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the join, of which there were twelve: four at deck level, two to the side;
four halfway down a pair of the midships ribs, two to the side again; and four
on the keel itself.
"A successful experiment," the foreman told Aaron. "It's saved us a week over
putting it together in place, piece by piece. I'm sure you'll get a fat bonus.
How soon can you start on the steps for the cargo booms?"
"I still have to finish this. After the glue seasons I have to cut the pegging
flush, sand the joins smooth, layer on some more glue, then cover everything
with lacquer."
"All stuff that could be done by somebody else, under your supervision, while
you're getting the other steps. What the hell is going on?"
Men were gathering in the bow of the unfinished ship, chattering and pointing
toward the harbor. Aaron followed the foreman forward to see what was up.
A huge galley was working her way in. She wore the gaudiest sail Aaron had
ever seen. "Who is it?"
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"Must be the new civil governor. Early. And now everything goes to hell while
we fake up celebrations to show him how overjoyed Qushmarrah is that he's
finally come."
Aaron leaned on the rail, watching the Herodian galley, and smiled slightly,
remembering how cynical his father had been about government and those who
governed.
Bel-Sidek was hard at it, holystoning the foredeck of a tubby merchantman out
of Pella, a Herodian tributary where friends of the Living worked the docks.
Behind him, stevedores shuffled to the dock and back aboard, loading and
unloading at the same time.
Sacks of something were going off and sacks of something else were coming on
and bel-Sidek could not quite see the point because he could not distinguish
one group of sacks from the other. But inside a few of those coming off there
would be lethal tools for the Living.
Someone hailed him from the dock. The voice was breathless. For a moment he
feared it was going to be a warning that the customs goons were coming and he
would have to get his men scattered before they could be identified. But when
he got to the rail he saw one of that very select group of men entrusted with
carrying messages between the khadifas. The man pointed toward the bay and
shouted, "The new governor's ship is coming in."
Bel-Sidek cursed and signaled his understanding. "Early. The bald-headed
little bastard would get here early." He tried to look for the ship but all he
could see in that direction was the tips of the lighthouses atop the Brothers.
The Pellans had taken the cheapest commercial wharfage available. That put
them behind a jungle of masts and spars belonging to Qushmarrah's fishermen
and sponge and pearl divers. And small-time smugglers. If there was any
distinction between the bunch.
He limped off the ship and got himself to the nearest height where he could
see the harbor. After a minute he began to chuckle. Other gawkers looked him
askance. He controlled himself.
The governor's ship and two fast war galleys escorting her had bulled their
way past commercial traffic beyond the Brothers and now several delayed
vessels were coming in behind them. Including Meryel's two ships with the arms
down in their holds. There would be no trouble getting them off-loaded and
safely away. The whole Herodian colony would be going crazy and would cease to
function for a few days.
Would the old man take the opportunity to welcome the new tyrant? He had
before. But if Meryel was right and there was some special operation shaping .
. . Could it have something to do with the new governor? Doubtful. The General
had talked in terms of months.
Might as well go back to work. The governor's arrival would make no difference
in his life, at least today.
As he was passing the new shipyards, put up where the old public baths had
stood till they had been demolished because they offended Herodian morality, a
man fell into step beside him. "So. Billygoat. Haven't seen you in a while.
What's up? What're you doing these days?"
"Working in the shipyard. As if you didn't know."
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Bel-Sidek did know. He kept track of those few of his men who had come home
from Dak-es-Souetta. "What is it?"
"The younger men there, they bring me their problems. I had a beauty turn up
today. You were the only one I could think of who could maybe help solve it.
And like a gift from Aram, here you are. I saw you, it was like a command from
the gods."
"I don't follow."
"Wait till I explain. I don't know if you're connected or not, but you're the
only one I could think of who might know somebody involved with the Living."
Bel-Sidek did not respond.
"One of the guys-certainly not connected in any way-has convinced himself he
knows the identity of a Qushmarrahan who was as guilty of treason during the
war as al-Akla. He kept it to himself. But now he's stumbled across something
to make him think the traitor is in a high place in the Living. He fears that
once in Herodian pay, always bought."
"Eh!" Bel-Sidek rolled it around in his mind, a small part of him hoping he
wasn't sweating, blanching, or otherwise giving himself away. "Exactly what do
you want, Sergeant?"
"Mainly, I want to figure out if the guy is imagining things. He believes it,
but people believe impossible things every day. I never heard of any traitor
but al-Akla. I sure as hell ain't heard of one that was as important as him in
how things came out."
"I know of no such man myself but that doesn't mean one didn't exist. Come.
I'll buy you a lunch while we let reason gnaw at this." Bel-Sidek suspected he
had given himself away but had a feeling the risk would be worthwhile.
"I won't name you any names, Colonel."
You will, my friend. You will if we want you to. He glanced at the man. And
maybe you wouldn't. You were always a stubborn bastard.
"We'll set the hounds of reason loose first, eh?"
They went into a place that served good bheghase, a thick and spicy fish and
vegetable soup into which the fish was introduced two minutes before serving.
It was an indulgence bel-Sidek allowed himself too seldom.
He savored a few mouthfuls before saying, "Granting that no names need be
named, I'll have to have a clue or two with which to work. Is your friend a
veteran?"
"Who isn't?"
"A point. Not many. Dak-es-Souetta?"
"No."
"Ah. Now we're getting somewhere. A vet, but not of Dak-es-Souetta. Works in a
shipyard. Must be a building tradesman. Most of those were in the field [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]