“Boat ho,” he cried.
They crowded the rail to see the tiny craft spinning crazily toward them, like a water beetle, rowed by two uncoordinated paddlers sitting either side of a female passenger. One man was squat and dark, the woman and the other man were lean and sandy-skinned, with something familiar seeming about them. It was the dark man who waved at them, shouting words they could scarcely hear over the river sounds.
“Ho … stop … ’mergency….”
“That’s Ghatoun, sir,” said the deck officer to the captain. “Head of an encampment along here. We traded fruit and grain for reed mats, last trip.”
“I see him, deckman. Tell the men to drop anchor.”
“Aye, sir.”
Jory and Asner were speaking together urgently, leaning so far over the rail Fringe thought they would fall. She grasped Jory’s shirt, holding the old woman down. Came a clangor of chain as the aft anchor went down, a rattle of sweeps brought aboard, the softer rustle of a rope ladder against the side. Then Ghatoun came clambering over the rail near where they stood, murmuring urgently to the captain.
“Scouts say … chimi-hounds scouring the reeds…. These two … not Derbeckian. Border crossers, maybe…. Supervisors, maybe. Don’t want trouble….”
Fringe cocked her head at Nela and Bertran. The other man and the woman were wearily climbing over the rail, moving like old people or folk tired to the point of exhaustion.
“Cafferty!” cried Jory. “And Latibor!”
“Jory,” whispered the man with a ghost of a smile.
“These people belong to you?” asked the captain, turning to the old woman.
“Oh, my, yes,” said Jory. “Our dear friends! Come to such a pass. Fled for their lives, I’ve no doubt.”
The two nodded hesitantly, their eyes roaming over the others on deck but returning always to Jory with mingled wonder and satisfaction. They had not expected to find her here, so much was obvious.
“How fortunate we came along!” Jory cried. “You two come below with me. You need to lie down. You need some food.”
“They’ve had food,” complained Ghatoun. “And a lie down. Some days of both, they’ve had, and some days more they no doubt need, but I can’t keep them in the village with the chimi-hounds about. Old Man Daddy’s dead, and there’s some big hoofaraw going on that brings the hounds out, beating the riverbanks.”
Jory gave Asner a significant look as she escorted the two strangers below.
“Your good sense and kindness shouldn’t go unrewarded,” said Asner. “What do you think? A hundred derbecki? A thousand?”
Ghatoun flushed. “A hundred would more than pay for their keep. A thousand would likely get me killed.”
“A hundred then.” Asner rummaged in his pockets and brought forth a handful of metal, all shapes, all sizes. He plowed the pile with a fingertip, at last finding two silvery coins that suited him. These he handed to Ghatoun.
“Will your people say anything when the chimi-hounds come?”
“And run the risk of getting slaughtered! Don’t be a fool, man. We wouldn’ta lasted a year if we had people so silly as that!”
“That’s good to hear,” Asner said with a smile. “Peace and joy, Ghatoun.”
“An unlikely hope with chimi-hounds abroad!” commented the headman. “On your way, now, lest someone see you anchored here and ask why! And keep those folks hid while you’re in Du-you, just in case any in Derbeck are interested in them.”
Ghatoun was back in his awkward craft and halfway to the reed beds before the anchor was hauled up and the sweeps deployed. The little boat disappeared into the reeds as the Dove moved again downriver toward Du-you.
Asner confronted the three Enforcers, all of whom were glaring at him.
“Border crossers?” demanded Danivon. “Were they border crossers, Asner?” Danivon felt himself close to panic. He smelled something, something dreadful and maimed and old. He smelled death and didn’t know what to do about it.
Asner shook his head. “Well, now, can’t quite say, can I? Last time I saw them, they were headed downriver toward Shallow. Shallow’s a freeport, so they could go there. Possibly they were castaways, that’s all. Nothing illicit about being a castaway.”
“Downriver from where?” asked Fringe. “When you saw them last.”
“Downriver from upriver,” said Asner. “Obviously. Since that’s where we were at the time.”
“Thrasis? Beanfields?” demanded Curvis.
“A bit farther up than that.”
“In the unexplored region?”
“Well, that’s what you say. We don’t think of it as unexplored. We know pretty much what’s there, don’t you know, having been there for some time.”
“What place?”
“Noplace. That’s what I said before. Noplace. Has no name. Why do people all the time have to go about naming places? Impudent, that’s what it is. How do you know what the name of a place is?”
“Whatever it’s called, it has no supervision from Tolerance,” said Curvis. “No monitors, no systems, no Enforcers assigned duty there….”
“No doubt true,” agreed Asner, nodding his head in a not-at-all-sympathetic manner. “Which isn’t our fault. Not mine, not Cafferty’s. Or Latibor’s. Or Jory’s. With all you’ve got to worry about on the rest of Elsewhere, I don’t see why you’d be eager to lay your hands on noplace.”
Danivon smoldered, but Fringe said, “He’s right, Danivon. Your nose told you they were to go along, and this is why. They already know what’s up there.”
“How’d you get there?” Danivon demanded. “To begin with?”
Asner shrugged. “It’s home, Danivon Luze. Cafferty and Latibor came there as children.”
“Noplace?”
“Right. Noplace. Some noplace or other.” He brushed himself ostentatiously, as though to rid himself of their suspicions, then stumped away to the ladder, calling Jory’s name as he went.
9
When Sepel794DZ said the dinks might find it difficult to access the sensory recordings Boarmus had brought, he had conveyed nothing of the patience and skill the operation required. Boarmus was exhausted. His sleep, though full of fearful dreams, was deep, and while he slept the dinks prodded and poked, burrowed through old files, queried ancient systems, until at last they were able to get into the ancient recordings. As
