'You know what I mean.'
'What do you want to do about it?'
Reave was spared having to come up with an answer, General Zeurn and a squad of his hoplites chose that moment to come marching down the pier. Showcross Gee and Stent were with them. Zeum was his normal unshakable self.
'Are you sure that you wouldn't rather wait for the runners?'
'We'll meet them if they're coming.'
'There's a communications unit aboard.'
'Let's hope we have better luck with this one.'
Zeum ignored the crack. 'Do you want a squad of my men to accompany you?'
Reave shook his head. 'We work better alone.'
'As you will.'
The Minstrel Boy was looking impatient. 'Is there anything else? Can we go aboard now?'
General Zeum gestured toward the galley. 'The boat is at your disposal.'
Showcross Gee took a step forward and spoke for the first time. 'There is one thing.'
Reave's eyes narrowed. He did not like the metaphysician's tone. 'What's that?'
'I'd prefer it if you left your SG portapacs here.'
Reave glanced down at the unit on his belt. 'There's a chance we might need them.'
'Indeed there is — a chance that you might need them to slip away into the nothings and desert. We can't afford to not have you here right now.'
Reave started to bluster, but he could hardly deny that the thought had crossed his mind. 'This is ridiculous. The SGs are a part of our basic equipment.'
'Just hand over the portapacs.'
Reave looked at Stent. 'Are we to suppose that you're here to back him up?'
Stent's expression was impossible to read behind his metal headpiece, but his voice sounded a note of regret. 'I explained how it is.'
Reluctantly, Reave undipped the SG from his belt and handed it over. He indicated that the others should do the same. Stent watched impassively.
'Can we go aboard now?'
'Please, go right ahead.'
As they mounted the gangplank, the Minstrel Boy leaned close to Reave. 'I guess we don't have to feel guilty about leaving Billy behind anymore.'
In addition to the ten epsilon rowers, there was also a helmsman, an overseer/drummer to set the stroke, a lookout on the bow, and an ensign who was in command of the vessel. Once Reave, the Minstrel Boy, Renatta, amd Blaisdell had settled themselves in its stern, the galley was quickly cast off and the epsilons hauled on their oars. The drummer set a steady pace, and the lights of the city slipped away behind them while the four lounged in the stern cushions in most unsoldierly comfort.
The ten rowers quickly developed a healthy rate of knots, particularly since the drummer regularly rose from his bench and, all the time shouting the cadence, encouraged them to greater efforts with a multithonged lash.
The first stage of the journey might have been pleasant, even leisurely, if it had not been for the thought of what they might find at their destination. The carved and painted prow sliced through the dark water, producing white curlicues of foam; the oars rose and fell to the accompaniment of the hypnotic drumbeat and the soft groans of the sweating epsilons. The sky was dark blue velvet and studded with thousands of twinkling pseudostars. A soft breeze blew along the length of the craft. For the first couple of hours the Minstrel Boy was almost able to turn off his apprehension and simply savor the experience. After two hours, though, as they neared the halfway point, a new anxiety set in. There was no sign of the runners from Company A. If they had been dispatched when the communicator transmission had failed, the boat should have already encountered them. It might have been possible to miss them in the darkness, but with the stem lit by blazing torches, the runners would have undoubtedly seen the boat and signaled.
Reave pushed himself up from the cushions and walked forward along the catwalk between the two lines of rowers to question the lookout. 'Are you absolutely sure that you've seen nothing?'
The lookout, a boy who could not have been more than fourteen or fifteen, vehemently shook his head. 'No, my lord. I've been watching all the time. The ensign would have the skin off my back if I missed anything.'
Reave returned to his companions. 'I don't like this at all. If these newcomers stopped the runners leaving, we can only assume that their intentions are hostile.' He turned to the ensign. 'Is it possible that they took another route?'
The ensign shook his head. 'There is no other route. They would have had to follow the river.'
The Minstrel Boy squinted into the dark. 'So what do we want to do now? It's too late to turn back.'
Reave was also peering into the night. 'All we can do is keep going, taking all possible care.' He called to the lookout. 'If you see anything, boy, anything at all, tell me immediately.'
'Aye, aye, my lord.'
The galley maintained a steady speed for the best part of an hour. Toward the end of that time Reave, the Minstrel Boy, and the ensign were all up in the prow watching for any sign of life. The river had become considerably narrower and ran between steep, rocky banks. The ensign looked warningly at Reave.
'We'll be coming to the rapids very soon.'
'What will we find when we get there?'
'There is a landing stage on the smooth water just below them. We should see the riverboat that brought Company A up here.'
It was only a matter of minutes before the lookout sang out. 'Something in the water up ahead.'
'Does it look like a boat?'
The lookout shook his head. 'No, my lord. If it is, it's burnt and sunk in the shallows.'
Reave scowled. 'I hope to hell you're wrong,' He signaled to the ensign. 'Let's take it slow and easy.'
The ensign motioned to the drummer. 'Stop that racket and reduce the stroke to dead slow.'
The drummer put down his mallets and maintained the slowest possible stroke with silent gestures.
'Douse the stern lights.'
There was a soft hiss as the torches were extinguished. The galley glided forward like a silent ghost. The lookout proved to be absolutely right. The remains of a charred hulk were half-submerged beside the pier, and bodies and debris were floating in the water. The Minstrel Boy felt a cold clutch at his guts. Their worst fears had been realized.
'It's a fucking massacre.'
A conference quickly convened on the quarterdeck.
'This has to be the work of raiders. They must be camped somewhere up by the lake, though why in hell they haven't made a move on the city yet is beyond me.'
'I should get on the communicator.'
The ensign seemed to be waiting for Reave's okay. Reave nodded. 'Yeah, go ahead. Give them the bad news.'
Everyone gathered around the large cumbersome communicator while the ensign coaxed it into life.
'Company B calling Palanaque Central.'
All that came from the small speaker was the familiar crackle of static.
'Company B calling Palanaque Central, acknowledge, please.'
The ensign looked worriedly at Reave. 'I don't seem to be raising them.'
'Keep trying. If you don't get them after five minutes, send out all the relevant information in the hope that they can hear us even if we can't hear them.' Reave glared at no one in particular. 'Why does nothing here work properly?'
The ensign stayed crouched over the set while the others gathered in a tense group.
'So what do we do if the communicator is out? Head down-river and warn them in person?'
Reave shook his head. 'I want to have a closer look at what's out there. I want to know exactly what we're dealing with. The Minstrel Boy and I will go ashore and try to infiltrate their camp.'
