A.R.Yngve
DARC AGES:
City Of Masks
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Chapter 2
The travelers could only bring along a very small entourage, and had to carry only a few personal items and clothing, plus the gold to pay for their expenses. Concealed money belts were applied; a smaller version of Kensaburé's mechanized armor was packed into the jet ship, and Awonso had to pack only two small books, a map, and a diary.
On the morning of Awonso's departure from Damon City, his parents hugged him repeatedly and made an embarrassing spectacle of tears, waved handkerchiefs and shouts.
The other travelers said goodbye to most of their entourages, who left the city by land on the newly opened roads. Kensaburé helped his one manservant carry his armor into the transporter jet, a Yota ship piloted by a silent Yota clan member.
As Awonso climbed the rope ladder into the ship on unsteady feet, while its jet engines were running, his parents tugged at his sleeves and offered last-minute prayers and words.
"Send us a radio message every day!" pleaded his mother. "Bring me back any new circuits you can afford!" asked his father over the engine noise. "They can make us a fortune here!"
"Goodbye!" shouted Awonso, climbed into the passenger hold, pulled up the ladder and shut the hatch. He barely had time to strap himself to his seat, before the transporter took off.
The jolt when the vibrating craft shot up into the air almost made Awonso throw up. He stared out of a porthole and gasped: Damon City, his birthplace where he had once expected to live out the rest of his days, quickly shrunk into a circular toy town. And he could see the roads stretch away into the distance.
How small and pitiful his home seemed from the air, and how majestic the landscape.
"This is your first flight, eh, Awonso?" asked a cheerful Kensaburé from the seat next to him. Awonso nodded, and gripped the armrests of his seat tightly. Kensaburé laughed. "If you catch the airsickness, find something to throw up in. Do not make a mess on the floor - the Yotas would take great offense!"
Okono, who sat in front of them and next to Doctor Threo, turned her head and raised a fine eyebrow at them. Awonso swallowed and struggled to hold back the nausea.
"You are going to do just fine," said the young blond knight to him. "I have heard only good things about your knowledge and resourcefulness." He leaned over and lowered his voice: "Is it true that your city's high-priestess gave you... a personal blessing of the intimate kind? Her Holiness Inu herself?"
Awonso nodded hesitantly. "Please do not ask me about that. I made a vow of silence."
"Of course." Kensaburé straightened himself. "What can you tell me about Vanitia, then? I am not good with books... and this mission was planned in haste."
Awonso brightened up at the opportunity to share his learning. "Master Librian has found, in his communications with other cities, what Vanitia looks like from the air. We drew this map..." He produced a rolled-up map from his satchel and showed it to the others. Threo, who had been tensely silent most of the time, turned in his seat to see.
Okono must have been listening in, as she pushed a concealed switch - and her seat rotated 180 degrees together with Threo's, so that they faced Awonso. The manservants of Kensaburé and Okono sat behind them, listening in silence.
Okono's servant, a large bald man in black clothing, stared stoically ahead of him. Kensaburé's servant, a veteran of the battle of Kap Verita, was bearded and had a large scar across his face. He was also silent. Okono's robot stood in a corner of the space, wrapped in canvas, and could neither see nor hear.
Awonso pointed on the map and said: "Like any old city, Vanitia has an outer wall with gun turrets and electric traps. Its harbor can be closed in a matter of minutes, by raising this great underwater chain which is visible from the air. The northern and southern breakwaters reach several hundred meters out into the bay, and have two giant cannon towers with a range of up to a mile.
"The city has many canals, and hundreds of houses surround the central palace. The city appears to possess no aircraft and no landing platforms... not even a hot-air balloon.
"Any sea vessel that passes Vanitia has to pay a hefty toll. It has happened that an entire fleet was sunk by the city guns, as it tried to rush past the harbor without paying tolls. The city also restricts the number of ships passing through, and the contents of their cargo. You could say that Vanitia is like a big fat leech on the region."
Kensaburé frowned at Awonso. "Do not judge it too soon. I believe in it when I see it. How many live there?"
"It is estimated... thirty to fifty thousand. Perhaps more underground, but we do not know their catacombs. The city has a large fishing-fleet of several hundred boats, and its farmlands stretch a mile or so around the outer walls."
Kensaburé let out a whistle; Vanitia made his home city look even punier than he used to think it was. If he could negotiate an alliance with the Vanitian city rulers, it would be a great boon to Orbes City. He felt torn between loyalties, representing the interests of Damon City, the vaccination campaign and his own clan at once.
He dearly wanted to prove himself to his brother and father. Their pride has suffered from their betrayal of the old city lord Bor Damon, who died defending Darc and killed Lord Tharlos Pasko, who had put the Orbes and Yota clans under his brief but fervent spell. Too many loyalties made Kensaburé confused; he wanted things simple. Focus on the mission, he told himself. The vaccine is more important. He turned to their doctor, Threo of Mechao.
"Doctor," he said, "can you really vaccinate a city of fifty thousand? How long will it take?"
Threo seemed amused, or childishly excited, by the question.
"Sir... my father has instructed me to share my knowledge, but it is not easy to explain these matters. The vaccine is grown from a culture of virus DNA, which has to be isolated and copied in the mobile laboratory which I carry in my chest. The vaccine cannot be stored for long periods, so I have to produce it near my patients, and then use it at once. Nothing must happen to that chest, or I cannot produce more vaccine. What I have now is only enough for a dozen people. I hope to teach other doctors in Vanitia how to reproduce the vaccine. Ah - I almost forgot..."
Threo opened a small leather case and took out a syringe. "I have to vaccinate us all before we get on that boat."
Suddenly every human onboard, except Threo, grew tense.
"I've already taken my shot," Awonso said. "Our Guild of Doctors has your vaccine now, the whole city was inoculated."
Threo smiled: "I know, but we have to take precautions. This is an improvement on the vaccine your doctors were given last year. There may be several strains of the Plague we do not know about yet. Now who's on first?"
The men looked at each other. Then Lady Okono pulled up the sleeve of her silk dress and offered Threo her pale, smooth arm.
"I believe the honor is mine."
Threo gently grasped her white wrist, and started to clean the skin before applying the needle. Then he noticed some parallel scars on Okono's wrist, barely concealed by a layer of talcum powder or greasepaint. He knew what those scars meant, and felt a cold shiver. His physician's oath forbade him to speak of suicide attempts in the presence of the others, but he ought perhaps keep an eye on Lady Okono.
What a shame, he thought, that such a beautiful woman had tried to hurt herself like that. She was just about his own age, but had no wedding-rings on her fingers - not that it was any business of his, he told himself.
Okono was not afraid of needles, and she did not think Threo had seen her scars. She quite looked forward to the distraction of the needle-sting, to block away what boiled in the recesses of her mind. If this mission failed, she thought without fear, her disgrace would be complete.
It was no coincidence that her family had made the startling exception to clan rules and allowed her, a Yota woman, to travel without entourage to an unknown city. They were ashamed of her - the woman who had once courted the despicable Tharlos Pasko.
Stains on a person's honor carried forever in her family, until atoned for - by deed or by suicide. This mission was her last chance. Could the other travelers see it on her face? Could they see through her mask of calm? Her gaze fell on the wrist scars and she realized with terror that they had become visible. Instinctively she glanced at Threo, and caught a glimpse of awareness in his dark, almond-shaped eyes.
He made the slightest excusing smile, and said softly: "Now relax and look at me, my lady. Look at me."
She obeyed, and barely noticed the syringe entering her arm. When she blinked, Threo was already done and wiping her arm; then he applied some powder on the pinprick wound and pressed a small laser-device against it. A quick hot flash - and the pinprick had been sealed.
"Thank you," he said. "Did that hurt?"
Not sure why, she smiled at him. "No. Thank you, doctor."
"Any other brave souls here?" Threo said jokingly. "I save myself for last, in case you would not survive." He made a little laugh. He countered tense situations with humor, a habit taught by his father.
No one laughed, and he blushed. It was awful when patients did not laugh. But soon enough, he had vaccinated everyone onboard without complications.
A few hours later, the jet craft landed in the large port of Kibralta, formerly Seguda City, on the southern tip of Espa, where one could see across the strait to Awrica on a clear day.
The new city lord greeted the company of travelers at the landing platform, welcomed them warmly – but briefly - and escorted them to a waiting sea vessel. Thanks to the newly established radio network, Dohan Damon had been able to arrange their transportation with the city lord weeks in advance. The transport, a forty-meter wooden ship fitted with plate armor, driven by two mainsails and electric propellers, was one of the city lord's own. Named Blackwhale, it sailed regularly between the coastal cities across the strait.
None of his ships had ever gone as far as Italica, for many reasons: the fear of the Plague and its offspring, the Lepers; treacherous weather and reefs, and the lack of communications outside Espa. Radio was now changing all of that: new trade routes were being drawn up across the entire Mediterranean.
While the port crew loaded their luggage onto the ship, Kensaburé inspected the Blackwhale and its crew, and the ship's captain followed him. Any vessel built of mere wood failed to impress the knight, who was used to flying in armor and jet-powered metal aircraft. The ship's floor planks creaked loudly under his thick boots, and the wood had grown dark with age.
"What if the ship were attacked with lasers?" he asked the captain. "Would it burn up?"
"We have water-pumps and hoses, sire," the captain assured him. "We are prepared to put out fires."
"Are the waters hostile? Do you expect safe passage?"
The captain stopped to yell at a sailor. "Get that topsail tied up tighter, you lazy bastard!" He turned to Kensaburé, who was carrying some light personal weaponry; lasergun with two shots, a sword and a dagger. "Let me put it this way, sire: my ship has about one year of service left in it. If it were lost at sea, the good city lord would lose no sleep."
"Dohan Damon is going to hear about this. We requested your best ship and paid in advance!"
"But it was our best ship, sire! For about thirty years. I am glad, though, that this new ‘radio' thing is on board, so we can call for assistance."
Kensaburé let out a displeased grunt. "How long to Italica?"
"If all goes well... ten days. As you requested, we make no stops on the way."
"Good."
As the spring sun set, the Blackwhale sailed out from the port of Kibralta. The city lord and his court waved goodbye from the pier and a band of brass musicians played a slow version of Love Me Tender, a song recently made popular through Darc's radio broadcasts.
It sounded ominously like a dirge.
Threo had long experience with boats from his upbringing on Kap Verita, and quite enjoyed the change from air to sea travel and fresh air. He stood in the aft of the ship and whistled along with the receding music from the port. The sun turned deep red in the darkening sky.
Awonso became violently seasick and sat on the deck, breathing slowly; Threo had forgotten to bring along a remedy for seasickness.
Okono had stowed away her robot Kiti-Mo below deck to protect it from saltwater spray, and switched off its circuits before she joined Kensaburé and Threo on deck.
They admired the sunset and how it colored the rock of Kibralta in gold and glowing red. They all had left behind so many troubles, and only now they wondered if they were merely trading familiar problems for worse ones. Awonso thought of Librian, and worried that the old man might not be alive when he returned to Damon City.
"Awonso!" Kensaburé called out. "A soon as you can stand up, I want you to transmit a message back to Castilia and tell them we are safely on our way."
From his corner of the deck, Awonso nodded weakly.
Okono remained quiet and made no complaints about the hard beds, the flea bites, the poor food or the sour wine. Kensaburé paid her the attention that courtesy required, and went no further.
He noticed how Okono's bodyguard eyed his neck as if waiting for a chance to defend her honor... and in any case, Kensaburé preferred the ripe figures of Madrivalo's other women to the slim curves and high cheekbones of the Yotas.
As the days passed, Okono took care of her physical appearance while the men grew beards and their clothes began to smell. Even her robot stayed polished and clean. Awonso dared not speak to her, as he was all too aware of the clannish divides between the Yotas and the Damons.
Only Threo, a complete stranger to the customs of Castilian nobility, was innocent enough - or ignorant enough - to approach her directly, without courtesy or formality. At first she met his friendly greetings and good-mornings with formal nods and downcast eyes.
Slowly, during days and evenings in the confined space of the ship, she let Threo closer into her personal space, until she could greet him almost like an equal.
Threo began to look forward to seeing her, even for nothing more than a "Good morning" or "Good night," or some boardgame to pass the time. He told himself he was only being polite, and that he felt sorry for her in her isolation.
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DARC AGES (c)A.R.Yngve 1995, 2000, 2004, 2006. All rights reserved. May not be copied without permission.
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