Latest / Classic Science Fiction Books / 05 - The Door Through Space - Marion Zimmer Bradley
Transcript
- Chapter five. It was getting dark when I slipped through the side gate, shabby and inconspicuous, into the Spaceport Square beyond the yellow lamps. I knew that the old city was beginning to take on life with the falling night. Out of the chinked pebble houses, men and women, human and non human, came forth into the moonlit streets. If anyone noticed me cross the square, which I doubted, they took me for just another dry town vagabond, curious about the world of the strangers from beyond the stars, and who curiosity satisfied, was drifting back where he belonged. I turned down one of the dark alleys that led away, and soon was walking in the dark. The Carsa was not unfamiliar to me as a Terran, but for the last six years I had seen only its daytime face. I doubted if there were a dozen earth Men in the old town tonight, though I saw one in the bazaar, dirty and lurching, drunk, one of those who run renegade and homeless between worlds, belonging to neither. This was what I had nearly become. I went further up the hill with the rising streets. Once I turned and saw below me the bright lighted spaceport, the black, many windowed loom of the skyscraper like a patch of alien shadow in the red violet moonlight. I turned my back on them and walked on. At the fringe of the thieves Market, I paused outside a wine shop where dry towners were made welcome. A golden non human child murmured something as she pattered by me in the street, and I stopped, gripped by a spasm of stage fright. Had the dialect of shine Saw grown rusty on my tongue, spies were given short shrift on wolf, and a mile from the spaceport, I might as well have been on one of those moons. There were no spaceport shockers at my back now, and some one might remember the tail of an earth man with a scarred face who had gone to shine Saw in disguise. I shrugged the shirt cloak around my shoulders, pushing the door, and went in. I had remembered that Racal was waiting for me, not beyond this door, but at the end of the trail, behind some other door somewhere. And we have a byword in chainsaw. A trail without beginning has no Right there, I stopped thinking about Julie Rindy, the Terran Empire, or what Recall, who knew too many of Terra's secrets, might do if he had turned renegade. My fingers went up and stroked musingly the ridge of the scar tissue along my mouth. At that moment, I was thinking only of Recall, of an unsettled blood feud, and of my revenge. Red lamps were burning inside the wine shop, where men reclined on frowsy couches. I stumbled over to one of them, found an empty place, and let myself sink down on it, arranging myself automatically in the sprawl of drytowners indoors in public, they stood rigid and formal, even to eat and drink among themselves. Anything less than a loose limbed sprawl betrayed insulting watchfulness. Only a man who fears secret murder keeps himself on guard. A girl with a tangled rope of hair down her back came toward me. Her hands were unchained, meaning she was a woman of the lowest class, not worth safeguarding. Her first smock was shabby and matted with filth. I sent her for wine When it came, it was surprisingly good, the sweet and treacherous wine of art Koran. I sipped it slowly, looking round. If a caravan of Shainsaw were leaving tomorrow, it would be known here. A word dropped that I was returning. There would bring me by iron bound custom and invitation to travel in their company. When I sent the woman for wine a second time, a man on a nearby couch got up and walked over to me. He was tall, even for a dry towner, and there was something vaguely familiar about him. He was no riff raff of the Karsa either, for his shirt cloak was of rich silk, interwoven with metallic threads and crusted with heavy embroideries. The hilt of his skin was carved from a single green gem. He stood looking down at me for some time before he spoke, I never forget a voice. Although I cannot bring your face to mind, have I a duty toward you? I had spoken a jargon to the girl, but he addressed me in the lilting sing song speech of Shainsaw. I made no answer, gesturing him to me seated on wolf. Formal courtesy requires a series of polite non sequitters. And while a direct question merely borders U rudeness, a direct answer is the mark of a simpleton. A drink. I joined you, unasked, he retorted, and summoned the tangle headed girl bring us better wine than this swill. With that word and gesture, I recognized him, and my teeth clamped hard on my lip. This was the loud mouth who had sworn fight in the Spaceport cafe and run away before the dark girl with the sign of Nebrin scrawled on her breast. But in this poor light, he had not recognized me. I moved deliberately into the full red glow. If he did not know me, For the terran he had challenged last night in the Spaceport cafe, it was unlikely that any one else would. He stared at me for some minutes, but in the end he only shrugged and poured wine from the bottle he had ordered. Three drinks. Later, I knew that his name was Keral, and that he was a trader in wire and fine steel tools through the non human towns, and I had given him the name I had chosen, Rascal. He asked, are you thinking of returning to Shane saw worry of a trap. I hesitated, but the question seemed harmless, so I only countered, have you been long in the carsa several weeks? Trading No? He applied himself to the wine again. I was searching for a member of my family. Did you find him? Her? Said carral In ceremoniously spat no, I didn't find her. What is your business in Shane, saw I chuckled briefly. As a matter of fact, I am searching for a member of my family. He narrowed his eyelids, as if he suspected me of mocking him. But personal privacy is the most rigid convention of the dry towns, and such mockery showed a sensible disregard for prying questions if I did not choose to answer them, he questioned. No. Further, I can use an extra man to handle the loads. Are you good with pack animals? If so, you are welcome to travel under the protection of my caravan. I agreed, then, reflecting that Julian recall must after be known in Shaine, saw I asked, do you know a traitor who calls himself censar? He stared slightly. I saw his eyes move along my scars, then reserve, like a lowered curtain, shut itself over his face, concealing a brief, satisfied glimmer. No, he lied and stood up. We leave at first daylight. Have your gear ready. He flipped something at me and I caught it in mid air. It was a stone insized with Karral's name and the idiographs of Shane Saw. You can sleep with the caravan if you care to show that token to Quin. Kirral's caravan was encamped in a barred field past the furthest gates of the Karsa. About a dozen men were busy loading the pack animals horses shipped in from dark Over mostly. I asked the first man I met for Quinn. He pointed out a burly fellow in a shiny red shirtcloak who was busy chewing out one of the young men for the way he'd put a pack saddle on his beast. Shane Saw is a good language for cursing, but Quinn had a special talent at it. I blinked in admiration while I waited for him to get his breast so I could hand him Kirrl's toke. In the light of the fire, I saw what I'd half expected. He was the second of the dry towners who tried to rough me up in the spaceport cafe. Quinn barely glanced at the cut stone and tossed it back, pointing out one of the pack horses. Load your personal gear on that one. Then get busy and show this mush headed wearer of sandals an insult carrying particularly filthy implications in chainsaw how to fasten a pack strap. He drew a breath and began to swear at the luckless youngster again, and I relaxed. He evidently hadn't recognized me either. I took the strap in my hand, guiding it through the saddle loop like that, I told the kid, and Quinn stopped swearing long enough to give me a curt nod of acknowledgment and point out a heap of boxed and crated objects. Help him load up. We want to get clear of the city by daybreak, he ordered, and went off to swear at someone else. Kiral turned up at dawn, and a few minutes later the camp had vanished into a small scattering of litter, and we were on our way. Kirral's caravan in spite of Quinn's cursing was well managed and well handled. The men were dried haunters, eleven of them and capable, and most of them very young. They were cheerful on the trail, handling pack animals competently during the day, and spent most of the nights grouped around the fire, gambling silently and the fall of the cut crystal prisms they used for dice. Three days at Akarsa, I began to worry about Quinn. It was, of course, a spectacular piece of bad luck to find all three of the men from the Spaceport Cafe in Karral's caravan. Karl had obviously not known me, and even by daylight he paid no attention to me, except to give an occasional order. The second of the three was a gangling kid who probably never gave me a second look, let alone a third. But Quinn was another matter. He was a man my own age, and his fierce eyes had a shrewdness in them that I did not trust. More than once I caught him watching me, and on the two or three occasions when he drew me into conversation, I found his questions more direct than dry town good manners aloud I weighed the possibility that I might have to kill him before we reached Shinsa. We crossed the foothills and began to climb up toward the mountains. The first few days I found myself short of breath as we worked upward into thinner air. Then my acclimatization returned and I began to fall into the pattern of the days and nights on the trail. The trade city was still a beacon in the night, but its glow on the horizon grew dimmer with each day's march. We climbed higher along dangerous trails where men had to dismount and let the pack animals pick their way foot by foot. Here in these altitudes, the sun at noonday blazed redder and brighter, and the dry towners who came from the parched lands and the sea bottoms were burned and blistered by the fierce light. I had grown up under the blazing sun of Terra, and a red sun like wolf, even at its hottest, caused me no discomfort. This alone would have made me suspect. Once again, I found Quinn's fierce eyes watching me as we crossed the passes and began to descend the long trail through the thick forests, we got into non human country. Racing against the ghost wind, we skirted the country around Charin and the woods inhabited by the terrible yeamen bird like creatures who turned cannibal when the ghost wind blew. Later, the trail wound through thicker forests of indigo trees and grayish purple brushwood, and at night we heard the howls of the catmen of these latitudes. At night we set guards about the caravan, and the dark spaces and shadows were filled with noises and queer smells and rustlings. Nevertheless, the days marches and the night watches passed without event until the night I shared guard with Quinn. I had posted myself at the edge of the camp, the fire behind me. The men were sleeping, rolls of snores huddled close around the fire. The animals hobbled with double ropes front feet to hind feet, shifted uneasily and let out uncanny wines. I heard Quinn pacing behind me. I heard a rustle at the edge of the forest, astir and whisper beyond the trees, and turned to speak to him, then saw him slipping away. Toward the outskirts of the clearing. For a moment I thought nothing of it, thinking that he was taking a few steps toward the gap in the trees where he had disappeared. I suppose I had the idea that he had slipped away to invest gate some noise or shadow, and that I should be at hand. Then I saw the flicker of lights beyond the trees, light from the lantern Quinn had been carrying in his hand. He was signaling. I slipped the safety class from the hilt of my skin and went after him. In the dimming glow of the fire, I fancied, I saw luminous eyes watching me, and the skin on my back crawled. I crept up behind him and leaped. We went down in a tangle of flailing legs and arms, and in less than a second he had his skeen out, and I was gripping his wrist, trying desperately to force the blade away from my throat. I gasped, don't be a fool one yell in. The whole camp will be awake. Who are you signaling? In the light of the fallen lantern, lips drawn back in a snarl, he looked almost inhuman. He strained at the knife for a moment, then dropped it. Let me up, he said. I got up and kicked the fallen skein toward him. Put that away. What the hell were you doing trying to bring the catmen down on us? For a moment he looked taken aback. Then his fierce face closed down again, and he said, wrathfully, can't a man walk away from the camp without being half strangled? I glared at it, but realized I really had nothing to go by. He might have been answering a call of nature and the movement of the lantern accidental, and if someone had jumped me from behind, I might have pulled a knife on him myself, So I only said, don't do it again. We're all too jumpy. There were no other incidents that night or the next. The night after, while I lay huddled in my shirt, cloak and blanket by the fire, I saw Quinn slip out of his bed roll and steal away. A moment later there was a gleam in the darkness. But before I could summon the resolve to get up and face it out with him, he turned, looking cautiously at the snoring men and crawled back into his blankets. While we were unpacking at the next camp, Carroll halted beside me. Heard anything queer lately? I've got the notion where being trailed. We'll be out of these forests tomorrow, and after that it's clear road all the way to Shane's Saw. If anything's going to happen, it will happen tonight. I debated, speaking to him about Quinn's signals. No, I had my own business waiting for me in shane Saw. Why mix myself up with some other private intrigue, He said, I'm putting you and Quinn on watch again. The old men doze off and the young fellows get to day dreaming or fooling around. That's all right most of the time, but I want someone who'll keep his eyes open tonight. Did you ever know Quinn before this? Never set eyes on him? Funny, I had the notion. He shrugged, turned away, then stopped. Don't think twice about rousing the camp. If there's any disturbance, better a false alarm than an ambush that catches us all in our blankets. If it came to a fight, we might be in a bad way. We all carry skeins but I don't think there's a shocker in the whole group, let alone a gun. You don't have one by any chance. After the men had turned in, Quinn, patrolling the camp, halted a minute beside me and cocked his head toward the rustling forest. What's going on in there? Who knows? Catman on the prowl, probably thinking the horses would make a good meal, or maybe that we would think it will come to a fight. I wouldn't know. He surveyed me for a moment, without speaking, and if it did, we'd fight. Then I sucked in my breath, for Quinn had spoken Terran standard, and I, without thinking, had answered in the same language. He grinned, showing white teeth filed to a point, I thought, so. I seized his shoulder and demanded, roughly, and what are you going to do about it? That depends on you? He answered, and what you want in chainsaw? Tell me the truth? What were you doing in the Terran zone. He gave me no chance to answer. You know who Karl is? Don't you a trader? I said? Who pays my wages and minds his own affairs? I moved backward, hand on my skein braced for a sudden rush. He made no aggressive motion. However, Kiral told me you'd been asking questions about Recall cince our, he said, clever. Now, I, for one, could have told you that he'd never set eyes on Recall. I he broke off, hearing a noise in the forest, a long, eerie howl. I muttered, if you've brought them down on us. He shook his head urgently. I had to take that chance to get word to the others. It won't work. Where's the girl? I hardly heard him. I was hearing twig snap and silently sneaking feet. I turned for a yell that would rouse the camp, and Quinn grabbed my hand hard, saying insistently, quick, where's the girl? Go back and tell her it won't work. If Corral suspected. He never finished the sentence. Just behind us came another of the long, eerie howls. I knocked Quinn away, and suddenly the night was filled with crouching forms that came down on us like a whirlwind. I shouted madly as the camp came alive, with men struggling out of blankets, fighting for life itself. I ran hard, still shouting for the enclosure where we had tied the horses. A catman, slim and black furred, was crouched and cutting the hobble strings of the nearest animal. I hurled myself on him. He exploded, clawing, raking my shoulder with talons that ripped through rough cloth like paper. I whipped out my skin and slashed upward. The talons contracted on my shoulder, and I gasped with pain. Then the thing howled and fell away, clawing at the air. It twitched and lay still, fore shots and rapid succession cracked in the clearing care all. To the contrary, someone must have had a pistol. I heard one of the cat things wail a hoarse, drying rattle. Something dark clawed my arm, and I slashed with the knife, going down as another set of talons fastened on my back. Rolling and clutching, I managed to get the thing's forelimbs wedged under my elbow, my knee, and its spine. I heaved bent it backward, backward till it screamed a high wail. Then I felt the spine snap, and the dead thing muled once just air, escaping from collapsing lungs, and slid limp from my thigh erect. It had not been over four feet tall, and in the light of the dying fire, it might have been a dead lynx rascar hem. I heard a gasp, a groan. I whirled and saw Kiral go down, struggling, drowning in half a dozen or more of the fierce half humans. I leaped at the smother of bodies, ripped one away with a stranglehold, slashed at its throat. They were easy to kill. I heard a high, urgent scream in their mewing tongue. Then the furred black things seemed to melt into the forest as silently as they had come. Kirral dazed, his forehead running blood, his arms slashed to the bone, was sitting on the ground, still stunned. Somebody had to take charge. I bellowed, lights, get lights. They won't come back if we have enough light. They can only see what in the dark. Someone stirred the fire. It blazed up as they piled on dead branches, and I roughly commanded one of the kids to fill every lantern he could find and get them burning. Four of the dead things were lying in the clearing. The youngsterride helped loading horses the first day. Gazed down at one of the catmen, half disemboweled by somebody's skin, and suddenly bolted for the bushes, where I heard him wretching. I set the others with stronger stomachs to dragging the bodies away from the clearing, and went back to see how badly Kiral was hurt. He had the rip in his arm and his face was covered with blood from a shallow scalp wound, but he insisted on getting up to inspect the hurts of the others. There was no one without a claw wound in leg or back or shoulder, but none were serious, and we were all feeling fairly cheerful when someone demanded where's Quinn. He didn't seem to be anywhere. Kirall staggered slightly, insisting on searching, but I felt we wouldn't find him. He probably went off with his friends. I snorted and told about the signaling. Kirall looked grave. You should have told me, he began, but shouts from the far end of the clearing sent us racing there nearly stumbled over a single, solitary, motionless form, outstretched and lifeless, blind eyes staring upward at the moon's It was Quinn, and his throat had been torn completely out end of chapter five,