Earthly Crown (16 page)

But this was
Tess.
She recoiled from her own thoughts, shook herself, and read on.

“By the way, don’t be concerned about Aleksi’s involvement. He has a peculiar, detached way of looking at things, having been orphaned at an early age and only admitted into our tribe because of my friendship and because he has quite simply the best hand for the saber that anyone in recent memory has possessed, and he guessed soon after we met that I had come from a place not only different, but different in a way that passed the understanding of most of the jaran—even of Ilya. He is truly my brother in every sense of the word (except the biological). I trust him completely, and you should, too. He will deliver this letter to you. Also, when you arrive at the main camp, if I’m not there, do not worry. I may be riding out with a group that is going to escort a southern ambassador to our camp. I will be back soon after you arrive. Bakhtiian does not know this (of course), so don’t be concerned if he gets furious. He has a hard time containing his emotions and he hates having his will thwarted, but he won’t let his anger at me prejudice his dealings with you. Safe journey. Love, Tess.”

“Safe journey, indeed,” Cara muttered. She folded the parchment and tucked it back neatly into the pocket of the shirt in which she had found it, squaring off the corners. Then she went outside.

David had weeks since been granted the unofficial post of camp leader, a position he warranted due to his previous experience of camping expeditions on Earth and to his ability to work in harmony with Yomi Applegate-Hito, whose authority over the day to day routine of the Company not even Charles dared contest. By the time Cara ventured outside, David had already begun directing the striking of camp. Most of the actors and all of the rest of Charles’s immediate party rolled up tents and loaded wagons with commendable haste. Next to one of the wagons, reclining soporifically on a canvas chair, Anahita Liel Apphia sat with one hand cast up over her eyes, as if the sudden turn of events had exhausted her nerves. One of the young male actors—Cara could not recall his name, but Narcissus would have been appropriate—knelt beside her, patting her cheeks with a damp cloth. Beyond them, the big tent fluttered and sagged and with a gushing sigh collapsed. Beneath the canvas, a single figure struggled to free himself from inside. Cara hurried over and lifted the material enough to help him out; it was the leading man, Gwyn Jones.

“May I help?” she asked.

He smiled. Gwyn was a fairly young man, his features interesting rather than handsome; he had a quiet intensity that never, except when he was on stage, erupted into dramatics. “Please,” he said. He glanced briefly toward Anahita and her companion. Diana had stopped next to the pair and seemed to be making a speech. “Di!” Gwyn called. She turned and, when he waved at her, jogged over to them.

“We need a hand here.” Gwyn indicated Cara and himself. He bent to straighten one corner of the big tent.

“Well, I must say,” said Diana to Cara, seeing that Gwyn was inclined to ignore her, “that I’m disgusted with Hyacinth that he would cater to
her
whims rather than do something useful.” Expecting no reply, and receiving only Cara’s enigmatic smile, she strode around to another corner and pulled it tight.

Hal Bharentous arrived and, with four of them, the folding went quickly. As Diana and Gwyn rolled the canvas up and tied it, and Hal collected and bound up the poles, Cara allowed herself a moment to step back and watch while she wound the guidelines up.

“Doctor,” said a voice behind her. “I see you observe as well. Everything we watch, everything we do, becomes part of the work. And all work feeds the exercise that becomes the theater, the actual performance of which is only another, if more polished, exercise.”

Cara turned. “M. Zerentous.”

Owen Zerentous gave the briefest nod in acknowledgment, but his attention remained fixed on his actors. “There can be no separation between work and life. Like the rehearsal, the journey itself is a discovery.”

“Dad,” said Hal, half hidden by the bound poles, “I don’t think Dr. Hierakis is interested in your theories.”

“But of course she is,” said Zerentous. “She is a research scientist, an act of creative performance that binds her close in spirit to every other artist. Are you not, Doctor?”

Cara was saved a reply by the sudden eruption of an altercation over by the wagons, where Madelena Quinn was attempting to physically drag Hyacinth away from his station by Anahita. Zerentous’ interest, and his focus, shifted so thoroughly away from her that Cara felt as if he had left her before he took one step away.

“Well,” she said to no one as Zerentous strode away to observe this newest scene.

Gwyn Jones glanced up at her. “Yes,” he said, following the direction of her gaze, “but you must forgive him much. He’s a genius.”

“Tell that to the army that’s approaching when they ride, swords drawn, into a camp we haven’t broken yet,” muttered Hal.

“Good Lord,” said Diana, trying to hoist one end of the rolled up tent. “This thing weighs a ton.”

David ran up, his skin sheened with sweat. “This is down? Good. If you can load this into the fourth wagon—there—then all we’ve got is the bedding and carries, and we can get started.”

Hal and Gwyn and Di hoisted the rolled up tent between them and lugged it over to the wagons. Cara tarried behind. “I certainly don’t understand why actors must travel with so much luggage.”

David grinned. “I hadn’t noticed that you travel lightly, Doctor.”

Cara picked up the bundle of poles. “Have I ever told you how much I detest impertinent young men, David?”

“Many times. Here, I’ll take those, and if you’ll roll up that rug, we’ll be finished here.”

“You seem damned cheerful. Aren’t you nervous? With battles looming in the near distance.”

David shrugged as they began to walk. “I’ve never been scared of threats I can’t see. It’s a form of blindness, I suppose. It’s why I went into engineering. It’s all there, right in front of you. Yomi!” he called, diverted by the appearance of the Company stage manager. “I’ll give you five minutes. Then we’re going.” Yomi nodded, and then, with characteristic efficiency, she rounded on the group that had gathered by Anahita and dispersed it ruthlessly.

David proved as good as his word. In five minutes, the first wagon jolted forward, and in succession, the rest followed its lead. David sat next to the driver of the lead wagon, and Cara, as usual, began the day by walking briskly alongside. Like all the drivers, this one was an elderly but hale jaran man who spoke no language but khush. Nevertheless, he and David had formed a friendly partnership, linked by a shared even temperament and, Cara suspected, the simple fact of both being male.

Cara walked for an hour. The grass was damp from rain, and the sun slipped in and out from behind the clouds, so that the cast of light over the land brightened and dulled by turns. Finally, she swung up into the back of the wagon as it trundled along at an even and unslacking pace. She had conceived the greatest respect for the beasts that drew it, thick-shouldered, bovine animals that could walk for hours without rest. This day they did not even pause at midday, but it was only mid-afternoon when a new rider, an older man whose blond hair was bleached white with age, galloped up from behind and spoke to the lead driver. Their course altered; within half an hour the little train snaked around a low rise and came to a halt by a swampy pond ringed by scrub trees and a scatter of dense bushes.

Cara climbed down and surveyed the terrain. Already the drivers unloaded the wagons with unseemly haste despite Anahita’s shrieks of anger. First one wagon, then a second and third, and more, trundled out, leaving the party stranded by the pond.

“David,” said Cara, “I think you’d better get all those tents up. And get—ah, there you are, M. Applegate.”

“What in heaven’s name is going on?” Yomi asked. She cast a disgusted glance back toward the handful of actors clustered around Anahita, and a puzzled one toward the stream of wagons heading away from them. “Are we being abandoned?”

Now others came up to join the discussion: Joanna Singh, Rajiv, Maggie, and Marco. The actors had by now split into two groups: those milling around Anahita, and those with Diana and Gwyn, who were already unrolling the Company tent.

Cara caught Marco’s glance, and nodded. “We’ll need all the tents up, fires, as many open fires as you can get going, and I want to start boiling water now.”

“Oh, hell,” said David, as if he had just figured out what was going on. “I’ll do what I can, but I can’t stand the sight of blood.”

“Then we’ll put you in charge of preparations,” said Marco. “With Jo and Rajiv and Maggie. Start by gathering brush. Cara, will you need attendants?”

“You certainly, Marco. Anyone else who can stand it. The rest will have to fetch and carry.” She watched as Anahita collapsed onto a chair set up for her by Hyacinth. “Or else stay out of the way.”

David and Joanna and Rajiv and Maggie left.

“I beg your pardon, Dr. Hierakis,” said Yomi. “But I’m still confused. What’s going on?”

“We’re about to receive the wounded.”

“Ah,” said Yomi. “From the battle. I’ll go tell the actors. I’m sure they can help out.” She left.

Cara sighed. “So blithely. She hasn’t an inkling, Marco, of what we’re about to see.”

“They chose to come here. Now they have to face the consequences of that choice. If they can’t endure it, let them go home.”

Cara snorted. “You’re not very compassionate today, are you, Marco?”

“I save my compassion for where it will do the most good. It’s all very well to spout this nonsense about the universality of theater, but it’s still nothing more than a holiday for them. We’ll see how they like a dose of the painful truth.”

“My, you’re bitter today.” But she followed his gaze and saw that he was looking toward Diana Brooke-Holt, watching her as she and Hal and Gwyn extended the poles and lifted the canvas weight of the Company tent. “Ah. Test of fire for the sweet young thing?”

Marco started, glanced at her swiftly, and grunted in annoyance as he turned on his heel and stalked away in the direction of the pond.

“Well!” Cara considered his back as he strode off toward David and Maggie, who were gathering brush. “What does that mean?” But Marco’s affairs did not concern her now. She went to assemble her medical kit.

W
HEN THE FIRST RIDERS
were sighted, coming in toward the camp, Diana felt sick with fear. She hoisted two buckets of water from the pond and lugged them over to the ring of campfires. Dr. Hierakis was swearing fluently in Rhuian about the lack of containers in which to boil water. At the far end of the pond a single tent had been set aside for Anahita and anyone who wanted to languish there with her, a total of five of the actors and none of Soerensen’s party.

The riders glinted in the sun as they pulled up a respectful distance outside of camp. They wore, over their scarlet shirts, segmented body armor with scaled tassets hanging down to cover their legs to the knees. A few wore helmets, although most had slung their helmets on leather straps over their saddles. Altogether, they presented a formidable picture, and there were only fifty of them.

Diana stared, realized she was staring, and picked up the two empty buckets to make a trip back to the pond.

“Diana! Can you help me over here?” It was Gwyn, setting up the Company’s screens into a square.

She hurried over. “What is this?”

“The doctor wants an outdoor surgery. Tie that there—”

Diana watched the riders from her vantage point. “It doesn’t look as if this group has any wounded, or as if they’re even going to come into our camp—” She broke off as Dr. Hierakis and Marco strode across the grass to the group of waiting jaran. Their gestured conversation was fascinating to watch, since it was obvious that no one spoke a common language. Soon enough Owen wandered over to study them.

“Excuse me.” Diana whirled, to see David and Maggie carrying a long, rectangular table. They brought it inside the screens and set it down. David stepped back to examine it. “Well, it was the best I could cobble together.”

Out by the riders, the doctor and an older jaran man had reached some kind of agreement. They walked together back to the tents, and behind them, walked—or limped—a number of the riders. As they came closer, Diana could see that they were indeed wounded: one man had an arrow sticking out of his thigh, broken off; another had blood seeping from his right side; a third had a bloody strip of cloth tied around his left eye.

“Marco, get my kit. Maggie, where’s Jo? I want her to stay in my tent and run sterilization on my instruments, so we’ll need someone—one of the actors, say—to fetch and carry. That should be easy enough for them. David, we’ll need another table, the wagons will be showing up by dusk. Can you find—yes, leave Rajiv in charge of the water; perhaps one of the actors can help you.” Dr. Hierakis caught Diana staring at her.

Diana felt like she was being considered by an expert. She shifted uneasily and glanced at the elderly jaran man next to the doctor. He had a kindly face—for a savage—and, meeting her gaze, he smiled at her and nodded.

“Of course,” said Dr. Hierakis abruptly. “If you think you can stand it, Diana, you can take water—boiled water, of course—to the wounded who are waiting to be treated. Goddess knows, they’ll be thirsty enough, and a pretty face will likely do them as much good as the drink. Can you manage it, do you think?”

It did not sound precisely like a challenge, but Diana became aware all at once that Marco Burckhardt had paused and was looking at her. “Certainly,” she said, hoping there was no betraying quaver in her voice.

“Good,” said the doctor. “Tell Rajiv what you’re about, and get some cups. And a spoon, perhaps, for the worst of them.”

But the cup sufficed, Diana quickly discovered. Of the fifty riders who had come in, at least three-quarters had some kind of injury that clearly kept them from fighting but not from riding. They settled in on the ground, waiting patiently as Marco and a young dark-haired rider performed triage and sent the worst-injured up to the privacy of the screens. Quinn got a cup, too, and they took water to each rider in turn. Diana soon suspected that many of these men could have gotten water for themselves but were content to wait in order to receive it from her hands.