David Weber - March Upcountry

"Then how did you know of it?" Jasco asked, deciding that he had to get at least one word in.

"I showed him," the female spy replied. "My mother's family was involved in the construction. They were masons from Voitan, and my mother knew of it from her mother."

Kosutic was sorely tempted to ask why Voitan women seemed to be the only ones on Marduk with any freedom, but decided it was a side issue. Fixing the problems of the Company came first. Although, she reflected, Roger's plan would certainly free up a few social constraints in Marshad.

"Okay," she said. "That has that covered. The reason we needed to know is that we need to smuggle one or two of our Mardukan allies out."

"Why?" Bijan demanded angrily. "This will make it much more likely that we'll be discovered! Those barbarians don't even speak the language!"

"What?" Julian snapped. "You have no barbarians in your city? No visitors whatsoever?"

"A few," Bijan admitted reluctantly. "But they're mainly from Kranolta tribes, and there are very few at the moment. They're mostly traders in hides and jungle medicines."

"Good," Kosutic said. "We have a mass of those we collected on the march, and he can take some with him as a cover. Also, before he goes, he'll need an armor apron and a helmet."

"No!" Bijan snarled. "No fighting. I don't know what your plan is, but he won't destroy all I've worked for! I'll wait for a better chance, if that's what it takes!"

"No, you won't," Kosutic told him with another toothy smile, "because if this goes wrong, I will follow you to Hell to spit on your soul. Do I make myself clear?"

They stared at one another for a long time, until, finally, the Mardukan clapped his hands reluctantly.

"Very well. One of them. I'll get appropriate armor and a helmet." He paused. "But if he gives away our preparations, on your head be it."

"He'll have a mission, which he'll divulge to you as he goes," the sergeant major said. "You will support it fully." She gestured with her head at the female spy. "And that one will be the primary control. Do you understand?"

"I'm in charge here—" Bijan started to say.

"No," Kosutic interrupted with a shake of her head. "Fate, chaos, and destruction are in charge here, spy . The faster you figure out how to ride the whirlwind, the better."

Denat padded through the trackless dark of nighttime Marshad, following the dimly perceived shape of the female in front of him.

The stench of the lower warrens was unbelievable, an effluvia of chemicals from dyes, rotting carcasses, shit, and misery. He'd visited Q'Nkok often, and although there had been many poor, it had never seemed as if the entire city was destitute. But in Marshad, he hadn't seen a single sign of relative wealth. It appeared that there were only king's advisers, and the penniless.

As his guide passed one of the tunnel-like alleys, a figure emerged from the deeper shadows and grabbed the little female by the arm.

Denat's orders had been to follow and, as much as possible, to avoid notice, so he stepped sideways into the deeper blackness along the alleyway, turning to put the heavy sack he carried against the wall. The little guide, Sena, had heartily endorsed the importance of his avoiding attention, and added an injunction against coming to her aid. She was confident of her own abilities. Or so she said.

Now Denat saw why. The confrontation was brief, and ended when the accoster suddenly flew into a wall. There was another flicker of movement as the two shapes merged, a horn flashed, and then the little female continued on, leaving a crumpled, life-oozing shape sprawled in the noisome alley.

Denat stepped around the growing, sticky puddle and followed his guide into the deeper blackness. There was just enough filtered light in the intersection for him to see that the thug's head was barely attached to his body. He'd heard of the enat techniques, but Sena was the first practitioner of the art he'd ever met, and he resolved to treat the guide with the greatest possible respect.

They took a fork away from the slightly wider alley they'd been following into a smelly path barely wide enough for the broad tribesman to pass. The alley's clay walls were intermittently coated in waterproofing, but much of it had worn away, exposing the walls to the rains. There were runnels in the material, and if it wasn't fixed soon, the houses to either side would collapse.

The narrow slit dropped into one of the tunnels that was a bit wider. It was impossible to see in the lightless passage, so the guide took the tribesman's hand and put it on her shoulder. The passage was half-flooded with a river of sludge—runoff from the evening's rains and rancid beyond compare—through which they were forced to wade. Denat steeled himself and refused to wonder what the things bumping against his legs or disintegrating beneath his feet might be.

That passage was blessedly short, however, and soon Sena led him up onto a slightly elevated platform and stopped. There was an almost unheard tapping, and the creak of a hinge, and then the guide stepped forward once more.

Denat started to follow... and slammed his nose into a lintel. He stifled a venomous curse, ducked through the doorway and stepped forward until he felt a hand on his chest. There was another creak behind him, a thump as a door closed, and the click of a bolt shooting. Then light flared from a tinderbox.

The candle that the tinder lit revealed a space which seemed too tiny for the group filling it. Besides his guide, there were three other females of about the same age, two older females, and half a dozen children. The only male in the room was obviously old, the lighter of the candle.

Two of the younger females cringed back at the sight of the armored tribesman in their midst, but the rest simply regarded Denat calmly.

"Unexpected visitors, Sena?" The old male sat creakily on a stool and gestured for the visitor to seat himself, addressing Denat's guide in the Voitan dialect which Denat, now that he was paying attention, could fuzzily understand.

"Yes," the guide agreed, wiping the filth of the sewer off her legs. "A requirement of the humans. They must have one of their own perform some mission. Also, we must smuggle communiqués to and from their commanders. They must have permission to help us."

She added something else in the dialect, speaking much too rapidly for Denat to follow.

"That was to be expected," one of the older females said, coming forward. "Welcome, tribesman. I am Selat, which my daughter would have told you, if she'd any manners."

"D'Nal Denat." The tribesman bowed. "I greet you in the name of The People." He hoped he'd all the sounds right. Some of the words were the same, but accented so differently as to make them nearly unintelligible.

"Denat," Julian said over the earbud the intel NCO'd installed, "if you're having translation problems, ask me. I'll give you the right words. You just said 'I sneeze you in the name of The Idiots.'"

The Mardukan had been seeded with more listening devices than a Saint embassy, and the company now had a way out of the building. The sergeant major was hard at work tracing out the other hidden passageways, and if Denat truly needed help, it was possible the Marines could come to the rescue.

The locals looked at one another, and then the older female bowed slightly towards him.

"I... greet you in the name of our house. Won't you take a seat?"

Denat nodded as reassuringly as possible at the worried females in the corner, guarding the children, and sat on the floor. The walls of the room were well-set stone and the room itself was a snug, out-of-the-way burrow.

"I... have..."

"A mission," Julian prompted.