Voyage to the City of the Dead Read online

  If he didn't live, though, it wouldn't make any difference. Etienne remembered that surprised moan as Irquit's knife sailed past his ear. With the Changrit flotilla rapidly falling astern, he turned and hurried back into the cool interior of the hydrofoil.

  The pilot's seat was unoccupied and he slid behind the wheel, made a fast check of the instruments. The scanner showed only a few small logs floating to starboard, in con­trast to the thick cluster of shiplike shapes behind them. In a minute or two those distant threats would slip off the screen altogether.

  Homat was lying on the floor moaning. Lyra had pulled the knife out and was working to stanch the bleeding. The weapon lay near her right leg, a very large blade to have struck so small a humanoid. A couple of centimeters to the left, and they'd have found themselves continuing their jour­ney without either of their guides. Lyra had removed her halter and bound it over the hole. The halter's air‑condi­tioning system was still operating full blast, and he thought to ask why when it occurred to him that the cold would pro­mote coagulation. On rare occasions it struck him that he'd married a woman of more than average intelligence.

  With the flow of blood slowed she disappeared astern, to return a moment later with a handful of vials and spray cans.

  "I don't know how well this is going to work on you, Homat. It wasn't designed to be used on a Mai, but it's all we have and I don't know what else to try. Can you under­stand me?"

  He nodded slowly, his small sharp teeth grinding together in pain.

  "You're fully mammalian and from what I've been able to learn your physiology's close enough to ours so that‑"

  "Screw the biology lecture, Lyra!" her husband snapped.

  She glanced sharply up at him, but this time only nodded. Her unvoiced admission of his rightness gave him no pleasure. He was too women about Homai.

  The freeze spray on top of the effect produced by her halter's cooler stopped the rest of bleeding. Homat gasped at the chill and tried not to look at the intimidating alien machines they were using on his body. Then she took a small curved device that cupped the curve of her palm, adjusted it carefully, and held It over the wound as she removed the bloodied halter. As she passed the device over his shoulder and upper chest it hissed softly. A faint bright yellow light poured from its underside.

  Homat writhed in pain, but when she pulled her hand away and snapped off the surgiseal he could see that the cut had been closed completely, and sterilized in the bargain. There would be a permanent scar, but Lyra was no surgeon and there hadn't been time to consult the computer.

  "Any poison?„

  "No, de‑Lyra," Homat whispered at her, staring at his chest in amazement. "A clean knife for a clean death." Etienne received this information with relief. His arm had ceased bleeding and now he could stop worrying about his own wound.

  "You'll be all right now," Lyra assured their guide. "Just take it easy for a few days and try not to use that arm too much." He was shivering steadily and it occurred to her it wasn't from shock.

  "He'll freeze in here, Etienne." The cabin thermometer registered a temperature of eighty degrees. "We've got to get him back out on deck."

  "Go ahead, we're well clear now. I'll help you." He al­lowed the autopilot to resume control of the boat and moved to lift Homat in his arms. The slim Mai was a light burden and once he had been placed on his sleeping mat, Etienne turned back to the stern gangway. It didn't take long to discover how Irquit had made her way inside to attack Lyra. A small wad of sikreg gum, a local product Irquit employed to help thicken her stews and soups, had been jammed be­tween the center seal and the door, preventing the lock from functioning.

  Thoughtful of Irquit, to have made such a study of how the doorways operated. Undoubtedly she'd been studying hard ever since they'd departed Steamer Station. It was their own damned fault, Etienne told himself. They were going to have to cease thinking of the Mai as ignorant primitives.

  The thought made him frown as he turned to stare at Homate Their remaining guide was sitting up now, propped against the low bar of the railing that ran around the top of the gunwale. The Mai had operated their boat!

  "That was very quick thinking of you, Homat. Taking control of the boat while Lyra was fighting with Irquit. An­other couple of minutes and the Changritites might have overwhelmed us."

  "Yes, I was standing here watching them close on us, de­ Etienne, and I thought to wonder what was wrong. I saw the door there by your hand swinging open, and with heart in hand crept inside despite the cold to see what was the matter, for I knew we should not be slowing.

  "I have watched for a long time now, through the round glass, as you and de‑Lyra ran the spirit boat. While I still have no idea what controls the spirits that make it go, it is not hard to see how you control those spirits. I told you that Irquit thought she could do it, so I saw no reason why I also could not do so.

  "You turn the wheel to change direction and push the little button to increase the speed."

  Etienne relaxed a little. "Put that way it doesn't sound terribly complex, does it? How are you feeling?"

  "Your wondrous tools have delighted my side. Much bet­ter, all thanks from my ancestors and me to you."

  Etienne nodded. "Did you hear what your former com­panion said as she took her leave of us?"

  "No." He gave a shaky Mai smile. "I can imagine it was not very polite."

  "Not very. Enough to insure that you'd better never go within a dozen legats of Po Rabi again."

  "I had already committed myself to that. Did you not believe me?"

  Etienne looked uncomfortable. "It is hard on a strange world to know what to believe and what not to believe, Homat. Forgive me if I seem insensitive."

  "Do not feel so, de‑Etienne. They say that the people of Suphum do not pause for midday rest but work straight through 'til sundown. That is also hard to believe. Truly is the Everything filled with wonders. I do not regret my de­cision, though I might have had I died under Irquit's knife, may her flesh rot in the river. I do not need a home, now that I have you and de‑Lyra as my friends and protectors."

  "Don't worry, Homat. You'll have your reward when we get back to Steamer Station." Lyra was adjusting a clean halter top. "I don't care what the regulations say. We'll slip you something that should make you wealthy for life."

  In true Mai fashion Homat instantly pointed to the interior of the boat. "That machine you used to heal me. Could I have one of those?"

  Lyra laughed. She hadn't laughed like that in a long time, Etienne thought, surprised at how sharply it pierced him.

  "The surgiseal would wear out before very long and you wouldn't be able to have it fixed, Homat. There's nothing worse than a magician whose magic unexpectedly deserts him. Don't worry, we'll find you something suitable that will last."

  "I am not worried," Homat replied calmly. He moved his arm gingerly. "Truly a delightful instrument, though."

  "Hadn't you better check the autopilot, Etienne?"

  "We're okay. We're back out in the middle of the river and the scanner will sound if there's anything ahead it can't deal with. Maybe we ought to start thinking about replen­ishing our stores. Irquit was right about our being low." He looked down at Homat. "You're positive Po Rabi's influence doesn't extend any farther Upriver than Changrit?"

  Homat sighed. Sometimes you had to tell this peculiar folk the same thing several times before they believed you.

  "The next major trading town beyond Changrit is Kek­kalong, de‑Etienne. I have never been there but I know it thrives independent of any ocean‑city's rule. It lies some three thousand legats north of Changrit."

  Lyra did some fast mental calculating. "Five hundred kil­ometers. We can hold off that long. Since it's a major port, maybe we can tie up there for a couple of days, take a rest. I can do some intensive research. I'm certainly not going to have the chance to do any work in Changrit."

  "A most delightful major port," Homat agreed. "Not as big as Po Rabi or Losithi, but near
ly as large as Changrit. Beyond Kekkalong all is unknown country, unknown to me and to any living trader of Po Rabi. None have journeyed so far Upriver from the Groalamasan."

  "Then you'll be the first," Etienne said. He turned apol­ogetically to his wife. "Two of them got on board. I had to use the asynapt on them. There was no time to shoot to incapacitate, Lyra."

  To his surprise she didn't bawl him out. Perhaps Irquit's assault had made her a tad less protective of the people she had come to study.

  "Only two? That's not bad. Probably not enough to start a blood feud with the Changritites."

  "That's good, because when we return we might have to deal with the same situation all over again."

  "Our return's a long ways away yet, Etienne. We'll worry about it months from now. By that time the Changritites may have grown bored with watching the river and sent Irquit on her way. At least we won't have to watch for any on‑board threats." She glanced down at Homat, who was rubbing his miraculously healed shoulder.

  "I apologize for doubting your story, Homat."

  "No, no, no reason to apologize, de‑Lyra. I would have doubted you if in your place. Doubt is healthy."

  She stared out into the damp night. Occasionally a light from a house on shore would flash dimly in the distance, like a star. All was calm and quiet.

  "I'm beginning to think that it is," she murmured softly.

  Chapter Six

  Kekkalong turned out to be all that Homat had promised. A natural harbor had been scooped from the shore of the Skar by powerful currents. As they entered, small fishing boats and pleasure craft clustered like whirligig beetles in the hydrofoil's wake.

  As was the style in the great oceanic cities, half the build­ings were constructed below the surface, the other half above. There was the expected profusion of tall, thin towers. Unlike the structures of ancient human cities, which they super­ficially resembled, these narrow cylinders reached deep into the earth. Some served to convey cool water to the surface while others allowed hot air to rise from the town's subter­ranean levels. The Mai flourished in a brutally hot climate, but they enjoyed a cool breeze as much as a human, even if their idea of a cool breeze was a gust of damp air at ninety degrees.

  The townsfolk were friendly and did their best to restrain their curiosity about their tall, hairy visitors. As Kekkalong was ruled not by a single Moyt but by a coalition of mer­chants, there was something of a respite from the over‑powering urge to compete that drove the inhabitants of the southern cities. Lyre took notes as fast as she could address her recorder.

  With the loss of Irquit, Homat's bargaining abilities were brought to the fore, and he proved himself an adequate replacement. As soon as he overcame his ingrained shyness he proved quite adroit at dickering for supplies in the marketplace.

  They were walking through the central market, buying samples of the local carvings for their stock of primitive specimens, when Lyra called to her husband. As usual he'd left the trading to her and Homat, being more interested in the stones chat had been used to pave the street.

  "What is it? Lyra, did you know that some of this might have been quarried out of a pegmatite dike?"

  "Sure I did," she replied sardonically, "but I'll try to forges it for now. Come over and listen to something."

  She stood before a very old Mai. Trying to muster some interest, Etienne observed that the wrinkles on the Mai face formed whorls wish age instead of lines.

  "Only two hundred legats up the Skar," the oldster de­claimed, "lies the place where it is joined by the great Au­rang."

  "He says," Lyra told him, usurping the old one's tale, "that the Tsla have a major town not far up the Aurang."

  Etienne eyed her uncertainly. "How far is not far?" She gave him a figure in legats and he converted the native measurement in his head. "Between eight and nine hundred kil­ometers. That's a hell of a `not far.' Our itinerary calls for us to follow the Skar to its origin, mapping and taking notes along the way. Nothing was said about making any major detours."

  "It would give us the chance to study a wholly new race, Etienne, examine an entirely different culture. We have to make contact with the Tsla sooner or later."

  "I thought the plan was 'later."'

  "But it's such a wonderful opportunity! I'm told the Tsla build very few centers and that this Turput is one of the main ones."

  "It would stall mean a radical change in our plans," he argued. "Lyre, not a day's gone by since we set down on this world that you haven't been able to wallow in your work, whereas I'm still waiting to reach the point where the Barshajagad narrows enough for me to do some serious research and studies in my specialty."

  "If we go to this Turput, you'll have that chance, Etienne. They can't live in the river valley." She exchanged some rapid‑fire chatter with the oldster. "His description of Tur­put's location fits what we've learned about their ecological niche. Turput's at least three thousand meters above the Skar. Apparently the Aurang hasn't cut nearly as deep a canyon. You should be able to dive into your studies sooner if we visit Turput than if we avoid it."

  He considered carefully. "I know that we're supposed to make detailed studies of the Tsla as well as the Mai, but the plan was to do that during our return journey, after we'd attained the other major objectives."

  "Etienne, my primary interest in coming here is to see how several entirely different cultures coexist side by side in separate habitation zones. To do this I need to observe how the Tsla live and react to the Mai."

  "Can't it wait until we're on our way back?"

  "We owe ourselves the detour. At three thousand meters above sea level the temperature will drop at least forty degrees from what it is here on the Skar, with a corresponding fall in humidity. For the first time since touchdown we can slip into real clothes and dispense with air conditioning. Doesn't that interest you?"

  He had to admit that it did, but there were other factors she hadn't mentioned, possibly by design.

  "From what this old one said, Lyra, Turput lies only eight hundred kilometers upstream from where the Aurang enters the Skar, right?" She nodded. "Okay. That means climbing three thousand meters up the canyonside over a short dis­tance. Too steep a slope for the boat to navigate and too far to run on repellers."

  Lyra pointed to the old trader. "Ossanj says there's a decent‑size town at the confluence of the two rivers, called Aib. He says we might hire them to watch the hydrofoil as well as find porters to ferry supplies up to Turput."

  "Really? Does he happen to have any relatives in Chan­grit ?"

  "Etienne!" She sighed with exasperation. "We're far be­yond Changrit's influence. You know that."

  "Maybe so. Pardon me if I seem excessively cautious. It's just that we haven't done so well where local help's been involved."

  "Come on! You know we can take enough precautions to insure the safety of the boat."

  "Granted that we can, I'm still not sure I'm ready for a three‑thousand‑meter hike. That's going to make hash of our itinerary."

  "Our itinerary's not graven in stone, Etienne. If the weather's bad when we come back down the river we might not be able to make the climb at all. We can't pass on the chance. The weather's favorable now. Surely we can hire some kind of local transport so we don't have to make the entire climb on foot." She turned back to the trader. "Tell him about Turput, Ossanj."

  "A most delighted wondrous place," declared the oldster. "Mysterious are the workings of the Tsla." He made a gesture to protect himself from any interested spirits. "Their fields climb the sides of mountains. They grow there delighted fruits and vegetables that wither here by the river."

  "How do you know all this, Ossanj? I thought the lands of the Tsla too cold for your people to tolerate."

  "With much clothing to keep warm, we can visit there for short times."

  "And we'll be comfortable, Etienne," Lyra added en­couragingly. "Doesn't that sound inviting?"

  "Not as inviting as continuing Upriver."


  "But that's just my point. Here's a chance for you to see some real topography."

  "Lyra, I'm sick of river valley, you know that. But we ought to stick to our itinerary."

  She drew away from him. "I see," she said coldly. "Fine. You continue Upriver with Homat. I'll take enough. of the trade goods to tide me over until you return and I'll go up to Turput myself. Meet you on the way back."

  He sighed. "Lyra, you know that's no good. What about the cultures Upriver from here? Am I supposed to do your fieldwork as well as my own?"

  She shrugged. "Okay, then take a month or two and go where you wish, study what you want, and come back for me. But I'm going to Turput tomorrow, Etienne, while I have the opportunity and while the weather's good."

  "Damn you," he said quietly. "You know the dangers in splitting up. You get your way, as usual. I'll come with you. But I won't like it and you'll have to listen to me bitch about it all the way up the canyon."

  "I'll suffer it." She smiled triumphantly at him. "Consider it serendipity instead of an enforced detour. Many important discoveries are made because of serendipity."

  "Bullshit. You've just decided that you want to go now."

  That prompted a glare that chilled the air in the market­place. She didn't speak to him for the rest of the afternoon.

  Homat would have voted for staying on the river. Though he had eaten the produce the Tsla traded with the river dwellers and had heard much of their marvelous accomplish­ments, he'd never seen one and didn't care if he ever did. He thought that de‑Etienne should have argued more pow­erfully with his mate, and if that had failed, given her orders. But it would seem that male‑female relationships among the off‑worlders were very different from those among the Mai. He spent a whole morning making signs and attempting to propitiate the proper spirits before they set off Upriver once again.

  It wasn't long before the hydrofoil's instrumentation warned them of the approaching confluence of the Skar and the Aurang. Ahead, the Skar executed a sharp bend west­ward while the Aurang flowed into the main river from out of the north. Given the Aurang's immense flow and orien­tation, anyone not knowing which was which would have proceeded up the tributary, thinking it the Skar.