They anchored well out in the river away from the walled harbor of Hochac. Occasional fishing boats drifted past and their crews hailed the newcomers. Etienne and Lyra stayed out of sight belowdecks while Homat fielded the passing inquiries. The sight of the Tsla raised curious stares, but many of the drifting fisherfolk were from farther Upriver. Their questions were not threatening. Only a few of the curious called Hochac home port. To them the sight of Tsla on the river was unusual, but hardly cause for alarm.
Langai of Hochac and his advisor Davahassi might know that the alien owners of the stolen spirit boat had gone to visit with the Tsla, but that wasn’t reason enough to connect the off-worlders to these furry fishermen. As far as Langai and the rest of Hochac knew, Etienne and Lyra Redowl were far away.
So no soldiers rowed out to inspect the fishermen and the two boats were able to move safely inshore on the heels of nightfall. As soon as it was dark, Etienne and Lyra crept out on the upper deck and produced daynight scopes from their kits.
“Must be used to attacks.” Etienne squinted through his monocular. “The stockade’s made of wood instead of stone, but its good and high. Too high to scale easily. You can see places where the individual logs have been scarred by fire. The top is flat and lined with broken glass. Cute.”
“What sign of thy spirit boat?” Tyl asked softly.
“I can’t see a thing besides the stockade, but there’s a helluva lot of light from the center of town.” He touched a switch on the side of the scope and the tiny long-range microphone amplified sound along with the light. Homat jumped at the unexpected rush of noise while the Tsla drew back and made signs. Lyra reassured them.
As soon as Homat had overcome his initial suspicion of the scope, Etienne asked him, “What do you make of this?”
The Mai moved hesitantly nearer the source of the sounds. “Drums, pipes, flutes, high chanting: they sound as if they are celebrating.” His face lit with recognition of a particular chant. “That is what it is. A gathering to celebrate their great triumph over the Aibites and their successful theft. I did not recognize it at first. Many of the words here are different from in Po Rabi.”
“Then we have a chance to surprise them while they’re partying.”
“I don’t think so, de-Etienne. They will have the spirit boat carefully watched, lest some of their own fellows try to steal it and sell it Downriver. Anyone clever enough to steal the spirit boat would not be so stupid as to trust his own people.”
Etienne touched the asynaptic pistol riding his hip. “Then we’ll just have to walk in and make a polite request for the return of our property.” He glanced at his wife but this time Lyra had nothing to say about the prospect of wreaking havoc on the natives.
Another source did, however. “The taking of lives would be most regrettable.” Tyl wore his most soulful expression.
“I’m sorry too, Tyl, but we have to get our boat back and I’m in no mood to be nice about it. Not only would its loss mean the end of our expedition, but there are devices on board that could be a real danger to the Mai themselves if they ever managed to figure them out.” He wiped sweat from his forehead. The temperature was still over a hundred and ten and the humidity hovered around ninety percent.
“There’s another factor to consider. Lyra and I could probably obtain transportation back down to the Skatandah Delta, but we couldn’t take months of this heat.”
“I do not dispute the need to recover thy property, Etienne. I only abhor the necessity of taking lives through violence.”
“We’ll do as little shooting as possible.”
“A very exuberant celebration.” Homat was still listening intently to the amplified sounds coming from beyond the stockade as the two boats slipped into the harbor. “Siask!” he suddenly snapped, dropping to the gunwale. Etienne and Lyra immediately flattened themselves below the seats. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
“A patrol, I think. What do we do now?”
“If I may be permitted?”
Etienne glanced down toward Tyl. “You have something in mind?”
“You and thy Lyra must remain concealed, for on sight of thee the alarm will surely be raised, but thy friend Homat will only be questioned, especially if we show ourselves. It is unusual, as you know, for we of the Tsla to come down to the river. These warriors should be intrigued by our presence but not alarmed, for it is well known that we love peace and harm no one.”
“Good idea, Tyl. You put them off their guard long enough for Lyra and me to get close enough to bring them down.” Tyl’s proboscis twitched with amusement. “That would be too risky, would it not?” He gestured toward his companions. “We will undertake the necessary action.”
“Wait a minute.” Lyra looked confused. “What about what you just said, Tyl, about loving peace and not harming anyone?”
Etienne shushed her. “Don’t confuse our guests. Let’s see what these pacifists can do when they want to, shall we? Think of it as an interesting footnote to your research.”
She gave him an angry stare, but said nothing. They hid themselves beneath a section of sail as the Tsla rowed the boats into shore. He had a sudden crazy urge to pinch her but managed to suppress it.
At first the patrol ordered both boats to stand off, but on sight of the Tsla they allowed them to dock. Etienne listened hard. At any moment he expected the sail to be thrown aside and to find himself eye to eye with a long spear.
Then there was the sound of muffled struggling and he and Lyra emerged from their temporary cocoon with pistols at the ready. They might as well have relaxed beneath the cloth.
Tyl and the porters had no trouble with the patrol. Yulour in particular distinguished himself, exercising his great strength with a caution that was frightening to see. Etienne made a mental note to leave the teasing to Yulour’s companions.
The entire patrol had been neatly silenced. Etienne was full of newfound respect for their philosopher-guide as he helped him and the other Tsla slip the guards into the river, but he couldn’t help but wonder at this facile contravention of established Tsla tenets. Time enough later for social analysis, he told himself curtly. First order of business was to get their boat back, not discuss Tsla motivation.
Having gone ahead to scout out the approach, Homat now beckoned them forward. Soon they were standing next to the impressive palisade of logs that girdled the town. There were plenty of slots cut in the wood through which archers could aim and fire on attackers. The openings near the harbor showed only the backsides of buildings, but as they made their way around the stockade, gaps appeared which permitted a view deeper into the community.
Eventually they located a small pedestrian gate. It was unguarded and swung wide at Homat’s touch and they stepped inside, concealing themselves behind a square storage building.
From the slurred shouts they could now hear clearly, it was evident that plenty of drinking and drug-taking was going on. As they moved toward the center of the town they had a glimpse of unsteady revelers falling down in unexpected places, and nearly tripped over several who had celebrated themselves into unconsciousness.
Ahead lay the town square, a place of ceremony and money-making among the Mai. Smack in the center of the paved square, surrounded by celebratory bonfires, was the Redowls’ hydrofoil. The fires were maintained at a reasonable distance from the boat, not out of any fear of harming it but to ensure the safety of the wooden cage in which it rested. The chanting was loud now and terribly off-key. Etienne looked to his wife, saw with disgust but not surprise that she was furiously whispering a description of the celebration into her note-taker. That was his Lyra: if the locals ended up boiling her in fish fat she’d spend her last moments jotting down the recipe for posterity.
“What now, Learned One?” Apparently Tyl had exhausted his limited store of strategic knowledge. Etienne felt a perverse satisfaction over the Tsla’s use of the honorific.
“How can we free thy boat, Learned One?” asked one of the porters. “It seems secured most strongly.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Etienne told him. “All we have to do is get within shouting distance. We’re close enough now, but I’m worried that all this loud chanting might drown us out.”
“I understand,” said Homat confidently. “You plan to call upon the spirits that watch over your boat.”
Tyl eyed him distastefully. The Tsla were not heir to the plethora of superstitions that infected Mai culture.
“How will thee regain control of thy craft, Etienne? And more important, perhaps, how are we to transport it from the center of this unfriendly village to the water’s edge?”
“You’ll see,” Etienne told him. “Homat’s not far from the truth.” Their Mai guide chose not to look down his nose at the skeptical Tsla, probably because in any such exchange he was bound to come off second best.
