He roamed about the deck for a few minutes, finding no obvious security devices, no hatches other than the two locks set into the barge’s topsides. Though it had not been apparent from the bank, the barge was designed to provide deck passengers with a degree of comfort. In the various nooks and crannies of the steel statues were a number of seats, upholstered in red softstone. Under the arch formed by the figure’s penis and drooping testicles was a luxurious circular pit equipped with a padded floor — Ruiz would have been amused, had his mood not been so dark. The loss of the splinter gun had dealt their chances of survival a severe blow. How could he have been so careless? Granted, Flomel had made a lifework of having fast hands — few hands were so deft as those belonging to the conjurors of Pharaoh. Still, Ruiz blamed himself bitterly.
On the far side of the figure was a spiral staircase, leading to the statue’s back. Ruiz ascended cautiously, but found the upper deck as unpopulated as the lower. Here were rows of seats, arranged like an excursion boat’s. Forward, a gangway led up to a small observation pulpit atop the figure’s cranium.
Nowhere did he see any access to the interior of the barge.
He stood for a while on the pulpit, leaning on the polished rail, gazing down the tunnel of trees through which they traveled. The sun must be nearly down; the light had that golden impermanence that accompanies the longest shadows of the day. He felt a deep weariness that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion. The bedrock to which he had anchored his life seemed to be shifting; he no longer seemed capable of following the maxims that had for so long successfully guided him. For example: One must kill one’s enemies as soon as conveniently possible. He should have killed Flomel long before, of course — he should do so right now. And he would, as soon as he had overcome this temporary — surely it was only temporary — distaste for murder.
But even more basic to his existence was this rule: Give no loyalty to anyone. And he had violated this rule a dozen times since the moment he had first seen Nisa.
He was afraid. It was a kind of fear he had not felt in more years than he could remember. He lowered his head to his arms. If he hadn’t so thoroughly forgotten how, over all those hard years, he might have cried.
Ruiz caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye and whipped up his head. Above the broad rump of the leading barge’s statue, someone peered at him through a railing. After a moment the person hesitantly stood up. Ruiz saw a thin old man dressed in dirty tatters that might once have been magnificent. The old man showed a lean vulpine face, a wildly tangled mane of white hair, and large pale eyes. His expression was cautiously friendly, as if he had no idea who Ruiz might be, but didn’t want to risk offending anyone.
They stared at each for a moment, then the old man raised a fragile hand and waved, a gesture so slight that it might only have been the tremble of age.
Ruiz waved back, with only a little less restraint.
Two other people appeared to each side of the old man. One was a young girl wearing rags similar to the old man’s, though cleaner. Her face was round and unremarkable, but she smiled with what appeared to be genuine friendliness.
The other was a large young man, wearing a drab unisuit, such as might be bought in the cheap emporiums of a thousand worlds. He had a wide coarse-featured face and an air of confident stupidity. He ostentatiously shouldered the old man aside, once he decided it was safe — and then he glared at Ruiz with bovine truculence.
Ruiz laughed silently, then waved again, this time with cheerful enthusiasm. The young man’s mouth sagged open with perplexity, then clamped shut with annoyance.
Ruiz turned away, somewhat reassured by the presence of these other hitchhikers — for such they obviously were. Perhaps they were as thoroughly ignorant as Ruiz of the dangers of their situation — but in any case, their survival was at least a hopeful sign.
He went to the aft end of the observation deck and stared at the rest of the barges, but if they also carried passengers, none were visible.
He felt an unwilling fascination as he looked at the great steel face of the trailing barge. It was a woman with huge heavy-lidded eyes, high sculpted cheekbones, and cascading hair. Her mouth was just a bit too full, as though distended from some internal pressure. The proportion and detail were exquisite, very different in style from the crude exaggeration of the body. The bodies were laughable; this face was compellingly erotic.
He went back down to the lower deck, where Flomel was moaning and showing signs of recovery. Molnekh was bathing away the blood where Ruiz’s fist had split the skin on Flomel’s forehead, and he looked up at Ruiz with a slightly ambiguous expression. “His skull may be cracked, but it doesn’t seem to be broken,” Molnekh said in a tone that neither approved nor censured.
“I don’t care,” Ruiz said flatly. “If he lives, I must make you responsible for his conduct — no one else is sufficiently quick.”
“Yes,” Molnekh said. “Flomel has always had nimble fingers. I’m sorry he lost the weapon, Ruiz Aw.”
“Well, here’s his leash, Molnekh. I’ll seal it to his neck, so. Here is the other end, and the seal. If you must leave him, loop the leash around some object too sturdy to be persuaded, and seal it. Do you understand?”
“I’ll be his keeper, Ruiz Aw.” Molnekh suddenly regained his usual look of expectant cheer.
“Good. Now, there is no more food, but we all still have our water bottles, and empty bellies won’t kill us for a day or two. The main thing is: We’re getting farther away from Corean with every minute, which is better than the best food, in my view.”
Only Molnekh looked momentarily doubtful.
Ruiz told the others of his discoveries and surmises, and directed Molnekh and Dolmaero to wait in the padded pit, where they might make Flomel comfortable, if they wished. He stood up and took Nisa’s hand. “Be alert,” he told the men. “Call out if you see anything strange.”
Nisa giggled and Ruiz followed her gaze to the enormous phallus that thrust the length of the barge. “Well,” he amended. “Anything strange and dangerous.”
“It looks dangerous enough to me,” she said. “What sort of folk worship such odd idols?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I imagine we’ll find out, but not, I hope, until we’re well away from Corean.”
Then he led her up to the observation deck, to a bench at the back, where they sat together in companionable silence until the sun had gone down and the night had arrived.
Chapter 6
With the advent of full darkness, the barge lit up with millions of tiny lights. Beads of soft glowing color clustered thickly along every edge, and dusted every surface of the statues. It occurred to Ruiz that the barges would be a wonderful sight, seen from the canal-side. He wondered if anyone watched.
Nisa nestled into his shoulder. “I can hardly bring myself to believe in this,” she murmured. “And you? Are you sure this isn’t all some fever dream? Or perhaps we’ve fallen into one of those goblin tales that nannies tell to frighten bad children.”
“Do you think so?” he asked.
“Perhaps.”
“If this is a goblin tale, what must we do?”
“I was never bad,” she said, and laughed. “Well, once in a great while. Anyway, the hero always knows exactly what to do; he never bothers to ask the princess he rescues what she thinks he should do.”
Ruiz sighed. “I’m not a very satisfactory hero, then.”
“Oh, no,” she said, and touched his face. “You’re a fine hero.” She raised her mouth to his, kissed him gently. Her lips had a soft clinging quality, like ripe fragrant fruit, sticky with sweetness but somehow electric — his mouth tingled where she had kissed him.