Jack Chalker - Echoes of the Well of Souls

Occasionally one or another of the creatures would say something to her, but she was always able to convey by some gesture or expression that she did not understand them. Still, she did feel the irony of being naked and exposed in a strange city and yearned for a dark alleyway. Once a particularly smelly and repulsive-looking reptilian creature had actually touched her, and she’d reacted instantly with a nearly panicky mental push that said “Go away!” And the creature had frozen, looked puzzled for a moment, then seemed to lose all interest in her and actually had gone away!

Could she really do that, or was it a coincidence? One of these times she’d find out.

Brazil emerged from the bookshop with something of what he needed. He had been surprised to find, in the first few weeks after landing in Ambreza, that he was able to figure out the written language almost as if it were something he’d forgotten rather than something he’d never known. It was a little cumbersome and not all of it read just right, but what he needed to read he had little problem figuring out.

The map was the most important thing. When he had the time, he intended to annotate it in Latin, the “stock” Earth language he’d found the most useful over the long haul, so he wouldn’t have to keep looking up and remembering this term or that and figuring out things word by word and sentence by sentence. There was a sort of common written language here, one used for interhex trade and commerce—the ticket was in it—but he found it less familiar and less useful than Ambrezan.

Of course, he knew what had happened. He was remembering ancient Ambrezan, which had evolved greatly over the millennia since his last time here, and the common language he’d known had been entirely replaced, perhaps many times.

He then stopped at the ministry of commerce offices to call in to the capital, report something on his slight observations on Glathrielians—mostly to omit any of the oddities and report a very primitive life-style of no threat or consequence to the Ambrezans—and get what information he could on Mavra’s group.

There was some information, but it was incomplete and not guaranteed. Of the two men and two women who came in, one was reported in Erdom, as he’d surmised, another was in Zebede, which did surprise him, a third was in Dahir, and a fourth, clearly Mavra, had shown up in Glathriel, as he already knew.

“But who’s this other Glathrielian female I have with me?” he asked them. “If she didn’t come in with me, and she didn’t, since I know where mine are, and she didn’t come in with them, she must have come in either alone or with another group.”

“The only group we have other than yours and the larger party is two males about three weeks after you arrived. One of those is a Leeming, and the other—that’s odd—also an Erdomite.”

“Well, then, who is this girl?”

“You’re sure she’s not a native putting you on?”

He sighed. “Natives do not look like her. I know you might not be able to tell them apart, but I sure can. And natives don’t draw maps of televisions and cameras and North America on Earth.”

“Well, we have no reports of anybody coming through except those we told you about. Sorry. They are quite upset with this at Zone Security, you know. There’s an investigation to find out just how this happened. Right now the only plausible theory is that she came in just after one of your groups, probably the larger one, and somehow snuck by security and went directly through the gate without being noticed. How that’s possible nobody can say.”

Nathan Brazil sighed and muttered, “Television reporters,” in a disgusted tone. “All right, thank you. I’ll be off now, and it’s unlikely although not impossible that I’ll be back. I thank you for all your help.”

“Not a big problem,” the comm tech told him. “However, I was told to inform you if you were heard from again that if you do return, you must proceed immediately to Glathriel and remain there. If you are picked up here again, you will be immediately transported there. You must make somebody nervous.”

Damned paranoids,he thought, but he acknowledged the transmission and switched out.

The truth was, he’d like to do that at some point. Move into Glathriel and live there, “go native,” as it were, if he could stand it, and uncover the real mysteries of the place. Now, however, wasn’t the time.

Still, after seeing what was wrong with the Well, he seriously considered remaining this time, at least for a while. He wasn’t really sure why he hadn’t done so before, although, of course, the last time had been pretty dicey and leaving had been the only practical choice.

Hell, he could change his looks in there, even his race and sex, if he wanted to. He couldn’t figure out why he’d never done it. Too much the uncomfortable god, he decided. Maybe this time would be different. Or maybe he should just try the current Glathrielian matrix and see just what the hell was going on inside those people. That was if this girl made it up there with him and couldn’t tell him what he needed to know after removing her speech and language block.

They headed back up to the park with a detour past the ship they were going to take. It was a big one, larger than any he’d remembered from his still admittedly spotty recollections. Three-masted, made of superior fitted wood covered with some kind of synthetic laminate that protected and sealed it, two stacks, three decks above the main deck. Yeah, it looked like it could take an ocean, all right, and keep everybody comfortable and dry while doing it. It even had all sorts of smaller, exotic-looking masts atop the wheelhouse, indicating that if the hex allowed, it could use almost any technology known to Well World science.

It flew the Suffok flag, which meant it was a long way from home. He wished it were going home; it would make things very easy indeed, since that hex was virtually on the equator, but he suspected that it rarely went up that far. Considering that such a ship could not lie idle for long, he suspected that its profits, more than its hull, went to its home port in any given year.

Terry stared at the ship with a mixture of awe, wonder, puzzlement, and a little fear. The puzzlement was of course because she had no idea how the Well World worked or that there were nontech, semitech, and high-tech hexes, and thus its combination of features from every type of ship she’d ever known, and some she’d never thought of, seemed bizarre. Fear because even in normal times she’d never been that great on ships, and she really didn’t know if her claustrophobia could stand it long on that thing. She knew, though, that something that big and that grand didn’t make small voyages.

They continued walking back up the street to the park. By now it was late in the day and the merchants were mostly packing up, but Brazil was able to spot the one he’d spoken to about the horses, and now he figured he’d close whatever deal he could get. He’d paid a lot; now the Ambrezan, sensing Brazil was in something of a time squeeze, offered only half.

They haggled and argued and finally settled on a hundred plus as much of the unsold produce as Brazil and Terry could carry back to their nearby campsite. Brazil made out a bill of sale on some glorified butcher paper and signed and dated it, and the merchant took it and nodded.

Brazil had to admit to himself that he took far more of the produce than he could possibly consume, but he felt a little gypped by the guy and wanted to cost him as much as possible. Terry, however, once she got the idea, did even better.

Both of them ate until they were stuffed, understanding that little of it would keep, but after he watched Terry put away so much of it, he wondered if there were going to be leftovers, after all.