“Don’t grow one, then. Your hair’s enough longer you can braid it and put stuff in the braids. Feathers and ribbons. That’s Etershore doings, and it’d add ten years or so to the age you seem to be.”
“Sybbis knew me as one of her father’s gangers. We were all known by our scars and our tattoos, and during our one encounter, she identified me by mine. They removed both scars and the remnants of the tattoos in Tingawa, so that won’t help her. She’s never seen the wagon, but her consort, CummyNup, was told all about it by one of the locals, so she might suspect something even though it’s been repainted.”
He did not want his history in the area to complicate matters for him and Xulai. When he left Artemisia, years ago, he hadn’t known the waters were rising. No one in Artemisia had known. The only places aware of it were coastal areas and river basins, and not all of them had considered it to be a worldwide thing. The three great beings in the Place of Power had had a specific task— self-determined or imposed by something even more powerful. That had been to get rid of the cities and the walkers and to make sure no one brought back any of the ancient weapons stored up near the moon. Abasio shook his head. He hadn’t thought about any of this in ages! Now it was all flooding back: “The place. The terrible battle. The angels . . .” He did not realize he was speaking aloud.
“Angels!” whinnied Ragweed. “That’s who’s going to save that Burned Hat place! Didn’t they tell us, ‘Oh, the ocean isn’t coming, no, but it wouldn’t matter if it did because before anything happens to us, the skies will open and all the angels will come down to carry us away. Our prophet told us so!’ ” Ragweed yawned, rotated her head upon her neck, and said in her normal voice, “Made me wish the angels had carried them away before we got there.”
Abasio shook his head: the people of Burned Hat would not have been talking about the angels Abasio had met! Those beings had not been malign, but they had been divinely pragmatic. Few humans could manage that kind of pragmatism. They had done what they came to do. They had left him with one certainty: there were other intelligences in the universe besides humans and earthly animals.
He had to keep reminding himself of that. The terrible walkers were gone; the shuttle with his beloved Olly was . . . His mind shut down and he thrust that thought away. All that was past. The future was with him and Xulai and the babies and, he hoped, the people of Artemisia, who were very good people whose customs and pattern of life deserved to survive!
He patted Rags’s shoulder. “Xulai tells me not to fret over things. She says just to thank whatever Gods may be, there are several generations of recruitment left before total coverage, and every generation enormously increases sea-egg production.”
“That ‘we’ of people doing recruitment better not include me. Another trip like this, and I’m finished,” said Blue. “I am not a colt, Abasio.”
“It’s that water tank,” said Ragweed, fixing Abasio with a very penetrating stare. “It’s too heavy, Abasio. If there’s no way to get another team between here and any more mountains, you’ll have to figure something else out for keeping the children’s tails wet. I’m no more a filly than Blue is a colt. Willing we are, but it’s impossible.”
Abasio knew she was right. He had thought there might be need for a four-horse hitch; he had even obtained the extra set of harness in Woldsgard and stored it in a compartment under the wagon, thinking surely they could add a team somewhere on the way. Finding a team that anyone was willing to part with had thus far been impossible. They had actually been nearer horse country in Wellsport than they were now! They should have sent someone north to Valesgard to buy another team from the Free Knights who bred Prince Orez’s horses, but everyone had been in a fever to get started. They wanted to get moving, to get on with the job of saving the human race. Moving around would have been easier without the babies, but people would have been less likely to believe! It made recruitment so much easier if people could actually see what the second generation looked like. Most people thought they were cute. Of course, babies of many creatures were cute but became less so when full-grown—unfortunately. Perhaps an end to babyhood would relieve Xulai and him of the current task!
The door to the tailor’s shop closed with a snap and Xulai trudged toward him. He reached out to help her onto the seat. “The town is just down the hill,” she said. “Shouldn’t we see to getting Kim free of them?”
“I was just waiting for you.” He chirruped to Blue; the horses shifted, tugging the wagon slowly over the small crest. The moment the village came into view, the horses stopped, halted by a sudden clamor! A cacophony! Pots and pans, banging and clattering, people pouring out of the buildings onto the roadway, where they formed into a consolidated mob. Some had staves, a few brandished rusty-looking swords, there were even a couple of torches . . . Torches? Abasio and Xulai shared a look of consternation. Below them, their outrider, Kimbo-niro, tied hand and foot and somewhat bruised, was being held between two large men. Bertram had been right!
“Whoa,” breathed Blue.
“Yes,” agreed Abasio. “Certainly, whoa. I think wagon and horses go no farther than this.”
Xulai was already climbing down from the wagon seat. “I’ll go down on foot,” she said.
From inside the wagon came an enormous splash. Wailing followed.
Abasio smiled. “We can’t risk you. Blue, Rags, take the wagon back where it was and Xulai will unhitch you both. Bertram won’t mind our stopping over by the pool, he says the grass over there is good grazing. When Bertram told me he has a bathhouse out back of his shop, I could no longer think of any reason for camping any closer to that mob. I’ll just walk down and collect Kim.” Xulai’s hand came from her pocket, offering him ul xaolat.
He took it, put it in his own pocket, raised his other hand in salute, and ambled down the hill alone. The small mob before him shifted one way and another, muttering. He stopped a good twenty paces from them. He took his time, looking from face to face, not smiling, and taking on a stance he had copied from Xulai’s father and grandfather. It was one of absolute mastery in posture, gesture, or word. It had taken a good deal of practice before a mirror, but he was now capable of lifting one nostril. He could do only the right one, but doing so conveyed disdain. He conveyed it now. “Do I understand that you will not allow us to go through your town on the road?”
There was a hasty flurry around Kimbo, and he was pushed forward so violently that he fell. Abasio went forward, picked him up, noted the bruised face, pressed the ul xaolat to the ropes that bound him, and stood the young man on his feet. There was an exclamation from the crowd as the ropes vanished, knots and all.
“Where’s Socky, Kim?”
“Buncha horse thieves!”
“They say anything?”
“Said they’d heard we was turning people into monsters. They don’t want you anywhere near.”
Abasio murmured, “Go on up the hill to the wagon. Have Xulai tend to your face, and I’ll be along in a minute.”
Kim staggered up the hill. Abasio looked at the muttering crowd with his loftiest expression. “We did not plan to stop in your town; it is not on our list. We do not visit towns that are not on our list. We will simply go through on the road. If you are not thieves, you will bring me Kim’s horse. If you are thieves, the King of Ghastain has agreed to send fifty or a hundred armed men to deal with any problems we may have.”
More muttering. One red-faced challenger pushed himself forward. “You don’ wanna stop here!”
Abasio nodded firmly. “You are absolutely correct. We do not want to stop here!” Each word was firmly bitten off with an unmistakable sneer on the “here.”
This agreement seemed to puzzle the speaker. “Where ya goin?”
“To the Findem Pass, over the hills. I came from the plains beyond. We’re going back there to visit my people for a while.”
&nb
sp; “Not stoppin’ here?” The spokesman sounded put out.
Abasio said with utter boredom, “We were given a list of worthy villages to visit, and this place is definitely not on that list.”
More muttering. “Cata-pull-it!” “Whatzee sayin’?” A spokesman stood forth. “Whatchu call wor-thee?”
“We have a list of towns given us by the King of Ghastain and the High Lord of Tingawa: towns that are known to be well managed and useful, whose people are worthy of surviving. This place is called something like what? Grabslack? Graystink? So the tailor told me, and there is no such town on our list.”
“Cata-pull-it, all! Why i’nt it?”
Abasio yawned at some length, shaking his head before looking down his nose at the crowd once more. “How should I know? I don’t know and I don’t care. I didn’t make the list. We received it from the High Lord of Tingawa, I doubt you’ve heard of him, but you’ve heard of the King of Ghastain—he’s the one who sends the tax-hogs around to get your taxes every five years or so. They decided which places were worthy.”
“Where’zat Tinky-wah?”
“Across the western sea.”
More muttering. More explosive “cata-pull-its.” Evidently a local expletive.
“We heerd you got monsters.”
Abasio yawned. “We have no monsters. We have Kim and Kim’s horse, two wagon horses and a wagon. We have my wife and our two babies, who are sea-children but most certainly not monsters. The tailor thinks they are charming. If you are not thieves, you will bring me Kim’s horse so we can plot a way around Greepslunk and leave you in peace. If you attempt to keep Kim’s horse, it will be very bad for you.”
More muttering, from which a childish voice soared: “But I wanna see the monsers!”
Abasio sighed and began to turn. “You are a town of thieves. Very well, we will simply go around you. The men sent by the King of Ghastain will arrive before winter. They’ll take twelve of your men hostage. Meantime, one of you will disappear each day until we get the horse back, so you can start choosing which ones you’re willing to get rid of. I will remark that we do have weapons, so please do not attempt to treat us as you treated our guide.”
A male voice shouted from the crowd. “Yer guide was askin’ us to give ya place to camp. Yer guide said you was stayin’ here.”
Abasio snarled: “Our guide said . . . nothing . . . of . . . the . . . kind! He probably asked if we could have your permission to camp. We camp only in places where we are welcome. All you had to do was say no. Instead, you have made it clear you are thieves and slavers. All roads belong to the king! Since you are blocking the king’s road, the king’s soldiers will come to remove you and your village, as you are an impediment to honest travel. The king will slaughter your livestock to feed his soldiers and use you as laborers to build roads up on the highlands. Once your village has been removed, there will be no reason for anyone not to use the king’s road. I bid you good afternoon.” And he strode away up the hill.
He heard the shocked mutters behind him. “Ree-moved?” “Who’n hell started this grabbin’ people?” “Ree-moved?” “Dradblum you, Lorp!” “Where’s ’s ’orse?”
He got about a third of the way before feet pounded after him. He turned.
“Mister, mister. C’n I see the monsers?” He was skinny, brown, dirty, tousle-headed, big-eyed, and about ten years old. Maybe a little older than that, around the eyes.
Abasio shrugged and continued walking, paying no attention to the voice from the crowd. “Willum, you, Willum, you git yurself back ’ere.”
Abasio trudged. Willum kept up, showing no sign of having heard himself summoned. “Mister, what’s yer name?”
“Abasio.” The boy had evidently inherited his much-mended trousers from an older, shorter, wider brother or cousin. The faded cloth was gathered around his waist and failed to reach his ankles by a handbreadth.
“Mr. Baso, what’s sea-children?”
“My children. One boy. One girl. They can swim like fish. They can live in the water. When the waters cover the earth, they will be able to live in that water.”
“How soon’s that gonna happen?” The boy’s eyes were luminous with wonder, deeply brown as a peat pool, fringed with lashes Xulai herself would envy.
“In about two hundred years.”
“Oh.” Trudge, trudge, bare feet scuffing more dirt onto his feet and legs. “Thassa long time. How come you got sea-chil’ren now?”
“Because it takes twenty years for a sea-child to grow up and have children of its own. And it takes a long time to find all the people on Earth who are worthy of having sea-children. And if we wait until the last minute, it will be too late. By starting well in advance, by the time the waters rise over the whole world, we’ll all have children that can live in them. All but places like this, of course. Your people wouldn’t want to. They don’t care if their children all drown, and if they don’t care, we certainly don’t care.”
Trudge, trudge. The eyes had gone even wider, the mouth suddenly set in wounded disgruntlement. “But I’m their chil’ren! One of ’em! I don’ wanna drown!”
“Yes. Well, when you get a bit older, you can travel to one of the towns on my list and maybe they’ll let you become one of the sea-people.” Which would take care of the dirt. Perhaps the child attracted it, as metal attracts a magnet. He came to himself with shocking awareness: the child was no dirtier than he himself was! Bertram had offered his own bathhouse, behind the shop. Oh, yes! With a stove to heat water! That was something to be done today! Before sundown!
When they reached the wagon, Abasio introduced Willum, who went in to meet Bailai and Gailai. He knelt beside the tank, saying, “Wow. Wow. Wow. Wadda they eat?” Surprisingly, for the babies often reacted adversely to strangers, each of them had grabbed one of the boy’s hands and tested it to decide if it was edible.
“Their mother is still nursing them,” said Abasio. “You’ve seen mothers nurse their babies?”
“Thought so,” said Willum. “They suck fingers like the baby goats do. D’ya haffa climb inna water ta feedum?” Willum asked Xulai.
“No,” said Xulai crisply. “They can stay out of the water for a while. They just can’t stay forever, because the skin on their tails dries out and cracks . . .”
Abasio left the boy to amuse the babies, went back outside, and stood looking down on the crowd. It had not dispersed. While Willum was probably an excellent ambassador, it was probably best that he return home before some new cause of hostility occurred. “Willum,” he called. “Come on. Go back down to your mom. Tell the people they’re welcome to come visit, no more than six at a time. Okay?”
The boy backed out of the wagon, face alight, and raced down the hill, waving his arms and yelling. “Hey, Ma, Ma, they’re babies, not monsers! Ma!”
“I told them they weren’t on our approved list,” said Abasio. “I said we have an approved list prepared by the King of Ghastain and the High Lord of Tingawa, and they’re not on it. I told them the king would see that their village is removed, they will be taken into slavery, and I think we will find they have changed their minds.”
“Then you’d better get another team,” said Blue in his seldom-used, ponderously put-upon voice. “I don’t think we can manage cross-country. Not that the roads are that much better.”
“Excuse me,” said a mild voice.
They turned to see Bertram standing on his shop stoop. “I’m afraid I overheard some of that. Is it . . . are the horses talking? Ah. Interesting. I have always thought horses and dogs had the intelligence to talk. Not only they, of course. Also goats and pigs, I’m sure. Has someone recently given them the right vocal apparatus?”
“Yes,” said Xulai, surprised. “Someone has indeed. My people in Tingawa invented the process. Prior to the Sea King’s War, some expe
rimentation was done on this side of the ocean as well. In parts of the lands west of the mountains, there are probably still a good many talking animals. Abasio’s horse no doubt descended from that group.”
Abasio did not comment, though he thought Blue had not descended from any such group. The three great ones that had destroyed the Place of Power had given Blue a voice in order that the horse could keep Abasio from dying of loneliness. Or maybe . . . Olly had asked them to. Which had been very nice of them, in a way. Blue had been annoying him—though companionably—ever since.
Xulai went on: “Dogs and horses are now being adapted to underwater living as well. Sea dogs, sea horses.”
The tailor beamed. “Remarkable! Quite. However, my intention was to say that I understand the problem the horses are having with the wagon. Water is remarkably heavy, isn’t it! Perhaps I can help by making the children some wet suits.”
Abasio and Xulai stared at each other. “Wet suits?” said Abasio. “I don’t understand.”
“You were mentioning a tank? Wool holds water very well. If I make some trousers out of lambskin—with the layer of soft wool on the inside and something to prevent evaporation on the outside—they should be able to travel without a tank. And then, for nightwear, a similar garment closed at the bottom, like a sack? Fastened around the waist? It should take far less water than a tank. I should imagine a quart or so would keep them nicely damp all night while leaving their bed dry. Which, I presume, you prefer.”
Kim, who was nursing his bruised face at the side of the road, said, “Try it, ’Basio! We’re not gonna find another team anywhere close, and Blue’s right. They can’t haul the wagon up the pass with all that water in it.”
While Xulai quieted the children, Kim and Abasio accompanied the tailor into his shop. “That’s a good idea you had,” said Abasio to the tailor. “How did you come up with it?”
“A very old book. I was reading it just the other night. It spoke of wet suits. Something that divers wore. If I read it correctly, it was to prevent their being chilled in deep water. There were pictures of people wearing them. The outsides looked very much like the surface of your children’s . . . tails, legs, they must serve both functions, no? There were no detailed illustrations showing the construction of such devices, so I don’t know what they were made of.” He fetched the book from the back of the place and showed them the picture. The surface of the suits did look like the children’s tails: shiny, slick, dark.