We thought about landing Bubba with me. When we were around people, he'd be able to monitor for dangerous intentions. But he'd also be conspicuous, and make me conspicuous, especially if he tried to tell me something, so the decision was for a solo landing.
I'd travel light-stunner, blast pistol, communicator, and a pocket recorder I'd record all conversation on. We'd feed the recordings into the scout's computer, running it through the linguistics program to improve our knowledge of local language. Then we could use the learning program to help us learn it.
I'd also wear a crucifix-a local type of religious artifact-around my neck. I'd cut it from a piece of steel in the Jav's tiny workshop. Polished, it looked pretty nice, and it could easily be helpful down below. I'd made three crosses, actually-one for each of us humans. I had a notion that for Bubba to wear one might not be acceptable on Fanglith; their native canids were not at all on Bubba's intelligence level, and were considered simply animals.
This time, I'd wear a remote in my ear. I remembered the trouble I'd gotten into before on Fanglith when Deneen's voice had come out of my communicator. The monks had thought I'd had a demon, and I was lucky not to be burned at a stake.
I stood there in the harness-like sling, wearing a navy jumpsuit. It wasn't much like what people wore on Fanglith, but I didn't plan to stay down long this time, and if I got a chance, I'd get some native clothes before I returned to the Jav.
It was moonless and cloudy, and had been showering off and on since evening, which cut down a little on how clearly our infrascope imaged things on the ground. But Bubba assured us that no one was near. Still, as we lowered, we had our windows on one-way opaque- something you couldn't do with our family cutter-so we couldn't be noticed.
Deneen, at the controls, stopped our descent, dimmed our lights nearly out, and keyed the door open. Touching another control, she swung the winch out of its housing above the door and into place in the opening. Tarel hooked its cable to a ring on my sling, and I tugged on it, testing, then stood backward in the door. "Take care, you guys," I said.
"Right," Tarel answered, and reached out. We shook on it.
"You take care, too," Deneen told me over her shoulder. "And don't take too long getting that food."
Bubba stood with his tail slowly waving, his brown eyes fixing me. "Have fun," he told me. It was his standard goodbye, but somehow this time it didn't have its usual jauntiness. The food on this trip has gotten to him more than any of us, I thought to myself.
I leaned back and stepped out into another world. Until that moment, Fanglith had been something we looked out at through the windows or on the screens. Now I was part of it again, already separated from the secure space inside the Jav. A little shiver of excitement went through me as I lowered the fifteen feet to the ground. It had stopped raining, but the air was cool and moist, and clouds cut off all starlight. Solid ground met my feet before I even saw it. It was really dark, and the night smelled like-well, it didn't smell like recycled ship's air. It smelled like wet dirt and resinous plants.
I pulled the safety pin and turned the harness release, and the sling fell away. Then I gave the cable a triple tug, signaling Tarel that I was free, and it snaked back up, leaving me behind. A minute later the vague, faint light from the door closed off. Another five seconds and the dim form of the Jav began to lift; three seconds after that, I couldn't see it anymore.
Time to get on with it.
I hiked carefully out of the ravine, which was wet and muddy but stony-rough enough for good footing. It was so dark that I kept stepping into the little rivulet without seeing it. Five minutes after I'd backed out the door, I stood on the rough beast trail that served as the major road to the largest seaport of Provence. I knew I'd found it when my feet felt the cattle tracks and stumbled on a wheel rut.
I wasn't worried or even nervous. Somehow my chest felt big, my body strong, and my self eager.
Because the road was rough and the night so black, I didn't walk very fast. Only the feel of the tracks beneath my feet kept me from losing it in the darkness. After half an hour or so, it was definitely starting to get light; I could actually see a little bit. Minutes later I passed a hut, then more of them, set back from the road. This was the part of town that was outside the walls. About that time I made out the town wall itself, ahead in the lightening grayness.
The gate, when I reached it, was closed. The wall was maybe thirty feet high, made of stone blocks, and had battlements on the top. Huddled against it were two soggy-looking guys with walking staffs. They looked as if they'd been there most of the night. One eyed me dully, the other curiously.
"Hello," said the curious one. His language was Provengal, as I'd expected it would be here.
"Been walking all night?"
"Only since the rain stopped," I said.
"How'd you keep dry?"
"Tent," I lied. "But I didn't like who I shared it with."
He shrugged.
"When do they open the gate?" I asked.
"Sunrise. Best they can guess on a morning like this. Come a long way?"
"Pretty far."
"You ain't no Norman, but you been in Normandy, I'll wager, from your talk."
I could get myself in trouble if I kept answering questions, so I just nodded.
"English?" he asked. "I've heard the English are tall, and I never seen clothes like yours before."
Instead of answering, I asked a question of my own. "Ever hear of a Norman named Arno of Courmeron? I'd like to find him. I've heard he brings war horses here, to ship to Sicily."
He shrugged. "Not many Normans take the sea route. Most go over the Cenis Pass and south through Italy. Brigands and barons are more to their liking than storms and Saracen pirates."
I nodded, remembering what I'd heard of Saracens. They were a military people whom the Normans had warred with on Sicily. It was the Saracens whom Arno had fought in the battle that had won him his knighthood, at a place called Misilmeri.
"But Normans have shipped horses out of Marseille a time or two," the man went on. "It's faster than overland. No doubt they'd do more of it if horses were better sailors. They get sicker'n a pregnant woman at the slightest seas, and are likely to go down and break a leg."
Marseille, he'd said. We'd hit it right. "Are you a sailor?" I asked.
"Aye." He gestured at his companion. "We both are, though Marco here finds it hard to get hired anymore. Lost a thumb in a bight, and don't neither row nor haul ropes so well as he did. Though better'n you'd maybe think."
I hadn't understood every word he'd said, but enough. The other man removed his right hand from his armpit, where he'd been keeping it warm, and displayed the scarred nub, red and ugly, where once a thumb had been.
"How can I get some food?" I asked. "Quite a lot of food."
The talkative sailor snorted, and eyed me even more curiously. "How much is a lot? All you can eat and drink you can buy at an inn, if you've got a few coppers. And the market is in the middle of town. While if it's a shipload you want…"
"I have no coppers," I told him. "I'll have to see what I can do to get some."
"What do you do?" he asked. "Clearly you're no farmer, nor no sailor, I'll wager. You're no knight nor sergeant, nor mercenary neither, going about without weapons." His eyes traveled up and down me. "A monk, I'd say, except your clothes ain't monkish. And what else is there?" He shook his head. "It's sure you're no merchant."
"Mercenary's closest," I told him, and an idea struck me. "I'm a bodyguard. If a merchant wants his person kept safe, he'll do well to hire me."
"Is that so?" An eyebrow had raised. "Jesu knows you're a big one, and maybe strong, though I might say you don't look the type. Not a scar to be seen," He paused. "Nor any weapon at all, unless you carry one of them little daggers hid in your clothes, and they be mainly useless in a fight."