Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [557]
All he needed was cash or a letter of credit.
There were friends of his father’s at hand, some men of influence in the town’s affairs. He hesitated, and eventually chose a simple man called Hernisarath, who ran a farm and a hostel for pilgrims on the edge of town. Hernisarath welcomed Shokerandit in, immediately supplied a letter of credit for the agent, and insisted that Shokerandit join him and his wife for a midday meal.
He embraced Shokerandit on the doorstep when it was time to take leave.
‘You’re a good and innocent young man, Luterin, and I’m happy to help. Every day as Weyr-Winter approaches, farming becomes more difficult. But let’s hope we shall meet again.’
His wife said, ‘It’s so nice to meet a young man with good manners. Our respects to your father.’
Shokerandit glowed as he left them, pleased to have made a good impression; whereas Harbin was probably drunk by now. But why did Hernisarath call him ‘innocent’?
Snow began to fall from the heights, whirling as it came, like fine white sugar dissolving in a stirred glass of water. It thickened, muffling the sound of his boots on the cobbles. The streets cleared of people. Long grey shadows sprouted penumbras, dark for Freyr, lighter for Batalix, until the cloud extended over the bay and enveloped all Rivenjk in murk.
Shokerandit halted suddenly behind a rajabaral.
Another man came on from behind, clutching his collar to his throat. He walked past the tree, glanced back, shuffled his feet, and hurried into a side street. Shokerandit saw with some amusement that it was called Perspicacity Alley.
With uncharacteristic forethought, he had not told his fellow travellers that on the head of the Hero guarding entry to Rivenjk harbour was a heliograph signalling station. Warning of the deserters aboard the New Season could have reached the port long before the brig docked …
He returned to Odo’s house by as devious a route as he could contrive. By then, the worst of the snow shower was over.
‘How fortunate that you arrive in time,’ Odo said, as Shokerandit entered the door. ‘My brother and I and the rest of the family are about to go to church to give thanks for the New Season’s survival. You will come along, please?’
‘Oh … yes, of course. A private ceremony?’
‘Absolutely private. Only the priest and the family.’
Shokerandit looked at Odim, who nodded encouragingly. ‘You are about to embark on another journey, Luterin. We who have known each other such a short while must part. The ceremony seems appropriate, even if you don’t believe in prayer.’
‘I will see if Fashnalgid will come too.’
He hastened up the winding wooden stair to the room Odo had lent them. Toress Lahl was there, lying under her skins on his bed.
‘You’re meant to be working, not lying about,’ he said. ‘You’re not still mourning your husband? Where’s the captain?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Find him, will you? He’ll be drinking somewhere.’
He ran back downstairs. As soon as he was gone, Fashnalgid climbed out from under his bed and laughed. Toress Lahl refused to smile.
‘I want food, not prayer,’ he said, peering cautiously out of the window. ‘And that drink your friend mentioned would be welcome …’
The Odim clan was gathering in the courtyard, where slaves were still meddling inefficiently with long rods, climbing in and out of the biogas inspection pit despite the sleet in the air. The place was filled with excited talk.
Shokerandit appeared. Some of the ladies who had been on the New Season ran up and embraced him, in a manner more reminiscent of Kuj-Juvec than of the rest of Sibornal. Shokerandit no longer contrasted such free behaviour with his own formal upbringing.
‘Oh, this is such a good place, this Rivenjk,’ said one well-wrapped grand-aunt, taking his arm. ‘There are many fine buildings, and much statuary. I shall be happy here, and mean to set up a press to print poetry. Do you think your countrymen like poetry?’
But before Shokerandit could reply, the lady had turned in the other direction to grasp Eedap