第53节

smoothies like you?"

FA few." Steve tied the black sash round his waist and pulled on his

shoes. They had extra-thick rope soles sewn to heavy-grade cotton

uppers, and laces that fastened round the ankle.

'I'm surprised they let someone like you come here.

They'd have got a much better deal from the sand-burrowers. If they'd

traded you in as a yearling -' Steve cut him off. 'The M'Calls don't

do deals with the sand-burrowers."

'Maybe it's time they started. Were you in that battle last year?

Against the iron-snake?"

'Yes." Steve picked up the waist-bag containing the precious bundle of

pink leaves. 'How come you know about that?"

Deer-Hunter smiled. 'Word travels fast. They say the M'Calls had a

Storm-Bringer whose magic cut the snake in half. Many sand-burrowers

died, but their beast escaped by breathing white fire. It is also said

that Mo-Town drank deep that day."

Steve nodded. 'We'll do better next time." He left the cabin and

headed across to the post-house. He did not want to get into a rerun

of the battle between the clan M'Call and wagon-train known as the

'Lady from Louisiana' - especially when he had been fighting on the

other side.

Within a few minutes, Deer-Hunter and the other

roadrunners joined Steve outside the post-house and stood in a

respectful line with downcast eyes: displaying what Mr Snow, in his

parting lecture, had called 'a little humility'. As a fellow Mute from

the blood-line of the She-Kargo, Deer-Hunter had felt obliged to urge

Steve to tone down the challenging and often contemptuous way he looked

at people. After three years at the Flight Academy, where student

wingmen were constantly urged to think of themselves as the brightest

and the best, and where Steve was convinced he had been top of the

heap, it was not something that came easily.

Responding to a single hammer-stroke on an iron bell, the diminutive

Iron Master in charge of the depot and his two principal clerks

appeared and went through the usual jut-jawed, mean-eyed routine,

swaggering slowly down the line and back up the rear, making sure that

everyone was properly and cleanly attired, and comporting themselves

with the required degree of deference.

Once the inspection and roll-call was completed, the roadrunners were

allowed to sit on a long bench made out of a single sawn log placed on

the veranda next to the post-house door. From there, the roadrunners

were called in four at a time to receive the sealed black satchels of

mail they were to deliver.

Deer-Hunter was in the first quartet. After a short while he emerged

carrying the bulging leather bag on his back. He drew the hooks on the

shoulder straps together, fastening them across his chest, and walked

back to bid farewell to Steve.

'Where are you headed?"

'llti-ka,' said Deer-Hunter. 'Regular run of mine.

Know it like the back of my hand." They slapped palms,

warrior-fashion. 'See you around, blood-brother."

'Maybe. Mind how you go."

Deer-Hunter grinned, then vaulted over the rail of the veranda and ran

off down the road.

Steve was among the third group to be called inside.

Aside from the fact that his job as a roadrunner was bringing him ever

closer to the Heron Pool, being part of the postal service gave him

access to detailed maps of Ne-Issan. Hanging on an inside wall of

every post-house was a large panel bearing a hand-painted map of the

territory served by that particular depot. On the facing wall was

another equally large map of the Iron Masters' world, showing the

domains, the major highways and the network of post-houses. Not only

that, the family names of the domain-lords and the names of places,

mountain ranges and rivers had been carefully recorded in Japanese and

Basic.

Since Mutes had no written language, Steve had been obliged, at the

start of his journey, to pretend he could not read, allowing himself to