Temple of the Traveler: Book 01 - Doors to Eternity (44 page)

Immediately after the audience ended, the smith was hustled down to the docks where a waiting courier spirited him, a disgruntled Sajika, and a sleeping Pinetto north.

The small, fast courier boat was crowded. Built for a crew of two or three, the boat carried Officer Sajika, Pinetto, and the sword-bearer in addition to its normal pilot and runner. Everyone w
as on edge about the cramped arrangements and the reduction in ship speed caused by the added weight. The only saving grace was that Pinetto and the smith were able to work in shifts with the normal crew to keep the vessel moving day and night. Such travel practices were possible, but seldom attempted except under extreme, battle conditions.

Sajika did little work on the craft, but no one objected. Part of this was her high rank in a much-feared, secret-police organization, but the other part was her attitude. Her posture was so straight that the pilot joked that it must be the stick up her butt. Sajika wore a starched, red tunic of coarse fabric that rubbed on the exposed skin of her neck and wrists. She had her glossy, brown hair bound back in the same sort of knot that some soldiers of Mandibos and the traders wore. This made it easy to see the region around her eye, which seemed to swell and color more with each passing day. She spoke to no one during the journey, but glared at the smith every time his movement on the ship wracked her bruised ribs with pain.

Nobody bothered to explain the reason for this fear of Sajika to Pinetto. Once, when he complained about back pains, the officer moved up behind him and grabbed him by the neck. The others looked on in panic as she wrenched the discontent’s spine with a crunch. Far from falling limp into the sea, the astronomer responded with heart-felt thanks. From then on, Pinetto looked at her with half-lidded eyes and a sappy grin. The other men on the ship felt that the quick death might have been cleaner, but the smith kept silent on the matter.

Due to the extreme efforts of the crew and passengers, the courier made it to the shores of Cardinado just after dad lhe third day. In spite of flying the proper flag and following the rest of the protocol, arrows from the fortified city struck the bow and furled sail of the craft. The pilot swore a blue streak while Pinetto looked for signs that the town had been retaken by the High Gardener. He found no such evidence, but told the others about a mixture of emblems on the shoulders of those guarding the fire-damaged docks. “One group belongs to the Prefect but the other has a symbol I’ve never seen before: a white background with a holly bush.”

“The Queen’s troops. They might not know the drill yet,” guessed Sajika, pulling Pinetto’s head down as a second volley whizzed by. The angry intelligence officer wasted no time in shouting blistering orders to the shore to halt the assault.

One of the shore guards shouted, “Two of you aren’t in uniform, and one is carrying a sword. How do we know they’re not agents of Sandarac holding you hostage?”

“Moron,” muttered the smith. “How do they expect us to prove that?”

Sajika didn’t hesitate. She pushed the large smith off the side of the craft. This was followed by a splash and loud, outraged sputtering. She said, “Satisfied? The Imperial doesn’t even have an eating dagger.” When this didn’t get immediate results, the woman in stiff dress-reds said, “I’m the new Ambassador to Kiateros. You should have been expecting me.” The smith was surprised by this new title, but decided to play the role of a royal lackey. He grabbed the boat’s bow-line and slogged over to a serviceable piling to tie off.

The head of the watch struggled to explain his mistake. “Sir! I mean, ma’am. You aren’t supposed to be here till day after tomorrow, sir!” The Ambassador took vocal exception to a foot soldier dictating her schedule. The uproar of their arrival managed to wake half the garrison.

A quarter hour later, the Babliosian lieutenant in charge of the garrison stood in his nightclothes and boots apologizing profusely to the woman. After a rambling session of self-effacement, the man bowed and awaited his fate.

“You left out lax and incompetent,” Sajika said calmly. “At ease. This sort of thing can happen in war. The occupation of Semenosian towns with native troops is brilliant. It saves us from wasting a lot of our troops on rearguard and taking a lot of losses from guerrillas. My inconvenience is a small thing compared to the greater good.” Her words were pleasant, but a dripping-wet, muscular fellow with a foul disposition stood polishing a sword to her left. The lieutenant still expected her to nod and have the burly monster lop off his head. “If you’d be so kind as to inform the Prefect of our arrival and provide our escort, I can let you return to your sleep.”

The lieutenant winced as he explained, “I’m sorry, ma’am, we can’t get any messages to the Prefect; he’s at least three days west and a little north from here. The front is moving as fast as our men can walk.”

Sajika blinked. “You know exactly where he is, but claim you can’t contact him? How is that?”

The tall, skinny man to her right whispered in the ambassador’s ear and the garrison commander closed his eyes, waiting for the blade. “This town is home to many of the messenger birds carried with the army as it advanced,” explained Pinetto. “When released, they always know how to fly back here to their nests. However, the reverse is not true. They wouldn’t know how to take a message to someone at a random location in the countryside. Normally this isn’t charssue because the field commander travels with the battlefront, and he already knows what’s happening there. Everyone else just has to take orders.”

Sajika raised an eyebrow. “That makes sense. But how do
you
know this?”

“What’s the farthest town west you
can
contact?” asked Pinetto.

“Myrtlebridge was just secured yesterday,” responded the garrison leader without hesitation.

Pinetto looked at Sajika and said, “It’d be faster than walking, Ambassador.”

She nodded and snapped more orders at the cowering lieutenant. “Get me current charts of the shoreline between here and there, and send notice of our mission to that outpost.”

“You’re leaving?” squeaked the lieutenant.

“As soon as we get those charts and some decent food. Blast, I’m tired of dried fish.” After dismissing him, she turned her attention to the smith and Pinetto. “Next landfall, you will both wear your Kiateran dress uniforms and behave in a manner befitting honor guards of the Babliosian diplomatic corps.” Sajika then proceeded to provide them with a long and detailed list of what that responsibility meant. When the smith argued that shaving was not feasible on a boat, he received another long lecture about the structure of military command.

When she relented, the two had to stand at attention while she availed herself of a moment of privacy in the officer’s latrine. As they accompanied her back down to the dock, the smith startled her by saying, “Ambassador, I’ve given a lot of thought to something you said earlier, and you’re right.”

This stopped Sajika in her tracks, both because she had considered him incapable of much thought and because men rarely conceded her innate correctness.

With both companions listening, the smith continued. “Pinetto has no weapons whatsoever. As far as I know, he has no training or inclination to use them. He’s a scholar who hasn’t raised his fist to another human being his entire life. While that’s a commendable characteristic for a human being, we’re heading into an active war zone. If we don’t do something to rectify this problem, one of us is likely to end up dead before we even meet the Prefect.”

Sajika wrinkled her brow. “Did he just use the word ‘rectify’?”

The astronomer nodded. “He uses a lot of big words. He saves them up sometimes to surprise you when you least expect it.”

“Damn, that means
he’s
right, too,” said Sajika. Then she asked Pinetto, “Do you have any military expertise at all? Did any of your classes touch on the subject?”

Pinetto rubbed his chin. “Well, I oncebuilt a scale model of a catapult. I got pretty good at aiming it. It relies on equations I learned in my celestial-mechanics class.”

Pinetto added, “He was wrong about one thing, though. I did try to punch someone once—a bully. Of course, I broke my hand on the first swing, but he never bothered me again.”

Sajika sighed and rubbed her right temple. “Have you ever
successfully
competed against a person in any physical way?”

“I’m quite good at skipping stones, I’ll have you know,” Pinetto said. To redeem his manhood, he found a suitable flat rock on the shore. “I’ll hit that sign over there, just watch.” At least five splashes later, they heard the faint sounds of rock hitting wood. “Ha, told you.”

The smith nodded. “With motivation. He could be deadly with oil, but that might be a bit hard on his sensitivities. Perhaps you could train him with one of those spinning weapons you throw. Those could be non-lethal but useful. Give him a staff and we could tell everyone
he
was the secret police officer.”

She nodded. “You’d be surprised what people will tell you after a good rub.” Both men bit their lips to avoid comment. She continued to explain. “There are many points in the body that can cause or alleve pain. A master can disable a suspect with a single touch and not leave a mark. Remember, soldiers kill. We’re interested in information.”

The smith replied, “Or misinformation. His appearance might help draw attention away from you so that you can do your job more easily.”

The ambassador allowed a small smile to escape. “Perhaps.”

The smith suppressed a grin of his own. He attempted to make up for some of the ill will by giving the woman an excuse she had been looking for all along. “Of course, the downside is that he’d have to spend a lot of time with you training.”

She took the idea under advisement as they resumed their walk. After a few moments, the ambassador said, “We’ve heard all my secrets and poor Pinetto’s. What about yours, Defender of the Realm?”

Baran Togg scuffed his feet, unwilling to share anything embarrassing. Pinetto had no such qualms. “He couldn’t sneak up on someone if his life depended on it.”

The officer turned her penetrating gaze on the smith. He mumbled, “I’m sure it’s part of the working of the blade of Miracles. Other people’s swords can’t come near me when I hold it. But I also can’t tolerate an enemy of Kiateros in my presence. It gets… ahem… agitated.”

“A two-edged sword, is it? Useful information to have, but I’ll keep it to myself. I’ll keep all of your secrets, just as I expect you to keep all of mine. Understood?” Both men agreed. Eventually she decided that Pinetto’s education would be necessary for the success of the mission. The trio was quiet as they returned to the courier boat. The requested charts and a twenty-pound, smoked ham were both on the courier’s deck when they arrived. Rank did have its privileges.

****

The trip to Myrtlebridge and their late-morning disembarkation there passed without incident. Nevertheless, the group had to search both sea and land for some sign of hostile activity. They were now on the front lines.

When the ambassador’s retinue arrived at the tiny, newly captured fishing village, they found only a handful of Babliosian guards. While the rest of the courier ship’s crew stretched and took advantage of the luxuries of land for a while, they sent the runner ahead with his message tube. The pilot was sorry to see them go, but without their aide and protection, he needed to return as soon as possible to the safety of Cardinado. He clapped Pinetto on the back as he said his farewell. “You’re a fine fellow for an officer. You’ll always be welcome on any vessel of mine or my family’s.”