The burglar of sliceharb.., p.17
The Burglar of Sliceharbor, page 17
part #4 of Edgewhen Series
She gave him an encouraging nod and told him, “I will start with bread.”
Gusty didn’t move.
“Either loaf will do,” Gloria prompted.
“Oh,” said Gusty. “I’ll take this one, then.” He snatched a loaf from the basket and a lemon rolled out onto the picnic mat.
“Sorry,” he said.
He picked up the stray lemon and then – yes, it was true; Gloria saw it with her own eyes – he returned the dropped lemon to her basket!
Customs were different on the mainland. Gloria understood this. Gusty had not meant to insult her. But he would have to be taught.
“Food that leaves a matyu’s basket is never returned,” she said.
“Oh,” said Gusty. “Sorry.”
He reached for the lemons, but hesitated because he couldn’t tell which one it had been.
“Let us pretend the lemon never fell out,” Gloria suggested. That was better than throwing out every lemon – and much better than throwing out the entire basket, which was the protocol her mother insisted on. Protocol had to be relaxed in certain situations. Gloria was a pragmatist.
“When you share a meal with a matyu, you may take one of anything she has already taken.” It was like explaining manners to a child. “So when I ask for bread, you may take the other loaf as soon as you have handed me mine.”
“Oh,” said Gusty. He offered her the loaf he was clutching. So tight was his grip that his fingers had poked holes in the crust.
“Perhaps I shall eat that one,” she said, indicating the bread still in the basket. She didn’t want to embarrass him, but she couldn’t bring herself to take torn bread.
Gusty withdrew the intact loaf from the basket, and Gloria took it before he could mangle it or drop it or do who-knew-what-else.
“Good,” she said. At least, it was a start.
The bread had cured nicely during the morning’s walk. The inside was firm and spongy. The crust was delightfully chewy, while still managing to retain a hint of crunch.
“You may eat your bread, too,” she told him.
“Oh. Right. Thank you.” He took a bite.
“Does your mother bake bread like this?”
“Yes,” Gusty Longbread said.
Seeing that he wouldn’t elaborate, Gloria prompted, “Is it as good as this?”
“Better,” Gusty said. “But this is good, too.”
Gloria smiled. “What Mother makes is always best. You are a good son.”
“Thank you,” Gusty said.
“I understand that customs are different here,” she said. “I do not judge you for concealing your navel.”
Gusty looked down at his iron breastplate. It extended nearly down to his hips.
“It’s a regulation uniform,” he mumbled.
“I understand,” Gloria said. “Even on the Sun Island, we now have soldiers who cover their navels. The Mogadrel are barbarians who will stab their swords into any opening, no matter how sacred.”
“You’ve seen the fighting?” Gusty asked.
“Not personally, no,” she said, pushing the image of her brother’s corpse from her mind.
Gusty was studying her curiously. He was a soldier. Would talk of the war open him up to her?
She said, “The fighting is on a sparsely populated coast of the island. Our frontier, really. If the Mogadrel had tried to attack the city where I live, they would have been slaughtered while still aboard their ships.”
Gusty grunted.
“Have you heard much news of the war?” she asked.
“Some,” Gusty said. “I haven’t talked to anyone from the Motherland, but I’ve heard stories second- and third-hand.”
“What are people saying?”
“They say we’re losing.”
So it was we, not you. Interesting.
“It’s true,” she said. “We are. That’s why I was sent here.”
Gusty frowned.
“To get the Sun Scroll,” he said.
“That is correct,” she said. “Why does this make you frown?”
Gusty shook his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frown.”
“You don’t approve of my mission?”
“It’s not for me to say.”
“But Aura Wisebrow has given you her opinions,” Gloria said.
“What?”
“It is not for you to say, because it is Aura Wisebrow’s decision. Is that what you meant?”
“I guess it’s nobody’s decision now,” Gusty said. “The Sun Scroll is gone.”
“You were looking for it, weren’t you?”
“Yes. With Tisha.”
“Did you find it?”
“Not yet. You’d know if we had.”
“So why did you quit looking?”
“You needed an escort.”
“Yes,” said Gloria. “So Aura Wisebrow told me.”
She knows! … But how much do you know, Gusty?
Gloria said, “You know why this expedition is so important, don’t you?”
“Not really.”
“But you can guess.”
“Would you like to tell me? Tisha and I are here to help you. We can do that better if we know what you’re trying to do.”
Again he mentioned the native girl. Gloria looked at her. She sat on the road, sharing a basket with the nervous jungle guide and the Rock brothers.
Gloria asked, “Tisha is important to you, isn’t she?”
“Of course,” Gusty said. “She’s my partner.”
“And you trust her?”
“Of course.”
“With everything?”
“Yeah. Most things, anyway.”
“Gusty Longbread, you know we are losing the war in the Motherland. This expedition could tip that balance. Our people’s lives depend on our success. With so much at stake, I can’t jeopardize my plan by revealing it to people who may be unsympathetic to the cause.”
Gusty glanced at the native woman. Worry was in his eyes.
Gloria said, “I can tell you our purpose only if you promise not to tell anyone else.”
Gusty sighed. “Then you’d better not tell me,” he said. “I can’t keep anything from Tisha.”
* * *
Bendoko took a lemon. He bit off the end and spat it out onto the road. He tore apart the peel, sending pungent droplets bursting into the air. The aroma blended into the citrusy smell of the two porters.
Clever Rock and Pious Rock. Oranges had funny names, but those were two of the funniest.
Bendoko didn’t laugh, though. Only their names were funny. The men were steel sharp.
They ate with none of the lazy insolence that Bendoko expected from muscular orange thugs. The Rock brothers sat like men ready to stand in an eyeblink. They looked like soldiers. Their eyes were wary. Bendoko was glad that most of their suspicion was focused on Gusty.
“It bothers you that he sits so close to the ambassador,” Tisha said.
The brothers turned their alert eyes to Tisha.
“Are you afraid he might harm her while you are sitting too far away to help?” she asked.
“We fear nothing,” said Pious.
The brothers were easy to tell apart. Pious was the one with the scar on his chin.
“All right,” Tisha said. “But you’re watching for something.”
“We’re just eating our lunch,” Pious said.
“All right,” Tisha said.
The brothers had been eating their lunch, but now neither was eating anything. Their hands were empty, ready for action.
Bendoko chewed on his lemon, waiting for the next move.
“Is it the club?” Tisha asked. “I can tell him to leave it with me the next time he’s alone with the ambassador.”
Pious glared at her.
“That would be better,” Clever said.
Pious looked at him in surprise.
Clever shrugged. “It would be.”
Pious shrugged and fished a piece of dried apple out of the basket.
“We’re all here to help the ambassador,” Tisha said. The earnestness of her face was pretty. Bendoko had figured out that he wasn’t in love with her after all, but he still thought she looked pretty.
“We can work together,” Tisha said.
Clever looked her up and down. “I do not think so,” he said. “You are too short to hold up your end of the litter.”
She smiled – very pretty. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then I am afraid I do not know what you mean,” Clever said.
He wasn’t cold. He wasn’t coy. He was still pretending to be a porter, even though he had just admitted he was a bodyguard.
An honest liar. Bendoko found himself liking the man.
Gusty and the ambassador stood up.
“Finally,” Pious said.
Tisha glanced at Bendoko and gave him a little grin.
Bendoko didn’t grin back. He didn’t want the Rock brothers to think he might be laughing at them.
The brothers hastened to the ambassador’s side, ostensibly to pick up her basket and picnic mat.
Tisha smiled and shook her head. “I hope they relax a little once they get to know Gus.”
“I don’t think those guys relax,” Bendoko said.
“I suppose not,” Tisha admitted. “But they might calm down a little.”
“Yeah,” said Bendoko. “I suppose.”
Tisha picked up their picnic basket and stood up.
Bendoko said, “That was smooth, by the way.”
“What was?”
“The way you called their bluff without making them angry.”
Tisha grinned. “I don’t think Pious appreciated it.”
“No, but he didn’t slap anyone’s head off either.”
“Oranges are just as reasonable as we are,” Tisha said.
“Hey, I wasn’t saying anything about oranges. I’ve known plenty of blues who wanted to slap my head off, too.”
“All right, Ben.”
She eyed him.
“So how does it feel to be out of reach of the Too-Tall brothers?” she asked.
Bendoko checked to be certain that none of the Queenies were within hearing distance.
“To tell the truth, this place makes me nervous,” he said.
“It shows,” Tisha said.
“How bad?” If the Queenies knew he wasn’t really a jungle guide …
Tisha brushed some mosquitoes off his neck. “Let’s just say I hope no one calls your bluff.”
* * *
The Rock brothers packed up the supplies, and the expedition left. By that time, the ants had already found the bread crumbs. They organized a supply chain to haul the bread back to their queen.
After the shadows had moved, a pack rat discovered a pretty piece of orange peel glowing in a patch of sunlight. He took it away. He already had two pebbles, three feathers, and a fern leaf in his junglemoss nest, but he needed a nice piece of orange peel.
At about mid-afternoon, a man paused at the picnic site. He knelt to examine the bit of lemon rind Bendoko had spat out. Then he continued following the tracks.
* * *
Gusty Longbread walked along the cart track, flattening the soft ruts with his sandals. Ferns rustled against his cane shin-guards. Junglemoss drooping from overhanging branches brushed against the fins of his helmet.
“So what did you learn?” Tisha asked.
She was walking beside him, staying close because the road had narrowed and because Gusty could repel mosquitoes. He extended his elemental senses out through his breath and altered the scent of the air ahead of them. The mosquitoes fled the scent-cloud.
“I didn’t learn much,” Gusty said.
That was the truth. He wasn’t lying. Gloria Sunrise just hadn’t told him very much.
But he had learned something. He’d learned that Gloria Sunrise, despite her majestic bearing and diplomatic masks, could be shaken by the idea of a man getting stabbed in the navel. Gusty suspected she had seen the wounded … or perhaps the dead.
The navel was sacred to the Queenies. Well, it was sacred to all oranges, because it represented the connection to one’s mother, but only a Queenie soldier would want his navel exposed while charging into battle. This would put a great round hole in his armor right at a Mogadrel’s eye level. No wonder the red men took advantage of it.
But to a Queenie, it would look like the Mogadrel had abandoned all decency, like they had no good left in their hearts. Any person who stabbed another in the navel was probably in league with the demons. (Being civilized, the Queenies preferred to club their enemies in the head.)
So unsealing the Sun Scroll was justified. At least in Gloria Sunrise’s eyes. She didn’t have to wait for the demons to enter the world; her people were already fighting creatures from Hell.
“Oh, he looks so ridiculous,” Tisha said in a voice that held more fondness than ridicule.
The Crane was bounding along the road, slapping mosquitoes off his bald head. Periodically, he would crouch low and peer into the undergrowth. Then he would scan the branches above.
Tisha shook her head. “I’m surprised the Queenies haven’t said something about him yet.”
What could they say? Something like, I don’t think your guide is really a guide? Then Gusty could say, I don’t think your porters are really porters. And then the Queenies could say, I think you’re really a spy for Aura Wisebrow.
No one could say anything because they were all pretending to be something else.
Except Tisha, of course. She was an urbie with every breath she took.
So was Gusty, really. He wasn’t really a spy for Aura Wisebrow. Not really. Or at least, not yet.
They passed a field – peas or lentils or something – on the edge of another village. There were many villages along the Moko River Road. This one looked small and smelled musty, which didn’t really distinguish it from the others.
Chickens strutted out of their way. A group of muddy blue children stopped doing the thing that was making them muddy. They stared like they’d never seen oranges before, but Gusty could tell from ruts and sandal marks in the road that an orange carter had passed through earlier in the day.
Tisha waved. The children waved back, flashing white smiles in their muddy blue faces.
Another road met theirs in the center of town. Instead of staying on the Moko River Road, the Crane took this side branch.
“What’s he doing?” Tisha mumbled.
Gusty grunted to indicate that he didn’t know.
“Ben!” Tisha called. “Wait up.”
She hurried to catch up to the Crane. Gusty strode along beside her.
The Crane waited for them.
“You’re going the wrong way,” Tisha said, when she was close enough to not be overheard. “The Moko River Road is the other one.”
“We leave the road here,” the Crane said.
“Maybe we should ask for directions,” Tisha said.
“I got directions,” the Crane said.
“From whom?” Tisha asked.
“From other people in my line of work,” he said.
“How many burglars need to visit the Order of the Holy Shield?” Gusty asked.
“Their greathouse is on the way to the other … place.”
“The other … place?” Tisha asked.
“Yeah, just some place, right?”
Gusty asked, “The burglars have a hideout in the jungle, Crane?”
“Hey, I didn’t say that.”
“But you do know how to get there,” Gusty said.
“I know how to get to some places in the jungle,” the Crane said. “Not hideouts. Just places, right?”
“All right,” Tisha said. “You know places.”
“Yeah,” said the Crane. “Because I’m your guide, right?”
“You’re the guide,” Tisha said.
The Queenies were close enough to hear them now.
“So follow me,” the Crane said. “And have a little trust.”
Gusty grunted.
Tisha smiled and shook her head.
They took the Crane’s road out of the village. It passed through some lime orchards – or maybe they were green lemons. Gusty hoped the Crane knew what he was doing.
Urbies often heard “he’s gone jungle” when asking for the whereabouts of a Sliceharbor miscreant. It was used almost as often as “he shipped out”. Usually, the fugitive was just lying low in the Shacks, but criminals did go jungle sometimes. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been a good lie.
In popular legend, criminals who went jungle lived in the swamp, wrestled alligators, and wore panther-skin loincloths. In practice, they either stayed with relatives in a nearby village, or they camped out in the ruins of some old building.
There were quite a few ruins around Sliceharbor. In Imperial times, settlement had extended farther inland. After the Revolution, a lot of places had been abandoned.
Like the Temple of the Noonday Sun.
* * *
About half a lithic after the expedition left the village, a man crept through the lime orchard. His plan was to circumvent the thatch-roofed huts and rejoin the Moko River Road on the opposite side.
At the edge of the orchard, he found a trail leading away from the Moko River. On the trail, he found seven sets of footprints. So he abandoned the Moko River Road and instead followed the footprints into the jungle.
* * *
The trail had grown so narrow that they were forced to walk single file. Gloria’s bodyguards walked in the rear, because they were pretending to be porters. To keep them from getting nervous, Gloria had to walk in the rear, too, letting Iris walk ahead of her. Gloria’s view was mostly obscured by Iris’s hair. The only break to this monotony was the yellow spider that had somehow fallen in among Iris’s long, orange locks.
The spider crawled along the edge of Iris’s golden circlet. As it reached the back of Iris’s head, it became immersed in her hair and disappeared from view.
Gloria watched and waited. Her patience was rewarded when the spider crawled out along one of Iris’s bouncing locks. The spider reached the end and jumped off. Such courage! Or perhaps it felt its predicament was so severe that it had nothing left to lose.
