Up Jim River

JHALA (DRUT)

In all her years knocking about the Periphery, Captain Maggie Barnes of the trade ship Blankets and Beads had encountered a great many irritations and not a few outrages. Experience had taught her that most could be dealt with by patience. To invest much worry was pointless, because the return on that investment was usually more worries. Other problems were like fungus. If you didn’t sanitize right away, they just grew worse. Or “wusser ‘n’ wusser,” as they used to say when she had been growing up on Megranome.

But what to make of this which Pepper had dumped into her now, alas, more ample lap?

She had been in her dayroom reviewing manifests with her First Officer when Mart Pepper brought in a bit of supercargo who claimed the authority to commandeer her ship. She studied the passenger’s bona fides, and turned to First Officer ad-Din. “It seems to be a legitimate Kennel chit, D.Z.”

The First Officer’s full name was Dalapathi Zitharthan ad-Din, but to the joy of his shipmates, he would answer to his initials. He tugged at his beard. “Bumboat drops back to the Gat in a half-hora,” he said thoughtfully. “Plenty of empty space on it for unwanted passengers. Otherwise…Our first stop is Ākramaņapīchē. Folks marooned there don’t usually find their way back to the League.”

Barnes studied the chit more thoroughly. Its glow had died, of course, when she had taken it in hand; but it had been glowing. She had never heard of a Kennel chit being successfully counterfeited, but that did not mean it could not be done.

“This only means yuh have an unlimited expense account,” she told her guest. “It means yuh can afford my ship. Don’t mean yuh can have it.” She handed the chit back and noted how it resumed its glow. Tag-alongs glowed when you were in the corridors that activated them. There was no way for them to recognize who held them. That bit of Kennel craft was closely guarded indeed.

Reluctantly, she concluded that this Donovan was exactly what he pretended to be: a “special agent” of the Kennel. The next question was what real authority a “special agent” might possess. “We’ll gladly afford yuh passage to Enjrun. We was plannin’ to stop there, anyways.”

“We know,” Donovan replied. “We checked with your owners at Chandler House before the bumboat rose.”

We?

“The owners would have been asleep at that hour,” D.Z. pointed out.

“We woke them.”

“That why the bumboat was late?” Barnes was impressed with the throw-weight this indicated, but she did not let it show in her face. It might only show that people wakened in the middle of the night could be buffaloed more easily.

Donovan handed over a hard document and a brain. “It is also why we have a charter.”

The paper declared “to all and sundry” that Gospender and Recket Trading Company of Gaznogav-Gatmander, had accepted charter of their trade ship, Blankets and Beads, to the Kennel of the High King, to be used as directed by Donovan buigh, their agent, or by Lucia Thompson, d.b.a., Méarana of Dangchao.

Barnes handed the brain to D.Z., who ran it throught the sanitizer before inserting it in the reader. She held the hard up to the light. That was the G&R watermark, all right, and she recognized Kimmy Gospender’s chop. She doubted that the brain would prove a forgery, either because it was not a forgery, or because it was a very good one. She handed the hard over to her First. “Verify this with Kimmy—voice-and-vision—before we hit the roads.”

“Damn it, Barnsey, I’ve got a bundle tied up in trade goods for Ākramaņapīchē and for Zhenghou Shuai, too! All on hire-purchase.”

“Argue with the owners, D.Z. Seems they done sold us out.” She folded her hands into a ball on her desktop. “And yuh ought to be aware, Donovan, that all my officers got money at risk on this here voyage. Legally, yuh can do what yuh want; but I thought yuh’d like to know.”

Meaning that, illegally, who knew what could happen? Donovan smiled engagingly, and Barnes thought for a moment that there was something very familiar about that smile. “We appreciate that, Captain; and were this not of the greatest importance to the League, we would have delayed the charter until we found a ship free. But we can sweeten the pot two ways. The first is that after you drop us on Enjrun you can finish your deals at Ōram and Zhenghou Shuai, and then come back and pick us up. Our business should be done by then. If not, we’ll dicker a little more. The Kennel can afford bonuses. Then you can do the rest of your trades—Kaņţu, Ākramaņapīchē, and the rest—on the trip back. So all you lose is a little time backtracking to Enjrun.”

“How d’ye know we won’t maroon you on Enjrun?” asked D.Z. “She isn’t the most pleasant world to be stuck on.” Barnes shot him an irritated look. She did not want to aggravate the situation.

“Oh, that’s simple enough,” Donovan said. “I took out an insurance policy. Copies of the charter went to Greystroke-Hound and his Pup, and to Zorba de la Susa on High Tara. All three of them have a very deep personal interest in this assignment.”

Barnes had started to say that she had never heard of this Greystroke, but stopped herself. De la Susa, she had heard of. “I thought Old Hound was retired.”

“He’ll come out of retirement just for this. It involves his goddaughter. We guarantee that Greystroke and Rinty will be waiting on Gatmander when Blankets and Beads returns and while they might not weep if we’re not aboard, they will very much want to know where Méarana of Dangchao is. Captain Barnes, we are not your enemy. A Confederate agent is on the same trail, and no one will be happy if he reaches the end of it before we do.”

“What’s the second sweetener?” Barnes asked. “I hope it’s sweeter than the threats.”

Donovan spread his hands. “We can hook you up with a consortium on Dancing Vrouw that’s interested in some of the goods you buy on Enjrun.”

Barnes cocked an eyebrow. A handshake with a Hansard Trading House was worth a great deal indeed. “What’s the arrangement?”

“We have one end of a 60:40 for all the parking stone jewelry you can get. You help us, we give you half of our end.”

Barnes pursed her lips and locked eyes with her Number One, who tipped his head ever so slightly to the right. “Half of the forty?” she asked.

“Half of the sixty.”

Both she and D.Z. relaxed. Assuming Donovan spoke sooth, anyone who could wangle the long side of a Hanseatic deal was a man of considerable wangle indeed, and one worth dealing with.

But she could not shake the notion that she had once known this man, and that the knowing had not been a happy occasion.

Billy Chins was quite satisfied with how matters had fallen out. The mind-crippled Donovan had been discarded, leaving only the dimwitted Wild-man. Now he need only follow the harper, and glory and renown would be his—and perhaps power, as well, if he understood properly the hints thrown his way. It was not quite clear what the harper and the scarred man thought they had found, perhaps not even to them. Whatever it was, it had killed a Hound and that was something very puissant indeed. Fire from the sky could mean a great many things, and none of them sounded harmless.

But for now he remained a servant and “Spud” deViis, the ship’s steward, wanted to see him. It was not so bad to wait upon the harper, whom he had grown rather to like, but atangku could be an irritation. He followed his tag-along down corridors and through apses and bubbles and along a tube into Dome Five until he found the door placarded victualling and pressed the hoígh plate. The door slid open and…

…he stepped inside to find a bare room. He hesitated just the barest fraction. Had he come to the wrong place somehow? And in that fraction the door slid shut behind him.

Trapped! By whom? It was too subtle for the oaf Teodorq; too treacherous for the harper. He backed into a corner, drew his stiletto and waited, ready.

A door opened on the far side of the room, and through it stepped Donovan.

Billy flung his knife, but Donovan stepped aside and snatched it handle-first out of the air. He looked at it and smiled at Billy, and Billy did not like the smile. “You ought to be more careful, boy,” he said.

Billy fell to his knees. “Oh, sahb! Sahb! Billy fear such-much! Door close, and I think budmash trap for Billy. I think: does agent who follow behind us—catch up now long time? But master only make surprise poor Billy. Such joy to see sahb! O such-much sorrow, if knife find heart of master!”

Donovan shook his head. “I didn’t mean careful with the knife. I meant careful with your syntax.”

“Syntax, sahb?”

“In the hotel on Dancing Vrouw. You said ‘out to the Rift,’ and no Leaguesman would ever say that. We say ‘into the Rift.’ Only a Confederate thinks ‘out’ when he thinks of the Rift. For a long time, we couldn’t put the pieces together; but…Was drugging us your idea? We have you to thank, then.”

Billy began to sweat. This was a Donovan he had never seen before. “No, sahb! You wrong him, Billy. Billy Chins your khitmutgar!”

“Yes, that was slick, the way you arranged that. We don’t know if we would have seen through it even if we had been whole at the time.”

“No see-through! You protect Billy from’ Loonies! You ask me come with!”

“Clever, like I said. But I think that mob was bought and the whole thing staged. Art thou evenso a Terry?”

The last he had asked in the Tongue. Billy sighed and gave it up. “As thou sayest.”

Donovan grunted. “So. Many of the Folk wear the collar of our oppressor. The next question is: what are we to do with you? Did you kill that woman on Harpaloon?” He turned the knife casually in his hand.

“No. That was my shadow.”

“Ah.”

“Thou knowest the shadows. The Names send us out in pairs, with the second to act if the first fails. The second agent hath always the higher loyalty quotient.”

“Trust is not among Their many qualities,” Donovan said. “Yes, we know the system. We once had dealings with a second.”

“Ravn Olafsdottr.”

“Yes. Knowest thou her?”

“By reputation only. May I rise, O best one?”

Donovan gestured with the knife, and Billy struggled to his feet, in the course of which Donovan produced a dazer in place of the knife. “Now, explain thyself, worthless one. Much dependeth upon thine answers.”

Billy bowed slightly. “I was sent to question the woman at the park. She was what we call a myan zhan shibang—a sleep-agent…”

“We know Confederal Manjrin,” Donovan interrupted in that language before reverting to the Tongue. “Speak more quickly, that thy life be thereby prolonged.”

Billy bowed again. “I found her much alarmed over the harper’s visit. She desired instruction. I allayed her fears, and set out to learn what the visit portended. Easily did I find the Hound’s daughter and, Lo! She led me unto thee. I thought that thou hadst…overcome thine infirmity. But my shadow took offense that the jawharry had held a Hound’s package without reporting.”

“Fool! She knew it not.”

Billy shrugged. “Now my shadow hunts me, also, for I did nothing to punish her. For this reason did I attach myself to you, and in your protection flee my station on Harpaloon. Listen, and I will tell thee something. There is a struggle in the Lion’s Mouth.’ the lamp that was lit has flared again.’ Agent hunts agent.’ the names that were not forgotten have been remembered.’”

“What is that to us, but an occasion to cheer each side in turn?”

“The woman at the park had sympathy for that remembrance. So hath I. My shadow does not. Should he find thee, he will kill thee.”

“He will try.” Donovan held the knife in throwing position. “As you damn near did.”

Billy closed his eyes and let out his breath. He sensed that he would live the day. “I feared a trap, and threw without thought. Who else knows of me?”

Donovan laughed. “Am I a fool? They all know. Captain Barnes. The whole crew. I told them before I arranged this meeting.”

“What then is to be our resolution?”

“Doest thou truly reject Those of Name?”

“I do.”

“And all Those works?”

“I do. I have trawled the League for others of like sympathy, dispatching them back to the Confederation, there to aide in Their overthrow. But my usefulness is now at an end, and I flee myself for my life.”

Donovan nodded. “Give thanks to whichever gods please thee that thou livest this day for the morrow.”

“Let me not question my fortune, good or ill, nor tempt the gods, but why extend my life for even one hour longer? Is there not a scripture that sayeth, ‘Better safe than sorry’?”

Donovan grinned. “We are in the Wild, boy. And another scripture saith,’ the enemy of mine enemy is my friend.’ Another good eye, another skilled pair of hands, would not be unwelcome—provided the eyes may be trusted and the hands not turn against us. And this trust will be proofed not by thy word, but by thy self-interest. For in the Wild ‘We must all hang together lest we hang separately.’”

When Teodorq Nagarajan returned to his quarters in the “village,” he sensed another presence waiting in the darkened room, and fell to a crouch without turning on the light. His eyes searched for that shadow within the shadows that did not belong.

“Just tell us one thing, Teddy,” said a voice that had grown familiar to him.

Teodorq grinned and rose and turned on the lights. He tucked his nine back in its holster. “Yuh sure gave me a start, boss.” The dazer in Donovan’s hand worried him, but the scarred man held the weapon pointed to the ceiling, so he didn’t worry too much.

“Just tell us one thing, Teddy,” Donovan said again. “Did you provide the drug she used?”

“Sure. It’s the potion we drink when we go on visionquests to learn our true self.”

Donovan grunted. “It works.” He clicked the safety on and returned his weapon to its resting place. “You can put the thong back on the knife, too. Your answers were too guileless. You really thought you were doing us a favor.”

Teodorq shrugged. “I couldn’t let her go into the Free Worlds with only him to protect her.”

“You’re a loyal man, Teddy.”

He shrugged. “She’s paying me.”

“Teddy, we have one more call to make. Contact Sofwari and tell him the team will meet in half an hora, on the Green.”

“You want me to tell Billy, too?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

An important quality of a harper’s art is the ability not to miss a beat. But when Méarana of Dangchao finished freshening up and returned from the vanity to the sitting room of her quarters to find Donovan buigh sitting in the big blue padded chair that she had taken as her favorite, it required all of her mastery to maintain her rhythm.

“You keep turning up,” she said, “like a bad ducat.”

“And you keep leaving us behind; so it evens up.”

“After a while, one tires of dragging and pushing and prodding. Had ye not dragged your heels…”

“Are you going to offer us a drink? I thought you might have a bottle of uiscebeatha in your room.”

“Harp, clothing, weapons, and uisce. The four essentials.”

“I get by without the harp. In a pinch, I can get by without the clothing.”

There was a cold-well in the suite’s galley and Méarana produced from it a bottle of Gatmander vawga, called Shining Moon. “Will this do? It’s been aging since at least last week.”

Donovan said, “You better watch that stuff. Someone could dope it with gods-know-what and you’d never taste it.”

Méarana had been pouring two drinks and at that she spilled on the counter. “That wasn’t a fair shot.”

“Because it hit the target?”

“No.” She attacked the spill with a cloth. “Because it wasn’t necessary.” She carried the two glasses in either hand and gave one to Donovan.

The scarred man lifted his glass as if for a toast, but Méarana simply twisted hers in her hands, staring down into it. “To the quest,” he said.

“There’s no need to mock.”

“Who’s mocking? It may be hopeless, but aren’t those the sort of things that needs cheering on? Isn’t that what you always say? Anyone can cheer a winner.” He tossed back half his drink in a single swallow.

Méarana took a sip and drank no more. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Leaving me on Gatmander? We’re sure it did. And as it turned out, it was.”

The harper cocked her head. “There’s something different about you.” She found the second chair and sank into it. “I don’t know why that should surprise me. You have more differences than any man I know. You came up in the luggage boat, of course.”

“Of course. The pilot was greatly surprised. Most of his luggage has little to say.”

Méarana would not look at him. “Almost, I wish you hadn’t made it on board.” When Donovan made no response, she turned to face him. “Because if you hadn’t, I might have been able to forget. Now every time I see you, I’ll remember what I did.”

“We all have our sins,” said the scarred man. “Sometimes, it’s good to remember them.” He paused, and added, “I remember some rather good ones.”

She could not prevent the laugh from breaking forth. But it was a trick and it made her angry. “Why did you come? This journey is hard enough without your constant pessimism.”

“You can’t sip this stuff,” Donovan said to his vawda. “There’s no point in lingering over the taste. It hasn’t any. Just toss it back and let it hit like a hammer.”

“You have odd ideas of fun.” She studied her glass and then took the hard swallow he had recommended.

“You stocked this stuff. If we had to guess, you did it for its analgesic effect.”

“You didn’t have to guess,” she reminded him. She set her glass aside and crossed her legs. “You haven’t told me why you scrambled aboard the Blankets and Beads.”

“There are…all sorts of reasons.”

“Try a few.”

“Well, to find out what happened to your mother, for one.”

“We had that reason from the beginning, and you were eager to quit back then. And don’t bring up the weapon she was trying to find. Same objection.”

“We promised Zorba we would take care of you.”

“So you are here under duress?”

Donovan closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Silence gathered, and Méarana could hear the faint whisper of the air recirculator and, outside her cabin, the murmur of distant voices on the green. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Because…I am your father.”

The harper’s expression did not change. “Is this the part where I go all warm and gooey?”

“We didn’t think you would take the news so well.”

“It’s not even news. Why do you think I came looking on Jehovah? Mother had told me everything about my father but his name. He was strong, she told me, and wise, and deep down, a good man. Can you imagine the shock it was to find you?”

“Did she mention that we were handsome?”

She leaned half out of her chair. “Don’t make a mockery of this, Donovan! I won’t have it!”

“What did you expect after twenty years? We never knew you existed. She cut us off.”

“And what did you expect? You ran out on her and took the Dancer for yourself. How do you think she felt?”

“You know why I did what I did.”

“But she did not. She never knew. She went on her last mission thinking that the man she once loved had betrayed her without a backward glance. You never called at Dangchao.”

“You saw what Those did to us. Would you have welcomed that wreck?”

“I saw what you made of yourself. If Those broke you, they had your willing help.”

Donovan struck the arm of the chair with his fist. His empty glass wobbled from the impact and fell to the floor. “Then why did you come to Jehovah? Why did you drag us onto this mad venture?”

All the anger drained out of her, and Méarana sank back into her chair. “Because I wanted a father and a mother. I wanted both, but I would have settled for either one. Not to raise me. God, it’s far too late for that. But to find the man that my mother once loved…? That might have been worth the effort.”

Donovan reached down and picked up his empty glass from the floor. He set it this time on the side table. “Did you find him?”

“I caught a glimpse of him once in the Corner of Jehovah, on the rim of a rusted-out fountain. I bought him a cheap meal.”

The scarred man all but smiled at the memory. “You’ll never find what never was.”

“I’m not such a fool as that. I’ve always looked for what might yet still be.” Then she cocked her head. “Your eyes,” she said. “They’re stilled.”

“Yes.”

She said nothing for a while, but folded her hands under her chin and studied him. For a long time, she had hesitated to call him “father,” at first from uncertainty, later from a more profound uncertainty. Now she was content to wait. It was a title that must be earned.

The rapping on the door interrupted the silence before it could fall, and when Méarana told the door to open Teodorq Nagarajan stuck his head in. “They’re waiting for us, boss.”

Donovan pointed to Méarana with a tilt of his head. “She’s the boss.”

Teodorq shifted his expectant gaze from Donovan to the harper with no change in his expression. Méarana rose.

“Let’s not keep them waiting.”

Teodorq nodded and left. Donovan rose and offered his arm to his daughter. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go find your mother.”