The Clocks of Iraz

Chapter One THE SCARLET MAMMOTH

IT WAS THE HOUR OF THE GOAT, ON THE THIRTEENTH OF the Month of the Unicorn, in the republic of Ir, one of the twelve city-states of Novaria.

In the tavern called the Scarlet Mammoth, in the city of Orynx, a slim, well-dressed young man toyed absently with a glass of wine and watched the door. Although this man wore Novarian garb, there was about him a suggestion of the exotic. His skin was darker than that of most Novarians, although the latter were a mainly brunet folk. Furthermore, his ornaments were gaudier than those of the Land of the Twelve Cities.

Across the common room sat an older man: a chunky fellow of medium height, with a plain, nondescript face, clad in garments of sober black. If the first man looked foppish, the second looked ostentatiously austere.

While the tall youth watched the door, the chunky man, now and then sipping from a leathern drinking jack of ale, watched the tall youth. Sweat beaded the foreheads of both men, for the weather was unseasonably hot.

The door flew open. In stamped six noisy, rough-looking men, covered with sweat and dust and cursing the heat. They seized the largest table in the common room and hammered on it. The tallest man, a burly, ruddy fellow with deep-set dark eyes under heavy black brows and a close-cut black beard, shouted:

"Ho, Theudus! Can't a gang of honest workmen get a drink, when their throats are caked with dust thick enough to raise a crop in?"

"Coming, coming, Master Nikko, if you'll stop that hellish racket," grumbled the taverner, appearing with his fists full of jacks of ale, a thick finger hooked around each handle. As he set the vessels down, he asked: "Be this your last day, working out of Orynx?"

"That's right," said the big man, across whose face a sword-cut had left a scar and put a kink in his nose. "We move to Evrodium on the morrow. Our orders are to make the aqueduct swing south, following the high ground, before reaching Ir City."

"I should think you'd cut directly across to Ir," said Theudus, "to shorten the total length."

"We would, but the Syndicate would have to pay for an arcade several leagues long, and you know how they are with money; they give it out as a glacier gives out heat. When the thing is built, they'll doubtless complain that the grade is too low and the channel clogs up. I warned 'em, but they wouldn't listen. No matter what route we pick, we poor surveyors get blamed."

"They've been talking about this project for years," said the taverner.

"Aye. They should have built it years agone, but I suppose they hoped that Zevatas would send enough rain to fill the old aqueducts. They did nought till water got so scarce that they had to ration baths. You ought to smell the air in that underground city! They could cut it up and sell it for fertilizer. Well, what's for dinner?"

As the men gave their orders, the slim young man approached the surveyors' table. Standing behind the big man, he rapped the latter on the shoulder with a peremptory forefinger. As the chief surveyor looked up, the younger man, speaking Novarian with an accent, said:

"You, there! Are you not Jorian of Ardamai?"

The big man's eyes narrowed, but his face remained blank and his voice level. "Never heard of him. I'm Nikko of Kortoli, as my mates here will attest."

"But that is—well, come over to my table, where we can talk."

"Certes, my unknown friend," said the surveyor in no friendly tone. Carrying his ale, he rose and followed the other back to his table. He sat down beside the younger one, while his hand strayed to the knife at his belt. "Now, sir, what can I do for you?"

The other gave a high-pitched giggle. "Come, good my sir. Everyone has heard of Jorian of Ardamai, once king of Xylar, who fled his official decapitation and has been hiding—ow!"

"Be quiet," murmured the big man, who had slid an arm around the younger man's waist and then, with his other hand, had thrust his knife so that its point gently pricked the skin of the other's belly.

"How—how dare you!" cried the slim young man. "You cannot order me around! You durst not harm one of my rank!"

"Want to find out? An you'd not mess up Theudus' nice clean floor with your guts, you shall do exactly as told."

"B-but, my dear Jorian, I know you! Doctor Karadur said that Nikko of Kortoli was one of your false names, and that is how I tracked you hither—eh, stop that!"

"Then shut up, idiot! What has Karadur to do with this? Keep your voice down!"

"He gave me a letter to you—"

"Who are you, anyway?"

"M-my name is Zerlik son of Doerumik son of—"

"An uncouth name, if ever I heard one. Whence come you? Penembei?"

"Precisely, sir. The great city of Iraz, in fact. Now—"

"And Karadur is in Iraz?"

"Aye, Master Jor—ow!"

"The next time you speak that name aloud, I'll let you have it up to the hilt. Let's see this letter."

Zerlik looked down his long, hooked, high-bridged nose. "Really, sir, a gentleman like myself is not accustomed to such unmannerly—"

"The letter, your lordship, unless you want steel in your guts. Did Karadur hire you as messenger?"

"Really, good my sir! Persons of my quality do not work for pay. It is our duty to serve the court, and my task is that of royal messenger. When His Majesty, knowing me fluent in Novarian, commanded me to bear Karadur's missive…"

During this speech, the big man had pried the seal off the letter and unfolded the sheet of reed paper. He frowned at the spidery writing on the crackly, golden-brown surface, then called:

"O Theudus! A candle, if you please."

When the candle had been brought, the big man read the following epistle:

Karadur the Mulvanian to his stout comrade in the adventure of the Kist of Avlen, greetings.

If you would recover your little Estrildis, and if you remember enough of your early training in clockmaking to put in order the clocks on the Tower of Kumashar, then come to Iraz with Master Zerlik. The task should not be difficult, for I understand that these clocks were installed by your sire in the first place. Farewell.

Jorian of Ardamai murmured: "The old fellow has better sense than you, Zerlik my boy. You'll notice he mentioned no names—"

He broke off as a movement on the other side of the room caught his eye. The man in plain, dark clothing laid a coin on his table, rose, and walked quietly out. Jorian caught a glimpse of his profile against the darkening sky, and then the door closed on the man.

"Theudus!" Jorian called.

"Aye, Master Nikko?"

"Who was that who just left?"

The taverner shrugged. "I know not. He's been here all afternoon, sipping a little ale and watching about him."

"Could you place him by his speech?"

"He said little; but what he said was, meseemed, with a southern accent."

Jorian grunted. "With those clothes and a southern accent, he has 'Xylar' written all over him, as surely as if he bore the crimson hourglass on his tunic."

"Are you not jumping to conclusions on scant evidence?" said Zerlik.

"Mayhap, but in my position one becomes sensitive to such things. If it make you happy, Master Zerlik, know that you're not the only stupid man in the room. I should have noticed this wight as soon as I came in, but I was thinking of other things."

"Mean you the Xylarians are still fain to cut your head off and throw it up for grabs, by way of choosing the next king? A beastly custom, I always thought."

"You'd find it even beastlier if it were your head. Well, I shall have to accept Karadur's invitation instanter. But travel costs money, and I have but little of the precious stuff."

"That is all right. Doctor Karadur entrusted me with a sum adequate for the purpose."

"Good." How came you hither?"

"In my chariot," said Zerlik.

"You drove all the way from Iraz? I knew not that the coastal road was good for wheeled traffic."

"It is not. My man and I had to dismount a hundred times, to manhandle the thing over rocks and out of holes. But we made it."

"Where is this man of yours?"

"Ayuir is in the kitchen. You would not expect him to dine with his master, would you?"

Jorian shrugged. After a pause, Zerlik said: "Well, sir, and what next?"

"I'm thinking. We have perhaps half an hour wherein to flee the Scarlet Mammoth ere a squad of Royal Guardsmen from Xylar arrives with nets and lariats. Are you staying here?"

"Aye. I have a private room. But surely you do not propose to leave tonight?"

"Yes I do, and forthwith."

"But my dinner!" cried Zerlik.

"Bugger your dinner; corpses have no appetite. If you hadn't blabbed my name… Anyway, command your man to hitch up your chariot whilst we gather our gear. What's your idea of whither we should go?"

"Why, back the way I came—through Xylar and along the coastal road, at the foot of the Lograms, and down the coast to Penembei to Iraz."

Jorian shook his head grimly. "You'll never see me in Xylar—not whilst they seek to chop off my head."

"What, then? Shall we send eastward to Vindium and around the other end of the Lograms?"

"Not practical. 'Twould take months, and the valley of the Jhukna is wild, roadless land. Methinks we needs must go by sea."

"By sea!" Zerlik's voice rose to a squeak. "I hate the sea. Besides, what would become of my beautiful chariot?"

"You and your man can take it back the way you came. I'll join you in Iraz as soon as I can find passage."

"From what I hear, there is not much coastal shipping just now, with the pirates of Algarth active off the coast. Besides, I was commanded to accompany you, to render aid and assistance."

Jorian thought that if any help were called for, it would be he who rendered aid to this spoilt young fop rather than the other way round. But he merely said:

"Then come with me, whilst your man takes the chariot. If we cannot find passage on a coaster, we may have to sail our own ship, and that takes at least two."

"Ayuir might steal my car and run off with it!"

"That, young sir, is your problem."

"Nor can I be expected to flit about the world without a single attendant, like some wretched vagrant—"

"You'll learn, laddie. You'd be surprised what one can do when one puts one's mind to it." Jorian rose. "In any event, we cannot sit here havering all night. I go to pack and shall meet you back here in a quarter-hour. Tell your man to be ready to drive us down the river road to Chemnis." He stepped back to the large table and touched one of the surveyors on the arm. "Come up to the dormitory a moment, Ikadion."

With a puzzled frown, the other followed Jorian up the creaking stairs. In the dormitory, Jorian pulled his spare clothing, sword, and other possessions out from under the bed. He donned the scabbard and jammed the other gear into a stout canvas bag. As he worked he said:

"I fear I must run out on you, as the pard said to the lioness when the lion returned home."

"You mean—you mean to leave the gang?"

"Aye. That makes you head surveyor. The Syndicate owes me for the work I've done so far. Pray collect my pay and keep it against my return."

"When will that be, Nikko?"

"I know not. Perchance in a fortnight, perchance in a year."

"Whither away? Why the haste and mystery?"

"Say that I fear the blast of the wintry winds and the drip, drip, drip of the rain. When and if I return, I'll seek you out and tell you about it —and also collect my pay."

"The boys will be sorry to see you go. You drive them hard, but they think you're a good boss."

" Tis good of you to say so. By rights you should have had my job."

'True, but I never could get the work out of them as you do. Did I hear that foreign fellow call you 'Jorian?'

"Aye, but he had confused me with another man entirely."

With his duffel bag slung over his back and Ikadion following, Jorian strode to the head of the stair. Glancing over the scene below, he muttered: "Where's that Zerlik?" Then he stepped back and knocked on the door of the private room occupied by the Irazi.

"Coming, coming," said Zerlik's voice.

"Welt hurry up! Have you sent your man to get out the car?"

"Nay, Ayuir is in here helping me. You do not expect me to pack my own gear, do you?"

Jorian sucked his breath through his teeth. "I've just packed mine without dying of the effects. What do you want, an egg in your beer? Send the fellow out; we have no time to squander."

The door jerked open. Zerlik said: "My good man, if you think I will do my own chores like a common lout, just to meet your convenience—"

Jorian flushed a dangerous red. At that moment, Zerlik's servant, a small, swarthy man, spoke timidly in his own tongue. Zerlik briefly replied. Ayuir picked up the massive wooden chest and issued from the room.

"One moment," said Zerlik. "I needs must give the room a last inspection, lest I forget aught."

Jorian waited while the servant staggered down the stairs with the chest. Ayuir set the box down near the door and scuttled out.

Zerlik came out of his room; he, Jorian, and Ikadion started down the stairs. As they did so, six men in plain black clothing entered the Scarlet Mammoth. In the lead came the chunky man, who pointed to Jorian and shouted:

"There he is, boys! Take him! King Jorian, I command you in the name of the kingdom of Xylar to surrender!"

The six rushed across the floor, circling around the table at which the gaping surveyors sat. As one of the former started up the stairs, Jorian swung his duffel bag off his shoulder and hurled it at the man. The missile bowled the fellow over, and the man behind him tripped over his body.

Before they could recover, Jorian's sword came out with a wheep. Jorian hurdled the two sprawling figures and brought the blade down in a whistling cut on the shoulder of the next intruder. The man screamed and staggered back, cloven halfway to the breastbone. He sank to the floor in a swiftly widening pool of blood.

Another black-clad man threw a net over Jorian's head. Jorian slashed at the net but only entangled his sword in its meshes. He struggled to tear off the net, but the men in black expertly drew it tighter about him, while one stepped up behind him with a bludgeon.

"Surveyors, to me," roared Jorian. "Help! Zerlik, bear a hand! Theudus!"

Coming out of their daze, the surveyors rose to attack the men in black. Three of the latter pulled out short swords. The surveyors had only daggers, but one picked up a stool and smote the nearest Xylarian over the head.

Theudus appeared with a mallet. After hesitating to see who was fighting whom, he waded in with the surveyors. Zerlik, after dancing excitedly about on the fringe of the fray, ran to his chest, fumbled with a key, opened the chest, and took out a light scimitar.

Assailed from all sides, the Xylarians left off cocooning Jorian to defend themselves. Jorian tore and cut his way out of the net and fell upon the foe. Since not only was he the largest man in the room but also his sword had much the longest reach, his reentry into the fray tipped the odds against the kidnappers.

The combatants swayed back and forth, stabbing, punching, grappling, falling down and scrambling up again, hurling crockery, thrusting, slashing, swinging, and kicking. The room resounded with the shouts of the fighters, the boom of overturned furniture, and the crash of breaking tableware. Red blood spattered the floor and stained the fighters' garments. The Red Mammoth trembled to the stamping of feet. The din of roars, yells, curses, and threats wafted into the street, so that several Oryncians gathered about the door.

Outnumbered, the newcomers were soon overborne. Jorian sped a fierce thrust through the body of one, while the Xylarian was engaged with Zerlik. As the man fell, the remaining four set up a cry:

"Out! Flee! Save himself who can!"

The four burst through their opponents and out the door. Two dragged another, half-stunned by a blow from Theudus' mallet. The three still on their feet displayed slashed clothing and oozing wounds. The faces of two were masks of blood from head wounds. A flourish of weapons sent the spectators fleeing, and the quartet vanished into the gathering dark.

Inside, two surveyors bound up cuts, while Ikadion sat with head in hands, nursing a growing lump on his pate from a Xylarian bludgeon. The first man whom Jorian had struck down was dead; the other coughed bloody froth.

"My nice tavern!" wailed Theudus, surveying the wreckage.

"We didn't do it wantonly, Master Theudus," said Jorian, leaning on his sword and breathing hard. "Bear a hand with cleaning up, Floro. You, too, Vilerias. Tot up the cost of breakage, mine host, and Master Zerlik will pay."

"What?" shrilled Zerlik.

"Charge it against the sum Karadur entrusted to you on my behalf."

"Are you in sooth the fugitive King Jorian of Xylar?" said a surveyor in an awed tone.

Jorian ignored the question and turned to Theudus, who stood over the wounded Xylarian. The taverner said:

"This fellow may linger for hours, but I misdoubt he'll survive. Someone should fetch the constable; there must be an inquest on these manslayings."

"Inquest all you like, but without me," said Jorian. "I'm off with Master Zerlik."

Theudus shook his head. " 'Tis not lawful, to leave town ere the magistrate has dismissed you. There might be charges."

"I'm sorry. Whereas I am a reasonably law-abiding wight, I can't wait around for another gang to lay me by the heels, whilst your men of the law mumble gravely in their beards. Pay Master Theudus, O Zerlik." While Zerlik rumbled with his purse, Jorian donned his hat and shouldered his duffel bag. "Now let's forth!"

"But, Master Jorian!" said Zerlik. "It is all but dark."

"So much the better."

"But we shall get lost or overset the chariot—"

"Fear not; I'll drive. There's a moon, and I know the roads hereabouts."

Heavily laden with three men and their gear, Zerlik's chariot, drawn by a pair of handsome Fediruni whites, reached the village of Evrodium around midnight. Zerlik climbed down shakily, saying:

"Methought my last moment had come a hundred times, Master Jorian. Where got you that skill with driving a car?"

Jorian laughed. "I can do many things, some passing well and some not so well. I'm probably the only wandering adventurer especially trained for the role."

When they had secured quarters, Zerlik asked Jorian to elucidate his last remark. Over dinner, Jorian—who had a weakness for talk—explained.

"I got into the king business by happenstance. I was about your age and had been apprenticed to various crafts, such as clockmaking and carpentry, and had served a hitch in the army of Othomae. When that was over, I wandered into Xylar to see what might turn up. I happened upon the drill field outside Xylar City on the day of the casting of the Lot of Imbal, when they behead the old king and toss his head to the crowd.

"When, not knowing this curious custom, I saw this dark, round thing whirling towards me, I caught it without thinking. To my horror I found that I was the new king of Xylar, having caught my predecessor's gory head.

"As soon as I learnt that the same fate awaited me five years thence, I sought means to escape. I tried to flee, to bribe my way out, to persuade the Xylarians to change their damned system, and even to drink myself to death, all without avail.

"Then I learnt that, with the help of Doctor Karadur's spells, I might just possibly escape, in return for a favor I was able to do him. Did I succeed, howsomever, the Xylarians would pursue me to the ends of the earth, since their laws suffer not a new king to be chosen by any but the prescribed method, and therefore they must essay to drag me back and resume their interrupted rite to permit public business to go on."

"How if the king die in office?" asked Zerlik. "Or if you die ere they can recapture you?"

"They have other procedures in such cases; but they are irrelevant to me, since I'm not yet dead and have no yearning to become so. To resume: Knowing that I was virtually condemned—should my escape succeed—to the life of a wandering adventurer, I prepared myself therefore by the practice of such arts as acting, rough-and-tumble fighting, sleight-of-hand, cozenage, and burglary. For these, I had the tutoring of some of the most unsavory rogues in the Twelve Cities. But some of their lessons have proven most serviceable."

Zerlik: "Do you like this irregulous life?"

"Nay. My real ambition is to be a respectable craftsman or tradesman—a surveyor, for ensample—earning a decent if modest living, rearing a family, meeting my obligations, and plaguing no man. A peaceful bourgeois life would suit me well, but it seems to flee before me like the end of a rainbow."

"If you knew the Xylarians were after you, why took you this post in Ir, next door to Xylar? Why not work in some more distant place, like Zolon or Tarxia?"

"Because the Xylarians hold something I wish: to wit, my wife. Therefore I skulk about their borders, seeking means to get her out."

"Oh. Is this the Estrildis whereof the letter from Karadur speaks?"

Jorian gave Zerlik a hard look. "By Imbal's iron pizzle, young sir, you seem to have made rather free with my private correspondence!"

"Oh, but Jorian, Doctor Karadur requested that I memorize the message, in case the letter were lost or destroyed!"

"Ah, that's different. Ay, 'tis she."

"Oh. I have heard that you Novarians entertain romantical notions about women. When one has several wives, as I have, one takes a particular woman less seriously."

"I had several wives, too, when I was king. Five, in fact; the Xylarians allow a plurality of wives to the king but not to his subjects. Mulvanian or Penembic influence in the southern tier, I suppose. But this was the last, and the one I chose myself."

"Really?" Zerlik patted a yawn. "It is hard for me to imagine going to such trouble and risk over any woman. After all, they are all basically alike."

"I have not found them so."

Zerlik shrugged. "But why? It cannot be that you were otherwise condemned to a celibate life, for you Novanans seem to have no such rigid interdicts against fornication and adultery as, I am told, obtain among the Mulvanians. Is it that this woman is rich, and you wish to possess yourself of her property?"

"Not at all; she's a Kortolian farmer's daughter."

"Is she then of extraordinary beauty?"

"Not even that. She's a pretty little thing, with golden hair like a Shvenite; but of stocky build and too thick in the ankles to please the connoisseur of female beauty. No, Zerlik, it's what we call love."

"Oh, we have this 'love' amongst us, too. In our land, however, to fall in love is accounted a misfortune—a kind of madness. It leads men to entangle themselves with unsuitable women, causing their kin distress and embarrassment. Ordinarily, our parents choose our wives for us, very sensibly, by go-betweens, with the advice of astrologers and haruspices."

"This is not quite the same as your falling in love, laddie. Let me merely say that I enjoy Estrildis' company more than that of any other person I have known, and I am fain to have more of it, until death do us part."

"Well, I wish you joy of it. But does not one become bored with a single woman?"

"That depends. Having tried your system, I have no faith in it, either."

"How so?"

"There's a jingle that explains:

"Whose verse is that?"

"An obscure poetaster, hight Jorian son of Evor. Anyway, one woman at a time's enough for me. When I get mine back, one wife, one house, and one honest trade will suffice me." Jorian yawned. "We must to bed, to be up ere dawn."

"But that will give us scarce four hours' sleep!"

"Aye, but Chemnis is a long day's drive hence."

"You mean to make Chemnis in one day?"

"Certes. Since four of those rogues escaped, the Xylarians will soon be on my trail again."

"You'll slay my poor horses!"

"I think not; and if I did, a self-proclaimed gentleman like you could afford another pair."

Beyond Evrodium, the road swung north to join the main road from Ir City to Chemnis, the main port of the republic at the mouth of the Kyamos. As Zerlik's chariot thundered down the river road to where Chemnis arose on the margin of the estuary, a forest of masts and yards loomed over the houses along the waterfront. Many ships had been laid up for the winter earlier than usual, since the depredations of the Algarthian pirates had depressed seaborne traffic.

The day after the arrival of Jorian and his companions in Chemnis, they walked to the waterfront in the early morning. Zerlik still staggered from the jolting of the previous day's headlong drive. Jorian growled:

"When I was king, we kept the sea thieves down. I built up our little fleet and commanded it myself. Betwixt us in the South and the navy of Zolon in the North, no pirate dared to show his sail off the western coast of Novaria. But they've let the fleet go to the shipworms since I fled, whilst Zolon has a new High Admiral who dotes on fancy uniforms but never goes to sea."

Zerlik looked more and more unhappy. At last he said: "Master Jorian, I fear that when His Majesty sent me forth on this errand, he did not mean me to get my throat cut by pirates."

"Afraid?"

"Sirrah, a man of my rank does not brook insults!"

"Keep your doublet on, young fellow. I did but ask."

"I bloodied my scimitar on your side against the kidnappers. But meseems it were pure madness for us twain to set forth in some cockleshell craft alone. If these bloody freebooters caught up with us, what earthly chance should we have?"

Jorian frowned. "Well, no regular ships sail now to Iraz; so 'tis either buy or rent a ship of our own or not go at all. Rental were impractical, they say, for the owner would demand so large a deposit that one might as well buy the craft. Still, what you say makes sense of a sort.

"I have it! We'll be a pair of poor fishermen with but a meager catch to show for our pains." They reached the waterfront, and Jorian consulted a list of ships for sale. "Let's see; the Divrunia should lie yonder, with the Flying Fish beyond and the Psaanius in the other direction Jorian hunted up a ship broker whose name he had. The broker took them on a tour of the waterfront. After a morning of inspecting ships, Jorian bid the broker farewell for the nonce. While he and Zerlik ate at a waterfront tavern, Jorian said:

"Meseems the Flying Fish is our craft, an we can beat Master Gatorix down to a reasonable price."

"That dirty little tub!" cried Zerlik. "Why—"

"You forget, laddie, that we shall be a pair of indigent fishers. So a craft like the Divrunia, as spick as a royal yacht, were the last thing we want. We must look the part."

"Well, the Flying Fish certainly stinks of fish. Why cannot we get a proper warship—say, one of those Irian biremes anchored out yonder? Then, with a well-armed crew, we should have nought to fear from corsairs."

"Imprimis, those galleys are the property of the Republic of Ir, and I have no reason to think the Syndicate would wish to sell one. Secundus, such a deal would at best require months of negotiation, during which time the Xylarians would be upon me. And tertius, have you a hundred thousand marks wherewith to buy the ship, with an equal amount for the hire of the crew?"

"Unh. But my good clothes—"

"We shall, naturally, wear garb suitable to our assumed rank. So fear not for your finery. We shall be ragged and stinking."

"Ugh!"

"Moreover, the Flying Fish is sound of hull and rigging. With her beam she may be slow, but she'll get us whither we fain would go. Finish your repast, so that we can sally forth to seek Master Gatorix."

When they found the ship broker again, Jorian said: "We should like another look at your Flying Fish; albeit a thousand marks is beyond the vault to heaven. Why, I could buy a surplus Zolonian trireme for that.

After two hours of haggling, Jorian brought the price down to 650 marks. He said: "Methinks we can do business, Master Gatorix. Of course, you'll throw in a sun stone, a chart, and an astrolabe…"

After further chaffering, Jorian asked the broker about distances, winds, and currents between Chemnis and Iraz. Gatorix advised him that even with favorable weather, the voyage would take at least a sennight. Jorian calculated and dispatched Zerlik and Ayuir to buy supplies. When they returned, followed by longshoremen laden with sacks of biscuits, salt pork, apples, salted fish, salt, a fish net, two poles with lines and extra hooks, and suits of rough, worn seamen's garb, Jorian was again engrossed in an argument with Gatorix.

"I'm trying to get him to include this spyglass in the deal," he explained. "He wants a hundred marks extra for the thing."

"Great Ughroluk!" cried Zerlik. "In Iraz, one can buy a good glass for a fraction of that."

"Naturally," said Gatorix, "since you Irazians invented the contraption and make it, 'tis cheaper there than here."

Jorian had raised the brass tube to his eye and trained it eastward. He stood silently for a moment, then closed the telescope with a snap and said in a changed voice:

"Pay Gatorix his hundred marks, Zerlik."

"But—"

"No buts! We're taking the glass without further argument."

"But—"

"And help me to get this stuff aboard, yarely."

"Surely, sirs," said Gatorix, "you're not putting to sea so late in the day?"

"No help for it," said Jorian. "Hop to it, Ayuir, you, too, Zerlik."

Between a quarter and a half of an hour later, the Flying Fish cast off and wallowed out into the estuary. The ship was a two-masted lateener, with a blue hull and yellow sails. She flew a large mainsail forward and a smaller mizzen aft. Seated abreast on the thwarts abaft the cabin, Jorian and Zerlik each heaved on an oar. Jorian had to exert only a fraction of his normal strength to keep the craft going in a straight line. He was so much stronger than Zerlik that, if he had put his back into it, he would have made the Flying Fish spin in circles.

As they drew away with exasperating slowness, Ayuir waved from the quay before disappearing towards their inn. The Flying Fish heaved and bounced on a brisk chop, driven up the estuary by a steady west wind. The afternoon sun blazed in a clear blue sky.

"I hope he makes it back to Penembei safely," said Zerlik in a worried tone. The young Irazi was already looking green. "He speaks but few words of Novarian."

"Poor fellow! I would have given him lessons."

"Oh, it is not with him that I am concerned, but with my beautiful car and team. I can always get another manservant."

Jorian grunted. Zerlik said: "Excuse me. I have heard of these curious ideals that are rife in Novaria, of consideration for the lower classes, and I suppose I should guard my tongue with more care. Why put we not up the sails now?"

"We ought to get farther from that lee shore first, lest this sea breeze blow us back thither and pile us up."

They rowed for a while in silence, until Zerlik said: "Let me rest for a moment; I am fordone."

"Very well. What sort of speech do you use in Penembei?"

"Why, Penembic, of course."

"Is it related to Fediruni? I speak fair Fediruni, as well as Mulvani and Shvenic."

"Nay; Penembic is related to no other tongue—at least, in this part of the world—albeit it contains not a few words of Fediruni and Novarian origin. Our dynasty is of remotely Fediruni origin, you know; King Juktar was a nomadic chieftain in Fedirun. And before that, a Novarian adventurer founded the city and begat a dynasty. But Penembic is a much more precise and logical tongue than your congeries of Novarian dialects. Most of us speak a little Fediruni, since that is the tongue of the cult of the supreme god Ughroluk."

"You must teach me Penembic."

"I shall be pleased to. At least it will take my mind off this damnable stench offish. Tell me: Why took you Gatorix's exhorbitant price for his glass? And why the sudden haste?"

Jorian chuckled. "I looked through the telescope up the Kyamos and saw a squad of horsemen riding hard down the river road. They were mere specks in the glass, but natheless they gave the impression of Xylarian guardsmen… Hola!" Jorian reached behind him into the cabin and took the spyglass from its rack. He peered through it shoreward. "By Astis' ivory teats, those losels are on the quay now!"

"Let me see," said Zerlik.

On shore, the telescope showed a group of black-clad men, one of whom held the horses while the others expostulated with several Chemnites. Their vigorous gestures could be seen.

"Let's hope they don't find a barge and put to sea after us," muttered Jorian. "Eight oars could easily overhaul two. Row harder!"

After a while, Zerlik asked: "Could we not put up the sails now?"

"We shall, but count not too heavily upon them. With this onshore wind, we shall have to tack out to sea, and I know not how high our little tub will point. Here, give me the glass. Ten thousand demons, but they've already found a barge and are putting out! Now we're for it!"