your health problems! We have a life expectancy second to none!’
She watched him with that waiting feral gaze, and then said, ‘Where then are your cities?’
And he had no answer.
They moved on through the morning, their inland path beginning to curve south toward a river ford Katrin knew of. The hang-glider was becoming a burden. When the sun was high, they reached the top of a hill and paused to rest. Mike wiped the sweat off his forehead.
‘I’m missing that packhorse,’ he said. He slowly got his breath back after the last effort up the hill. He had argued about the need to go to a hilltop to rest, but Katrin had insisted. She would not rest if she had no clear view of the surrounding countryside.
Now they rested just below the crest of the hill. Again, this was on Katrin’s insistence. She was always telling Mike not to get ‘skylined’, silhouetted against the sky.
‘We could really use a four-wheel drive,’ Mike said.
She looked at him in question.
‘A machine. It has four wheels and runs along the ground.’
She nodded, understanding. ‘A toy.’
‘Well . . . not exactly.’ Then he grinned, thinking of his father’s off-road vehicle. ‘Sometimes. But farmers use them as well.’
Now she really understood. ‘A cart.’
‘Yes, but they have. . . had no horses. They ran by themselves.’
‘Loco-motif.’
Mike was rocked. It was the last thing he expected her to say. ‘What do you know about locomotives?’
She pointed south. ‘In Vickharn, where people are slaves and have a king, they have a machine that moves on steel rails and makes smoke and noise.’
‘Do they indeed?’ Mike filed the information for future use. There was a higher technology here. There may be a better life here somewhere than the kill-or-be-killed Clan system.
‘Slave people,’ Katrin said contemptuously, and scanned the countryside. Then, ‘We should steal a horse,’ she said.
‘Steal? We couldn’t buy one?’
‘Buy? You mean, use money?’
He could tell from the way she used the word. She said it like an obscenity. ‘Don’t tell me,’ Mike said, ‘only slaves use money. Right?’
‘Free people barter or steal,’ she said. ‘We have nothing to barter for a horse. So we should steal one.’
‘What exactly do they do to horse thieves in these parts?’ Mike asked, suspecting that he already knew the answer to his question.
She made a throat-slicing gesture, then laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.
He had been right. He had already known the answer. He felt sick and contemplated making a run for the Vickharn border. Maybe he could volunteer to become a slave in a society where they at least had steam trains. Then he contemplated lions, leopards, chagwars and Night Huntsmen and decided to stay with Katrin. He felt he stood a better chance of staying alive that way.
As it turned out, they reached the river before finding a horse to steal.
The river was a broad brown stream, spreading in its channel. They lay in cover, looking at it. He could see where the ford was. There was a sandbar across the river, just underwater. He could tell where it was by the ripples on the river’s surface.
There was, as far as he could see, only one problem. The problem was that the ford was guarded on both sides by large men in fur suits and steel helmets. The men shared with the Clan Murray a weapon fetish. They were hung with them.
Mike and Katrin lay in the grass, watching the men. ‘River Yobbies,’ she muttered.
Either end of the ford, the River Yobbies had set up a camp.
‘They’re in breach of the Covenant!’ she hissed. ‘You may not set up toll gates on a river ford!’
‘Do you want to be the one to tell them that?’
‘They can do it only because of the Sickness,’ she said. Her eyes had narrowed. When she was angry, she reminded Mike of nothing so much as his family’s Siamese cat. He would not have been surprised if Katrin had extended claws from the tips of her fingers and
She watched him with that waiting feral gaze, and then said, ‘Where then are your cities?’
And he had no answer.
They moved on through the morning, their inland path beginning to curve south toward a river ford Katrin knew of. The hang-glider was becoming a burden. When the sun was high, they reached the top of a hill and paused to rest. Mike wiped the sweat off his forehead.
‘I’m missing that packhorse,’ he said. He slowly got his breath back after the last effort up the hill. He had argued about the need to go to a hilltop to rest, but Katrin had insisted. She would not rest if she had no clear view of the surrounding countryside.
Now they rested just below the crest of the hill. Again, this was on Katrin’s insistence. She was always telling Mike not to get ‘skylined’, silhouetted against the sky.
‘We could really use a four-wheel drive,’ Mike said.
She looked at him in question.
‘A machine. It has four wheels and runs along the ground.’
She nodded, understanding. ‘A toy.’
‘Well . . . not exactly.’ Then he grinned, thinking of his father’s off-road vehicle. ‘Sometimes. But farmers use them as well.’
Now she really understood. ‘A cart.’
‘Yes, but they have. . . had no horses. They ran by themselves.’
‘Loco-motif.’
Mike was rocked. It was the last thing he expected her to say. ‘What do you know about locomotives?’
She pointed south. ‘In Vickharn, where people are slaves and have a king, they have a machine that moves on steel rails and makes smoke and noise.’
‘Do they indeed?’ Mike filed the information for future use. There was a higher technology here. There may be a better life here somewhere than the kill-or-be-killed Clan system.
‘Slave people,’ Katrin said contemptuously, and scanned the countryside. Then, ‘We should steal a horse,’ she said.
‘Steal? We couldn’t buy one?’
‘Buy? You mean, use money?’
He could tell from the way she used the word. She said it like an obscenity. ‘Don’t tell me,’ Mike said, ‘only slaves use money. Right?’
‘Free people barter or steal,’ she said. ‘We have nothing to barter for a horse. So we should steal one.’
‘What exactly do they do to horse thieves in these parts?’ Mike asked, suspecting that he already knew the answer to his question.
She made a throat-slicing gesture, then laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.
He had been right. He had already known the answer. He felt sick and contemplated making a run for the Vickharn border. Maybe he could volunteer to become a slave in a society where they at least had steam trains. Then he contemplated lions, leopards, chagwars and Night Huntsmen and decided to stay with Katrin. He felt he stood a better chance of staying alive that way.
As it turned out, they reached the river before finding a horse to steal.
The river was a broad brown stream, spreading in its channel. They lay in cover, looking at it. He could see where the ford was. There was a sandbar across the river, just underwater. He could tell where it was by the ripples on the river’s surface.
There was, as far as he could see, only one problem. The problem was that the ford was guarded on both sides by large men in fur suits and steel helmets. The men shared with the Clan Murray a weapon fetish. They were hung with them.
Mike and Katrin lay in the grass, watching the men. ‘River Yobbies,’ she muttered.
Either end of the ford, the River Yobbies had set up a camp.
‘They’re in breach of the Covenant!’ she hissed. ‘You may not set up toll gates on a river ford!’
‘Do you want to be the one to tell them that?’
‘They can do it only because of the Sickness,’ she said. Her eyes had narrowed. When she was angry, she reminded Mike of nothing so much as his family’s Siamese cat. He would not have been surprised if Katrin had extended claws from the tips of her fingers and
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