Читать книгу Trekmaster - James B. Johnson - Страница 6

2. KELLEN SING

Kellen Sing wasn’t ready for the suddenness of the action, the fierceness of response, the quickness of the King, or the smell of blood.

As he watched the continuation of festivities, Kellen reflected that the court of Thomas Jefferson Rex was alien. He was now seated in a semi-official section, one with legitimate bench seats, apparently grouped among those favored few in front. He reflected that this wasn’t his world at all.

He looked about. Palace guards, sometimes known as the Gyrenes, stood about, all armed with polished swords, oiled crossbows, and the deadly assegais. They were inhibiting: there was something about a group of men who all looked alike, their backs militarily stiff, and their hair cut the same, the deadly look to their eyes, the firm, uniform set of jaws, and the bodily precision. Each seemed to be a walking arsenal and each was positioned for the King’s protection. Kellen could not identify it, but he knew there was a pattern in their placement and in their apparently random movement about the crowded court.

The King must love the trappings of his office. Kellen watched as a team of dark men presented the King with a pair of wild snarves, one male and one female. They were going through the motions of formal presentation, with the King’s own handler hovering obviously about. The beasts’ powerful necks were circled by metal collars from which four chains ran to bolts secured to a heavy cart. Like most snarves, these made little noise when aroused. Kellen shivered. He had encountered snarves before: if they growled almost silently, then trouble was at hand. Of course these snarves were angry. Their neutral, rock-gray fur bristled, running in waves up and down their hides.

Kellen looked around to see if the guards were aware of some danger but found no evidence of it. Should he warn someone? Of what? A suspicion? If so. he would have to explain why he thought he knew. Anxiously, he looked around to see if anyone seemed capable of combating a loose snarv. No. Only the King seemed large enough—way up there on his throne, he seemed larger than life. The King did have a sword, but Kellen couldn’t tell if it was a ceremonial sword or a functional one. Could that specific sword actually be “The Widow-Maker?”

He guessed that the male snarv outweighed the King by three times. He watched the snarves’ feral eyes dart in panic. Snouts nervously jerked from side to side, snouts that topped mouths which were long enough to hold a man’s arm without swallowing. The teeth, he knew, were razor sharp and angled toward the gullet of the snarv. And the beasts were built close to the ground for quicker movement. Six powerful legs with splayed, hide-tough, gripping feet showed the animals were designed for the mountains. The short legs gave them a crocodilian advantage over any other beast on the planet.

Some of the people in the front of the audience became apprehensive. Kellen could feel fear begin to seep into those near him. No human of Olde Earthe stock was ever comfortable in the presence of snarves. The nearby palace guard didn’t seem outwardly bothered, though. Kellen felt the first stirrings of alarm in those close to him. But with no visible threat, they had nothing on which to hang their suspicions. Ha, let them sweat! The Gyrenes, he could see, were more concerned with the crowd than with the threat of the snarves.

Kellen didn’t understand the military mind. He looked again at the King as he sat there so complacently, probably contemplating what he would have for lunch. Shortly after this King had subordinated the other nations and city-states on Bear Ridge, he had instituted a planet-wide government service program: two years, spent either in the military or in public service. Kellen thought this cunning, as the program required more education than most people possessed and therefore increased the academic level of all humans on the planet. And, not incidentally, made them available to the garbage propaganda of Thomas Jefferson Shepherd.

Kellen had not chosen military service. Instead, he had worked with the poor folk of his province. Poor himself, he thought it appropriate for the monarchy to pay him to help the poor. He embraced the idea of all young people serving before their twentieth birthdays and giving of themselves to others. The service, he thought, induced humility and a better view of life under this King. On the other hand, he frequently argued, it allowed this King to poison or put his particular brand of propaganda out to all young people. His determination reasserted itself and the court no longer overwhelmed him with its largeness and its strangeness.

What happened next occurred faster than most people present could follow.

The jester had foolishly placed himself in front of the low-snarling snarves, as if challenging them. He sat upon the third step up to the throne, resting as if tired by his exertions. Oddly, Kellen could not read anything about the jester save he was wary.

Then the female snarv reared up, exposing her hard underbelly, inviting attack, challenging. All eyes went to her. The jester leapt up and whirled past her, obviously trying to distract her attention until the trainers could calm her. But Kellen felt something else happening. Then he saw the collar holding the male’s four chains snap.

Suddenly, the male was loose and baying a challenge that rang throughout the chamber. The beast whirled, and glared at the front row of robed padres. Just to the side of the padres stood the favored group of tertiary school girls who had serenaded the King. Where would the beast attack? It jumped again, landing on the top stair to the throne.

Simultaneously, Kellen saw the jester scrambling toward the beast and several Gyrenes drawing their swords and crossbows.

But before anyone else could move, the King leaped and drew his not-so-ceremonial sword as he landed in front of the Queen. The swiftness of the movement stunned not only Kellen and the beast, but those nearby quick enough to follow the action. As the male snarv darted at the Queen, the King’s sword pierced the top right eye. Then the King kicked the beast’s snout upward, his sword following the kick with a twisting motion cleaving into the snarv’s throat. Bloody ichor erupted and the beast reared. The King swung his sword with both hands now, the flat of the blade slamming into the torso of the screaming beast and knocking him off balance. The scream of the snarv paralyzed almost everyone in the room.

Except the King, Kellen amended. The damnfool jester was still scurrying up the stairs in a panic, both hands outstretched as if he didn’t know where he was. The snarv struck in front of him and the jester leaped over him to the feet of the King. The King shoved the jester aside, almost throwing him in the lap of the Queen, and ran down the stairs toward the wounded snarv, sword positioned for another strike. The sword must be Widow-Maker.

By then the palace guards had recovered and the male snarv was suddenly transfixed with a dozen crossbow bolts. Kellen saw an officer signal and the female snarv was also shot to death—even though she was still attached to the holding cart. The same officer made another motion and a squad of the Gyrenes surrounded the hapless snarv trainers. Kellen did not envy them. This King had a reputation. And the conditions under which the snarv had escaped were suspicious.

The scene seemed to freeze for a moment, then some of the more fainthearted in front began shouting and those far back finally responded. Kellen noted that now all of the palace guards held their weapons at ready and most had been deployed around the King. The crowd noise swelled and the King held his bloody and dripping sword above his head in a commanding manner. The great hall fell immediately silent. The specter of the blood-splattered King was riveting. The only sound was the sobbing of the men who had brought the snarves into the court. They were being escorted through a side door as attendants were dragging off the slain snarves. Kellen marveled at the excellent organization. The herald, pale but efficient, was directing the operation.

The King glared a challenge and casually returned his sword to its scabbard. He turned to converse with the Queen as the jester moved from his kneeling position in front of her. The fool began a series of motions which Kellen suddenly recognized as an exaggerated mime of the drama that had just unfolded. Kellen knew instinctively that the legend of Thomas Jefferson Shepherd would swell to new dimensions this day. The King ignored the mess on his formal uniform, casually wiping the gore off his Muster medallion with his braided sleeve.

Kellen watched as the king finished the ceremonies. You’d never know anything had happened except that the main floor was covered with sand and the King was splattered with blackening ichor.

The ceremonies completed, Kellen found himself walking beside the herald, following the royal party at a respectful distance. They stopped momentarily when a general in the palace guard intercepted the party. The King took him aside and spoke with him. Kellen saw the general standing at attention and not replying. The King spoke harshly in his face for moments, and only by straining could Kellen hear any words at all. He knew that the general—Vero, he picked the name up—was being lambasted. “...could’ve killed, goddamnit...kind of cheap security..Jesus, a bunch of young girls, for Chrissake,” and “...take them apart, no damned accident....”

The King dismissed General Vero and turned to join the party. He walked next to the off-worlder named Sharon Gold. Kellen didn’t know her purpose, but could guess some of it. The story went that Bear Ridge had recently been rediscovered by the Federation. The centuries-long separation from other worlds was now over. This was one of the main reasons Kellen had come to Crimson Sapphire.

They continued down the long corridor and Kellen eavesdropped on the King’s conversation with Gold. He towered over her, talking and waving his hands about as if saying something important.

“...and I have been an avid student of Olde Earthe history,” the King was telling her. Kellen felt a twinge of jealousy. There was so much he wanted to learn—for without knowledge, without the learning skills, he would not be able to better himself, to reach further....

They entered an antechamber. This room was more businesslike, not the ostentatious display Kellen had expected; spacious offices fed off from this reception area.

The King waved everyone to a seat, but no one sat. Kellen started to sit down when a cold glance from the herald told him no one sat before the King did.

The jester had accompanied the procession and slumped unceremoniously into a corner, scratching his rear end. Nobody seemed to notice.

The King disengaged himself from the envoy and addressed the herald. “Well, Alfred, what is the order of business?”

Sharon Gold stepped back and stood beside Kellen. She was taller than he. Her eyes remained on the King.

The herald said, “Sire, the calendar is clear for both the celebration and the staff meeting this afternoon. Besides this young man here.” Alfred nodded toward Kellen, “there is only one pressing matter of business.”

“Well, Hark, what is it?”

“Sire, the Ethnarch of Juarez requests an immediate determination regarding an ecological problem.”

“This is pressing business?” demanded the King.

“It is, Sire.”

“Shall we see if the facts bear out your judgment, then, Hark?”

“Yes, Sire.” Alfred spoke aside to a guard who stepped into a side room. Soon he returned with two men. The first was formally garbed with the tunic insignia of a province official. The second was a young man, about Kellen’s age, dressed in many bright colors like a young nobleman.

“Sire,” said the herald, indicating the official, “this is Hammond Wouk, the representative of the Ethnarch of Juarez.” The man bowed. “And this young man is a representative of the Juarez Ecological Society, Franco Valdez.”

“Well, what’s the situation? Can the Ethnarch not handle his own problems these days?”

“Sire,” said Wouk, “that he can. However, there is a conflict between two different royal decrees. Thus it is not resolvable at our level.”

“It is so urgent that it could not wait for a business day?”

“Time passes and money is lost.”

“Tell me what the hell the problem is, then. Let’s get this over with.”

“Yes, Sire. Construction was to have begun three days ago on the long awaited aqueduct from the lake to the city of Figgeredwrong. Running water for the first time. The Juarez Ecological Society has prevented its start.”

“How?”

“May I, Sir?” asked Valdez.

“I wish somebody would.”

Valdez visibly blanched, gulped and started. “Sire, the royal decree regarding ecology will be thwarted. They plan to cut through a large forest, despoiling wild life and ruining thousands of trees.”

“Your Highness, the aqueduct is necessary for sanitation and public welfare, all found in another royal decree—plus it is in accordance with your modernization drive,” Wouk put in.

“Ah, I see it now. The conflict.” The King nodded.

“The crews are waiting in place and it’s costing the provincial treasury daily to have them sit thusly,” said Wouk. “And. by extension, the royal treasury.”

“Good thinking. Any other ancillary problems? Like, for instance. Mr. Valdez, would not the people of the province require the cut timber for building and winter heating?”

“Yes, Sire, but that could be done more judiciously, more selectively. And not harm the wild life.”

“Did it occur to you, Valdez, that people are a form of life and deserve to be considered under an ecological order?” The King was standing over Valdez and glaring down at him.

“Er, yes. Sire. People can think for themselves, choose their own habitats without disturbing the natural scheme of things.”

The King’s eyebrows went up. “And the sheepaloe your province lives off, are they in the natural scheme of things?”

“Er, yes. Sire.”

“Negative, Valdez. Our ancestors introduced them from Olde Earthe. Ever wonder why one animal is so useful? From the wool to the meat to the hooves? Wonder why sheepaloe grow fat on the sparse vegetation of the hills?” Valdez looked bewildered. The King stepped back and looked around him. He rubbed his hands as if approaching a favorite subject. Kellen saw the Queen stifle a groan. “In vitro mean anything to you? No, I can tell it doesn’t. When you’re settling a planet, you can’t take everything you want with you. So the genetic engineers on Earthe stole from the sheep, the longhorn steer and the buffalo, the toughest and most adaptable animals, and developed an animal that would not only live on Bear Ridge, but thrive on its harsh conditions. Once they had the sheepaloe perfected, they preserved sufficient sperm and ovae. So they only had to ship a few of the animals to act as host mothers. Fortunately, the herds were building well when the Rollback came and the wars separated Earthe from its former colonies. All the time we spent regressing to almost a primitive state the sheepaloe thrived. When we finally turned around and began advancing again, the sheepaloe provided sufficient food and clothing.

“Now you see how our ancestors changed things. Can we not also?”

Valdez stammered. “My group, Sire, understands, but we have tasked ourselves with preservation. It is all important.”

“How many in your group?”

“Nearly a hundred. Sire. We have an enclave just outside Figgeredwrong.”

“Ah.”

Kellen watched Wouk bursting to respond. But the King didn’t seem to notice.

The King turned to the herald. “Have your scribes amend those royal decrees mentioned. I want them sprinkled liberally with the words ‘common sense’ and like that.”

The herald motioned and a secretary hastily wrote down the King’s words.

“Also, I want the following: the aqueduct to begin construction as soon as possible. The sons of ecology or whatever the hell their name is,” he glared at Valdez, who seemed to be shrinking in place, “shall gather buggaloes and dry them and sell them for heating and cooking fires. They will turn in the receipts to the province until those monies equal the amount spent on idle construction crews. Lastly, there is to be no connection of running water to their enclave. If they choose to remain together as a group in that place and do not maintain minimum sanitary conditions, they are to be taxed enough money to pay for cleanup. If, after all this, they still be recalcitrant, then come and see me again.”

Wouk appeared both pleased with his victory and frightened by the King’s wrath. Valdez looked crestfallen.

Sharon Gold leaned toward Kellen and asked in a low voice, “Whatever are buggaloes?”

“Chips,” he said and when she shook her head she still didn’t understand, he added, “manure.” She looked startled and nodded understanding.

It seemed to Kellen that even though the King might have been right, he could have handled the situation far more delicately, and at least commend Valdez and his group for their interest in the well-being of Bear Ridge. But obviously, this monarch had no patience, no tact, no diplomacy. Thinking this merely hardened Kellen’s resolve.

As Wouk and Valdez left, Kellen saw the King brighten as though disposing of something distasteful.

“And now,” the King said, “Kellen Sing.” He smiled.

Momentarily awed by the sheer presence of the man, Kellen drew himself up straighter. He could not help but remember what had happened to Valdez. Was that a subtle warning to him by the King? Did the King suspect? Of course he suspected something, his eyes showed it. Kellen knew he must follow his original plans. He bowed. The King is a formidable opponent to engage, thought Kellen Sing and swallowed with difficulty.

The King stepped over to him and reached out his hand. Kellen grasped the hand in return, surprised by the gesture. The King’s hand was tough and callused, and not for the first time did Kellen glance at the not-so-ceremonial sword. In a detached portion of his mind, Kellen realized that the King’s calluses matched the ridges on the hilt of the sword. Kellen smelled the sour odor from the snarv.

“Sire.” Kellen responded, finding he had to apply more pressure than usual in his handshake to match the King’s grip. Queen Gwendlyon approached with a formal smile and held out her hand.

Kellen sensed the test and bent and brushed his lips just above the back of her hand. The Queen nodded, which told him he’d done the right thing.

The King introduced him to the Federation Envoy. “Kellen Sing, may I present Ambassador Plenipotentiary Gold?”

The willowy lady from off-planet stretched her arm and Kellen sensed that he should shake her hand, not kiss it. He’d passed another test.

“You play most beautifully,” she said. Her accent was strange: nonetheless, her voice seemed to call to him personally.

“Thank you.”

“The thumb drum is new to me,” she said. “I’ve seen nothing like it on any of the Federation worlds I’ve visited.”

“Special wood, my lady, hewn from the yowel tree peculiar to my province; and the skin is from the hide of the volv.” He didn’t want to tell her that the volv’s testicle pack was the skin used. “It is dried and cured and stretched over the yowel wood base.”

“The wood also makes fine bows,” the King pointed out.

“Found only on the planet of Bear Ridge, Your Majesty?” asked Sharon Gold.

“A mutation caused by the atmospheric conditions of Bear Ridge,” replied the King. “There are similarities between the yowel tree and others originally transported from Earthe.”

She looked questioningly at the King.

He shrugged. “Our science—biological, chemical, physical—is not as advanced as we would have it. All those centuries in rebuilding—but with admission to the Fed, well....”

“That is yet to be determined. Your Highness,” said Sharon Gold.

“It is, isn’t it?” the King said enigmatically.

Kellen wished he knew what the byplay was about. He felt forgotten.

Queen Gwendlyon said, “Thomas, about the boy....”

“Ah, yes. Schooling it is you wish?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Most would take the coin and hustle back to their province and become a local celebrity, building their status, milking it for everything.”

Kellen again became uncomfortable as the King’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword and his eyes bored into Kellen’s. Kellen knew he was supposed to answer, but how could he answer what the King had just said?

“Sire, I do not seek recognition for something I have found to be a simple achievement. Thumb drumming is easy.” His courage grew as he spoke, ‘It is my dream, Sire, to learn; this I consider significant above all else. What good is money if you have few needs? And my needs are to expand my mind, to discover new ideas and concepts, to learn of my heritage through history, to seek mathematical relationships.” Kellen was serious but knew it sounded like he was piling it on too thick.

“I believe he means it,” the King said to nobody in particular. He glanced at the Queen, who nodded almost imperceptively. “May I speak with you alone for a moment?” He took Kellen’s arm and guided him into the corner next to the jester who seemed to stare vacantly up at them.

In a low voice that no one could hear, Thomas Jefferson Rex said. “Cut the crap, fellow. What is it you want?”

Kellen was taken aback. The jester seemed to tense. “But...but...Your Majesty....” He thought swiftly. Kellen knew little of psychology, but he knew he had an inner grasp of how to handle people and situations that was almost preternatural and he didn’t hesitate to use it here. He drew himself up and with a cold, formal voice, said, “Sire. If you think I have been playing some game, you are in error.” He projected sincerity. He well knew that he shouldn’t have called the King “in error.” Framed by the beard, the King’s face froze.

Suddenly, the King grinned. “You’ll never make a good sycophant, boy.” He glanced at the jester, who scratched his right ear with his thumb. “All right then, you got it. Learning a trade. A fine technical school. That shall give you entry to a trade union and security for life. Something to contribute to your community.”

“Sire, as I tried to point out earlier, and I am not able to articulate so well. I prefer the academic subjects.”

“A learned sheepaloe herder?” the King reflected. “Well. I’ve heard of stranger things.” He turned and addressed the group. “So be it. Herald, ensure Kellen Sing is enrolled in the Francisco Shepherd University. Give him a temporary room in the palace. For pocket change, Kellen, you shall play your wizard drums at Our request.” He looked at Kellen, who could only nod, unable to trust himself to speak—again flaunting convention, but this time not by choice.

“And, Hark, insure he studies.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“And now,” the King said, “we have business of the realm to conduct: we must plan and determine a way to convince this beautiful young lady here to give us admission to the Fed so that we may bring it to its knees.” He grinned wolfishly.

Everyone laughed at his joke. Thomas Jefferson Shepherd was known for his ribald sense of humor.

Sharon Gold appeared stunned until she understood it was a joke, and then tried to laugh along with the others.

Kellen Sing saw that the King’s eyes did not smile.