Trekmaster. James B. Johnson

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      “Humpf.” muttered TJ. Manny Vero said that? Unlike him. He didn’t want to admit, thinking about it, that Manny was right. Nora drained more pus and dabbed at the wound with another swab. “Alfred, find out who made those ‘formal’ boots and double their business taxes.” He knew Alfred would ignore the comment. “Opinions,” he demanded. “Who should be the prime suspect. Manny?”

      “The nobility, Sire.” TJ knew Vero didn’t like the nobility since his family had suffered at their hands in the past.

      “Alfred?”

      “The same, Sire. Most likely candidates. Money, motive, position, ability to do it, but....”

      “But what?” TJ knew all were skirting the other possibilities. Nobody wanted to come right out and accuse the Church of complicity in attempted murder of the monarch.

      The herald hesitated. “There are other groups who are not enamored of your rule. Geographically removed people whom you subjugated during the Consolidation wars. Disenchanted groups that have allegedly suffered from your rule, such as lawyers, some educators, traders in human flesh, people whose friends and relatives died as a result of your commands.”

      TJ thought that Alfred was excessively diplomatic today. He’d said everything but “the priesthood.” “Don’t mealy-mouth, Hark,” he told the herald. “Say what you think.”

      “Certainly, Sire,” the herald smiled. “There is a relatively new ‘interest’ group about nowadays. Young people. What with the emphasis on education, they are now thrown together, and since they are not out earning a living, they have time. Along with the time, they have some new-found freedoms. They are groping at this time, but have the possibility of organizing.”

      “That’s obvious, Alfred. I knew that. Why do you bring it up now?” Nora was applying ointment to his heel and he felt the immediate soothing relief. Gently, she began wrapping a light bandage around his foot.

      “Frankly, Sire, it’s gone further than I intimated. This boy, Kellen Sing....”

      “The thumb drummer?”

      “Yes, Sire. He is slowly making a name for himself. His music gives him crowds. The crowds give him an audience. Other students are beginning to gather around his banner.”

      “You talking about the kid that I rewarded for that fine performance in court?”

      “Yes, Sire.”

      “Well, I’ll be damned.”

      Nora slipped a sock over his foot. “Wear this instead of your boots for a day or two. Do I need to tell you the other instructions?”

      “No. Thank you, Nora. I’ll stay off my feet.” She nodded and left as he glared up at Vero and Alfred. “And when I’m well, I shall go and find who is trying to kill me.” He had already disregarded Kellen Sing as a likely candidate. “Everybody’s excused,” he said suddenly.

      The general and the herald left.

      When the door had closed, TJ finished his wine with a gulp, leaned back and closed his eyes.

      Summer Camp stood, and looked at TJ’s sock covered foot. “You’d think the Trekmaster who conquered the mountains of Teddy Bear Ridge and Big Bear Ridge on foot and Bear Ridge the planet also on foot and horseback, could ignore a little boil on his foot and do his job as king.”

      “Infected wound,” TJ corrected.

      “And the legend grows?” said Camp.

      “Take the rest of the day off, Summer.”

      9. THE PRINCE

      Where was it? Part of the Trekmaster Log was missing.

      Only this day had his father authorized Prince Michale to read the Log. Probably because he felt mortal nowadays, Michale thought. He’d always thought his father invincible, but now? He felt guilty because his realization that the King was mortal did not change his opinion of his father, the Royal Ass. The pompous braggart who knew everything. (Always saying, “I understand you, Mick, hell, I was young once myself, you know.”) God, Michale thought, if I’ve heard that once, I’ve heard it ten times a day. And Mick. Why can’t father say Mike like everyone else? Does even a name have to be tough to meet his satisfaction?

      His eyes returned to the tattered parchment. He’d never suspected the existence of the Trekmaster Log. But here it was: continuity of Crimson Sapphire since...since when? Since its establishment? It showed how this part of Bear Ridge began its disorderly progression from isolated spots of humanity barely surviving, to modern times. And from a peculiar perspective. The Log also explained specifically some history he’d learned in academics. And it included information not generally known—and a flavor he’d not expected.

      Michale sat in the security of his parents’ suite, in their comfortable and private sitting room. His eyes skimmed back over what he’d read.

      The first pages were brittle, written on beaten bark, the words fading, some illegible. A few pages had been traced over with newer ink, others copied on fresher paper where one Trekmaster or another had striven to maintain the continuity of the document. As time and pages progressed, the quality of paper improved. Apparently, one individual, a certain Joshua Jones, had gone on a quest for some obscure reason (a woman’s urging?). As time went on and the humans of Bear Ridge began to regain some of their lost heritage, others followed in Jones’ footsteps. Thousands. Only a few of these questers survived. Sometimes two generations went by without any quester returning alive.

      Michale did not understand all he’d read, nor did he understand how the Trek became the prime criterion—besides royal blood—for a man to grasp the reins of royalty—and nowadays, the kingship. His eyes returned to the page. He realized he’d been staring at a weapons display on the wall. One which, because of a disagreement between his parents, alternated every month with local art.

      “It was a bear of a ridge, I thought,” wrote Joshua Jones. “Until I surmounted the damned thing and there, in the distance across this enormous gorge, was another ridge. This one dwarfed the one I’d somehow managed to climb. Almost then did I turn back. But she had challenged me and they had ostracized me and I required to accomplish some feat, so on went I. When, after many days, I reached the bottom of the gorge from descending the first ridge, I saw one of those creatures the old folks tell stories about. Tall they were, weird feet with webs and things on them. Faces long with a passingly alien mouth which looked like it was made for straining spinach with and I tell you when they whistled at me (there were two of Them) I turned right around and climbed that ridge fastern I went down it.” Michale scanned excerpts.

      —from Chief Mathiew Bearpaw:

      I write not well for it was a difficult thing which to learn and my teachers cared not to teach when there was no food in the lodges. But this man Joshua Jones and his people who we chased from this land bid me on his deathpad to continue with learning and with maintaining of this book. Some of the others of my tribe had heard that over the ridge—Bear Ridge, Jones had called it—was much food. For the drout had crapped onto this grate plain and we discussing moving our lodges again toward the west and the coast where it is said that crops grow better and the hunting too is better. The shadow of Bear Ridge looms large upon the land, seems like a mysterious malady, bringing wrath upon us and our people. Lone George claims he seen one of the creatures Jones talked about here СКАЧАТЬ