XI

AT U Bend events moved slowly but steadily. Under Nim’s direction, the slaves did manage to kill one dog without drawing suspicion. But they came to see that there was little point in piecemeal harassments.

Syle noticed that one Nicfad was in the habit of mounting the guard tower by walking up a single notched log leaning against the river side. Everyone else either went around or went up on all fours, but the Nicfad was proud of his balance, which was good, and he ascended easily. The Peshtak contrived to mix mud and grease and coat a step near the top. That afternoon the guard trotted up the log, slipped, fell, and impaled himself on the palisade.

The dead man was unmarried, so the slaves buried him in the small interment patch outside the circles, then at great risk secretly dug him up again, the dogs whining in the distance, and carried him to a storage barn half filled with straw. This they set afire, and when called to fight it, went with a great rush of concern. Afterward, scratching in the rubble, they found a charred body and they lamented the loss of one of their own. The Nicfad were contemptuous and uncaring. Thinking the remains that of a slave, they ordered them buried in the north field for fertilizer.

This kept the slave count right and freed one of Nim’s men, Muse, for living in the lengthening tunnel. Every night when two or three got out through the privy tunnel, glided down the river, and crawled ashore under the dock, the tunnel behind Muse was nearly choked with new loose dirt. The others waded it out into the river in baskets and bags, then quietly spilled it into the current.

Gamwyn, who was kept endlessly busy cooking, washing, moving straw, and waiting on the Nicfad, nonetheless helped by stealing food for Muse and teaching the others how to measure the tunnel’s length by triangulation. The slaves were amazed at his mathematics, but he realized his knowledge of such things was little—what was necessary for an average worker in Threerivers.

They used a long string to measure the digging, with a knot in it for every arm. Every evening while on some errand, Gamwyn would pace the calculated distance by proportion inside the compound wall, drop something at the correct point, lean and pick it up, and continue. From a station by the corner of the smoking house Syle or a Siveri would note how far under the circle the tunnel had progressed.

One evening during smoke time, Gamwyn was late after running an errand for a Nicfad, who opened the door and threw him in. He wormed his way to Syle and whispered, “The river is coming up already. It’s early. That may mean a real flood. I’m worried. We aren’t far enough yet. It may be a long, slow rise, and a long crest. That would help us. It would soak the ground. But we may not make it.”

“We have to.”

“I hope. I hope and pray.”

Two evenings later, Syle informed Gamwyn they were passing the tower underground. They were also having trouble breathing in the long tunnel. The solution—tunneling to the well Gamwyn had stoned and opening a passage into it to admit air—took delay, care, and tricky measuring.

The river continued to rise, with all the leisure of a gigantic, lethargic serpent, slipping slowly back into the trees on the west bank, swelling up the levees. Eventually it was well into the tunnel, and Gamwyn cursed himself for not starting it higher up the bank.

In the tunnel Muse dug uphill, but the water followed him. Finally he had to come out, breathing from the last handbreadth of air under the roof. A hurried decision under the dock called for his escape at that point, and he slipped downstream in the dark.

Gamwyn finally convinced them to close the tunnel at the privy, but the outside entrance was already in the water, and too muddy to seal tightly. They packed it with stone and bags of sand.

Coming back from the fields two days later, they were met by a party of Nicfad and dogs. They had captured Muse, and led him, stumbling and beaten, back to U Bend. The slaves all watched in silence as he was led toward the compound. Torture, perhaps a confession, would follow.

Once the slaves were back in the compound, grim Nicfad lined them up in rows near the main guardhouse. They could hear Muse screaming inside.

A Nicfadleader mounted the guard tower and looked down at them. “So,” he said. “You thought to escape. To cooperate.” His jaw rippled. “You will soon see results of such folly. We will learn it all, slackers, dead fish, swamp rats. We will crush all involved.” His tone changed. “You had part with us in building of this society, but you rejected it. You given place on work force on which we stand, but you have scorned it. I treating you all as guilty, from oldest on down. You will do well to tell us what you know. Otherwise, we will start with one of you and work through all until we learn what has happened. All.” He laughed. “But I know it will not take that. We will root out this evil early enough. No evil tolerated. We will crush it. Now. No food tonight. Get to smoking house. No talking. We will post guards inside. Think it over. Either we cut out this evil easily, or we crush pack of you!” The Nicfad waved his fist in the air.

As he turned to leave, another Nicfad appeared with him on the platform and began an animated discussion. Gamwyn could see they were arguing. Finally the Nicfad-leader threw up his hands and turned to cry out, “Halt, all of you. Return.”

The guards turned the slaves and brought them back into line. The Nicfadleader leaned on the railing and shouted, “There is seep into inner field. We will need all to work on levee. Now. Do not think I have forgotten what I said. After this emergency, we will proceed. Now, guards, march them out in squads!”

 

As it grew darker, torches were brought, and the whole slave population was put to bailing the inner field, which covered the neck of the river bend, bringing stone from far beyond the circles, piling stones and dirt sacks against the softened wall of earth. Gamwyn was startled to see how quickly the river had risen, now high on the levee. Soon workmen from the circles were brought to help protect the low, broad field, which had been prepared for cotton planting. Already much of the levee had been stoned, but the work proceeded slowly, and the river did not gain. The Nicfad seemed more surly than ever. At one point, a guard knocked down one of Nim’s men, and the frustrated Siveri stood up and swung his water-laden bucket.

Immediately five guards converged on him with staffs, beating him, but the Siveri nearby rushed them and bore them down. Nicfad horns blew, and guards rushed to the spot in a black crowd. The Siveri, nervous from the loss of their evening smoke, scattered or fought back. The Nicfad had to hand the torches to slaves, threatening them, but the slaves ran and flung them out into the river. More Nicfad could be seen running from the city, while, up on the levee, a frantic group of slaves began trenching across the earthwork. Soon Nicfad arrows flashed into them, but then a strange rumble started and grew, and as some turned and looked, the dim white tower on the hill tilted slightly, held on an angle, then fell in a grinding rush. The swollen river cut a rapid gap through the center of the circles, widening from the point where the rise of earth had previously turned it westward.

For a moment eveiyone seemed balanced on a pinnacle of awe and horror. Then the Siveri set up a cheer and swarmed toward the Nicfad, who began retreating up the levee. A squad of Nicfad running across the inner field also sprinted for the levee as the freed mass of water spread to submerge the flat land. They were caught and rolled under.

Gamwyn was yelling. “To the palisades. Tear down the palisades.” They had planned to make instant rafts of them, but in the confusion many had forgotten. Now they turned and ran for the compound, where the levee still held. Some Nicfad followed, sending arrows ahead of them, but most realized that all of worth in the fields was swept away and ran along the levee toward the crumbling circles on the hill, yelling for their families.

“Before they organize!” Nim yelled. “And get Muse!” His men marshaled the Siveri into groups, chanting and rocking the log walls, throwing them down in sections and climbing fearfully on, as others pushed them into the river. Muse, though limp, was rushed onto one of the first.

Gamwyn was among the last to go. He felt a hand grasp his arm in the dark. It was Syle, who embraced him, saying in his ear, “You’d make a good Peshtak, boy. Good boy. And good-bye. I’m going to take a log and cross. I hope you get your shell. Be careful.”

Gamwyn embraced him in return, and pushed him out into the dark rush of the river, watching the Peshtak paddle away with a board. Then the Siveri were calling him and he waded out to the last raft and spun out into the stream, feeling its giant, casual power whirl them into blackness and freedom. Looking back, he could see the last torches burning in the stockade. The site of the Tusco city itself was wholly dark.