Iron master, p.15
Iron Master, page 15
‘I belong to you, cloud warrior. As long as we are together I do not care where you take me. But Cadillac must go back to the Plainfolk.’
‘You’re both going back. Trust me.’
She drew her finger down over his lips and found the tip of his tongue. ‘Do you think Talisman would put his power into your hands if you meant to harm us?’
It’s not Talisman I’m thinking about. It’s the other people in this game. And they’re not using the same rule book…
Steve answered with another dry laugh and changed the subject. ‘Amazing, isn’t it – the way things work out? I came to the trading post because I wanted to be the first to welcome you back. I must have spent hours pacing up and down that beach, staring at those boats, willing you to appear. Why didn’t you show yourself?’
‘I was not allowed to do so. In the last two months I have seen almost nothing of the outside world.’
‘Who’s been keeping you locked up – this guy Yama-Shita?’
‘When I was on the boat, yes. But since I came to Ne-Issan with Cadillac I have been held by another.’
‘Held how? Who by?’
Her voice faltered. ‘A lord who lives by the Eastern Sea.’
‘Is he the guy who gave you those fancy clothes?’
She answered by kissing the tips of his fingers.
‘And is that why you washed off your body-paint?’
His question met with a pregnant silence. He tried again. ‘You want to tell me about it?’
Her reply, when it came, was in a barely audible whisper. ‘What has… happened is… is the will of Talisman.’
‘Yeah, sure, I understand all that,’ said Steve. ‘Just take me through it from the top of page one.’
*
They did not have long before Su-Shan and Nan-Khe returned with three trays of hot food, but it was time enough to make Steve wish he hadn’t pressed her for an explanation. Knowledge might indeed be power, but whoever coined the maxim omitted to mention that there were some things it was better not to know. Steve was learning that young men who seek truthful answers to every question often find the process extremely painful. On top of which, the delicious aroma from the assortment of goodies the trio next door were preparing to tuck into was absolute torture.
He did not have to endure it for long. As the door to the next cell was slammed shut, the bottom half of his door was opened and he was ordered out. Mentally bracing himself for some sort of physical assault, he exited on his hands and knees – and was not disappointed. A leg hooked his hands away and a kick in the butt sent him sprawling face down in the dirt. It didn’t look promising, but the subsequent flurry of blows proved to be something less than a serious attempt to injure him. If the four armed dinks had wanted to break a few bones they could have done so easily. No. They were just out to ruin his composure. Show him who was boss.
Grinning broadly, they hauled him to his feet and continued to roust him all the way across the arena. Steve could not see much of anything beyond the circles of light cast by the swaying lanterns, but it looked as if all trace of the earlier mindless slaughter had been removed. His escort pushed him up a flight of rough-hewn steps on to the terrace linking the second tier of caves and brought him face to face with the main man. He was sitting cross-legged on a mat laid against the side-wall. There were another ten or twelve guys with him. The cave was lit by more yellow lanterns and the air was thick with smoke which caused Steve to cough on entering.
Several of the dinks had pipes like the one used by Mr Snow. They weren’t smoking rainbow grass, but Steve’s nose told him that a touch of the old happy valley weed had been added to the mixture. The wild bunch were also swallowing capfuls of the pale yellow liquid Side-Winder had introduced him to. Sake. His escort pushed Steve down on to his knees in front of the honcho and helped themselves to some juice.
In view of what had taken place earlier everyone seemed cheerful enough, but Steve could sense an undercurrent of tension. The jovial atmosphere had a brittle, knife-edge quality which gave him the feeling that they could – at any minute and with equal cheerfulness – tear him limb from limb. One misjudged word or gesture was all the pretext they needed. Mindful of Mr Snow’s warning to avoid prolonged eye-contact, Steve tried to ignore the ring of strange, hairless faces with their dark, almost jet-black eyes. He focused through on to the wall behind them and willed himself to stay calm.
Come on, Brickman! You’ve been in tight corners before. You can face these guys down. They’re like the death-birds. Show yourself weak and defenceless and they move in for the kill. You’ve already shown them you’re a top gun. Be strong!
Nothing to it…
His hairless host drained his cup and held it out side-ways for someone to fill it. ‘Do you have a name, grass-monkey?’
Steve looked him straight in the eye. ‘Yes. Brickman.’
‘A-barick a-man-uh…’
‘No, it’s all one word. BRRickmaNN.’
‘Ahh-so… Barickmann-uh.’
‘Right.’ What the hell…
The stocky Jap snapped his fingers and pointed to Steve. A hand came out of left field and stuck a cup of sake under his nose.
‘I’d rather have something to eat.’
‘Later, perhaps. First we drink to your courage, then we talk. After that – who knows?’
One of the dinks said something. Everybody fell about.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked Steve.
‘He say you may find you have no stomach for food.’
Ohh, yeah. Boy… what a terrific sense of humour…
Steve took the offered cup and raised it level with the Jap’s.
‘Kanpai!’
Steve took his cue from his host and downed the contents of the cup in one gulp.
In introducing him to sake, Side-Winder had omitted to warn Steve about the alarming impact alcohol can have on the central nervous system when poured into an empty stomach. The sake exploded inside him like a small bomb. Steve felt the heat rise back up his gullet and set fire to his ears. His eyes went out of focus. He swivelled his head round sharply in an effort to unclog his brain and regained a measure of control by sheer willpower. He had to squint in order to see straight but, when the smoke cleared, he was left feeling extra-sharp, supremely confident and utterly fearless.
Steve favoured his host with a gracious bow from the waist. ‘May I be permitted to know who I have the honour of addressing?’
The Jap hesitated. It was probably the first time a Mute had asked him a question. ‘I am samurai-captain Noburo Naka-Jima.’
‘Then permit me to salute you, Captain.’ Steve bowed again, then met Noburo’s eyes as he straightened up. ‘And which domain-lord do you serve?’
Noburo chewed over his response. This grass-monkey would pay dearly for his insolence but first, it was necessary to ask him certain questions on a man-to-man basis, however distasteful that might be. Torture could have produced the answers and might yet have to be used by others, but Noburo was constrained by the samurai code of behaviour. The reason this outlander now sat facing him instead of being skinned alive then slowly dismembered a joint at a time was because he had single handedly vanquished seven of Lord Se-Iko’s samurai. However honourable his motives, he would eventually have to be put to death, but his redoubtable courage and skill as a fighting man and his proud bearing demanded a certain measure of consideration from his peers.
‘We have no domain-lord,’ he said finally. ‘Lord Naka-Jima is dead, his family dispossessed. We are ronin. Wanderers who owe allegiance to no one.’
‘You surprise me, Captain,’ replied Steve. ‘You say you are a samurai – but do the noble warriors of Ne-Issan venture forth to capture women? And can one believe that you would sacrifice thirty to forty of your valiant men to secure such a worthless prize?’ He saw the puzzlement in Noburo’s eyes and added: ‘I saw them fall to their pursuers in the river valley. Samurai from the same house as the men who found death here.’
The Jap’s face hardened. ‘The fate of my kinsmen is none of your business, grass-monkey. Let us discuss yours.’
Steve set down the empty cup and bowed. ‘I am at your service, Captain.’
‘Grass-monkey,’ began Noburo, ‘I find myself in, uhh–’ He broke off to search his limited Basic vocabulary for the right word – ‘delicate, uhh – situation. You saved many here from certain death. In particular, my wife and son Itada. Because you did so at risk of your own life, I am bound to you by a debt of honour – from which I can only be released by performing similar action. You understand me?’
‘Yes. What’s the problem?’
‘Grass-monkeys are forbidden, under pain of death, to carry arms in Ne-Issan. And it is even greater crime for slave-person to kill Iron Master – especially samurai. So there is conflict here. As long as the debt of honour remains, uhh… undischarged, I am obliged to defend your life – even at the cost of my own. But, equally, you cannot be permitted to go unpunished.’
‘I see what you mean,’ said Steve. ‘It’s a tough one.’
‘Tough?’
‘Hard. Difficult.’
‘Ahh, so…’ Noburo held out his cup for a refill. ‘Tough for both of us, grass-monkey. It would have been better if you had let my wife and son die under sword of samurai.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Obligation to inferior slave-person cause loss of face. Only honourable solution for samurai family in such situation is to die by own hand.’
‘That’s crazy,’ said Steve. ‘There must be some other way.’
‘There is,’ replied Noburo. ‘You can kill yourself.’
‘Kill myself…?’
‘Yes, now.’ Noburo drew his short-sword, then leant forward and placed it reverently in front of Steve. ‘Your death by your own hand will release me from debt of honour and lift shame from my family. Samurai of Lord Se-Iko will also be avenged. Satisfactory, uhh – solution for everyone.’
Except me, thought Steve. No wonder Noburo’s wife didn’t look overjoyed. ‘Loss of face’… what the eff-eff was all that about? Someone reached out to give him a refill. Steve laid his right hand over the cup, pinning it to the floor as he waved Noburo down with his left. ‘Hold on a minute. You’ve got this all wrong.’
‘Ahh, how so?’
‘First, I am not a slave – second, as a warrior I could not stand by and let the sons of samurai be slaughtered – and third, I venture to suggest, Captain, that killing samurai can only be considered a crime by those who live within the law.’
Noburo nodded soberly then translated Steve’s spirited reply for the benefit of his companions. It caused a great deal of laughter and slapping of thighs. When the merriment subsided, he addressed Steve with the hint of a smile. ‘Well said, grass-monkey. But you now pose another problem. If you are not slave – what are you doing here?’
This was the crunch point. Steve took a deep breath and went for it. ‘I came to prevent a war between our two nations.’
Noburo mastered his surprise and laughed. ‘Between the Sons of Ne-Issan and the grass-monkeys?’
‘No, Captain. Between the Sons of Ne-Issan and the Federation. The warriors from the underground world beneath the deserts of the south.’
The faint smile faded from Noburo’s face. ‘The long-dogs make war on grass-monkeys. Why do they send you as peace messenger?’
Steve straightened his back and looked the head ronin right in the eye. ‘I am not a Mute, Captain. I am a cloud warrior from the Amtrak Federation. One of thousands whose sky-chariots will darken the skies of Ne-Issan and rain fire upon the earth if the enemies who now shelter in your midst are not handed over to us.’
Noburo’s bewilderment appeared genuine. ‘What enemies?’
‘I seek the masked woman you took from the road convoy and her male companion who is to be found at a place called the Heron Pool in the lands by the Eastern Sea.’
Noburo eyed him impassively for a while, then retrieved his short-sword and issued a lengthy order in Japanese. His men got up and filed out, leaving only two guys sitting on either side of him and a third standing guard by the door-screen fitted across the mouth of the cave.
Steve smiled inwardly. His programme was up and running.
The chief ronin squared his shoulders and adopted a forbidding expression. ‘You have the means to prove truth of your words?’
‘Yes. But I will need the knife you took from me.’
Noburo asked the man sitting on his right to fetch it.
Leaving the knife in the scabbard. Steve pressed the concealed catches securing the wooden side-pieces to the hilt and removed them to reveal the microcircuitry inside. He held it out for the chief ronin to see, then took out the tiny stylus, pressed the recall button and placed the knife in Noburo’s hands.
Holding the knife gingerly between his fingertips, Noburo reacted with wide-eyed astonishment as the eleven familiar letters marched across the liquid crystal display. The two ronin on either side of him looked equally impressed. ‘Hhhaawww…’
‘What you see there is an example of the power of my people,’ said Steve. ‘Those signs which appeared represent the sounds of words I speak. With that device I can send messages to my masters in the space of a single heartbeat.’
Noburo dropped the knife on the mat in front of Steve with a curious, almost involuntary gesture – as if he had suddenly received an electric shock. He muttered something to his companions. All three looked vaguely uneasy.
Steve couldn’t figure it out. He clipped the wooden side-pieces back into place and laid the sheathed knife before Noburo. ‘Let us forget the debt of honour, Captain. We both have more important matters to attend to.’
His forthright manner took Noburo’s breath away and rocked the other two back on their heels. It seemed to indicate that they also had some knowledge of Basic. Noburo pointed to the knife. ‘What do you wish me to do with this?’
‘Show it to your masters.’
‘We have no masters, Barickaman.’ Noburo seemed unable to get his tongue around words with an ‘r’ in them. ‘We are outlaws.’
Steve bowed. ‘With respect, Captain, in your nation and mine, there are men who assume many guises in the service of their lord. I am one of them and I believe that you too are such a man. Show your master this knife, explain what has passed between us, and tell him that there are things he and I need to discuss.’
Noburo roared with laughter and slapped his thigh. He quickly translated the gist of the conversation, then turned back to Steve as his companions shared his amusement. ‘I never thought I should say this to outlander, but you honour us by your presence, cloud warrior! And we applaud your courage in face of death! Your message will be passed to those who have interest in this matter. I cannot promise you, uhh… deliverance, but – if all your comrades are as valiant as you – it would be most foolish man who did not give serious consideration to the words you speak here today.’
*
Clearwater sat up as she saw the light of the lanterns. The cloud warrior was returning. He was carrying a tray of food, and when they reached the cave his escort opened both sections of the door to his cell, allowing him to walk in upright. She glanced at Su-Shan and Nan-Khe as narrow bands of yellow light swung to and fro across their faces. Both were still fast asleep.
The cloud warrior sank down slowly with his back against the partition as the door was barred, and laid the tray across his lap. Darkness filled the cave as the lanterns receded. She heard him let out a long, heartfelt sigh. Clearwater slipped her fingers between the planks and touched Steve’s shoulder. ‘Oh, cloud warrior… when I saw them beating you I feared I might never see you again. Are you hurt?’
‘Can’t feel a thing.’ His voice sounded slurred.
‘Ssshhh!’
He lowered his voice. ‘Don’t worry. It’s all going well. We’re on our way, lover.’
‘On our way where?’
‘Out of here.’
‘How? I don’t understand.’
‘Explain-a-you la’er,’ gurgled Steve, as he scooped up hot rice with one hand and vegetables with the other. ‘Can’ spea’ now. Goh my mou’ full…’
CHAPTER SEVEN
At some point during the middle of the night, Steve was roused by his gaolers. They gave him a moment to shake off the torpor induced by fatigue, sake and a bellyful of hot food, then instructed him in sign language to gather up his meagre possessions: the stolen cotton quilt, his water-skin and the waist-bag containing the bundle of pink leaves that could turn him back into a long-dog.
Emerging from the cave into a pool of lantern light, Steve saw that Clearwater and her two minders were back in the saddle, bound and blindfolded. A fourth horse awaited him. Steve hauled himself aboard, gritting his teeth as his butt hit the unyielding leather. Deprived of the electrifying energy that flowed from the quarterstaff, all his accumulated aches and pains had returned to plague him. Steve drew some comfort from the fact that he was now able to cross hunger cramps off his list of ailments and that – for the moment at least – no one was threatening to cancel his card.
That had been a bad moment but, with some fancy footwork, he had been able to sidestep disaster yet again. He shuddered to think what would have happened if he had taken a second shot of sake. He would have to watch that stuff. Noburo and the other ronin were able to knock it back like there was no tomorrow, but that first cup had practically pulled the floor out from under him. It was true it had given his tongue a reckless edge, but there had been a terrifying moment when it had almost lost its way around his mouth.
Close!
A dink carrying a length of cord came around the head of the horse. Steve offered his wrists to him and was tied to the pommel of the saddle. They left his feet in the stirrups and made sure they stayed there by looping a second length of cord round both ankles. Steve experienced a moment of anxiety as he thought about the steep descent they had to make on leaving the camp. If the horse went down, that was it. He would go down with it.
Noburo Naka-Jima and eleven mounted ronin appeared out of the darkness. Four riders gathered up the reins of the waiting horses and prepared to lead them out. Noburo and the three men who had attended the private interview positioned themselves at the head of the column and moved off in single file across the arena. The other four came into line behind Steve.
