Page 14 of Voyage to the City of the Dead

  At first the patrol ordered both boats to stand off, but on sight of the Tsla they allowed them to dock. Etienne listened hard. At any moment he expected the sail to be thrown aside and to find himself eye to eye with a long spear.

  Then there was the sound of muffled struggling and he and Lyra emerged from their temporary cocoon with pistols at the ready. They might as well have relaxed beneath the cloth.

  Tyl and the porters had no trouble with the patrol. Yulour in particular distinguished himself, exercising his great strength with a caution that was frightening to see. Etienne made a mental note to leave the teasing to Yulour's companions.

  The entire patrol had been neatly silenced. Etienne was full of newfound respect for their philosopher‑guide as he helped him and the other Tsla slip the guards into the river, but he couldn't help but wonder at this facile contravention of established Tsla tenets. Time enough later for social anal­ysis, he told himself curtly. First order of business was to get their boat back, not discuss Tsla motivation.

  Having gone ahead to scout out the approach, Homat now beckoned them forward. Soon they were standing next to the impressive palisade of logs that girdled the town. There were plenty of slots cut in the wood through which archers could aim and fire on attackers. The openings near the harbor showed only the backsides of buildings, but as they made their way around the stockade, gaps appeared which per­mitted a view deeper into the community.

  Eventually they located a small pedestrian gate. It was unguarded and swung wide at Homat's touch and they stepped inside, concealing themselves behind a square storage build­ing.

  From the slurred shouts they could now hear clearly, it was evident that plenty of drinking and drug‑taking was going on. As they moved toward the center of the town they had a glimpse of unsteady revelers falling down in unexpected places, and nearly tripped over several who had celebrated themselves into unconsciousness.

  Ahead lay the town square, a place of ceremony and money‑making among the Mai. Smack in the center of the paved square, surrounded by celebratory bonfires, was the Redowls' hydrofoil. The fires were maintained at a reason­able distance from the boat, not out of any fear of harming it but to ensure the safety of the wooden cage in which it rested. The chanting was loud now and terribly off‑key. Etienne looked to his wife, saw with disgust but not surprise that she was furiously whispering a description of the cel­ebration into her note‑taker. That was his Lyra: if the locals ended up boiling her in fish fat she'd spend her last moments jotting down the recipe for posterity.

  "What now, Learned One?" Apparently Tyl had ex­hausted his limited store of strategic knowledge. Etienne felt a perverse satisfaction over the Tsla's use of the honorific.

  "How can we free thy boat, Learned One?" asked one of the porters. "It seems secured most strongly."

  "Doesn't matter," Etienne told him. "All we have to do is get within shouting distance. We're close enough now, but I'm worried that ail this loud chanting might drown us out."

  "I understand," said Homat confidently. "You plan to call upon the spirits that watch over your boat."

  Tyl eyed him distastefully. The Tsla were not heir to the plethora of superstitions that infected Mai culture.

  "How will thee regain control of thy craft, Etienne? And more important, perhaps, how are we to transport it from the center of this unfriendly village to the water's edge?"

  "You'll see," Etienne told him. "Homat's not far from the truth." Their Mai guide chose not to look down his nose at the skeptical Tsla, probably because in any such exchange he was bound to come off second best.

  Etienne idly noted the architecture as they worked their way closer to the central square. No grand stone towers here. This wasn't Po Rabi. Most of the buildings were of wood, thatch, mud, and adobe, though several did soar to the impressive height of three stories. He did not admire them, however. Hochac's prosperity was tainted and it throve by taking from its neighbors. Perhaps tonight they could redress a few of those wrongs, make the inhabitants recon­sider their methods. He hoped he'd be given that opportu­nity. Lyra would disapprove of his attitude, he knew, but right now he didn't much care. He watched her coolly mak­ing notes and couldn't help but admire her. If they died here tonight, no one could say they'd neglected their research right up to the final moment.

  They were halfway to the central square when they stum­bled into a pair of sober locals. They looked very young and Etienne regretted having to pull his pistol. He was too slow and could have saved his regrets. Once again Tyl and his companions did their work with quiet efficiency. There were no screams and no deaths, though a single brief warning shout was lost in the shouting and chanting.

  They were surprised when the arrow thudded into Swd's side. The short thick fur absorbed some of the arrow's force, but not enough to keep the porter from staggering up against Tyl. He struggled with the shaft as they sought cover beneath the overhang of a large house.

  The archer stood on the porch of a building across the street. He was waving his bow toward the square now, jump­ing up and down and screaming high and steady. To Etienne's chagrin, Homat stepped out into clear sight to return the local's steady stream of expletives. While personally grat­ifying, this was a lousy tactical move. The celebrants in the square heard the row, turned to see the odd assortment of intruders, and had enough presence of mind left to scatter and sound the warning throughout the village.

  A few located their own weapons and began to advance. Bows and arrows and spears might be primitive, but as the unfortunate Swd could attest, they were often as effective as any modern weapon. The differences between asynapt and arrow were neatness and convenience, not lethality. Add to that the fact that in seconds they were likely to be heavily outnumbered and there was little humor to be found in Hom­at's foolhardy posturing.

  Wishing he was closer, Etienne cupped hands to mouth and yelled at the top of his lungs, "Execute Command Red­Ten!" Then he lowered the muzzle of his asynapt and fired at the feet of the nearest onrushing Hochacite. The Mai let out a yelp and fell on his face, paralyzed from the knees down.

  That halted the charge for a few seconds, long enough for an answering rumble to rise from the central square. The rest of the attacking villagers turned and stared over their shoulders.

  Lit from beneath by the dancing bonfires, the hydrofoil made a most impressive sight as it rose four meters into the air on activated repellers, lifting the wooden cage with it. It executed a slow pirouette until it was facing the direction from which the command had been given, locked in on Etienne's eyes, and started to move toward them. As it did so the downward facing air jets on which it hovered blasted flaming fagots of wood in all directions, scattering fire and natives alike. The movement caused the wooden cage to begin to break up, showering logs and planks down on the scurrying Mai.

  Chapter Ten

  Those Hochacites who were sober started screaming about spirits and devils as they flung their weapons aside and bolted for the nearest cover. Homat retreated to rejoin his com­panions, his eyes wide and locked on the hovering bulk of the spirit boat as it drifted toward them.

  Lyra had to give him a shove to start him back toward the stockade gate. "Back to the harbor, everybody, before they get over the shock!"

  Moving as fast as possible without conveying the impres­sion of a hasty retreat, the intruders fled with studied dignity. Now and then a face would peek out at them as they passed along the street, but a burst from an asynaptic pistol would cause doors and windows to slam shut quickly.

  They reached the narrow gate and filed quickly through it. Unable to quite clear the crest of the palisade, the hy­drofoil made a satisfyingly loud smashing and crackling as it splintered several of the massive logs.

  Etienne and the Tsla remained behind to guard the land­ward end of a pier while Lyra directed the boat over the water before retracting her husband's order. The hydrofoil settled gently into the Skar. Bending low to avoid an intact section of wooden cage, she stepped
aboard.

  From his position facing the town wall, Etienne was gra­ted to hear the start‑up growl of the engine as power was transferred from repellers to jet. A few armed Mai had pushed through the gap in the stockade, but hadn't gained the courage to charge. As soon as word came that the boat was acting like a boat once more, some of the initial terror of its un­boatlike behavior would fade and the Hochacites would try to recover it. Etienne had no intention of giving them that kind of time. "Now, Tyl! Get your people on board before the Mai have tine to regroup!" Even as Etienne backpedaled to cover the Tsla's retreat, the bolder villagers slowly ad­vanced.

  Lyra made a quick head count and spun the wheel as she nudged the accelerator. The hydrofoil varoomed out into the safety of the Skar, but not as fast as Etienne wanted. The unwieldy remnants of the cage prevented the boat from rising up on its hydrofoils. Distant shouts sounded from Hochac's harbor; pursuit was being organized.

  Among the ship's tools was a heat stitch that could cut and weld. It made short work of the leather thongs that bound the sections of the wooden cage together. As Etienne sliced the thongs the Tsla heaved the heavy timbers over the side, and a few arrows thunked against the rear of the boat. Fi­nally, with a loud splash the undersection of the cage gave way and drifted astern. The pursuing Mai were still within insult range but by now even Homat was too tired to respond.

  Etienne stumbled to the intercom. "We're clear, Lyra. Raise her up."

  The rumble of the electric jet became a whine as the boat rose above the surface on its twin foils and rocketed Upriver at a leisurely sixty kph, leaving the Tsla whispering their wonderment to one another and the frustrated Hochacites far behind.

  "Wonderful, delicious," Tyl muttered as he peeked hes­itantly over the side. "The boat flies over the water. You must explain to me how it works."

  Etienne stiffened, relaxed almost as quickly. Tyl's words had sparked bad memories of Irquit and the ease with which she'd mastered the hydrofoil's security system. But there was no deception in this philosopher‑teacher. Etienne felt guilty at his instinctive suspicion.

  "Be happy to, Tyl. You're entitled to learn about what you've just rescued. I'll try and explain the principles to you and you must tell me more about what we're likely to en­counter Upriver, especially this Topapasirut that has you so concerned."

  "I will gladly do so, Etienne. But as for the Topapasirut there is little to say. It must be seen to be understood."

  "Still certain we can't surmount it?"

  "I still think so, yes, but after seeing what you have achieved tonight I am less certain than I was before."

  That is faintly encouraging, Etienne mused. Further dis­cussion would have to wait until morning. He longed desperately for the softness of his air‑conditioned bunk. Lyra could drive for another half hour. Then they'd be far enough Upriver from any lingering pursuit to put the boat on autopilot.

  At last they were on their way again, though he felt no pride in the thoroughly unprofessional but necessary diver­sion for which the inhabitants of Hochac were responsible. With any luck that would be the first and last interruption of its kind.

  As for allowing the Tsla into the cabin, that was a ne­cessity. They would be much more comfortable inside, where the temperature approximated that of their home. There was no fear in him. For one thing he was too tired. For another, he'd slept peacefully among the Tsla for weeks. They'd earned his trust. Besides, he and Lyra could always lock themselves in their cabin, and no curious Tsla could disengage a locked autopilot.

  The morning dawned bright, hot, and stinking humid but Etienne sat comfortably alongside Lyra in the little dining nook. Tyl squatted on the floor nearby. The porters ate farther astern, in the storage area that had been turned into their living quarters. They could have joined the humans but chose not to. Etienne asked why, confident it would have some bearing on his question.

  "They're ashamed," Tyl explained.

  "Ah." Lyra looked satisfied. Apparently she'd been think­ing along similar lines. "Because they had to fight?"

  "Oh no." Tyl nibbled at his bowl, his stubby six‑fingered hands probing for solid morsels. The Redowls had already overcome their distaste at seeing a Tsla rummage for food with its long snout. "They are ashamed because they were not permitted to fulfill their intentions."

  "But they did," Etienne argued. "We're safe and we re­covered our boat."

  "Yes, but no thanks to us."

  "You dispatched that patrol at the harbor."

  "It was our intention to assist thee during the entire pro­cess, Etienne. Yet we could only stand helplessly by and watch while this wondrous craft," and he tapped the metal floor, "did more to save itself than did we."

  "But you couldn't have done more than you did," Lyra told him. "We barely had enough time to activate the voice pickup."

  "That is not the point. We know we could not have carried this boat to the river on our shoulders, but we did not have the chance to try. Therefore merit was lost because we did not have the opportunity to vanquish our enemy."

  Lyra looked uncomfortable. "It's my understanding that your society is a pacifistic one."

  "Of course, that is true."

  "Then how can you talk of gaining merit by fighting?"

  "Like a storm or rockfall, a declared enemy is an agent of nature. As an enemy it removes itself from the considerations of civilization."

  Etienne was enjoying his wife's discomfiture enormously. "But your enemy is only acting in what he considers a civilized manner."

  "He must be judged by civilized standards."

  "You mean, by Tsla standards."

  "Naturally. You do not think that we would adopt the standards of the Mai?" He sounded politely outraged. "A truly civilized people instinctively know what constitutes civilized behavior."

  "Sounds like expediency to me."

  "Not at all. Our moral standards are not nearly so flexi­ble."

  "Then you feel remorse when you kill an enemy?"

  "Naturally. An enemy is one who has freely abjured his soul. How else could we feel but sorry for him?"

  "That wouldn't, however, have prevented you from kill­ing every Mai in Hochac who opposed you?"

  "No, it would not. By opposing us in the recovery of your property they would have demonstrated disregard for civilized behavior, thus removing themselves from considera­tion by those who adhere to such behavior. I see no contradiction in this."

  "No contradiction at all." He glanced at his wife. Lyra's note‑taker was running and she didn't look up at Tyl. "Just wanted the point clarified."

  "I thought," Lyra said quietly, "that the Tsla considered it sinful to kill."

  "To kill any civilized person, yes, a terrible sin. But there is no moral restraint against defending oneself from the hostility of an uncivilized person any more than it is sinful to raise a roof to keep out the rain."

  "All perfectly clear," Etienne agreed. He was content. It was clear that his initial worries about the safety of the Tsla were unfounded. For all their vaunted pacifism they were quite capable of taking care of themselves should the need arise. Killing a civilized person is a sin. Anyone who assaults me is uncivilized. Very neat.

  Neat enough to quash Lyra's romanticized notions of Tsla society. Her beloved mystics were no more or less blood­thirsty than any other primitive folk. Well, that wasn't quite fair. But it was evident they could slaughter with a clear conscience so long as their victims fell below civilized stan­dards. When you set those standards yourself it gave you considerable flexibility in establishing a defense.

  Lyra continued to press Tyl for information, hoping to bolster her fading thesis of Tsla nobility. Etienne left to check the autopilot and then to see what the other Tsla and Homat were up to. He also wanted to tell the porters that, in his eyes at least, they'd acquired a great deal of merit for what they'd done in Hochac.

  They were more than three thousand kilometers north northwest of Steamer Station and the distant Skatandah De
lta. Cloud cover was increasing daily though it brought little relief from the heat and humidity. The Barshajagad was be­ginning to narrow sharply, towering walls shortening the daylight on the river. Both sides of the canyon could be seen now though the edge of the Guntali Plateau was still faint with distance. But for the first time it felt like they were sailing up a canyon.

  Ahead lay another major tributary of the Skar, the river Gaja. Beyond this confluence, according to Tyl, the Barshajagad's walls drew toward one another with breathtaking suddenness, closing in to seal off the place where river devils were born, the Topapasirut. Beyond the Topapasirut lay lands unknown even to the wise men of Turput.

  One thing Etienne no longer had to concern himself about was Lyra's tendency to adopt Tsla habits. After Tyl's breakfast explanation of adaptable battlefield philosophy he never again saw her in Tsla cape and toga.

  They reached the place where the Gaja flowed thick and muddy into the clear Skar. The Tsla records were accurate. It was immensely wide and tinged a pale rust in color. The Gaja was another Amazon, just another tributary. He felt no amazement. Tslamaina had already exhausted his store of geological superlatives.

  Beyond the Gaja the Skar narrowed rapidly. As it did so the current intensified. Submerged mountains and hills began to produce some white water, the first they'd encountered in their long journey Upriver. The cloud cover was thick overhead and Etienne saw why that section of the river had not been accurately mapped by the single orbiting satellite.

  Seven thousand meters overhead, the edge of the Guntali glistened with ice and snow. The rim was now a mere two hundred and fifty kilometers distant to east or west, de­scending toward the bottom of the canyon in a series of steps and escarpments. Through the telescope Etienne examined one sheer wall some four thousand meters high.

  One day they were cruising slowly so that Etienne could check the standard subsurface water samples. Lyra sat at the controls while Etienne was working in the lab astern. Several Tsla were watching the logging procedure with in­terest while Homat lay half asleep on his mat on the rear deck. Suddenly the boat tipped wildly, almost knocking Etienne from his feet. Something had bumped the right side of the hull.