Icerigger - Mission To Moulokin Part 18

"Because you're afraid to?" challenged a voice from up in the rigging. A mate shushed the sailor.

Mirmib had the control as well as the diction of a diplomat. He did not grow angry, as he would have been justified in doing. "We do not travel because we find in the stories travelers tell to us all we wish to know of far regions. As none we are told of sound superior to fair Moulokin, we see no reason to leave it. Better to remain and let others perform the arduous task of travel for us."

His gaze focused on Ethan. "As travelers from a place so far distant I cannot comprehend it, you must have still more exciting tales to tell us." Ethan started to reply, but Mirmib raised a paw to forestall him.

"Before that can be done, before we can greet you freely as guests and friends, that simple way of life I have described to you must be insured against violent disruption. So that the second gate may be opened to admit you to our home, to my home, I would ask that you pile your weapons here before me where they can be collected and stored safe for you by the gate patrol, to await your departure."

He added a few additional words, but they were drowned out by the angry and uncertain outcry this request produced among the sailors who had gathered about.

XII.

Balavere Longax finally stepped forward. His pres-ence quieted the crew. "From where I was raised and have lived a long life, no Tran will enter yea even the home of a neighbor without retaining at least a knife."

"You must be mistrustful of your neighbors." Mirmib sounded unperturbed, but did not modify or drop his demand.

"Suppose," Hunnar ventured pragmatically, "we refuse?"

Mirmib made the equivalent of a shrug. "I will be saddened by what might happen. You are trapped here between walls even this wonderful vessel cannot break. In seconds I, or others if I am unable, can call on large numbers of waiting soldiers to rally against you. You may still be able to escape, though I think not. In any case, many would die, of mine and yours. I would rather not speak of such unpleasantness. As Guardian of the Gate, I give my warmth in promise: none of you will be harmed and you will be welcome as proven friends."

He turned to near-pleading. "Surely this custom seems strange to you. Tis a requirement for strangers we insist upon. On subsequent visits to Moulokin such will be not required. You are an unknown and judging by this ship, powerful factor. My people are insular and suspicious. This request has preserved us in the past when prevaricating, jealous visitors would have pillaged us. Please, I implore you, execute this gesture of good will! We wish your friendship, not your blood."

Hunnar seemed ready to reply. Ethan hastily put a restraining hand on the knight's arm, felt the tenseness beneath the fur. "It's time for us to take a chance, Hunnar. If they really wanted a fight, why send a single unarmed representative to advise us of their intentions? That's poor salesmanship. They could have attacked as soon as we pa.s.sed through the first gate."

"Why attack if they can win the _Slanderscree_ without a fight?" the knight protested. "This thing is un-heard of. To enter a strange city is difficult enough, but to do so without weapons is to invite justified mur-der of all of us, fair retribution for such stupidity." He growled at the human. "No, it is not a thing to be considered!"

Ethan spoke anxiously. "Hunnar, this whole long trip we've taken together, from Sofold to Arsudun to here, was not to be considered either. Yet we've done it. The idea of a confederation of Tran city-states was not to be considered, and here we are trying to imple-ment _that_. Each day you, Balavere and the rest of the crew do things none of your people imagined doing.

"Now is the time for boldness and risk-taking, not for reverting to primitive superst.i.tions and dying cus-toms." He paused, aware that Balavere, Elfa, and the rest of the a.s.semblage were watching him steadily, some without affection. He kept his poise, and kept his eyes on Hunnar's.

Mirmib spoke into the ensuing silence. "I under-stand not all of what you refer to, offworlder, but your position I can naught but concur with. I believe strongly that we will be friends."

"Spoken firm if not well." Hunnar shook Ethan's clinging hand off, turned to glare at Mirmib. "Be this an excuse for treachery, know that my companions and I have walked into h.e.l.l itself and have returned after spitting at the inside of the world. Even unarmed, we would not go like k'nith to the slaughter."

"You talk too much of slaughter." Mirmib looked sad. "Having much to protect, we of Moulokin are no strangers to killing. But we are less fond of it than outsiders seem to be."

"Where do you want them?"

Mirmib looked across at Elfa. She had her own sword out, ready to turn it over. The diplomat's voice turned deferential.

"Here will be sufficient, n.o.ble lady." He indicated the section of deck in front of him.

Sailors and knights trooped by, dropping off bows, crossbows, swords, axes, weapons of every kind. Tahoding invited Mirmib to inspect cabins and belowdecks storage holds for additional weapons.

The Moulokinese declined politely, accepting Hunnar's word that the entire armory of the crew was being deposited at his feet.

Ethan reflected that while Polos insisted he belonged to a simple working people, they were more than sophisticated enough to have evolved an inflexi-ble, efficient procedure for dealing with potentially bellicose strangers. He didn't doubt the diplomat's claim that his people were no strangers to killing.

Mirmib had likely overseen this turning in of weapons many times in the past.

As steel and bone rattled unmelodiously on the ever-mounting heap, Hunnar moved to stand next to Ethan and whisper. "Your proposed confederation and your own life may end with your blood steaming on the streets of this city, Sir Ethan."

"Even in my business, you eventually reach a point where you have to trust someone, Hunnar."

"You speak highly of trust, Sir Ethan," Hunnar said wryly, "yet I notice that neither you nor your compan-ions have stepped forward to place your weapons of light on the pile before us."

"As long as this fellow doesn't recognize them as weapons, there's no need to overextend ourselves where we don't have to." Ethan's rationalization sounded unwieldy as he muttered it. "In my business, it's also a good idea to have an ace in the hole."

"Would that we had a hundred such aces," Hunnar agreed, expanding on the a.n.a.logy without understand-ing it. " Tis interesting to note that you do not regard trust as an absolute, but as a term with definitions which vary according to the situation."

"I didn't mean-" Ethan started to argue. But Hunnar, trying hard to conceal his evident pleasure at this revelation of human morality, walked away before the salesman could reply.

Polos Mirmib studied the imposing heap of weapons as the last sword was laid atop the metal and bone pile. Edges and points gleamed in the dim canyon light.

"For those who profess to offer naught but friend-ship, you travel well-armed."

Elfa offered a candid response. "We also have much to kill for."

"Well put, my lady." Mirmib executed a light ges-ture of modest admiration.

"What now?" September's impatience made him sound nervous, which he wasn't. "We just push the lot over the side? Or do you have somebody waitin' to come pick them up and tag them for us?"

"Neither." Mirmib showed the giant his widest nontooth smile. "Your willingness to so comply with a custom of gravest imposition is sufficient proof of your good faith and, I hope, true intentions." He gestured idly at the armory. "You may repossess your weaponry. Your actions have told us what we wished to know." While those of the crew standing around stared stupefied at the diplomat, he turned and walked to the railing. A mild gust of Tran-ky-ky's unceasing, arctic winds made him stumble and Ethan reflected again on the other's fragility. Like many sentients of great character, Mirmib wore his steel and iron inside.

He shouted to the two Tran waiting on the tiny raft alongside. Ethan caught only isolated sc.r.a.ps of sentences. The accent used here was thick and slippery.

One of the Tran blew several indelicate notes on a horn. This mournful baying was answered by a jubi-lant blare from a horn on the first wall. Another horn sounding from the second wall, up ahead, was followed by several more, until the canyon reverber-ated like a thranx concert at mating jubileejee.

When the final mellow flat had retreated into crev-ices too small to return it with audible force, Ethan was able to make out cheers from the Moulokinese soldiers lining the ma.s.sive walls ahead and behind.

The small raft moved away from the _Slanderscree's_ shadow to a.s.sume a waiting position near her bow.

"Where is your captain?" Mirmib asked. Sliding his own sword back into its sheath, Hunnar used his free hand to point to the high helm deck. Tahoding stood staring curiously down at them. "I will join him, to aid in directing you to our city."

Ethan joined several others in following Hunnar and Mirmib up to the wheel. While Tahoding received instructions and conferred with Mirmib, Hunnar drew Ethan aside.

"See, the cables barring the gates fore and aft have been taken in. We could break the gate behind us and escape."

Ethan eyed his ma.s.sive, hirsute friend. "Is that what you wish to do?"

"I do not. You accuse with your questioning, friend Ethan." It was Hunnar's turn to walk away for a dif-ferent reason.

Tahoding had the necessary sails reset. Slowly the icerigger moved toward the second gate, swinging delicately through the tight bend in the canyon. As they squeaked through the gate, the soldiers on the walls studied the ship and its occupants intently. Unlike the _Slanderscree's_ pa.s.sage through the first gate, however, the watching warriors jostled one another and chat-tered freely among themselves. Their weapons hung easily from paws or lay forgotten against walls and rocks. A few even exchanged hesitant questions with members of the icerigger's crew.

The canyon grew no shallower as they followed Mirmib's raft up the ice. Sheer basalt walls towered steadily higher above them. Before long the canyon wound around to the east and started inland again.

The walls hemming them in seemed to lower slightly, and breaks where a man might climb upward began to appear in the hitherto vertical cliffs.

Now that they were facing the interior of the pla-teau once more, Ethan could see over the bow the dense clouds they'd found so intriguing from out on the ice ocean. They continued to hover persistently in one place, succ.u.mbing to the dispersing effect of the wind only with reluctance. Their initial familiarity now came home to him.

Similar clouds clung possessively to the plutonic highlands of Sofold, Hunnar and Elfa's home island.

That puissant grayness was a great upwelling of steam, not smoke. Issuing forcefully from volcanic fissures and vents, it would renew itself as fast as it could be blown away. That explained the illusion of the 'hovering' clouds.

Volcanic heat provided the base for Sofold's foundry and much of its wealth. So in addition to a reputation for fine shipbuilding and an impregnable canyon locale, Moulokin also enjoyed this additional important resource.

He moved to stand next to the diplomat Mirmib. " 'Tis true there are foundries up there," the emaciated Tran admitted, "but they are neither owned nor oper-ated by us." In response to Ethan's look of surprise and consternation, he explained, "We have an agreement with the people who operate the foundries."

"They're not Moulokinese?"

"No." And he formed a peculiar expression Ethan could not interpret.

He intended to pursue the question, except the _Slanderscree_ abruptly turned hard to starboard.

They were proceeding up a side canyon. Sailors fought with spars and sails, but for a new reason. Now that the icerigger was traveling southward and no longer head-ing inland, the wind from the plateau all but vanished as soon as the ship had fully entered the branch canyon.

The wind faded to a gentle, almost earthlike breeze. Tentatively Ethan cracked the mask of his survival suit, hastily shut it again. There was no paradise ahead. The wind might have died, but if it was warmer than minus fifteen outside his protective clothing, the outraged cells on his face had lied to him.

Moulokin would be no Trannish Shangrila.

The canyon took several twists and turns. Ten min-utes later it opened into a vast natural amphitheater. The dark cliffs arced out to east and west before curv-ing smoothly southward again. They were moving across a cliff-walled bowl at least a dozen times wider than the mouth of the canyon.

Ahead lay Moulokin, looking very real.

At the southern end of the canyon the cliffs had crumbled and eroded away, mounting upward in un-certain stages, forming levels. Much of the city was constructed on these levels, giving Moulokin a terraced look.

Several thousand roofs shone in the sun. Icepaths were rilled with black specks like splinters of chocolate which darted up and down the white streets. Far back from the harbor's edge, built into the topmost level with a thirty-meter-high wall of sheer rock behind it, was a substantial-looking fortress.

There was ample room now for the _Slanderscree_ to maneuver. The magnificent ice harbor could easily have contained as many ships as that of Wannome. To the west, docks marched like brown worms out onto the ice. Ice ca.n.a.ls and strange buildings dominated the far western edge of the harbor, running up to the cliffs themselves.

"Our shipyards," Mirmib explained with a touch of pride in his voice.

"I'm beginnin' to understand why this place's never been taken," September rumbled. "A few could hold those two walls we pa.s.sed against an army. No way up the plateau from outside to outflank 'em.

And the way that wind blows down the canyon, any attacking rafts would have the devil of a time trying to tack upcanyon against them while carryin' on a runnin' fight."

As the icerigger edged toward a long, deserted dock under the joint direction of Mirmib and Tahoding, Ethan's attention traveled to the southeast. Between the city and the western canyon wall, the cliffs gave way to a gradually rising subcanyon filled with the densest growth of coniferous-type trees they'd yet encountered on this world. No doubt they matured to such heights here because of the protection the can-yon provided from the steady eroding winds that scoured the rest of Tran-ky-ky.

Seedlings here could add height and breadth without being torn loose by hurricane-force winds, and seeds might find acc.u.mu-lated soil in which to take root, while larger trees would not have the earth ripped away from their sur-face roots. In that immensely valuable stand of mature timber lay Moulokin's greatest source of wealth.

As they maneuvered into the dock, Ethan saw Mirmib temporarily free and asked him again about the operators of the distant, steam-shrouded foundries.

The diplomat appeared uncomfortable, tried to di-vert Ethan's attention to the neat storehouses and homes cut into the cliffs forming the harbor.

"Is there some reason why you can't tell me?"

"None written. They guard their privacy and-" Mirmib stopped, his expression changing to one of reverence. You are friends: there is no reason I can think why you should not know of the Saia."

"The Saia?"

"People of the Golden Saia, offspring of the fires they tend. They know of things ordinary people do not. Ordinary people they are not."

"You worship them, consider them G.o.ds?" Ethan pressed. If he'd hoped to get a revealing reaction from Mirmib, he failed.

"I did not say either of those things. No, they are not G.o.ds. They are simply different. To know them is to respect them. This is a tradition as old as Moulokin. We pride ourselves on our independence." For the briefest instant, Ethan detected a hint of the rabid tribalism of which all Tran seemed to be guilty.

"But we keep the bargains they set."

"Out of fear? Why not just take the foundries from them? Or at least strike your own bargains."

"It is not a question of fear, my friend. You know naught of the Golden Saia. We fear them not, but we respect them mightily. And we would gain nothing even could we wrest the foundries from them, for we could not run the mines and smelters as well as they do, nor fashion such intricate metal parts for our homes and rafts.

"Where they live and play, it would be death for one of us to work. Tis difficult enough but to go briefly to trade with them."

"It's warmer where they live, then?"

"It is not to be believed," said Mirmib solemnly. Of course, what was unbearably hot to a Tran might be wonderfully comfortable for a human or thranx.

But if that was the case, then what were the people of the Golden Saia?

"There are plants and creatures living among the Saia which would interest a curious traveler, did he not die of the heat while examining them. They grow nowhere else that we have heard."

"What kind of plants?" Ethan and Mirmib looked to their left. Milliken Williams stood there, the dimin-utive teacher reluctant to interrupt but finally too in-trigued to forgo a question or two.

"I will not describe them to you. I cannot describe them to you. They are pieces of dream." Mirmib looked thoughtful. "I have been to the head of the main canyon but twice in my life, and have no desire to go again. When I finished conversing with them, though they met our party on the very outskirts of their lands and the region of fire, I was so exhausted and weakened that I lay unconscious for two days each time before my body had recovered."

"Dehydration," murmured Williams.

"And now, if you mind it not overmuch, I would rather talk no longer on them." He indicated a group of staring Tran making their way toward the ship via the dock icepath. "There are matters of official greet-ing to be taken care of. My presence is required."

Mirmib left them to join Tahoding, Hunnar, Elfa and September. While Moulokinese protocol was con-ducted in the universal fashion of such matters-which is to say, with teeth-clenching slowness-Williams and Ethan spent a few relaxed moments watching two cubs as they chivaned dangerously but gleefully in and out among the runners of the busy icerafts in the har-bor, ignoring imprecations hurled in their direction by disapproving adults and tired sailors.

There were few such vessels to play among. As the legends had insisted, Moulokin was a center for build-ing and manufacture, not commerce. Trade here was in intense bursts rather than a steady flow.

Williams slowly raised his face mask, letting his skin grow accustomed to the near-windless cold. In the absence of the usually omnipresent blinding icewhiteness, he also popped out his protoid optical con-tacts and exchanged the high-glare configuration he normally wore for regular implants from a small black case. He had to wear the implants anyway, and they saved him the necessity of bothering with the regular goggles that the others wore beneath their suit masks.

A few lost snowflakes touched lightly on his dusky skin. "Ethan, what does this canyon remind you of?"

Carefully Ethan examined the surrounding harbor. Moulokin lay ahead, the canyon opening behind them. To either side, the locals who dwelt in the caves chivaned down icepaths cut into the lower cliff sides with breathtaking disregard for the precipitous drops lining each path. Blue sky overhead and thick wool-gray clouds toward the interior completed the scene. None provided an answer to the teacher's question- except perhaps the terraced topography of the city itself.

"I'd guess it reminds me of some old river canyons I've seen, where the water level had dropped drastically."