Throughout the rest of the journey, he and Garic ostentatiously ignored each other. On the second night, the taverner earmarked for Kerin a room with an elderly bank clerk from Metouro, who kept his own counsel and ignored Belinka's flittings. Late on the third day, the diligencia rolled up to the northern gate of Vindium City, capital of the Republic of Vindium.
The passengers got out and lined up. The captain of the guard, splendid in crested helmet of gilded brass, went down the line, asking each passenger his name, origin, occupation, and other data, while a guard made notes on a tablet. Another guard busied himself with tying swords, including Kerin's, fast to their scabbards with scarlet strings.
The captain stood back and said: "Welcome to Vindium, ladies and gentlemen! May your sojourn in our famous city be pleasant! We have historical monuments, libraries, and a zoological park. We have theatrical entertainments, ranging from those suitable for children to those appealing to the most—ah—sophisticated tastes. A revival of Physo's
Tinsel Crown
is playing at the Empire; the poet Edredus will give a reading of his epic
The Sea of Blood
, in eighty-four cantos, at the Hall of Culture; while at Atrax's Palace of Pleasure they have Madame Ziska, who picks volunteers from the audience, and . . . but what she does with them you must see for yourselves.
"We have an athletic field, where amateur teams of ball players practice decamerally; visiting foreigners are welcome to take part. We have a drill field, whereon sections of the army and the civic guard drill daily; two days hence the army band will give a concert, weather permitting. If you hie yourselves north along the coast for half a league, you will find a splendid beach.
"For tonight, it were well to keep to your quarters. Today our paddle-ball team defeated that of Othomae, and certain citizens may celebrate with excessive enthusiasm. Moreover, elections to the Chamber of Burgesses will occur six days hence, and the candidates are campaigning. Disturbances sometimes ensue when rival partisans meet."
The passengers reentered the coach, which rolled on into the city. Compared to respectable, staid Kortoli, Vindium seemed livelier and more colorful. Some were already celebrating the sporting triumph, weaving along the pavement shouting and waving mugs.
On buildings fronting the street, posters had been put up here and there. They bore such legends as "Frithugis, the people's choice!" or "Vote for Beonnus, friend of the downtrodden!" or "Victron—experience—integrity!" or "Ithmar, foe of the establishment!" Similar slogans had been painted on many walls.
The coach passed a man with a paintbrush and pail, interrupted while painting a slogan by two members of the civic guard. With these he was engaged in a furious argument. As Kerin craned his neck to watch, the slogan painter hurled his pail at a guardsman, drenching him with butter-yellow paint. The three ran off, the guardsmen after the painter, waving their truncheons and yelling.
As the parting rays of the setting sun touched spires and domes with ruddy gold, the vehicle halted at the principal square, flanked by the Senate House, the Magistracy, and other public buildings. In these structures, the austere plainness of classical Novarian style was adulterated by a touch of florid, fanciful Mulvani ornateness. From the square, Republic Avenue sloped gently down to the waterfront, where Kerin glimpsed a thicket of masts and yards. Across the square, a man harangued a crowd from a wooden box.
Kerin was reared on tales of Vindine corruption and public scandals. A traveling Vindine had given him the other side of the story:
"The difference, Master Kerin, lies not in you Kortolians' superior virtue but in the fact that, under our system, misdeeds are more easily brought to light. I daresay there be quite as much wrongdoing amongst the popinjays of your royal family, and amongst the hangers-on of the Royal Council, as with us. But your rulers, not having freedom of speech and publication to contend with, are in a stronger position to smother news of transgressions."
Kerin sat over a mug of ale, on the end of a bench in the common room of the inn to which Jorian had referred him. As his first task in Vindium, his brother had told him, he should find the harbor master to ascertain what ships were sailing when and whither. But, by the time Kerin had alighted in the square, the sun was out of sight behind the buildings. Sure he would find the harbor master's office closed, Kerin had gone instead to the inn.
Sounds of revelry wafted in from the street. Kerin kept repeating Jorian's advice: to keep his eyes and ears open and his mouth shut. He suppressed a small resentment that his brother possessed a more imposing façade than he. When someone cheated Jorian, all the latter had to do was loom upon the man, beard a-bristle, and quietly ask for a correction. Being smaller in all directions, Kerin did not feel he could manage that.
He tried to pick up snatches of talk among the Vindines in the room. But the few words he caught were of little import: comments on the weather and the speakers' trades, family problems, and aches and pains. Besides, his ear was not fully attuned to the Vindine dialect of Novarian.
The door banged open, and in came revelers three. They were stout, rough-looking men, led by one as big and brawny as Jorian. They carried little flags of the Republic of Vindium, showing a golden torch on an azure field; the leader had the staff of his flag stuck in the band of his hat.
"Ho, Chundo!" roared the leader. "Flagons of your best beer, to celebrate the glorious victory! And none of that horse piss you serve your ordinary customers!"
Kerin stared, for he belatedly recognized Garic, his odorous roommate on the first night of the journey. Garic stared back in similar recognition. Instead of speaking to Kerin, he shouted again for the taverner.
"Coming, coming," grumbled the proprietor. "I'm no wizard to make the stuff appear out of thin air."
"We'll take that one," said the leader, pointing to the bench on which Kerin sat. His companions slid in behind the table, so that the first to seat himself rubbed shoulders with Kerin.
The bench was not quite long enough for all four. Garic looked at those already seated; Kerin smelled the man's odor. Then the big man lowered one buttock on the end of the bench, saying loudly:
"Oh, push that skinny pup off the end! 'Tis he who so vexed me on the ride from Kortoli."
He applied his shoulder to his nearest companion and shoved, displacing the companion, who in turn forced the third of the trio up against Kerin. Seeing that he was about to be shoved off the end, Kerin rose, picking up his mug. The big man on the other end beamed triumphantly.
Kerin was furious; but his sword was in his room above, and in a rough-and-tumble with these characters he would have all the chance of a snowball in the crater of Mount Sholala. He had read fictions wherein the spindly young hero trounced the hulking bully; but he had seen enough of the world to know that such things did not really happen, unless the hero had the help of magic. Kerin's only magic was the protective cantrip laid upon him by Jorian's wizardly friend, the iatromagus Uller; and that, a mere passive defense against spells, would not hinder Garic's fists and boots.Keeping a grip on his temper, Kerin sat down at a vacant table. For a while he was suffered to drink his beer in peace, hearing the speech of the three who had ousted him. They endlessly boasted about the might and prowess of Vindium's paddle-ball team. There had been a minor riot at the game, with a couple of players whacking each other with bats, and spectators joining in until the civic guardsmen beat them away with pikestaves. Finally Garic bent a scowl upon Kerin, growling:
"Ho there, you, skinny!" When Kerin looked up, Garic continued: "Do you admit that the Vindine team is the finest, bravest, and ablest in all the Twelve Cities?"
Kerin realized that he ought to agree; but his boiling rage and imp of perversity led him defiantly to return the stare, saying: "I wouldn't know. I follow not that sport."
"Oh, too hoity-toity, eh? If you did, you'd know we Vindines could trample you Kortolian sissies into dirt! We'd grind 'em to powder, as I will now do to you!"
The fellow lurched to his feet and started towards Kerin. One of his companions said: "Garic, let's not start—"
Ignoring the advice, the big man continued his way, clenching and unclenching his fists. Kerin, badly frightened but determined to sell his life dearly, also rose. Then Garic stopped, saying:
"Ouch! Some damned bug bit me!"
He halted, batting the air with his massive arms. Kerin sighted Belinka's misty form, flitting round Garic's head. Kerin raised his voice:
"Goodman Garic! Know that your bug is my faithful familiar spirit. Wouldst force me to exert my full occult powers?"
"Huh? You a wizard?"
Kerin gave a mocking bow. "A mere pupil of Uller of Kortoli. How'd you like a little spell of impotence? Of course, I am not yet a licensed master magician, so the spell may go awry and turn us all to pollywogs or blast us off the planet." He extended both forefingers, closed his eyes, and declaimed:
"Nitrae radou sunandam, noctar. . . ."
"Ho!" snorted Garic. "That's unfair! I'll take you on with fists or quarterstaves, but not with unholy spells!" When Kerin continued to incant, Garic, grumbling under his breath, returned to his table, saying: "Come on, boys; we like not Chundo's lousy beer anyway."
The three rose and hulked their way out, leaving their undrunk mugs. Weak with reaction, Kerin sat down, blessing Jorian for having coached him in lying. He murmured:
"Thankee, Belinka!"
"Hee hee!" tinkled the sprite, alighting on Kerin's shoulder. "Now you see what I can do for you. Art not sorry you treated me with such mortifying disdain?"
Before Kerin could answer, he found the taverner before him, saying: "Master Kerin, what didst to make those customers leave without paying? I'll not have you spoiling my trade!"
"If I had not, there'd have been a brawl, which would have cost you far more. I'll drink the beer they ordered."
"And pay for it, I trust?"
"Yea," sighed Kerin.
Kerin awakened with a throbbing head. He groaned and sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.
"I warned you!" tinkled Belinka, flitting about. "I tried to tell you four bumpers would give you grief, but you pretended not to hear, you stupid lout!"
Kerin grunted. "I couldn't hear you, after those other people came in and started singing about the Vindine ball team. So let up on the preaching, will you?" He reached for his clothes.
"Oho, Master Kerin, you shall not so lightly escape! You owe me a favor for my defeat of the oafish Garic."
"Eh? What?" said Kerin, pulling on his trews.
"Aye. I demand that you buy me a dress, like unto those that dames on this plane wear."
Kerin stared. "What on earth dost need with a dress? Suffer you from cold?''
"Nay; the temperature of your plane affects me not. On mine own plane our natural forms suffice us; but here; I see that folk go not about naked, even when weather permit. So I would fain be in style with those of my sex in this world."
"But why? I like you as you are. Had you ten times your present stature, I might make lewd advances." He leered and wiggled his eyebrows.
"Ha! You, pretending to like me whom you have scorned and spurned? Anyway, on my plane we love a-wing; and how wouldst manage that? But I will not be out of fashion with those of your barbarous plane!"
"And where in the seven cold hells shall I find a dress for a winged woman a span in height?''
"Have you no folk who sell poppets to pleasure their infants? Find one and buy a poppet's gown, of suitable size."
"And if I won't?" said Kerin defiantly.
"You shall see!" The hovering spot of luminescence vanished.
"Ouch!" yelled Kerin, feeling a sudden stab on his neck, like the bite of a horsefly. He futilely slapped at the place. Another stab assaulted his forearm; another, right through his trousers into his calf.
"Stop, Belinka!" he cried. "Is this your idea of watching over me?''
"I expect recip—reciprocity!" she squeaked. "Now will you be a good fellow?"
Kerin sighed. "I'll ask the taverner if he know of any such shop; but I promise nought."
No, the harbor master said; those exotic Kuromonian ships, with their blunt ends and slatted sails, had not been seen in Yindium harbor for above a year. "They've been satisfied to haul their goods to and from Salimor," he said. "They say that piracy hath become rife betwixt here and Salimor; so I ween the yellow men reckon the game's not worth the horseshoe. Ye maun sail for Salimor and transship there."
"Who leaves next for Salimor?" asked Kerin.
The harbor master, a swarthy man whose complexion suggested Mulvanian ancestry, thumbed through a pile of papers. "Here 'tis: the
Dragonet
of Akkander, Captain Huvraka."
"A Mulvanian?"
"Aye. Ye'll find her about six berths north from here. Says he'll cast off—by Astis' ivory teats, lad, ye are in luck! She hoists up sail this even, if the wind be fair. At least, so saith her skipper; but ye can't always trust these Mulvanians."
Kerin thanked the harbor master and went in search of the
Dragonet
. He picked out the ship, a sharp-ended vessel with biack-and-crimson eyes painted on her bows, by her slanting lateen yards.
On the
Dragonet
's pier stood a crane, a tall skeletal structure of beams and ropes and pulley blocks. A treadwheel in the base was powered by six breechclouted convicts inside the wheel. A rigger belayed a rope around a bulky piece of cargo and slipped beneath the rope a hook suspended from the tip of the crane.
An overseer shouted; the six convicts began climbing the curving wall of the treadwheel, which had cleats to make the task easier. With noisy creaking, the burden slowly rose. The overseer shouted again. The convicts ceased their climbing; a pair of workers turned a winch. This slowly rotated the crane, swinging the load out over the deck of the
Dragonet.
More shouts, and the convicts backed down, letting the treadwheel turn the other way and the load descend to the deck. Other workers strained at a brake to keep the load from getting away. A pair of Captain Huvraka's brown-skinned sailors guided the load through the hatch and into the hold.