The Prisoner of Zhamanak

I HONOR

On the greensward at the center of the compound at Novorecife, the Terran spaceport on the planet Krishna, a retirement party flowered. The native drinks, kvad and falat, flowed freely.

The small, squirrel-like assistant security officer, Herculeu Castanhoso, stepped out of the Administration Building with a document in his hand and a worried look on his face. His eye ran over the festive crowd, looking for the superiors to whom he must report the latest trouble.

He saw Ivar Heggstad, the trainer, whispering in broken Gozashtandou with a Norse accent to a Krishnan female employee of the spaceport. A physical-culture fanatic, as his job called for, Heggstad drank only fruit juice; but he made up for this austerity in other ways.

Magistrate Ram Keshavachandra, a slight man with a fringe of gray curls around his bald brown cranium, was deep in conversation with Masanobu Ishimoto, square-built, slow-spoken, and just appointed the new consul to Baianch, the capital of the empire of Dur.

At last Castanhoso's roving gaze picked out the wavy silver hair of William Desmond Kennedy, the retiring Com-andante. Next to Kennedy, Castanhoso spotted the plump figure of his immediate superior, the retiring chief security officer, Cristôvāo Abreu. Gripping the paper, Castanhoso started purposefully towards this pair.

Kennedy was saying to Abreu: "Cris, I don't like the looks of it at all, at all."

Abreu looked in the direction indicated. "You mean our new Comandante, getting himself embrigado—you would say, plastered?" He alluded to a stocky, bald man with a brown handlebar mustache, standing with a glass of golden kvad in his hand amid a group of Novorecife's female employees, both human and Krishnan. This man, Comandante-designate Boris Glumelin, paid especial attention to Kristina Brunius, the tall, honey-haired secretary-typist. Oswaldo Guerra, Kristina's usual swain, stood aside and glowered.

"Pois sim. I do that," said Kennedy. "Nobody warned us the W.F. would send a rumdum as my replacement."

Abreu sighed. "Let us hope this is just a temporary aberration. Everyone liked Senhor Glumelin when he arrived four moons ago. He did the work we gave him competently. When things went wrong, he just said, 'Eto nichyevo!' and went on to the next task. In any case, that will be Herculeu's problem."

"Gorchakov seems to be trying to help," said Kennedy. Afanasi Gorchakov, the big, scowling, black-haired customs inspector, had taken Glumelin's elbow and was speaking in his ear. Fragments of heavily consonantal Russian phrases floated to the watchers' ears. Presently he led Glumelin gently away.

Abreu shook a pudgy forefinger. "That Gorchakov will bear watching. He is power-mad. We had better speak to Keshavachandra; he won't retire until next year, and as magistrate he'll be the only one with authority—Yes, Herculeu?"

Castanhoso came up with the same troubled expression he had worn since emerging from the building."Senhores," he said tensely, "I must speak. Something has come in from Gorbovast."

"Eh?" said Kennedy. "Are we after getting the head of another meddling Terran missionary, packed in salt?"

Castanhoso shook his head. "Here! Read, por favor." He handed over a sheet of yellow Krishnan paper, which bore a text in the Portuguese language of the Brazilian-dominated Terran space organization, the Viagens Interplanetarias, but in spidery Krishnan handwriting. It read:

The most illustrious Senhor W. D. Kennedy,

Comandante

Novorecife Spaceport.

Most excellent Senhor:

I am reliably informed that a Doutora Alicia Dyckman, who traversed Majbur three moons ago en route to Kalwm for purposes of scientific study, is held captive by Khorosh, Heshvavu ofZhamanak. I have no further details.

Of Your Lordship, very politely,

Gorbovast bad-Sár

Commissioner of King Eqrar of

Gozashtand to the city of Majbur.

"Hell!" said Kennedy. "A fine time, amid a change of administrations."

"You're Comandante until midnight," said Abreu. "Tomorrow, if Glumelin is lying in bed with an ice bag on his head, you'll be acting Comandante until he recovers."

"It's the silly woman's own fault," Kennedy frowned. "I warned her she'd be on her own, as we have no treaties with those southern nations. But no, she had to record the Khaldoni dialects and measure people's skulls and compare their social systems with that of Dur."

"Well, what shall we do?" said Castanhoso.

"Are we obliged to do anything?" said Kennedy.

"We can't just sit and do nothing! It would be a disgrace to let this primitive tropical potentate feed such a beautiful woman to his pet shan."

"Beautiful, maybe; but an incorrigible meddler and as warm as an icicle. Serve her right if we left her to her fate."

"Whether we like some Ertsu's personality should not be a factor in whether we help him," said Castanhoso.

"Neither," replied Kennedy, "should his—or in this case her—physical appearance. No; we warned her and washed our hands of her expedition. So we have, strictly speaking, no responsibility."

Castanhoso: "You cannot be so callous, Comandante! We must at least send a letter of protest to this Khorosh."

"Well," said Kennedy reluctantly, "I suppose we really should, before the American government hears of the case. She's backed by some important organizations."

"I agree," said Abreu. "The problem is, how to get such a letter there? The Mejrou Qurardena does not deliver parcels so far south."

"What's all this?" said a deep, musically resonant voice. A lean, very tall man of Negroid race, black of skin and kinky of hair, loomed up. "Have Fergus and his oriental tourists got into trouble already?"

"Hello, Percy," said Kennedy. "Read this."

Percy Kuruman Mjipa, Oxon., born a Mangwato in Botswana and now a Terran consul on Krishna, awaiting his new assignment, frowned at the letter. Mjipa's black wife, almost as tall as he and massive, tried to read over his shoulder.

With a snort, Mjipa handed back the letter. "Blasted cheek! This Khorosh, I mean. We keep our hands off these beggars, so they think they can do as they like with our people. I'd—I'd—Well, I'd do something, I assure you, and to hell with Interplanetary Council rules against imperialism."

Kennedy: "Do you know this Alicia Dyckman, Percy? She was working in Dur when you were at Baianch."

Mjipa shrugged. "I met her a couple of times. Can't say I much liked her; but that has nothing to do with the case. It's a matter of principle."

Abreu said: "We were wondering how to get a stiff letter of protest to Zhamanak—"

"My dear fellow, that's no problem. I'll carry the letter in person, since my assignment to Balhib isn't yet final."

"Percy!" cried Mjipa's wife. "You can't go off, just like that!"

"Can't I? Just watch."

"But you promised to stay out of trouble!"

"Can't be helped, darling," said the black man.

"Certainly it can. We could hire—"

"No, my dear, we Ertsuma must stick together. Can't let the side down, you know."

"But you needn't personally—"

"Matter of Terran honor. If you think I'll sit on my arse while these bloody barbarians mistreat a Terran woman, you can jolly well think again!"

"Oh, you and your silly notions of honor!"

"Now, now, Victoria," said Kennedy. "We don't want another of these public arguments. Bad for our image with the Krishnans." The Comandante indicated a little knot of native guests: Sivird bad-Fatehán, who ran the outfitting shop in Novorecife, and several of his local friends. Turning to Mjipa, Kennedy continued: "Besides, Percy, I don't think you 're just the man for the job." Mjipa opened his mouth to protest, but Kennedy continued smoothly. "You're our intrepid hero, but this job needs diplomatic finesse. Delicacy is not your strong point. You don't really like Krishnans—"

"That's not so at all!" Mjipa broke in hotly. "Some of my best friends—"

"You lump them all together as a pack of benighted 'natives' and bull your way through like a wild bishtar. If you tried that with the Khaldonians, telling these kinglets to go jump in the Banjao Sea, and trying to rescue Dyckman by lowering her from a window with bed sheets, both of you would likely wind up dead."

Mjipa mastered his indignation. "Whom, then, could you send?"

"Let's see ... ibn-Ayub is in Katai-Jhogorai. Kline is on his way to Alvid in Suruskand ..." Kennedy frowned in perplexity. Then his face cleared. "It looks as if Ishimoto were the only one available. Oh, Masanobu!"

As the consul-designate to Dur approached, Mjipa muttered: "If I know Masanobu, he'll have a dozen good reasons why he couldn't possibly go to Kalwm. He's fine for routine work, but for something like this ..."

Mjipa's voice trailed off as Masanobu Ishimoto came up.

When Kennedy explained the situation, Ishimoto bowed, saying:"Oh, I am so sorry, Comandante! You know my ship for Baianch leaves in a few days, and all arrangements have been made. I plan to depart tomorrow; and if I miss that ship,. I might not get another for moons. We must not leave the consulate there closed so long, with Tashian threatening his neighbors. I fear a journey to Kalwm would be impossible."

Kennedy mused: "We might send Percy back to Baianch in your place—" but both consuls protested so vehemently that Kennedy gave in.

"When can I leave, sir?" Mjipa asked.

"Well, there's forms to fill out, and I don't know when Glumelin will be up to it—"

"Oh, bugger Boris! Let's go to your office and fill them now. You still have the authority."

Kennedy sighed. "Such a nice party, too! But let me make one thing clear, Percy. You're not authorized to start a private guerilla war against Khorosh, merely because you don't like how he treats Dyckman. You may defend yourself, of course. If Dyckman has violated their laws, you may use their legal system, whatever it is, to defend her. But so long as they stick to their own system of justice, you must do the same."

"Even if they sentence her to be burned at the stake for using the wrong spoon at dinner?"

"Well—you don't have to put up with absurdities. So long as they follow civilized procedure—"

"Some civilized peoples have burned people for no worse offenses."

"Oh, use your common sense, man! If you have any, that is." As they started off, Kennedy added:"Hadn't you better go Krishnan? The Khaldoni nations aren't used to Earthmen yet. They may fear them."

Mjipa shook his head. "No, I'll go as I am. It would take a barrel of makeup to keep my skin and hair from resuming their natural appearance, and it's not worth it. I should have to spend an hour a day making up, gluing on feelers and false ears, and I shan't have that kind of leisure. Besides, since Krishna has no really black races, my color is useful in getting the upper hand over the blokes. It awes them."

"Be careful one of them isn't so awed he puts a spear through you!"

"I'll watch my step. Have you a set of those gift certificates on Sivird's shop? I may need them. And where's Angioletti? I need some Krishnan cash. Also, he's an American, so perhaps he can give me advice on handling headstrong American women."

Karrim, the largest of Krishna's three moons, had thrice circled the planet when the Jafez of Majbur put in to Kalwm Harbor. Roqir shone dimly through a light overcast. The striped sails flapped feebly in a near-calm, and the crew were manning sweeps to row into the harbor. The air was hot, humid, and breathless.

Sweat beaded the shiny black skin of Percy Mjipa, leaning on his elbows on the rail of the forecastle and slowly puffing a pipe. He stared at the low, flat shoreline and the low, dun-colored buildings behind it. Still farther back, a huge structure loomed over the city. It formed a truncated cone with only a slight taper, so that it reminded Mjipa of one" of the cooling towers of a Terran power-generating plant. Irregularities around the top of the structure implied that construction was still proceeding.

Aside from sandals, Mjipa's only visible garment was an abbreviated kilt, checkered in white and purple squares. The Krishnans of Kalwm and its neighbors, when they wore any clothes at all, affected this garment. Around Mjipa's neck hung a rectangular tablet of synthetic jade, the size of a hand, bearing the wearer's name and title in five Krishnan languages.

Nobody would have mistaken Mjipa for a Krishnan. The sailors, being Daryava, went naked save in cold weather. Scurrying about to lower the sails, they were of generally human shape, with light-brown skins of slightly greenish cast and dark-green bluish hair. They differed from Terrans in many minor anatomical details, such as the pointed ears; the external organs of smell, a pair of feathery antennae, like extra eyebrows just above the real ones; an3 the less prominent organs of sex. Whereas most Krishnans averaged as tall as the taller human races, at nearly 200 centimeters Percy Mjipa overtopped them all.

Over Mjipa's right shoulder was slung a baldric of purple-dyed leather, supporting a Krishnan sword in its scabbard. Depending from the other shoulder, its straps crossing the baldric, was a large leather wallet or musette bag, containing the petty possessions that Mjipa would, in a cooler climate, have carried in pockets. The belt that upheld the kilt also supported a formidable dirk. A bulky canvas bag lay at Mjipa's feet.

The triangular sails were down and furled at last. Near the harbor entrance, a rattle of chain announced that the anchor was dropped. The Jafez halted, rocking slightly in the low swell.

Speaking fluent Gozashtandou, Mjipa asked Captain Takhril: "Wherefore the delay?"

Moving his jaw with a chew of salaf root, the Krishnan skipper waved to indicate two other ships anchored in the nearby shallows. He spat over the rail and said: "Customs. We must needs await our turn, as must all other seaborne wights of less than royal rank."

They'll take all day, Mjipa thought, with their damned native inefficiency, and then probably want a bribe to pass us through.

"Captain," he said, "what's that, pray?" He pointed to the tall structure ashore.

"That?" said the captain. "Oh, yon tower be that which the present Heshvavu, Vuzhov the Visionary, doth erect in hopes of storming the very heavens and demanding honored place amongst the gods. Of course, ye and I do wit that the planet be round like a ball, and that the heavens above be but empty space. But once ashore, suffer not the whisper of such an heretical dogma to reach the ears of our moon-struck monarch or his spies, lest you be served as Qarar served the king of 'Ishk in the story."

"You mean he cuts off the heads of those who say the world is round?"

"Aye, sir. Their sacred books have it that 'tis flat, so flat it must be by royal fiat. Throughout his reign hath Vuzhov driven his folk to swink on this tower; but all along of his building, he finds that, no matter how high he build, Heaven still eludes his besotted grasp. So instead of revising his opinions like a man of sense, he waxes tetchy and irascible in enforcing that which already molders in what he clepes his brain, albeit 'twere more likely that his skull doth harbor nought but a porridge of mashed tabid and shaihan milk. Do Terrans e'er fall into the same whim wham?"

"Yes," said Mjipa, thinking that the great vice of the Krishnan peoples was not factiousness but oratory. "We once had a great navigator who, before our planet was well explored, sought by sailing across the sea to find a continent called Asia. He did not know that two other continents, joined together, lay athwart his path. So, when he came upon this obstacle, he made his crew sign a document that they had reached Asia. But that did not change the reality."

"Ah me, 'tis plain as the peaks of Darya that ye have the same faults as we. As saith Nehavend, the gods who made men wise also made them foolish, lest they use their wisdom to seize Heaven and cast down the gods from their golden thrones." Shaking his head, Captain Takhril went off to give orders.

Mjipa opened the duffel bag at his feet and dug out two small books: a Gozashtandou-Khaldoni dictionary, and a Portuguese-Khaldoni phrase book. Sourly he thought, how would you say: "Move your arses, you blithering incompetents"? Or: "Sir innkeeper, there is a lizardlike thing as long as my arm under my bed. What should I do with it"? More realistically, he bent his attention to the polite phrases of greeting and questioning, muttering as he reviewed them.

Captain Takhril came back. Mjipa asked: "You know this town from previous visits, do you not?"

"Aye, sir; Kalwm City and I be old copemates. I ken its alleys and its avenues as I do the lines on my palm."

"Then how does one get to Irants's Inn? Gorbovast in, Majbur referred me to it."

"Best ask a public street car man to carry you thither."

"Street cars?" said Mjipa. "Aye. See ye them yonder?"

The captain handed Mjipa his brass telescope. Squinting through the tube, Mjipa made out a row of man-sized boxes on wheels.

Then the customs officials arrived, to stare at Mjipa's color and look through his bag. They were smaller and darker than the more northerly Krishnan races, and their smelling antennae were conspicuously longer. Mjipa tried out his Khaldoni for "Good afternoon," which brought the Krishnan equivalent of a smile and a rattle of speech in the Kalwmian dialect, too fast too follow.

"Slowly, I pray," said Mjipa.

The man started slowly: "I said, good afternoon. May your liver be light ..." Then the speech became rapid again, losing Mjipa. After further cross talk, Mjipa understood that the man was asking if he were a Terran.

"We get but few in these parts," said the Krishnan. "Betimes they come disguised as natives of our world, with painted skins and simulated smellers. But now any doodle can tell by the timbre of the speaker's voice whether 'tis a truly human being or some alien creature from another world. Be that strange skin and hair ye flaunt your natural parts, or the result of dyes and curlers?"

Mjipa sneaked a quick look at his bilingual dictionary. "Natural," he said gruffly.

"Then answer me another: have ye immortal souls as we have, which, after ye die and are punished in Hishkak for your sins, live on in other mortal bodies?"

Mjipa: "It is disputed question among my fellow Terrans. I not know the answer."

"How many gods have ye?"

"Opinion varies on that, too. Some believe in one, some in three, some in hundreds, and some in none at all."

"Have ye ghosts and demons, as we have?"

"Some believe in them. Look, my friend, I am not learned man; merely a minor official. Some of my fellow Terrans can answer your questions much better."

As the Krishnan turned away, abandoning his theological inquisition, Mjipa breathed a sigh of relief. The customs inspection finished, the officials went away in their boat. The Jafez plodded under sweeps into the harbor and tied up. Sailors departed whooping in search of amusement; longshoremen began unloading cargo.

When Mjipa left the ship with his duffel bag slung from one shoulder, he saw what the street cars were. A pair of qong-wood rails, about a meter apart, ran down the middle of the waterfront street. On these stood four boxlike vehicles, painted in patterns of scarlet and blue and gold, contrasting with the drab, uniform beige of the houses. Each car stood on four flanged wheels. Each box contained a forward-facing seat for two. Behind the riders, a crossbar stretched across the back of the vehicle to provide the carman with a purchase.

Mjipa approached the first vehicle, decorated in green with orange polka dots. A naked Kalwmian appeared, to rattle Khaldoni at Mjipa. When the Terran looked blank, the Krishnan spoke slowly, in broken Gozashtandou: "Would—would Your Excellency—ah—like ride?"

"Can you take me to Irants's Inn?"

"Aye, my lord, that I can. Track passes nigh unto door. Pray get ye in."

"How much?" An old Krishnan hand, Mjipa knew better than to accept the offer without a firm advance agreement.

After chaffering, they agreed, and Mjipa climbed in. The carman pushed the vehicle along the track until they came to a side street. Here the track forked, one branch entering the side street. The fork had no movable switch. Mjipa, a railroad buff in his youth, wondered how the carman would make the turn.

The Krishnan put a foot against the cross-member at the lower rear of the body and pulled back on his handlebar, so that the front wheels rose from the track. Then the carman swiveled the body far enough so that, when he lowered the front wheels, they came down on the curved track. The car rumbled peacefully around the curve.

Few pedestrians were abroad. Mjipa guessed that most were enjoying siestas during the heat of the day; as he later learned, this was the dinner hour. An occasional Kalwmian rolled by on a scooter, this simple vehicle being common in all the major cities of the Triple Seas. The few who passed the car glanced at Mjipa, whereupon some of them started, gasped, and stared. To avoid such attention, Mjipa finally pulled the curtains, despite the heat, across the side windows.

When they passed large private houses, spurs of track branched off and entered these buildings. Evidently the richer citizens had their private muscle-powered street cars. Presently another car came round a corner, headed straight towards Mjipa's vehicle.

The cars halted a few meters apart, and the two carmen began shouting. Mjipa stuck his head out of the side to ask what betid.

"I have right of way!" said the carman. "But yonder dolt insists that I, not he, back up to the siding, on fribbling grounds his passenger doth outrank mine. I'll show the losel—"

"Look," said Mjipa, wrestling with the language. "Run car up spur, like this one, and let him pass."

" 'Twere not right!" yelled the carman. "Spurs are private property. 'Twere trespass! Besides, I'll not yield a single yestu to yonder scrowle—"

"Go up the spur!" roared Mjipa, losing-patience. "I'll take—take—" He could not think of the word for "responsibility"; but the carman, intimidated, obeyed. The other car rolled past. Its carman made a rude gesture, which brought a new spate of shouted insults from Mjipa's Krishnan. None objected as Mjipa's man backed out on the main line and resumed his course.

At Irants's Inn, identified by an animal skull over the door, Mjipa paid off his carman and lugged his bag in. An elderly Krishnan sat on the floor behind a low table littered with tally sheets.

"Master Irants?" said Mjipa.

The man looked up, took in Mjipa's height and coloring, started visibly, and shrank back. "Be ye a demon, come to drag me off to Hishkak? I have been a good man! I have not cheated my guests! I have not beaten my wife!"

"I am glad to hear of your virtues, but I am no demon. Here!" Mjipa handed over the emerald-green medallion. "This tells who am."

The man puzzled over the inscriptions."A Terran, ye say? Methinks ye be the first of your kind to honor my establishment. There are those who say all Terrans be in sooth but demons feigning mortal guise, and that the worlds whence these creatures pretend to come are nought but the lamellated hells."

"Look," said Mjipa, controlling his temper. "I want room, understand? Can pay, see? I promise no magical stunts here."

"Aye, sir." Mjipa could have sworn that the Krishnan's teeth chattered. "I'll give you Number Fourteen, an it please Your Lordship."

"I sure it will. Now tell me, who is the Heshvavu's first officer—he who does the daily routine of ruling? I not know your word for it."

"Oh, ye must mean the Phathvum, Lord Chanapar."

"I want speak to him. How to do?"

"Seek ye the Phathvum's secretary and beg an audience."

Several days later, Mjipa was ushered into the office of the vizier or premier, Phathvum Chanapar, in the rambling stucco palace. As usual, Mjipa had been required to leave his sword at the entrance to the building.

Chanapar was that rarity, a fat Krishnan, sitting crosslegged on a cushion behind the usual short-legged desk-table and smoking a long Krishnan cigar. Terrans had introduced tobacco to Krishna before the technological blockade took effect. The minister pointed to another cushion, saying: "Sit you, sir." He handed his secretary Mjipa's identification medallion, who in turn gave it back to Mjipa.

Mjipa folded his long legs, imitating the pose of the minister. Having grown up in a house well equipped with chairs, Mjipa found discomfort in kneeling, squatting, or sitting cross-legged; but he endured his pains as part of his job.

"Well, sir?" said the minister. "We get few Terrans in these purlieus. You are in sooth the first in several moons."

"Do they give any trouble?" asked Mjipa, whose Khaldonian had improved. He still stumbled, made mistakes, and groped for words; but few could have mastered the tongue so well in so short a time. If he had not had a natural gift for languages, he could not have held his post.

"Nay, not to speak of," said Chanapar. "So that they go about their business and disturb us not by spreading thwart heretical notions, the tranquility of our administration to disturb, we molest them not."

"Do you know of one, a female named Alicia Dyckman, who passed through here on her way to Zhamanak?"

"Ah, yea; I wondered if you had come that matter to investigate. This golden-haired disturber of the peace was received by my master the Heshvavu, on whom I fear she made not the best impression."

"How so?"

"She sought to convert him, of all people, to the heathen belief that the world was round. As soon as she broached such damnable thoughts, His Awesomeness had her escorted forth.

"Nor was that all. Soon thereafter, spies reported that she was seeking out our learned men and filling them with the same subversive notion. So, wishing neither to see the true faith of our sacred book, dictated to the prophet Shadleiv by the supreme god Phaighost, subverted, nor yet to incur the disfavor of Novorecife, he ordered her out of the realm. Off she went to Mutabwk; but we are informed that she did not long abide there, either.

"Anon, like the seeds of the hyusis plant borne on the breeze, the rumor wafted hither of her distraint in Zhamanak, wherefore I know not. This perturbed us; for none of the Khaldoni nations, whilst their rulers retain their sanity, is fain to stir up a garboil with the Terrans. But we here thought it no duty of ours to mell betwixt the sovran lord of Zhamanak and his importunate visitor. Now, what would you?"

"I am going in after this Terran woman."

"Have a care, good my sir. Lord Khorosh is no dupe, to be flouted with impunity."

"I daresay, but mine duty is to my fellow Terrans. May I hire a few peoples: a guide, couple of helpers, and such, and buy animal and supplies for journey?"

"Certes, good my sir, so that you pay the trilling tax on such transactions. Do but have a care lest you spread false heretical doctrines amongst our folk. I wot that you, as a foreigner, cannot be expected to share all our enlightened beliefs; but keep your heresies mewed up within you and all shall be well. Return you hither in three days, and the needful documents shall be ready."

Three days later, Mjipa was back in Chanapar's cabinet. The minister said: "Welcome, good my sir. Alas, I must confess your papers be not yet boun; for affairs of state do press upon my time as did the phantoms evoked by the Witch of the Va'andao Sea press upon the hero Qarar. But your documents shall soon be ready. Meanwhile His Awesomeness, hearing of your presence, commands that you wait upon him. He desires converse with you."

"Oh?" said Mjipa. "I am at his service. When is audience?"

Lord Chanapar heaved his bulk off the floor. "Forthwith, good my sir. Come with me, pray."

Mjipa followed the minister through a maze of halls and chambers. Compared to other palaces he had seen, the furnishings of this one seemed bare and shabby. He asked:"Tell me, please, what is right thing to do when one meets your ruler?"

"Kneel and touch your forehead to the ground. Watch me. Then you will present your gift to the Heshvavu. You have one, I trust?"

Mjipa gulped. Not expecting to be presented to this king, he had not brought a suitable knicknack. Then he remembered the pad of gift certificates in his wallet.

At last they came to a chamber before whose closed doors stood a pair of Kalwmian guards, naked but for spangled loin cloths and gilded helmets, shields, and sandals. Their olive-brown chests bore patterns in gilt paint. To Mjipa they looked more ornamental than useful. Unlike the soldiers of the more northerly nations, they forwent body armor in favor of large shields.

Chanapar spoke to one guard, who bowed and went in through the door. After what seemed to Mjipa an hour's wait, the guard reappeared, saying: "Come, sirs."

They found King Vuzhov sitting on a cushion on the floor of a small chamber, flanked by another pair of guards. A secretary sat nearby with tablets and stylus. The Heshvavu's body paint consisted of austere black stripes, like those of a Terran zebra. Watching the minister, Mjipa sank to both knees and touched his forehead to the floor, suppressing a grunt at the pain in his knees.

"Rise," said the Heshvavu. Vuzhov was a small, elderly Krishnan. These folk showed their age less plainly than Terrans; nonetheless, Vuzhov's hair had faded to jade green, his smelling antennae were ragged, and a close look showed his skin to be covered by a net of fine wrinkles.

The minister said: "Your Awesomeness, I have the honor to present Percy Mjipa, a Terran from Novorecife, on a mission of mercy on behalf of one of his own kind. Master Mjipa, know that you stand in the presence of the Heshvavu of Kalwm and Emperor of the Triple Seas, Vuzhov the Twenty-first." The minister stared at Mjipa, muttering: "The gift!"

"Your Awesomeness," said Mjipa, withdrawing the pad of forms from his wallet, "as you are doubtless aware, the exigencies of travels and dangers of robbery over long journey stop I from bearing gifts suitable for the ruler of Khaldoni nation. Will, however, present—ah—a gift certificate drawn on outfitting shop at Novorecife. It entitle the bearer to any item for sale there."

Mjipa signed the topmost form on the pad, tore it off, and handed it to the king, who passed it on to his secretary. The Heshvavu spoke:

"My Awesomeness thanks you, Master Mjipa. It is an unusual gift, though how we shall ever take advantage thereof, with Novorecife so distant, we cannot at the moment reckon. We hope it can somehow be converted into ruddy gold; for our great, Heaven-storming enterprise devours our coin as the giant Damghan devoured his victims.

"But sit on those cushions, pray. You are the Terran of whom Chanapar hath told us?"

"Yes, sire," said Mjipa.

"And your name—we forget. What is it?"

"Percy Mjipa."

"Puh-see Um-jee-pah. Yeluts!" The king spoke to the secretary. "Fetch these gentlemen something to drink. Now, master—which name go you by in ordinary discourse?"

"The latter, sire; Mjipa."

"Very well, Master—umm—Mujipa. Be this your first visit to our city?"

"Yes, sire."

"What think you thereof?"

"Am—is certainly impressive."

"Observed you our tower? What thought you?"

Mjipa saw that both king and minister were looking intently at him. A wrong answer might get him into trouble; it might even get him killed. "He is a great engineering triumph," he said at last. "I am traveled much, and never have I saw a structure so tall."

To Mjipa's relief, the Heshvavu did not pursue the subject of the tower's purpose, to reach a literal Heaven. Instead, King Vuzhov said: "Now, Master Emjipa—Majipa—how say you that again?"

"Mjipa, sire. Of course Your Awesomeness may pronounce it as you wish."

"Well, Master Terran, pray answer us some questions about your kind. We have seen Terrans ere this, but ne 'er one of your sable hue. How comes it? Were you burnt in a fire?"

"May it please Your Awesomeness, I come from a part of my world called Africa, where folk are thus colored." Mjipa thought of adding an explanation of his color as an evolutionary adaptation to the African sun, but decided not to. Such a discussion might bring up the dangerous topic of the king's flat-world belief.

"And, as we understand, you wish a safe-conduct to Mejvorosh, to learn the place and condition of this Terran female, yclept Dyckman?"

"That is right, sire."

"We shall make no difficulties about that, on one condition. We suppose you will wish to return to Novorecife, through our realm, with this person?"

"Yes, sire."

"We would not have her tarry in Kalwm longer than necessity demands. We found her a disturbing element. So be warned. On your return—if you return—you shall pass through our demesnes with all prudent dispatch. Furthermore, she is forbidden to companion or converse with our folk. We shall hold you responsible for her compliance with this our demand. Dost fully comprehend?"

"Yes, sire."

"And now to a subject more congenial. See you yon chart upon the wall?" The king indicated a large framed sheet of writing material, bearing a spiderweb of lines and tiny bits of writing.

"Yes, sire. What are it?"

"That," said King Vuzhov, "is a chart of our ancestors. It traces the royal line back forty-two generations. For all that time, the heirs to the throne of Kalwm have been alternately named Vuzhov and Roshetsin. Come, let us show you."

Mjipa rose with the others and stood for an hour, while Vuzhov, tracing lines on the chart with his finger, regaled his visitor with tales of the royalties named in the little boxes on the chart. "... now this one, Roshetsin the Ninth, was notable for's lunes, which for sheer moonstrickenness surpassed those of King Gedik in the legend. Becoming convinced that he was a racing shomal for the royal stables, he ordained that he be entered in the annual racing festival.

"But alas, he fell dead of heart failure during the first lap, vainly striving on all fours with the other entrants to keep up. His successor, Vuzhov the Tenth, was a sounder character. His son—what betides, Chanapar?"

"Sire, the envoy from the Republic of Suruskand awaits without."

"Ah, curse it, just when we were coming to the fascinating part! Well, Master Mm—Master Terran, this hath been a most instructive audience. You have our leave."

Mjipa and the minister bowed themselves out. Mjipa spent the rest of his day with Minyev, his new factotum, buying mounts and supplies. The sales tax on these purchases he found to be 20 per cent, which seemed to him more than "trifling," as Chanapar had described it. He filed the datum away in his mind, resolving to report to Novorecife that the government of Kalwm was unstable and, because of exorbitant taxation for a futile purpose, in danger of overthrow.

Mjipa had taken his time over hiring Minyev, prowling the city to seek out the previous employers whom Minyev had given as references. Minyev had been one of three Kalwmians whom Irants the innkeeper had recommended. Checking references was arduous, since Mjipa was always getting lost in the tangle of streets. Street maps appeared not to exist. With his limited command of the language, Mjipa had difficulty in persuading passers-by to set him right. Some took fright at his appearance and fled before he finished saying: "Pardon me, sir or madam, but could you direct me ..."

He chose Minyev because Minyev's name brought the most praise and the fewest complaints from the persons named as references whom he could locate. Of one candidate, Mjipa failed to find a single reference. He concluded that the Kalwmian had made the names up out of his head. Another point in Minyev's favor was that, having been to sea in his youth, Minyev spoke fluent Gozashtandou. Therefore he' could help Mjipa out when the latter got stuck with Khaldoni.

With Minyev's help, Mjipa had completed his purchase of ten ayas when the Kalwmian asked: "Wilt depart these lieus forthwith, sir?"

"Just as soon as I can get-the documents from the Phathvum. This is no sightseeing jaunt, and the sooner we arrive the better."

" 'Twould pleasure us both were ye to linger for the trial. A memorable sight that will be."

"What trial?"

"Why, the trial of the notorious heretic, Isayin."

"What is he accused of?" Mjipa asked.

"Teaching his class at the Academy the forbidden doctrine, to wit: that the world be round. Though he be as eloquent as the poet Saqqiz, conviction's certain; for 'tis even said that, like the agitator Khostavorn, he ridiculed our liege lord's great enterprise, his Heaven-storming tower, as a waste of the kingdom's wealth and labor. But this learned doctor is a redoubtable debater, who'll provide the Heshvavu's prosecutors with lively sport. And the execution will be a sight wherof to tell one's children's children. They say the Heshvavu's executioners have devised a quietus as ingenious and lingering as that which overtook Dezful the pirate king."

Mjipa almost burst into a tirade against barbaric ignorance; but he remembered where and who he was and clamped his full lips shut. "I am just as happy not to see this trial," he snapped. "Now come along; we have yet to hire a cook."