Therefore, there was some wonder at the tone of the lookout’s voice when he shouted in panicky fashion, “Yo. Sir. Something out there. Something . . .”
Those on deck followed the direction of the lookout’s flailing arm, seeking along the line of islands for whatever it was that had caused such consternation. At first they saw nothing, but then . . . well, they saw a something. A very large something protruding from behind one of the rocky islets, something vaguely goldish in color and enormous in size and roundish in shape, though no one could give a name to it. On the back of Whatever-it-was were other whatevers they could not identify, and above and around were other whatevers yet in the sky and in the sea. All of these things or creatures were moving south along the outer or western side of the islands, all of them silent, all of them taking no notice whatsoever of the Frangian ship.
The men turned, as was their habit, to the Captain for reassurance in their faith.
“Whatever happens,” said that worthy. “Whatever is inevitable. Whatever always differs from what was. Be at peace in the Whatever. Let us offer our adoration.”
When they turned to adore, however, Whatever was gone. Still, they had marked its direction. They would follow it, for it was the Frangian way always to discover whatever. The ship heeled in the brisk wind and began a westward tack that would take them between two rocky isles and down the west coast of Mahahm.
Outside Mahahm-Qum, Terceth Ygdaleson sat in his tent with Captain Dunnel, watching a straggling caravan approach across the sands. In the lead, ahorse, were two men, a prince of Haven and a minister of Mahahm, and in a horse-drawn travois between them was the body of the Shah, a statue of his former self.
“Sir,” said Dunnel. “That sounds exactly like what happened to Obrang!”
“One of their men disappeared, also, a high-ranking Havenite, the Marshal,” said Terceth. “The man who disappeared here was a malghaste. So you said.”
“I may have been wrong sir. The man the Prince wanted was the Marshal’s son-in-law. The man we had might have been him.”
“Wrong coloring, you said.”
“He could have dyed his hair, sir. I should have checked at the time . . .”
“Nonsense, Dunnel. It wasn’t as though you turned him loose! I said hold him, you held him, it wasn’t your fault he vanished like piss in the sand. That blockhead, Obrang, was responsible if anyone, and his fate fit him like a glove. Once a blockhead, why not a blockbody as well, ah? Assume the prisoner was the one the Prince wanted. You think this is some kind of family poison? Something they all carry?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Well, it’s one of many questions I’d like answered. My brothers seem to think we’re going to be here a while. They’ve taken the capital of Haven without a fight and we’ve captured the entire Mahahmbi army, such as it is. Haven isn’t up to much, resistance-wise, but it seems to be impenetrable where information is concerned! My brothers are now asking the common people what they know, to no avail. Eventually, Father will tire of it, and then . . . well, I’d rather not think of then.
“In the interim, I’m leaving the camp in Colonel Morfat’s hands and taking you and your Trackers to see if we can find this man who vanished. Since this Prince of Haven can identify his missing man, we’ll take him as well. If anyone can find him, your Trackers can.”
28: The Assembly
At the foot of a high, red cliff, half-hidden behind a pillar broken from the face, Aufors lay unconscious, afire with fever and entranced in dream. He was searching the desert for women’s bodies, finding them everywhere. Each one had to be pulled a long way away from the bed of squirming snakes it lay upon. He struggled up the dunes, tugging the mummified corpses after him, the wind drying his eyes, the sun crisping his skin, himself burning, burning with the job not yet done. Worst of all, the bodies spoke to him.