bringing down something to eat and perhaps drink. It was still well before dawn,
but he could see the guards in the half-light perhaps five meters from a thick
line of bushes, and he could see some of the boats pulled up on the shore, but
the river itself was a mass of gray merging into the sky.
Cloud Dancer had the spear aimed at Roaring Bull, although he didn’t seem to be
much of a threat right now. His hand, though a bit better, was still bleeding
and obviously useless.
When Hawks nodded, Silent Woman stepped out and walked down the path toward the
guards.
The nearer of the two shouted something, then spoke in a lighter tone to the
other, who chuckled. Clearly she was going to be allowed to get close, having
been recognized and determined to be no threat.
The larger of the two, nearer the boats, started walking slowly toward her as
the other one just watched. Hawks remained totally still, knowing that he had to
act when she did, yet not quite able to keep both her and his target in view at
the same time. He knew, too, that this was no deer. He had never killed a man
before.
Silent Woman was no more than three meters from the man when she suddenly drew
and threw the knife. The missile struck the man in the chest, and he made a loud
exclamation as he fell backward in surprise. At the cry, the other man turned
and hefted his spear with one motion.
Hawks’s arrow went straight through the man’s neck. He dropped the spear, and
two hands went to his throat, and he tottered for just a moment, then fell over
into the water with a splash.
They all moved quickly. Silent Woman’s target had not been killed by her knife
throw, and she had been upon him in an instant. By the time they reached her,
she was covered in blood. She had cut his throat.
Cloud Dancer pointed to a canoe. That one. It would hold the four of them, but
it wasn’t exactly roomy. There were other, larger canoes there, with wooden oars
attached with ropes to their sides.
Not one of those? he asked her.
No. It would take all of us to launch it, and it would stand out on the river.
She was right, as usual. He pushed the canoe halfway into the water, then the
chief, Silent Woman, and Cloud Dancer got in. Somehow he managed to push it out,
run into the water, and get aboard without overturning it.
They drifted out into the river, and he suddenly looked around. Anybody check
to see that we had paddles this time?
Cloud Dancer laughed. Here. Let us see if the two of us can get us out into
midstream with this ancient lump of buffalo fat aboard.
They managed to get well away from shore and then let the current take them
down. It occurred to Hawks that they would be passing below the bluff atop which
the village sat, but he wasn’t worried. If they could keep afloat and away from
nasty water, he was pretty certain they would survive until the next threat.
I don’t know why you bothered to bring me, Roaring Bull commented. You could
have gotten this far without me.
It isn’t this far I was worried about, Hawks responded. I know you have
people and possibly whole tribes obligated to you down here. I want clear of
that. You’ll be my insurance and my translator as well if any show themselves.
The chief denied this for a long time but finally more or less admitted it. But
what if you are found by one of them? How will you know what I speak is true and
not some plan for rescue? he asked, knowing that his best chance was to sow
doubt and plant a little fear and knowing, too, that they needed him too much to
kill him if they could avoid it.
Simple, Hawks replied. You and I both know how tenuous this whole thing is.
One major slip and we are done. We accept that. The only thing I can absolutely
ensure is that if we die, you will die as well.
The chief shrugged. What does it matter? If you get well away of my arms, you
will kill me anyway.
Unlike you, I am a man of honor, Hawks told him. You must believe that, and I
think you do. Just as surely as I say that you will pay for any treachery with
your life or with something that will make you wish you were dead, so I also say
that you will be freed and not further harmed the moment we can safely land
after passing the Missouri.
Roaring Bull looked at his hand, which had finally stopped bleeding but was a
painful mess. He knew he would never be able to use it much again, and he hated
Hawks for that. He also knew, though, that he was old and slow and out of
condition, no match for at least two of these three, and the action of the mute
woman had scared him. It was every master’s nightmare that his slaves would turn
on him, and now he was sure of the loyalty of only two.
Still, his pride, his ego, and his security had been wounded as much as or more
than his hand. He had ordered many killed or tortured or mutilated, but he had
not suffered a personal injury at the hands of another in more than twenty
years. If it had been he versus Hawks, he would have taken the chance and had at
the man, no matter what the odds or outcome. He was not a coward, but he was
also not a fool. He could have broken Cloud Dancer, that he knew—there was no
one alive who could not be broken—but as she was, she was as deadly as Hawks and
not encumbered with his civilized background and scruples. Most threatening of
all was Silent Woman; she had the least to lose and the most reason for hurting
him horribly. She would never kill him if she could avoid it, but she
would—amputate things. The odds were too great. A trio like this was doomed
anyway, somewhere down the line. He had reason to return to his village. There
were at least two warriors he would like to attend to—personally—and perhaps
four.
They had not liked the rain, and that was why he was here. Perhaps he would give
them a choice when he was through playing games with them. They could be drowned
in the water they didn’t like, or if they were so delicate, perhaps they might
prefer being burned alive.
So he would bide his time and be good and even try to help these people survive
the dangers of this stretch of river. He might put a price on Hawks’s head, but
he wanted to get back to his people before one of his scheming relatives usurped
his position.
They paddled down the river with no more than the usual navigational problems.
Tell me about the mute woman, Hawks said to Roaring Bull. Where is she from
and why has she no tongue?
I don’t know where she’s from, the chief responded. Somewhere in the south
and east, from the high mountain area. She was—trade goods. Years ago. Trader
came north with a bunch of girls, all foreign, none speaking any recognized
tongue. Most were real young—fourteen, fifteen—but they had already been through
the mill lots of times. She was real young but a pro all the way. Never did
speak much. Stuttered real bad. I don’t know what she’d been through before me,
but wait until you see her tattoos.
Tattoos?
Got ’em from the neck to the crotch, front and back, except her arms and legs.
Looks like a ceremonial blanket. You’ll see ’em.
How did she lose her tongue if she stuttered so?
She got pregnant. They do, you know. Had a kid. Ugly, deformed thing. The
medicine men came and declared it a demon child. Drove her crazy.
A demon child. The term for babies born with severe birth defects. There was
usually only one thing they did when such a child was born. They killed it
ritually and burned its body in ceremonial fires.
Wouldn’t do anything but wail and scream, the chief continued. No stutter,
just screaming blasphemies in too many tongues to count, including one or two I
could make out. She had to be locked away for weeks, but she never stopped
except from exhaustion. The medicine men said the stutter was the mark of a
witch who would bear a demon child and that she’d bring down curses if she
wasn’t stopped from doing it. I figured she’d just get over it, but it kept
going, and a bunch of things went wrong all at once in the village. Accidents
killed two healthy men, one lodge burned down, that kind of thing. A mob finally
got together, and I had to think fast to keep them from killing her, so they
settled for cutting out her tongue and burning it. That stopped her, and finally
she just snapped. She could do little things like start up the morning kitchen
or clean up, but nothing else. The rest of the time she just sat in a corner,
staring into space.
I see, Hawks responded. Well, something snapped her out of it now.
Snapped is right. You don’t trust her too far while I’m along, Hawks. She might
just decide to butcher all of us.
7. CHEMISTRY LESSON
THE PROCESS OF CHANGING THE PRETTY AND BRILLIANT Song Ching into the rougher and
masculine Chu Li, while unlikely to succeed, was nonetheless solidly based on
predictable principles. One was that authoritarian societies, particularly those
which received their orders from machines, ran on orders and tended to carry out
those orders to the letter and without question, even at the cost of common
sense. The other was that most people would believe that it took someone with
the artistry, skills, and experience of an expert like Doctor Wang to accomplish
such a transformation at all, when in a computer age all it took was someone who
could talk to a computer and order it to do the work.
Chu Li was barely fifteen; his youth made the illusion easier to pull off, and
some rather basic changes helped it along. Song Ching’s hair was cut extremely
short, almost but not quite gone along the sides and short with a straight-back
clipper cut on top, while the nails had been closely trimmed to the fingers.
-The heavy cotton prisoner tunic and baggy trousers made any wearer shapeless.
Song Ching’s middle soprano had been lowered in pitch one half octave; any more
would have been inconsistent with a boy of fifteen. Chu Li’s dialect was
Mandarin, not Song Ching’s native dialect but the one used at Center and
therefore no problem.
The boys had been back in the cell, sedated, barely twenty minutes when the
guards came for them. Their sleeves were rolled up, and each was given a shot
that counteracted any sedative drugs still in their bodies. Both sat up,
groaning and holding their heads.
Get yourselves in order! a guard barked to them. In five minutes each of you
will be fed. I strongly recommend you eat everything; it may be a long time
before you get another decent meal, if ever. That was said with something of a
smirk. You will be permitted ten minutes for this and another five to use the
toilet. Then you will be prepared to leave. With that, the guard turned and
stalked out. The cell door closed behind him.
Oooh! My head is only now trying to make peace with me, Deng Ho moaned.
It is the same with me, Chu Li responded. In Han and many other Oriental
cultures, cousins of the same generation regarded one another as brothers and
sisters and acted accordingly. The two boys were close. My head is crowded and
confused, almost as if…
As if what?
As if there is another also inside my head, he thought, but he couldn’t say
that. I just wonder if they messed with our minds, and if they did, would we
know?
How’s your—thing?
Memories of brutish guards beating and torturing for the slightest infractions.
Memories of one of them.
There is no pain, Chu Li told his cousin. It is not right, though. I shall
have to pee sitting down for a while, I think. I do not know what awaits us, but
it cannot be any worse than here. Even death is better than here.
Chu Li tried to clear his mind. So long as he concentrated on the here and now,
it was fine, but when he let himself relax, his thoughts became somewhat crowded
and confused. The guards who had beaten him had threatened to make a girl of
him, but even that would not have given him memories and information that
seemed to belong to a girl, one from a far different background and one he had
never known. Some of those memories and impressions were far sharper than those
from his own life—but there was a difference. He could remember that other life,