A massy-gold chain hung between the two golden brooches that secured his cape of blue brocade. On the outer surface of the cape the Trident that was the badge of his house had been worked in silver wire. Broad golden bands adorned his smooth, pudgy, depilated forearms.
The pre-pubescent slaveboy who was to accompany him was attired similarly, in addition to being heavily cosmetized. His guard was to consist of an even dozen of his black spearmen, officered by Lord Admiral Sergios. The other seven spearmen he ordered to guard his cabin and protect his possessions from wandering pirates or thieving crewmen.
Followed by his cortege, the High-Lord of Kehnooryos Ehlahs proceeded to an awning-covered section of the waist and awaited the arrival of a litter or chariot to convey him. Two hours later, as the sun was sinking behind the western cliffs, and the mosquitoes were venturing out for the night’s feasting, the High:Lord of Kehnooryos Ehlahs and his retinue were still waiting.
The blacks were relaxed, patient; Lord Sergios kept glancing warily at his unpredictable lord; Demetrios was nearing a state of murderous anger. Such discourtesy from a fellow-noble-Ehleen could just not be tolerated! All at once, he half turned, jerked the slaveboy closer, and slammed the back of his heavy hand across the child’s face. Then he felt a little better.
Almost instantly, the little minion’s nose began to bleed and Demetrios sent him below to change clothing with the other minion, promising the terrified child dire punishment if his blood should damage the costly stuffs in which he was attired.
While the little slaves did his bidding, the High-Lord ordered Titos to fetch one of the dockside idlers who had been splicing ropes, mending nets, and chatting while gawking at the newcomers. The captain shortly returned with an ageless, weather-browned man and Demetrios commanded Sergios to question the oldster.
Shuffling his big, tar-stained feet on the worn stones of the quay, the man heard Sergios out, then replied nonchalantly in atrociously accented Ehleenokos. “Oh, aye, Cap’n, Ol’ Short-nose kens you’re here, right enough. For a chariot, you’ll have a long wait, ’cause it ain’t no horses on these here islands. Ain’t no need for the critters, nor no graze, neither—the sheeps and goats and pigs gits it all.
“As for a litter …” Before continuing, he ran a tarry forefinger far up one nostril, withdrew it, and critically examined his findings, then casually wiped them on the seat of his filthy cotton breeches. “Wai, last litter I recollect seein’ was made outa two boat hooks and a slicker—or was it a boat cloak?—and they used it to carry what was left of of Zohab up to the priest’s place, the day that there big shark got inta the l’goon and chawed off his laigs, ’fore the Orks drove it off’n him. He died, o’course. Wouldn’ta wanted to live, no how, ’cause the bugger’d torn off his parts, too.
“Manalive! He’uz some kinda big shark. You awta seed him. The Orks run him inta shaller water and we harpooned him and drug him up on the rocks and clubbed him ‘til he stopped floppin’, then took a broad ax and took off his bottom jaw. ‘Cause, you know, his kind’ll bite even after they dead. Forty-foot long, he were, and weighed nigh on to eight-thousan’ pound, after he’z cut up. Never see’d a shark like him, I hadn’, and I hopes I never see another’n. He’uz a kinda dirty-white and he won’t shaped like most sharks, more like a tunny, I’d say.
“Well, didn’ nobody wanta eat none of him, and I can’t say I blames ’em none, what with him a-eatin’ the bes’ parta ol’ Zohab, like he done. His tooths, the mosta ’em was too big for arrow points, so we give ’em to ol’ Foros, the dart-maker, and you know what he told me?”
“Shut up!” screamed Demetrios, his face impurpled. “You garrulous old fool, we don’t want to hear another word about sharks. All we wish to be told is when Lord Pardos intends to send an honor guard to convey or’ conduct us to his palace.”
The Sea Islander gave his crotch a good scratching, then answered: “Well, cain’t say as how I knows what a honor guard’s like, but you cain’t miss Ol’ Short-Nose’s place, seein’ its the onlies’ place on this here islan’s got more’n two stories. And it’s right on top the hill, too, and that’s good, ’cause the muskeetas don’t offen go thet far. And you jes’ wouldn’ b’lieve how bad they gets sometimes. Course, they don’t bother dark-skinned folks like me near as much as they do the pore bugger’s got lighter skin.
“And, you know, you can b’lieve me or not, but it’s exac’ly the same way with fleas, too! Unless he’s a-starv-in’ to death, a flea’ll pass right over a dozen fellers, got dark skin and chomp right down on a light-skinned feller evertime. Thet’s why I tells these here light ‘uns thet the bestes’ than’ they c’n do is to git theyselfs jest as dark as they can as quick as they can.
“I tell you, I don’ know where they all comes from—muskeetas, I mean—but they jes’ lays up all day a-honin’ their boardin’ pikes. And come sundown they blows the conch and theys out a-reavin, ever’ mothers son of ’em. Course, the fleas and the lice is at it day and night, you know. But the lice ain’t so bad—‘they only gits in your hair. Course, that’s bad iffen you got a lotta hair, like you young fellers do. But iffen you like me …” He broke off, staring at the High-Lord.
Demetrios’ face had passed from lividity to absolute pallor. So angry was he that he was unable to do more than splutter and beat his clenched fists on the ship’s rail. His features were jerking uncontrollably and a vein in his forehead throbbed violently.
Finally, he managed to gasp, “The gods damn your guts, you putrid, wormy, old swine! You tell us what we want to know, or you’ll be drinking a broth of your eyes and your clacking tongue!”
The brown-skinned man regarded Demetrios without fear, then noisily hawked and spat on the dock. “I’m a-answerin you the bes’ I knows how. I don’ know if you can git away with talkin’ to folks like you jes’ talked to me where you come from, but 01’ Short-Nose’s rules ia thet name an’ threat callin’ is reasons enough to call a feller to stan’ an’ fight, man to man, iffen you’re a mind to.
“Now your ship-master asked me to come over to here and I dropped my work and come right on over. Didn’ I? I done tried to be perlite an’ helpful, cause I could see you was a stranger an’ a landlubber, to boot. An’ I’s took me a pure lot offen you, cause you’s a furriner and I figgered me mebbe they don’t teach folks decent manners where you come from. You may be a big mucketymuck in your parts, but you ain’t in ’em now, lordy-boy.
“I be a ol’ man now. But, in my day, I shipped with 01’ Short-Nose an’ with Rockhead, his pa, an’ with Red-Arm, his uncle, too. An’ it’s many a good man’s guts I done spilled—in fac’, thet’s whut they still calls me, Gut-cutter Yahkohbz. Nowadays, I don’t even own me a sword, got no use for one no more; but I do have me a good knife, yet.” He shifted a wide, heavy-bladed dirk around to his right side, where its worn hilt was clearly visible.
“Now, I may be three times as ol’ as you, lordy-boy, at leas’ twicet it, an’ you got you a sword, too. But I’d still lay you a helmet fulla gold to a pot fulla piss thet if I’uz to stan’ for my rights, you’d be a snack for the Orks in ‘bout one minute. But I ain’t gonna do it, sonny, so it ain’t no call for you to wet your pants a worryin’.
“I ain’t, ’cause I can take me one look at you an’ tell it wouldn’ be no’ fight nor no fun. B’sides, I got me more important than’s to git done, ’fore the lasta the daylight’s gone.”
With that, he spun on his heel and limped back to the rope he had been splicing, casting not another glance at the High-Lord of Kehnooryos Ehlahs.