He put a hand between her legs. She got her right hand free and slapped him across the face.
With a burst of anger, Fashnalgid wrenched her off her feet and threw her down on his bed. He fell on top of her.
‘Now you listen to me before you provoke me beyond words, Toress Lahl. You and I are on the same side. Shokerandit is all very well, but he is going home to security and position — all the things you and I have lost. What is more, he plans to drive you countless skerming miles northwards. What’s up there but snow and holiness and that gigantic Wheel?’
‘It’s where he lives.’
‘Kharnabhar’s fit only for rulers. The rest die in the cold. Haven’t you heard of the Wheel’s reputation? It used to be a prison, the worst on the planet. Do you want to finish up in the Wheel?
‘Throw your lot in with me. I have seen the sort of woman you are. You’ve seen the sort of man I am. I am an outcast, but I can fend for myself. Before you get taken miles to some fortress in the northern ice from which you will never escape, achieve wisdom, achieve wisdom, woman, and throw in your lot with me. We’ll sail from here to Campannlat and better climes. Maybe we’ll even get back to your precious Borldoran.’
She had gone very pale. His face, close above hers, was a blur, nothing more than eyebrows, those piercing eyes, and that great dead moustache. She was afraid that he would strike her or even kill her — and that Shokerandit would not care. Her will was already ebbing under the burden of captivity.
‘He owns me, Captain. Why discuss it? But you may have your way with me if you must. Why not? He has.’
‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘I’ll not hurt you. Throw your clothes off.’
Luterin Shokerandit knew the port of Rivenjk well. It had always been the great city, spoken of in Kharnabhar with longing, visited — when visited — with excitement. Now that he had seen more of the world, he recognised that it was rather small.
At least there was pleasure in being ashore again. He could swear he still felt a slight rolling movement underfoot. Walking down to the harbour, he went into one of the inns and drank a measure of yadahl while listening to the talk of the sailors.
‘They’re nothing but a nuisance here, these soldiers,’ a man nearby was saying to a companion. ‘You heard, I suppose, that one was knifed last night down Perspicacity Alley, and I don’t wonder at it.’
‘They’ll set sail tomorrow,’ his friend said. ‘They’ll be confined aboard ship tonight, you’ll see, and good riddance.’ He lowered his voice. ‘They’re off under Oligarch’s orders to fight against the good people of Bribahr. What harm Bribahr have done the rest of us, I don’t know.’
‘They may have captured Braijth, but Rattagon is impregnable. The Oligarch is wasting his time.’
‘Set in the middle of a lake, I hear.’
‘That’s Rattagon.’
‘Well, I’m glad I’m not a soldier.’
‘You’re too much of a fool to be anything but a sailor.’
As the two men laughed together, Shokerandit fixed his gaze on a poster on a wall by the door. It announced that henceforth Anyone Entering the State of Pauk committed an Offence. To Enter into Pauk, whether alone or in company, was to Encourage the Spreading of the Plague known as the Fat Death. The Penalty for defying this law was One Hundred Sibs and, for a Second Offence, Life Imprisonment. By Order of the Oligarch.
Although Shokerandit never practised pauk, he disliked the stream of new orders the State was issuing.
Shokerandit thought to himself as he drained his glass that he probably hated the Oligarch. When the Archpriest-Militant Asperamanka had sent him to report to the Oligarchy, he had felt honoured. Then Fashnalgid had stopped him almost at the Sibornalese frontier; and it had taken him some while to believe what the man claimed, that he would have been cold-bloodedly killed with the rest of the returning army. It was even more difficult to realise that all of Asperamanka’s force had been wiped out on the Oligarch’s orders.
It made sense to take rational measures to keep the plague from spreading. But to suppress pauk was a sign that authoritarianism was spreading. He wiped his mouth with his hand.
As a result of circumstance, Shokerandit was no hero but a fugitive. He could not imagine what his fate would be if he was arrested for desertion.
‘What did Harbin mean, I’m a man of the system?’ he muttered. ‘I’m a rebel, an outcast — like him.’
It behoved him to get home to Kharnabhar and remain under his father’s powerful protection. At least in distant Kharnabhar the forces of the Oligarch would not reach him. Thought of Insil could be left for later.
With this reflection came another. He owed Fashnalgid something. He must take him on the arduous journey north if Fashnalgid could be persuaded to come. Fashnalgid would be useful in Kharnabhar: there he could help bear witness to the massacre of thousands of young Shiveninki by their own side.
He said to himself, I had courage in battle. I must have courage to fight against the Oligarchy if necessary. There will be others at home who feel as I do when they hear the truth.
He paid his coin and left the inn.
Along the waterfront stood a grand avenue of rajabarals. As temperatures dropped, the trees prepared for the long winter. Instead of shedding their leaves, they drew in their branches, pulling them into the tops of their vast trunks. Shokerandit had seen pictures in natural history books of how branches and leaves would dissolve to form a solid resin plug, protecting the featureless and undecaying tree until it released its seed in the following Great Spring.
Under the rajabarals, soldiers from a ship which flew the flags of Sibornal and the Oligarchy were parading. Shokerandit had a momentary fear that someone might recognise him; but his metamorphosed shape was protection. He turned inland, towards the marketplace, where there were agents who handled the affairs of travellers intending to visit Kharnabhar.
The cold winds from the mountains made him turn up his collar and lower his head. But at the agent’s door, pilgrims eager to visit the shrines of the Great Wheel were gathered, many poor and scantily clad.
It took him a while to arrange matters to his liking. He could travel to Kharnabhar with the pilgrims. Or he could travel independently, hiring a sledge, a team, a driver, and a jack-of-all-trades. The former way was safer, slower, and less expensive. Shokerandit decided on the latter as more befitting the son of the Keeper of the Wheel.
All he needed was cash or a letter of credit.
There were friends of his father’s at hand, some men of influence in the town’s affairs. He hesitated, and eventually chose a simple man called Hernisarath, who ran a farm and a hostel for pilgrims on the edge of town. Hernisarath welcomed Shokerandit in, immediately supplied a letter of credit for the agent, and insisted that Shokerandit join him and his wife for a midday meal.
He embraced Shokerandit on the doorstep when it was time to take leave.
‘You’re a good and innocent young man, Luterin, and I’m happy to help. Every day as Weyr-Winter approaches, farming becomes more difficult. But let’s hope we shall meet again.’
His wife said, ‘It’s so nice to meet a young man with good manners. Our respects to your father.’
Shokerandit glowed as he left them, pleased to have made a good impression; whereas Harbin was probably drunk by now. But why did Hernisarath call him ‘innocent’?
Snow began to fall from the heights, whirling as it came, like fine white sugar dissolving in a stirred glass of water. It thickened, muffling the sound of his boots on the cobbles. The streets cleared of people. Long grey shadows sprouted penumbras, dark for Freyr, lighter for Batalix, until the cloud extended over the bay and enveloped all Rivenjk in murk.