CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Claude awoke. A cool breeze blew through hanging strings of wooden beads that screened all four sides of the prisoners’ dormitory and kept insects from flying in. Two guards paced around and around outside the shelter, bronze helmets turning as they scanned the inmates, compound bows strung and ready, resting lightly on their shoulders where they could be drawn in an instant.
The old man tested his limbs, and by God, they worked. His field adaptation system was still Go after all the years. He sat up on his pallet and looked around. Almost all of the other prisoners were still lying as though drugged. But Felice was up, and Basil the Alpine climber, and the two Japanese ronin. Faint yapping sounds came from a closed basket next to a sleeping woman. There were snores and a few moans from the other sleepers.
Claude quietly watched Felice. She was talking in low tones with the three other men. Once one of the ronin tried to protest something she was saying. She cut him short with a fierce gesture and the Oriental warrior subsided.
It was very late in the afternoon and quite hot. The space within the walled fort was deep in green shade. A smell of cooking wafted from one of the buildings, making Claude’s mouth water. Another meat stew, and something like fruit pies baking. Whatever its other flaws, the Exile society certainly ate well.
Having finished her discussion, Felice crept across the crowded floor to Claude’s resting place. She looked keyed up and her brown eyes were wide. She wore the sleeveless kilt-dress that was the undergarment to her hoplite armor, but had put off the rest of the uniform with the exception of the black shin guards. The bare areas of her skin were lightly sheened with perspiration.
“Wake Richard up,” she whispered peremptorily.
Claude shook the shoulder of the sleeping ex-spacer. Muttering obscenities, Richard hoisted himself onto his elbows.
“We’ll probably have to do it tonight,” Felice said. “One of the fort people told Amerie that by tomorrow we’ll be into very heavy country where this plan of mine wouldn’t have much chance of working. I need open space to see what I’m doing. What I’ll do is pick a time before dawn tomorrow when it’s fairly dark and the bear-dogs are running on the dregs of their second wind.”
“Now wait a minute,” Richard protested. “Don’t you think we’d better discuss this plan of yours first?”
She ignored him. “Those others, Yosh, Tat, Basil, they’ll try to help us. I asked the Gypsies, but they’re half crazy and won’t take orders from a woman anyway. So this is what we do. After the midnight break, Richard changes places with Amerie and rides beside me.”
“Come on, Felice! The guards’ll spot the switch.”
“You change clothes with her in the latrine.”
“Not on your…” Richard blazed. But Felice caught him by the lapels and dragged him over the floor on his stomach until they were nose to nose.
“You shut up and listen, Captain Asshole. None of the rest of you have a hope in hell of getting out of this. Amerie pumped one of the guards after she said Mass for them this morning. These exotics have metafunctions that can zap out your brain and turn you into a lunatic or a fuckin’ zombie. They can’t even be killed with ordinary weapons! They’ve got some system for controlling their slave-cities that’s almost perfect. Once we arrive at Finiah and they test me out and find I’m latent, they’ll collar me or kill me and the rest of you’ll be lucky to spend your lives shoveling shit in the chaliko barns. This is our chance, Richard! And you’re going to do as I say!”
“Let him go, Felice,” said Claude urgently. “The guards.”
When she dropped him, Richard whispered, “Damn you. Felice! I didn’t say I wouldn’t help. But you can’t treat me like a friggerty baby!”
“What else would you call a grown man who craps up his bed?” she inquired. “Who changed your dydees when you drove starships, Captain?”
Richard went white. Claude was furious. “Stop it! Both of you!… Richard, you were sick. A man can’t help himself when he’s sick. For God’s sake, forget the matter. We were glad to help you. But you’ve got to pull yourself together now and join with the rest of us in this plan to escape. You can’t let your personal feelings toward Felice wreck what may be our only chance to get out of this nightmare.”
Richard glared at the little ring-hockey player, then gave her a twisted grin. “You may be the only one of us who’s a match for ’em at that, sweetie-babe. Sure. I’ll go along with whatever you say.”
“That’s fine,” she told him. She reached behind the black leather of her left greave and extracted what looked like a slender golden cross. “Now the first good news is that we aren’t completely weaponless…”
They rode away in the evening with a crescent moon shining through the cypresses. After fording the shallow tributary, the trail climbed to the Burgundian plateau and once more resumed its northerly course. Fire-beacons lit the way through deepening twilight. After a time they were able to look down on a vast heaving region of mist marking extensive swamplands where the Pliocene Saône was born from the prehistoric Lac de Bresse. The lake waters stretched northward and eastward into the distance like a sheet of black glass, drowning the entire plain below the Cote d’Or. Richard entertained the old paleontologist with descriptions of the legendary wines that would be produced in this district six million years into the future.
Later, when the stars were bright, Richard took one last sighting of Pliocene Polaris. It was the brightest star in a constellation that the two men dubbed the Big Turkey.
“That’s a good job you’ve done,” Claude said.
“The whole business may turn out to be academic if we end up dead or brain-burned… You think this scheme of Felice’s might really work?”
“Think about this, son. Felice would be able to escape by herself fairly easily. But she’s worked out this plan to give the rest of us a chance, too. You may hate the little lady’s entrails, but she just might bring this thing off. I’m going to do my damnedest for her, even though I’m just an old poop one step this side of fossilization. But you’re still a young man, Richard. You look like you could handle yourself in a fight. We’re counting on you.”
“I’m scared outa my motherin’ mind,” the pirate told him. “That little bitty gold knife of hers! It’s nothing but a toy. How the hell am I going to do it?”
The old man said, “Try Amerie’s prescription. Pray a lot.”
In the forward part of the caravan, Basil the Alpinist was saluting the sinking crescent moon by playing “Au clair de la lune” on his recorder. The little butterfly dancer from Paris who rode beside him sang along. And amazingly enough, Epone herself joined in in a soprano voice of melting richness. The exotic woman continued to sing as Basil played several more songs; but when he began “Londonderry Air,” one of the soldiers galloped back on his chaliko and said, “The Exalted Lady forbids the commonalty to sing that song.”
The climber shrugged and put his flute away.
The butterfly dancer said, “The monster sings that song with her own words. I heard her, back at Castle Gateway on the first night that we were imprisoned. Isn’t it odd that a monster should be musical? It’s like a fairytale, and Epone is like a beautiful wicked witch.”
“The witch may sing a different song before dawn,” Felice said; but only the nun heard her.
The trail came closer and closer to the western shore of the great lake. The caravan would have to skirt it before heading east into the Belfort Gap between the Vosges highland and the Jura, which led to the valley of the Proto-Rhine. The lake waters were utterly calm, reflecting the brighter stars like an inky mirror. As the curve of the trail took them around a promontory, they saw a distant beacon reflected as well, a streak of orange stabbing toward them across a broad bay. “Look, not one fire but two.” Felice’s voice held a note of anxiety. “Now what the devil do you suppose that means?”