The Narrator by Michael Cisco Read Free Book Online

won’t listen, and things will be worse for you then. He’ll think you’re shirking.”
    “Do you know where we are going?” Surprising I haven’t thought to ask this earlier.
    “Meqhasset,” he says, and his eyes light up strangely. “You know Meqhasset?”
    I shake my head no.
    “It’s an island. We’re going to Port Conget; there’s a boat there we will take to Meqhasset.”
    “Is it very far?”
    “Not visible from mainland, but not far.”
    “There are Yeseg on the islands?”
    “Not yet, but Meqhasset—you don’t know?”
    Again I shake my head.
    “Well, it’s complicated. Meqhasset is federated with other islands. They’re all independent internally but they are all supposed to cooperate for each other’s defense, and they mount strong defenses, particularly their navy. Meqhasset is very strategically placed because it’s so close to land; from Meqhasset you can really have coastal control here, or pile up troops there to bring anywhere here. Now, lately business there is bad, money’s gone and so, when either we or Wacagan men cross into their waters, other islands’ navy don’t come around. With no money, there’s no help from anyone else, so now Meqhasset is vulnerable, and we race to see who gets there first. That’s why Makemin is so frantic to move.”
    “I thought we were fighting to put down a Yeseg rebellion or something.”
    Silichieh smiles. “No, no. It’s Wacagan versus Alaks again, as always. Wacagan are backing Tewsetonta, who’s King of Yesegs, and encourage him to break with Alak Emperor, so now Emperor is behind Tewsetonta’s brother Tewsetonka to take his place. Alaks and Wacagan fight through them. Taking Meqhasset is Tewsetonta’s idea, and now we are supposed to head them off before they can get it.”
    He looks past me.
    “There he is.”
    The camp is bordered on the town side by a few long low buildings, and from between them a group is emerging not far from us. I see a man talking agitatedly with a few others, starting and stopping, and they are nodding and making brief comments. Makemin is beside himself. He talks, gesticulating vehemently, his face drawn. Suddenly his whole body snaps and his fist staves in the side of a crate. He storms across the camp, his knuckles dripping blood into the dust. I take him in as he passes. His cropped hair and his skin are the same color and that makes his scalp look splintered. Drab tan uniform with something like a split skirt hanging from under the tunic, over his trousers, short boots and gaiters, cross-chest strap to his belt and a large buttoned holster. Medium sized and solid man, boiling with fury, and nearly all one color, clothes and person. He looks like a lot of light brown dust just congealed itself around his eyes. I’ve never seen more rage in one face.
    Makemin storms by and disappears into his tent, the one Silichieh kept pointing to, with a furious dashing aside of the flap door. I glance at Silichieh and he makes an expressive face, what’s the use?
    “He’s no jolly good fellow.”
    He tells me to try again in a few days. If anything comes up, there will surely be an announcement.
    “Well, he’s been getting divorced for months now, and she’s not just divorcing him, but there’s this lawsuit about some property or some land. That case is separate but related. So he spends every free minute he gets in there, writing letters and filling out forms or something. He can’t possibly have wanted this assignment, and I don’t know what he did to get stuck with it but it must have been pretty bad or pretty stupid. And now he has to deal with half his soldiers deserting, and no more can be spared, and so on, and they won’t let him leave. It’s all pretty bad shape.”
    “Did an Edek see you, too?”
    “An Edek? No! Did one see you?”
    I nod ruefully.
    He runs his hand over the top of his head, then drops it into his lap and sniffs thoughtfully at the air.
    “Why do you stay?” I ask.
    He looks