swiftly, then, merrily, swinging his swordblade, Slays he the scarer called Sorrow of Avilyogh.' All you have to do is stand out of reach and hack away. When he's dead, cut off his head to slip the chain free, and bury it. The chain, I mean; you'll need the head to show."
The time grew unbearably long as they traveled on—and then, when they dismounted at mid afternoon, it was as if no time had passed whatsoever.
Nothing appeared real to Charlie. He felt his own trembling and smelled his own sweat. The sunlit greenness around him seemed infinitely far away.
Boraz pointed. Uphill from the animal trail which they had been following, barely visible between trunks and leafy boughs, a cave mouth gaped black in a bluff. "Yonder lairs the Demon," said the hunter.
"Can you not smell his nearness?" Indeed a rank odor lay beneath the forest fragrances.
Awed, the natives stood mute. Mishka drew blade. "Take you my sword," he bade Charlie, "and would that I might be with you!"
"The Prince fares alone to his destiny," Dzenko said fast.
"What's this?" exclaimed Hector. "Alone? Ne'er whilst breath moves a MacGregor breast!"
- Chapter 10
All eyes went to the Hoka. He planted his feet firmly and glowered defiance. Small though his teddy bear form was amid the big New Lemurians, they were too shaken to attempt force on him. "Whaur Bonnie Prince Charlie fights, there fight I," he told them.
"Order him to stay," Dzenko snapped.
It was the wrong tone to take. "Why should I?" Charlie flared. "I am the Prince. Remember?"
"But," said Igorsh reasonably, " you must slay the Sorrow of Avilyogh. You're not supposed to have assistance."
The wily Dzenko saw a way out. "Our Deliverer's faithful servant can leave his steel behind," he said.
"And . . . ah . . . things may happen when one is dealing with a demon, things not fit to be related in public. You will keep silence about whatever you witness, will you not, Sir Hector?"
"If the lad asks it, I wull." The Hoka nodded.
Dzenko gave Charlie a meaningful glance. "Silence may be to your best advantage, Prince," he reminded.
"Yes," whispered Charlie. "Please, Hector."
"I swear, then, by the honor o' my clan, nae wor-r-rd s'all e'er pass my lips," promised the Hoka. "Aye, twill not e'en get as far as my teeth."
Quickly he divested himself of sword and miscellaneous knives. He kept his bagpipes, maintaining that these were a military necessity. Igorsh was dubious; bagpipes were completely unknown in Talyina, and this might be a weapon of some kind. Hector defied him to find any sharp edges in the apparatus, and he gave way.
Mishka wrung Charlie's hand and clapped his shoulder. No one had words. Boy and Hoka trudged uphill to the cave.
Quietness hung heavy. Shivering, Charlie entered. For a second he stood blind in damp, strong-smelling gloom. Then his eyes adapted and he could see.
The cave was about ten meters deep. Its floor was soft dirt, easily movable to hide the chain, collar, and staple that held the ilnya captive. When first he made out the beast, at the far end, Charlie strangled on a cry. It was truly a giant.
But it lay so quietly. He decided it was asleep. Step by step he moved closer, until he realized that this was an old animal—oh, very old. Its great body was bone-thin, its coat faded and in many patches fallen
- Chapter 10
out. As he watched, it began to snore. The mouth curled back, and he saw that the fangs were snags or altogether gone. Once it had been proud and beautiful, but now—no wonder Boraz's men had been able to lay nets and ropes around it and drag it here to await its death!
"Och," said Hector eagerly, "ye've nobbut to stab whilst yon cat snarks, and your second Feat is done."
Dread washed out of Charlie, leaving only a huge compassion. "I, I can't," he protested. "That'd be like shooting somebody's old pet dog."
"Pet? I dinna think yon claws are for decoration, laddie." Hector considered. "Aweel, gi'en the size o'
him, I doot one stab wad sairve anyhoo. So, if you wish, I'll rouse him." He tucked the bag under his arm, put one of the pipes to his muzzle, and blew. The bag inflated.
A grisly vision rose before Charlie—the butchery he was supposed to carry out. It might take hours to end the torment.
"No!" he cried. "Stop! I won't! I don't care what they do to me—"
He was too late. Hector had begun playing.
A screech such as New Lemuria had never heard before erupted in the cave. Echoes blasted Charlie's eardrums and rattled around in his skull. The ilnya came awake. By sheer reflex, it bounded upward. Its head struck the roof. It fell with an earthshaking thud and lay still.
Slowly, in eerie wails and moans, the bagpipes deflated. Hector goggled through the dusk. "What . . .
what— 'Tis dead!"
Charlie took his courage in both hands and approached the ilnya. He knelt, prodded it, felt for any breath. There was none. "Yes," he said.
"What happened?" Hector asked.
Charlie rose. "I think," he said in a hushed voice, "I'll never know for sure, but I think— It was so old and feeble, and it could never have heard anything like that racket of yours before. I really think it died of a heart attack. Thank God for His mercy."
"A heart attack?" For an instant, Hector was dumbfounded. Then he brightened. "Ah, the bra' notes o'
Hieland music! Ever hae Caledonia's foes withered and fallen awa' at the pure and powerful sound o' it!"
- Chapter 10
Title: Hokas Pokas
Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson
ISBN: 0-671-57858-8
© 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R.
Copyright: Dickson
Publisher: Baen Books
- Chapter 11
7
Man and Superman
Now Charlie must remove the head of the ilnya and hide the evidence. "I hate being dishonest like this,"
he said.
"Statecraft, lad," Hector reassured him. "Turning his ain guile again' the Sassenach." He inflated his instrument once more. "Yet 'twas a gallant beast here, desairving o' meelitary honors." And while Charlie did the job, the Hoka skirled forth a coronach.
Thus Charlie emerged from the cave with his ears numb and ringing. Mishka whooped and sobbed for joy as he ran to embrace the human. "Why, where've the others gone?" Charlie wondered.
"They fled from the Demon's shrieks and roars," Mishka answered. "I can't really blame them, either.
'Twas all I could do to stand my ground while those gruesome noises shook my very liver."
"Shrieks?" Hector tilted his bonnet in order to scratch his head. "Roars? I heard naught. Naught the least.
Did ye, lad?" He snapped his fingers. "Och, but o' coorse, I was playing the pipes. Naught could reach me but yon sweet melodies."
And, Charlie realized, those were precisely what had stampeded the Talyinans. Mishka didn't draw that conclusion, fortunately—or unfortunately, since the tears on the guardsman's cheeks made the human feel guiltier than ever. He got no chance to think further about that. The sergeant lifted a horn slung at his side and winded it to summon the rest of the party. They hadn't gone far and made their yachis take huge leaps while they shouted forth their happiness.
Charlie couldn't resist twitting Dzenko: "I never thought you would flee from a being you understood so well."
The baron looked embarrassed. "It was . . . unexpected . . . that noise. I almost thought the Prophecy spoke truth—" He caught himself. "That is," he snapped, "my men were departing, and naturally they needed me to lead them."
Entering the cave, the Talyinans murmured in awe. Charlie wondered why. Admittedly the ilnya was of uncommon size, but weren't the signs plain that it had also been of uncommon age? Besides, they had never had a legend about an ogre in such a shape till Dzenko invented it for them this morning. Yet they solemnly offered prayers and poured shmiriz on the ground to the gods before they began skinning the
- Chapter 11
animal. The carcass they would leave for a sacrifice, the head they would mount in the Councilhouse, but the hide they would cut up into tiny squares for distribution among the folk as prized relics.
Hasprot, minstrel of Roshchak, took the word after they started home. He was a short and skinny male, his gray crest of hair dyed with the blue juice of berries and his whiskers waxed to keep them from drooping. He affected polka-dotted trousers, bells on his boots, and a jacket not of leather but of fluorescent pink neolon from Earth. However, he did have a good voice, and he was among the few who could speak—not needing his jaws tied shut—while bouncing along on a yachi. He could even play a horpil as he rode. That was an instrument not dissimilar to an ancient Greek lyre, except that it was tuned to a different scale and had a rattle built into the frame which was shaken at suitable points in a recital.
Hark [he intoned] to the tale that I have
of the hero,
The Prince of Prophecy prancing among us—
Charlie listened in amazement. The part about the shooting of the bellfruit was fairly straightforward, if a trifle florid. ("Piercingly peering through fog stood the Prince.") You couldn't blame Hasprot for having been taken in by Dzenko's trick. But when he came to the Sorrow of Avilyogh, the minstrel gave his imagination free rein. For example, there was the moment in the fight when the Demon had turned itself into a raging fire and threatened to burn them all to a crisp. Still more outrageous, Charlie thought, were the forty-seven Demon kittens which had been about to rush from the cave and lay waste the whole province when the sight of the valiant lords Dzenko and Igorsh sent them wailing back belowground.
Hasprot's diplomatic narration extended to the rest of the group. According to him, they had not fled. No.
Raging, they ran where they reckoned the foe
Starkly might strike, did he stretch the Prince dead.
* * *
This section of the epic chanced to be composed during a rest stop, and Charlie saw heads nod and heard self-satisfied voices rumble, "Ah, yes. . . . Just so. . . . Indeed, indeed. . . . How well he captures the essence. . . . Hasprot, would you mind repeating that bit about how I personally challenged the Demon?"
Because their lives were hard and usually dull when not disastrous, these people needed brightly colored visions. When suddenly it seemed that these might become real, they were bound to seize on that hope and to gloss over any flaws in the evidence—not even aware that they were doing so. Likewise, they unconsciously edited their eyewitness memories in order to save their pride.
- Chapter 11
The same thing had happened over and over on Earth.
Charlie glanced at Hector. Was that kilted teddy bear really very different from the natives . . . or from man?
He was too tired to think further. When they reached Vask, well after sunset, he stumbled directly to bed. Hector had to be restrained from playing him a lullaby on the pipes.
* * *
With a fair wind to fill gaily striped sails, two dozen ships plowed eastward. They included not only the combined naval forces of Roshchak and Avilyogh, but volunteers that had arrived after Dzenko's couriers, and ordinary folk in boats, had spread the news of the Prince through the western islands.
Charlie found it fantastic that he should be aboard the flagship of a war fleet, a mere three days after he landed.
The vessels varied in size and appearance. But a typical fighting ship was about thirty meters long, broad in the beam, high in prow and stern, gaudily painted, and decorated with a fierce-looking figurehead.
The two masts were square-rigged, apart from a fore-and-aft mizzen sail. The steersman used a wheel to control a central rudder and a primitive magnetic compass for guidance. Down on the main deck, a few peculiar cannon poked their snouts through the bulwarks on either side. However, the principal armament was catapults and mangonels. A hundred males were crowded aboard. Few were professional warriors, just ordinary fishers, farmers, laborers, or sailors, who had no armor except perhaps a shield or a kettle helmet and whose weapons had been in their families for generations.
The sea danced and sparkled. Foam went lacelike over the sapphire and emerald of its waves. They whooshed when they made the ships rock. From horizon to horizon, islets were scattered green—here and there a cottage or village visible—as if a jewel box had burst open. Surf broke upon reefs in a blinding purity of white. The sun was warm, but the wind was cool and brisk; it smelled of freshness and distance. Seafowl cruised and cried against an enormous heaven.
From the staff of the lead ship flew a tartan banner which Hector had supplied. Charlie and Dzenko stood alone on the foredeck, gazing down across a mass of crewmen and fighters. It was a conference which the human had demanded. He was tired of being put off with vague promises or distracted with sports and excursions, while the baron handled everything that mattered.
"Have no fears," Dzenko said. "Our cause advances as if the gods had greased it. We proceed openly now, because the king is bound in any case to get word soon of what's happening. But he will need time to investigate and still more time to gather in his strength, from those provinces whose masters support him. Meanwhile, the rest will be flocking to us. Especially after you have accomplished the third of the Feats."
- Chapter 11
"Yes, what about that?" Charlie fretted. "To fight the Three Brothers of Belogh—" He regarded his own slight frame.
Dzenko twirled a whisker. "Have no fears," he repeated. "All is arranged. I've not been idle since the first we met."
"But do the Brothers—well, I mean, suppose they admit afterward that they threw the fight with me."
"They won't," Dzenko promised, "because they are quite sincere. My agents went to a good deal of trouble there.
"See you, young friend, in olden years—when the Prophecy was composed—the city-state of Belogh was powerful. And ever it maintained three of its doughtiest fighters, who were supposed to be brothers, as champions. They took the lead in battle, and they represented the city in trials by combat.
"When Belogh was brought into the kingdom, this custom died out. But it was never officially abolished, and traditions about it survive. The task of my agents was to find three, ah, suitable brothers and persuade them and the local government that they be proclaimed heirs to the post. These three believe it's strictly honorary, a credit to their family and, ah, an assertion of Beloghan spirit in our era of despotism. When you land and challenge them, they will have to accept. But I trust they will get no advance warning. If they knew who you are, they might decline the engagement, and then how could you prove your identity?"
He stared at the main deck. "Yes," he continued, "we must always be careful."
His glance fell on Hector, who stood in earnest talk with Mishka. "For instance," he mused, "that associate of yours has seen a shade too much and may let slip information best kept from the public. It would not be overly distressing, would it, if he . . . ah . . . suffered an accident?"
Horror smote Charlie. "What?" he yelped.
"Oh, nothing cruel," Dzenko pledged. "Brawls will happen, you know, when armed males are crammed together. If several of them simultaneously took offense at something he said— Do you follow me?"
"No!" Charlie shouted. "If, if anything . . . like that—well, if you want my help, you'd better keep Hector safe! Otherwise," he choked forth, "you may as well kill me too . . . because I'll be your enemy!"
"Hush," urged Dzenko. Eyes were turning forward, attracted by the noise. "If it will make you happy, I hereby swear that"—he grimaced—"that creature will be safe as far as I am concerned. Are you satisfied? Perhaps we ought not to talk further this day." In a swirl of his robe, he strode off.
- Chapter 11
Charlie took awhile to calm down before he also descended the ladder. Hector and Mishka met him.
"Prince," the sergeant declared, "we have discussed your forthcoming ordeal—"
"Aye, hear him oot, lad," said the Hoka.
"And we have decided—" Mishka went on.
"He has wisdom in his words," Hector stated.
"That you should get instruction in yakavarsh—" Mishka said.
"E'en though he be nae Hielander," Hector added.
"Which is the art of unarmed combat—" Mishka continued.
"So leesten to him most closely," Hector advised.
"Whereby the wrestler may turn the opponent's own strength against him," Mishka said, and waited for the next interruption. When there was none, he waxed enthusiastic. "Not only is yakavarsh an excellent means of self-defense, Prince; it is in truth an art, yes, a philosophy, a way of life. Consider the lovely curve as a body soars through the air! Create an infinity symbol when you elegantly dislocate his arm!
See a gateway to eternity in the angle of his broken neck!"
Charlie was willing and spent some hours trying to learn Talyinan judo. He failed. New Lemurians are proportioned too unlike humans for any of the holds to work very well for him. But at least the open-air exercise kept him from growing queasy when the wind stiffened and a chop set the ship rolling. That might not have been a problem in itself, had the Prophecy not said he would cross the water "Singing and swigging while others lie seasick." The warriors kept bringing him rich food and drink and then expected him to give an a capella concert.
Title: Hokas Pokas
Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson
ISBN: 0-671-57858-8
- Chapter 11
© 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R.
Copyright: Dickson
Publisher: Baen Books
- Chapter 12
8
Soldiers Three
After Belogh had lost its independence, it dwindled to a small fishing port. The great stone amphitheater had stood unused for generations. Though Dzenko's following was added to the townspeople and farmers, the audience filled less than half the available space. When Charlie left the room given him to arm in and trod out into the arena, his feet scuffed up clouds of fine white dust.
The day was bright and hot. He sweated in the underpadding of the ring mail coat which had been hastily altered to fit him. Still more did he sweat in the conical noseguarded helmet, for it needed twice as much lining as it was meant to have, were it not to cover his head like a candle snuffer. A drop ran into one eye and stung. The smell and taste of the dust were acrid. The round shield hung heavy on his left arm.
He looked about. Spectators, made splashes of subdued color on gray tiers. He sensed their excitement before they started shouting. Dzenko had forbidden his men to breathe any word of Charlie's identity.
The newcomer had been introduced cloaked, cowled, and masked by a scarf, as a noble faring incognito, who had heard the institution of the Three Brothers was being revived, disapproved of it, and challenged them to fight the matter out with him. Nevertheless, the circumstances were bound to start talk buzzing among those who knew the Prophecy, and now everybody could see that the stranger was human.
Hector, his second, patted Charlie on the back. "Guid luck to ye, lad," he breathed. "Stand steady and strike hard. Remember Otterburn. Remember Bannockburn. And Killiecrankie. And the Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled. Noo I maun be off." Likewise armored, his tubby form tramped to where a yachi stood tethered for him, a lance beside it. The observer for the Brothers was already mounted, a husky person in full warlike panoply. Afoot, Hasprot, the minstrel, strummed his horpil and doubtless composed in advance many of the lines which would describe this event.
Charlie's glance searched after Dzenko. It found him in a box favorably positioned for viewing, along with Igorsh of Avilyogh, the lord mayor of Belogh and his family, and other dignitaries. The baron threw the boy a stark smile. More heartening was Mishka, who rose and clapped vigorously at sight of his friend.
A roar lifted from the crowd. Out of their own door came the Three Brothers.
- Chapter 12
Charlie swallowed. He hadn't expected them to be so big. They towered close to two meters. He hoped some of that impression was due to the plumed and visored helmets and the plate armor rather than ring mail which they wore. The sheen off the metal hurt his eyes. He prayed the billowing dust would soon dull it.
As per instructions, they clanked and Charlie jingled across the arena to stand beneath the official box.
The lord mayor blinked at them. He was an aged, wrinkled, shaky male whose best clothes, seen at close range, bore countless darnings and patches.
"Ah . . . greeting, greeting, gentlemen," he quavered. "Obedient to the, ah, the ancient law of Belogh . . .
looked it up yesterday evening in the archives, I did, while everybody else was reveling . . . hard to concentrate in that racket, but I persisted, I did, and . . ." His voice trailed off. "Where was I? Oh, yes.
The ancient law of a challenge—I think—bugs have eaten a lot of it—I think in case of a challenge, I have to try and make peace before it's fought." He stared at Charlie. "Surely you, a—did I hear somebody say `Prince?'—well, I regret I have no more daughters to offer in marriage—"
"I should hope not," snapped a stout middle-aged female in his party, "seeing I'm the youngest and it's been twenty-three years—"
"Ah, yes." The mayor nodded. "Granddaughters, I meant to say. I'm completely out of marriageable granddaughters, my dear Prince, so I'm afraid—but perhaps—"
Under Dzenko's warning scowl, Charlie replied as boldly as he was able: "Sir, I came here not to marry but to fight."
"Eh? What? Well, well. But why not? Not much difference anyway."
Impatiently, Dzenko plucked the lord mayor's sleeve and hissed in his ear. "Very well, very well, let the combat begin," agreed the latter. "I believe you're supposed to salute me. And it really would be quite nice if you saluted each other. On your honor, gentlemen, begin."
The Brothers lifted swords above shields. Charlie did the same, while taking the chance to study the others. Their armor fitted as poorly as his helmet. Doubtless it was a set of heirlooms.
Yet when all were back in the center of the arena and politely raised blades, and a trumpet sounded, and they strode forward to the encounter, Charlie's pulse fluttered. His three opponents were like remorseless robots grinding down on him.
They ground very slowly, however. Meanwhile, their second started to bounce his yachi around and around the contestants. This inspired Hector to imitation. Dust fountained up. The Earthling heard Hasprot chant:
- Chapter 12
The bugle has blown and the battle will start
The south is the side of the city combatants.
Towering, totaling more than a ton,
Brutally armed are the Brothers of Belogh—
The minstrel had to compete with Hector, who was singing "Charlie Is My Darling" at the top of his own lungs.
The dust was getting thick as a seafog, a dry mist which clogged nostrils and throat. He could barely make out his rivals a few meters off. Why in the name of sanity did that yokel have to create such a cloud?
Wait! Could it be that he wanted to hide the engagement so that nobody could see how easily the local team was overcome?
The fact was, Dzenko had told the human, his agents had taken care to pick the three oldest brothers of acceptable ancestry that they could find and persuade these to set up as the Warriors Advocate of former times. (The appeal had been to their civic spirit. Besides asserting its cultural identity, if Belogh revived picturesque customs, it might attract tourists, especially starfarers.) The agents had assured Dzenko that the group consisted of dodderers like the lord mayor. Charlie should be able to wear them out and make them surrender with no danger to himself or any need to harm them.
What was that terrible clangor which broke loose in the whiring grayness? It gave believability to Hasprot:
Heavily hewing, the heroes are met.
Singing, the sword of the Prince now descends
In a left to the head that would lay most men low,
And a right to the ribs that rocks his foe back—
Perhaps his imagination compensated the audience for its inability to see what went on, though Charlie did hear boos.
A shape loomed out of chaos. The human recognized the yachi-mounted native in bare time to jump
- Chapter 12
aside from the lance aimed at him.
"Wait!" he screamed. "Hey, wait! You're not supposed to—" The yachi bounded past, stopped, spun around. The rider dropped his spear, drew his sword, and chopped downward. Somehow Charlie caught the blow on his shield, but it staggered him. In sick terror, he knew that the dust had been raised not to blur view of the defeat of the Brothers but to hide his own murder by their second. Afterward the trio would claim they had legitimately slain him. "Honor" demanded that they win.
Though how honorable, really, were Dzenko's wiles?
Again the sword smote from above. Charlie's blade met it, and was nearly torn from his grasp. Hasprot declaimed:
I chant of a champion's challenge anew.
Sir Hector will have quite a hand in the fight.
Calm and courageous, he couches his lance—
The Hoka must have guessed what was going on. Ablaze with indignation, he bounced into sight on his own yachi. "Defend y', blackguard!." He squeaked.
Charlie thought he saw contempt on the face of the hulking Beloghan as that rider turned to meet the little alien. But Hector's first blow nearly cast him from his saddle. Smiting, they disappeared into the dust. "Crimson the field is, as carnage grows common," reported Hasprot.
Charlie felt dizzy with relief. Yet he dared not stop. He groped his way ahead. The frightful noises of battle he had heard were silenced. Instead, as he neared his opponents, he caught sounds of—what?—yes, wheezing and panting.
Vaguely before him appeared the Three Brothers. They leaned on each other for support. "No, Moach,"
one said in a high-pitched, thready voice, "I can't whang my shield any longer, no more than you or Chekko can. I must have a rest."
"What's the matter with that grandson of yours?" the second demanded of the third. "He should have taken care of that . . . that upstart . . . by now . . . shouldn't he?"
In grim glee, Charlie entered their view. "He didn't," he announced, and lifted his blade.
- Chapter 12
Unable to move their own weapons, the Brothers wailed, "Mercy! Mercy! We yield! Only get us out of these confounded bake ovens—" One of them fell backward in a great clatter and lay feebly waving his arms and legs like an overturned insect.
Charlie heard Hasprot:
Blow-struck and bleeding his body, the Prince
Waits what may well be the wound that
will slay him.
Skyward goes soaring the sword of a Brother.
Down the edge drops—
But the dust did not settle. The minstrel saw Charlie stand triumphant and, not missing a beat, continued: And disarms the Brothers.
Yare are the Three to yield to the youth,
Who graciously gives them their lives as a gift,
Though fully well able to flick them to flitches—
Across the arena, Charlie saw Hector stand above a prostrate warrior who himself pleaded to be spared.
He had won! He was safe! In the glory of that, Charlie knew he would, indeed, show pity on his antagonists, not only let them go but forbear to tell of their plot. After all, whispered a part of his mind, his own role in this wouldn't bear the closest examination.
"Prince of the Prophecy," Dzenko shouted, "reveal yourself!"
As Charlie bared his red head to a cooling breeze, the crowd went wild.
* * ** * *
Belogh was under the sway of a baron who dwelled at the far end of Vletska, the large island on which this town stood. That powerful but cautious lord had hung back from making a commitment to the
- Chapter 12
revolution. Dzenko sent new messengers to him. The word they bore was that the Prince had truly come; that already he had performed three of the Five Feats, and the rest were mere technicalities; that therefore everyone who loved freedom—and, it was added, wanted to be on the winning side—should immediately join the cause.
"I am certain he will," Dzenko told Charlie, "but he'll take a few days yet to make up his mind. In the meantime we must lodge here, before we go on to Lyovka." The island where the Riddling Priests lived was more strategically placed for fighters to rendezvous who came from all over the kingdom.
Belogh had few accommodations. Most of the travelers had to sleep outdoors or on shipboard. Charlie and his entourage would actually have preferred that to the lord mayor's drafty palace. But etiquette demanded they accept the proffered hospitality.
"Good show, good show," the elderly leader had congratulated the boy. "Yes, good show, Garamaz—er, I mean—whatever your name is—oh, yes, Prince. Ah . . . I told you I was all out of marriageable granddaughters. But I've since been reminded that a, ah, third cousin's child is just about your age, and I ought to mention her to you. Take my advice, though, and don't have anything to do with her. Temper like an ilnya's—eh, what?"
He broke off as a buxom female jerked at his arm and whispered in his ear.
"No, I am not talking out of turn!" said the lord mayor crossly. "I believe in calling a spade a spade. No more than that. Give a man fair warning. I simply stated she has a temper like— Oh, very well." He allowed himself to be led away.
Charlie had been astounded that the subject was ever brought up. Didn't these Beloghans understand that humans and New Lemurians were different species? There was no possibility of such a couple having children. Perhaps they were anxious enough to make the alliance that they didn't mind too much.
Not that Charlie dreamed of going along with them. No doubt someday he would get married. But that would be to a proper girl, not a bald, misshapen female of a barbarian race!
Thinking about the matter later on, he grew ashamed of himself. He had no right to feel superior. He looked just as peculiar to the New Lemurians as they did to him. And as for culture, they knew less science and engineering, true. But only a short time ago, historically speaking, no country on Earth had been further along. And how much did the Talyinans know—arts, trades, crafts, traditions, the ways of nature—of which he was totally ignorant?
Really, it was incredible that these people were even friendly to him, let alone idolized him as their Prince. Few nations in the past of Earth would have been so broad-minded.
- Chapter 12
He found that being a legendary hero is a full-time job. Everybody wanted to tell him his troubles, enlist his aid in his pet projects, give him his advice, build himself up in hopes of winning his favor, or beg him to heal him of sickness by his surely magical touch. After two days of this, he felt he had to get out or explode.
Dzenko raised no objection. In fact, the baron made a public speech explaining that the Prince must depart for a while from his worshipful followers, in order to plan the next move in his campaign, and that their cooperation in not disturbing him was essential. Charlie suspected Dzenko was glad to get rid of him; he knew his questions annoyed the Lord of Roshchak.
Thus Charlie came to be driving along the north coast of the island, accompanied only by Hector. That was an uninhabited stretch, treeless, begrown with stiff gray-green bushes, beset by a chill wind under a leaden overcast. He thought it desolate. The Hoka waxed eloquent about the bonnie heather o' the muirs.
This time they had a real wagon. Inspired by thirdhand accounts of human piston engines, some local genius had adapted the principle to yachi-drawn transportation. Four animals on either side of a long tongue leaped in a rhythmic succession which, with the help of a spring coupling, gave a fairly smooth ride. They were timed by a device cogged to the front axle, which snapped a whip behind the ears of each one in turn.
Charlie gazed across the sea rolling gunmetal on his left. "What I hate most," he said, "is the idea of war.
Is Olaghi so bad that overthrowing him is worth hurting and killing people?"
"Freedom is aye dearly bought, lad."
"And what about the League law?" Charlie fretted. "I'm afraid I am violating the noninterference rule.
Maybe Mr. Pomfrey will believe I had to do it to save my life. But maybe he'll decide I didn't make enough of an effort to— What's that?"
The wagon jolted and jerked as the yachis got out of step. Hector snatched the reins and halted them.
Jumping to the ground, he hunched down to examine the whip-timing device.
"Aye," he nodded sagely, " 'tis the distreebutor."
"The distributor?" Charlie asked, climbing down to join him.
"Aye. Dinna ye ken, lad, we Scots are a' engineers? Look here." A stubby yellow-furred finger pointed.
"A nut on yon bolt has been replaced wi' anither a wee bit too large, which has noo worked its way doon the shank. Hm-m-m, I think the rate could hae been estimated, so we must aye break doon richt hereaboots. . . ."
- Chapter 12
He began to tinker. His work ended in less than a minute.
From the crest of a nearby hill where they had lain in wait, five large New Lemurians, armed and armored, came dashing. Hector went after the sword and shield he had along. The newcomers halted in a semicircle, a few meters from the wagon, and Charlie saw wound-up crossbows leveled at him.
His palms prickled. His stomach revolved. "Hold it, Hector," he said dully. "They've got the drop on us."
A tough scar-faced warrior called in a sarcastic tone, "Greeting, Prince. I have the honor to invite you aboard the flagship of his Majesty Olaghi, High King of Talyina."
"What?" croaked Charlie.
"His fleet lies out to sea," the officer explained. "We have a swift shallop to transport you thither, beached a short walk hence. You will accept, will you not?"
Charlie looked again at the crossbows, gulped, and nodded.
"No, Captain Stuart," said Athelstan Pomfrey, "I much regret the necessity, but I cannot let you or any of your spacemen leave this compound. Not unless and until you leave this system altogether, under appropriate escort."
"You've got to be joking," exploded Charlie's father, "and this is no damn time for it!"
"I am not," said the Plenipotentiary. "I am doing my duty." He tried to soften the atmosphere. "Since you have obtained permission from your owners to wait for the return of your son, you are entirely welcome to stay. I will endeavor to make the time pleasant."
"While he's disappeared—and we keep hearing about some kind of trouble brewing out there, maybe a civil war— pleasant? " Stuart struggled for self-control. "I never believed that message from Duke Whosis over on the next island. Running off like that just isn't Charlie's style. Something's rotten for sure. All I want is to take a few men and rayguns in an aircar and go fetch him back from wherever he is."
"Would you use violence if you could not recover him peacefully?"
"Of course I would! He's my son!"
"I deeply sympathize," Pomfrey said. "However, such actions would constitute interference and
- Chapter 12
imperialism within the meaning of the act. The principle must always be that we venture beyond our treaty zones at our own risk, while remaining bound to respect the rights of natives." He paused. "You may use my subspace radio to appeal this ruling to headquarters, though I guarantee you it will be upheld. For safety's sake, I must restrict you and your men to the compound." He paused anew. "You realize, I trust, that I have the personnel and weapons at my disposal to enforce this."
Captain Stuart shook his head, dazedly. "You mean we're under arrest?" he whispered.
"If you insist on so regarding it," Pomfrey replied, "you are."
Title: Hokas Pokas
Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson
ISBN: 0-671-57858-8
© 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R.
Copyright: Dickson
Publisher: Baen Books
- Chapter 13
9
A Midsummer
Night's Dream
Several hours' sail to the north was an islet, high and steep, its barren slopes populated only by seabirds.
Behind it lay anchored the ships of Olaghi. Their presence was unlikely to be discovered; should a fishing vessel chance by, it could be captured. The flotilla was no larger than that which Dzenko had led to Belogh. The bulk of the king's far-flung navy must still be on its way to join him here.
His flagship was twice as big, complex, and formidable as any other vessel Charlie had seen on New Lemuria. Besides sails, it boasted a treadmill motor, which turned not paddle wheels but a propeller.
Cannon muzzles bristled from double rows of ports. The main deck was broad and unencumbered, with the two masts set far forward and aft. Thus a wheelhouse on the poop overlooked a wide flat surface where six curious objects rested. Though their wicker bodies were almost hidden by furled fabric, Charlie decided they must be lighter-than-air flying craft. He got that idea from a captive balloon bobbing astern at the end of a long Jacob's ladder, a sphere with a basket where a lookout kept watch.
As he climbed aboard, disguised in a hooded cloak, he encountered warriors. They mostly resembled Dzenko's force, scantily equipped commoners. Very few could have been volunteers, to judge from the way their officers cursed, struck, and kicked them for the least reason. The sailors fared still worse. Most of those wore merely loincloths, and Charlie saw marks of the lash on more than one back. He witnessed a mate club a pair with a belaying pin when they stopped work for a moment's wonder at sight of Hector.
"Are they really forced into service?" he asked the chief of his kidnappers.
"Yes, scum that they are," the other replied. "Would you believe, instead of being grateful for a chance to die for our beloved Olaghi, they'll often as not try to hide from his recruiters? Caught, they'll whine about their families going hungry without them to bring in food. Liars, every last wretch of them. I've personally ransacked the cottages of some and found stuff that could be sold to buy groceries for months. Good, warm clothing, well-made tools, dishes, furniture, things like that. My wife's going to rejoice."
"You mean the king's men rob his own people?"
"Watch your language," huffed the native. "Fines, that's what we collect, fines levied on a bunch of draft dodgers." He glowered. "Not that we'd have had to draft many, if your gang of traitors hadn't started this trouble. March along."
- Chapter 13
Hector bristled to see Charlie hustled sternward. The boy frantically signaled the Hoka to keep quiet.
They were surrounded by sharpened steel.
A door in the poop led to a guarded entry room. Beyond, across a hall, another door gave on a cabin whose spaciousness, broad glass windows, and luxurious outfitting could only be regal. A female strummed a horpil and sang for the male who sat there otherwise alone. He made a rugged contrast. His big frame was clad simply, apart from golden necklace and bracelets. His face, while battlescarred and weather-beaten, looked fairly young. Charlie strove not to cringe beneath his hard stare. This must be Olaghi.
He jerked a thumb at the female. The speed with which she left the chamber showed how frightened she was of him. The officer saluted him and announced, "Your Majesty, we bring you the Earthling who claims to be the Prince of the Prophecy, and his, um, er, co-conspirator."
"So you've told me," Olaghi said in a deep, hoarse voice. On the way here, Charlie had seen his catcher use a miniaturized sun-battery-powered radio transceiver, and he noticed a similar unit on a table here.
"Don't repeat yourself. Get back and see about the other rebel leaders."
The officer was obviously surprised that the king wished to be alone with two enemies, but saluted, and the door closed behind him and his men.
Charlie was even more astounded when Olaghi smiled and invited, "Sit down, you two. Let's talk."
"Sir?" Charlie whispered. He was quick to obey, because suddenly his knees wouldn't hold him up.
Hector took a stance, arms folded, behind his chair.
"You have nothing to fear if you cooperate, that is. Of course, if you're stubborn—" Olaghi touched the knife at his waist. Yet he smiled on. "Nothing personal, understand."
"I— I—" Charlie's tongue felt drier than in the arena.
"Frankly," Olaghi drawled, "I'm more curious about this funny little attendant of yours than I am about you. I'll want details on what you've been doing, but I know the general pattern already." He drew breath. "You see, I'm not at all the kind of reactionary your Pomfrey thinks. No, I'm the most progressive ruler Talyina's had since the Founder. Look how I've been reforming our institutions—breaking down feudalism, building an up-to-date absolute monarchy. And I'm interested in modernizing material things, too. I've gotten scientific books from other planets, and my engineers are designing cannon, shrapnel, aerial fighter-bombers, motorships that can take our armies clear across the ocean for making conquests. Yes, I mean to go down in history as the Great Civilizer." He scowled. "It'd be easier if the League would sell us what we need. As is, I've only managed to get some radio sets like this one, which was smuggled out. I've put secret agents, radio-equipped, in the less trustworthy
- Chapter 13
provinces. They keep me alerted on what's happening and carry out jobs for me. Dzenko counts on weeks, while couriers go back and forth to rally my loyal supporters. In fact, they're already bound my way. Tell me," he asked chattily, "what do we suggest we do with Dzenko? I favor bronzing him—alive, of course—to keep with my children's baby shoes."
Charlie shivered. While Olaghi was brilliant in his fashion, he remained a lord of the wild marches of Nyekh, whose career grew from fighting tribesmen as savage as himself, until he concentrated his power and seized the throne.
"But don't be afraid," he repeated. "I'm aware you were only Dzenko's tools, you two. You owe him nothing. Besides, I'd much rather have the goodwill of your League than irritate it by harming you . . .
unnecessarily, that is." He waved at a carafe and some crystal goblets. "Would you care for a slug of shmiriz while we talk? Or I can send after fruit juice if you want."
Heartened, Charlie related the entire tale of what, had happened since he left the compound. Olaghi listened intently, often asking a shrewd question. In an hour, the king had a full grasp of the situation.
"A-a-ah," he rumbled at last. "As I thought. Dzenko's been restless for years. I'd have done him in a long time ago, if there hadn't always been trouble elsewhere. Now he's been quick to use the happenstance that you fit the Prophecy, or, rather, he made it fit you. He's a smart devil, no denying that. But he's overreached himself. Without you for a sign to them, his followers will melt away like dawn dew. Panic, you see, when their godling fails. I shouldn't need more strength than I've already got here, to destroy the few who try to fight.
"So all we need to do, Charles Stuart, is keep you aboard for a six-day or two. Afterward I'll personally convey you home; might as well collect whatever reward may be offered. And you, why, you'll be clear as far as your League law is concerned. How's that sound? Good, ha?"
Charlie nodded. He ought to be jubilant. He was out of danger, freed of a role he had never wanted; his parents' anxieties about him would soon be relieved; meanwhile, he could relax in better quarters than any he had yet enjoyed on this ill-starred trip.
Then why did he feel miserable? Why did he keep thinking of people like Mishka, Toreg, and the impressed soldiers and sailors around him?
Olaghi did not want his men reminded of the Prophecy, which they also cherished. He decided Charlie must be confined to a cabin near his own, a comfortable one to which attendants would bring meals. Just outside its door, a companionway led from the hall up to the poop deck. That was officer country. The prisoner could visit it if he kept his red hair well covered and was accompanied by a guard.
- Chapter 13
Hector, who amused Olaghi, at first got the freedom of the ship, "provided," the king warned, "you breathe no hint of your master's identity. I'd soon know if you did, and neither of you would like what came next. Remember, I don't have to keep you alive."
"I'll be the dourest Scot ye e'er did meet," snapped the Hoka, "commencing wi' ye."
Offended or perhaps ultra-cautious, Olaghi clapped down restrictions. Hector would sleep in the forecastle, and he and Charlie must never be together.
As he stood at a rail next morning and looked across the flight deck, Charlie saw his friend pass beneath in company with a petty officer, talking. He heard: "—nay, I canna tell ye what we're aboot, save that 'tis a matter o' state secrets on the soomit level—" The Hoka broke off for a moment to shout upward in English, "Courage, lad! Stout hearts and true remain to save ye!"
Charlie didn't venture to reply. Undramatic practical politics wouldn't suit Hector MacGregor's taste. But the fact was, no matter how ruthless, Olaghi would lean backward not to harm them. He had too much to gain by returning such a distressed traveler—including a chance at more of the technology which fascinated him.
Certainly the royal engineers had accomplished marvels on the basis of what scant information they had been able to get about advanced machinery. Their most ambitious, if not quite their most successful, work thus far was the cannon. Charlie had observed the same devices aboard a few of Dzenko's craft, but in negligible numbers. Olaghi's flagship carried a full battery of them.
The League forbade the sale of explosives to warlike societies, and the Talyinan islands had no sulfur deposits for the manufacture of gunpowder, should anyone learn the formula. Hence Olaghi, early in his reign, had commissioned, the development of artillery fired by compressed air. The missiles were necessarily light—thin-walled globes full of oil ignited by a fuse or glass balls which broke on impact into showers of "shrapnel." Considering their inaccuracy and feebleness, their medieval types of counterparts remained more effective. But Olaghi hoped for gradual improvement. Charlie had watched crews at practice, ten males at once on a long lever, pumping up a gun while they sang: What'll we do with a leaky air tank?
What'll we do with a leaky air tank?
What'll we do with a leaky air tank,
When the order's for a broadside?
Way, hay, the gauge is rising—
- Chapter 13
Both lyrics and melody suggested that somebody had once heard a visiting human translate an old Earth sea chant.
No matter how ludicrous these efforts, they showed New Lemurians to possess intelligence. What might these people accomplish if they were free to work for peaceful progress rather than a belligerent tyrant?
Moonlight faded in the cabin windows as Charlie tossed and drifted into sleep. He was slow to rouse when a soft, high-pitched voice called him. Struggling through layers of dreaming he wondered if he hadn't begun a fresh nightmare. Moonbeams struck level through shadow to pick out a figure, cloaked and cowled, beside his bunk. The garment was of a kind worn by females; there were a few aboard to serve and entertain Olaghi and his higher-ups. But this wench was so tall—
"Hist, laddie," she whispered. "Busk yoursel' and come!"
She? No. . . . The cloak dropped off to reveal Hector on the shoulders of his petty officer acquaintance.
The Hoka's left hand gripped his steed by the throat; his right hand held a knife under the Talyinan's jaw.
"What?" Charlie mumbled in his daze.
"Surely ye recall Flora Macdonald, laddie," said Hector, "the fair daughter o' Clan Ranald in the Hebrides, wha aided ye to evade the English guards on Benbecula whaur ye'd ta'en refuge after Culloden. What mon o' true heart can e'er fail tae hauld sacred the memory o' Flora, wha saved her Bonnie Prince Charlie?"
"Huh?"
"O' coorse, we've nae such aboord here, and I maun eemprovise," said Hector regretfully. "I snaffled a mantle frae ane o' the lassies and later tauld this loon tae meet me in a dark place whaur he wad hear what was to his advantage. I'd sounded him oot afore and knew him for greedy. So I swarmed up his coat, seized his dirk, and stifled his yawp, the while I tauld him the steel wad dirl in his gullet did he gie trouble. Covered o'er, we walked past the sentries, who're sleepy at this hour and anyhoo could scarcely see mair in the gloom than a female on some errand. They've nobbut contempt for females and didna think tae question her, yon barbarians, wha ken naught o' Flora Macdonald."
His fist smote the base of the Talyinan's skull. The officer crumpled, not seriously hurt—his breath rattled where he lay—but switched off for a goodly time. Hector hopped clear, stuck the confiscated knife in his belt, and urged, "Noo, Prince, quick, ere they grow suspeecious."
Charlie kicked off his blanket. Bewilderment rocked his mind. Chill sidled around his bare legs. Against it, he wore a nightshirt Olaghi had given him.
- Chapter 13
"Ah, guid," Hector approved, "ye're clad as a Prince should be when escaping, namely, like Flora's maidsairvant, Betsy Burke. But let's awa'!" He swept the other up across one shoulder.
Charlie writhed, to no avail. Hector held him easily while opening the door and bounded on into the hall.
No guard stood outside; a watch in the entry and one on the poop deck were deemed sufficient.
Meteoric, the Hoka traversed the companionway. Charlie glimpsed wheelhouse, waters a-sheen beneath a sinking moon, stars still bright though the east was paling. Light glimmered off the helmet and pike of an armed lookout. That male never had a chance. Before he knew anybody had arrived, Hector leaped, with a karate kick to the belly. Air whoofed from the Talyinan. He folded over. The Hoka continued on course.
"But—but wait—" Charlie stammered. Wholly awake at last, he realized in horror that he was being rescued. The ship dwindled below him as Hector shot up the rope rungs between the parallel cables which anchored the observation balloon.
The person in its basket saw what was making it bob. He bellowed an alarm. Charlie heard shouts respond from below.
A warrior on balloon duty saved weight by leaving behind armor and weapons which could be of no use, or so it had been supposed until Hector arrived. "Yo-heave-ho?" chortled the Hoka, and threw the Talyinan overside.
"Stop!" Charlie wailed. "You don't understand—"
He was too late. Hector had already cast loose the tethers. With a jerk and a sway, the balloon floated northward.
"Harroo!" exulted the Hoka. "We're on our wa', lad. Fair stands the wind for Belogh."
Title: Hokas Pokas
Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson
ISBN: 0-671-57858-8
- Chapter 13
© 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R.
Copyright: Dickson
Publisher: Baen Books
- Chapter 14
10
Wind, Sand,
and Stars
"You fool!" Charlie yelled. "What've you done?"
In the pale light, he saw the Hoka's puzzlement. "Wha hae I done?" Hector replied. "Why, wha but spring ye frae the grip o' your grim and treacherous enemy, tae bring ye again amang them wha love ye and wad win for ye' your richtful crown?"
"But they can't! I mean, I, I— It isn't my crown, none of this is any of our business, here we were finally safe and, and guaranteed a ride back where we belong, and you had to come spoil it—b-b-because it didn't fit that dream world of yours—you interfering idiot!"
"Is it really so, laddie?" whispered the Hoka.
Charlie turned his back on him.
Through mumble of wind and creak of rigging, he heard a thin, heartbroken voice choke forth: "Aweel, then, syne I hae been o' such dissairvice to my Prince, best I lay me doon and dee. God send ye better followers, but He canna find any wha'll care more for ye than did your puir auld thickheaded Hector MacGregor."
Charlie spun around, barely in time to see his companion leap out of the basket.
"Stop!" he screamed, but he was too late. "Hector. . . . Bertram . . . Hector, I never meant—I—oh, if only—Hector, I'd never say anything against you, I'd be anything you wanted—"
At which point he saw a hand clasp the wickerwork, and another, and he noticed how the carrier was tilted in that direction. The Hoka chinned himself till he could climb inboard. Full of good cheer, he said, "I thocht ye might change your mind, laddie—that 'twas nobbut weariness wha spake, and never Bonnie Charlie. So I clung to a sandbag hanging there for ballast, till ye came back to your senses." He laid a finger beside his black nose and winked. "Ah, rough I be, and nane too bricht, but we Scots are by defineetion unco canny."
Charlie, still in a state of shock, gave the kilted figure a very sharp look. No matter how thoroughly he
- Chapter 14
acted out a part, the Hoka never seemed to let go of a certain basic shrewdness.
A few minutes later they examined their surroundings, by the light of moon, stars, and oncoming dawn.
Secured at the middle of the basket was a sheet-iron stove, vented to the mouth of the bag so that the heat of a fire would expand the air inside and give lift. A supply of charcoal seemed alarmingly low.
Charlie shoveled in more and peered across the glimmering waters. The desert isle lay behind him, but as yet he could not make out Vletska, the land on which Belogh stood. The wind wasn't moving at all fast. If they ran out of fuel far from shore, he and Hector might well drown.
Thus he had trouble hiding his relief from his companion soon after sunrise. Out of the north were bound six flying objects, crimson cigar shapes. They had to be Olaghi's blimps, in pursuit. Wonderful! They'd overhaul this motorless balloon, bring the prisoners back—And Charlie realized the king would doubtless order the Hoka's execution.
He had to prevent that. No matter the early-morning chill, sweat prickled him. How could he threaten or bribe or wheedle Olaghi into granting a pardon? No believable method came to mind. It didn't help his thinking that he grew ever more hungry and thirsty.
At last he forced himself to raise the subject. "And don't just say you'll go to your death with a stiff upper lip," he finished.
"Never," Hector agreed. "I'm nae bluidy Englishman. A firm lower jaw is for me."
"I don't want you dead, not any old way!" Charlie saw how to put it. "If I should be recaptured, I'd need you alive to help me get free again."
"Aye, there's that, and I dinna mind confessing the preenciple gies me a wee sense of relief." Hector pondered. "If we can make shore or swimming distance of it, we can descend till I can go doon by a rope. They'll na bother wi' me, when ye're the true prize." He pointed to a smudge on the southern horizon. "Yonder's Vletska. Mony a weary mile to gang."
Through a crude telescope, Charlie studied the nearest of his pursuers. Beneath a long hot-air container, a wicker gondola accommodated nine males. Four of them rode bicyclelike devices which turned propellers; two adjusted control surfaces for direction; three stood by what must be weapons of some sort.
Only slowly were those awkward, underpowered machines closing the gap. From their bearing, Charlie deduced that a shift in airflow had forced them to maneuver crosswind, which was difficult for them.
That gave him an idea. He knew wind direction often varies with altitude. Vletska Island was a big target, and he needn't care where he hit it.
Experimenting, he found he could sink by opening a valve in the fabric and dampening the fire. To rise,
- Chapter 14
he could stoke up, or better, in view of the fuel shortage, he could discard sandbags. Gleeful, he caught a differently aimed breeze and watched the blimps fall behind. They fought their way to favorable conditions and once more approached him. But that took time, during which the hills of Vletska grew clearer to the sight.
He let the Olaghists draw so nigh that he heard warriors swear when he repeated his evasion. With their greater volume, the blimps could not match the speed of the balloon where it came to vertical movement.
But winds were dying down as the sun climbed and the warmth of day equalized temperatures. Charlie recalled the flat calms frequent around noon. His heart sank. His stomach, less loyal, growled.
A shout startled him. "Look, laddie, look! Deleeverance!"
Charlie's gaze swept past the Hoka's forefinger. Toylike at its distance, a ship which was a smaller version of the king's was bound from the island. Behind followed half a dozen more conventional craft.
And off that flight deck rose one cigar shape after the next.
Hector danced for joy. Rigging complained and the basket wobbled dangerously. " 'Tis the fleet o' the Vletska laird!" he caroled. "What else could it be? They've gane o'er to the side o' truth and reason . . .
and noo, having spied what they surely ken is the royal air force, they're headed oot tae see what's afoot. . . . Och, lad, we're safe!"
"Not yet." Charlie moistened his lips. The baron's fliers numbered three; Olaghi's six were a lot closer.
In the near-breathless hush that had fallen, the blimps moved more readily than before. The balloon could dodge them only by bobbing up and down like an elevator. Charlie could not bring himself to protest when Hector dumped still-burning contents of the stove overboard, then refilled it soon afterward. They had expended their ballast. And it was a sinister sight, a gondola full of warriors gliding within meters, warriors who shook their fists and howled curses.
The time was actually about half an hour, but felt like a piece of eternity, while the balloonists labored to stay free. It ended abruptly. The baronial blimps arrived, and Charlie and Hector found themselves in the middle of a dogfight.
Furiously, crewmen pedaled and backpedaled, hauled on ropes which led to control surfaces, manned their armaments. Even in a calm, their vehicles were so clumsy that the difference in numbers between the two sides didn't much matter. A pair of opponents might lumber around for minutes to get within range of each other, and then the least lazy breeze pushed them apart again.
Arrows and crossbow quarrels flew between them. But the minor leaks these made in gas bags were not too dangerous, when amply fueled stoves supplied abundant heat to keep the fabric inflated. Telescoping lances and shears didn't work, in spite of valiant efforts, nor did water pumps, intended to douse an
- Chapter 14
enemy's fire. An equal failure was every attempt to ram or to lay alongside, grapple fast, and board.
The typical encounter consisted of two blimps gradually working inward, passing near at last while crews struggled to inflict damage and captains exchanged abuse through megaphones, before they drifted elsewhere. The vessels would then try to come about for a fresh attempt. This went more and more slowly; the pedalers were growing exhausted.
Charlie stared as if hypnotized—until he became aware that the combat was now above him. Or rather, he saw with a gasp, he was below it. His supply of charcoal was gone. As the balloon cooled, contracted, and made shuddering noises, it sank.
"What can we do?" he cried.
"Swim," said Hector doughtily. He prepared a bundle of kilt, stockings, and shoes, to tie on his head.
"Let me hae your sark, Hieness," he requested. "They'll be glad when I donate it to the Edinburgh Museum."
They might have gained time by jettisoning the stove. But it was still too hot to touch. When the basket struck, a cloud of steam hissed up. The bag followed, spread across a wide area. The passengers had to dive and go for some distance below the surface not to be dragged along as the whole apparatus sank.
The sea was cool. It tasted less salty than a terrestrial ocean. Sunlight skipped across waves. Charlie and Hector trod water while the ship bore down on them.
A glance aloft showed the battle finished. Olaghi's aeronauts knew they had no chance to complete their mission and returned while they were able. The Vletskans trailed them at a cautious distance, to see where the foe had come from.
Their carrier lowered a lifeboat, which hauled in the escapers. Naked, chilled, starved, worn out, Charlie was just barely able to climb a ladder let down the ship's side. Warriors crowded the flight deck. Led by Mishka, they cheered him till his head rang.
Dzenko was also on hand. His robes billowed with his haste to greet the arrivals. "Congratulations, Charles," he said, low-voiced beneath the shouts. "We must confer at once. I managed to keep your disappearance quiet after we found your abandoned wagon—yes, even after we saw those aircraft from afar and I guessed what the case must be—but now let's plan how to get maximum propaganda value out of the episode. This can double your prestige, you know."
"Uh-huh," said Charlie, and fainted.
The last thing he saw before the darkness took him was Dzenko's face. It bore an expression of scorn.
- Chapter 14
Title: Hokas Pokas
Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson
ISBN: 0-671-57858-8
© 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R.
Copyright: Dickson
Publisher: Baen Books
- Chapter 15
11
The Social Contract
From his spies, as well as what had lately happened, Olaghi had to know that the augmented revolutionaries outnumbered his support. Blimpmen reported to Dzenko and his council that the king's flotilla had been quick to hoist sail and beat northeastward. Given such a head start, it couldn't be run down, and nobody tried.
"But won't he collect a huge force and come back?" Charlie worried.
"He will gather what he can," Dzenko replied. coolly. "I look for at least as much to rally to us at Lyovka."
They were bound there. Earthling and baron stood on the quarterdeck below the flagship's poop. It was beautiful weather. Whitecaps marched before a fresh breeze which sang in tackle, filled out sails, and drove the fleet swiftly in the direction of sunrise. Everywhere Charlie looked, he saw vessels. Warcraft were far fewer than tubby merchantmen or humble fishing smacks. Truly the common people of Talyina seemed eager to follow the Prince.
Recovered from his weakness of day before yesterday, Charlie should have rejoiced. But several things spoiled the time for him. Minor among them was the racket from the bows, where Hector was playing his pipes. They had been recovered with everything else in the wagon, which the kidnappers hadn't stopped to loot. Talyinans quickly acquired a taste for Highland music. A large group of off-duty enthusiasts crowded around the Hoka.
Worse matters plagued Charlie. He was back in the dangerous role of folk hero. The more he thought about a civil war, the more he hated the prospect, because of the suffering it must cause. And suppose his side did win, which looked nowhere near as certain as Dzenko claimed—suppose that, what afterward? He couldn't settle down to reign over this crazy kingdom! Yet could he in good conscience walk out on it? What chaos might not follow?
He cleared his throat. "Uh, Dzenko," he said. "Lyovka. Isn't that where the . . . the Riddling Priests live?"
"Yes. Don't fret about them."
"But I'm scheduled to— Well, how have you rigged things there?"
- Chapter 15
"I haven't. Remember, I have only a few men who are both cunning and trusty. And we must act fast.
They could make detailed preparations for us in the first two instances. But every other place was too far off. Better to use them to spread the word about you as widely as possible, persuade the chieftains and rouse the rabble."
Charlie gulped. "So what about those Priests?"
"Don't fret," Dzenko repeated. "Actually, they're like the Brothers of Belogh: meant something once, but not anymore. The riddles were part of the ceremony when New Lemurian sacrifices were made to the god—mm, what's his name? —Klashk, I think. Nothing like that has happened for centuries. True, the cult still exists, in a fashion. But nobody seeks its temples, unless a scattering of beggars and grannies.
The Three Priests would have to find honest work, or starve, did they not receive a pittance from public funds, inasmuch as this is reckoned a branch of the Lyovkan state church."
"Oh," said Charlie, somehow less relieved than might have been expected. "Then all I have to do is visit them and go through the motions."
Dzenko frowned. "No. You will stay well clear of them."
"What? Why?"
"Because you could fail their test. The riddles are secret. A man of mine sought to bribe the Priests to reveal them, but the pious witlings refused. Quite indignant, they were." Dzenko gave Charlie a meaningful glance. "If you attempt it, they might well fire up the old furnace."
"How do we handle the matter?"
Dzenko shrugged. "It's of petty consequence. See you, I judge I have crossed a threshold. We needed the inspiration of the Prince in the beginning. But the way recruits are now flocking to our standard, the sheer growth of our power will by itself attract more. Success breeds success. The wish to overthrow Olaghi, the hope of a share in plunder or other advancement, the simple stampede to join any popular cause—motivations such as these will suffice."
"Still, we can't ignore the original promise, can we?" In a sudden wild hope: "Or can we? Could you smuggle me straight back to the compound?"
Dzenko shook his head. "No. That would be a disaster, as our enemies knew when they seized you. You must remain in our vanguard till victory. But as for the Riddling Priests, set your mind at ease. You are not required to seek them out at any particular moment. Upon arrival we'll explain that the time is not ripe for it. In due course we'll announce that it has taken place and naturally you triumphed. Given general tumult, nobody will pause to question our communiqué."
- Chapter 15
"The Priests will!"
"Belike. And perhaps a few others. Have no fears, Charles. My men will scout most carefully beforehand. They will know exactly what throats to slit, and when and where, and what èxplanation' we should offer for the disappearances—"
"No!" yelled Charlie, aghast.
Dzenko rolled a sardonic green eye in his direction. "Ah, yes. I had forgotten what odd prejudices you humans have."
Charlie smote his fist on the rail. "I won't let you I, I—if those murders happen, I'll . . . tell everybody the truth." He glared at the New Lemurian. Between his anger and the fact that they both stood in plain view of scores of warriors who adored him, he felt no fear, though he trembled with emotion.
"Well, well," said Dzenko soothingly. "Be calm. If you insist, I'll work something else out. Preventive detention, for example, until we've firm control of the kingdom. It'll not be as easy as assassination and for any problem, I prefer the most elegant solution. But an alternative can no doubt be arranged."
Fiery-faced, Charlie plowed ahead:
"What you wanted to do, that's, well, typical of what's wrong in this country. There's no law except strength which offers little to the powerless. If a baron treats his commoners well, that's just because he happens to be halfway decent, or he knows that's how he can get more work and taxes out of them. They have no protection against the next baron being a monster—or the next king, like Olaghi."
Dzenko's whiskers bristled. "Full well do I know what Pomfrey and those liberals wish to happen in Talyina," he clipped. "Have you never thought, you infant, a . . . republic, do they call it? . . . a republic would deprive us nobles of our own rights? We have well earned them: aforetime when our ancestors took the lead against sea rovers and savages; in this day, when we keep the peace in unruly provinces, and manage estates large enough to be properly productive, and try cases, and conduct olden usage and ceremony which hold society together, and support learning and religion, and deal with foreigners—oh, everything needful to maintain what order and progress the realm enjoys. It's damnably hard work, I tell you. You have no idea how the other half lives."
"Well, maybe your class was necessary at first," Charlie argued. "But Talyina isn't a wild frontier any longer. It hasn't got any further use for warlords, including the biggest one who calls himself the king.
You're overdue for something better."
Seeing the thunderclouds gather on Dzenko's brow, he added hastily, "Look, I'm not being hostile to you. I mean, of course we won't throw you nobles off your lands, or strip you of your titles, or any such thing. That'd be way too long a step. And actually, your class can, well, it can still supply a lot of
- Chapter 15
leaders. It's just that we're ready for the common people to have a chance at leadership, too, and freedom in their private lives, and a better break all around."
"What do you mean, `we,' Earthman?" Dzenko growled, clasping the hilt of his sword.
Charlie braced himself. "What's the point of this whole project if it doesn't lead to a real improvement?"
he demanded. "Otherwise we'd only trade one despot for another. Oh, sure, I—you—whoever it was, he'd prob'ly be a, uh, benevolent despot. He'd do some worthwhile things. But what about those after him? And the people would still be tied down. Listen, I am the Prince of the Prophecy, and if we win, I'll want to see a lot of reforms made!"
For an instant, fear tinged him. Dzenko seemed angry enough to attack. But piece by piece, the baron mastered himself. His countenance turned into a smiling mask.
"Now, now, we can hardly afford squabbles among our ranks," he said. "You may in your youth be overhasty. Yet I'll not deny, I could be overslow. See you, from my experience of statecraft, I can foretell endless practical difficulties in carrying out what you propose. Nonetheless, you have at your beck knowledge of a longer history than Talyina's. And if naught else, certain changes might bring the League to loosen restrictions on what off-world traders may sell us." He paused. "You will agree, responsible leaders cannot enact far-reaching measures without long and prayerful consideration. Let us retire to mull over what has been said. Later we will hold many conferences, you and I and what wise advisers we can find. Does that sound reasonable?"
"Y-yes," Charlie whispered.
Dzenko bowed and departed. Charlie stayed.
He felt briefly dizzy, as if he were about to faint again, and then exhausted, wrung out. Had he really stood up to that Machiavellian veteran? It didn't seem like anything which shy Charles Edward Stuart would ever dream of doing. . . . Well, yes, he would dream of it. But here he had done it. And he'd even made his point—won as good a compromise as could be hoped for at this stage—incredible!
Charlie breathed the salt air. Strength flowed back into his heart.
A heavy tread, and a long shadow across him, brought his attention back from the sea. Mishka had come to his side. As head of guards to the chief noble in the Prince's retinue, he rated access to the quarterdeck.
"Why, hello," said Charlie.
"Greeting. I saw you by yourself and wondered if you'd like some company." Diffidence sounded peculiar in a rumbling basso, out of so towering a body. Mishka wore nothing today except a loincloth; beneath his golden skin, the muscles rippled.
- Chapter 15
"I would!"
"You seemed to be having quite an argument with my lord of Roshchak." Charlie nodded, and Mishka continued: "Watch out for him, Prince. Most nobles can't think. They never felt any need to learn how.
Fighting, feasting, hunting, ordering the lowborn around, that's nigh all they know. During my wanderfoot days, I watched many a one drowse off where he sat to try a lawsuit or preside over a folkmoot. Often as not, 'tis a hireling clerk who runs the real business of the province, and commoners live out their lives in their villages, seldom seeing more than the tax collector. Dzenko's different."
Charlie nodded thoughtfully. He had a similar impression. In that respect, he had overstated his case.
Doubtless more aristocrats could be accused of laxity than tyranny. That didn't have to be an altogether bad thing. On the contrary, it caused people to get experience in self-government. The fact remained, though, the people were always too limited in what decisions they could make. A seed of democracy appeared to exist in Talyina, but it would never flower without roots.
"You're too solemn for a youth, Charlie," Mishka said.
"Well, I'm supposed to be the Prince." He forced a smile.
"Supposed to be? You are." In spite of his words, the giant spoke warmly, even familiarly. Like most of his kind, he accepted the supernatural as part of daily life. Charlie had a destiny, yes, but that didn't mean the two of them couldn't be friends.
"And you need more ease than has of late been granted you," Mishka went on. "D'you happen to remember, I'm from Lyovka myself? I plan to go visit my kin as soon as may be after we've landed.
Would you care to come along? We can sneak off, the two of us. No fear of abduction this time. Nor fear of a great fuss being made over you; I'll see to that. Naught but a pleasant day's outing, and home cooking, and a chance to meet a few very ordinary folk."
"Thanks," Charlie said. "I'd enjoy it a lot."
Mad though his mission was, he could no longer feel sincerely regretful that he had been dragooned back into it.
- Chapter 15
Title: Hokas Pokas
Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson
ISBN: 0-671-57858-8
© 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R.
Copyright: Dickson
Publisher: Baen Books
- Chapter 16
12
The Return of
the Native
Glats, principal town on Lyovka, was the largest Charlie had seen thus far. It enjoyed a spectacular setting on a great semicircular bay, whose waters could shelter hundreds of ships at once. The land rose steeply behind, first the famous Seven Hills of Glats—among them the one on which most temples were located—and then higher and higher until the horizon was walled off by low green mountains, and distantly beyond them snow peaks seemed to float in heaven.
Word had run ahead of him in a speedy sloop. The news, not only of his latest Feat, but of his capture and escape, confirmed citizens' belief that he was their true Prince. He suspected certain leaders privately doubted it but were willing to pretend. After he had landed on a jam-packed wharf and ridden in a parade walled by cheering throngs, he was received in the palace with overwhelming pomp and circumstance.
It got on his nerves. Besides his dislike for living a lie, his single steady companion was Hector, and he grew lonesome. Worse, he grew bored. Flattery and kowtowing were no substitute for fellowship. Every waking moment he must be on view, watch his behavior, wear clothes which, however gorgeous, were hot, heavy, and hampering. Every meal was a state occasion. He had to meet a seeming infinity of people and either remember their names or fake it. Still more than in Belogh, he must listen politely to hours-long pitches for persons and causes of no interest to him. Twice the local nobles escorted him off the grounds. The first time was to review troops and give a speech. The second time was to dedicate a new aqueduct and give a speech.
He might have been absorbed by the confidential councils of Dzenko and other Talyinan magnates who had come here. But the baron always gave some reason why Charlie hadn't been notified of the most recent such meeting. He considered insisting on his right to attend, then decided not to. If they really didn't want him present, they'd put on a dull charade and hold their important conferences elsewhere in secrecy.
At least the harbor was filling up at an encouraging rate. Every day vessels arrived, until no berths remained and ships anchored in the bay. That brought good business for ferrymen and, ashore, for innkeepers. Hector went out nightly to roister in streets turbulent with warriors, fishers, farmers, woodcutters, sailors, hunters, traders, artisans, tinkers, laborers come to fight for the Prince. The next morning Charlie would listen wistfully to the Hoka's account of the fun he had had.
- Chapter 16
Thus, after a week, his heart jumped when Mishka got him aside and they plotted their excursion.
Charlie announced that he wished to spend a day or two alone in his rooms, to meditate. Nobody objected; Dzenko seemed awed. As the head of the Prince's guards Mishka had chosen males whom he knew he could trust, to stand watch in the hours before dawn. Hector must stay behind; he was too conspicuous, and besides, somebody had to make sure no one snooped. But wrapped in a cloak and cowl, trailing along like a servant behind Mishka's hugeness, Charlie left the area unnoticed. In an isolated starlit alley waited two yachis.
By sunrise they were far into the countryside. A thinly trafficked dirt road followed a scenic coast. When the travelers stopped for breakfast, in an enormous dewy quietness, the plain bread and cheese seemed like the best food Charlie had ever eaten.
After three hours' journey, he came to Mishka's home. This was his first look at a rural community, such as the immense majority of Talyinans spent their lives in. He was astonished at the contrast with the towns. A small population could and did cope with problems, like cleanliness, which were too much when thousands of people crowded together under primitive conditions.
This place reminded him of ancient Japanese pictures. Perhaps twenty houses and buildings like sheds or a smithy reached back from a pier where nets on poles dried in the sun. Roofs curved high above low wooden walls, their beam ends delicately carved. At every corner hung a pot for catching rainwater; the colorful fired clay made Charlie think of Christmas trees. Through open doors and broad unglazed windows whose shutters had been thrown back, he glimpsed interiors which were sparsely furnished but airy, sunny, and immaculate. The whole village had a scrubbed appearance; the dock had no smell of fish, only tar. Some wives were sweeping the streets outside their dwellings. Others were spinning, weaving, sewing, cooking, or preserving. Each was done with a care that betokened love and created beauty. Most carried babies on their backs. Infants who could walk were in the charge of children just a little bigger than themselves.
The rest of the youngsters were hard at work, according to age and ability. Charlie spied a number of them out herding fowl or animals on a common pasture or hoeing in grainfields behind the settlement.
Those fields were terraced; they rose gradually up the hillsides toward the forested mountains, intensely green, a lovely sight; but Charlie winced to think how much patient, backbreaking toil had gone into them, and still did.
Cries of excitement lifted when the riders bounded into sight, and of welcome when Mishka was recognized. Yet nobody ran to crowd around, as townsfolk did. Charlie asked why.
"It is the custom," said Mishka. "All know that first my kindred and I wish to be alone with our joy, before we share it."
He drew rein and sprang off. Two males waited outside a house. They expected this visit since Mishka
- Chapter 16
had sent word in advance. So they wore their best robes, faded, darned, freshly washed. One was powerful, middle-aged, his features scored and darkened and his crest bleached by a lifetime of weathers. The other was big too, but full of years, bald, toothless, and blind. Besides the usual knife he bore a sword.
Mishka took his hands first, and bowed deeply "Foremost among my honored," the guardsman said,
"your grandson asks for your blessing."
Gnarled fingers felt across his arms, shoulders, face, and came to rest cradling his cheeks. "This is indeed you," the old male whispered. "And whole and hale; I feel strength shine from you. Whatever god has been your friend, be he thanked. As for my blessing, that have you always borne."
He released Mishka, who turned to the other, likewise clasped hands and bowed, and said, "Father, your son has come home and asks for your blessing."
Wordless, but his lips not altogether steady, his parent touched him on breast, mouth, and brow. Then they hugged each other.
Charlie had dismounted and thrown back his cowl. His red hair blazed in the sun. Mishka bowed next to him. "Prince," said the Talyinan, "behold my grandfather, Vorka, and my father, Ruzan." To them:
"Sires, behold the Prince of the Prophecy and my dear comrade, Charles Edward Stuart."
Ruzan went on his knees, palms together, but Vorka drew his sword hissing from the sheath and brought its deadly brightness aloft in a soldier's salute.
"I—I'm glad to meet you," Charlie fumbled. Mishka had told him to expect ceremoniousness but to be at ease because no one awaited similar actions from a foreign guest. Nonetheless, this dignity made the Earthling feel dwindled and awkward.
Ruzan rose. "We thank you for the honor you bring us," he said.
"And for our freedom!" Vorka's tone rang. Sightless, he scabbarded his blade in a single snap.
Mishka went inside. Charlie started to follow. "I pray you, Prince," Ruzan said, "We give him a short while to greet his mother. It is the custom."
"Oh . . . yes." The human shifted from foot to foot. "Uh, he's told me a lot about you, sir. You're a fisherman, you and your younger sons?"
"No more them," Ruzan said quietly. "Kyraz drowned last year when a storm capsized our boat." Now Charlie recalled Mishka's stoical mention of that and flushed. "Arko has gone to Glats to enlist under your banner, Prince. I would too, but someone must troll our living from the sea."
- Chapter 16
Charlie tried to express sympathy. Vorka gripped Ruzan's shoulder and said, "A proud blood flows in my son, Prince. He has not chosen the easiest way."
"Your blood," Ruzan said low. To Charlie he explained: "My father was the guardian of our village aforetime. That was when the succession to the barony of Lyovka fell into dispute, and for years fighting went up and down this island. There were no patrols, and folk grown desperate after their steadings had been looted would often join the bandits that began to swarm. The village then chose Vorka, who had served in the troops and knew swordplay, to guard it. No more than a single such man could the village support. But throughout the evil years he watched, and fought, and slew, himself more than once wounded, seldom given a full night's rest, and the village lived, unplundered, unburned, its sons safe from death and its daughters from shame, until peace came back upon the land."
Charlie had heard the tale before. He would sooner have cut his tongue out than interrupt Ruzan's recital of it.
Presently Mishka emerged, to bid them enter. His mother, his married sister, and the children of the latter knelt on the reed mats in homage to their Prince. His brother-in-law had joined the fighting force.
Seated on low stools, Charlie and the family partook of tea. Mishka told the boy it was customary to refrain from eating at the reunion of kinfolk until ancestral rites had been performed at the temple.
Villagers hailed the party in soft voices as it proceeded to the halidom. This was little more than a roof over a shrine, inside a wooden fence where many-colored flowery vines climbed. The shrine held an altar, a granite block. On top of this was a blackened bowl-shaped hole. Its sides were chiseled with symbols of sun, moon, stars, sea, land, wind, and life. Otherwise the area was raked white gravel, carefully spaced and tended shrubs, and knee-high stone slabs which stood well apart, a different sign carved into every one.
The priest waited in sky-blue robes. He was also the community's master carpenter. His workscarred right hand held a blossom with great, flaring petals, his left a smoldering stick whose smoke perfumed the salty air. The visitors bowed to him, and he to them.
Mishka whispered in Charlie's ear, "A family keeps its own stone—" Then they were at his.
Again they bowed. Charlie found himself doing it. Vorka spoke: "Ancestors and beloved, you who are departed, rejoice with us this day, that a son of the house has come home. And beside him goes the Prince of the Prophecy, who shall deliver us from wrong and harm. Oh, but he builds on the work of your lives, which you left for us when you went down in darkness. Return now! May the Flower Flame call you back; may your spirits share our gladness."
Mishka went to the priest and received the bloom. He laid it in the altar bowl. With the incense stick he
- Chapter 16
set it alight. A clear brilliance consumed it, and meanwhile the family knelt and said their prayers.
Charlie knelt, too.
Afterward, shyly, the priest said, "Prince, my abode is but a few steps hence. If you could spare some pulsebeats, you may be interested—"
What he showed Charlie was a collection of books, preserved in fragrant wooden boxes. Their bindings were ivory, intricately carved. Parchment sheets bore illuminated texts. To create such a thing must have taken man-years, somehow stolen from toil for survival in the course of generations.
"There is much wisdom stored here," said the priest. "Very much wisdom for a small village like ours.
Counsels from the gods; deeds of our forebears; poetry; music; and, yes, the workaday truths by which men endure, seasons, tides, the ways of water and of soil, what simples may help in what sicknesses—
Well, my Prince knows. Now I will begin a new page for the latest of our chronicles, to tell how you came and knelt before Mishka's ancestors and how you guested at this house and held these books."
"Yes. . . ." Charlie felt utterly inadequate. An idea occurred to him. Though he wore plain Talyinan traveling clothes, he had at his belt a purse of money. From this he drew a fistful of gold and silver, a fortune by commoner standards. "Will you, uh, will you accept a donation?"
"I thank you, Lord, no." Gently, the priest closed Charlie's fingers back over the precious metal. "It is for our honor that we give what little we may, to the Prince who gives us our freedom."
"True," rumbled Ruzan. "Come, we must go make ready." To the priest, "We begin when the sun stands at noon."
"I wait in happiness," replied he.
The way back from here led within sight of the beach. There lay an overturned hull on which several males used tools. Seeing Mishka, whose bulk hid Charlie from them, they waved and shouted.
"Why, yonder's Dolgo," the warrior said. "And Avan and—" He moved to go join his former shipmates.
His father stopped him. "No, son. You'll meet them at the feast. Disturb them not before then."
"Right, sire." Mishka rejoined his relatives.
"Why shouldn't he?" Charlie asked.
"It would delay them in their work," Ruzan answered. "You see what a big boat that is. We can ill do without it, for though every crew markets its own catch, it gives a tithe of what it gets to our treasury, for
- Chapter 16
the care of the poor and to keep us all alive in years of bad weather. So we offered thanks when this boat drifted ashore after a hurricane not long ago, however much we mourned the ten men who did not return with it. Most of our fishers are out to sea. These must go back too, as soon as they can." He sighed. "I feel almost guilty myself that I stayed behind today."
Mishka squeezed his hand.
The revel was a communal affair. Every villager brought food or drink to a tree-shaded green. Lanterns, wind bells, and flags had been strung around to make the place festive.
For no matter how important the occasion, it was not solemn. In fact, Charlie had never been at a jollier party. The table was loaded, the shmiriz flowed unstinted, drums and wooden flutes rollicked to set feet a-bouncing, jokes crackled, and nobody talked politics. Charlie wasn't put on a pedestal; he was invited to join the songs and dances. Young and in top condition, he soon found the females could whirl him breathless.
And there Mishka capered with a New Lemurian girl who Charlie suddenly saw was quite pretty; and there the priest and his wife leaped by; and old blind Vorka joined the chanters as they roared forth the measure:
Swing your lady swiftly.
Sweep her in your arms, lad.
Do a dosey-do now,
Then double back and circle. . . .
Somewhere amid the noise and laughter, a part of Charlie wondered how many folk on Earth knew how to have this good a time.
When the foe might appear at any moment, unbeknownst before an aircraft or picket boat saw his masts on the horizon and beat home to report it, no leave could be for more than a day. Late in the afternoon, the celebration ended. Charlie stayed outside, making what conversation he was able, while Mishka bade his family a private farewell.
Thereafter the two of them saddled their yachis and headed back to town.
Mishka was about one and a half sheets in the wind. Jaws bandaged to save his teeth and tongue while
- Chapter 16
he rode, he couldn't bawl out songs, but he hummed them as loudly as possible. No fears touched him.
Maybe he would never see his kin again. But maybe he would. The coming of the Prince made that the more likely, in his eyes. And regardless of what some hostile god might do, he had seen them. He savored the memory.
Charlie, who had stuck to plain fruit juice, felt otherwise. He'd enjoyed his excursion, mostly, but that same fact got him brooding.
At a rest stop, he said, "They're so . . . so real, your people."
"Hoy?" Mishka responded. "Of course they're real."
"I mean, well, compared to the Olaghis and, yes, the Dzenkos and—" Charlie stared across a sea turned golden by evening. "And me."
Mishka blinked. "What are you talking about, Prince?"
That I'm not real! Charlie wanted to shout. That I'm a liar, a puppet, a— but he must keep silence.
"You seem gloomy," Mishka said. "Are you troubled by the morrow? Never be that. You are the morrow." He sat quiet for a while, before he asked almost casually, "By the way, when do you plan to take on the Riddling Priests? And is there any chance I could watch?"
It was as if someone else used Charlie's throat: "Why not tonight?"
Title: Hokas Pokas
Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson
ISBN: 0-671-57858-8
© 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R.
Copyright: Dickson
Publisher: Baen Books
- Chapter 17
13
Fahrenheit 451
That Klashk the Omniscient had been a great god early in the history of this island was evident from the site of his temple, near the top of Holy Hill. But these days the building was in ruinous condition. The roof leaked, the unpainted walls sagged, the fluting of the wooden colonnade was long lost to the knives of idlers, and most of the rooms were thick with dust and choked with junk that nobody had got around to throwing out. Charlie and Mishka did get a superb view from the porch, downward across the town and outward across the bay, which glowed beneath a lustrous sunset. But they were too intent on their purpose to give it much heed.
Charlie didn't think he was being reckless, anyhow, no more reckless than he had to be for the sake of his own self-respect. He couldn't force himself to tell Mishka's kind of person, later on, that at some point he had confronted the Riddling Priests, when in fact he had not. If Dzenko knew his purpose beforehand, the baron would find a way to stop him, quite likely murderous. Therefore he came unannounced.
But he thought he could hold his own in a battle of wits. At school on Earth he had always been the best of his class where it came to riddles. If he should be stumped here, he'd pull the trick of giving an answer that didn't make sense and then claiming the riddle he had been asked was only part of a larger one, which he should be clever enough to make up on the spot. Come what may, he didn't suppose the clergy of so impoverished a parish would really dare harm the Prince of the Prophecy.
Passersby stared when a giant warrior and a slight figure muffled in cloak and cowl tethered their yachis and strode through the temple door. Several trailed after them.
They entered a dark vestibule. As they approached an inner archway, an elderly male stepped from it.
He was wrinkled and squinting, his green robe ragged and soiled, but a golden chain hung around his neck, carrying a pendant like an X superimposed on an O.
"Hai!" he shrilled. "What impiety is this? Weapons stay out here. That includes knives, younkers."
"Are you one of the Riddling Priests?" Charlie asked.
"Yes, yes," was the irritable reply. "What'd you think I was? The Hierophant of Druguz?" The New Lemurian thrust his bald pate forward. "Something funny about you, the short fellow. Not built right, you aren't."
- Chapter 17
Charlie threw back his hood. "I am not of your race . . . uh . . . your reverence," he said. Louder: "I am the Prince of the Prophecy, come to join issue with you!"
The curiosity seekers, homebound laborers from the look of them, gasped. It disturbed Charlie that the Priest didn't seem much impressed.
"Well," he only said. "About time. Needed awhile to get up your nerve, did you? Very well, very well.
When had you in mind?"
"Now."
"Hai? What? See here, I don't care who you claim to be, I'll have no levity in the House of Klashk."
This wasn't going the way Charlie had expected. He braced his feet, close to Mishka's comforting bulk, and declared as stoutly as he was able, "Sir, I do not joke. I insist. At once. This hour."
"But that's ridiculous!" sputtered the Priest. "First Riddling in . . . in . . . three hundred and fifty-seven years, is that right? Yes, three hundred and fifty-seven years. Milestone occasion. Needs days of advance arrangement. Temple swept and garnished. Magnates invited. Choirboys recruited. Vestments cleaned.
Ceremonies planned and rehearsed. Yes, a six-day at least. Better a twelve-day."
"We will do it immediately," Charlie retorted, "or not at all. Remember what an impetuous young hero the Prophecy says I am." He added a flick of malice: "Or are you nervous about the outcome?"
"Certainly not," snapped the oldster. "It's a mere question of due respect, and—well, come on in and we'll talk about it." He raised his fist. "Leave your weapons here, I told you!"
Charlie and Mishka obeyed and followed him into the main chamber. It was pathetically bare. A few cheap rushlights flickered far apart along the walk, leaving the room full of murk. The stone floor was naked save for dirt and litter. A handful of worshipers (more accurately, perhaps, contemplators) squatted before an altar at the far end. They typified the tiny congregation Dzenko had described: decrepit females, males younger but still seedier. Behind the altar was a huge double door.
While Charlie and Mishka took this in and the slum dwellers gaped at them, the Priest tottered off to locate his colleagues. They lived on the premises and arrived in a couple of minutes with him. They too were getting along in years, attired in worn-out robes but splendid pectorals. It was obvious that they had donned these canonicals rather hastily, for one was still wiping sleep from his eyes and the other grease from his mouth.
The first Priest beckoned to the newcomers. "Over here," he ordered them. "Stop that babble of yours, and let's agree on a date that makes sense."
- Chapter 17
His associates were quick to become alert. "Yes," another said, "if you are indeed the Prince of the Prophecy—"
Low noises rose from the onlookers. Charlie had felt the amazement and tension grow in them as they stared. Now their guess was confirmed. He glimpsed two or three leaving, no doubt to fetch their friends. . . . Wait! Possibly someone would go to the palace and tell the nobles, in hopes of reward. He did have to keep things moving.
The Priest who had spoken last was still doing so. "—an extraordinary event." He leaned near and whispered, "Think of the converts, the donations, the glory of Klashk, and the honor of his servants."
Charlie wished he could inform them that delay might cost them their lives. Instead, he could merely say, "Tonight or never. I do have other business, you know, and it won't wait."
The first Priest gave him a stare of pure hatred. "As you will, then." Raising his voice till echoes flew spookily through the gloom: "Who volunteers to stoke the sacred furnace?"
Charlie was astounded and Mishka growled, when half a dozen males sprang forward. The boy turned to the Priests. "After all," he said, "it's just a matter of form. You know I'm going to win."
"We know nothing of the sort," answered the third of them.
"What?" roared Mishka. "The Prophecy says—"
"The Prophecy," interrupted the Priest, "is supposed to have been inspired by the god Bullak. It is no work of great Klashk, who indeed, once when they disputed in heaven, called Bullak a deceiver.
Therefore the Prophecy is heretical, and we are the chosen instruments of Klashk to prove its falsity."
Charlie met his eyes and knew in a sudden chill that he had encountered three fanatics.
They bustled about, supervising the workers and making preparations themselves. Charlie and Mishka stood aside, nearly ignored. "This doesn't look too good, my friend," the guardsman muttered.
"No, m-maybe not." Charlie's glance followed the eager paupers. More were beginning to pour in. He thought of a discreet departure, but saw the exit so crowded that there'd be no chance.
The chamber brightened after the rear doors were swung wide. They gave on a walled courtyard where a sandstone idol loomed, eroded well-nigh to shapelessness. Before it lay a great rusty iron caldron with a lid. That must be the furnace, Charlie decided. Under a Priest's guidance, the people fetched wood from a shed in the corner and stacked it high.
- Chapter 17
"But why," Charlie whispered in despair, "why will they help . . . against the Prince who's supposed to set them free?"
"They are the very poor," Mishka said, "outcasts, beggars, starvelings. They come to old Klashk because every other god has forsaken them. What difference would freedom make in their lives? Whereas, if Klashk consumes you—well, King Olaghi might be happy enough about it to scatter some gold pieces around."
Then Charlie knew there is more to politics than a simple opposition of good and evil. A democratic government ought in time to help these folk, but how could he make them believe this, when they snarled and spat in his direction as they went by?
He gulped and husked, "I guess I'd better win."
"If you don't . . . hmm," Mishka murmured calmly. His trained gaze searched about. "One of those scrawny bodies, swung by the ankles, should clear a pretty wide circle. First I'll boost you out this window here. You go after help. I expect I can stand the mob off, meanwhile. If not—" He shrugged.
"That's the risk my grandfather took."
Charlie swallowed tears. Mishka must not be torn apart or roasted alive if they bore him down! Yet his rescue, or his avenging, would involve the massacre by armored soldiers of these miserable ignoramuses.
He prayed for word soon to reach Dzenko. The baron would undoubtedly hasten here, a platoon at his heels, and break this affair up before it went beyond control.
Flames caught in kindling. Above the idol, the sky turned deep violet, and the evening star winked forth.
The Priests got the people settled down on their haunches in the nave. A hundred pairs of eyes glimmered out of shadow. Solemnly, the Riddling Three bowed, chanted, lifted hands, and genuflected.
Everything had taken time. If Dzenko or anyone in authority were coming from the palace, he would have arrived already. Sweat ran down Charlie's ribs. His knees felt like rubber, his lips like sandpaper, his tongue like a block of wood.
"You who would win to wisdom, tread forward!" intoned the Priests.
Mishka nudged Charlie. "That's you, lad," he whispered. "Get in there and fight. Remember, if it comes to a real scrap, keep hold of my belt so they can't drag you from me, and I'll slug our way to the window."
He followed Charlie as the Earthling went to stand before the altar. Behind it, the three Priests were faceless in the dark against the fire which leaped and crackled around their furnace. An absolute hush had fallen upon the watchers.
- Chapter 17
"Know, seeker of wisdom," the Priests declared, "Klashk the Omniscient bestows it freely, but on none save those who prove themselves worthy. The rest he—"
"Gives lodging," said one of them. "Takes unto himself," said a second. "No, `gives lodging,' that's right," said the third.
They glared at each other. " `Gives lodging.' . . . `Takes unto himself.' . . . Wait a pulse-beat, I seem to recall something likètransfigures'—" The mumbled conference trailed off.
"Confound you, boy," cried a voice, "I told you we needed time to rehearse! But no, you wouldn't listen.
You knew better."
A grim laugh escaped from Mishka. That sound was a draft of courage to Charlie. "No matter," he said, and was faintly surprised to hear how steady his voice, how clear and lightning-quick his mind had become. "The Prince of the Prophecy doesn't stand on ceremony. Ask me the first of the Riddles."
The Priests went into a huddle. Charlie waited.
It occurred to him that probably in former times the prospective sacrifices were quizzed in secret, lest the next victims be forewarned. That the present-day ministers had let this contest become public was a measure of their own confusion. Well, forget about culture shock and the rest. Some ethnic folkways deserved wiping out.
A Priest laid fingertips on altar. "Prepare your soul," he said. "The first of the Riddles: `Why does an eggfowl cross the highroad?' "
"Huh?" choked the human. "That old chestnut?" Before he could stop to think what subtleties might be here, impulse had spoken. "To get to the other side."
A buzz of wonder arose at his back. The three dim shapes before him staggered. After a moment they went into a fresh huddle.
"The proper answer—" said the questioner at length.
Mishka growled and bristled his whiskers. He was very big.
"The full and proper answer," said the Priest, "is `To get whither she would go upon the farther side.' " A stir and an undertone went through the audience. They weren't interested in hairsplitting technicalities.
He must have foreseen this, because he continued: "Yet since your response holds the essence of truth, and Klashk is the most generous of gods, we rule you are correct."
- Chapter 17
It sighed through the high, dark nave.
"Besides," said the second Priest, "there is the next of the Riddles." He paused for dramatic effect. "How long ought the legs of a man to be?" Strictly speaking, an English translation would have to be "New Lemurian." But the natives naturally thought of themselves as the norm of creation.
Charlie kept mute while suspense mounted. He wasn't trying to develop his reply or even put on a good show. He was busy clarifying matters to himself.
As humanlike as these beings were, it was no surprise that they would invent essentially the same brain teasers. But on Earth those were schoolboy jokes. Here they were mortally serious. Why?
Well, when communications were slow, limited, and often disrupted, a new idea might never travel far.
And if it happened to acquire a sacred character—yes, maybe riddles were a ritual in Talyina, not an everyday amusement—he must ask Mishka about that—
"I await your response, youth," said the second of the Priests, "or else your calefaction."
"Huh? Oh." Charlie shook himself. "Sorry. My mind wandered. How long ought the legs of a man to be?
Why, `Long enough to reach the ground.' "
This time a roar arose. Here and there he caught shouts like "He really is the Prince! The Prophecy really is true!" Meanwhile, the Priests conferred again.
On a sound of triumph, the third of them stepped forth to say, "Hearken well. For this is the Riddle that none has solved since first the world began, a dewdrop out of the Mists of Dream. `What fares without legs in the dawn, on two legs by day, and on eight after nightfall?' Answer, or enter the furnace."
Blackness was fast gathering above the courtyard. The flames whirled higher. The paupers who fed them were tatterdemalion troll shapes. The caldron would soon glow red.
Charlie's heart stuttered. What was this?
It had started like the classic Earthly enigma, that the sphinx of myth had posed: "What goes on four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three at evening?" The response, of course, was: "Man. He crawls on all fours in the morning of his life, walks upright on his two legs in the noon of his manhood, and in evening must needs use a cane, making three legs together."
But this—
Silence descended, and grew and grew, save for the noise of the fire.
- Chapter 17
It burst upon Charlie. At least, what had he to lose? He said aloud, "Man."
The third Priest fainted.
The assembly screamed, sprang about, groveled on the floor before the Prince of the Prophecy.
An hour later, when things had quieted down and the temple been cleared, Charlie and Mishka sat with the three old males in the room which they shared. Their repentance had been so contrite that he couldn't bring himself to refuse their offer of a cup of tea.
Candles were too expensive for them. A wick floated in oil which a stone lamp held. The flame stank.
Its dullness hardly mattered; there was little more to see than three straw pallets and three wooden stools. The visitors had two of these, while the Priests took the floor.
"Lord, how did you read the Final Secret?" asked the third of them meekly.
"Simple." Charlie felt he had earned the right to boast a bit. "As a baby, a man is carried around by his mother. Grown, he uses his two feet. Dead, he is borne to his grave by four pallbearers."
They covered their faces.
Charlie couldn't but feel sorry for them. They'd been ready to burn him, yes, but all their lives they had been told that this was proper and, indeed, the god made the victims welcome in heaven. Reflecting on past Earth history, he dared not be self-righteous. And here he had come and knocked their faith out from under them, the only comfort their lives had ever known.
He ought to do something. "Uh, look," he said. "You were mistaken about the Prophecy, but that doesn't mean you were about everything. As a matter of fact, I happen to know that the will of Klashk has gotten much misunderstood over the centuries. It would please him no end if you set matters straight.
That's why I'm here, to help right wrongs—including wrong theology."
Three haggard visages lifted toward his.
He improvised fast: "It's simply not true that Klashk and . . . and the other god you mentioned earlier are at loggerheads. That's just a lie put out by an evil immortal named Satan, who wants to stir up trouble.
Actually, Klashk himself made some excellent suggestions while the Prophecy was being composed."
The Priests shuddered and moaned with hope.
"However," Charlie said sternly, wagging a forefinger, "this business of live sacrifices has got to stop. It may have been all right for your primitive ancestors, but people know better today. Why do you think
- Chapter 17
the worship of Klashk has nearly died out? Because his ministers weren't keeping up with the times, that's why. Get rid of that furnace tomorrow morning. In return, I'll issue a bulletin thanking Klashk for his hospitality and urging people to come pay him their respects. And I'll see about having your stipend increased."
It was heady to command such power.
Two of the Priests blubbered their gratitude. He who had first met Charlie kept a certain independence of spirit. "Lord," he said, "this shall be as you wish. Yet the service of Klashk has ever required the testing of wits. Is it not written, `He shall require of them knowledge, that he may return unto them wisdom'? The Riddles were at the core of the faith. Now any street-bred fool can say them."
Charlie frowned. "I told you, those sacrifices—"
"No, no, Lord! We agree. Effective immediately, Klashk wants no more than flowers. He wasn't getting more anyway, these past three hundred fifty-seven years. Still, the duty of a Priest is to know at least one arcane conundrum. It needn't be used, except as a part of elevating novices to full rank. But, Lord, I pray you, in your understanding and mercy, give us a new Riddle."
"Well," Charlie said, "well, if you put it that way."
He pondered. Breathless, they leaned forward to catch every syllable he might utter.
"Okay," Charlie said. "You may or may not know this already, but let's see." He spoke the question weightily: "What is purple and dangerous?"
The Priests stared at him, and at each other, and back again. They whispered together. Mishka ran fingers through his crest, as puzzled as they.
"Lord," said the boldest of the three at length, "we yield. What is purple and dangerous?" Charlie rose.
"A bellfruit with a crossbow," he told them, and he and Mishka left them to their marvel and delight.
Hubbub reigned in the palace. Lanterns bobbed around the grounds; inside, candles glowed from every holder; courtiers, military officers, servants scurried through rooms and along corridors, yelling.
Charlie's first concern was to return to his suite, unnoticed. In the chaos, that wasn't hard. Hector sat there, honing what he called his claymore.
"Weel, laddie," greeted the Hoka, "hae ye had a guid day amang the puir crofters?"
- Chapter 17
"Wow," said Charlie faintly. He had begun to feel how tired he was. "Let me tell you—"
" 'Twas a wise idea to gang oot, mingle wi' the plain folk, and eat the halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's food. Ye grand ones need aye tae be reminded that a man's a man for a' that."
Noise from the hall reminded Charlie of something else: the strange fact that nobody had come to fetch him at the temple, though the news of his latest exploit must have spread through town like a gale.
"Where are the nobles?" he asked. "What's going on?"
Hector's black button eyes widened. "Hae ye no heard, laddie? They're off tae whup their respective units into some kind o' readiness. Nae easy task on such short notice." He perceived Charlie's bewilderment. "Aye, not long before sunset the word came. Olaghi's fleet has been sighted, bearing doon on this isle, far sooner and larger than awaited. Nae doot his unmanly radios hae let his forces gather thus swiftly. Tomorrow we fight, Prince, we fight."
Title: Hokas Pokas
Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson
ISBN: 0-671-57858-8
© 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R.
Copyright: Dickson
Publisher: Baen Books
- Chapter 19
15
The Prince
Reaction set in. He was no hardened warrior. What he had witnessed shocked him more deeply than it would have a native civilian used to horrors long banished from Earth. Nor had he simply watched. He had run a high risk of being killed or maimed. He had pitted his will repeatedly against that of strong and ruthless veterans.
For a week, he spent his time in a dull daze or choking awake out of nightmares. Dzenko opined that it would be unwise, as well as bad for the patient, did the Prince arrive at the capital city in this condition.
Yet it was important to ride the crest of success, take possession of the throne, reorganize the royal household, get started on a restoration of order and commerce throughout the realm. The baron proposed to lead the regular navy off and see to that. Charlie would remain behind until he recovered for a triumphal entry.
No one objected. The fleet steered for Bolgorka. It included those ships, with officers and crews, which had been Olaghi's. Medieval types of aristocrats had elastic loyalties. None of them accompanied the fallen usurper into exile. On this account, too, it was vital to nail down the victory, before any warlord might grab power for himself.
Volunteers dispersed to their widely strewn homes. They bore the news: that the liberating Prince had come into his own at the Battle of Stalgesh and now remained awhile on that island in order to meditate how best he might improve life for his people.
Only Hector stayed with him. Dzenko had pointed out that he, the baron, would need every able-bodied man he could bring along, as much to prevent trouble from starting as to quell it should it arise. The injured should be carried straight back to Glats. But Charlie would need a less hectic atmosphere than that of the court. The villagers would provide as many guards and as much service as he could possibly require.
Indeed they did. Their hospitality was humble, but what they lacked in facilities they more than made up in devotion.
So during that week, Charlie got well. Sunshine, fresh air, plain food, ample rest; later swimming, boating, fishing, hiking; the company of people who loved him, at first anxiously tender, afterward cheerful, chatty, eager to swap songs and stories—these things healed him.
- Chapter 19
He did feel as though there had been some basic changes in him. No longer was he unduly shy, and he didn't think he would ever again prefer daydreams to real-world action. At the same time he had grown more thoughtful, more aware of the troubles which haunt the universe but less ready to find simple causes or instant cures for them.
It was in this mood that he wrote a long letter to his father, after he learned that the spaceship still waited on Shverkadi Island. A miniradio wouldn't reach that far. Besides, Dzenko hadn't left him any of those captured from Olaghi—an oversight, no doubt. Charlie resigned himself to sputtering along with a quill pen and fish-gland ink on sheets of flexible bark.
He told the tale of his adventures, pointing out that on the whole he had never got a chance to turn back from them. Yet now, he declared, he must act of his own free will. No longer was he in danger. The same local skipper who delivered this message would gladly have taken him and Hector in person. But he must go to Bolgorka. If the Prince did not make an appearance in the capital of Talyina, doubts were sure to spread; ambitious barons would conspire; a full-fledged civil war might well ensue, instead of a single decisive clash such as they had mercifully gotten by with. Dzenko was obviously right. Between them the two could work out a formula which would enable Charlie to go home without disrupting the kingdom.
He begged everybody's pardon for this. He knew it might not be legal, but he also knew it was moral.
And . . . the presence of outsiders would be disastrous.
The Talyinans had always found it difficult to believe that the mighty Interbeing League really did not plan to conquer them. Their trust in its good intentions was often fragile. Did a band of spacemen accompany Charlie to Bolgorka, many natives would jump to the conclusion that the Prince was a stalking-horse for human imperialism. The new government would collapse in a storm of rebellions and secessions. Whatever leaders arose afterward would tend to shun the Plenipotentiary and reject his advice.
"Please, please, Dad," Charlie wrote, "sit tight, and get Mr. Pomfrey to do the same. I won't be gone more than another month or so. Why don't you continue your route? I can use royal funds when I'm finished here, to buy passage to a planet where we can meet. Meanwhile, I'm perfectly safe, I swear I am."
He left for Bolgorka the day before his courier raised sail for Shverkadi. He would not directly disobey his father. Therefore, he wasn't about to chance getting an order to come straight back.
After all, he knew wryly, from now on he expected to enjoy himself.
Like Glats, the royal town stood at the end of a bay which formed a superb natural harbor. It too was
- Chapter 19
built on hills. The island whose name it bore was still more rugged than Lyovka. To the west and south rolled a great river valley, intensively cultivated, but mountains walled those horizons, haloed with snow and jeweled with glaciers Northward, the highlands thrust a tongue out to sea in the form of a long and steeply ridged cape. Too rough for farming, it was forested almost to the outer bastions of the city. A good road did go across the neck of it.
Several boats escorted the one which bore Charlie to his throne. Pennons and streamers adorned their rigging. The swiftest vessel went ahead to tell the people. Thus a mighty crowd greeted the Prince.
Troopers lined the streets, holding back throngs whose cheers echoed off heaven, or slammed their thousands of boots down on paving behind his horse-drawn carriage in the parade which conducted, him to the palace. Their mail and helmets shone like new-minted silver; plumes and cloaks blew about them, as colorful as the banners beneath which their pikes gleamed and rippled; drums boomed, horns winded, deep voices chanted aloud the Prophecy. He wore brilliant fabrics and rich furs; he carried in his hands, naked, the sword which had been the Founder's; his head stayed bare, that the red locks might blow free.
Beside him stood Hector, bowing right and left, waving, beaming, blowing kisses. The Hoka had been given a sack of coins to toss to the populace but did not think that became a thrifty Scot.
In glory they reached the stark stone pile of the kingly dwelling. Almost at once, Dzenko got the Earthling off in private for a business discussion.
It was curiously like their first encounter. They were alone in a guarded tower room, so high that they saw through the narrow windows only sky and wings. The chill of masonry was not much relieved by woven tapestries and skin rugs. The furniture was massive and grotesquely carved. Dzenko sat cool-eyed. Charlie perched on the edge of his chair and, bit by bit, felt sweat prickle forth on his skin.
"Yes, I have matters in hand," the baron said. "We must see to it that they remain thus. It will take quick and precise action to get you back where you belong, uncrowned, without provoking upheavals. I'll need your unquestioning cooperation."
"Uncrowned?" replied Charlie. "Why that?"
Dzenko twitched his whiskers. "Have you forgotten? The fifth Feat is left for you to do. It happens to be impossible. It's equally impossible, politically, to hold your coronation until you have done the deed.
And, since the Grotto of Kroshch is quite near town, you would perform before many witnesses. There is no way to, ah, make prior arrangements."
"Well, what do you have in mind then?"
"That you stay here for, hm, about a twelve-day. You will move around, inspect your capital and its hinterland, meet people, attend ceremonies—a more extensive and elaborate version of what you did in
- Chapter 19
Glats. Hence no one will afterward be able to deny, that you were indeed present, victorious. Mostly you'll be seen in my company, and will show me, every mark of favor. I'll give you a schedule for the honors you heap on me.
"Meanwhile, we'll start a new story going. I have some reliable priests, minstrels, and the like, ready to help as soon as they get their instructions. Probably you can give me a few ideas, though I've already decided in a general way. Essentially, the tale will be that while the Prophecy is true, it is not complete.
Before he can settle down to reign over Talyina, the Prince must still overcome certain other difficulties—abroad—especially among the starfarers in whose image he has been incarnated. He must go suppress warlords of theirs who plot to overrun us. This will take time, but at last he'll return successful. Then will be the proper moment for him to enter the Grotto, and come out alive, and assume his throne here.
"In his absence, he will naturally require a regent. Who but his well-beloved Dzenko? And should Dzenko not outlive the years during which the Prince is away striving for the people, why, the heirs of Dzenko will succeed him. After all, since the Prince is to reign forever, it's reasonable that he may need a few centuries yet to complete his labors."
The baron smiled and bridged his fingers "There," he finished. "A most excellent scheme."'
Despite Bolgorka's being the largest and wealthiest city in Talyina, Charlie found many sections antiquated as he toured it. The Sword Way, up which he had been paraded, was broad and straight, but most streets were crooked and stinking lanes creeping between overhanging walls. One reason for this was that earlier kings had had much reconstructed in expensive stone or brick. Consequently, it had not suffered the fires which, every generation or two, made most towns start fresh. It was frozen into a primitive pattern. Well-to-do homes, warehouses, marts were like fortresses here and there in the middle of slums whose wretchedness appalled Charlie. He thought of doing something to help the poor—then remembered that he wouldn't be around and Dzenko was not especially interested in reform.
Nobody showed Charlie bad conditions on purpose, or tried to hide them. They were incidental, taken for granted. One simply had to shout or flick a whip to get the filthy commoners out of the way while one was guiding the Prince from historic monument to quaint shop to stately mansion, then back to the palace in time for a major speech, a formal banquet, and picturesque traditional entertainment. If from time to time he stopped and tried blunderingly to talk with some work-broken navvy, crippled beggar, or gaunt woman carrying an infant, why, that was just his whim. Let him pass out a few coins if he wished and get him moving again.
Besides Hector, a hundred crack guardsmen were always with him in public. He recognized none of them and learned they were mercenaries who had formerly served Olaghi. "Where're my travel friends?"
he demanded of Dzenko. "Where's Mishka?"
- Chapter 19
"I have to send my most reliable men out to handle special problems," the noble answered. " `For instance, if a baron fell at Stalgesh, we must make sure the right successor takes over his province.
Mustn't we?"
The sergeant of Charlie's troop was not very communicative. He would reply to direct questions, of course. Thus, while inspecting the fleet, the human saw a number of sailors tied wrist and ankle in the shrouds of ships, under, a scorching sun. He asked why. The sergeant told him casually, "Oh, mutineers being punished."
"Not mutineers, Highness," said the captain of the vessel on which they stood. "Such we'd flog to death.
These conspired to petition for discharge. That only rates spread-eagling for one full day."
"What?" Charlie exclaimed. "They can't even petition?"
The captain was honestly surprised. "Highness, how could we let impressed men do that? It'd imply they had some kind of right to go home before it suits the king's convenience."
"You're still keeping them, this long after the battle?"
Charlie contained his anger. But that night, in English, he told Hector he meant to take the matter up with Dzenko, force the baron to release his quasi-slaves.
"Maybe ye can," the Hoka said doubtfully. "Yet is it no a waste of effort, when soon ye'll gang awa'?
Dzenko wad simply haul them back after ye're gane or catch himsel' ithers."
"Why does he need that big a force, anyway?"
"A vurra eenteresting question. What say ye I poke aboot on my ain? I'm nobbut your funny wee companion; nae guardsmen wull clank alang behind me; and I've found the Talyinans wull talk wi' me richt freely, once they're used to the sight and pairhaps a drappie or twa hae wetted their craws."
"All right." Charlie sighed. "I'm not sure what good it'll do—and I'll miss you in that hustle—bustle and dull ritual I'm stuck with—and lordy, lordy, how glad I will be to get through here!"
Hector did join him on an excursion to the Grotto of Kroshch. For this was a famous local wonder, its general area a picnic site for the aristocracy and bourgeoisie of Bolgorka. Dzenko himself wanted Charlie to visit there. Such a trip would lend credibility to his eventual announcement that the Grotto could wait until the Prince had disposed of what serious threats remained to the well-being of Talyina.
- Chapter 19
The Hoka was unwontedly silent, even glum. Charlie wondered why but didn't press the issue. After six days of officialism, it was too delightful to be out in the country again.
His yachi bounded along a winding, climbing road whose dirt lay vivid red under fragrant green of woods on either side, blue of sky and flash of gold off wings overhead. He had got used to riding native style, and his muscles fitted themselves happily into its thudding rhythm. Ahead of him, a section of guards made a brave sight in their armor and cloaks.
Behind him came the rest, along with scores of curious civilians.
The trip across the cape took a pair of hours. From the crest Charlie saw a narrow fjord, mercury-bright against the darkling cliffs of its farther side. Toward this the road descended, until it reached a cleared spot above the very end of the inlet. There stood tables, benches, fireplaces, and other amenities. Cooks had gone ahead to prepare a barbecue for the Prince. By now he had made his tastes known. Their simplicity was widely admired. With only salt for a condiment, the meat which he got was delicious. His wellborn seatmates were affable, flattering, proud to dine in his company.
After lunch, the party climbed down a trail carved out of the precipices to the water. Their outing had been carefully timed. The tide was low. Waves lapped quietly on rocks which formed a strip of beach.
At its end, a mouth gaped black in a sheer granite wall.
"The Grotto of Kroshch, Highness," said the foremost of the magnates present. "The end of your destiny.
No, the beginning of it." Awe freighted his tones.
Charlie knew what awaited him. He approached boldly. Yet he too felt a certain inner dread. The dimness down here, hemmed between dizzying heights; the opening before him, darker still, from which chilliness billowed forth; the mark of the sea, meters above its top—
He stepped through. Beyond was a passage, twice a man's height. For a while, light seeped in from outside, and he stumbled along on water-slick loose cobbles. Thereafter the murk deepened until he had to wait for flint and steel to kindle the lanterns his attendants carried. Shadows and glimmers ran eerily over the stone which enclosed him. He breathed damp cold. Afar he heard the ocean growl, through his ears and footsoles and bones.
The passage suddenly gave on the Grotto itself.
This was a roughly hemispherical chamber, perhaps the remnant of a volcanic bubble, about twenty meters in width and up to the ceiling, seamed with crevices, ledges, and lesser holes. The lantern bearers climbed along these until their firefly-bobbing burdens gave wan illumination to the entire cavity. He stared toward the roof. Blacknesses betokened hollows in it. But none, he knew, reached as far aloft as did the high-water mark he had seen outside.
- Chapter 19
Dzenko had explained beforehand. This fjord formed what on Earth was called a roost. It forced incoming tides to abnormal rapidity and power. Twice a day a wall of sea roared through, smashed against the cliffs, and wholly drowned the Grotto.
"Had you gills, you might wait in there and come out alive, as the Prophecy says," the baron sneered.
"But you haven't. Nor have you along such diving gear as I'm told your people possess. In any event, the witnesses would never accept your going in with a load of equipment. If I remember aright, you're allowed a horpil, nothing else. No, I fear this is one test where I cannot help you. Luckily, you don't want the crown of Talyina."
As he stood in the sounding gloom, fingers plucked his sleeve and a nervous voice said, "Best we go, Highness. The tide will soon turn. Hear you not an awakened hunger in the noise of the waves?"
Back on top, the party waited to view the tidal bore. Charlie and Hector wandered a little distance aside.
They stood near a verge amid blowing grasses, and gazed across the sky and down to the now-uneasy waters. Wind whittered; seafowl shrilled.
"I've found what's become o' Mishka, laddie," the Hoka said in English. "I wadna hae heart tae tell ye, save that a rough, tough Hieland clansman doesna ken hoo tae keep a secret frae his chief."
Alarm knocked in Charlie. "What is it? Quick!"
"He's a slave in the inland quarries. They say such canna hope tae live lang."
"What? But—but—why—"
"I learned this last nicht, in a low dockside dive whaur I've won the confidence o' the innkeeper. Ye see, I've sought tae make clear that everything done in your name isna necessarily done wi' your knowledge.
But I canna say this tae the nobles or the well-off or even the small burghers, for then word might well get back to Dzenko. I've therefore gane amang the vurra puir, who hae naught to lose nor aught to gain by blabbering to him. For they're no a' slum-bred, lad; mony and mony o' them waur freeholders or boat owners, till Olaghi's greed uprooted them. They nourish a hope the Prince'll mak' it richt for them again, and they ken me for your friend.
"Yon landlord's hiding Kartaz in his cellar. Ye'll reca' Kartaz, o' Mishka's men, he who fought bonnily at Stalgesh. He waur wi' those who stood behind Mishka when the sergeant went before Dzenko tae protest, no alane the continued impressment o' seamen, but the new taxes."
"New taxes?" Charlie said. "I didn't know—whatever for?"
- Chapter 19
"Och, ye'll no hae heard, syne they're levied on little folk, crofters and foresters wha' dwell far frae towns. 'Tis clear, though, I think, that if Dzenko ha' a'ready begun wi' them, ithers may look for the same or fiercer erelang. Anyhoo, he dootless expected this deputation, for he had it meet him alane and unarmed. But then his new guards burst in at the ring o' a bell and arrested Mishka and the rest at crossbow point. The preesoners waur hustled off to the quarries that selfsame nicht. Next day their comrades waur fed a cock-and-bull story like the ane ye got, laddie, aboot special assignments in the ootlands, and syne, they're scattered far and wide on errands which hae no purpose save to scatter them.
This I hae established frae ither reliable soorces.
"Kartaz got a chance tae escape and tuk it. His last sight o' Mishka was of our auld fere in chains, breaking rock, wi' a lash to hurry him alang. So Kartaz tauld me, and I've aye found him truthful."
Sickened, Charlie stared down into the gorge. The rising waters snarled at him.
"I'll collar Dzenko tonight," he whispered. "I won't have this. I won't. I'll denounce him in public—"
For now he knew what the baron intended: the identical thing Olaghi had tried to build, "an up-to-date absolute monarchy." That was why the navy must be maintained at full strength. Talyina had exchanged one dictator for another. And indeed it was worse off, because Dzenko was more intelligent, more efficient. And he ruled through Charles Edward Stuart, the Prince of the Prophecy!
Hector gripped the human's elbow. "Nay, laddie," said the Hoka. "Ye'd nobbut fling your ain life awa'.
Surely yon scoundrel ha' made proveesion again' such an emairgency. Belike he'd stab ye the moment ye spake, then denoonce ye for an impostor and hope to ride oot the storm what wad follow. He might well succeed, too. Dinna forget, ye still lack the final proof o' wha ye are. Besides, when ye waur supposed to rule Talyina forever, your slaying wad in itself discredit ye.
"Nay, laddie," he repeated sadly, and shook his round head. "Ye canna but deepen the woes o' the realm, an' alienate Dzenko frae the League, which otherwise might pairhaps meetigate his harshness a wee bit, and yoursel' perish, when yonder lies a univairse for your exploring. Come hame wi' me! Hoo could I e'er face your parents or mysel', did I no bring ye back?"
"But how can I ever face myself again," Charlie shouted, "if—"
The sea drowned his words. Rising and rising, the tide crashed into the fjord, violence which trembled in the rocks beneath him. It marched like destiny, against which nothing may stand.
Nothing?
Charlie came out of dazzlement to see the many eyes upon him, made fearful by the trouble they saw in him. He dared not stop to think further, for he knew that then he would grow afraid. High above the noise of the bore, he yelled, "Hear me! Tomorrow I go into the Grotto as the Prophecy tells! And I'll
- Chapter 19
come forth again—alive— to claim my crown! "
Title: Hokas Pokas
Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson
ISBN: 0-671-57858-8
© 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R.
Copyright: Dickson
Publisher: Baen Books
- Chapter 20
16
The Deep Range
Once more the sea was low, but drawn by a moon which hung day-pale above the cliff of the cavern, it was starting to rise. Sunlight flickered off wavelets whose chuckles took on an ever more guttural note.
Chill and salt, a breeze piped farewell.
The dignitaries who had accompanied the Prince down to the beach lost their solemnity as they sweated and panted their way in single file, across the switchbacks of the trail toward the brink where a crowd of witnesses already stood. Hector wrung Charlie's hand. "We maun be off the noo," he said thickly.
"Unless—lad, wull ye no reconseeder this madness? 'Tis ane thing tae hae read summat in a pheesics textbook; 'tis anither tae set your life at hazard."
"I've got to, Hector," Charlie said. He pointed at the watchers, forestlike on the steeps. "For them. They trust me. And I can help them, if—" He clasped the Hoka to him. "I will come back to you. I promise."
Hector gave Dzenko an ominous glance. "If ye dinna return, there's more than me wull regret it," he muttered in Talyinan. Again in English: "Good-bye, Bonnie Prince Charlie, until we meet anew and ye enter upon your heritage."
The Hoka waded to a lifeboat in the shallows. Its ten rowers were not guardsmen; they were ordinary fishers and sailors, but each was armed, and each likewise looked grimly at Dzenko. They paused no longer, for already it would be difficult to escape from the fjord. No craft could live there while the tidal bore raged. The plan was for them to wait outside and come in after Charlie as soon as possible, in case he wasn't able to leave by himself.
Their coxswain struck up a chant. With Hector in the bows, oars bit water and the hull departed. Charlie and Dzenko stood alone. They were in sight of everybody but in earshot of none.
Except for a scarlet cloak, the baron was also dressed simply, in light tunic, trousers, and shoes. Both wore the usual knife, but his was long and heavy, a weapon rather than a tool. Charlie clutched to his breast the horpil he carried and met the stare of his rival with more resoluteness than he felt.
"Well, at last you grant me a private talk," Dzenko snapped. From the mask of his face, fury sparked.
"I wasn't going to give you a chance to pull some trick or . . . or assassination," Charlie retorted. "I made sure the whole town knew I'd do my final Feat today, and I stayed in public view till my bedtime, and
- Chapter 20
Hector got those boatmen to watch over my suite, and you were the reason why!"
It was strange, he thought, how well he had slept. But as his moment drew near, every nerve was tightening.
Dzenko stroked his whiskers. "You are not overly courteous to your mentor, youth."
"I'm nicer to you than you've been to my people."
" Your people, eh? Your people? Well, well. A few of us might have something to say about that.
"Not after I've been in the Grotto."
"Ah, yes," Dzenko said with a sour smile. "You've gnawed your way to the secret of the Grotto, have you? I did myself, weeks ago. You might bear in mind, however, the Feat is dangerous just the same.
For example, suppose the waves throw you against a wall and spatter your brains."
"Suppose they don't," the Earthling replied. "Somebody must've survived high tide in there once, to get the tradition started.
"Belike you're right. Yet I am anxious for you. Really, your suspiciousness hurts me; yes, it cuts me to the liver. I mean to wait low on the trail and myself be the first who goes in after you. This I will announce to the watchers." Dzenko bowed. "Therefore, fortune attend you, my Prince, until we meet anew."
He turned and strode off. A gust of wind swirled his cloak aside, revealing the pouch which bulged and banged at his hip opposite the knife. Charlie gulped. Chill went through him. What did Dzenko mean by that last remark?
Sarcasm, probably. He didn't expect his rival would live. But if that proved wrong—well, Dzenko would have to mend his own fences. It was understandable that he would make a point of hailing the new king before anybody else did.
Ripples lapped cold across Charlie's feet. The time was upon him.
He too was loaded down with a weighted pouch, which annoyed him by its drag and bump as he crossed slippery, toe-bruising rocks. Wasn't he supposed to be a legendary hero, above such discomforts and inconveniences? Instead, he stumbled alone through bleak, blustering hugeness.
He stopped at the mouth of the cavity. Far off, the boat which bore Hector was a white fleck under the cliffs. Closer, but still remote, patches of color along the trail marked the nobles. The commoners
- Chapter 20
gathered at the top were a blur. Charlie wondered if they could even see him.
Yes, no doubt every available telescope was pointed this way. He must go through the motions. He plucked a few forlorn twangs and shook a few weak rattles out of his horpil. His lack of skill didn't matter. Nobody else heard him.
Quickly, before he lost courage, he entered the tunnel.
When well inside, he slung the horpil on his back and opened his pouch. It bore a glow lantern. This was a Talyinan invention, a glass globe inside a protective wire frame, filled with water which contained phosphorescent microorganisms. The dim blue light it gave was of some use to divers.
Nobody minded the Prince's bringing such a commonsense piece of equipment. He and Hector had kept quiet about the item which next he drew from the pouch. He didn't feel he was dishonest in taking it. But why give his enemies a chance to make snide remarks? The whole future of Talyina depended on his prestige.
The object was the bag from the Hoka's pipes. He blew it up and closed it with a twist of copper wire.
He might have to stay afloat for well over an hour. This would let him do so. Otherwise, if nothing else, cold would sap his strength and he'd drown.
It boomed in the gloom. He hurried onward.
When he entered the Grotto itself, the floor was already submerged a few centimeters. He splashed about, searching. Except at very short range, the glimmer from the lantern hung about his neck was less help than his memory of how his guides yesterday had scrambled around the irregularities of the walls.
Yes . . . this ledge slanted upward to a fissure, along which it was possible to creep farther to reach a knob, and from there— He took off his shoes and climbed. The rock was slick. It wouldn't do to fall, no matter how loudly the water beneath had begun to squelp and whoosh.
After what seemed like a long time, he got as high as he could go, onto a shelf which jutted from the wall and barely gave space for him to sit. He clenched fingers on every roughness he could find, and waited.
Here came the bore.
The tide noise grew to a monstrous bellow, rang through his skull, shook him as a dog shakes a rat.
Spray sheeted over him. With one arm he squeezed the bag to his ribs. It was the last thing he had left.
Onward plunged the sea. Yet that vast mass could not quickly pour through a narrow shaft. Its vanguard struck the inner side of the Grotto and recoiled on what came after. Waves dashed back and forth,
- Chapter 20
whirlpools seethed.
Through that brutal racket, Charlie felt a sharper pain lance his ears. He worked throat and jaws, trying to equalize pressures inside and outside his head. Amid all the chaos, his heart broke into a dance. The pain was a benediction.
It proved his idea was right.
When the tunnel filled with water, air was bound to be trapped inside the cave. As the tide rose farther, that air would be compressed. At some point, it must counterbalance the weight of liquid. And thus, no matter that the water outside stood higher than the roof within, here would remain a bubble of breath.
Charlie had no way to determine in advance where equilibrium would occur. He could but cling to his ledge.
The tide mounted. As the hollowness grew glutted, waves damped out. The earlier crashing diminished to a sinister mumble. At last the water was almost calm.
When it reached his breast, he decided to seek the middle of the room. He hugged his life preserver to him with both arms. His feet paddled him along until he guessed he was about where he ought to be.
There he halted, lay in the sea's embrace, and thought many long thoughts.
This was what it meant to be a king, a real king—not wealth and glory, not leadership into needless wars, but serving the people, and if necessary, dying for them.
Yet kingship was not enough. The people themselves might want a Landfather to lift from them the weight of decision. But if they did, the people were wrong. The highest service a king could give was to lead them toward their own freedom.
Charlie smiled at himself, alone in the dark. Wasn't he self-important! Did he imagine he could save the world?
No, of course he couldn't. But he might leave it a little bit better than he found it.
Again the water roughened. Remembering what he had seen the day before, he drew a glad breath. The tide had turned. The Grotto was draining.
But that brought fresh dangers. The height of the tide would recede almost as rapidly as it had entered.
Charlie recalled what Dzenko had said: A current might smash him fatally against the stone around him.
Even after the tunnel was partly clear, he shouldn't try to go out. The swift and tricky stream could easily knock him down, snatch away his life preserver, and drown him in the hour of his victory.
- Chapter 20
No, he must wait inside for quite a while, until it was perfectly safe to walk forth. . . . Maybe not that long. Hector's crew would row in as soon as they were able. But at any rate, what he should do now was find a wall and fend himself off it as he sank.
He did. The effort was exhausting. He was overjoyed when by the wan light of the glow lantern he identified a broad shelf newly uncovered. He could sit here till the Grotto was emptied, if the boat didn't fetch him earlier. It would then be an easy scramble to the floor. In fact, already the tunnel must be only about half full. He thought the darkness had lightened a trifle.
The rest of the ebb would take considerably more time than had the showy bore and the initial outflow.
Charlie tried to summon patience. Miserably chilled, too tired to warm up by vigorous exercises, he slapped arms across body.
Maybe he could divert himself with the horpil. Besides—he grinned—the Prophecy did say the Prince would make music while the waters retreated. He unslung his instrument. Soaked, its strings twanged dully and its rattle gurgled. Scratch one more piece of glamor.
Wait. What was that new noise? Charlie peered around. A vague blueness flickered and bobbed; eddies gave back the least sheen of it.
Following the beacon of Charlie's own glow lantern, it neared. A tall form climbed onto the ledge. The glove beneath its neck picked out the face in a few highlights and many shadows.
"Dzenko!" Charlie exclaimed. He leaped to his feet.
The baron's teeth flashed. "Did I not promise I would be first to come after you, my Prince?" he said, low above the lapping and swirling of the tide. "All praised my faithfulness, when I doffed cloak and shoes and plunged into the fjord. Fain would many guardsmen have come along, but I claimed for myself alone the honor of leading you back to the day."
"Well," Charlie said uncertainly, "that's very kind of you. I do want us to be friends, and I do need your advice. It's only, well, we don't think a lot alike, do we?"
"No," Dzenko agreed. "In many ways we do not. I believe your notion of slipping the ancient anchor which holds the commoners in their place is madness. Yet in some ways we are kinsmen, Charles. We share bravery and determination. My sorrow will not be entirely feigned, Charles, when I tell the people that I found you dead."
"What?" Echoes rang fadingly back, what, what, what. . . .
"You drowned." Dzenko reached forth crook-fingered hands.
- Chapter 20
"No—wait—please—"
The baron trod forward. "I suggest you cooperate," he said. "If you keep still, I'll cut off your breath with a throat grip. You'll be unconscious in a matter of pulsebeats. You'll never feel it when I stick your head underwater. And I'll always honor your memory."
Charlie whipped forth his knife. Dzenko sighed. "I too am armed," he pointed out. "I have a better weapon, a longer reach, and years of experience. I would hate to mutilate your body with rocks until the wounds are disguised. But the future of Talyina and of my bloodline is more important than any squeamishness."
Charlie sheathed the knife. "Excellent," Dzenko purred, and sidled close. Charlie slammed the horpil down over his head.
The string jangled and broke. The frame went on to enclose Dzenko's arms. He yelled, staggered about, struggled to free himself. Charlie left him in a clean dive.
Cursing, Dzenko got loose and came after. Charlie unshipped his glow lantern and let it sink.
From the set of the currents, he could probably find his way to the tunnel. He'd have to take his chances with riptides and undertows. Dzenko was more dangerous.
Charlie was no longer afraid. He hadn't time for that. He swam.
A splashing resounded at his rear. It loudened. Dzenko was a stronger swimmer than he, and tracking him by the noise he made. Charlie stopped. He filled his lungs, floated on his back, paddled as softly as he was able.
The baron's call came harsh: "You think to hide in the dark? Then I'll await you at the door."
Charlie saw in a white flash that his enemy was right. Either he, the prey, swam actively, and thus betrayed himself to a keen pair of ears, or he stayed passive, in which case the flow would bring him to the exit where the hunter poised.
His single chance was to find another surface halfway level and broad, and dodge about. He was more agile than Dzenko, surely. He struck out across the ebb. Behind him he heard pursuit.
Light broke upon his eyes, the yellow gleam of an oil lantern. Hector held it aloft, where he stood in the bows of the lifeboat. "Ahoy, laddie!" he piped. "Laddie, are ye here?"
"Help," Charlie cried.
- Chapter 20
"Aha!" said Hector. His free hand reached forth to haul a kicking, cursing, but altogether overpowered Dzenko across the gunwale, helpless in the powerful grip of the Hoka. "What is this farce?" demanded Hector sternly.
Title: Hokas Pokas
Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson
ISBN: 0-671-57858-8
© 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R.
Copyright: Dickson
Publisher: Baen Books
- Chapter 21
17
Earthman's Burden
For three terrestrial months, the Honorable Athelstan Pomfrey, Plenipotentiary of the Interbeing League to the Kingdom of Talyina and (in theory) the planet of New Lemuria, had received no direct communication from the royal town.
At first King Charles had been eager to talk with him, as soon as a man in an aircar brought a radio transceiver powerful enough to bridge the distance between Bolgorka and Shverkadi. He related what happened, to the moment of his coronation: "—And I sent Dzenko after Olaghi, into exile. His family and a few old retainers went along. I think they'll actually be a good influence on the mainland. They'll need to make friends with the savages there, which means they'll teach them some things. I did this right away, before I was crowned—"
"You!" Pomfrey had interrupted, furious. "You the king? Of Talyina? How dare you, fellow? How dare you?"
"I hoped you wouldn't blame me, sir," a subdued voice replied from the set in the compound. "Haven't I explained how I sort of got swept along?"
"Up to a point, yes," Pomfrey conceded before he reddened afresh. "But accepting the lordship of a native country— Don't you know, Charles Stuart, I can charge you with imperialism?"
The voice strengthened. "I don't think you can, sir. I mean, well, the plan Hector and I've worked out—
Oh, I guess you haven't met Hector MacGregor, exactly. Anyhow, we figure it's the direct opposite of imperialism. But maybe I should ask a lawyer first. Look, is my dad around?"
"No," said Pomfrey. "After my courier assured him that you were, indeed, safe, but wouldn't come back for some time, he wanted to visit you, but I forbade that. So he continued his voyage." His jowls went from crimson to purple. "If you have, in addition, the sheer gall to demand I obtain legal assistance for you— No!"
"Then maybe we'd better not talk anymore," said Charlie.
No total curtain fell between kingdom and League. Messengers went back and forth. Charlie was a gracious host to whomever Pomfrey sent. By degrees, the Plenipotentiary cooled off. At last he decided it might be best for himself that he check with a competent attorney. What he heard, coupled with what
- Chapter 21
information he got from Bolgorka and from Talyina as a whole, made him very thoughtful.
When word came that the king would pay him a state visit, and requested off-planet transportation be available, Pomfrey got onto his subspace communication set. The Highland Lass was still in this galactic neighborhood.
Thus Captain Stuart was on hand when his son returned.
A sizable fleet docked at Grushka. The next morning a procession started north for the compound. At a leisurely pace, with an overnight stop, it arrived toward evening of the following day.
The humans who waited at the gates of the compound gasped. Not even their airborne scouts had prepared them for what they now saw and heard.
Autumn lay cool on the land. Leaves flared in multitudinous colors. The sea danced in whitecaps beneath a merry wind. High overhead went southbound birds. And up the road came the King of Talyina and his household troopers.
He rode in the van, on a horse rather than a yachi. His slender form was plainly clad for travel, but the sword of the Founder hung at his waist, and on his red hair sat an iron crown. The two who flanked him were similarly mounted. On his right, in kilt and bonnet, was a Hoka. On his left, in gleaming mail, was one of the biggest New Lemurians that anybody had ever seen.
Behind them tramped the guards. Banners fluttered; pikes nodded; boots smote ground in heart-shaking cadence. But something new was here. Below their armor these warriors wore kilts, in the same tartan as flew above their helmets. And at their head, setting the time of their march, went the wild music of a hundred bagpipers and as many drummers.
The giant drew rein and wheeled his mount around. "Com-pan-ee-halt!" he roared. The troop snapped to a standstill. "Salute!" A thousand swords flew free. "Sheath!" Blades entered scabbards with a hiss and crash, as the pipes droned away to silence and the last drumroll lost itself in surf noise.
Charlie leaped from his horse and sped to his father. "Dad!" he shouted.
They hugged each other. "Sorry I made you so much trouble," Charlie whispered.
"I'm not, not anymore," Captain Stuart answered, low in his throat. "By all that's holy, you've made me prouder of you than I ever dared hope for."
They straightened. Pomfrey, gorgeous in formal dress, advanced upon them. "Ah . . . welcome, your Majesty," the Plenipotentiary said. He cast a nervous glance toward the soldiers, where they stood at statuelike attention. "I hope we can, ah, provide hospitality."
- Chapter 21
"Shucks, don't worry about that, sir," Charlie replied. "We brought supplies and everything. They can camp in the field yonder, can't they? It's only overnight."
"Indeed? I assumed . . . a certain amount of ceremony—"
"No! I've had enough ceremony! We'll throw a farewell party on the campground and enjoy ourselves, and that'll be that!"
"Well." Pomfrey was not displeased. "As you wish. I can understand it if you wish to abdicate quietly."
"Huh?" Charlie stared at him. "Abdicate? What're you talking about? Didn't I make it clear to you?"
Pomfrey began to swell. "Young man—I mean, your Majesty, I thought that in obedience to the laws prohibiting imperialism, you would retire as soon as feasible. It was on this basis that legal counsel advised me to file no charges against you."
Captain Stuart bristled. The Hoka, who had joined their group, broke the tension. "Plenipotentiary," he said, "dinna ye ken that to renounce the power isna the same as to renounce the title?"
"That's it," Charlie said in haste. "I . . . well, I am supposed to—Well, the Prophecy says, `Righteous, the red-haired one rules us forever!' A mortal can't do that. But a legend can. If not forever, then long enough."
Pomfrey calmed. He stroked his double chin. He was not actually stupid, in fact, rather intelligent. "I believe I see," he murmured. "The last few messages you sent were pretty garbled. No doubt you were too busy to pay attention to their exact wording. . . . Ah, yes. You propose to take, shall we say, an indefinite leave of absence?"
"Yes," Charlie answered. "I've told the people this is part of my mission. I couldn't quite explain to them why it is."
Nor would he ever tell how that had been his last, greatest ordeal—the decision he must make, wholly alone in the night.
He could stay on as king. If he avoided the treaty zone, League law could never touch him. Rather, the Plenipotentiary would have to cooperate, like it or not. He, King Charles the Great of Talyina, could rule justly, bring in the benefits of civilization, and cover himself with glory. Nor need he be lonesome for his own kind. By offering trade concessions and well-paid jobs, he could attract as many humans to his court as he desired.
- Chapter 21
And he wanted to stay. Here was his realm. Here were his tested friends. Here dwelled his people, whom he had come to love.
But he harked back to a certain darkness in the sea and remembered that the highest service of a king is to give the folk their freedom, whether they ask it or not. Their descendants will bless him.
He, Charles Edward Stuart, must return to being an ordinary student on Earth. He could never visit this planet again.
"I'd have come sooner," he told Pomfrey and his father, "but it took a while to establish a Parliament—House of Lords and House of Commons, you know, and Commons has the purse strings—get organized, lay down some ground rules, hold our first election—that kind of thing. I'm ready to leave now."
"I see." The Plenipotentiary nodded. "If you, as the king who's supposed to reign forever . . . are not on hand . . . then nobody can succeed you, and the people will have to learn how to run the country by themselves."
" 'Tis like British history," said the Hoka. As he spoke, his burr shifted toward an Oxford accent. "Bad though the early Hanoverians waur, yet they'd one advantage. The wee, wee Gairman lairdie—that is, the initial two Georges—couldn't speak English worth mentioning. So they didn't preside over meetings of Parliament. From this grew the practice of having Cabinets, Prime Ministers—in short, the whole jolly old structure of democracy, don't y' know? We trust the Talyinan national folkmoot will follow a similar course of development. QED."
"In other words," Captain Stuart said to Pomfrey, and his tone clanged, "my son has accomplished what the League has only dreamed of doing since it found this whole world."
The spaceship departed soon after dawn. Charlie and Mishka waved to each other all the time the human went up the gangway.
When the last airlock had closed, the warrior turned to his men, "Ten- shun!" he shouted into the frosty mists. "Salute your king!"
Swords flashed free and clashed home. A drumroll thundered.
Engines hummed. On silent drive fields, the ship lifted.
Mishka, Prime Minister to his Majesty Charles, Eternal King of Talyina, drew sword of his own. It was his baton, to direct the pipes which began to skirl. From the ranks of the fighting men, deep voices rose
- Chapter 21
in the tongue of the Highlands.
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be.
Will ye no come back again?
Title: Hokas Pokas
Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson
ISBN: 0-671-57858-8
© 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R.
Copyright: Dickson
Publisher: Baen Books