Jo Clayton - Shadow of the Warmaster

“Daarra dai, Lan, do me good to practice my kicks.” Xalloor chuckled. “Could even be fun.”

1. Half a year before Aslan lands on Tairanna/ three years before Adelaar hires Quale and crew.

Airship/over the Duzzulkas/cloudless summer night.

Karrel Goza tugged a length of wool from the skein, draped a few loops over his thigh. Ruya was brushing the horizon directly ahead of him, fatly gibbous, Gorruya was nearly out of sight overhead, an anorexic crescent riding a fan of stars that were particularly brilliant this night; the wind was still, even the veil of dust that generally hung over the southern Duzzulkas had settled for the moment. The land was flowing dark and silent beneath the airship, the watchfires of the herders were scattered pinpricks of red beside spreading shapeless blotches, yunk herds, nubby black against the ripples of silvery black grass. The clock on the panel gave him another twenty minutes before he made Koy Tarla; the pylon lights should be visible soon. He was a thin dark man, short, neatly made, a man at peace with himself; as his hands manipulated the needles and the bulky gray wool slid steadily about his fingers and the sleeve grew longer, his mind drifted without effort from image to image.

Three sweaters by the time I get home. Not bad. Ommar keeps hinting I should get married. Hmm. I don’t want to shift Houses, whoever it is will have to adopt in. Gily? Ommar’d eat her alive. Her father’s tavern’s doing good, be a nice add to the family business. No, she’s all right to warm a bed, not for a long haul, too changeable, I’d never know who she was getting off with when I was gone. Long haul. Hmm. I don’t like Sirgыn sending me out alone for this haul. Dangerous. And I’ll have to lay over at some Koy and catch some sleep. Isn’t the stopping I mind, it’s the god forgotten Noses with their stinking questions, wouldn’t believe you if you said the sun was shining. Nehir. She’s a weaver, that’s good. Prime weaver. Bring a lot to the family. Even Old Pittipat likes her work. She wouldn’t mind me being off flying so much. Not going to quit flying, wife or no wife. What would I do if I had to quit? Don’t think about that, Kar, it won’t happen. Nehir, Nehir. I don’t know. She’s not bad looking, but… I like her brother. Not marrying her brother. Good solid business. Hmm. Doussi? Prettiest woman in gul Inci. Wonder why she’s not married yet? Five years older than me. Keeps the family factory ticking steady. There’s always someone needing motors for new airships. Sirgem Bol could use new ships, replace this old whale. He rubbed his foot against the control stick, smiled dreamily, shook his head. They haven’t bought a new ship for two years, hmm, maybe more. Something’s going on. Maybe I should think about changing companies. Percin Hizmet left last month. Hasn’t found a place yet. That’s odd. He’s a top mechanic, he shouldn’t be having trouble getting on somewhere. Casma. Wonder if she’d be willing to stay onshore. I doubt it, being she’s a diver. Divers are too scrappy for me, I can do without fights when I’m home. Way she dances would make a statue stand. Maybe we could work out something. I’m gone so much, she could spend those days at the Farm, be on land a couple weeks when I’m home. Affiliated to a Sea Farm, mmh.

The needles clish-clashed, small clicks and ticks came from the instrument panel, a ghost of wind noise filtered through the windows, wire stays sang sustained sweet notes into the shifting creaks of the gondola, cables burred deeper, stronger notes into the cargo bales hitched beneath it. Inside the cockpit, the light was dim, bluish, mostly from the panel though a small spotlight shone on his hands and woke watery gleams from the sea-ivory needles. Girls’ faces, fragmentary musings, dim apprehensions drifted in an unhurried stream through his head until the alarm chimed.

He set the knitting aside, looked out. Lights in two columns above the much fainter glows from cracks in curtains and the occasional yellow square where an unshuttered shopwindow announced the business was still open. “Koy Tarla.” He patted Fud-40’s panel. “Good old girl.”

He cut out the automatic pilot, began matching maneuvers and hit the pylon latch dead center first try. The noselock wouldn’t click home. He swore under his breath and made another pass, slipped loose again. Fud-40 hadn’t been properly serviced for months, there were a lot of parts that needed replacing, nose gear was so worn it was near unusable. The third time he tried, he revved the motors up more than he liked and held her vibrating against the pylon until the instruments gave him a GO. Swearing some more, he brushed the back of his hand against his sweaty brow, swiveled a rotor and nudged the side of the gondola against the platform extending from the pylon, watching the panel anxiously until the readouts told him he was set in solid. He released the rearend cable, felt the gondola shudder as it unreeled. When the hook hit the ground, a buzzer sounded and he shut off the motors with a sigh of relief and a fleeting suspicion that he wouldn’t finish this long haul with bag and self intact, a thought he immediately suppressed. He rolled up his knitting, stuffed it in its bag, clicked off his harness and got to his feet. The locks held the gondola stable; besides, Fud-40 was heavy with bales of yunk wool. It’d take more than his weight to knock her about.

Karrel Goza pulled the lift door shut, checked the cable out, it was taut and locked to the eyebolt. Birey Tipis was reliable as an old boot, bless the man. Rubbing at his back, he crossed the stretch of beaten earth to the office, pushed open the door and went inside.

“Alo, Bir, how’s it go?”

“Slow and slower. You better get that nose fixed, Kar.”

“Don’t tell me, tell Sirgыn. What you got for me?”

“Two passengers for Koy Vaha, six bushels orps with the rind on and five sacks tarins, dried. Old Muntza Tefrik, he brought in some hanks of unbleached kes yarn and he wanted to know if his package had got here.”

“Passengers.” Karrel Goza grimaced; they always wanted to come up and talk to him, Fud-40’s musty cabin started closing in on them the minute he shut the door. “Nuh, nothing for here this trip. Geres Duvvar is due along in a couple weeks, coming from the west, he might have it. If he makes it here. He’s got Hav-13 and that bag makes old Fud up there look like a yearling.”

“How’s it on the coast?”

“Like here. Slow and slower.” Karrel Goza took the manifest, checked the weights, nodded. “Fud can handle this.” He set the clipboard down, smothered a yawn. “What’s open? I need to eat and catch a few hours sleep. Sirgыn laid my co off for the duration.”

“You too, eh?”

“Too?”

“You haven’t heard?”

“I’ve been short hauling along the coast, that’s why you haven’t seen me for a year or so.”

“We’ve been getting singles since the thaw. Navlun Bol and Ilkan Bol just like Sirgыn. Cut way down on the schedule too. I get an earful of complaints from the Fehz and everyone else, their goods sit and rot waiting for a hauler to come along. Everyone’s notching their belts. For the duration they say. I’m getting an earache from hearing the word. I ask myself what’s it mean and I answer me, nothing.” Birey Tipis lifted the flap, came through the counter. “Food, hmm. You remember Annie Arkaday?” He waved Karrel Goza to the door, lifted the key ring off the counter and slipped the keys about, hunting for the one he wanted. “Yeh, not many forget her cooking. She had to shut the cafe, the rent got to be too much for the trickle of customers to cover. She petitioned the Fehraz to lower it for the duration,” a soft chuckle sounded over the clink-clank of the keys, “for the duration,” he repeated, “but he wouldn’t, so he gets nothing, intelligent, eh?” He shut the lights off, crossed to the door, followed Karrel Goza through. “Folks stay home these days or stake out a table in Mahanna’s Tavern with a couple cups of kave, it’s still open, but that’s because Mahanna’s got freehold on the building and only pays a ritseed rent.” He finished with the pair of locks, thrust the ring into a side pocket of his jacket. “Annie works out of her house now, same reason, it’s freehold, she’s piled her kids one on top of the other and hires out their rooms and fixes meals for whoever can pay. And the kids run errands when they can. She’s doing all right so far.” He pointed down the street. “That way, he said, “across town from here. It’s not far.” He walked beside Karrel Goza as they went down the middle of the village’s main street. “You heard anything? Been rumors the lines are going to drop half their stations, let the clerks in them go. I’ve been in that office near a score of years.”