Outlanders 37 Rim of the World, page 20
At Kane and Grant's approach, Brigid looked up and asked, "What is the condition of the tracks?"
Grant shrugged. "Looks like some new rails and ties were laid down, but I don't know the standard to judge whether they're train worthy or not."
"They seemed secure," Kane said, "at least for the first mile."
DeFore brushed back a strand of ash-blond hair adhering to her damp cheek. "According to Pakari, every few months Inkula would send out crews to inspect and repair the tracks, as a way to honor Emperor N' gatawana. I still think this is a ridiculous tactic. Even if the old rattletrap 88 works fine, Utu can just blow it to scrap from the air."
"He can," Brigid said, "But he won't. It's in Utu's best interest for Pakari to complete the pilgrimage to the rim of the world...or at least one member of the royal Waziri family."
Kane said musingly, "I guess either Laputara or Pakari will serve his purposes. Utu prefers Laputara to wear the Collar of Prester John, but he'll make do with Pakari."
"She won't take his orders like Laputara," Grant stated positively.
Brigid leaned against the railway car. "Probably not. But whatever is hidden in the vault that Utu is so anxious to recover must be of paramount importance to him."
"He said he was working for the greater good of the superior snake-faces," Kane reminded her.
Brigid shook her head. "I don't think he is, not in this instance. If that were the case, the entire Supreme Council would be slithering around, or Enlil would be here at the very least. I think Utu wants to keep this little foray of his a secret from his council."
DeFore frowned. "What could be in the vault that he wants so badly?"
"Any number of things," Brigid answered. "Maybe this mysterious mirror, or items far more powerful. It's my theory Utu tinkered together a lot of nasty tech over the centuries and he liked to test them out on human subjects."
"That figures," Grant said dourly. "If we take Utu at his word that he was forced to lock his toys away as a condition of the pact with the Danaan, then it's possible the man known as Prester John stumbled onto the vault in historical times."
"I concur," Brigid stated. "Especially if he was a crusader, maybe one of the Knights Templar. He could've learned about Utu's vault through contact with the Priory of Awen. We know their influence was very widespread throughout Europe in the middle ages."
Kane ventured thoughtfully, "And so Prester John came to Africa, found the vault, the collar and the mirror and maybe a whole lot of other fancy trinkets that were passed around and stirred up legends in this part of the world—everything from magic rings to flying carpets."
"And now Utu wants it all back." DeFore cocked her head quizzically. "But why does he need a Waziri noble to wear the collar?"
Brigid smiled crookedly. "I haven't worked that one out yet, but I wouldn't be surprised to learn it has to do with a genetic marker of some sort. Utu can take possession of the collar, but it won't act as key unless the lock recognizes both it and a specific DNA signature."
She paused and added almost apologetically, "Of course, I'm just speculating."
"Most of the time your speculations are closer to reality than the actual truth," Kane responded. "I think you're right that Utu won't interfere with the princess until she opens the vault with the collar. He'll follow at a distance and strike when he feels he has the advantage."
"Maybe," Grant said skeptically. "Utu might not attack the train, but what's to stop Laputara? If Utu only cares about a royal heir completing the pilgrimage, then Laputara and his army of drug addicts could just hijack the train, take the collar and save Utu a lot of sneaking around."
DeFore nibbled at her full underlip, surveying the passenger car. "With the royal retinue on board, there won't be enough room to carry more than a handful of guardsmen. The four of us could defend her, but the risk factor would be high."
"Very high, I'd say," Kane said. "That's why we need the classic standby of the ace-on-the-line. A guardian angel."
The corner of Grant's mouth quirked upward. "An angel in the form of a Manta would pretty much fit the bill, wouldn't it?"
"I volunteer," Kane interposed quickly.
The corner of Grant's mouth turned downward. "Like hell. The score of the last rock-paper-scissors still stands. Brigid, you witnessed it."
He tapped his chest with a thumb. "I'll be the angel."
“In air-conditioned comfort," Kane snapped. "There's no reason why the princess can't have two aces flying on the line."
"Yes, there is," DeFore declared crossly. "You know I'm not very good with guns. Brigid is better but she's no expert." She glanced over at the green-eyed woman. "No offence."
"None taken," Brigid said with a wan smile.
"You can damn well bet Pakari's guardsmen aren't much with firearms, either," the medic continued doggedly. "It's not fair to rely only on Brigid's marksmanship if Laputara attacks."
Kane lifted conciliatory hands. "All right, all right. Why can't we just fly Pakari to the Mountain of the Apes? It would be a hell of a lot faster and easier than chugging across Africa in a three-hundred-year-old train."
"Actually, that's the entire point of the pilgrimage," Brigid said curtly. "To cross the length and breadth of the Waziri nation, for the princess to survey her holdings, to allow her subjects to see her, maybe for the only times in their lives."
She indicated the crocks of sweetmeats on the floor of the passenger carriage and the flower-festooned platform extending from the rear of it. "Princess Pakari will stand there, tossing treats and bestowing benedictions on the people who have gathered to cheer her. It's part of the investiture tradition of the tribe."
Grant shook his head in frustration. "It doesn't sound like one to me. It sounds like something her eccentric old man cooked up because he had too much time on his hands."
"No," said DeFore firmly. "I've spent a little more time with the princess than any of you. The traditional pilgrimage to the rim of the world was made on elephant back, with the royal retinue following on foot. It usually took a week, sometimes more, exposing the heirs to every kind of danger. N'gatawana didn't wish that on his children. He sounded like a good father to me."
Grant's face remained as immobile as if carved from teak. "He raised a psychotic son and spoiled little bitch of a daughter. I'd say his parenting skills needed some tweaking."
DeFore slitted in her eyes in annoyance. "I don't think you're in any position to judge, Grant. It's not like any of us know anything about raising children, right?"
Grant declined to respond. He knew to what she referred. In the baronies, children were a necessity for the continuation of ville society, but only those passing stringent tests were allowed to bear them. Genetics, moral values and social standing were the most important criteria. Generally, a man and a woman were bound together for a term of time stipulated in a contract. Once a child was produced, the contract was voided.
A number of years before, he and a woman named Olivia had submitted a formal mating application. Both of them had entertained high hopes of the application being approved and they managed to convince themselves that it would be. After all, babies still needed to be born, but only the right kind of babies. A faceless council determined that he and Olivia could not produce the type of offspring that made desirable ville citizens.
Once their application was rejected, he and Olivia had drawn attention to themselves. Their relationship became officially unsanctioned and couldn't continue lawfully. In the years since Olivia, he had never given much thought to fathering children. But since pledging himself to Shizuka, he'd started thinking about it a bit more seriously. He wondered if creating a new life might not be a way to balance out the ones he had taken over the years.
Certainly Lakesh had tried his hand at bringing new lives into the world as a way cleanse his soul of his guilt over his involvement in the Totality Concept conspiracies. Kane and Brigid might not have even existed if not for his efforts to clean his conscience by manipulating the in vitro human genetic samples in storage.
Grant scowled at DeFore. "That might be so. But how do we know for sure that Pakari is any more the rightful heir to the throne than Laputara?"
There was sudden clamor of a drum and the deep blaring of a horn in the foliage. The underbrush rustled and disgorged a line of enormously tall, ebony-skinned spearmen. Ostrich plumes floated above the lion-mane headpieces like white clouds. Their bodies were adorned with bracelets, anklets and armlets. The blades of the spears gleamed Silver.
"They're wearing their Sunday best, looks like," Kane commented softly.
"It's an important day," Brigid murmured. "Maybe the most important day in their lives."
The eight guardsmen took up position on either side of the path. A moment later Inkula strode between them, feeling his way with the tapered tip of his staff. Fetishes of ivory, bone, hide and feathers hung from his wattled throat and were intertwined within his beard.
The priest was followed a heartbeat later by Princess Pakari, and at the sight of her, the women and children instantly prostrated themselves, pressing their foreheads against the ground.
The outlanders didn't follow suit, but there was no doubt in their minds that Princess Pakari was the rightful ruler of the Waziri nation.
Chapter 25
Princess Pakari swept up the aisle formed by her guardsman and paused, striking a pose with her right hand on her hip, sunlight gleaming in the satiny highlights of her slender body, sleek thighs and long legs.
A crown of aigrettes nodded above her head, and a jeweled coif in her hair sprouted feathers of many brilliant colors—rose, green and peach. Golden hoops shone in multiple strands around the graceful column of her neck. Bands of pure gold glittered on her wrists, arms and ankles. The gilded tip of the elephant tusk diadem shone with an aureate glow.
Her only garment was a white silken jerkin with a neckline that plunged down between her firm breasts and fell to her upper thighs, girded at the waist by a belt of leopard skin. Pakari gazed about her with a calm, regal dignity that dominated her surroundings. She stood straight and tall and no doubt showed in her lovely face.
The remainder of the royal retinue marched from the foliage, a half-dozen colorfully clad men and women who carried drums and giant horns made of elephant tusks. A teenage girl led a black goat by a leash and it bleated in protest.
The princess nodded to the outlanders, but made a very obvious point of not meeting Grant's gaze. She made an indifferent gesture toward the people bowing to her. "Rise."
As the people did so, Inkula shuffled toward the locomotive, tapping it here and there with the point of his staff, uttering soft grunts of approval or disapproval.
Pakari asked, "Is my conveyance prepared? Will it safely and speedily carry me and my party to the rim of the world?"
Kane arched a quizzical eyebrow. "Why ask us, Your Highness?"
"She is ready," Inkula stated confidently. "She has just told me."
Pakari's lips pursed in a moue that was either the ghost of a smile or the beginnings of a frown. "Will all of you accompany me on the pilgrimage?"
"No," said Grant and he brusquely outlined the plan agreed upon by he and his friends.
Pakari nodded. "Very wise tactics. However, my scouts reported that Laputara's men are moving in on the village. It might be wise, Mr. Grant, to leave now so your 'ace-on-the-line' can be reclaimed."
Brigid glanced toward the locomotive, confusion glinting in her eyes. "Who is going to be at the controls of Old 88?"
"I will be," Inkula replied, probing a swag of yellow blossoms with his staff.
"You?" demanded DeFore in disbelief.
Inkula turned toward her, regarding her with a toothless grin. "The emperor gave me years of instruction in the operation of Old 88. It is my vision that has gone dark, not my memory. However, I will rely on others to act as my eyes."
Grant and Kane exchanged worried glances but they said nothing. Gusting out a sigh, Grant said, "Just when I thought no situation could ever surprise me—"
In the distance came the faint but sharp crackle of automatic-rifle fire. Everyone's heads swiveled in the direction of the village. Inkula was the first to speak, shouting orders and gesticulating with his staff. People scurried to and fro with almost frantic haste. Several men began loading more logs onto the fuel tender.
"It will take about twenty minutes to build up a full head of steam," Pakari said calmly, but worry darkened her eyes. "We may not have that long before Laputara's men reach us here."
Grant moved toward the path, stepping around the princess. "I'll do what I can to buy you some time."
Reaching out, Pakari restrained him with a gentle hand on his arm. "Mr. Grant, do you know why I said you reminded me of N'gatawana?"
"Because of my resemblance to an elephant?"
"No," the girl replied in a voice barely above a whisper. "Because my father was a great warrior."
Grant locked eyes with her, then nodded tersely in appreciative acknowledgement. He set off down the path at a run, slapping brush out of his way. Kane called after him, "Don't forget not to get killed!"
Grant resisted the urge to respond with a shouted profanity. He decided to save his breath for the run. He sprinted through clouds of flying insects humming through the muggy air. Dappled sunlight filtered through the leafy, pungent eucalyptus trees. Scarlet beaked birds cawed at him from the branches. He glimpsed a huge snake slithering lethargically across the path into the brush.
Grant was careful to pace himself, not daring to run flat-out in the oppressive heat. As he neared the edge of the tract, he encountered three seven-foot-tall Waziri warriors dressed in formal tribal attire, with lion-mane headdresses and leopard-skin anklets. They were armed with very long spears tufted with red feathers and they pointed the sharp tips at him.
Grant's Sin Eater slid into his palm, but the guardsmen lowered their weapons. The tallest of the three said in English, "Her highness left us here to guard the path against the prince's soldiers."
"Any sign of them?"
Before they could answer, thunder rumbled in the distance, but Grant knew it wasn't thunder—it was heavy-caliber gunfire. Grant pushed past the guardsmen and sprinted across open ground, up the escarpment and into the village proper. He saw no one, the lanes empty of movement and life. Nothing stirred inside the huts. He guessed the people, the warriors included, had slipped away into the jungle and fields around the village.
Reaching the stockade fence, Grant made a swift visual survey of the veldt and saw figures creeping through the high grasses, moving cautiously and furtively. He clenched his teeth in frustration when he realized that Laputara's troopers were between him and the Mantas. At a quick count, he estimated there were perhaps twenty of them, maybe many more out of sight.
Given half a chance, the troopers would be delighted to capture him and take a very long time putting him to death. Grant knew that if the marauders as much as caught a glimpse of him, he faced either a lingering death or a swift one. He wasn't sure which he preferred.
Then suddenly dark heads rose from the sea of grass, like sharks. They swiftly formed a tightening circle around the contingent of creeping troopers. Grant stopped breathing as almost every point on the veldt disgorged a horde of dark-skinned figures. Their lean ebony bodies gleamed through beads and paint and scraps of animal skin. At first they ran silently, wielding tonga short swords and lances.
They struck the troopers from both flanks, pushing them toward the stockade fence. A resounding roar arose from the ranks of the Waziri guardsmen: "Ulga uwa Pakari! Ulga!"
The first troopers died quickly as the spears sank deep into their entrails and sword blades split their skulls like melons. Screams blended in with the clash of steel on steel. Two of Laputara's soldiers managed to get off shots before they were overwhelmed by a wave of the Waziri warriors.
The blades whirled, rose and fell. At each stroke the swords clove through skulls, sliced through flesh and severed limbs. Knobbed, hardwood kirri's smashed down on heads. Blood sprayed in a scarlet mist, hanging over the veldt like early-morning fog.
The Waziri ran through the grasses, their keen-bladed lances flying, war clubs crushing, short swords stabbing. Autofire crackled and two of the guardsmen went down, vanishing from view. Pakari's soldiers didn't run—they met the invaders with mad cries of "Ulga uwa Pakari!" exploding from their throats. It was the death fight of warriors who contemptuously courted death in order to mete out destruction, a blind, merciless struggle.
Back and forth the battle rolled, blades plunging into flesh, AK-47s hammering from the press of the combatants. More of the Waziri guardsmen crashed to the ground, their bodies stitched through by slugs.
Grant started breathing again and vaulted over the stockade fence, running at an oblique angle for his Manta. He tried to give the killzone a wide berth, not counting on the blood-maddened Waziri to recognize him as an ally. He skirted three corpses sprawled in puddles of gore, only one of them a Waziri.
Suddenly one of Laputara's troopers seemingly materialized out of the ground in front of him. His lips drew back from his teeth in a silent snarl, and he lunged, whipping a tonga in left and right vertical arcs, menacing Grant's head, throat and chest. Grant dodged, ducked, aimed his Sin Eater and squeezed off a single shot.
The man staggered to a halt. His eyes squinted, then widened as they looked at the small hole punched through his left pectoral. His mouth opened as if to ask a question, and a flood of vermilion spilled out.
The trooper fell to his knees then flopped onto his face. Grant leaped over him and continued running but he ran right into the middle of the screaming mass of men locked in hand-to-hand combat surging out over the savannah.
The veldt erupted with gunfire, screams and shouts. Steel-jacketed bullets tore raw, ragged holes in naked brown flesh. Grant was forced to evade, crouch and drop to the ground instead of finding targets. The battle swirled around the outspread wings of the Manta and he knelt, looking for an opening.
