“All you see before you fled troubles in their homelands. Some are outcasts, some criminals, others simply poor. That is why you hear so many dialects, why you see so many different modes of dress. Yingyapin is a refuge for the dispossessed and displaced, for those who have left poverty and disappointment behind.”
“Looks to me like they’ve just exchanged their old disappointments and poverty for new.”
“Do not forget hope, human.”
“What hope?” Hunnar gestured toward the ramshackle buildings. “I see naught but destitution and aimlessness.”
Corfu waxed unexpectedly eloquent. “Sometimes hope is not like a fine hide or a good sword. It is not always what you can hold in the palm of your hand or feel beneath your feet. For all that, in our case it is intangible yet still has weight. Our hope is as real and solid—” and he chuckled at some private joke—“as the ice of Tran-ky-ky. When it is held up before you to marvel at, you will understand. Then you will not be so quick to disparage the judgment of the poor wretches you now see before you. A wise Tran measures his decisions on all the facts.”
“The fact is that we have been kidnapped by pirates,” Hunnar snapped.
“If you choose to join us all of your goods and property will be returned to you,” Corfu replied unexpectedly. “Even unto this grand vessel. Nor will you be harmed in any way. We seek allies, not enemies.” He raised a paw to forestall Hunnar’s instinctive protest.
“I know what you are about to say. It has been said before by those equally as proud and foolish. Wait and see what is offered before you refuse your cooperation.” His tone darkened as he turned to face Ethan.
“As for you and your kind, you cannot join us because we have already joined you.”
Ethan wasn’t given a chance to delve into the meaning of this enigmatic comment. A loading ramp slid from the dock onto the deck of the icerigger. The ramp crew had been forced to improvise, never having had to deal with a ship the size of the Slanderscree. Ethan noted that the cannon-armed skimmer continued to float off to one side. Its crew hadn’t relaxed their vigilance one iota.
Escaping from this place wasn’t going to be easy. And what was all this talk of joining? What was there here to join that could possibly appeal to the likes of Hunnar Redbeard and Elfa Kurdagh-Vlata? Corfu told them they’d find out.
The merchant chivaned down the iced ramp, returned soon with a ragtag, poorly disciplined guard to escort a dozen representatives from the ship into the city.
Yingyapin did not benefit from close inspection. If anything, Hunnar’s and the other Trans’ opinion of it fell a notch. It remained a puzzling, unimpressive collection of falling-down structures cobbled hastily together out of broken, undressed rock. The least building in Wannome would have seemed a masterpiece of the mason’s art compared to any edifice in Yingyapin. Only the squat, ugly pile at the southern end of town looked like it could survive a strong wind. Corfu called it the palace.
Only half a dozen Tran guarded the visitors, but each was armed with a hand beamer. They were slightly better clad than their urban compatriots and they handled the advanced weapons as though they knew exactly how to use them. September was certain they hadn’t merely acquired a few minutes casual instruction in their use. They’d been drilled. Any attempt to overpower them and take their weapons would have been suicidal. Far too soon to give thought to such extremes.
Even the renegade former Resident Commissioner, Jobius Trell, whose plans had depended so much on his Arsudinian allies, hadn’t trusted his native friends with advanced weapons. Clearly someone hereabouts felt differently.
A pair of tall Tran hefting traditional weapons flanked the nondescript entrance to the palace. The lack of a heavy guard was itself instructive. They were marched through the dingy, badly lit structure until they emerged into a larger chamber only slightly better illuminated than the hallway they’d employed to reach it. The decor was unimpressive and reflective of the general poverty of the community—with one notable exception.
Suspended from the ceiling two thirds of the way down the room was a meter-wide, self-powered lighting fixture. It might have been transposed straight from a modest auditorium on a far-distant Earth. Its presence in that crumbling bastion of barbarian penury was as unexpected as a conservationist’s triody in a hunter’s igloo.
Seated on a throne hammered together out of scrap sheet metal was a twisted little Tran whom Ethan first took for a juvenile but who on closer inspection was revealed to be only an extremely short adult.
“All bow,” Corfu grandly declared, “in the presence of Massul fel-Stuovic, first emperor of all Tran-ky-ky!”
IX
ETHAN DIDN’T KNOW WHETHER their guards would have shot Hunnar, Elfa, or any of the other Tran in the visiting party for laughing, but all of them somehow managed to restrain their instinctive reaction to this astonishing pronouncement. Even the acerbic and combative Seesfar restricted herself to a single sharp bark of amusement.
By the look of him Massul fel-Stuovic wasn’t emperor of anything. Any one of them, including the ladies of the group, could have beaten him up without strain.
Corfu frowned and lifted the muzzle of his own beamer. “All will bow.”
September shrugged indifferently. “What the hell. It’s only a gesture. Not much point in getting shot over a gesture.” He bent from the waist. Ethan and Milliken mimicked the movement.
Their Tran companions were not as ready to comply. Corfu aimed his beamer between Hunnar’s legs and scorched the floor with a single shot. Hunnar’s expression tightened, but he held his ground. The merchant was about to fire again when the diminutive ruler tiredly waved a paw.
“It doesn’t matter, Corfu. Leave it be. What good to kill a potential convert?”
Corfu’s gaze narrowed as he stared at Hunnar Redbeard. “Not this one, I think. Too stubborn to save himself.”
“Stubbornness can give way to fanaticism, and if channeled, that can be useful.” Massul waved a second time.
The merchant hesitated, his eyes locked with Hunnar’s. Then he shrugged as if it were of no consequence and re-holstered his weapon. “As you command, my lord.”
“There are no emperors on Tran-ky-ky.” Elfa didn’t request permission to speak. “There never have been and never will there be.”
“Never is a long time, female.”
“Besides, we’ve already unified four major city-states and are preparing to accommodate more in a union of our own making. We have no need of would-be emperors.”
“A union, you say? Good news, if true. It makes our own work that much easier.” The emperor appeared no more distressed by this news of a competing planet-wide government than had Corfu. On the contrary, it was a development he seemed to welcome.
“Just what is your ‘work’?” Ethan asked him.
Massul studied him out of small, sharp eyes: “Curious, you humans. Always asking questions. When you’re not giving orders.”
Suaxus-dal-Jagger was craning his neck to examine the hall with exaggerated interest. “Where are the banners, the insignia of family? What kind of court is this?”
“A new kind,” the emperor informed him. “One based on achievement instead of nobility. I do not count myself the product of an ancient line. I merely have been fortunate enough to be in the right place at the right time. As have many of us.” He gestured casually in Corfu’s direction. The merchant acknowledged the gesture with a nod. Even here, in the castle’s inner sanctum, the wind penetrated sufficiently to ruffle the fur and dan of the visiting Tran.