series 01 05 A Prince of Mars Read online

  Nathanial looked at the shattered stump of javelin in his hand for a moment, at first unsure what he held. Then he reversed it, so the fire-blackened point faced the raider, and with a shout thrust at him. Nathanial stopped short of stabbing the raider, however, and the Martian scrambled back on hands and knees. Nathanial shouted and poked at him again and the wounded man jumped to his feet and ran away as fast as he could.

  Nathanial knelt for a moment in the grass holding the broken javelin, panting with the exertion and feeling a mounting sense of primal power. The warrior had run away from him. From him! He picked up the warrior’s abandoned knife in his left hand, looked at it, and he wanted to roar in triumph, like a lion over a kill.

  “Nathanial! Look out!” he heard Kak’hamish call.

  Nathanial turned toward the wagon to see a mounted warrior, no more than fifteen yards away, galloping at full speed toward him, javelin raised overhead and poised to throw. Nathanial froze and time seemed to as well. In that instant he saw the warrior’s pock-marked face twisted in a war cry he did not hear, saw the cuirass made of horizontal bleached wooden rods strapped across his chest, the single blue pebble tied to his ear by a thin leather thong.

  A musket thundered somewhere. The centre of the warrior’s cuirass exploded outward in blood and bone. Astonishment replaced the killing rage in his eyes, and then his face went blank and he tumbled backward over the saddle and into the grass, where he lay motionless. The gashant continued its run past Nathanial and brushed his shoulder, but he could not move, not even to duck aside.

  4.

  kak’hamish watched Nathanial walk to the wagon, clothes torn and muddy, hair awry, a knife thrust in his belt and the broken javelin still in his right hand. Across the stream the raiders galloped away in retreat.

  “You did well, my friend,” Kak’hamish said.

  “Dash fire, I did!” Nathanial answered angrily. “Who shot the warrior?”

  “I do not know. It was not one of the musketeers here.”

  Anger darkened the young scientist’s face. “No? Why the devil not? Were they waiting for a bloody invitation?” He glared at the four guards who now idled by the wagon, and they returned his look without interest or concern.

  Kak’hamish put his hand on his friend’s shoulder to calm and steady him. “Because they are professionals, Nathanial, and because they were guarding Annabelle’s safety, not yours. Two had discharged their muskets and were reloading. The other two will not fire until the first two are done, so the squad is never without two loaded muskets, lest the enemy charge them. It is their way, and it is how they kept the raiders at bay.”

  Nathanial unsteadily ran his left hand over his face and then nodded. “Yes, of course. Quite right. Sorry I went on so. I just…the experience was unnerving. It is just that what with my actions on Peregrine Station and now here, I…” Nathanial shook his head. “I am sorry, frightfully sorry, to have used such vile language. I beg you accept my apology.”

  “Although I do not believe an apology is necessary, I accept it in any case,” Kak’hamish answered.

  “These are the times that try us so,” Nathanial said softly, then seemed to pull himself together and continued. “So who do you suppose shot that villain at the last second? Our mysterious friend?”

  Clack-clack.

  That was an interesting thought. Kak’hamish turned and looked both ways, up and down the caravan. With the ruumet breehrs shifting nervously, the jumble of wagons and tumbled cargo spread across the ground, it appeared as if the shot could have come from almost anywhere. But most of the musketeers had been on the ground defending the pike hedgehogs, and there was not an abundance of firearms in the caravan. More than that, it would have been a very long, and very precise, shot for a smoothbore musket, which was not very accurate beyond fifty or so paces, even in the hands of an expert. No, this would have been a rifle shot, possibly from an Earth-manufactured weapon, or perhaps from one of the long banded rifles used by the hill folk.

  But the answer to that question would have to wait.

  “We need to look in on Miss Annabelle,” Kak’hamish said. “She has taken the attack hard, which puzzles me.”

  In an instant concern blotted out every other emotion on Nathanial’s face. He dropped the broken javelin and scrambled up and into the wagon and Kak’hamish followed him. They found Annabelle deep in the wagon, having pulled grain sacks over herself.

  “Annabelle, it is all right,” Nathanial said as he tried to pull off a grain sack to which she clung desperately. “It is Kak’hamish and I. The attack is over.”

  She relaxed her hold on the sack and as Nathanial removed it, Kak’hamish saw her face stained with tears and distorted in terror, so much so he hardly recognised her as the courageous woman he had come to know.

  “Are the Apaches gone?” she asked with quivering voice.

  5.

  Kak’hamish looked up and down the length of the caravan and noted the gradual return to a semblance of calm. Annabelle, having regained her composure, now sat on the back of her wagon—for that is how everyone now thought of it—and smiled gratefully at the offer of an earthen mug of herbal tea brought by one of her musketeers.

  “Oh, thank you, Koomaret,” she said in passable Koline. “Much, much needed.”

  The Master of Sword appeared behind a nearby wagon, saw the cluster of men, and called angrily to them to come assemble.

  “We must go, Annabellanna,” the musketeer named Harran said. “The big private calls us.”

  As the musketeers walked toward the assembly, making a show of not hurrying, Kak’hamish thought, big private. That was all the musketeers thought of the Master of Sword. It would offend the officer to know that, but there were worse things they could have called him. They at least accepted him as one of their own, although one who had grown too big for his own harness. Kak’hamish had met soldiers who did not credit their officers even with the sense of a common private, so this was something.

  Kak’hamish turned his attention to Annabelle. “Who are these Apaches you mistook the raiders for, Miss Annabelle?”

  “Really, Kak’hamish, that is nearly an impertinent question,” Nathanial admonished. “I am certain that if Annabelle wished us to know―ˮ

  “No, Nathanial. Thank you for your concern, but it is perhaps for the best I speak of this. I am surprised by the intensity of this recollection and, I admit, shaken by it as well.

  “I cannot tell you everything, because I do not recall everything—disturbingly little, as a matter of fact. Nathanial knows I am an orphan and that my uncle, Cyrus Grant, is my guardian. What I doubt that you know, at least in detail, is how that came to pass. My parents lived in the Arizona Territory, where they owned a ranch. When I was young, a party of Chiricahua Apache killed my parents and took me prisoner. I lived as a captive among the Chiricahua for some time, but was…well, rescued by an expedition of the United States Army several years ago—not cavalry but foot soldiers, what the Apache call ‘walk-a-heaps.’ I have some recollections of life among the Apache but they are disjointed and incomplete. I have few memories of my childhood, and until today I did not remember the particular events surrounding the day when I was taken and…and my parents killed.”

  She stopped and turned away, pressed her eyes closed, but despite her efforts tears again ran down her cheeks. She shook her head. “I am sorry, but what they did…and I witnessed it all.”

  “They must be a particularly savage and bestial tribe,” Nathanial said with a mixture of sympathy and anger, and he put his hand on her shoulder for comfort.

  Annabelle’s head came up sharply. “I never saw a Chiricahua strike a child or mistreat an animal. They are the kindest, most generous people I ever met—among themselves. But they draw the circle of humanity very tightly about their lodges, and have no sympathy for creatures outside that circle. I wish they would draw their circle wider, but I also wish the society I count myself part of treated those within its circle more as do t
he Apache.”

  “In the desert, share,” Kak’hamish said.

  Annabelle turned to him. “What?”

  “That is what you said to Nathanial, when we first met. He sensibly hesitated to give me water, but you said, in the desert, share. You learned that from the Apache, I think.”

  She nodded.

  “There are similarities between your Apaches and these raiders,” Kak’hamish went on, and he silently admitted there were many with his Queln as well. “The steppe tribes are nomadic, but have regular ranges. Their entire villages are mobile, using gashants and cargo sleds similar to the one Nathanial drew through the desert, but without benefit of liftwood. These warriors who attacked us are of the Amentote. I am not familiar enough with that nation to know their particular tribe, as this is considerably east of their normal range.”

  “They don’t look like you,” Nathanial observed. “I saw two of them very close, and they look physically different.”

  “They are hill people, as are the Queln. The differences are more obvious than significant. Their skins are darker than those of us who hail from the canals and lowlands and they are slightly shorter in general. Their shoulders appear heavier, which gives them a more powerful appearance, but it does not come from greater strength. The fatty deposit between and over their shoulder blades enables them to go longer without water, or rather to store it for later use—a useful feature in arid country.”

  “Their animals are different, as well,” Nathanial said. “I note the species of gashants ridden by the guards have atrophied front legs, so they are simply stumps, but the mounts of the hill people seem a more vigorous and primitive version, with front…feet I suppose you’d call them, equipped with impressive talons. I should not like to face one, were it enraged.”

  “The species is the same,” Kak’hamish said. “The canal people cut off the forearms of their gashants when young to make them easier to handle and train, and make them dependent on their masters.”

  For a moment the two Earth folk were silent. Annabelle’s gaze fell to her own amputated leg and she shuddered. “Horrible,” she whispered.

  “Well, that’s something Conklin’s has wrong,” Nathanial added thoughtfully.

  One of many things, my young friend, Kak’hamish considered.

  The sound of trotting gashants made all of them start, but the approaching party consisted of Jed-An accompanied by his servant and two of his mounted guards. They reined in by the rear of the wagon.

  “Ah, my friends from Earth! You are safe? Miss Somerset seems so, but Mister Stone seems to have been ill used.”

  “We are well, Ambassador,” Annabelle said in Koline before Kak’hamish could translate. Once he did so, Nathanial walked to Jed-An’s mount and offered his hand.

  “Ambassador, it is very good to see you alive and well! An experience such as this reminds one that life can at any moment be cut short, and a thanks delayed may be one forever unspoken. Let me express my gratitude once more for everything you have done for us.”

  Kak’hamish translated the scientist’s words and Jed An shook the offered hand, smiling in slight bemusement at this uncharacteristic display of emotion.

  “I have been glad to help you, Mister Stone. Soon our paths may diverge, which pains me, as my duties will keep me in Abak’hn while yours will draw you away. But my position at least carries some influence, and I believe I can guarantee no obstacle will be placed in your way by the municipal authorities. Now I must meet with Onxym Haat and determine the extent of the damage and delay.”

  As Kak’hamish translated, Nathanial released the ambassador’s hand and even gave him a small bow. The ambassador and his party cantered away toward the head of the caravan and Nathanial’s unctuous smile faded. He raised his hand to his nose and sniffed, then held it out to Kak’hamish.

  He smelled it. “It is not Jed-An, then,” Kak’hamish said.

  “No,” Nathanial said. “No scent of gunpowder on him.”

  Chapter Five

  “Martian Crossroads”

  1.

  Annabelle wanted to like this city, this first city on Mars she would experience, but it was difficult. It stood astride the junction of five grand canals, broad and deep, and she imagined the waters crowded with multi-coloured sails, and the docks and jetties swarming with longshoremen unloading embroidered fabrics, beautiful porcelain, and exotic fruits from far-away kingdoms.

  But the water had fled the canal centuries earlier, the docks had long since been torn down, and the once-grand city had crept down the banks of the canal and into the dry basin, becoming more ramshackle and tawdry with each step. The tall, simple buildings atop the canal embankment, though now mostly deserted and fallen to ruin, stared down through empty-window eye sockets at their architectural offspring with dismay. The newer buildings were both more complex and less substantial in construction, pieced together as they were from the mismatched stone, brick, and tile bones of their ancestors. The once-austere white or pale tan stone, having made the journey down the embankment, had also acquired new raiment—garish colours washed unevenly over all, here peeling, there fading, unmistakable evidence that whatever dignity and elegance the city once possessed had departed with the receding waters.

  “Well, it certainly is colourful,” Nathanial said with a measure of approval which surprised Annabelle. Had his taste deserted him altogether, or was her own judgment poisoned by her physical discomfort?

  At the mid-day break she had walked the entire time, using a crutch as well as her peg; she was far from being able to walk unassisted. The flesh on the bottom of her stump had grown chafed and irritated, not yet having developed the desired degree of callous. Her back protested the unfamiliar and awkward strains put on it. Her right hand and shoulder ached as well, as the crutch cut off the circulation to her arm and she had periodically to rest and shake her hand to restore sensation. Nathanial had offered to make a different crutch, one easier on her arm, but she refused. That pain, at least, had some therapeutic value; it encouraged her to put as much weight as she could on the stump, and the more she did so, the sooner she could dispense with the crutch altogether.

  Nathanial and Kak’hamish fussed a great deal over her, particularly during her exercises, and although she appreciated their affection and genuine concern, she had grown tired of the solicitude. What she wanted most was to regain her physical self-sufficiency, no longer dependent on her well-meaning care givers. If pain was the shortest path to that independence, so be it.

  She looked back down the canal basin to see if this moment of philosophical self-examination had opened her eyes to the barbaric splendour of the city of Abak’hn.

  No.

  Normally she would not have seen the city until they arrived, as the large ruumet breehr obstructed her view forward from her wagon, but today she rode in Ambassador Jed-An’s carriage, which had taken the lead. She sat on the elevated seat beside his driver and could see clearly past the team of eight gashants. Nathanial and Kak’hamish rode mounts beside her, and the ambassador rode well ahead, accompanied by his servant, his four mounted guards, and Onxym Haat.

  “You have been quiet all day, Kak’hamish,” she said. She knew the reason for his silence and hesitated to raise the subject, but they had to talk about it.

  “I discover that I am sad at the prospect of our parting,” he answered.

  “Parting?” Nathanial repeated, surprised, and then his face cleared. “Oh, yes. You only promised to escort us as far as Abak’hn. We’re here, aren’t we?” he said with a tinge of sadness.

  “So it seems,” Kak’hamish answered. “You will have quarters in the caravanserai this evening and will perhaps depart on the next step of your voyage tomorrow. You have Onxym Haat’s promise of passage to Thoth, and Jed-An’s protection, at least so long as you are here. That addresses my main concern about your time here in Abak’hn. Jed-An gave you some money as well, did he not?”

  “Yes, but dash it all, Kak’hamish, how are we t
o negotiate for passage once we reach Thoth?”

  “Annabelle’s Koline is becoming quite good. The trade tongue is simple, but still, she must have an ear for languages.”

  “Thank you, Kak’hamish,” she said. “Everything you say is true, and we should not keep you from your own path, much as we would dearly love to see you choose a different one. We owe you too great a debt to ask any more of you. But please stay with us this first night, if for no other reason than to share our company and a meal.”

  Clack-clack.

  He looked south at the distant, solitary skrill rider, still shadowing the caravan. She saw emotions struggle in their friend, but in the end he nodded. “I would not begrudge my friends one night.”

  She looked again toward the city, and felt more comfortable knowing Kak’hamish would be with them at least this first night. The bonds of friendship had grown strong between them these last two weeks, but more than simple fellowship prompted her reaction. Something about this place unsettled her, made her feel as if they entered uncharted and hazardous waters. If anyone could steer the twisted channels between the reefs ahead of them, and bring them to safe waters beyond, Kak’hamish could.

  2.

  EXCERPT 46.

  “Beyond the Inner Worlds: The Journal of Professor Nathanial Stone” (Published July 2011, by Chadwick Press).

  Thursday, October 10th 1889.

  For three days now we have been all but prisoners here in the caravanserai at Abak’hn, which appears on English maps as Aubuchon. The immediate cause of our confinement is unrest in the town directed against us as Earth humans, or perhaps more specifically at me for being a British subject. It is shocking to witness the animosity directed against the Crown by the local population, especially by the lower elements, particularly as they have never, so far as I can determine, actually encountered a British soldier or subject, nor seen a British warship.