The Illyrian Adventure Page 4

  Delighted though I was to have them with us, I remarked to Vesper that they did not appear well disciplined or very smartly turned out.

  "Their captain's no better," observed Vesper, glancing: at the officer who wore his peaked cap cocked raffishly over half his face. "I think he put on someone else's uniform by mistake. It's a couple sizes too small."

  The Zentan troopers whooped and hallooed as they drove along the string of horses they had captured. When we halted to rest, they slouched about, congratulating each other on their achievement and taking no precautions whatever against a possible ambush by lurking Illyrians.

  They stayed with us the next day and night. We slept in the carriage, uncomfortably but safely. The following dawn, one of their scouts reported seeing Illyrians in the woodlands. Forgetting their escort duties, they all went galloping off, whooping happily, leaving us to our own devices.

  By then, we were close to Vitora. Nilo assured us we would have no further trouble. Soon after, he ran the carriage into a ditch. It required all our efforts and much of the afternoon to get it out.

  What with Nilo's shortcuts, the Zentan cavalry, and the state of the roads, our journey, which I had calculated would be four days at most, took longer than a week. Mid-morning of our last day, we finally reached Vitora, a drab little town. As the administrative center for the region, it was dominated by the Zentan presence. The largest buildings were the field constabulary barracks, the military headquarters, and the jail.

  Leaving Nilo guarding our coach and baggage, we reported as instructed to Colonel Zalik, the local bimbashi. Commander of the military district, he was also head of the constabulary and first magistrate.

  "Dogcatcher, too, I shouldn't wonder," muttered Vesper.

  This Colonel Zalik turned out to be a personage of weight, not only administratively but also in the corporeal sense. His massive chest strained the buttons of his tunic. His head had been shaved to the scalp, making it debatable where his face began and ended.

  As we introduced ourselves, the bimbashi made a vague attempt to get up from his chair, and an even vaguer attempt at a bow.

  "Your arrival, hahnoom, takes me by surprise. We are not used to visitors. You, indeed, are the first." Zalik settled back to eye Vesper's costume with interest if not with approval. "How may I be of service?"

  "We'd like to pick up our finnan and our equipment," Vesper said. "They both should have come by now."

  "Hahnoom," Zalik answered, frowning, "you have me at a disadvantage. I understand nothing of this."

  "It's all been arranged," Vesper said. "You must have had a message from the palace."

  "I have received no instructions whatever." Zalik shook his head. "Until I do—forgive me, hahnoom, but I cannot permit you to continue."

  "What do you mean, can't permit us?” retoned Vesper. "We've already been permitted."

  "Without authorization, without an acceptable document, my duty compels me. No explorations, no expeditions can be allowed. Such are the regulations. As a humble servant of our king, I must follow them."

  "I'll send King Osman a letter. Right now," Vesper declared. "He'll straighten this out."

  "It will be my pleasure to assist you in any way I can, within the limits of the law." Colonel Zalik offered Vesper a sheet of paper and a pen. While she wrote a message to Osman, the bimbashi also jotted some notes. He clapped his hands to summon his orderly, giving over Vesper's message and his own memorandum with instructions to dispatch them instantly by the fastest rider.

  "Regarding your equipment," Zalik said. "I can inform you that nothing of such nature has arrived. When it does, I shall be happy to advise you."

  "Until then," said Vesper, "I expect your regulations will let us go where we please. We do have travel permits."

  "Legally, hahnoom, you are free to go where you wish. I repeat, legally. However, I would fail in my duty if I did not warn you against doing so.

  "There has been an increase in rebel activity, brigandage, banditry. Most recently, I am informed, one of my cavalry units was ambushed and attacked, horses and weapons stolen, my men stripped and tied to trees. Had a loyal Zentan not chanced by, they would be there still. I should not wish a similar fate upon you, hahnoom. "

  At that, Zalik dismissed us with added apologies and regrets. Neither did much to satisfy Vesper.

  We found Nilo in the street, sitting forlornly on our pile of luggage.

  Vesper glanced around. "Where's our carriage?"

  "The police have just come and taken it away." Nilo spread his hands and shrugged. "What could I do? One dragoman against Zentan officers? Lincilla, we can go no further."

  CHAPTER 7

  "I'll have a word with Colonel Zalik." Vesper turned on her heel and marched back into the headquaners.

  "The Lincilla is bold, effendi." Nilo gazed after her. "We have a proverb: Brave heart and fair face can walk through the bramblebush without a scratch."

  Vesper soon rejoined us. From her expression, the bramblebush had not been cooperative.

  "Zalik himself ordered our coach impounded. He must have done it while I was writing my letter. He claimed our papers only applied to us and didn't include a vehicle."

  "Nothing more is possible, then." Nilo sighed ruefully. "We cannot go against a Zentan's command."

  "I won't go against it," said Vesper. "I'll go around it."

  She whistled through her teeth at the driver of a passing wagon and strode over to bargain with him about taking us the remaining miles to Alba-Collia. The man nodded and beckoned to us.

  However, before Nilo could shoulder our baggage, two police officers hurried up. They had, apparently, been observing Vesper from across the street. They spoke briefly to the wagoner, who hastily slapped the reins and rattled away with all speed.

  "They told the driver he'd be arrested if he carried us anywhere," said Vesper. "Also by order of Colonel Zalik. What's more, they said there's a law against loitering in the street."

  The police officers had sauntered back to the comer, where they stood watching our every move.

  "Pick up the baggage," said Vesper. "I don't think there's a law against using our legs."

  We limped into Alba-Collia under a maliciously blazing sun. The place turned out to be little more than an up-country hamlet: an unpaved central square, clusters of timbered dwellings, a smithy, and the ever-present kaffenion, with chairs and tables set out in the middle of the walkway so passersby had to edge around or through them. A handful of oldsters sunned themselves, played chess or dominoes, which seemed the extent of local activity. Beyond, the Petrosias towered in great crags.

  Nilo found rooms for us on the second floor of the kaffenion. That is, he found us something like broom closets. Except for the occasional horse trader or grain dealer, Alba-Collia was hardly a magnet for visitors and offered scant provision for them. I could not imagine why Holly had been interested in it. I said as much to Vesper.

  "That's why we're here," she answered. "To find out."

  I begged leave to rest. While Vesper and Nilo went off to look around the village, I cooled my feet in a bucket of water—the nearest approach to a bathtub the landlord had available. I napped until late afternoon on a mattress as craggy as the Petrosias.

  Vesper had not yet returned, so I ventured downstairs for a cup of the hair-raising Illyrian coffee. My glance happened to fall on a group of young men playing cards at one of the tables.

  It took a few moments for me to realize that, in fact, they were not playing cards, neither laying down nor picking up, but merely holding them. Their attention centered, rather, on a big, broad-shouldered fellow, leaning his face in his hand and talking intently to his tablemates.

  Something about him struck me as familiar. I racked my memory without result. Finally, I decided I was mistaken. I went back to my coffee. A little later, glancing up again, I noticed the chairs were empty, the cards abandoned
.

  Vesper arrived just then, sighted me, and hurried to my table.

  "Nilo's gone to see if he can get some equipment for us. There's no telling when ours will turn up. I won't hold my breath waiting for it."

  I suddenly remembered. The man talking to the card players—I had seen him days before; he had been with a young woman. Did Vesper recall them?

  "Milan and Silvia," said Vesper.

  Exactly so. I told her that Milan had chosen to favor Alba-Collia with his presence.

  "Are you sure.-*" Vesper raised an eyebrow. "He's a long way from that village where we met him. I expect Nilo will be glad to see him."

  Master Nilo, I suggested, would do better to earn his keep than hang around with his cronies.

  "Don't worry about that," said Vesper. "None of us will do much hanging around. As soon as Nilo finds some good horses, we'll ride upland. Nilo says the villagers believe the mountains are haunted by the ghosts of Vartan's fallen warriors.

  "He tells me Vartan fought his last battle right here. Most everything in the countryside is named after him. The Silvana Forest is Vartan's Woods, Lake Lara is Vartan's Well."

  Interesting, I agreed, but I pointed out that none of this gave us any clue to the magical army.

  "Not yet," said Vesper, "but it's a place to stay."

  Nilo, meantime, had drifted into the kaffenion and slouched, uninvited, into a chair beside Vesper.

  "I have spoken with Matrona Mira," he announced. "She will see you as soon as she is able."

  "She's the village herb woman," explained Vesper. "The nearest thing to a doctor between here and Vitora,"

  Alarmed, I asked if Vesper was ailing.

  "It's not for medicine. For stories. Matrona Mira's the village storyteller, too. I want to talk to her about the II-lyriad. She must know those tales, and she might help us."

  Vesper broke off then. A band of boys and girls had come into the square. Their arrival stirred great interest among the kaffenion patrons, who cheered and waved as the youngsters pranced by.

  They were, indeed, kicking up their heels like colts, all very high-spirited. Prancing and curvetting along with them was a white horse.

  Vesper, charmed by the sight, clapped her hands and showed as much enthusiasm as the villagers.

  "Vartan's horse," Nilo explained. "It is an old custom.

  A horse must be always ready and waiting for him when he returns. Each year, the finest animal is chosen. They will soon hold the festival."

  "What festival?" Vesper asked.

  "It is only a small village celebration, of no importance." Nilo shrugged. "A little bonfire, a little dancing."

  "That must be it." Vesper's face lit up. "Brinnie, don't you remember? My father wrote about a horse festival. You thought it was a livestock fair." She turned to Nilo. "Lucky we got here in time. We'll have to see it."

  "Ah, well, Linalla, that is not possible." Nilo hemmed and hawed, uncomfortable and apologetic.

  "Of course it is," Vesper said. "We're here, aren't we? And so's the festival."

  "It is only for the villagers, Lincilla, not outsiders. Faren-kis —no. They would be unwelcome. I am sorry. You must stay away from it."

  "Nonsense," said Vesper. "We won't bother anyone."

  "You must not go," Nilo said abruptly. "Lincilla, promise you will not."

  "Don't worry." Vesper smiled. "I understand."

  Nilo looked relieved. But I also understood. Vesper had not promised anything at all.

  As was to be expected, Nilo had done absolutely nothing about finding new gear for us. I took that duty on myself and managed to lay hands on some ropes, candles, sheets of canvas, and other items I thought would be most useful. It was sundown by the time I finished shopping and returned to the kaffenton. The patrons had gone indoors. From halfway down the street, I could hear a strange commotion.

  I hurried inside to see a good number of villagers crowded around a table. A chair had been set up on top of it. On the chair perched Vesper.

  "Look what I found," she called, holding up a domhra. "An Illyrian banjo!"

  At that, she started plunking happily away with the villagers' wholehearted encouragement. I would have preferred seeing Vesper behave with a little more decorum, but the dear girl was so thoroughly enjoying the occasion that I did not wish to interfere.

  I squeezed onto a bench while Vesper favored the company with several American airs, which the Illyrians thought were marvelous, clapping and stamping after each one.

  Then, to my astonishment, Nilo scrambled up and took her place. He gave voice to a few songs, mainly about turtledoves and fountains. He was surprisingly good. In addition to old Illyrian proverbs, playing the domhra counted among his only discernible talents. Then a villager replaced him, and it was turn and turn about, with good-natured boisterousness and, occasionally, broken crockery.

  The songs were sometimes rousing and sometimes melancholy, and seemed to have fifty verses each. After a while, I began yawning and stole off to my broom closet.

  The merrymakers finally tired. I dropped into a sound sleep—until a ferocious knocking jolted me out of my cot. Vesper was calling me. I heard the landlord add his urgent voice.

  I flung open the door, to be faced with a pair of Zentan police officers.

  CHAPTER 8

  "Zalik's orders again." Vesper elbowed past the officers. The landlord was making swimming motions of distress. "They'll shut down the kaffenion if we're allowed to stay."

  The landlord stammered apologies. His livelihood was at stake, he begged us to leave immediately. Nilo, lurking in the background, edged forward.

  "Lincilla, come with me," he whispered. "I shall see to everything."

  The officers stood by as we packed and kept a hard eye on us until we were in the street, bag and baggage—by now a familiar condition. It was barely dawn. Colonel Zalik, I remarked, had a curious way of looking after us.

  "That blubberous lump." Vesper snorted. "He's out to get us. So far, he's done pretty well."

  I did not see why Colonel Zalik would have any personal interest in making our lives miserable.

  "Neither do I," said Vesper. "That bothers me. What's he up to?"

  We trudged along in the half-light, following Nilo. Vesper continued chewing over possible reasons for Zalik's determination to make nomads of us.

  "Regulations, doing his duty, protecting us—that's hog-wash," said Vesper. "We're in his backyard, and he wants us out."

  It did seem to be the case. I was confident, however, that King Osman would soon set matters right. We had, by now, plodded our way to the village outskirts. Nilo halted at some ramshackle farm buildings. Whether he knew the owner or was simply making free with other people's property, I felt too sleepy to care. He conducted us to a barn and stables, and lodged us in vacant stalls.

  "No one will trouble you here," he said. "When the wolf howls, the lambs hide."

  Nilo went off then. I settled down as comfortably as I could. From the aroma, I suspected my quarters harbored goats, a suspicion confirmed when several of the creatures wandered in and made themselves at home.

  Vesper soon came into my stall. Instead of catching up on her sleep, she had explored the barn. She carried a bundle of clothing.

  "There's a lot of these hidden under the straw." She held up a garment.

  It was a Zentan cavalry uniform.

  "What do you make of it, Brinnie?"

  I replied that I made it none of our business. I strongly suggested putting the thing immediately back where she found it.

  Before she could do so, Nilo returned with a pile of blankets. Vesper showed him her discovery. Nilo examined it, frowning uneasily.

  "Lincilla, I think you must forget you ever found this. Illyrians have their ways of dealing with Zentans. It will be wiser for all of us to ask no questions."

  He threw aside the uniform as i
f it might attack him, and produced a flask of goat's milk and some chunks of black bread. Vesper, as usual, was ravenous. She munched away, then stopped suddenly between bites.

  "Nilo—I meant to tell you. Brinnie saw Milan."

  "Here? Milan is in Alba-Collia?"

  The news seemed to impress him. He asked me for more details, but I could tell him nothing beyond my brief glimpse in the kaffenion.

  "You didn't know he was coming here?" asked Vesper.

  Nilo shook his head. "Milan—we do not ask where he goes or what he does."

  He left us to ourselves then, after reminding Vesper to forget about the uniforms.

  She chose to ignore his advice. "I remember Zalik said something about his men being attacked and having their uniforms taken. I'm trying to work out exactly when that happened."

  I did not see what difference it made.

  "It could make a very interesting difference," replied Vesper. "Those troopers who escorted us said they'd fought a band of rebels, didn't they.'*"

  Yes, I said, we had seen them galloping through the town and had run into them soon after the battle. They had left us near Vitora to go after another rebel band. The

  Illyrians must have turned the tables on them, taken their clothes, and tied them to trees.

  "There's another way to look at it," said Vesper. "Suppose—just suppose the troopers had their uniforms taken before we met them. All we know is what they told us. They said they'd won. What if they'd lost?"

  Had that been the case, I answered, they could not have been riding with us.

  "True," said Vesper. "If they really were Zentans."

  "Dear girl," I said, "they spoke Zentan, they frightened the wits out of Nilo— What else could they have been?"

  "Illyrians. Rebels in disguise."

  That, I said, was extremely unlikely. If they were Illyrian rebels, why would they have gone to the trouble of escorting us?

  Vesper shrugged. "I don't know. I just wondered about it."

  She said no more and went to put back the uniform. I pulled the blanket over my head and enjoyed a morning nap under the watchful eyes of the goats.