Into the Thinking Kingdoms Read online

  He found him in a far corner, immobilized in the midst of an attempt to carry out an impossible act of physical congress with a beer keg. Half awake, half boiled, he was mumbling under his breath, a besotted smile on his face.

  “Ah, Melinda, sweet Melinda. Melinda of the succulent . . .”

  Ehomba kicked the keg hard. It rolled over, sending its human companion tumbling. Finding himself suddenly on his back, Simna ibn Sind blinked and tried to stand. One hand fumbled for the sword slung at his side. The fingers kept missing, grabbing at empty air.

  “What—? Who dares—? Oh, by Gwasik—my head!”

  “Get up.” Reaching down, Ehomba extended a hand. Glum-faced and thoroughly abashed, the swordsman accepted the offer.

  “Very effectively, too.” The herdsman was looking toward the door. It hung dangling from one hinge, ready to break free at the slightest touch. Doped or not, Ahlitah had evidently not been taken without a fight. “They have stolen away with our friend.”

  “Not so hard!” he shouted. “Don’t pull so hard!”

  Standing behind him, Ehomba held his friend erect with both arms under those of his companion’s. It took a moment or two before the stocky swordsman shook himself free. “I’m all right, Etjole. I’m okay.” He brushed repeatedly at his eyes, as if by so doing he could wipe away the film of indistinctness that lingered there. “By Ghophot—we were drugged!”

  “What, the cat? Who’s taken him?” Simna stumbled slightly but did not fall.

  “Our friend Haramos bin Grue. Our would-be guide. With the aid of others, whom he had waiting until the proper moment. But he did not lie to us. He never said anything about abducting our companion.” He regarded the nearly demolished door thoughtfully. “The black litah would be worth a great deal to a collector of rare animals. Visitors to the village have mentioned that in larger, more prosperous towns such individuals are not uncommon. I imagine there would be many such in a city as large and sophisticated as Lybondai.”

  “Well, let’s go!” Trying to draw his sword, Simna staggered in the general direction of the doorway. “Let’s get after them!”

  Reaching out, Ehomba put a hand on his friend’s shoulder to restrain him. “Why should we do that?” he declared softly.

  Simna gazed blankly up at his stolid, unassuming companion. As always, there was not the slightest suggestion of artifice in the herdsman’s tone or expression. “What do you mean, ‘why should we do that’? The cat is our friend, our ally. He’s saved us more than once.”

  The herdsman barely nodded. “It was his choice, a burden he decided to take on himself. If we three were starving, he would eat first you and then me.”

  “Under similar circumstances, I’d eat him, though I’m not very fond of cat. Too stringy. But this situation isn’t that situation.”

  “He is an acquaintance. I like him. But not enough to risk my life and the failure of my journey to burrow into a den of thieves to rescue him. Maybe you do not understand, Simna, but he would.”

  “Would he, now? Would that we could ask him that question to his flat, furry face. Stay if you must—I’m going after him.” The swordsman turned and stumbled, albeit gallantly, toward the doorway.

  “What about your pledge to me?”

  Simna peered back over his shoulder. “It will be fulfilled—after I’ve rescued Ahlitah.”

  “You will fail.”

  “Has that been written? Who are you to interpret the pages of Fate before they’ve been turned? Do you think no one is capable of heroics except in your company?”

  “Look at you! You can barely walk.” Was that an inkling of hesitation in the herdsman’s voice? Simna continued to weave an uncertain path toward the door.

  “I’m better with a sword falling down drunk than any three warriors stone-cold sober.” He paused at the dangling door, frowning. “Didn’t this used to have a knob?”

  “It does not matter.” With a sigh, Ehomba moved to rejoin his companion. “Give it a push and it will most likely fall off that last hinge.”

  “Oh.” Simna did so and was rewarded with a crash as the creaking barrier fell to the floor. “So maybe there are certain pages of Fate you can decipher.”

  “Fate had nothing to do with it.” The herdsman strode past him. “Right now I can see straight and you cannot. Come on.”

  “Right!” Simna ibn Sind drew himself up. “Uh—where are we going?”

  “To try and free the cat, if he has indeed been taken by the venal bin Grue. I do not mind leaving him behind, and I do not mind leaving you behind, but if you get yourself killed on account of my reluctance, I would have to carry that with me forever. My soul bears enough encumbrances without having to pile your stupid death on top of them.”

  “Ah, you don’t fool me, Etjole Ehomba.” A wide grin split the swordsman’s face. “You were just looking for an excuse, a rationalization, to go after the litah.”

  The herdsman did not reply. He was already out the door and heading for the waterfront.

  Despite his boasts of commercial achievement, or perhaps because of them, they were unable to find anyone who had heard of Haramos bin Grue. Repeated questioning of touts, travelers, seamen and servants, merchants and mongers produced blank stares, or bemused head shakes, or indifference. Sometimes the latter was mixed with contempt for the questioners. Ehomba’s simple garb and Simna’s unindentured status sank them beneath the notice of the city’s privileged and elite. Those who replied to their polite inquiries were usually not in a position to know, and those who might be often did not condescend to respond.

  “This isn’t getting us anywhere.” Simna was still determined, but discouragement was settling into his voice like a bad cold.

  “Maybe we are going about it wrong.” Ehomba was gazing out to sea, a distant look in his eyes as he stared unblinkingly at the southern horizon. A ship corrupted his vision and he blinked. “Perhaps instead of asking individuals on the street, we should seek out one who can look by other means.”

  “A seer?” Simna eyed his friend uncertainly. “But aren’t you a seer, long bruther? Can’t you do the far-looking?”

  “If I could, do you think I would be discussing the matter now? When will you accept, Simna, that I am nothing more than what I say?”

  “When prodigious abnormalities stop occurring in your company. But I accept that you cannot seer.” The swordsman turned to drink in the surging mass of humanity and other creatures who filled the waterfront with unceasing activity. “If these insipid folk cannot tell us where to find bin Grue, then maybe they can tell us where to find someone who can.”

  They were directed to a tiny shopfront set in a stone building lined with narrow shuttered doorways, like vertical shingles. There was no name above the portal, which was embellished with many words written in scripts alien to Ehomba. The more worldly Simna recognized bits of two different languages, and by combining those words he knew from each, he was able to divine some meaning, like reconstituting juice from concentrate.

  “‘Moleshohn the All-Knowing,’” he translated for his companion. “‘Comprehender of Worlds and Provider of Sage Mandates.’” He sniffed. “Let’s see what he has to offer.”

  “How will we compensate him for his services?” Ehomba wondered.

  The swordsman sighed. “After paying for our passage across the Aboqua I still have some Chlengguu gold left. More than enough to satisfy some substandard waterfront wise man, anyway.”

  The door was not latched, and a small bell rang as they entered. The unpretentious front room contained a dusty clutter of incunabula, a table piled high with old books of dubious extraction, and a great deal of spoiling food and stale clothing. It did not look promising.

  The individual who emerged from a back room popped out to greet them like a badger winkling its way free of a too-small burrow. Moleshohn the All-Knowing’s appearance reflected far more prosperity than did his environment. Short and slim, he had a narrow face, bright ferret-eyes, a goatee that appeared to have been grafted onto his pointed chin from a much larger man, flowing gray hair, and more rapid hand movements than a professional shuffler of cards. The air in the modest room was stagnant until he entered. His ceaseless, highly animated waving stirred both it and innumerable dust particles into torpid motion.

  “Welcome, welcome, progenitors of a thousand benevolences! What can I do for you?” He did not so much sit as throw himself into the chair behind the table. Ehomba thought the worried wood would collapse from the impact, but the seat and back held. “You need a cheating lover found?” The seer smirked knowingly at Simna. “You seek gainful employment in Lybondai? You want to know the best inn, or where to find the sauciest wenches? The nature of mankind troubles you, or you have acquired some small but embarrassing disease that requires treatment?”

  “We have lost something.” Ehomba did not take a seat. Given a choice, herdsmen often preferred to stand. There was only one other chair in the room anyway, and Simna had already requisitioned it.

  “Do say, do say.” As he spoke, Moleshohn was rapidly tapping the tips of his fingers against one another.

  “To digress for just a second,” a curious Simna responded, “but what is the nature of mankind?”

  “Confused, my friend.” The seer extended an open palm. “That will be one half a gold Xarus, please.”

  “We are not through.” Ehomba frowned at his companion, who shrugged helplessly.

  “I always wanted to know that.”

  “I am no oracle, Simna, and I could have answered that question for you.” Looking back at their host, the herdsman explained their purpose and their need.

  “I see, I see.” Moleshohn’s fingers tapped a lot faster now that he had something of substance to consider. “Very large, is it, with the legs of a different sort of great feline altogether?”

  Ehomba nodded. “That, and it can speak the general language of men.”

  “A remarkable animal, to be sure, to be sure. And you say it was taken from you, abducted, by this Haramos bin Grue?”

  “He’s a slick bastard,” Simna informed the seer. “But this all happened only yesterday, so we don’t think he can have gone far. Not with Ahlitah as unwilling freight.”

  “I would think both would still be in the city.” Ehomba seemed mildly indifferent to the proceedings, but Simna knew his friend better. “It would take time to find the proper buyer for something like the litah. Nor would a trader as clever as bin Grue accept the first offer to come along. He will seek to get the best price for his acquisition.”

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen, you are in luck.” The diminutive diviner was beaming. “You have come to the right man. Not only am I familiar with the name of Haramos bin Grue, but for a small fee I can have this feline re-abducted and returned to you! Your lives will not be put at risk. There are many men of daring and greed in this city who can be induced to participate in such an enterprise for a pittance. If you will but wait here, relaxing with my books and objects of interest, I will arrange for everything.” He rose from his seat. “Your purloined friend shall be returned to you this very night!”

  “As Gouyoustos is my witness,” declared Simna, “I applaud your initiative, All-Knowing One!” His expression darkened slightly and his voice fell. “What exactly will this ‘enterprise’ cost us?”

  The All-Knowing named a figure, which struck the swordsman as pretty much all-draining. But if the seer could deliver on his promise, it would save them both danger and difficulty. Moleshohn sealed the pact by assenting to accept half payment now, so that he could hire the necessary individuals, and the rest upon safe return of Ahlitah.

  It was agreed. They would remain in the cramped but cozy shop until their host returned with their four-legged friend.

  “You are not afraid of this bin Grue?” Ehomba put the question to Moleshohn as he was about to depart.

  “I know his reputation. Because of . . . certain goods . . . that he deals in, he is known to be more than a mere trader.” The oracle winked twice. “But I am the All-Knowing, and as such, I know how to deal with men like him. Do not fear for me, Cosigner of a Solemn Bargain. I can take care of myself.” He opened the door, his fingers rapping excitably on the jamb. “I will be back before the turn of midnight with your companion, and for the rest of my money.” He shut the door resoundingly behind him. Moleshohn the All-Knowing did everything resoundingly.

  The two travelers were left to their own resources, perusing their host’s collections by the soft light of well-fueled oil lamps. Somewhat to Simna’s surprise, Ehomba revealed that he could read, though his learning was restricted to only the general language of men. Simna could boast of a knowledge of many tongues, though his fluency was frequently restricted to those words not usually to be found in the scholarly tomes of which their host was fond.

  In this manner they passed a fair many hours, during which time the sun surrendered the day to the moon, and the noise of the waterfront, though never passing away completely, was much reduced from that of the busy day.

  “I wonder if it is after midnight.” Ehomba looked up from the book of many pictures he was perusing. “It feels so.”

  “There’s a clock on that shelf over there.” Simna pointed. “Can’t you see by its face that it’s after midnight?”

  “A clock?” Closing the book, Ehomba rose to have a look at the strange device. “So that is what this is. I wondered.”

  Simna gaped at him. “You mean you’ve never seen a clock before?”

  “No, never.” Standing before the shelf, Ehomba gazed in fascination at the softly ticking mechanism. “What is a ‘clock’?”

  “A device for the telling of time.” The swordsman studied his friend in disbelief. “It’s a peculiar sort of sorcerer you are, that doesn’t know the functioning of a clock. How do you tell time?”

  “By the sun and the stars.” The herdsman was leaning toward the shelf, his nose nearly touching the carved wooden hands that told the hour and the minute. “This is a wonderful thing.”

  “Hoy, sure.” A disappointed Simna found himself wondering if, perhaps, just perhaps, in spite of all they had seen and survived, Etjole Ehomba was in truth little more than what he claimed to be: a humble herder of food animals.

  There was a noise at the door and both men turned to regard it expectantly. “Moleshohn!” Simna blurted. “About time. We were beginning to get a trifle concerned about—”

  The door burst inward, thrown aside by a brace of Khorog. They were a large, beefy folk, with warty, unkind faces, who were much in demand in the municipalities and kingdoms of the Aboqua’s northern shore as mercenaries and bodyguards. They could also, it was abundantly and immediately evident, be employed for less noble purposes. Clad in light chain armor with heavy solid shoulder- and breastplates, they wielded weapons of little refinement, weighty war axes and ponderous maces being the manglers of choice.

  Simna had his sword out and had leaped atop the table in a trice. “No wonder Moleshohn the Deceiver wasn’t afraid of bin Grue! He’s sold us out!” As he flailed madly with his sword, using his superior position to slow the first rush of assailants and keep them momentarily at bay, he shouted frantically. “Do something, bruther! Slaughter them where they stand! They’ll be too many through that door and all over us in a moment!”

  In the surprise and confusion of the initial assault, Ehomba reached behind his back to grab for the sword of sky metal. Instead, his hand wrapped around his long spear. With no time in which to adjust for the mistake and with grunting, murderous Khorog swarming through the open door, he was forced to thrust with the weapon at hand instead of the one of choice. This despite knowing that the consequences could be as deadly for the spear holder as for those on the receiving end of its inherent inimical qualities.

  He knew that the cramped chamber was too small to contain the spirit of the spearpoint, but he had no time in which to consider another action. The grunting, homicidal Khorog were right on top of them. What burst forth from the tooth that tipped the end of his spear expanded not simply to dominate the room, but to fill it.

  “Out the back way, quickly!” He could only shout and hope that the swordsman could respond rapidly enough as the dead spirit of the tyrannosaur ballooned to occupy the entire room. The massive, switching tail barely missed him as he grabbed for his backpack and dove through the rear portal.

  Those Khorog who were not crushed instantly beneath the weight of the reconstituted carnivore suffocated themselves as they tried to squeeze back through the narrow front door. More were slain, devoured by the rampaging demon as, seeking space to move about and breathe, it burst through the storefront and the outer wall of the building. Its terrible roars and bellows resounded across the waterfront, sending hitherto placid pedestrians running for their lives or plunging into the harbor to escape. Surviving Khorog scattered in all directions, throwing down their cumbersome weapons in their haste to flee. The tyrannosaur’s spirit pursued them, snapping at would-be assassins and blameless citizens alike.

  Simna had just avoided being stepped on and smashed to a pulp. Only his familiarity with his friend’s unexpected stratagems had enabled him to react with a minimum of shock and flee before it was too late. Now he let himself be led, following the herdsman as they stumbled out into the alley behind the shop and hurried back toward the harborfront.

  “Wait a minute!” he yelled breathlessly. “Why are we going this way? The monster you let loose is out there!”

  “I know.” Ehomba’s tone was as equable as ever, but the swordsman thought he might have detected just a hint of suppressed passion. “But I am hoping there may also be a smaller one slinking about.”

  Sure enough, they found Moleshohn lying in a small pinnace tied to the main quay, cowering beneath loose canvas as he sought to hide from both the raging prehistoric spirit and the surviving angry Khorog. When the canvas was pulled back to expose his startled face, the All-Knowing appeared something less than omnipotent.

  Simna shoved the point of his sword against the seer’s throat until he was forced to lean back over the side of the small sailing craft. Eyes wide, their erstwhile host found himself hanging inches from the dark water. Both hands clung to the rail to keep him from tumbling over into the depths, the fingers tapping out a panicked ostinato on the smooth wood.