6
Three mule riders approaching Splash One early one morning from the direction of the Mad Gap would have been enough to attract the attention of the locals. Three mule riders followed by a small swarm of Crystallites, all of whom were hooting, cursing, and throwing mud, was enough not only to attract attention but to bring the nearest military detachment into overwhelming action. The Crystallites were promptly face down in the mud they had been using as ammunition, their hands and feet locked behind them, and tranquilizer guns were being applied unstintingly to various exposed portions of their anatomies.
‘Sorry about that,’ the Captain in command of the group said to Tasmin, offering him a clean towel from the riot wagon. ‘They’re getting worse all the time. If the Governor doesn’t act soon, our commanding officer, Colonel Lang, probably will. Hope it won’t be too late.’
‘How late would it have to be to be too late?’ asked Clarin in a bitter voice, trying to get the mud out of her curly hair with scant success. ‘That last mud ball had a rock in it.’ A red lump the size of a hen’s egg was rising on her forehead, and she looked as disheveled as she did angry. ‘Our Master, here, preferred we not use our whips on them.’
‘I saw your troop coming,’ Tasmin said to the officer in a mild voice. ‘I thought we could outrun them until you arrived.’
Jamieson was regarding the prone figures vindictively, running his quirt through his hands. Tripsinger mules were so well trained it would be unthinkable to use quirts on them; the device was merely costume. Despite this, Jamieson’s intent could be read in his face.
‘They’d love it if you took the whip to ’em,’ the Captain said, gesturing his permission. ‘Do, if it’ll make you feel better. They consider that quite a mark of holiness, being beaten on. That’s why we use the trank-guns. They hate that. Keep ’em tranked up for ten days or so, force feed ’em, then turn ’em loose fatter than they were. They just hate it.’ He spat reflectively, as Jamieson unobtrusively put the quirt out of sight. The officer held out his hand. ‘Name’s Jines Verbold.’
Tasmin took the proferred hand. ‘It’s good to meet you, Captain Verbold. I’m Tripsinger Tasmin Ferrence. These are my two acolytes, Reb Jamieson and Renna Clarin.’
The Captain nodded to each of them. ‘Did I misread something, Master Ferrence, or did you three just come down the hills from the Mad Gap?’
‘We did. Is there something wrong with that?’
‘I didn’t know anybody could get through the Gap.’
Tasmin expressed amazement. ‘I used an old, old Password, Captain. I suppose it could have been lost, though that’s hard to believe. It’s been in my library since my father’s time, maybe even his father’s. I think it’s an original Erickson. It never occurred to me it wasn’t generally known.’
‘Well, that’ll be news to please some people I know of. They’ve had people trying the Gap, trottin’ up there and then trottin’ down again, for about the last year.’
‘It’s those crazy key shifts in the PJ,’ said Clarin thoughtfully as she rummaged in one pocket. Something moved beneath her fingers, and she scratched it affectionately. ‘And those high trumpet sounds. They aren’t anything you’d think of, normally.’
‘And how Erickson thought of them, God knows,’ laughed Tasmin. He felt a rush of sudden elation. Despite the mud-flinging fanatics, the incident was an omen, a favorable omen. Things were going to go right in Splash One. He was going to find out everything he needed to know. The weight of mystery would be lifted. There would be no more questions. He turned to the acolytes, wondering if they felt as euphoric as he did to be at the end of the journey.
Jamieson evidently felt something. The boy’s face shone with interest as he looked down onto the city. During their travels, he seemed to have become less preoccupied with the girl he had left behind and increasingly interested in where they were going and what they were doing. Or perhaps it was the girl who was with them, although Tasmin had not seen him make any obvious move in her direction. Still … propinquity. An excellent remedy for absent friends, propinquity – although it would be hard to know whether Jamieson had been encouraged or not, Clarin being so self-contained. She was an inveterate pettifier – Tasmin would have bet she had a crystal mouse in her pocket right now, one she’d caught stealing food from the camp. She was friendly and always thoughtful, but cool. Tasmin had come to appreciate her during this trip. He approved of her restrained manner, her calm and undemanding demeanor, though he did so without ever considering what that approval implied.
‘I said,’ the officer repeated, breaking in on Tasmin’s thoughts, ‘I said, where are you staying?’
‘The citadel,’ he replied, almost without thinking. Where else would a Tripsinger stay but there, among his own kind? ‘If they have room for us.’
‘Do you know your way there?’
‘Not really. I’ve been in Splash One before, but it was years ago, when I did a lot of trips to the Coast.’ This city looked nothing like the smallish town he remembered. This city swarmed, bubbled, erupted with ebbs and flows of citizenry, trembled with noise. ‘Thank God for one hundred meters of Deepsoil,’ he murmured only half-aloud, intercepting Clarin’s empathetic glance.
‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ she agreed. ‘I saw it two years ago on my way down from Northwest to Deepsoil Five. I think it’s doubled in size since then.’
‘Well, it’s enough changed that I’m going to send a man with you as a guide,’ the Captain told
