Spear of Destiny: Chapter 34

Ebisa was able to confirm what I’d already suspected. Karalti couldn’t fly us to Meewhome. For one thing, the Azure Passage, the trans-oceanic flight to the island, was simply too far for her to make in one trip. For another, Meewhome was a sealed territory. A mini-Caul of Souls protected the claw-shaped island, which lay about two hundred miles south of the Shalid. To pass through the barrier, you had to have a special token of passage linked to the barrier. The token was not something you could fit in your pocket. They were figureheads—literal figureheads, as in, a full-sized sculpture mounted on the bow of an airship. The only way we could get there was to be smuggled in.

That’s how the four of us ended up in the International District at night. Cat Alley, as it was known by the locals, was one of the few genuinely dangerous places in Taltos. The neat cobbled roads and colorful apartments that were the norm in the city ended at the heavily guarded district wall. On the other side was a slum: huts and old rowhouses, lean-tos, covered wagons turned into houses. A sluggish canal ran through Cat Alley, splitting the neighborhood into roughly equal halves. Women and their young children occupied the entry side of the canal, and the other side, closer to the city wall, was where the males lived.

We kept our purses close and our swords closer as we moved through the district, sticking together to deter gangs of sharp, hungry-eyed cutpurses eying us from the shadows. Cutthroat snorted and huffed, baring her teeth at anyone who looked at her the wrong way. We crossed a bridge and turned down a broad curved street, which ended in a courtyard with high, spike-topped walls. It was lively at this time of night, the air full of the smells of beer and fried fish and aggressively fast, high-speed fiddling.

A gang of five Mercurion toughs hung outside the rusted gate leading in, checking people for weapons as they streamed in and out. It was a fight night, and people from all over the city were sneaking in to see the show.

“Halt, Sanghi.” One of the Mercurions stepped out in front of Suri and Cutthroat, their face hidden behind a battered mask. “You can take your ghora to a public stable. It isn’t coming inside.”

“She’ll wait out here.” Suri slung her leg over and dismounted, pulling Cutthroat’s reins over and dropping them. “We’re here on business. Red made an appointment for us.”

We couldn’t see the Mercurion’s expression, but they straightened up at Ebisa’s street name. “Prove it.”

Suri pulled a small sheathed dagger from a pouch: the [Ravenstar Dagger], a relic of the Royal family that Ebisa carried with her as a badge of office.

“Understood. Someone will be out to take care of your mount.” The Mercurion waved us through.

We passed through the gate into a compound with a ring of run-down houses. Strings of brightly colored lanterns hung between the hipped Chinese-style roofs, casting rainbow light over the crowd of people talking, drinking, dancing and brawling on the filthy straw-covered pavement. Suri bulldozed a path to the largest house at the end of the courtyard, bouncing a couple of drunk Vlachian teenagers off her armor on the way up the stairs. We entered to find the place just as animated as the outside. The floor was crowded, staffed by attractive human and Meewfolk bartenders. Every table was taken. Downstairs, the sounds of fighting could be heard: shouts, the ringing of a bell, the thump and crack of fists on flesh.

“Phew! Smells intense!” Karalti clung to my arm, sniffing the air. “Hang on, okay? I want to get a drink and some fried fish!”

“I ain’t stopping you,” I replied, glaring at a drunk Vlachian thug angling toward us. He turned and stomped away, looking for a better mark. “Have you ever actually drunk alcohol before?”

“Nope! I’ll get whatever seems tasty.” Karalti wiggled happily, then let go of me and slid through the crowd toward the bar. “Do you want anything? Suri?”

“Sure,” I said. “Whiskey if they’ve got it, vodka if they don’t.”

“Grab me a beer as well, would you?” Suri called to her over the noise. “Oh look: I think that’s our table.”

I looked in the direction she was facing and spotted what she had: a group of gaudily dressed Meewfolk seated at a booth, gambling with cups and drinking themselves into oblivion. One of them had a small, fluffy dinosaur of some kind perched on his shoulder. More telling was the golden quest icon that hung over his head.

“That’s not all,” I said, glancing at the next booth over. “Look at the table next door. Starborn.”

Suri’s head turned sharply. The Starborn in question sat in front of a row of three NPCs, playing cards with the single-minded concentration of a serious gambler. He was older, with a rough beard and stringy grey hair pulled into a short half-ponytail. He wore a long brown duster over a red satin vest that looked like it had seen better days. A pearl-handled pistol lay on the table by his elbow.

“I’m impressed,” I said. “It takes real effort to look like a grimy cyberpunk character in a fantasy game.”

“Doubt he’s got anything interesting to say.” Suri said. “Anyway, you want me to do the talking? Or you want to do it?”

“I’ll do it,” I said. “Gotta get that street cred somehow. You and Karalti watch my back.”

“It’s your funeral.” Suri equipped her helmet and fell in by my left.

We rolled up to the Meewfolk as the leader slammed his cup down and pulled it up to reveal a pair of sixes. His companions roared, thumping the table and cursing him good-naturedly as he laughed and quipped something to them in his native tongue. When he spotted us, his blue eyes turned sly, and he fixed a toothy fanged grin on us.

“Ahh, you must be Red’s guests!” He cried out to us, waving us with a ring-encrusted hand. “Come, come, sit with us!”

“Thanks.” I dropped into the seat, looking back to see Karalti weaving back toward us from the bar. “Red didn’t give us your names. I’m Hector. This is Suri. What can I call you?”

“My name, dearest human, is Samboon Taksin, captain of the Wattana,” he replied, leaning back in his seat. “I am told you seek passage to the land of my people?”

“Sure do. We need to arrange an audience with the Avatar.” I smiled at Karalti as she set our drinks down and plopped into the chair beside me. Her plate was stacked high with fillets of breaded fish and a bowl of what looked and smelled like tartar sauce.

The Meewfolk at the table all did a doubletake. Captain Taksin, who had been taking a pull off his mug, sputtered on his mouthful of beer.

“A human? Gain audience with the Avatar? HAH!” He slammed the mug down. “If I wasn’t an outcast, I’d have to slap you with claws for such an arrogant, blasphemous statement. But I am an outcast, so sanyelak mra’ah.”

I had a quiet sip of whiskey. It was surprisingly good: sharp, caramelly, with a warm smokey finish. “I don’t speak your language, yet, but I’ll take it as a wish for luck.”

The other Meewfolk at the table laughed uproariously, rocking in their seats as they toasted each other.

“Oh yes, that is what it means. Wishing luck for an audience with the Avatar, hah!” The Captain shook his head. “How do you plan to do this thing?”

“We have knowledge we can return to your people,” I said. “I was hoping the Avatar might be interested. If you have any good ideas on how to arrange a meeting, we might add a garnish to your berth fee.”

“A garnish, hmm? Smart man. Rogues like me do not give advice for free.” Samboon picked up a piece of his own fish and fed it to the critter on his shoulder. “You will need to go through the Priest-Queen of Ru Waat to have a chance at gaining an audience with the Avatar. Do you know much about our fair nation?”

“Not a whole lot, no,” I said.

“Prrupt’meew is a country of city-states,” Samboon said, gesturing grandly with his fish. “Each one ruled by a Priest-Queen, a sacred mother of our people who administers the city and the lands of the city’s territory. All Priest-Queens are duty-bound to protect the Avatar and the Temple of Ancestors, in which they reside. However, in practice, it is the Priest-Queen of Ru Waat, our largest city, who controls access to the Avatar and serves as their greatest defender.”

“Are Meewfolk a feudal society?” I asked. “Any rules and rituals we need to know?”

“We do not have kings and queens and lords and ladies like Vlachia.” Samboon motioned derisively toward the city beyond the door. “Succession by birth breeds weakness. Any woman may become Priest-Queen, if she is strong enough. Girls train from youth to become braves, then temple guard, then priestesses, and then they may challenge the ruler of their city. It is a position of merit. The Priest-Queen of Ru Waat is the greatest warrior of the land.”

“Only women, huh?” I glanced at Suri.

“Women live in cities. Men live outside the walls,” Samboon said. “Unlike here, where all of my people are crammed into this noisome filth together. It is unnatural for men and women to live so close to one another, if you ask me. But enough of this. I have berth for six passengers on our next journey to the motherland: eight hundred olbia per head, non-negotiable. I normally charge a thousand, but Red tells me that there are four of you and one ghora who must travel, and I owe her a personal favor.”

Eight hundred per person was steep, but I’d figured we’d have to pay a smuggler’s tax. “Works for me. When do you leave?”

“Next month. The sixteenth of Boseg Kavi,” the captain replied, examining his claws.

“That’s two fuckin’ weeks away,” Suri blurted the same words on my own mind, more or less.

“Ah, the tin can speaks. Yes, my lady, it is two weeks from today,” Samboon said, flicking one of his ears to the side. “The Azure Passage is dangerous this time of year. It is monsoon season in those latitudes. Typhoons and worse. If the storms do not get you, the Cloud Emperors will.”

“Cloud Emperors?” I asked.

“They rule the skies between the mainland and Meewhome, and they spawn during the monsoons.” He gestured vaguely toward the south. “It is toward the end of their breeding season, but one can never be too careful. Come with us in two weeks, and they will be out to sea and far away. But now? No, you won’t find anyone with an Avatar’s Blessing willing to go south until the storms have cleared.”

“What about for a thousand a head?” I asked, straightening as I saw the gambler turn in his chair to watch and listen to us.

Samboon scoffed. “No. And not for any fare, no matter how much you wish to go on this fool’s gambit. My ship is worth more than the lives of some imprudent humans.”

The gambler stood up, set his hat on his head, and slouched over to us. I glanced back, letting him know I’d seen him, and he stopped a respectful distance away. Samboon’s gaze slid to him, past my shoulder.

“Might be I’m able to help you.” The newcomer had a rough, gravelly voice, drawling heavily on every other word. “I got a ship, and I’ve made plenty of runs from here to Ru Waat. If the weather ‘cross the Azure Passage is as bad as you say... well, that sounds like an adventure to me.”

“Sure does,” I said. “We’d delay the journey if we could, but we can’t. Ilia won’t give us two weeks to play footsies in Taltos.”

He squinted at me. “Ilia? You mixed up in all that mess?”

“Sure am. On side of sanity, or the side of Vlachia, whichever you prefer.” I twisted around, stretching out a hand. “Hector.”

He came close enough to give it a stiff shake. “Gar.”

“This is Suri and Karalti.” I gave Captain Taksin a sidewards glance. His ears were flat to his skull, eyes narrowed. “Do you know what the captain here is talking about?”

“Sure I do. Cloud Emperors choking up the Azure Passage.” Gar said. “But I wouldn’t be a goddamned smuggler if I wanted the easy life, now would I? Pussy cat here can cool his damn heels in Taltos for as long as he pleases. If you three are willing to insure my ship in case it wrecks, I’ll take you wherever you damn well want.”

“Pussy cat?” Samboon repeated, planting his hands down on the table. “Say that again if you dare, you shaved monkey.”

“C’mon now, no need to get all fluffed up about it.” Gar arched his eyebrows and tossed his head. “I can make it up to you. Couple of sardines, a box of Meow Mix…”

The Captain’s crewmates flattened their ears and hissed. Samboon got to his feet, looming head and shoulders over all of us. I calmly, but efficiently vacated my seat.

“Put your dicks away, gentlemen. We’ve got shit to do,” Suri snapped. “Gar, if you’ve got a ship and you’re willin’ to fly it, I’d say we can work something out.”

Gar looked sharply at Suri, brows furrowing. “Suri, was it? Where’s that accent from?”

“It’s from Nunya-Damn-Business,” Suri replied easily. “Nice little resort town on the coast of Bugger Off.”

Karalti watched us like someone following a tennis match, methodically stuffing pieces of fried fish into her face.

“Hah. Good answer.” A brief sloping smirk passed over Gar’s rugged face. “Anyway: How ‘bout you three come walk and talk with me to the docks? You want to leave tonight or tomorrow, right?”

“Tomorrow, early as possible,” I said. “I’ll walk with you—to make sure you actually have an airship and aren’t just jerking us around.”

“Oh, you better believe I have an airship. The fastest ship in port, and she has a ten-thousand mile range on her. Better than anything Whiskers here can fly,” Gar said.

“She’ll be a wreck in the bottom of the Passage by the time you’re halfway to Meewhome.” Captain Taksin rolled his shoulders. “Anyway, Starborn: I believe our business is concluded.”

“We didn’t have any business, so you still owe Red that favor.” I got to my feet. “Pleasure meeting you, anyway.”

The Meewfolk sneered. “Sampat khung lood’nam mao nah.”

“Ouch, that sounds rude.” Karalti popped the last piece of fish into her mouth, and after a moment of consideration, picked up the bowl of tartar sauce and chugged it, to the astonishment and concern of the other Meewfolk at the table.

“It’s amazing how ‘go suck a dick’ sounds roughly the same in any language.” I got to my feet, yawned, and stretched. “Alright, Gar. Let’s go see this ship of yours.”

“My pleasure,” Gar drawled. “Ladies and gentleman, if you’ll follow me, it will be my pleasure to introduce you to the Strelitzia, the finest ship in the Port of Taltos.”