It wasn’t long before the hydrofoil’s instrumentation warned them of the approaching confluence of the Skar and the Aurang. Ahead, the Skar executed a sharp bend westward while the Aurang flowed into the main river from out of the north. Given the Aurang’s immense flow and orientation, anyone not knowing which was which would have proceeded up the tributary, thinking it the Skar.
Making landfall on the eastern shore of the river just above the town of Aib, they dispatched Homat to inquire about the availability of transportation and porters. Despite the high rate of pay offered, engaging help turned out to be difficult.
“They are reluctant to leave their homes to travel to the land of the Tsla,” Homat explained.
“Why is that?” Lyra inquired. “I thought that trade went on daily between Tsla and Mai, and has since ancient times.”
“That is truth,” Homat agreed. Behind them, fisherfolk and farmers gathered curiously around the anchored hydrofoil, engaging in the usual futile hunt for sails and oars. “But that does not mean that the Mai are anxious to go up there.” He held up something oval that resembled a cross between a grapefruit and a sick lime.
“This is a gououn. It cannot grow below the level of Turput.” He bit into the shiny-skinned fruit with gusto and spit out several purple seeds. “This and much else can be grown by the Tsla alone. This makes many Mai fearful of them. And there are other things.” He made hasty protective signs.
“The Tsla trade with the Mai, but they also trade with the Na of the Guntali.”
“Then they’re not rumors,” said Lyra with excitement.
“Oh no, very real, de-Lyra. Too real.” He shuddered. “Skins of strange creatures they bring down from the Guntali, and much serash.” Etienne knew serash to be the word for the local equivalent of ivory.
“We Mai never see the Na, for we would freeze in moments in their lands. Their air is difficult to breathe and we would grow dizzy with fear.
“But some will come for hire. There are always some who will come, if the pay is sufficient,” he said with assurance. “I wish muchly though, my des, that you did not have to leave the spirit boat behind.” He looked at the curious to make sure they weren’t being overheard.
“Aib is little better than a large village. The Oyts of such towns have few morals. Better to have left it behind in Kekkalong.”
Etienne made the Mai movement for negation, glanced sourly at his wife. “We’re already taking too much time out of our schedule for this side trip, Homat. Leaving the boat at Kekkalong would’ve cost us several weeks of overland travel. Don’t worry though. The spirit boat will be quite safe until we return.”
Homat looked doubtful, still watching the crowd. “I cannot dissuade you, friends from across the ocean of night, but I do not think this a wise decision. Even the porters I have hired have come down to us from Upriver and not from Aib. I fear treachery.”
“Relax. We’ll have our weapons with us. No one’s going to bother the boat in our absence. You’ll see.” He indicated the fishing dock where they’d tied up. “Has not the Oyt of Aib promised us that he’ll keep the dock sealed off and all the curious away? None will be permitted to come near and he’s said he’ll utilize his personal guard to ensure that. We’re paying him a handsome amount to see to it that any locals stay clear.”
“The sum is not so handsome as the spirit boat itself,” Homat grumbled. “As for the guard he will post here, would that it had come from Kekkalong. Still, if you are satisfied, Homat is satisfied.” There was no satisfaction in his tone, however. He found it a struggle to understand these peculiar creatures. In many ways they were unimaginably sophisticated and in others, childishly naive.
“We know what we’re doing, Homat.”
“Could you not at least take it a safe distance up the Aurang?”
“And dock it in the middle of the river, exposed to unknown currents and high winds?” Lyra asked. “It’s safer here. Besides, anyone who wanted to find it could do so just as easily a few dozen legats up the Aurang. We’ll worry about our property, Homat, and you worry about the cooking and the guiding.”
“As you say, de-Lyra.”
In truth, he greatly enjoyed giving orders to the half dozen porters. It was the first time in his life he’d been able to exercise any power over his fellow Mai. Power gave rise to wealth, to new knowledge and capabilities; Power was the measure of an adult. He enjoyed himself so much he managed to forget his fears about the safety of the spirit boat.
The Oyt of Aib, a bucolic youth named Gwattwe who fancied himself something of a dandy, personally saw them safely on their way. He had his own spirit doctor cast a spell for their healthy return.
From Aib they would ride on lowagons northward until they encountered the Aurang’s southerly flow, then turn northeast following the trading trail into the highlands.
“May you return in delighted safety,” Gwattwe told them. “As one who has traded often with the Tsla, I would go with you myself to serve as guide and interpreter, but a village Oyt must watch over his people.”
“We understand,” Lyra assured him. “We know that you’ll take good care of our property.”
“Have I not sworn the oath?” Gwattwe looked injured. “Have I not given promise upon my mate and children and most of all, my fortune? Not to mention that I do not receive the second half of payment until you return.”
I trust that, Etienne thought as he listened to the Mai’s speech, more than any other assurance. Among the Mai, money was as blood.
As they turned to enter the waiting lowagons a bored-looking chorus of small children launched into an irritatingly atonal chant of farewell. They kept it up until the little line of porter-driven lowagons had moved beyond the first bend in the road, then scattered before the blows their chorus master dispensed impartially.
Gwattwe watched the strange visitors depart, then turned glittering eyes to the dock where the hydrofoil bobbed lazily at anchor, tethered to the landing by two wondrously strong metal cables.
“What do you think on all this, wise Enaromeka?”
The spirit doctor eyed the alien craft thoughtfully. “Give them six days before taking possession, Gwattwe.”
“My purse itches feverishly. I don’t know that I can wait six days.”
“Better caution than confrontation. I do not think they suspect, but it would be awkward if they were to double back along the road to see what we were doing. Patience. We shall be masters of all the Skar. Even the oceanic states will do us homage … if we can make the spirit boat obey us.”
“Even if we cannot,” Gwattwe said, “we can make the hairy ones pay a huge ransom for its safe return. If they refuse, surely there are many items of great value within the craft that can be removed and sold. These are no wizards, no gods come among us, Enaromeka. Lightning does not fly from their fingers, no matter what the Downriver rumor-mongers would have us believe, and the rocks do not shake beneath their tread. They are like unto the Mai, save for their size and hairiness, and they have fewer fingers and toes to drive them through life. If cut, I am sure they would bleed, and if they bleed, they will die. I understand them, and I think with care we can come to understand their spirit boat.
“Besides,” he added with a smile, “they will be gone long to the city of the Tsla and long returning. We will have ample time to study and experiment with their vessel.”
“It shall be a legendary triumph for you, Gwattwe,” the spirit doctor declaimed with becoming unctuousness.
“And for you also, my good friend and advisor, for to you falls the honor of extracting the secrets of the spirit boat.”
Enaromeka suddenly felt ill. “What? To me?”
“Are you not the smartest of the Aib?”
“The cleverest, but you, great Oyt, are the smartest.”
