The Prisoner of Zhamanak

VI HYPOCRISY

Next morning, Alicia said over breakfast: "Percy, I'm sorry I blew my top yesterday and said things I didn't mean."

"Hear, hear! I'm sorry I got my monkey up, too. Let's forget it; we have a job to do this morning."

"Yes?"

"I'm going to try to persuade the Phathvum to let me visit Isayin in his cell."

"Oh, Percy, don't try any Scarlet Pimpernel stunts! If they catch you at it, what'll become of me?"

"You've got your berth on the Tarvezid, and you're experienced at knocking about by yourself."

"What shall I do while you're wheedling Chanapar?"

"Oh, you're coming with me. You can use some of that feminine charm on the minister."

"Feminine charm!" she sniffed. "A lot of hypocritical nonsense the men have forced women to learn because they're not big enough to get what they want by force. It's unfair!"

"Nonetheless, my popsy, you'll jolly well have to learn it. Our lives may depend on it. And wasn't it some American politician who said, life is unfair?"

After a silence, Alicia said:"All right, I'll come along and simper at the Phathvum, on one condition. But I draw the line at offering him my fair body. One Krishnan lover is too many."

"Good lord! I never thought of such a thing. I wouldn't let you anyway."

"What do you mean, you wouldn't let me? It's my body. I'd offer it in a flash if it were a matter of saving your life or mine."

"Mjipa: "Very well, let's not quarrel over something that won't happen anyway. Is that the condition you spoke of?"

"No; I meant I'd go if you'll take me shopping after dinner."

Mjipa exploded in a gust of laughter. "And I doubted if you were a truly feminine female! Righto, shopping it is; but remember, we don't have the wealth of Dakhaq to squander."

Leaving Minyev to guard their possessions, they rode a street car to the palace. The carman, pushing from behind, plied them with questions as he plodded: "How far away is this Terra?" "How many Terrans be there?" "Have ye two sexes, even as we do?" "Is't true that ye live forever?" "What of this belief that ye be demons, and your world one of the hells?" "My wife hath just laid her ninth egg. That's more juvenals than I can afford to rear; how can I staunch this ceaseless flow of little ones?"

"Here's one who hasn't caught up with Krishnan birth-control methods," said Alicia. She and Mjipa gave brief answers.

At the rambling, stucco palace, they had to wait most of the morning in the anteroom, because the Phathvum was busy with the government-in-exile of Suria, now overrun by the steppe-dwelling nomads of Qaath. When at last admitted, they found the stout Chanapar puffing a cigar and saying:

"Good morrow, sir and madam. What hap?"

Mjipa made a long speech, full of flattery and circumlocution. He finally got around to his request: "... and so, good my lord, 'twould greatly pleasure us to visit the unfortunate Doctor Isayin in his cell."

"Nay," said Chanapar. "Though I grieve as King Sabzavar did when his daughter was abducted, I must refuse. 'Twere clean against our legal procedures."

"We might even convert him to the true belief, the official doctrine geographical of Kalwm. If he were so converted, would he then be released?"

"Nay. Let a heretic think he hath but to recant to be enlarged, and who would stay convicted to furnish an ensample wherewith to terrify other sinners into the ways of virtue? I am truly sorry, my friends, but you strive to weave a rope of sand."

"Oh, Your Altitude!" said Alicia. "Will nothing persuade you? We are not without influence at Novorecife, and we might be able to do the kingdom favors on our return thither."

"Nay, 'tis stark impossible. And now I must beg your indulgence, for the Treasurer's report, about to arrive, will command my full diligence."

They walked slowly back to Irants's Inn, Alicia bubbling over the prospect of a shopping spree, Mjipa sunk in frowning thought. At the afternoon meal, Mjipa ate a whole ambar. This item of sea food bore an uncanny resemblance to a Terran cockroach enlarged to lobster size. Its appearance made some Earthlings nauseated at the thought of eating it, but Mjipa was hardened.

During this dinner, Mjipa queried Irants about the shopping districts. Armed with this knowledge they set out, Alicia sprightly, Mjipa feeling martyred. He lost track of the number of shops they stopped at. In each one they listened to the unctuous sales talk of the merchant, while Alicia looked over countless items and rejected them. Mjipa found standing around in shops more fatiguing than a fifty-kilometer gallop. His feet began to hurt.

In the end, Alicia bought a Kalwmian kilt with horizontal stripes of red, yellow, and blue. She also bought a wide-brimmed straw hat, such as they had seen otherwise naked farm workers wear. "I don't tan well," she explained. "I just burn and peel."

"It's the same with Fergus Reith, our permanent tour guide," said Mjipa. "You must meet him. Here, a pale skin's a badge aristocracy, just as it once was in Europe. A deep tan means you work out of doors, say on a farm, so you're a proletarian. That distinction never applied to us Africans, since we stayed black no matter what."

Her last purchase was a necklace of semi-precious stones in silver settings. This took as much time as several previous stops together. She studied the jeweler's offerings, tried them on, pirouetted before a mirror, and seemed unable to make up her mind. At last Mjipa growled:

"Look, my dear, if you'll just buy one of those bloody things and get it over with, I'll pay for it out of my own meager salary."

"Don't be silly!" She fumbled in her musette bag. "I've got money enough. It's just that they're all so divine."

When, having bought the necklace, they reached the street, Roqir had disappeared behind the buildings. The greenish blue of the sky was deepening towards twilight; small bijars flitted in pursuit of flying arthropods.

In starting back for the inn, they took a wrong turn and found themselves in a district poorer than any they had yet seen. "Looks like a tough neighborhood," murmured Mjipa.

"Oh, you needn't worry, with your size and your—oh, my! You don't have your sword!"

"I haven't been wearing the damned thing around the city. It would be a comfort now, I admit. We'd better hurry."

They strode on past doorways in which members of the Kalwmian underclass lounged, smoked, drank, and played piza on the pavement. One such group looked up simultaneously as the Terrans passed. Mjipa heard a shout that sounded like "Chaispis vatsw eqhav khos ash tserku!"

"What did he say?" asked Alicia. "I can't quite follow the extreme city dialect."

"It sounded like a sexual insult, directed at you." Mjipa slowed his stride and looked around.

Alicia pulled his arm. "Ignore them, Percy! We don't want a brawl, here of all places."

"When I'm with a lady, I don't let hooligans insult her—"

"Never mind! These thugs have the numbers and the swords. Now come along, Don Quixote!"

They continued to the next crossing, when footsteps and a repetition of the opprobrious sentence warned them they were followed. They crossed the intersecting street into a more prosperous neighborhood, where Mjipa halted and faced about.

He confronted four Kalwmians. One, with a scar on one cheek, bore a sword; the other three had daggers only.

"Were you speaking to me?" Mjipa addressed the swordsman in Khaldoni.

"Nay," said the Krishnan. "We care nought for you. We gape for the Terran doxy. Come with us, sweetling, and we'll show you a more frolicsome time than ever this black Terran shomal could."

"Never!" exclaimed Alicia and Mjipa together.

"Keep out of this, O Terran," said the swordsman, grasping his hilt, "unless ye list to be eunuchized."

"Alicia," said Mjipa,"hand me that kilt you bought." As she opened her mouth, he added sharply: "Don't argue!"

She gave him the folded garment. He said: "The lady is going nowhere. Now run along about your business."

The swordsman spat and bared a span of his steel, saying: "Ye seem not to know who I am."

"I admit my ignorance," said Mjipa.

"My name is Khostavorn."

"So?" said Mjipa. "That means nothing to me."

"It means that those who are wise belay not my path." Out came another few centimeters of blade. "Now go about your business!"

"I am minding my business right now," said Mjipa.

"Then ye'll have brought the fruits of your folly upon yourself," said Khostavorn, sweeping out his sword. "Will ye yield, or must your foul Terran blood be upon my hands?"

"Go to Hishkak!"

Khostavorn plunged forward in an extended lunge, with his point aimed for Mjipa's chest. As he did so, Mjipa unfurled the kilt and whipped it around the blade, spoiling its aim and for the second immobilizing it Before the swordsman could recover, Mjipa sprang forward, past the sword's point, and brought his right fist up in a seeping uppercut. It landed with a crack, sending Kostavorn staggering.

A second punch caused the Krishnan to drop his sword. Mjipa bored in, pounding the gangster with rights and lefts. Khostavorn fell back against a house front and toppled to the ground, unconscious.

Drawing his dagger, Mjipa whirled as one of the other three moved towards him. At the consul's formidable aspect, the three backed away, turned, and fled.

Nursing bruised knuckles, Mjipa muttered: "You never know where to hit these blokes for best results, because their internal anatomy is different. I think I'll help myself to Master Khostavorn's sword."

"Hadn't you better kill him while you have the chance? Nobody's in sight."

Mjipa gave Alicia a sharp look. "For a pretty, delicate-looking little thing, you surely have the bloodiest ideas."

"Well, will you? It's only common sense."

"No, I won't."

"Why not? He's not human, and he'd have killed you."

"I won't because I've seen how native justice works. A bloke's attacked you, and you've killed him in self-defense—a clear case. But they take one look and say, 'He's an alien monster from outer space. He's obviously guilty; boil him in oil!' "

While Alicia recovered her new kilt from the dirt, Mjipa unhooked the scabbard from the swordsman's belt, slung it to his own belt, and picked up and sheathed the sword. "Now let's move!"

Between the gathering darkness and the lack of street signs, the two got completely lost. They were wandering aimlessly, trying to steer by one of the moons, when they stumbled upon a squad of the night watch. This consisted of a group of Kalwmian civilians tramping along with torches in their hands and halberds on their shoulders. When queried, these readily gave directions to Irants's Inn.

As they neared the inn, Mjipa saw a group of men lounging in front of the building. Something told Mjipa they were waiting for him. He whispered:

"Get behind me, Alicia! Now, when I say 'go!', run to where we saw the night watch. Find them and tell them to come as fast as they can. Don't get lost, and don't argue!"

He took a few more strides. The loungers straightened up alertly. Mjipa muttered, "Go!" and heard Alicia's footsteps patter away.

One of the loungers stepped towards Mjipa, the moonlight gleaming on his bared blade. The light of two moons, together with that from a cresset blazing in a wall bracket at the next corner, enabled Mjipa to recognize Khostavorn, who came steadily on. The Krishnan's face was mottled from Mjipa's blows.

The other gangsters spread out to surround Mjipa, but Khostavorn snapped: "Keep back! This alien's mine!"

Mjipa drew the sword he had taken from Khostavorn, and they engaged. They made passes—thrusts, cuts, and parries—cautiously at first. Mjipa wished he had paid closer attention to the fencing lessons that Ivar Heggstad had tried to pound into him.

The basket-hilted swords hissed, scraped, and clanged. Both were of similar pattern, substantial cut-and-thrust weapons not unlike the swords that officers in some Terran armies still wore for parades. They had straight blades a little under 80 centimeters long and four wide and weighed about one kilo. Khostavorn handled his blade with greater assurance and adeptness.

Mjipa barely parried a sudden lunge; another forced him to step back. He felt the sting of a cut as Khostavorn's point scraped the skin of his chest. Again, he got his blade against the Krishnan's barely in time. Back he went another step. His own lunges, cuts, thrusts, remises, doubles, and one-twos the Krishnan easily knocked aside.

The hilt of Mjipa's sword became slippery with sweat. Mjipa had a horrid feeling that the Krishnan was toying with him and could kill him any time he wished.

The action slowed as the fighters began to pant. Mjipa was relieved to see that his antagonist became short of breath just as he did; Khostavorn was not, after all, a tireless fighting machine. Perhaps, with Mjipa's superior height and reach, he could offset the Krishnan's greater skill—but then a sudden attack forced him to back up again; his foot slipped and for a flash he thought he was going to fall. But he recovered.

For an instant they stood motionless, blades engaged in sixte. Then Mjipa snatched his sword hand back and his blade up in a coupé. His lunge went under Khostavorn's blade before the latter even tried to parry. Apparently the coupé was unknown in Kalwm.

Mjipa's point went home with the slight jerkiness of a blade penetrating layers of organic tissue. Mjipa pulled the blade out and stepped back.

Khostavorn's sword wavered and fell to the street with a clang, as Khostavorn folded up and sprawled in the dirt.

The rest of the gang, five of them, were quietly surrounding Mjipa. Two had swords, the others knives or daggers.

With tigerish speed, Mjipa leaped at the smallest of the dagger men. With both hands on his hilt, he brought his sword down in a whistling cut at the Krishnan's shoulder. The whistle ended in a meaty sound; the gangster shrieked as his arm fell into the dirt. The others sprang at Mjipa, but the consul got his back against the wall of the inn. With his left hand he drew his dagger.

Although they were four to one, the remaining gangsters hesitated, muttering. From the words he caught, Mjipa gathered that each was urging the others to be the first to rush upon Mjipa's bloody blade.

At last the two swordsmen summoned courage to make a simultaneous advance. For a few seconds there was a wild meleé. Mjipa could do little but make desperate right-and-left parries to knock the two blades aside before they reached him. He felt the sting of another cut as one of the dagger men got close enough to nick his left arm. He replied with an awkward slash of his dagger, which laid open the Krishnan's cheek.

Then a clatter of footsteps and the light of bobbing torches down the street distracted the attackers. "The watch!" cried one. In a trice, the four still on their feet scampered off into the darkness.

The night watch arrived, puffing, with Alicia. All asked questions at once. They turned over Khostavorn's body, exclaiming his name. They peered at the gangster whom Mjipa had maimed. The Krishnan sat on the ground with his back to the wall, with his remaining hand clutching his wounded shoulder. Krishnan blood, looking black in the dim light, poured out between his fingers. He murmured:

"Aid me! Bind me up, pray, ere I die!"

"I know that one," said one of the watch. " 'Tis the cutpurse Yav. I'll tend to him. Stand back, hearties!"

The watchman swung his halberd. The ax blade crunched through the wounded Krishnan's neck. Yav's head fell into the dirt; the body toppled.

"Ye must come with us, Terran," said the commander of the squad.

"I understand," said Mjipa.

The watch set off. Two carried Khostavorn's body; two more that of Yav; another watchman bore Yav's arm in one hand and his head in the other. The remaining watchmen shouldered the halberds of the burden-bearers in addition to their own.

They entered a small building. A Kalwmian whose body paint indicated official status sat on the floor behind a low desk. Those bearing the remains of the dead gangsters dumped them in a corner. When the watchmen had given their story, the seated official said:

"The magistrate hath gone home for the night, so we must needs hold this Terran till morning."

"What of's leman?" A watchman indicated Alicia.

"Whereas she took no part in the affray, I see no cause to hold her. We shall find her at Irants's Inn when we wish. Ye, Terran, hand over your sword. Now, what's your name?"

Mjipa answered a long list of questions. When the official had noted the answers, Alicia said: "I ought to stay with you, Percy."

"Thanks, old thing; but no. If you want to be helpful, go back to the inn and fetch some disinfectant and bandages. Then go back and stay there, to keep an eye on Minyev and our gear. If they don't let me out tomorrow, go to Chanapar about it."

Next morning the magistrate had no sooner appeared and summoned Mjipa when a page arrived from the palace, out of breath. "My—my—my lords!" the lad burst out. "Word hath come to my masters of Master Mjipa's slaying of the agitator Khostavorn. They command that he be escorted to the palace forthwith!"

After the officials of Kalwm City had scurried about, Mjipa found himself marched to the palace by an escort of eight gilded soldiers. One of these bore the consul's sword and dagger; Mjipa supposed they were uncertain what treatment awaited him.

Mjipa was taken to Chanapar's office. The minister said: "Give Master Mjipa back his weapons. Great Phaighost, you are wounded!"

"Mere scratches," said Mjipa.

The Phathvum continued:"Word hath come, good my sir, of your deed of dought against that unsavory pack of rogues yestereve. Your slaying of Khostavorn is held in especial gratitude by His Awesomeness and myself.

"Know, Master Mjipa, this malefeasor is one whom all knew to be an evildoer, yet never have we truly laid him by the heels, for want of evidence. Oft hath he been arrested; but his fautors have so terrified all witnesses with threats of murder that none would speak up.

"Furthermore, he was more than a mere swasher. Acquiring ambitions political, he sought alliance with some of our disaffected magnates and led an agitation against my master's greatest enterprise: his heaven-soaring tower. This rascal had fautors in unexpected places."

"Couldn't you just order him killed on general principles?"

"Nay, not under the charter which the rebellious commons extorted from Roshetsin the Fifteenth. Furthermore, the dastard had protectors amongst the magnates. Twere well for you to be erelong on your way home, lest Khostavorn's secret supporters send hired bravos to slay you in revenge."

"Why didn't you hire some bravos of your own to do him in?"

"We did, to no avail. Khostavorn was the deadliest swordsman in the realm, and the members of his band were not far behind him. It amazes me that you could dompt him; belike we might employ you in our army as an instructor in bladesmanship."

"Thank you, but I hope to keep my present job. My victory was mostly luck." Privately, Mjipa thought that if a tyro like himself could spit the deadliest swordsman in Kalwm, the local standard of swordplay could not be very high.

In fact, the minister's tale sounded thin to Mjipa. The full story of alliances and enmities among the powers of this kingdom, he suspected, was much more complex than appeared on the surface. Could it be, for instance, that the local garrison was controlled by one of those 'disaffected magnates' of whom Chanapar had spoken? That might explain Khostavorn's long immunity. But Mjipa had neither the leisure nor the will to investigate these mysteries. If he were ever appointed Terran representative to Kalwm, that would be time enough for snooping.

"Phaighost only knows," continued the Phathvum, "what might have befallen had you not brought the wretch to a timely cease. The kingdom is not ungrateful, sirrah. Do but name a reasonable reward, and it shall be yours."

After a moment, Mjipa said: "I thank Your Altitude. I should like, first, the return of my bond money; and second, another audience with His Awesomeness. Kindly tell him that I was so fascinated by his account of his ancestry that I yearn for more of the same."

The minister gave Mjipa a sharp look. "That is curious. Of the other visitors whom my lord hath regaled with accounts of's forebears, all professed themselves satisfied with a single discourse. But it shall be as you list."

An hour later, Mjipa found himself closeted with Vuzhov the Visionary again, listening with an affectation of intense interest to the king's ancestral anecdotes: "... and this is Vuzhov the Seventeenth. Finding the routine of ruling irksome, he sought the advice of a holy man, Sailuts the Selfless, on how to gain eternal fame by some great quest or feat of heroism.

"Sailuts inhaled his magical smokes and went into a trance. When he recovered, he told Vuzhov that his spirit, ranging far and wide, had discovered in the land of Garam, on the shores of the Maraghé Sea, a smith who knew the secret of making helmets of invisibility. If my ancestor would sail thither to procure such a helm, Sailuts said, he would give great satisfaction.

"So Vuzhov set sail, and coasted the shores of Peihné, and ascended the river Konela to the Maraghé. But whilst his ship was searching the shores of this sea for the dwelling of the marvelous smith, the king was snatched from's deck by a saferir, which as you doubtless know is the large cousin of the 'avval, and devoured in one great gulp.

"Terrified, the survivors of the crew turned about, sailed back down the Konela, and returned to Kalwm. When some of Vuzhov's loyal supporters taxed Sailuts the Selfless with having sent their Heshvavu to an untimely death by a false rede, the holy man, no whit abashed, replied that his prophecy had proven true to the letter. For Vuzhov had indubitably given satisfaction to the saferir, to whom he furnished an ample repast."

The king cleared his throat. "We fear our old voice grows weary, and the hour of dinner draws nigh. Will today's recital suffice, Master Mjipa?"

"Of a surety, Your Awesomeness," replied Mjipa. "I am inexpressibly grateful that you have afforded me so much of your priceless time to expound these fascinating tales."

"Ainkhist would like them for his book, I ween," said the king with a nasty little chuckle, "but he shan't have them. Well, this hath been a pleasure. Your Khaldoni hath vastly improved since last we met."

Mjipa shrugged. "I strive for excellence, sire."

"Good! When our tower reaches Heaven and we take our rightful place amongst the gods, we shall ordain a system of rewards for worthy mortals like your good self."

"One small matter, sire!"

"Aye?"

"I beg permission to visit the unfortunate, deluded Doctor Isayin in his cell. At Novorecife, they wish to know the wrong side of public issues as well as the right; and they count upon me to report them at my return thither. Perhaps I might even convert him to Your Awesomeness's correct views."

"That were a virtuous deed," said Vuzhov.

"Suppose I did; would it mitigate his penalty?"

The Heshvavu pursed his lips. At last he said: "To some degree. We might ordain that his death be made quick and painless, e'en though it would thwart the hopes of the vulgar for a gory spectacle."

"Could you direct the Phathvum to give me a pass?"

"Aye. Uzhegh!" The king spoke to his secretary. "Indite us a note to Chanapar, bespeaking him to issue Master Mjipa a pass to Isayin's cell."

As he left the palace with the pass in his wallet, Mjipa encountered Minyev on the steps. The factotum sprang up, saying: "My lord, Mistress Dyckman sent me forth to find you this morn, saying that I, knowing this city, could better do it than she. Like Hwrar pursued about the maze by the demon-kargán, I traced you to the local magistrate's chamber and thence hither, where they told me you were closeted with the great ones. I've waited, uncertain whether I should see you next in one piece. Do your wounds pain?"

"Not much," said Mjipa. He started back for the inn.

When he arrived, Minyev trotting to keep up with the consul's long strides, Mjipa found an agitated Irants awaiting him. "Sir!" said the taverner. "A new matter hath us wimpled. Know ye a wight clept Kuimaj, from Mutabwk?"

"No; I never heard of him. Why?"

"He claims to know you. Says he hath come as a herald from the Heshvavu Ainkhist himself, with a missive to Mistress Dyckman. But she refuses to hear it and hath bolted herself in her chamber. Now this one stands without the door, praying audience. I like not to pitch a gentleman, which I take this fellow to be, out on's arse without due consideration. Canst untangle this coil, sir?"

"Let's see him." Mjipa mounted the stairs to Alicia's room. Before it stood a Krishnan, a Mutabwcian by the cut of his kilt and the pattern of his body paint. In a loud, peremptory voice, this person was reading from a scroll.

"Pardon me," said Mjipa, approaching, "but I am with the lady to whom you are trying to speak. What's your business?"

The Krishnan looked angrily at Mjipa. "Know, O Terran, that a herald of His Awesomeness, the mighty Heshvavu of Mutabwk, is not to be entreated in such scurvy fashion. After all, I am who I am!"

"What scurvy fashion?"

"Why, Mistress Dyckman renies to hear the message I bear from my mighty master."

"We'll come to that. Meanwhile you may read me your message."

"Aye," said Irants, crowding up behind Mjipa. "He speaks sooth, Master Kuimaj, and is moreover a personage in high favor at the court of Kalwm. We'll not longer suffer you to roil the tranquility of our hostelry."

Kuimaj looked from Mjipa to Irants to Minyev. Outnumbered, he grumbled: "Where, then, would ye fain have this royal missive read?"

"My room will serve," said Mjipa. "Irants, get Master Kuimaj a drink of falat, and put it on my bill. In here, good my sir."

Settled in Mjipa's room, the Mutabwcian at last began to read, in a voice that could have addressed a thousand:

KNOW YE, MISTRESS ALICIA DYCKMAN, THAT HIS AWESOMENESS THE HESHVAVU AINKHIST OF MUTABWK IS SMITTEN WITH A BURNING PASSION FOR YOUR FAIR SELF. HE CURSES THE DAY WHEN HE SUFFERED YOU TO DEPART FROM HIS PRESENCE AND HIS KINGDOM. NOW HE WOULD FAIN WOO YOU BACK, SINCE YE SURPASS ALL HIS OTHER WOMEN AS ROQIR SURPASSES SHEB. DO BUT RETURN TO HIS LOVING BOSOM, AND HE WILL MAKE YOU HIS FIRST WIFE OR QUEEN. FAVORS UNTOLD SHALL BE YOURS: FOOD, DRINK, RAIMENT, JEWELS, SLAVES, ENTERTAINMENTS, THE HEADS OF YOUR ENEMIES. YE HAVE BUT TO ASK AND IT SHALL BE GIVEN, SO THAT YE RETURN TO THE EMBRACE OF THE MIGHTY MONARCH, WHOSE LIVER BURNS WITH DESIRE AS ARDENT AS THE FLAMES OF HISHKAK. COME BACK TO YOUR TRUE LOVER AND HE WILL BE YOUR OBEDIENT SLAVE.

"End of missive," said Kuimaj. "Well, when comes she?"

"We shall see," said Mjipa. He went to the door of Alicia's room, calling: "Open up, Lish! It's Percy. I'll see this cove doesn't drag you off against your will."

Alicia came out, casting a scornful glance at the herald. "He read me his message once. When I said no, he read it again. When I still said no, he started to read it a third time, with gestures. I told him what he could do with his scroll and went to my room."

"You might as well give up and go back to Yein," Mjipa told the herald. "The lady has no intention of complying. Since this is not Mutabwk, Ainkhist's writ runs not here."

"But she must come!" cried Kuimaj. "For a maiden to refuse the suit of a king were unheard-of! 'Tis a thing impossible! Especially when he offers to make her his official consort. Is't that she understands not Khaldoni, which she speaks with an accent? Or is't but a zany lune, by one of unsound mind, wherefore she should be committed to the care of learned doctors of physick?"

"I understand well enough," said Alicia. "It is you who fails to understand plain Khaldoni. When I say no, I mean no."

"So," said Mjipa, "kindly go about your business and cease to trouble us."

"I'll not move until yon joltheaded jade agrees to my master's hest!"

Mjipa sighed. "One damned Donnybrook after another," he said in English. "Minyev, you and Irants take his legs; I'll manage his arms."

"Fang him, bullies!" cried Irants. The three pounced upon the herald and picked him up. They carried him, kicking and yelling threats and defiance, down the stairs and out the front door. There they gave him a heave-ho that tossed him into the middle of the street. As he got up, Kuimaj shook a fist at the group in the inn door, shouting:

"Ye carls shall rue your insolence! None flouts the commands of my mighty master with impunity! Ye have not seen the last of me, and Mistress Dyckman shall yet reign as queen in Mutabwk!"

He limped off, patting dirt from his person.

Over dinner, Mjipa told of his interviews with the Phathvum and the Heshvavu. Alicia exclaimed: "You mean, it turns out that this underworld bigshot is the one opposing the king's crazy tower? The one on what we'd consider the right side? And you did us good with the government by bumping him off?"

"Exactly, my dear. Life is full of ironies, isn't it? Of course, I didn't set out to put paid to anyone on either side of the tower dispute; but if some johnny attacks me, I must defend myself."

"Thank the Krishnan gods you came through! I was sure they had you this time."

"They would have, if Khostavorn's vanity hadn't made him hold the others back, so he could have the glory of killing me single-handed."

"So you see what happens to the guy who plays the fearless hero! If you'd only taken my advice and killed him after you knocked him out—"

"And then we shouldn't have got our bond money and a pat on the back from the government. You never know how these things will turn out."

"Why wouldn't we have gotten our money back, etcetera?"

"Because, not knowing how the government felt about the fellow, we should have kept our mouths tightly shut."

Alicia sighed. "I give up. How was your night at the station house?"

"Not bad. I had two cell mates. One was drunk and wanted to show he could thrash the biggest man in the place, and guess whom he chose for the honor? But one straight left put him to sleep. The other was an admirer of the late Khostavorn, who praised the blighter's virtues for an hour before he fell asleep. I thought it more tactful not to tell him what had befallen his hero."

"And now you're going to visit Isayin like you said?"

"Yes indeed."

"If that doesn't work, you'll be sorry you got on such chummy terms with the king. It'll only get us in more trouble—as if we didn't have enough already, with King Khorosh out for revenge and King Ainkhist smitten with love."

"Sorry about that, but with me it's a matter of obligation. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't at least have a go at it."

She continued to argue against Mjipa's trying to free the condemned heretic. At last Mjipa burst out:

"Look here, you wouldn't like it, would you, if I told you to take Ainkhist up on his offer and go back to Yein? It would certainly simplify life for me."

"Of course not! That's a ridiculous comparison. Anyway you're the one who was ready to fight the whole Mutabwcian court to save my so-called honor."

"Oh, I wouldn't think of asking you to do such a thing; I merely cited it as an example. The mere idea of a human woman giving herself to one of these—these aliens gives me the bleeps. Well, I feel the same way about leaving Isayin in the lurch, after I helped to convict him. You 're partly responsible, too, for selling him the round-planet idea."

"But he's only an alien, and you said yourself ..."

The argument grew into another quarrel. They finished the meal in silence, and Alicia retired to her room and slammed the door.

Mjipa took Minyev with him to the Old Prison, to show the way. The head warden scrutinized the pass, returned it to Mjipa, and led him down a corridor lined with barred cells, leaving Minyev in his office. He unlocked the door of one cell and waved Mjipa in, remaining outside the bars.

The small, wizened Kalwmian in the cell looked up. His antennae rose and his eyes widened as they took in Mjipa's towering height and sable coloring.

"You!" said Doctor Isayin. "What in Phaighost's name brings you hither? To gloat over my fate?"

"Not at all, Doctor." Mjipa then asked: "Do you speak Gozashtandou?" in that language.

"Aye," said Isayin in the same tongue. "Wherefore ask you?"

"Because we can speak more freely thus, since that jailer watching us probably understands it not." Mjipa shot a glance at the warden, to see if he reacted to the words; but the Krishnan gave no sign of interest.

"If you come not to sneer, then what?"

"First, tell me how you got into this plight."

"Discovering from a Terran female, a person of forceful spirit and deep learning, that the spherical planet was universally credited by the space-traveling Terrans, I let myself be convinced of the truth of this doctrine. Its verity I had long suspected from small indications; for ensample, the hull of a ship vanishes o 'er the horizon whilst one can still perceive the masts and sails; so the surface of the sea must bulge upward. After all, space travelers have in sooth viewed this and other worlds from afar and thus beheld their true form.

"I sought to present my heretical views to my class with discretion, cautioning them that 'twas but a theory, however cogent the arguments therefor. But one student, a thrasonical young cuttle on whom the higher learning is wasted, resented my failing him in the course. His revenge was to denounce me to the powers of the palace. The rest you know."

"Now," said Mjipa, "if you'll allow me, I'll explain my part in this sad affair." He summarized the obstacles he faced and the things he had been forced to do in his dealings with the Khaldonian rulers. Isayin asked:

"Be this female whom you've rescued from peril dire, as Abbeq rescued Dangi, the same as she who vouchsafed the Terran round-world doctrine to me? Alesha—Aleesha something."

"Yes; Alicia Dyckman. She and I sail five days hence for Majbur and Novorecife. If I could smuggle you out of this cell, would you wish to come with us?"

The Kalwmian spread his hands. "What can I say? Love I my native land ne'er so much, I'd liefer not stay to enjoy the entertainments of the Heshvavu's executioners. How will you effect this extrication?"

"I'm not certain, but I have ideas. Act doleful and discouraged, as if I had quenched your last spark of hope. I shall be back."

Over the next day's breakfast, Mjipa said: "Lish, I've got another problem. Can you write good Khaldoni?"

"Is this something to do with your crazy idea of springing Isayin?"

"Never mind; can you?"

"No, I can't. I've studied the written language and can read it a little, but I never got very far past the signs. It's very irregular."

"Then I shall have to try Minyev. He reads and writes, which is pretty good for a person of his class."

"Oh, God, Percy! Don't you see, that will put us at his mercy? What makes you think he wouldn't turn us in for a reward?"

"It's taking a bit of a chance, I admit. But it won't affect you, because you'll be safe aboard ship. Minyev is a good risk, because he wants to come with us to Novo. He can't do that if I'm in pokey here."

"Percy, you 're the most bullheaded idiot I've ever known. There's no reasoning with you. You make me mad!"

"No, my dear; your madness was well established long before I met you. Now excuse me, please."

Mjipa hunted up the taverner, saying: "Master Irants, have you a rule or scale for measuring, that I could borrow?"

Irants produced a length of wood marked off in Khaldoni units. Mjipa took it and found Minyev, saying:

"See you this?" He showed the factotum the blank back of the pass to Isayin's cell. "Look closely, noting the quality of the paper. It is four and a half by six yestit. I want you to buy me twenty sheets of paper of exactly the same size and quality. Take Master Irants's rule along to make sure. This is strictly confidential. If you give me away, you'll never get to Novorecife."

"Wherefore not, sir? I understand not."

"Because in that case I shan't be alive to take you. Now get along."

Hours later, Minyev returned with the package, saying: "The quality is not exactly that of the original, my lord. It was the closest I could find."

Mjipa unwrapped the package and compared the sheets with that of his pass. The paper differed slightly, but Mjipa hoped that the difference was too slight to be noticed by lamplight.

"You did well," said Mjipa. "Now sit down. Here are pen and ink. Write me out, in your best Khaldoni, the following:

YOU ARE HEREBY DIRECTED TO RELEASE THE PRISONER ISAYIN IN THE CUSTODY OF THE SAID TERRAN MJIPA. FOR REASONS OF STATE, THIS ENLARGEMENT SHALL BE KEPT IN STRICTEST SECRECY.

CHANAPAR, PHATHVUM

After dinner, Mjipa retired to his room and spent the rest of the day laboriously forging a new pass. Although he had no experience in forgery, after several attempts he produced a plausible imitation of the opening sentences of the original pass. Instead of the final sentence, authorizing him to visit Isayin in his cell, he copied the passage that he had caused Minyev to write, following the style of lettering of the original pass.

The following day, Mjipa killed time by taking Alicia to a revival of Harian's The Ancestors, given in Khaldoni. He offered her a choice of a poetry reading by Shetsin, a local bard; a concert by the Royal Band; and the play. All of these were advertised on the bulletin board in the main square. She chose the play.

The plot concerned an aristocratic young couple whose first egg, when hatched, produced a baby Krishnan with a tail. The question was: which line, his or hers, bore the taint of the ancestry of a tailed Krishnan? The presence of the tailed species in one's family tree was deemed a deep disgrace.

Mjipa whispered: "I thought the tailed and tailless species weren't interfertile?"

"Not quite true," Alicia whispered back. "They can produce offspring, but most are sterile. Not all, though."

In the end, it transpired that the couple were remote cousins, their common ancestor being the same tailed forebear. They were about to commit suicide to atone for their disgrace, when an envoy from distant Günesh invited them to his country. There, he assured them, their "drop of tailed blood" would not be held against them.

"At least," murmured Alicia, "it's sound genetics, assuming the tail is a Mendelian recessive."

Later, near the end of visiting hours, Mjipa paid another call at the Old Prison, to warn Isayin of his plans.

"Oh!" said Isayin. "You purport to liberate me three days hence? Alas, 'twill be too late."

"How?"

"The day after tomorrow, 'tis said, I shall be taken to the Examining Room in the palace. You wite, methinks, what that means. They'll seek to wring from me, by means no whit gentler than those of the giant Damghan in the legend, news of other heretics. They fancy to crush what they misprize to be a vast conspiracy of round-worlders against the god-ordained rule of His Sacred Awesomeness. Whether the late Khostavorn headed such a cabal, I know not, never having met the rogue."

Mjipa sat in thought. At last he said: "Then I must deliver you tomorrow. I've been wondering where to keep you between then and sailing time; but I think I know a safe place. Can you play the part of a—let me think—a Zhamanacian, say?"

"I could shave off my hair, adopt their style of body paint, and speak a fair simulacrum of their dialect."

"Then be prepared to do so. Phaighost willing, I shall return after the dinner hour tomorrow."

For supper, Mjipa took Alicia to a Kalwmian night spot. They listened to a trio playing strange music on instruments resembling a set of bagpipes, a balalaika, and a xylophone. A female Krishnan sang wailing songs.

Struggling with a dish of live spaghetti—actually an edible worm that continued to wriggle after being boiled—Mjipa looked across at his companion. She was scribbling notes on a pad. "Lish!" he said. "Don't you ever stop gathering data and just enjoy life?"

"You don't understand. You know how it is in Majbur and other cities nearer Novorecife. You try to sample native entertainment, and you get Krishnan attempts at Guadalajara and The Star Spangled Banner and Die Lorelei. Terran arts and fashions are becoming the rage; so if you want the authentic Krishnan flavor, you have to go out in the boonies, like here. That's why I want to record it, before it disappears the way distinctive local cultures have on Earth."

A dancer, wearing a hugely voluminous dress, with a wide skirt over many petticoats and puffed sleeves, pirouetted. Mjipa remarked:"Where people are used to wearing clothes, they get their jollies out of seeing some bird dance naked. Here, where they go more or less naked, they get them from seeing her practically smothered in clothes."

When the dancer retired, the trio struck up a lively tune.

Some Kalwmian couples got up to dance. Alicia said:"Let's dance, Percy!"

"Christ, woman, how could I possibly do one of these native minuets and gavottes and things, whatever they call 'em here, which I've never learned? I should need instruction and practice. All I could do would be the Ngwato war dance, which I learned in school."

"Percy, you're going to dance! You can do a simple two-step, I'm sure."

Mjipa rose with a sigh. "By God, if I don't apply for extra hardship pay on account of this, my name's not Percy Kuruman Mjipa ..."