Courtship Rite

20

THEIR BASE OF OPERATIONS had been shifted from inn to ship. Below deck Joesai quizzed his wife in depth with the skeptical thoroughness of a professional. Eiemeni, who was an expert in the Bnaen technique for cueing memory recall, helped him with questions. It did not seem probable that Teenae was right. Why should the Mnankrei risk burning a Stgal granary while they were negotiating to supply the Stgal with grain?

Teenae grew impatient. “You play the doubting fool when you could be sharpening your knife. We must warn the townspeople and lead an ambush. We’ll be heroes and make up for the stupid way you treated Oelita, the cruel way you treated your betrothed.”

“At the present moment we couldn’t get away with accusing the Mnankrei of washing their bums in sea water. Maybe next week.”

Teenae was calmer now. “I told you exactly how they are going to attack and when. That is what is important; not what people believe!”

“You told us that Arap told you,” said Eiemeni.

“You’re still angry and want sudden vengeance,” said Joesai.

“Of course, I want vengeance!” Teenae raged.

“Vengeance is a waiting game for one who can control his passion.”

Sensing a stone wall, the tiny woman changed tactics. “That’s why I have chosen you as my instrument!” She took his arm as if she needed his protection, grinning all the while. “I’m just an overemotional woman and would spoil everything.” She paused. “That’s why you have to look out for me,” she added petulantly.

“Ho!” he said, feeling her tease and trying to edge her back toward reason. “It is not logical for them to burn a granary now. It would make people suddenly forget how virtuous they are.”

“They could blame it on us,” she suggested wickedly.

Such a sobering thought prompted him to take her story seriously. He sent her away and four of his counselors analyzed the tale she had been told aboard the Mnankrei freighter. In the end they decided that it was probably the invention of a boy trying to impress a beautiful woman but to be on the safe side they had to assume it was true.

Joesai left a small crew in his ship and sneaked the rest of his men out onto the peninsula within striking distance of the granary. He deployed them efficiently. None of his watchers were in sight, but they could maintain patrols that kept the coast impenetrable. Any small waterborne vessel that might attempt to beach itself could be captured within a matter of heartbeats.

Scowlmoon, fixed in the sky, overlaid six times as much of heaven as did Getasun. At sunset it was darkly huge but as the night progressed and the crescent expanded from its evening sliver, the moon began to cast considerable illumination. On the moonless side of Geta a surprise maneuver under cover of night might have been possible — but not there. By halfmoon Joesai was ready to believe that it was already too bright for an attack. Either sea priest Tonpa had changed his mind or the boy was a mischievous liar.

Joesai glanced at the granary and for no particular reason was staring right at it when the orange roiling balls of flame erupted. The flames had soared to four man-heights before he heard the explosion. Firebombs! His first impulse was to run toward the fire — until the horror of their situation struck his imagination. The bombs had long been in place! Probably they had been set off by fireproof Kaiel clockwork.

He had been keel-hauled twice in one day!

There would be no Mnankrei about. But Joesai and his band were close to the fire and they would be blamed because there was no way to sneak back to the village without being seen. Thus it was an emergency. They were heartbeats away from their lynching!

“Ho!” He was rising as he yelled. “Avalanche formation! Run!” The piercing cry from his caller’s pipes echoed his order.

The only thing they had going for them in their dash was that, though they might meet angry people on their way, none of these people would know how to fight or attack. Such were the children of the Stgal. And so nothing stopped Joesai’s wedge until it reached a growing crowd on the stone wharf where their small ship had judiciously retired to a moat’s distance. The ugly crowd half retreated as the wedge appeared but one braver group penetrated the Kaiel ranks — and were quickly catapulted into the water. The crowd moved back while Joesai lunged to protect his wife.

“Teenae!”

But Teenae was already falling with two stab wounds, crumpling, then pitching forward crazily. Raging, Joesai and five men slashed the crowd back while simultaneously their ship docked, first inflowing two men bearing the dying Teenae, then the other Kaiel in exact formation, and finally the rear guard, bumping the quay only once before casting off. With one reach of his massive hand Joesai retrieved the knifeman from the sea by his hair, tossed him to a subordinate, and returned to Teenae.

Eiemeni was tending her on the deck.

“Back off, you meat-dresser. I’m the surgeon.” Joesai had had hours of meticulous practice on rejected babies of the creche before they were sent to the abattoir. “I need a cloth!”

One was produced instantly from some back. On Geta there was no need to sterilize for routine surgery. Sacred bodies killed profane bacteria just as sacred wheat killed the beetles who tried to eat it.

“I’m dying,” came a feeble voice.

“Yeah, yeah. The pieces need to be sewed together. How can you kill an o’Tghalie body?” he said gruffly. “They make them out of chromium-nickel-iron. God knows from where they get the gene combinations. They locate them with some kind of damn mathematical juggling. They don’t tell us how they do it. It’s a damn clan secret.”

“I’m weak.”

“That’s because you need a transfusion. As soon as I can plug Otaam into you, you’ll get it.”

“Dearest Joesai, even if you lose at kol every time you play, I’m glad… to have you around.”

“Shut up.”

Otaam, who had her blood type, was spliced into her. He did not move while she slept. Joesai stood guard until Scowlmoon was full and the eclipse came and passed. No ships attacked them. He promised himself that he would someday bring her those leather boots etched with the flying-storm-wave cicatrice of the Mnankrei. Silly, how he was willing to do anything for this strong-headed and rather foolish woman.