The Bronze of Eddarta (10 page)

“Sounds great,” I said. “What’s the catch?”

The big man roared out a laugh, then slapped me on the back so hard that I staggered away from him. “You’re a wise one, you are. You gotta pass a test to land a job on the High Guard.”

“What kind of test?” I asked, bracing myself for a fight.

He saw me tense up, and laughed again. “You got the right idea, friend, but the wrong man.” He pointed to his chest with his thumb. “I’m Sendar. The man you need to see is Obilin. And I’ll give you this much warning—don’t judge him by his size. Or,” he added, sobering up, “by his smile.”

“Well, I’m grateful for your advice, Sendar,” I said. “I’m Lakad.” It was an alias I had used so often that it felt natural now. “Where will I find Obilin?”

Sendar took my sword—it was the first time I’d been really glad that I’d left Rika behind—and said I could pick it up on my way out, if I wouldn’t be staying. He gave me explicit directions on how to find Pylomel’s guardhouse, and warned me to announce my presence quickly.

Here was the luck I had felt was waiting for me as I climbed the hill. It just so happened that Pylomel’s guardhouse was located close to the High Lord’s garden, a favorite place for the lady of the house to walk, of a morning. Sendar warned me that sneaking around the garden was an easy way to get killed.

I thanked him again.

“One more thing,” he added. “I’ve got gate duty all day. I’ll expect to see you come back through here, or to find you in the barracks tonight. If you’re not one place or the other, I’ll know you lied to me. And anybody who lies to me don’t live long.”

“A-huh,” I said. “Well, see you later, Sendar.” I didn’t feel the confidence I was trying to project, but I fooled the guard. He laughed and slapped me on my way.

I had wondered why the complicated river transport was necessary. I discovered the reason as I stepped through the stone archway and into Lord City. Except for the river animals, vleks weren’t permitted inside the walls. The cargo was unloaded and delivered by an endless chain of slaves. Not
servants
, who could be categorized as people who practiced their trades—cooking, cleaning—in the exclusive employ of one individual or household. These were
slaves
—thin, dejected creatures whose only value seemed to be that they were cleaner and quieter and more cooperative than vleks.

I had known that slaves were used in Eddarta, particularly in the copper mines and the bronze foundries. Theoretically, they were criminals who were sentenced to a period of service. But Dharak had talked about
selling
slaves to the Eddartans as if it were a routine thing, so I assumed that there were less “official” ways of obtaining the muscle needed to mine copper.

I had felt a distant sort of sympathy for Eddarta’s slaves, but I wasn’t prepared for the shock of actually seeing such people. Somehow it seemed more deplorable for the Eddartans to use slaves for immediate, private service than to employ them for broad economic gain in the copper mines. In the shock of seeing slavery close up, I realized how unfair that distinction was.
Any
use of men and women as slaves was totally undefendable.

I didn’t dare let my outrage show, so I turned my face away and aimed my steps in the direction of the large central building. It stood some five hundred yards away from the water, and looked to be two stories or more. It was octagonal, with one face opening on the stone-paved avenue which led through the entryway, and one face fronting each of the seven walkways.

Columns composed of shallow marble blocks, carved to stack smoothly, supported canvas awnings stretched across wooden frames. The awnings shaded the area around Lord Hall, giving an effect much like the columned porticoes of Ricardo’s ancient Rome, and extended to provide shade for the seven walkways which radiated from Lord Hall, each one joining the entrances to the Hall with the entrances to one of the seven family areas.

Sendar had said that Pylomel’s living area was the largest in the city, and was located to my right. The walkway which joined it to Lord Hall led across pontoon bridge; a channel had been diverted from the river itself to run through Pylomel’s much-prized garden.

There was no denying that Lord City was beautiful. The segments of territory between the radiating walkways had been landscaped with meticulous care, and these mini-gardens boasted a variety of trees and bushes, as well as flowering plants I hadn’t seen anywhere else. The overall impression was one of lushness and wealth—undoubtedly the object of the careful arrangements.

The lovely garden areas proved an obstacle to me, however, for they implied that it was mandatory for visitors to keep their feet on the pavement. Even though I was standing nearer to the entrance of Pylomel’s area than to Lord Hall, I had to follow the avenue up to the immense building, then turn back toward the river along the walkway.

Sendar had said, and it was readily confirmed, that the entrance to every family area led into the courtyard bounded on either side by wings of the guardhouse. As I walked carefully across the pontoon bridge, I could see two men on duty at the arched stone entrance to Pylomel’s area. The courtyard was visible through the archway. Beyond it, a pathway branched immediately. From what Sendar had told me, I assumed that the left-hand branch led into the garden, and the right one led around to the front entrance of the huge building that had to be Pylomel’s home.

The luck I was feeling was still with me. The attention of the outer guard was directed to the unloading platform. The weight of one raft’s load had been poorly distributed, the men unloading it hadn’t noticed until too late, and it looked as though load and workmen all were going for a swim very shortly.

I stepped into the shrubbery and moved quietly to my left. A low stone wall running from the guardhouse back to the river was a token marking of the boundary of Pylomel’s personal domain; high brush just inside that wall provided privacy for his garden. I heard a step, and crouched behind a bush just in time to avoid being seen by a guard patrolling that short stretch of wall.

Just then, a sound I had attributed to the river came clear—another guard at the water’s edge, drinking. I crouched back out of sight as he walked into view. He stood beside the wall, midway from the guardhouse to the river.

Two guards, one stationary, one patrolling
, I thought, and spent a few seconds swearing under my breath.

There’s no way to get into that garden without taking out one of those guards, which would kill my little play-act about wanting work.

I sat tight and thought about it for a while. I could try for the guard job, and hope to have the opportunity to contact Zefra later. I could turn around and leave right now, and tell Sendar I’d changed my mind about the job, once I saw Obilin. But both courses would result in delays we
couldn’t
afford.

Something made me decide to chance it—a whiff of fragrance that was subtly nonfloral. Perfume.

The use of perfume was rare in Gandalara, but it seemed to be, socially, the exclusive property of wealthy women. I
knew
, so surely that I’d have bet my tusks, that I had come at the right time. Zefra was walking in Pylomel’s garden.

I summoned all the patience I could, and waited my chance to move. Little by little, while the guard’s attention was fixed somewhere, I crept closer to the wall, keeping to the cover of the larger bushes. I had my big chance when I heard the hollering and splashing from the river as the poorly balanced load finally knocked a couple of the workers into the river. Both guards moved toward the guardhouse to get a clearer view of what was going on. I ran for the wall, slid over it, and made my way on my belly, slowly, through the tangled growth at the base of the privacy hedge.

The garden was truly beautiful. The channel which brought the river water formed a series of tiny streams and ponds, and every kind of plant Markasset had ever seen—plus a few species that were new to him—was represented in the garden. But I didn’t have the time, or the inclination, to admire the botanical genius of Pylomel’s gardener.

Zefra was there.

She wasn’t alone. There were guards
inside
the garden, and though they stood at a respectful distance, I got the distinct impression that they weren’t so much protecting Zefra as keeping her under surveillance.

She was walking along the pathways slowly, bending to examine flowers, meandering in my direction. I eased myself to my feet, but stayed hidden in the hedge, waiting. If she kept on going, she would walk right by me …

She stopped to examine a flower on the bush next to me. I was stunned by her close resemblance to Tarani. Her body carried a few extra pounds for her twenty extra years, but the fine shape of her face, the lustrous black of her headfur, even the graceful way she used her hands—I could see Tarani clearly within the frame of her mother.

I hope she has Tarant’s coolness, too
, I thought.
I
don’t have time to do this gently.

“Volitar is dead,” I whispered. Her hand, cupping the flower, tightened to crush it. “Tarani is in Eddarta. Send for Rassa, the dressmaker. Your daughter will come to you instead.”

“She must not be seen in this place,”
Zefra whispered fiercely.

“She will be seen only as Rassa,” I said.

The woman gasped, and her composure almost deserted her. To cover her sudden motion, she moved past me and began to examine a different flower.

“Then Tarani has learned to use her mind-gift,” she said. “Who are you, and why have you brought Tarani into danger?”

I refrained from asking her why she assumed that
I
had done the bringing. Instead, I answered: “I’m a friend, Zefra. Tarani and I have an important job to do. We need your help. She’ll explain when she sees you.”

“And if I refuse?” she asked. But her eyes were closed, and her hands were trembling. I didn’t say anything, and after a moment, she sighed deeply. “I will do it. Tell me your name.”

“Rikardon.”

“If my daughter suffers harm from this, Rikardon, I will not rest until your heart has been fed to Pylomel’s dralda.”

She cried out suddenly, and put her finger to her lips as though a thorn had stuck her. She turned and hurried out of the garden, and the guards watched her go.

So they didn’t see me slide back across the wall.

The outside guard was returning from the ruckus at the river. He was, in fact, less than ten feet away from me. He was saying something over his shoulder to another guard, so that his head was turned.

There was nowhere I could go in a hurry, so I stood up and walked toward him. “Excuse me?”

He jumped. When he landed again, his sword was in his hand.

This guy’s no slouch
, I thought.
And Sendar
—
I
wouldn’t care to take him on. Pylomel’s got some good-quality heavies on his side.

“Where in the name of Harthim did you come from?” he asked, looking around. The wall into the garden was the closest concealment; I saw his eyes narrow with suspicion.

“Are you Obilin?” I asked him, to distract his attention from the garden. It worked. He looked at me as though I should be stepped on.

“No,” he grunted. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Lakad,” I said. “Fellow named Sendar, at the gate, said I should talk to Obilin about joining the High Lord’s guard.”

“He must have given you directions, too,” the man said. “You’re pretty far from the main path.”

“Yeah, he warned me about that,” I said. I tried to grin companionably, but I’m sure the effect wasn’t very convincing. “I just got sidetracked by these trees—I’ve never seen any like this.”

Half-true
, I thought.

“They’re pretty rare, all right,” the man said, straightening his shoulders and puffing out his chest as if he personally had planted every one of those trees.

“But listen,” he added gruffly, “don’t wander around until you’ve signed up—otherwise you won’t live to meet Obilin.”

“If you’ll tell me where he is, I’ll go straight over there now,” I said sincerely.

“I’ll show you,” he said, grabbing my arm and dragging me toward the walkway and the entrance to the guardhouse. I dug in my heels; he stopped and looked at me in surprise.

Not used to folks who don’t jump when you say so?
I wondered.
Well, I’m not going to start my career as a fifth columnist by being pushed around.

“I can walk very well alone, thanks,” I said, and pulled my arm out of his grasp. There was a visible pulse at his temple as he considered contesting the point, then he shrugged and waved me ahead of him.

Up to this point, I’d had some choices left. I could have gone back out the gate, sent Tarani in to see her mother alone, and made further plans after their meeting.
If
Tarani weren’t spotted.
If
Tarani didn’t just decide to stay with the mother she had never met before.
If
one of the hundred other possible complications that would keep me chewing my nails didn’t actually happen.

Unappealing as it was, the choice had been feasible up to the time I was buttonholed next to the forbidden garden. As I walked through the brick-faced archway and turned left into the common room of the guardhouse, I knew I was committed to our plan, sketchy as it was. The next step was to get myself hired on, which would involve, if I had understood Sendar correctly, a competitive test of my fighting skills. In other words (in
Ricardo’s
words), a brawl.

The stone walls of the rectangular room were topped by a high, flat ceiling made of unfinished wood. There were several long tables and benches, and padded stone shelves around the edges of the room which seemed to serve as lounging seats. A game of
mondea
was in progress at one table—it had the same persistence among Gandalara’s military-style folk that poker had in Ricardo’s world.

“Watch him,” my escort growled to the players, then left by a door which led off to the right, and which he closed behind him.

The four players looked up at me briefly. Appearances aren’t everything, I know. But from the look of those scarred, slack-jawed faces, I’d have bet there wasn’t an ounce of charm among them.