Jo Clayton - Fire in the Sky

Heruit emptied his cup and let Meisci take it for a refill. “I can’t see as that gets us any forwarder. Unless you got more than I heard out of that ulpioc.”

Porach’s mouth thinned and curled into a secret smile. “More’n you’d guess.”

Heruit made an exasperated sound that pretty well expressed what Ceam was feeling.

Porach’s smile widened. He played with the moment, then capitulated according to some schedule of his own. “To start with, that’s not one of the big ‘uns inside the walls, that’s what they call a Drudge. It’s him runs the mesuch drink house in Dumel Dordan that was, I picked up other trades isn’t first time he done that, easy enough to get him running on about old days. He’s an old ‘un as mesuch go. Likes to natter on about nought. He pretty pissed at techs for bringing husk to his place and stinking it up and ignoring his brew. He got a pride in his brew and it’s like they slighting him when they do that. Besides, it takes ‘um funny, he says, sometimes they just get sleepy and hit floor snoring, othertimes they like to go crazy, bust the place up. He says he can tell old hands at it, their haws come half down all time, that’s those inside eyelids they drop when they getting fire-bellied.”

He pressed his lips together again, no smile this time. His shaggy brows drew inward, a deep trench dug between them. “Couple things to worry on. Less’n a hundred of them right now, but they expecting lots more in a couple months, maybe a bit more. We could maybe wipe the hundred. When it’s thousands, I dunno. Worse, was something else ol’ Farkly said, one time he and me, we was trading brew, had to sample it like, and he gets feeling loose and one thing he says is mesuch has same problem a while back. ‘Nother world. Something on it messed up their techs. Couldn’t stop them getting at it, so they stop the world. Cracked it open like you’d stick a nut ‘tween you teeth and chomp down. Mucks get too fussed with husk smoking, could be they do the same here.”

Heruit scowled. “World’s a big nut.”

“Cha oy, but when you figure how they get here, maybe they can do it.” He supped up some tea, handed his cup to Meisci for a refill. “What I know is bits and pieces. Techs getting itchy one way ‘nother. High Mucks not paying ‘ttention to what they supposed to be doing. Like when you kick into mutmut nest and watch the itchies run round like crazy. One of ol Farkli, that’s his name, one of his bumpers, he sidle over to me couple ten days ago, wants to buy husk, I say I don’t have any, but I’ll ask round. What I think is, you can use that Drudge to get to techs over to Dordan-that-was and worm outta them what you gotta know.”

“You’ve come to make trouble, haven’t you.” Parlach was a broad strong woman a little younger than Deдnin, with a round face, pouty lips and pale blue eyes. Bland blue eyes, mouth falling into a meaningless smile when she finished speaking.

Deдnin looked at her a long moment. “Yes,” she said finally and waited for a response.

“Good. Think you can keep it away from the House?”

“Likely.”

“Good. What you want?”

“For the moment, information. Discreetly gathered. The inside workings of the mesuch fort.”

“Hm. Time limit?”

“No.”

“Good. I’m shamed to say I don’t have many I trust who have the brains to do that work and not get caught at it.”

“Not getting caught is more important than the information.”

“I can see that. Someone else you ought to bring m. Sifaed. She works the back room at Farkli’s lubbot. Gets more techs than we do, ours is mostly Drudges, and one of her steadies is the Chav who runs the Drudges.”

“She tied to the lubbot or does she get out?”

“After she and the other women clean the place, she’s mostly loose till noon. I could set up a meet if you want. Best not here. She goes walking round the edges of the Fen when she needs to get away from the mesuch, that’s as good a place as any. You know what she looks like?”

“No.”

“Big woman, not fat, just heavy. Taller than most. Wide shoulders, wide hips, light brown hair with a lot of red in it, fine flyaway stuff that kinks into tight curls with the least damp in the air. She was a teacher back before the mesuch came, bonded like they do with a Keteng teacher, a Denchok called Bolabel. Mesuch killed xe when they broke up the Dumel. Like they did all the Keteng they saw about.”

“I see. Yes, set up a meet two days on, tell her I’ll watch her backtrail, make sure she’s clear before I show. I’ll call her bond’s name to show her it’s me.”

“You sure you want to do that?”

“Yes. How she handles it will tell me things I need to know.”

Sifaed was grim-faced, eyes hooded, anger in the set of her shoulders as she stepped into the shadow under the trees and stood waiting for Danin to show herself.

“Bolabel,” Deдnin said quietly, then stepped from behind a tree. “How long do you have?”

“That isn’t the question. Convince me I should stay.”

“We’ve quit trying to drive them off. We’re going for the head now. Get that and the body dies.”

“How?” There was an edge to her voice. “You didn’t see what happened here when they came. You weren’t here. I’d remember you. All the faces are graved in my head, everyone, dead and alive. I’ve searched for a way, Chel Dй have I searched. You can’t get in there and I don’t care how big an army you can get together, you won’t even get close. They’ll kill you faster than my father mowed a hayfield.”

“So we just have to be cleverer than they are. What do you know about inside that fort?” Deдnin pulled a pad from a pocket in her shirt, took a pencil from its loop and waited.

Sifaed’s eyes went distant She moved over to the tree, lowered herself onto one of the knobby root knees and scowled at the reedy grass growing round her feet. After a short silence, she said, “One of my regulars is the Muck of the Dirtmen. That’s what they call them that grow food for the rest. Hunh! Not that they actually touch dirt, that’s for Drudges. Ragnal, his name is. Touchy. Full of resentments. You know the kind. Every time someone looks at him, he turns it into a slight. His baby brother was in an airwagon that went down. Crashed. He blames the Muck in charge of equipment, says he’s so corrupt, he’d get rid of all his workers if he could and eat their pay. He says Hunnar, that’s the High Muck of Mucks, he got this job because his wife is important, that he’s messed up a couple of other times and this is his last chance before he’s hauled home and put out to pasture. And that most of the other techish Mucks are the same sort, rejects put together because no one else will have them.”

“Hm. You said he’s a resentful man.”

“Cha oy, but he’s not the only one grumbling at the way things are run, so I suspect it’s close to true. Let’s see. The Drudges live in Dordan-that-was. Seven male, six female. Was more, but guards took four off and that was the last anyone saw of them. Inside the fort, maybe fifty guards. They go on staggered duty, fifteen at a time, two on the High Muck’s workcenter, another two on duty in his quarters. They like that duty, it’s just watching the clean Drudge do her work, then sampling the Muck’s drink stock and poking through his picture stuff. What they hate is walking the walls and punching in at the call stations. It’s boring and they can’t slack there. There’ll be one or two in the watch towers and four walking the walls. The rest off duty, or wherever the High Muck says, lately they’ve been hitting the Sleeping Grounds, bringing in Guardians. Right now, he’s got around ten of them out looking for Denchok, don’t know why, guards don’t either, they’re grumbling because it messes up the schedule. Um. Don’t know how many techs exactly, but you folks have whittled them down by at least a dozen. Four kinds, mining, med, communications, and repair. I’ve counted round thirty at Farkli’s, probably more than that. Four Mucks under Hunnar. Never see those. Um. Some support staff for day to day business the Mucks won’t mess their hands with. Borrow that pencil and pad?”