Hokas Pokas Part 10

Mishka growled. His own sword flew free. His men lifted weapons.

"Hold it!" Charlie screamed. "I-I do want to see Lord Dzenko. Very much. I can't wait." To Hector he added, "Take it easy, clansman. I, uh, I will honor Lord Dzenko with my presence."

"Weel, weel," muttered the Hoka as he sheathed his blade. "But 'tis nae true Scots name, yon Dzenko."

"Oh, he's a Lowlander, I'm sure," Charlie improvised.

"Lowlander?" For a second the Hoka frowned, as if he were about to be Bertram and declare that

Dzenko was not a name from anywhere on Earth. Luckily, however, he recalled that he was Hector, who didn't know any better. "Aye, nae doot, syne your Hieness says so."

The Talyinans relaxed. "Come," snapped Mishka. "We ride."

An hour's stiff travel downhill brought them to a cove, a notch in the wilderness where n.o.body dwelled.

A large rowboat or small galley lay beached. They shoved it off and climbed aboard. One soldier stayed to tend to the animals. These were seldom transported across water; yachis bounced too much.

Mishka had spoken little. Now he ordered Charlie and Bertram into the cabin. The boy knew the reason. It explained his having been accosted in the ravine, rather than openly in town. Lord Dzenko must want everything kept secret.

Oars creaked and splashed. The boat drove forward at a good pace. Charlie wished he could look out, but the cabin had no portholes. "Ah," said Hector shrewdly, "noo I see! Yon laird be a closet Jacobite, and ye're aboot tae conspire wi' him against the usurper." He sighed. "If ainly I'd wits tae help ye twa plot! I'm n.o.bbut a rough, unlettered Hielander, though, wi' naught tae offer save his steel and bluid." He fumbled in his pouch. "And, aye, my sporran holds money, and a sandwich, and"-he drew out his flask-"a wee bit whisky, should my prince hae hunger or thirst."

"No, thanks," Charlie whispered.

The boat docked at a village below the castle. Mishka gave hooded cloaks to the human and the Hoka, and his guardsmen surrounded them closely while they went up the path to the stronghold.

In spite of his worries, Charlie was gripped by what he saw. Here was no medieval ruin or restored museum piece. This was a working fortress.

Gray stone blocks were mortared together to form a high wall. On its parapets tramped men-at-arms in mail, archers in leather jerkins. At intervals rose turrets. From flagpoles on their tops blew banners which were not merely ornamental, but which told who the owner and his chief officers were and identified battle stations for each member of the garrison.

Behind a main gate of heavy timbers and strap iron, a flagged courtyard reached among several stone buildings. Greatest of these was the keep, a darkling pile whose windows were mere slits. Wooden leantos edged the curtain wall, wherein the manifold workaday activities of the castle went on.

Porters carried loads; grooms tended yachis; blacksmiths and carpenters made the air clamorous; bakers and brewers filled it with odors which blended with woodsmoke and the smell of unwashed bodies. Females and children were present, too, as well as small domestic animals and fowl walking freely and messily about. Everybody seemed to have a task, though n.o.body seemed in a hurry about it. Voices chattered, laughed, swore, shouted, sang s.n.a.t.c.hes of song; wooden shoes thumped on stones.

Mishka dismissed his troopers at the entrance to the keep and himself conducted Charlie, Hector, and Toreg inside. The walls of an entry room bore tapestries and hunting trophies. The floor was carpeted with broad-leaved plants, whose sweetness relieved the reek of smoke from a gigantic feasting chamber where an ox-sized carca.s.s was roasting.

By the dim interior light, Mishka pointed to a spiral staircase off the entry. "Follow that, if it please you."

At the fourth-floor landing, he received the salutes of two guards and opened the door "Come," he said, "and meet my lord Dzenko."

t.i.tle: Hokas Pokas Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. d.i.c.kson ISBN: 0-671-57858-8 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R.

Copyright: d.i.c.kson Publisher: Baen Books

5.

The Redheaded League

Within, the stone of a fair sized room was relieved by rugs and by plastered walls whose frescoes depicted battle scenes. The scarlet pigment used for blood did much to brighten things, for otherwise there was only a shaft of sunlight through a narrow window. A few carved chairs were placed at irregular intervals. In one of them, sat a gaunt middle-aged New Lemurian, his face deeply lined, the blue of his crest sprinkled with gray. He wore a flowing rainbow-striped robe and silver necklace, and his whiskers were gilded.

Mishka clicked heels. "Lord Dzenko, here have brought you, unbeknownst to others as you bade, the fiery-topped person who may be the Deliverer of the Prophecy. Also, for good measure, his guide-my lord will remember Toreg-and, er-"

"Sir Hector MacGregor," said Charlie in haste, before the Hoka could declare himself a commoner. It might be protection against indignities.

Hector was quick to pick up the cue. "Aye," he declaimed, striking a pose, "an ancestor o' mine was enn.o.bled after the Battle o' Otterburn. Let me tell ye. 'It fell aboot the Lammas tide, when the muir-men win their hay-' "

Charlie shushed him, "My name is Charles Edward Stuart. My father is captain of the s.h.i.+p which lately flew in from the stars. He expects me back soon."

Dzenko smiled. "I trust we can oblige him. Pity that the strange law of your folk-or perhaps their weakness-binds him from coming after you in force."

Charlie gulped. Living so close to the League's enclave, this baron must be more sophisticated about it than most.

"But do be at ease," Dzenko urged. "My only wish is to welcome you, the Prince of the Prophecy, our rescuer from oppression."

"Huh?" exploded from Toreg. "But, but, Lord-him? Why, he's not even one of our kind!"

"Does the Prophecy anywhere say he must be?" Dzenko purred. "Indeed, have you ever heard of a dweller on our world who has red hair?"

"N-no, Lord," Toreg admitted. Excitement seized him. "Could it really be? Could Olaghi in truth be overthrown, and I get my rightful job back?"

"The councils of the mighty are not for common ears," Dzenko said. "You may go, Toreg, and greet your old comrades." The guide bowed and rushed out. "You stay, Mishka," continued the baron. The gigantic guardsman placed himself at parade rest in a corner.

"You know I'm nothing of the sort," Charlie protested. "This is only a, a coincidence."

"Conceivably. Though a wise saw has it that 'Chance is the hand of heaven which hauls us.' " Dzenko rose, to take the human's arm in a confidential manner and lead him across the room. "Upon receiving the news, I, ah, did feel it my duty to investigate further. If nothing else, your presence might cause unrest among the populace."

"Maybe," Charlie admitted. "I suppose I'd better go straight back to the compound."

Dzenko's grasp tightened on his elbow. "On the other hand, perhaps you had better not."

To and fro they paced. Hector stumped behind them. "See you," Dzenko went on, low-voiced, "I say no word against our beloved King Olaghi. He would demand my head on a pikeshaft did I call him aught but a good ruler. Yet is any ruler ever as good as he might be? There are even some who call him a tyrant. Mind you, I say this not myself, but some do. When rumors start flying, a prudent man wants to know whether or not they hold the truth, so he can advise the people who are dependent on him. Now naturally, I don't imagine there's aught to this talk about your being the young Prince who'll perform the Five Feats and dethrone the wicked ruler of legend, but still, at the same time-"

He talked in that vein for several minutes. Charlie got the impression he was really stalling. Meanwhile, a clamor grew below them, shouts, running feet, occasional blasts on the crooked Talyinan trumpets.

"Mishka!" said Dzenko at last. "See what that noise is about and shut them up."

Though sharply spoken, the order had a false sound in Charlie's ears, as if rehea.r.s.ed well in advance. But the guardsman clattered out at once and down the stone steps.

"The commoners are quite impetuous, you know." The baron sighed. "Get them overheated, and bloodshed is apt to follow."

Mishka reappeared, hustling Toreg along in front of him. The racket from below pursued them, louder than ever, hardly m.u.f.fled when the door closed.

"Well, Sergeant, what goes on?" Dzenko demanded.

"This clown here went right out and told them the Prince has come," Mishka snarled. He gave Toreg a shake.

"What?" Dzenko's anger seemed more deliberate than genuine, but the guide quailed.

"Y-you didn't tell me not to, lord," he stammered.

"I didn't?"

"Did you? I, I-"

"Stupid lout!"

"Yes, my lord." Toreg cowered.

"Be quiet!" barked Dzenko. He turned on Mishka. "What do they want? And make sure you get things

straight."

Stung in his pride, the officer flushed and responded stiffly, "I hope my lord does not confuse me with this yachi-brain."

"Fry and sizzle you, numbwit!" roared Dzenko. "Will you answer a simple question or will you not?"

"Yes, my lord," said Mishka, sulkier yet. "They want to see the Prince shoot the bellfruit off the head of

his friend."

Dzenko relaxed. "Well, well," he said. "I was afraid of something like this. That's why I was anxious to

handle matters discreetly, Charles. Take an old legend, and the commoners will believe every word of it.

Now what is our wisest course?"

"If you sent me away-" Charlie began.

Dzenko shook his head. "No, I fear that won't do."

"Won't do?" asked Charlie, dismayed.

"Won't do," Dzenko emphasized. "I appreciate your not wanting to have any truck with a foolish folk

tale. But I have my people to think of. They're wildly agitated. Nought will calm them down again until

they see you shoot at the bellfruit. I hate to ask you-"

"I hate to refuse-" Charlie tried.

"But, as I was saying," proceeded Dzenko, "if you do it not, they'll suppose it's because you are an impostor, and the custom around here is to roast impostors over a slow fire. Of course, my guard and I would do our best to defend you. But on Olaghi's orders, they are so few these days that I much fear the peasantry would overwhelm them and take you from us. And really, it's not such a stiff request, is it? All you are asked to do is shoot bellfruit off the head of your best friend, using a crossbow, in the fog at fifty paces."

Charlie's stomach felt queasy. He seized after an excuse. "But my best friend isn't here! He's far off on Earth."

"Come, come," chided Dzenko. "We see your best friend, right at your back. I'm sure he'll be willing to help. What say you, Sir Hector?"

The Hoka's bearlike head nodded vigorously. "What mon dares say Hector MacGregor doesna trust the aim o' his ain true Prince?" he snorted. "Aye-I'll stand target wi' a bellfruit, or an apple, or a walnut, where noo sits my bonnet."

"Tell me, my lord," Charlie asked. "As long as I try to do it, will that satisfy them? I mean, even if I miss?"

"Oh, yes. Should you miss, they will indeed be saddened, to know you are not the Deliverer after all. But none can fairly say you refused to try. What few complainers remain will not be too many for my guardsmen to handle."

"And . . . once I've taken this shot, Sir Hector and I are free to leave? Go back to the compound if we want?"

"My dear boy! Leave? Go back? After shooting the bellfruit off your best friend's head? Certainly not! You must continue to do the other four Feats and liberate the kingdom."

"Sure, sure," said Charlie. "But that's if I shoot the way the legend tells. Suppose I miss."

Dzenko waved his hand. "Why, then you can go wherever you like, do whatever you wish," he replied airily. "Except for their disappointment, it won't matter much to anyone."

"Okay, I'll do it."

"Good!" Dzenko beamed. "I knew we could count on you."

It was necessary to wait for the evening mists to blow in off the sea, in order that every condition of the poem be fulfilled. Charlie and Hector were kept in the upstairs room meanwhile, under guard of Mishka. But servants brought them a sumptuous lunch. And to his surprise, Charlie found that the sergeant was, in his way, both intelligent and decent. He actually apologized for the trouble he had caused.

"In a tide of shmiriz, I roused my lord from slumber," he explained. "Later I bethought me how foolish I had been. Think of my astonishment when I got orders to bring you hither. As my lord's sworn man, I must needs obey." He sighed. "Ah, 'twould be wondrous were you in truth he who shall cast the yoke off us. But though you deny it, I wish you well."

"Dzenko doesn't seem to take the legend seriously," Charlie said. "So why did he want me brought here in the first place?"

"He told you 'twas to make certain matters will not get out of hand."

"Is that the whole truth?" Charlie asked, thinking how calculated the scene this afternoon had appeared.

"Well, he's a deep one, my lord is," Mishka admitted.