She shrugged. “As you wish. If you’ll excuse me now, I have work to do.”
“Mind if I tag along?” Like a debutante donning her most expensive and elegant gown, Simna had put on his widest and most innocent smile. “I haven’t been on that many boats. I might learn something.”
Her expression was disapproving. “I doubt it, but you’ve paid well for the run of the ship.” She started forward.
“Now then,” the swordsman began, “the first thing I want to know is, what areas of the Grömsketter are off limits to us?”
Turning away from them, Ehomba moved to the rail and watched as the outskirts of industrious, hardworking Hamacassar slid past. They were on their way at last. Not on the Semordria itself, not yet—but on their way. How much farther they would have to travel to reach Ehl-Larimar once they landed on the ocean’s far shore he did not know. But whatever it was, it too would be crossed. Somewhere, he knew that the shade of Tarin Beckwith was watching, and whispering its approval.
The Narrows were comprised of opposing headlands whose highest point would not have qualified as a proper foothill on either side of the snow-capped Hrugars, but on the otherwise plate-flat floodplain they stood out prominently. Accelerating as it passed through, the vast river’s volume was compressed, causing the Grömsketter to pick up speed. As they drew near, Ehomba saw that what at first appeared to be trees were in fact more of the extraordinary triangular towers that they had first encountered on the southern outskirts of greater Hamacassar.
With Stanager absent from the helm deck, he wandered over to query the stolid, stocky woman behind the ship’s wheel. “Your pardon, Priget, but what are those odd free-standing spires?”
“You don’t know?” She had a thick accent that he had been told instantly identified her as coming from far upriver. “They’re the time gates. They’re what has kept Hamacassar strong and made it the preeminent port of the middle Eynharrowk. Kept it from being attacked and looted for hundreds of years. The Gate Masters’ guild watches over them, decides when they are to be used and when kept closed.”
Ehomba pondered this as the helmswoman nudged the wheel a quarter degree to port. “What kind of gates did you say they were? Does time gate mean they are very old?”
“No. They are . . . hullo, what’s this?” Setting his question aside, she squinted to her left. Moments later Stanager was back on the high stern, Simna trailing behind like an eager puppy.
She ignored both men. “You see the flags, Priget?”
“Yes, Captain. How should we respond?”
Stanager looked conflicted. “The flags are small and still a goodly distance off. Hold your course and we’ll see what they do. They may be testing us, or flagging a small boat somewhere close inshore.”
“Ayesh, Captain.” The helmswoman settled herself firmly behind the wheel.
Sensing that now was not a good time to lay a raft of queries upon the Captain, Ehomba and Simna both held their questions. The Grömsketter continued to slip swiftly downriver, using its mainsail more for steering than propulsion in the heightened current.
Following their eyes, Ehomba saw what they were scrutinizing so intently. Near the base of the second triangular monolith on the south bank stood a cluster of reddish buildings dominated by a three-story brick tower. Atop this formidable structure was a mast from which presently flew three large, brightly patterned flags. The designs that were of such evident significance to Captain and helmswoman meant nothing to him, nor to Simna. He also thought he could see several figures waving both arms above their heads.
A hand came down on his shoulder as the swordsman pointed. “See there, Etjole. Something is happening.”
Between the towers that stood on opposing headlands a deep blue glow was coalescing. Shot through with thousands of attenuated streaks of bright yellow and white like captured lightning, the effulgence extended from the crests of the towers down to the surface of the river, clearing it by less than half a foot. From the depths of the potent luminescence there emanated a dull roar, like an open ocean wave curling and breaking endlessly back upon itself. The glow flowed swiftly from tower to tower, as far as the eye could see. Remembering what Priget had told him of the structures’ purpose, Ehomba imagined that the deep cobalt light must extend to encircle all of greater Hamacassar.
“That’s it.” Stanager looked resigned. “They’re calling us in. Priget, steer for the inspection docks.”
“Ayesh, Captain.” The helmswoman promptly spun the wheel. Slowing only slightly, the Grömsketter began to turn sharply to port.
“What’s happening? Why are we heading in?” Relaxed and talkative only moments ago, Simna was suddenly nervous.
“Probably only a random check,” the Captain assured him. “The Gate Masters run them on occasion, both to flex their muscles and remind travelers on the river of just who is in charge, and to ascertain the condition of the time gates.” She nodded toward the dense blue radiance. “Those, at least, appear to be functioning flawlessly.”
“I do not understand.” Simna spoke both for himself and his friends. “What are these time gates? What is that banded blue glowing?”
Stanager Rose did not smile. “You really are from far away, aren’t you?”
“Captain,” the swordsman told her, “all your long and difficult journeys notwithstanding, you have no idea.”
She spared him barely a glance before turning back to Ehomba. “The streaked blue glow is Time itself. The ancient Logicians of Hamacassar long suspected that time traveled in a stream, like the Eynharrowk. So they found the Time that follows the great river and channeled it. Here Time flows through a canal, much like the hundreds you have seen crisscrossing the city itself. It runs through the time gates and can be turned on or shut off by a master gate that lies to the northeast of the city. When the master gate is opened, Time is allowed to run in a circular channel all around the border of Hamacassar. Until it is closed and the time stream shut off, no one can enter or leave the city. No criminal may flee, no enemy enter.” She nodded forward.
“As you can see, it flows as effectively over water as across the land.”
“What would happen if you just tried to run it?” Simna was a direct man, and it was a direct question.
By the Captain’s reaction, however, not a well-thought-out one. “Why, any vessel attempting to sail through would be caught in the currents of Time and swept away, never to be seen or heard from again. I don’t know what that would be like, because no ship or person who has been caught up in the time flow has ever come back out to speak of the experience.” She nodded toward the rapidly approaching outpost. “We’ll see what they want and then we’ll be on our way again. I’m sure it’s nothing of significance, and will likely cost us half an hour at most.”
Despite the Captain’s reassurances, Ehomba was distressed to see a double line of heavily armed soldiers drawn up on the dock. They carried crossbows and battle swords but wore little armor, impractical in the heat and humidity of the Hamacassarian lowlands. They wore uniforms of streaked emerald green and sandals instead of boots, again in keeping with the practicalities imposed by the climate.
Waiting to greet the Grömsketter as it bumped up against the dock were half a dozen men and women of varying age. All wore similar colors, but much finer fabrics. The single toga-like garments were belted at the waist with yellow-gold braid, and extended only as far as the knee. Sleeves ended at the elbow. Shading their heads were peculiar tricornered hats that mimicked the design of the time gates. None of the assembled were smiling.
Clinging to the mainmast rigging with one hand and leaning out over the water and the dock as the ship pulled in, Terious hailed the gathering. “Good morning to you, virtuous Gate Masters! Do you wish to board?”
A stern-faced, handsome man in his forties replied. “Only if necessary, Grömsketter. We won’t keep you long. We’re looking for someone.”
“A fugitive?” Behind the helm deck railing, Stanager was murmuring aloud to herself. ?
??We’ve hired three new men and one woman for this crossing. I wonder if all were thoroughly checked?” Leaning over the rail, she shouted down at the Gate Master. “Does this person you seek have a name?”
As she spoke, preoccupied faces turned in her direction. Ehomba and Simna stood close by. Suddenly another of the Gate Masters, an older woman, spoke out sharply.
“No name, only an aura—and there he is!” Raising an arm, she pointed sharply.
Straight at Ehomba.
XXIV
On board the Grömsketter all eyes turned to the obviously bemused herdsman. When he did not respond, Stanager again addressed the assembled officials. “This man is a passenger on my ship. Though known to me for only a few days, I have found him to be a responsible and worthy individual. What is it you want with him?”
“That is our business,” another man shouted upward. “Turn him over and you may proceed on your way. Refuse, and your vessel will be boarded. Those who comply may depart freely. Those who resist will be killed or taken before the Board of Logicians to have their ultimate fates resolved.”
Stepping away from the railing, Stanager turned to stare up at her long-faced passenger. “I don’t understand any of this. What do the Gate Masters want with you? What have you done?”
“I tell you honestly, Captain: to my knowledge, nothing.” Ehomba was aware that the eyes not only of his friends but of the crew were on him, watching and waiting to see what he would do. “But I cannot allow my own circumstances to put you and your people in danger. You have done nothing.”
“By Gorquon’s Helmet, neither have we, Etjole!” The right hand of Simna ibn Sind rested firmly on the hilt of his sword. “I’ll not see you handed over to an unknown fate. Not after all we’ve been through together!”
The herdsman smiled fondly at his friend. “What is this, Simna? Loyalty? And without a gold piece in sight?”
“Mock me if you will, long bruther. You wouldn’t be the first.” The swordsman’s face was flush with anger. “Dying in combat with some monstrous beast or battling an attacking army is a worthy death for a man. You deserve better than to rot in some cell accused of Gwinbare knows what imaginary crime.”
“No one has said anything about dying or rotting in a cell.” Ehomba’s voice was calm, his manner composed. “They may only want to talk to me.”
“Hoy, but for how long?” Simna gestured sharply in the direction of the assembled soldiers and officials. “They said that once they have you, the rest can sail on. That doesn’t sound to me like they plan to let you go anytime soon, and you said yourself we shouldn’t wait two months for another ship.”
“So you should not.” Raising his hands, the herdsman placed them on his friend’s shoulders. “I hereby charge you, Simna ibn Sind, with completing my task, with fulfilling my promise to the dying Tarin Beckwith. Stay with the Grömsketter. See her across the Semordria, and find your way onward from there.”
The swordsman tensed. “What madness is this? What are you saying, Etjole?”
Removing his hands, Ehomba turned back to the railing. “I am getting off the ship.” He looked to Stanager. “Captain, as soon as I am on the dock and the Narrows are once more cleared to navigation, set your course downriver and sail on.” She eyed him purposefully for a long moment, then nodded once.
A ladder of rope and wood was thrown over the side. Ehomba started toward it, only to be grabbed and held by the swordsman.
“Don’t do this, bruther! You have your weapons; I have my sword. There is the black litah and Hunkapa Aub. We can fight them off!” His fingers tightened on the taller man’s arm.
Gently, Ehomba disengaged himself from his friend’s grasp. “No, Simna. Even if we could, sailors who have no part in this might get hurt, or killed. As could any of us, yourself included. Stay on the ship. Sail on.” He smiled warmly. “Think of me as the river carries you to the sea.” Turning away, he stepped over the side, straddling the railing preparatory to climbing down the ladder.
“Stop there!” a voice commanded from below. Crossbow bolts were trained on the herdsman. “No weapons. Leave them and the pack on your back on board the ship. You can claim them upon its return.”
Removing the sword of sea bone and the sword of sky metal, Ehomba passed them to a stricken Simna. They were joined by the long walking stick–spear. Lastly, the herdsman slipped off his backpack and handed it to a somber-faced Terious. Hunkapa Aub was crying outsized inhuman tears. Ehomba was grateful that the black litah was still asleep. It might not have been possible to restrain the big cat with words. Had it been awake, the spilling of blood might have proven unavoidable.
Descending the ladder, he jumped the last few feet to the dock, landing with a resonant thump on his well-worn sandals. Instantly, he was surrounded by soldiers. With an approving nod, one of the Gate Masters turned and gave a signal to someone in the brick tower. Flags flashed in the direction of the opposing headlands, where other flags responded.
How it was done Ehomba could not tell. The time gates that surmounted the headlands were too far away for him to discern the mechanisms involved. But the shimmering, coruscating blue haze that blocked the Eynharrowk abruptly vanished, though it remained in place everywhere else.
Aboard the Grömsketter shouts rang loudly. He could make out the brisk, lively syllables of Stanager’s commands and the deeper echoes of Terious and the other mates. Deliberately, the sleek ship pulled away from the dock and turned its bow once more toward the Narrows. Along the railing he could see an openly distraught Simna staring back at him. Behind the swordsman the hulking mass of hair that was Hunkapa Aub stood and waved slowly. He continued to follow them with his eyes until a hand shoved him roughly in the middle of his back.
“Move along, then. There are coaches waiting to take us back to the city.”
Turning away from the Grömsketter, receding rapidly now that it was edging back out into the main current, Ehomba began the long march to the end of the dock. Gate Masters paralleled him on both sides and were in turn flanked by their stalwart, alert soldiers.
“Maybe now you can tell me what this is all about?” he asked the green-clad official on his left. Like his sisters and brothers, the man’s hands were locked together in front of him.
“Certainly. We don’t act arbitrarily, you know. There is a reason for this. Your arrival was predicted by the Logicians. Taking their measurements from disturbances in the Aether and the flow of Time, they calculated the cognomen of your aura and its probable path. As you have seen, Hamacassar is a big place, where even a distinctive aura can hide. We almost missed you. That would have been tragic.”
Ehomba frowned, openly puzzled. “Why is that?”
The Gate Master looked up at him. “Because according to the Logicians’ predictions, if you were allowed to proceed on your chosen course unhindered, the flow of Time would have been substantially altered, and perhaps unfavorably.”
“Unfavorable to whom?” In the lexicon of the Naumkib, forthrightness invariably took precedent over tact. Ehomba was no exception.
“It does not matter. Not to you,” the official informed him importantly. “Having committed no crime, you are not a prisoner. You are a guest, until your friends return. Or if you prefer, you will be allowed to leave in one month’s time, once the Grömsketter is well out to sea and beyond reach.” The man smiled. His expression was, the herdsman decided, at least half genuine.
They were nearing the end of the dock. “What makes you so certain that if I was permitted to continue on my journey Time would react adversely?”
This time it was the woman on his right who replied. “The Logicians have declared it to be so. And the Logicians are never wrong.”
“Time may be a river,” Ehomba responded, “but logic is not. At least, not the logic that is discussed by the wise men and women of my village.”
“His ‘village.’” Two of the Gate Masters strolling in front of him exchanged a snickering laugh.
“This is not
a village, foreigner,” declared the man on the herdsman’s left meaningfully. “This is Hamacassar, whose Board of Logicians is comprised of the finest minds the city and its surrounding provinces can provide.”
Ehomba was not intimidated. “Even the finest minds are not infallible. Even the most reasonable and logical people can make mistakes.”
“Well, according to them, detaining you is not a mistake. Whereas letting you continue on most surely would be.”
The tall southerner glanced back down the dock. In the distance, the sturdy hull of the Grömsketter was passing through the Narrows, traveling swiftly westward as the current continued to increase its speed. Turning his attention to the red-brick administration buildings up ahead, he saw several antelope-drawn coaches lined up outside. More soldiers waited there, a mounted escort to convoy him and the Gate Masters back to the city.
“You know,” he murmured conversationally, “logic is a funny thing. It can be used to solve many problems, even to predict things that may happen in the future. But it is not so very good at explaining people: who they are, what they are about, why they do the things they do. Sometimes even masters of logic and reason can think too long and too hard about something, until the truth of it becomes lost in a labyrinth of conflicting possibilities.”
While the woman on his right pondered his words, the man on his left frowned. “What are you trying to say, foreigner?”
“That anyone, however clever they believe themselves to be, can think too much.” Whereupon he lurched heavily to his right, slamming his shoulder into the startled female official and sending her stumbling and crashing into the two soldiers marching close alongside her. In a confusion of weapons and words, all three went toppling together off the end of the dock to land in the shallow water below.
“Stop him! Don’t kill him, but stop him!” the senior Gate Master shouted.
With dozens of soldiers in pursuit, Ehomba ran inland. A lifetime of chasing down errant calves and stray lambs allowed him to outdistance all but the most active of his pursuers, not to mention the Gate Masters who trailed huffing and puffing in their wake. Neither group was in any especial hurry. There was nowhere for the herdsman to go. If he entered the water they would quickly chase him down in boats. The headland toward which he was running ended in a low bluff overlooking the river. All other directions were sealed off by the still active time gates, through which the flow of Time continued to ripple and shimmer.