The Amtrak Wars - Ironmaster Part 35

From the post-house at Midiri-tana, Tos.h.i.+ro had ridden north through what was left of the night towards Ari-saba, with the cloud warrior slung face-down over the back of his horse like the carca.s.s of a stag brought home by a huntsman. With dawn approaching, the Herald had taken the precaution of blindfolding his prisoner. For his scheme to succeed and to protect his own position, it was vital that Brickman did not discover the ident.i.ty of his benefactor.

The twelve-mile journey did not take long. Waiting for him on the outskirts of Ari-saba were his own pair of red-stripes - part of the disguise obligingly provided by Ieyasu, the Court Chamberlain, second most powerful man in the Toh-Yota Shogunate. While his men held Steve, Tos.h.i.+ro swapped his black a.s.sa.s.sin's garb for the travelling costume of a samurai, then remounted and led the two foot-soldiers and their prisoner through the dawn mists to the post-house where he had rented rooms the previous day. They arrived before the first servants had begun to stir, and were able to slip back into their quarters un.o.bserved.

Steve was kept securely bound and blindfolded for most of the following day. He knew from the unintelligible conversations that he was guarded by two j.a.ps, and he could hear the m.u.f.fled voices of people in movement outside, but none of it made any sense. The only thing that marked the pa.s.sage of time for Steve was the arrival of two bowls of rice topped with vegetables.

These were delivered several hours apart by his unseen captors, who freed his right hand and guided it to the bowl placed on the floor between his knees.

Tos.h.i.+ro, meanwhile, remained in his own quarters and worked out his next moves. When he was satisfied he had every angle covered and knew what he would say in advance to the cloud warrior, he made his way to the room occupied by the red-stripes and told them to stand guard outside while he interrogated the prisoner.

Before he switched into Basic, the Herald rolled up two small strips of cotton and stuck them inside his cheeks to alter the sound of his voice. Adopting the ident.i.ty of an unidentified colleague of n.o.buro and the man in black, Tos.h.i.+ro laid out his plan of action. The blindfolded cloud warrior listened attentively and did not raise a single query or objection. The Herald found this newfound reticence so unsettling he felt obliged to enlarge upon the possible dangers, stressing the points at which he felt extreme caution would be needed.

Brickman greeted these strictures in the same offhand manner, dismissing potential problems with the phrase 'Let's cross that bridge when we come to it."

The young man's a.s.surance was breathtaking. Tos.h.i.+ro realised that he would have to be careful not to be misled by his own innate feelings of superiority into underestimating this ill-mannered individual.

Brickman might come from a different world with totally different values, but he was endowed with an intelligence that was every bit as penetrating and devious as his own.

The Herald proceeded to outline his scheme to integrate Steve into the labour system as a roadrunner. As soon as he was registered, arrangements would be made for his immediate transfer to the government's chief postal depot in Lord Min-Orota's domain. This would enable him to move openly and legally across Ne-Issan.

The Heron Pool lay some four hundred miles from their present position.

The journey would take several weeks to accomplish for, in his new role, Steve would be required to carry mail along the route that would be mapped out for him. However, upon reaching his destination he would be at the heart of the action, attached to the residence of the Consul-General Nakane Toh-s.h.i.+ba - towards whose aching arms Clearwater was presently being conveyed. He would also find himself delivering and collecting paperwork from the Heron Pool where his prime target, Cadillac, was busily building a small fleet of flying-horses.

The next meeting, promised Tos.h.i.+ro, would take place in the domain of the Min-Orota, after Steve had joined the postal staff of the Consul-General. When he had had the opportunity to a.s.sess the situation on the ground for himself, they would then consider how Steve could shed his gra.s.s-monkey disguise, and join the staff of the Heron Pool as a long-dog.

'Supposing I need to get in touch with you before then?"

It was the question Tos.h.i.+ro had been expecting. 'You can't. From here on in, it's a case of "Don't call me, I'll call you"."

'I see... I thought we were working together on this."

'We are, but that's the way it has to be, sport. Don't worry. I'll make sure someone keeps an eye on you."

Tos.h.i.+ro was lying. He could not put the spies and informers who worked for him in Lord Min-Orota's domain on to Brickman's case. It was too risky. But there was no harm in letting the cloud warrior think he would be under surveillance from here on in. It might minimise the chances of him trying to pull a fast one.

'Okay,' said Tos.h.i.+ro. 'That about wraps it up for today. We have to go on to All-dina to get you registered as a roadrunner. That's where the Consul-General for this domain is located. After that you're on your own. Provided you watch that lip of yours, there should be no problem."

'I'll try and remember that. This, uhh. place we're going to - is it a long way from here?"

'Fifty miles." An alarming thought struck Tos.h.i.+ro. 'Can long-dogs run that far? Since you're disguised as a Mute I a.s.sumed . . ."

Steve nodded. 'That's why they picked me for this job."

There was one last piece of business Tos.h.i.+ro had to attend to. 'My colleague who met with you and Samurai-Captain Naka-Jima told me what happened when the Se-Iko hit the ronin's base camp. How about telling me your side of the story?"

'Do we have time?"

'Sure. We don't leave here until tomorrow morning."

Steve began with the surprise appearance of the ronin crossing the highway with the Se-Iko in hot pursuit, and fed him everything up to the moment when he had sung for his sake in front of n.o.buro. The one thing he omitted to mention was the fact that he had been held in a cell next to Clearwater for several hours. Since he was not questioned about her, Steve could only presume that his unseen interrogator was unaware that the only thing separating them had been a slatted wooden screen - or did not view it as important.

Tos.h.i.+ro did not know this but, in any case, his interest had waned by the time Steve reached the point where he had handed over his weapons.

The Herald had discovered all he needed to know: the location of the ronin camp and how it could be entered. These details would be sent in a letter addressed to Hideyos.h.i.+ Se-Iko, the military commander of the southern district, and signed 'A WellWisher'.

Since his samurai had failed to catch all the raiders of the road convoy, Hideyos.h.i.+ could be counted upon to take the appropriate measures.

With the last survivors eliminated, Brickman would be the only person who knew of his mistake over the true ident.i.ty of the 'love object' and the fake 'cloud warrior'.

The secret was safe with him. He was unlikely to reveal details of his mission to anyone else. If it was successful he would vanish; if it was not, he would be dead.

The Mute roadrunners attached to the depot at Aribani and their transient colleagues were accommodated in a st.u.r.dy log cabin in the courtyard behind the post-house.

Food, lodgings and laundry services, all paid for by the bakufu, were provided by the inn-keeper, who usually kept a Mute family, or a group of Mute women, for this task. The idea of higher social orders cooking for the lowest was out of the question. That was why Clearwater's two housewomen had been taken away to prepare their own food. The reason Steve had been subsequently fed by the ronin was that they considered him to be a special case.

Steve was roused at 0500 along with his fourteen overnight companions.

Reveille was sounded by one of the cabin staff, a stocky, strong-armed female Mute equipped with a stout pole that came up to her shoulder.

The woman walked up and down the length of the hut between the two lines of mattresses, pounding the three-inch-thick pole on the planked floor. Since everyone was required to sleep with their head towards the middle of the room, the shock waves generated by the quivering timbers battered the ear drums and were almost strong enough to shake your teeth loose. To a brain dulled by sleep it also sounded like earth thunder a noise guaranteed to get a Mute up and running in nought seconds flat.

Steve jumped to his feet and headed across the cobbled yard to the bathing shed set aside for Mutes.

This was one of the perks of being a roadrunner: as an employee of the bakufu, in daily contact with Iron Masters, you were required to maintain the same standards of cleanliness.

Finis.h.i.+ng off with a bracing bucket of cold water emptied over his head by a cheerful boy-child, Steve dried himself vigorously and donned a clean cotton loincloth as the boy refilled his bucket and got ready to douse the next Mute out of the steaming tub.

The boy was an 'iron-foot', the term used to describe Mutes born in Ne-Issan. It came from the metal leg-restraints that Mute journeymen and Tracker renegades were often made to wear. Steve - who had not yet had an opportunity to converse at length with any adult 'iron-foot'

wondered if these second- and third-generation journeymen still identified with the Plainfolk. Since becoming a roadrunner he had discovered that, in Ne-Issan, the unbridgable gulf between the various clans had been forcibly broken down. The D'Troit, mortal enemies of the She-Kargo, the San'Paul, San'Louis, C'Natti and M'Waukee had been thrown together without any regard for the enmity they felt towards one another.

In talking with other roadrunners he had met up with en route for All-bani, he had learned that the Iron Masters dealt harshly with inter-clan disputes especially where makes.h.i.+ft weapons were involved.

Steve had encountered some latent hostility from D'Troit and M'Waukee roadrunners during his overnight stops, but it was all low-key. There had been none of the provocative posturing and bragging insults that had triggered the outbreaks of violence he had witnessed during the week when the clans had gathered at the trading post.

Mute journeymen still preferred the company of their clan brothers and sisters, but the decades of slavery had weakened the age-old traditions. Living under the heel of the Iron Masters had taught the Plainfolk something they had failed to learn throughout the centuries of fratricidal violence - the positive benefits of peaceful coexistence. It would be ironic, thought Steve, if the sense of nationhood spoken of in the Talisman Prophecy was to be born here, among those to whom Mr Snow had referred as 'The Lost Ones'.

Did one have first to lose freedom in order to gain it?

What did the word - which did not appear in the Federation dictionary really mean? Steve knew it had something to do with an absence of control by a central authority - such as the First Family. But it was precisely this lack of control which, according to the Family, had brought the state of anarchic violence and degeneracy that had led to the Holocaust.

Was freedom without a collective sense of purpose forever destined to self-destruct? Did absolute freedom mean that the monolithic tyranny of the Jeffersons was replaced by the equally tyrannical behaviour of individuals, or small groups, each fighting to protect and propagate their own narrow self-interests at the expense of everyone else? Did this kind of freedom lead, in the end, to chaos and a point where the greatest number of disadvantaged people in such a society came to regard any form of protest as anathema, and demand a return to autocratic rule by a central authority?

Perhaps this was the true wisdom of the First Family.

In the closed underground world of the Federation, the unquestioning obedience which was demanded, and almost universally accorded, gave everyone a role, a sense of purpose and satisfaction derived from the knowledge that, through planned, collective action, the efforts of each individual brought their society one step nearer to the realisation of the great dream - the return to the Blue-Sky World. An ordered, peaceful world under the continuing stewards.h.i.+p of the Jeffersons, not the factional chaos that had led to the Holocaust.

Ordered not through coercion, but because everyone shared the same goals, the same ideals: peaceful because the enemies of mankind (of which Trackers held themselves to be the sole survivors), who had brought the world to the brink of total destruction, had been wiped from the face of the earth.