The Hand of Zei

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Barnevelt stood, breathing hard. At last he said: "You forget, madam, I'm not a Qiribu, nor is this Qirib. You have no jurisdiction over me."

"And you forget, sirrah, that I conferred Qiribo citizenship upon you when you returned to Ghulinde with Zei. By not refusing then, you did incur the usual obligations of such status, as the most learned doctor of laws would agree. So let's have no more of this mutinous moonshine…"

"Excuse me, but we'll have a lot more of it. I won't marry your daughter and I won't let you massacre those surrendered Qiribuma."

"So? I'll show you, you treasonous oppugner!" Her voice rose to a scream as she hurried across the cabin to fumble in a drawer.

Barnevelt at once guessed that she was after a container of janru perfume—perhaps a bottle or a water pistol—to spray him with. One whiff and he'd be subjected to her will as if he were under Osirian pseudo-hypnosis. She was nearer the door than he at the moment; what to do?

"Grrrrkl" said Philo, aroused by the shouting.

Barnevelt thought of the one defense he had against such an attack. He leaped to the parrot's perch, seized the astonished bird, pressed his long nose in amongst its breast feathers, and inhaled vigorously.

Philo squawked indignantly, struggled, and bit a piece out of the rim of Barnevelt's left ear, as neatly as a conductor punching a ticket.

Barnevelt released the bird as Alvandi rushed upon him with an atomizer, squirting at his face. His eyes were red, his nose was dripping, and blood ran down his ear from the notch the bird's beak had made. He whipped out his sword, grinning.

"Sorry," he said, "but I cadt sbell a thig. Dow get back id your bedroob, ad dot a word out of you, or Zei'll be queed without your havig to abdicate."

When he reinforced the command with a sharp jab in her midriff, she went, muttering maledictions like a Gypsy grifter being marched off to the paddy wagon. In the royal bedchamber he collected sheets, which he tore into strips: "… my best sheets, inherited from my grandmother!" wailed Alvandi.

Soon her plaints were smothered by a tight gag. In another quarter-hour he bundled her, trussed and bound, into her own clothes-closet and locked the door.

He told the sentry at the cabin door: "Her Altitude feels udwell, ad seds word that od do accout is she to be disturbed. By boat, please?"

He returned to his own ship filled with an odd bubbly elation, despite the peril in which he stood, as if in quelling the queen he had also defeated his own mother once and for all.

On the Junsar's deck he found Tangaloa, who began, "I've been looking for you…"

"Matter of fact I've been looking for you too. We've got to get out of here. Alvandi thinks she's going to massacre all those surrendered Sunqaruma from Qirib and make me her son-in-law, complete with chopping block."

"My God, what shall we do then? Where is the old bat?"

"Tied up in her closet. Let's load Igor into our boat and— let me see—the Yars is at the mouth of the channel, isn't it? We'll row down there. You distract Alvandi's girl warriors while I arrange with Vizqash—I mean Gizil—to take over the Yars and sail back to Novorecife."

"With the ex-pirates as crew?"

"Why not? They're homeless men who'll probably be glad of our leadership. They'll believe me when I tell 'em I've switched to their side rather than let 'em be killed, because that's the sort of damn-fool thing the real Snyol would do."

"Good-o!" said the xenologist. They hurried below.

"Get me a pair of handcuffs," Barnevelt told the sergeant-at-arms. With these they went into the brig, where Shtain sat apathetically upon his bunk.

"Put out your hands," said Barnevelt, and snapped the cuffs on Shtain's wrists. "Now come."

Shtain, who had sunk into a torpor, shambled back up on deck with them and over the side into the longboat.

"Pull down the channel to the Yars," Barnevelt told his rowers. "Quietly."

"How did you avoid a whiff of that nuit d'amour perfume while you were tussling with the queen?" asked Tangaloa. When Barnevelt told him he laughed. "I'll be damned! That is the first time I ever heard of a bloke being saved from a fate worse than death by feathers!"

To facilitate loading, a small floating pier had been towed down the channel and made fast to the side of the Yars. The rowboat pulled up to this, and its passengers got out.

The sentry on the pier flashed her lantern towards them and challenged, then said, "I crave pardon, General Snyol. Oh, Taggo! Girls, 'tis Taggo come to sport with us!"

"So that's what they call you?" said Barnevelt. "Try to inveigle 'em into the deckhouse. Tell 'em you'll teach 'em strip poker or something." He raised his voice. "Admiral Gizil!"

"Here I be. What would you, General Snyol?"

"Come down here and I'll tell you. It's all right, girls— everything's under control. Go topside and play with Taggo while I hold a conference."

The Krishnan dropped lightly from the rail of the Yars to the pier. When the Amazons were out of earshot, Barnevelt told him what had happened.

Gizil struck his palm with his fist. "A prime fool I, not to have thought of such waggery! Now that we know, what's to be done? Here lie we with nought but eating knives to fight with, under guard, surrounded by unfriendly ships. What's to stop them from working their will upon us?"

"I'll stop them."

"You?"

"Yes. Will you and your men follow me?"

"You mean you'll take our side instead of theirs, solely on a matter of honor?"

"Certainly. After all I am who I am," said Barnevelt, using a favorite Krishnan cliche.

"Let me grasp your thumb, sir! For now I do perceive that, though you be no more Snyol of Pleshch than I, but a vagrant Earthman, yet have you the true spirit that rumor credits to the noble Nyame. Fear not. Your secret's safe with me. 'Twas for such urgency as this I did withhold it in the council with your admirals. What's to be done?"

"When Tagde gets those women in the cabin, we'll call a conference with your officers—have you still got an organization?"

"Of sorts."

"We'll tell them what's up, and at the proper time we'll bar the cabin door, cut the mooring lines, and shove off. If anybody asks questions I'll handle 'em."

From the cabin came sounds of ribald revelry. Barnevelt reflected that discipline had surely gone to hell in the fleet in the last few hours, but he supposed that was a natural let-down after the tension of the campaign.

The word was passed. Barnevelt added, "Assign the men to the benches and have 'em get their oars ready to thrust through the ports. The first man who drops an oar gets left. Who's got a sharp knife? Cut the ropes and push the pier away with a boathook. The first pair of oars out first… Cut the lines to the weed… Now row. Softly—just enough force to move the ship… Here, stuff rags into the ports to deaden the sound. No rags? Use your women's clothes. If they object, smack 'em… That's right. Now another pair… Take that kid below…"

As the Yars crept snail-like out into the fairway and down the channel, a hail came from close aboard.

"What is it?" asked Barnevelt, peering over the rail at the ship they were passing. A man's head showed in the light of a riding lantern. "I'm Snyol of Pleshch, and all's well."

"Oh, my lord Snyol… I thought… Be that not the Yars, with the pirate prisoners?"

"It's the Yars, but with her regular crew. The prisoners haven't been put aboard yet, and we're going out for a practice row."

"But I saw them filing aboard this afternoon…"

"You saw them boarding the Minyan of Sotaspe, where they'll be quartered for the time being. There she lies now!" He pointed up-channel towards the vague black mass of hulls.

"Well," said the man in a puzzled tone, "if ye say all's well, it must be so."

And the ship dropped astern to mingle with the rest of the fleet.

"Whew!" said Barnevelt. "Right rudder—steady as you go. All oars out. Number three port, you're fouling up the stroke! Now pull! Stroke! Stroke!"

They issued from the mouth of the channel, leaving behind the mass of the allied navy moored along the edges of the terpahla, the ships' lanterns showing like a swarm of fireflies frozen in position. As the breeze still blew from the south, Barnevelt ordered the sails set wing-and-wing to take full advantage of it and turned the Yars north. Under the blanketing overcast, the Sunqar receded into the darkness.

Barnevelt watched it go with mixed feelings. If their luck held, they'd stop at Majbur and then go straight up the Pichide to Novorecife, where he'd pay off the Sunqaruma.

Sometimes he thought he was tired of blue-green hair and olive-tinted skins, bright skimpy clothes, clanking cutlery, and windy speeches delivered with swaggering gestures in rolling, rhythmic, guttural Gozashtandou. He glanced towards where Sol would be were it visible. New York with its labyrinthine tangle of transportation, its suave eating and drinking and living places, and its swift wisecracking conversation, would look good…

Or would it? He'd be returning to a New York almost twenty-five years older than the one he'd left. Although his friends and relatives, thanks to modern geriatrics, would mostly be still alive and not much aged, they'd have scattered and forgotten him. He'd be separated from them by a whole generation, and it would take him a year just to get oriented again. Shortly before he left, he'd bought a hat of the new steeple-crowned shape. Now such hats were probably as archaic as derbies—which might in their turn have been revived. He understood why people like Shtain and Tangaloa, who made a business of interstellar trips, formed a clique of their own.

And his mother would probably be there. While he had accomplished the tasks formally set him—to solve the Sunqar mystery, rescue Shtain, and fulfill the Cosmic Features contract—he had not yet solved his personal problems. Or rather he'd solved his mother problem by removing himself light-years away from her, but his impending return would cancel that solution.

He also suffered an odd feeling of loss, as if he were missing a chance. One of his old professors had once told him that a young man should obey the romantic impulse at least once:

"Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring Your Winter garment of Repentance fling…"

As by telling his boss to go to hell, or by joining a radical political movement. And here he was, letting prudence and foresight get the better of him.

On the other hand, George's suggestion that he bring a creature of another species to Earth and live with her there daunted him utterly. Such,a life would be just too damned complicated for him to cope with, especially if his mother…

At least, he swore, this time he'd use his head in his relations with his crew: Be kind and affable, but firm and consistent, allowing no undue familiarity.

Gizil came up to report. Barnevelt asked, "Weren't you the masked man I conked with the mug in Jazmurian?"

Gizil grinned shamefacedly. "I hoped your lordship had not recognized me, but such is indeed the fact. I was to make a disturbance—as ye saw me do by picking a quarrel with the Osirian—while Gavao did drug your drink, but the lard-head must have doctored his own by error. 'Twas like an imbecile Balhibu so to do."

"Were you really going to kill Sishen?"

"No-o, I suppose not, though it did my liver good to see the eldrich monster quake with fear."

"One would think you didn't like Osirians, though you worked for one."

"Perforce—for once having clamped his claws upon our helm, Sheafase gained such power over us by his fascinative talents that there was no shaking him, though many of us privately opined his reckless course would bring us to disaster, as indeed it did. Had the dice of Da'vi not turned up a double blank, thus terminating his existence, he'd have compelled us to the last man to resist."

"What were you trying to do to Tagde and me?"

"To abduct, or failing that to slay. I trust you'll hold it not against us, for we did but as Sheafase commanded—commands we could not shirk for the mental grip he held upon us. By his acquaintanceship with Earth, he knew full well the plans of Igor Eshtain the Sunqar to explore, and laid his gins accordingly."

Gizil went on to explain the inner workings of the janru ring, an organization that included Earthmen, Osirians, and Krishnans—how they had kidnaped Shtain and put him under pseudo-hypnosis on Earth; how they had planted Gizil, under the name of Vizqash, at Novorecife to watch for people sniffing on Shtain's trail, and so on.

"… one of the heads of the ring is an officer on that Viagens ship—a chivenjinir, I think they call—what's that?"

Pandemonium from the cabin announced that the Amazons now knew they had been deceived.

Two ten-nights later, the Yars put in to bustling Majbur, having been blown out of her course by the tail of the season's first hurricane and having twice fled from unidentified fleets on the horizon.

Barnevelt and Tangaloa went ashore, dragging Shtain between them and leaving Gizil in charge of the ship. Barnevelt had come to have a good deal of respect for the ex-pirate, despite the Krishnan's lordly airs, predatory past, and assorted attempts to murder him.

They proceeded to the office of Gorbovast, official agent in Majbur of King Eqrar of Gozashtand and unofficial agent for the Viagens Interplanetarias.

"By all the gods!" cried Gorbovast, startled out of his habitual suavity. "The Free City's fleet arrived two days agone with a wild and wondrous tale of how you twain did lead the allied fleet to triumph over the Sunqar and then, over some darksome dispute with old Alvandi, did truss her like an unha on the way to market, steal a ship of Suruskand manned by pirate prisoners, and vanish into air attenuate. And here you be! What led a wight of proven probity to turn his coat in such amazing fashion?"

Barnevelt told the commissioner about the queen's plan to kill the surrendered Sunqaruma.

"Ah well," said Gorbovast, " 'tis said you are to singular idealisms given. Who's this frowsy fellow in gyves? The Free City forbids unlawful restraint upon free men, even Earth-men…"

"This," said Barnevelt, "is the Shtain we were hunting."

"Igor Eshtain, eh?"

"The same. The janru ring captured him, and the Osirian members of the ring made him into a pirate by their mental powers, so now he doesn't know his old friends. Sheaf ase's dead, but we met another Osirian, Sishen, in Jazmurian some ten-nights back. I think he was on his way to Majbur. D'you know if he's here?"

"No, but we can learn. Let's to the Chief Syndic's chambers, across the street."

The Chief Syndic, whom they had seen last in Ghulind6, greeted them with even more amazement than had Gorbovast. When the situation had been explained, he sent for his chief of police, who sent for one of his subordinates, who said yes, this Sishen was staying at the Chunar and could be brought in within the hour.

"Don't frighten him," said Barnevelt. "He's a timid soul. Tell him some old friends want to see him."

"Ahem," said the Chief Syndic. "While I mislike to dampen so auspicious an occasion, yet duty forces me to bring up certain matters." He fumbled in his desk. "I have here a letter from the President of Suruskand, requesting help in recovering his stolen ship."

Barnevelt dismissed the question of the Yars with an airy wave. "He shall get his ship back. Meanwhile I'll pay him rent for it. Have you a draft blank?"

After puzzling over the strange printed instrument, arranged quite differently from an Earthly check, Barnevelt wrote out a draft to the Republic of Suruskand, on Ta'lum and Fosq for five hundred karda. "Send him this and tell him I'll settle the balance later."

"I trust he'll take your—uh—rather cavalier treatment of the matter in good part," said the Chief Syndic. "I have here another letter that concerns you, sir. It arrived but this morn, in diplomatic cipher—from Zakkomir bad-Gurshmani, a ward of Queen Alvandi. After the usual preamble he says: 'Since our return to Ghulinde, I have been doomed to grisly death, to wit: chosen by this false lottery as Princess Zei's first consort, to wed her on the day of her accession, on the tenth of Sifta.' (That, as you'll perceive from yonder calendar, is six days from now.) 'You know, Master Syndic, the fate awaiting one on whom that honor falls at end of year. Nor is Zei happier than I in this predicament, but we are helpless puppets in my guardian's royal grip, for she will keep all the leading strings in her own fists even after she has nominally resigned. There is one, however, who might us rescue: the mighty Earthman traveling under the pseudonym of Snyol of Pleshch.' That, I take it, means you, sir?"

"That's right," said Barnevelt.

The Chief Syndic made a deprecatory motion. "Fear not to acknowledge the fact in the privacy of our chambers, for Gorbovast and I are enlightened men who strive against the prejudiced disfavor, in which Terrans are by many held. Some of ovir best friends are Earthmen, for we take the view: Because some of the louts act with unseemly arrogance, insolently boasting of the superiority of all things in their own fear-some world, should the whole enseamed race be damned unheard?

"Howsomever, let's to our embroidery return. I quote: 'I did not know this hero was an Earthman till Zei told me after my rescue from the Sunqar, though I did before suspect it. Here's the kernel. He is a Terran, and so is Zei—a fact I have long guarded as a courtly secret. She is no chick of Queen Alvandi, who is barren as the rocks of Harqain, but an Earthly waif procured from slavers and reared as the queen's own, being taught from early years to disguise herself as a native of this planet. For Qirib's law not only dooms the consort yearly. It likewise damns the queen who within five years of her accession fails to lay a fertile egg.

'The princess tells me she did learn this pseudo-Snyol's true nature during the rescue and assumed he likewise learned of hers. And therefore was she all the more perplexed by the inconsistent sentiments he manifested towards her.

The Syndic looked up. "I presume you know to what he refers, sir? To continue: 'Since he is an Earthman, it seems likely that he would direct his course towards Novorecife and his fellows. We therefore beg you with all the ardor we command to watch for him. Should he reach Novorecife without your interception, essay to get a word to him in the stronghold of the Terrans. For thus you may save, not merely my own worthless life, but the happiness of my lady princess. 'I add that Queen Alvandi also knows of Snyol's true nature and was therefore all the more eager to obtain him as a consort for her daughter, for she would rather have foreign rule in this Qirib than jeopardize her matriarchal principles. Failing to hold him, she has chosen me as second best—a choice I should find flattering did not the vision of the chopper spring uppermost in my thoughts. Since Zei—for whom my feelings are of sib - affection only—could not be fructified by one of my species, I ween Alvandi plans to smuggle in another waif to carry on the line.'

"There you have it," said the Syndic. "What you do now is up to you. I beg you, if you turn your back upon this world, not to reveal these matters, which contain most dire subversive possibilities."

Gorbovast said, "I suspect who Zei really is."

"Who?" said Barnevelt sharply.

"Know you that Earthly missionary for a cult of more than normal incoherence, Mirza Fateh? Whose wife was slain and daughter carried off by robbers in the Year of the Bishtar?"

The Syndic made the affirmative head motion. "Zei would be of the right age and type, though my information was the child was sold in Dur and there did die. Where's Mirza Fateh now?"

"He was in Mishe," said Gorbovast. "It transpires, General Snyol, that you may be in a position to bring about a most affecting family reunion."

"We'll see," said Barnevelt, whose mind had been whirring like a generator. "I sort of think young couples are better off without too many parents cluttering up the landscape."

Tangaloa said: "If you want to check, say to Zei: Shuma farsi harf mizanid?"

"What's that?"

"That's 'Do you speak Persian?' in Persian. I lived in Iran once. But you won't have a chance, because I don't see how you will see the sheila before we push off for Earth."

Barnevelt was still practicing the sentence when Sishen came in. The Osirian, resembling a man-sized bipedal dinosaur, took one look at Barnevelt and leaped upon him as he had upon Tangaloa that time in their room in Angur's Inn.

"Hey!" yelled Barnevelt, trying to wriggle out of the reptilian embrace.

"Oh, my dear rescuer!" hissed the Osirian. "How good to see you again! Not for a minute has my gratitude wavered in the time since we parted in Jazmurian! I love you!"

"Let's not be so demonstrative about it," said Barnevelt, detaching himself by force. "If you really want to do me a favor, here's an Earthman under Osirian pseudo-hypnosis who's forgotten his life on Earth and thinks he's a pirate of the Morya Sunqaruma. Can you cure him?"

"I can try. May we have a room to ourselves?"

While the reptile led Shtain out, Barnevelt inquired after the Shambor. The little Marconi-rigged smuggler, however, seemed to have disappeared without a trace. Barnevelt suspected that the mutineers had probably capsized or otherwise wrecked her as a result of their unfamiliarity with the rig. At least that would save him from trouble with the Viagens.

Half an hour later Shtain came out of the room, shaking his head and rubbing his bristly scalp. He wrung the hands of Barnevelt and Tangaloa.

"God!" he said, "it's good to be normal again! It is the damnedest feelink, to have part of your mind that knaws perfectly well what's goink on, but can't do a damn think about it. You boys were fine, wery fine. I could not have done batter myself. When do we shuff off?" Shtain's thick Russian accent was as dense as ever.

"I don't know about you two," said Barnevelt, "but I'm going back to Ghulinde with my Pirates of Penzance."

"What?" shouted Shtain. "Dunt be ridiculous! You're coming back to Earth with us…"

"I am not!"

"Wait, wait, both of you," said Tangaloa. "Let me handle him, Igor. Look here, cobber, don't take this business about Zakkomir and Zei seriously. We've got our film. We've had our adventure; and now you can return to Earth to live on your laurels…"

"No," said Barnevelt. "In the first place my mother lives on Earth, and in the second I'm going to rescue Zei."

"There'll be another sheila along in a minute!"

"Not the one I want."

"If you do rescue her, will you bring her to Earth on the next ship?"

"I think not. I've about decided to make my fortune here on Krishna."

Shtain had been hopping about with clenched fists in an agony of suppressed emotion. Now he burst out: "Are you crazy mad? What will Igor Shtain Limited do without you? Where would I ever get soch a ghawst-writer again? I'll double your salary! You can't walk out on us like that!"

"Sorry, but you should have thought how valuable I was sooner."

Shtain began to swear in Russian.

Tangaloa said, "Ahem. Dirk, you know these Earthly adventurers who run around backward planets exploiting the natives are inferior types who can't compete with their own kind back home. They take advantage of Earth's more sophisticated culture, which they themselves have done nothing to create…"

"Oh, foof! I've heard that lecture too. Call me inferior if you like, but here I'm quite a guy, not a shy schizoid Oedi-pean afraid of his ma."

"It's still no life for a man of intellect…"

"And just think. Although we busted Sheafase's gang, the Sunqar's still in Krishnan hands, so we haven't settled the janru problem. Since Alvandi's a fanatical—uh…"

"Gynarchist?"

"Thanks, gynarchist, she'll go on making and selling the drug. Her objection to Sheafase was not that he sold it to the interstellar smugglers but that he charged her all the traffic would bear."

"What of it? We have our information. The rest is up to the World Federation and the Interplanetary Council."

"But think how it'll simplify matters if I'm running the Sunqar!"

"There's that." Tangaloa turned to Shtain, whose lips were still spitting Slav consonants like a machine gun. "We might as well let him go—the romantic bug's bitten him. In a couple of years he may get tired of it and drift back to Earth. Besides, he's in love."

"Why did you not say so? That's different." Shtain sighed like a furnace. "When I was yong I was in loff too—wit three or four girls at once. Good-bye, my boy! I hate your guts, but I loff you like my own son."

"Thanks," said Barnevelt.

"If you come around in a year, I will first break your nack and then give you back your old job. George, how the hell do we gat to Novorecife?"