Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

“I hight Sir Hunnar Redbeard,” the knight replied with a half-snarl. “Conqueror of Sagyanak the Death, destroyer of the Horde, and knight of Wannome of Sofold.”

“Never heard of either,” someone in the crowd snickered. There was degrading laughter all around. Suaxus and Budjir tried to spot the quipster, failed.

“You will hear soon of it,” Suaxus muttered. “It will make a fine inscription for your wandering time.”

“Speaking of fertilizer,” Hunnar continued, “that is undoubtedly what your family trades in, to obtain those shiny trappings you wear and that flashing new sword. So new, in fact, it seems not to have seen use. But then what use has one who dabbles in shit for a sword?”

The Tran opposite stiffened. Ethan knew that on Sofold, at least, natural wastes froze instantly as soon as they were exposed to the outside air. They were then collected by people who dealt in such produce and resold to various farmers, to be reheated and spread as fertilizer. The precarious island ecologies of Tran-ky-ky were kept in balance only by rigorous recycling of any available soil nutrients. The necessity of the profession, however, did not mitigate the offense of Hunnar’s remark.

Everyone in the crowd recognized the insult. Snickers and comments gave way to angry mutterings and the movement of hands toward weapons. No adult Tran and few cubs were ever seen without at least a dirk attached to outer thigh. Though Hunnar and the squires were considerably more battle-trained and experienced than the mob of citizens, they were badly out-numbered.

September and Ethan stepped into the circle. “We are visitors here and we wish no trouble.” Ethan studied the assemblage. “These three are our friends.”

At that announcement a remarkable change came over the mob. The one Tran who had been arguing with Hunnar made apologetic gestures to Ethan. His manner changed abruptly from offensive to obsequious.

“May my cubs be taken by guttorbyn if I have offended you, sky outlanders! I did not know that these,” he almost used the word for peasant again, “others were your personal friends. Had I so known, this would not have happened. I beg my family’s forgiveness.”

“Well,” Ethan began, a bit confused by the unexpected speed of the other’s apology, “I forgive you, if that’s what you want.”

“Tell Hunnar you’re sorry.” September grinned.

The brilliantly bedecked Tran stared at September. For an instant Ethan saw a glimmer in the native’s eyes of something other than respect. It vanished quickly. “As the sky outlander desires.” He turned to Hunnar.

“I ask forgiveness, friend.” The last word was forced out like a recalcitrant belch.

“Finish it properly.” Ethan threw the giant a warning look. They’d obtained an apology, for heaven’s sake! What more did September want?

“My… my breath is your… your…” He looked uncomfortably at September, avoiding the eyes of the crowd.

“Tell him,” insisted September coolly.

Assuming a remarkable expression of distaste, the native put out both arms and approached Hunnar. Placing a hand on each of the knight’s shoulders, he exhaled toward his face. “My breath is your warmth,” he said quickly. Then he retreated into the crowd.

The sympathy of the onlookers, Ethan decided, lay with the departed and not with Hunnar. The knight wrinkled his broad muzzle. “ Pagh! That smells of falf lard.”

“Anyone else have anything to say?” September stared at the crowd. With murmurs and mutterings, the assembled citizens began to move off. Like crumbs falling from a cake, they fell away in different directions and smaller and smaller groups. The murmurs included distinct apologies, but all had been directed to Ethan and September.

“What was that all about?” Ethan asked the knight.

Hunnar looked upset. “We were waiting patiently for you and friend September. Local people were going back and forth from the building you entered. Many of them made comments to us. None were pleasant to hear, Ethan. Some would have caused blood to freeze in the streets of Wannome.” He took a deep breath.

“But this is not Wannome and we did not wish to do something that might give you trouble or embarrassment. It was very hard, but we ignored all such comments. At least, we did so until that last pash made a reference upon my family line which could not be ignored.

“Had you not intervened, Ethan, I would have decorated the street with his insides.”

“You are quick to forgive,” Suaxus said softly. Hunnar turned and glared at him, but the squire looked back defiantly. Suaxus had always been fast to take offense, Ethan recalled.

“We hardly intervened,” he said, trying to mollify any discomfort Hunnar might feel for not having fought his opponent. “We were ready to fight alongside you if need be. Why did they all simply apologize and melt away as they did?”

September began scratching the earring-decorated ear. “I’m not sure myself, lad. None of the Tran in Wannome acted like that toward us. They were polite, but independent.”

Hunnar gestured at the locals chivaning to and from the building. “Not warriors.” He said it disdainfully.

“Skua, did you notice the other’s clothing?” Ethan asked.

“No. All I was watching was his face and sword arm.”

“He was wearing metal-fabric sashes and other off-world decorations, and his sword was stelamic.”

“Apologetic in proportion to commerce. Interesting.” September looked thoughtful.

“They think,” Suaxus said bitterly, “they are superior to us because of their association with your people here.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Ethan felt acutely uncomfortable. “Why should they?”

“It’s happened often enough in our own past, lad.” September divided his attention equally between Ethan and Suaxus as he spoke. “When the great, rich explorers from beyond, wherever beyond happened to be at the time, set up a trading post, the local natives were quick to consolidate the trade monopoly on their own behalf. Nor were they averse to showing off their trade wealth in front of their excluded brethren.

“So though someone else is making the big money off the Tran-ky-ky trade, the Arsudunites are quite content with their own small corner on the market. It makes them feel big and important, just as Suaxus claims.”

Budjir was as quiet as his companion squire was talkative, but when his spit hit the ground it possessed a certain nonverbal eloquence admirable in its conciseness.

They started back to the ship. The three Tran kept slightly to themselves, moving just ahead of the humans.

“I said inside the port, lad, that something else has got to be done to open up this world so all the locals benefit.” He nodded back in the direction of the port complex. “That little altercation back there between Hunnar and one citizen is going to form the pattern for inter-Tran relationships unless this local monopoly is broken. Both of ’em. The one the Arsudunites enjoy, and the bigger one behind it.”

Ethan slipped slightly, just catching his balance on the frozen ground paralleling the icepath. “You told me you had something in mind. Me, I’d set up another trading post with shuttlecraft facilities somewhere else, maybe on Sofold. From there trade could be conducted that would be fair to all Tran, giving them fair value for their goods while still making an honest profit in return.”

September shook his white-maned head. “No offense against our friends up ahead,” and he gestured at Hunnar and the squires, “but as much as we may’ve come to like ’em personally, inside they’re no different than any other Tran. Pretty soon Sofold would be just like Arsudun, jealous of its little monopoly. Oh, maybe Hunnar wouldn’t go for it, but there’re plenty of merchants in Wannome who’d fight to preserve it.