The Prisoner of Zhamanak

VIII ENTRAPMENT

Mjipa softly closed the valves of the portal behind him. He paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness, relieved only by faint light from openings higher up in the thick brickwork. As his vision cleared, he made out the foot of the spiral stair, a series of geometrical shapes in the dimness. He started towards the stair, stumbled on some unseen obstacle, and cursed a bruised toe.

Reaching the stair, with all his senses keyed up, he ascended, step after cautious step. He kept a hand on his hilt, lest the silence conceal an ambush. Somewhere in the darkness, a Krishnan arthropod trilled its mating song, much as do crickets and katydids on Terra.

Reaching the third floor, he groped along the gallery until he came to the door of the tool room. He rapped with his knuckles, saying softly: "Doctor Isayin! Open the door!"

There was no response. Mjipa rapped harder and repeated his call more loudly. Still silence. Mjipa wondered if the Krishnan scholar had been discovered and dragged away or slain, or whether he had succumbed to some sudden ailment.

Still hearing no response, Mjipa drew his dagger, pounded on the door with the pommel, and raised his voice to a near-shout: "Doctor Isayin! Open up!"

The tower remained silent. Mjipa cocked his head, listening. Below, the arthropod still chirped. From afar the consul could detect faint urban night sounds: a distant cry, the rumble of a laden wain, a few notes of music. But nothing implied the presence of other intelligent life within the tower.

Mjipa began feeling around the edges of the door for a clue. Along the bottom, his fingers encountered the thin edge of the wooden wedge he had given Isayin to secure the door. Isayin had evidently driven the wedge between the door and the floor, and the point of the wedge stuck out on the other side. So the Krishnan must still be within.

After thinking, Mjipa began whittling away at the edge of the wood with his dagger. By removing nearly a centimeter of wood, he achieved a flat vertical surface. He sheathed his dagger, unhooked it from his belt, and applied the chape at the end of the sheath to the end of the truncated wedge.

By tapping the pommel of his dagger with the hilt of his sword, Mjipa at last detected a slight movement of the wedge. When the end of the wedge disappeared beneath the door, he withdrew the dagger again, inserted the point beneath the door, and pushed. The wedge gave way. Mjipa got up, grasped the handle near the latch, and opened the door.

He slipped inside, throwing a glance around the bare chamber. The dim light showed a huddled figure in one far corner. Mjipa hurried over and grasped an arm of the naked body. It felt warm.

The body stirred, and Isayin opened his eyes. "What— where am I?" he mumbled. "Oh, ah, aye; now it comes back. You are the Terran who hath brought me to Vuzhov's tower."

"Didn't you hear me banging and shouting outside your door?" grated Mjipa.

"Nay, good sir; I was fast in the arms of Varzai." The scholar got up slowly and creakily. "Sleeping on bricks goes ill with my years. A tricksy irony, is it not, that I, condemned for upholding the world's sphericity, should find refuge in a tower dedicated to the contrary belief? Now set we forth to your ship?"

"Yes indeed. Let's waste no time." Mjipa started for the door, Isayin wobbling sleepily behind him. Then he halted so suddenly that the scholar bumped into him.

Through the door, which stood ajar, came the sound of men moving. Footsteps drummed on the spiral stair, mingled with the creak of harness, the clatter of weapons, and the murmur of voices.

Mjipa leaped to the door and peered through the crack. His eyes caught movement in the direction of the stair. Believing that retreat from the tower was already cut off, he seized the doorknob and pulled the door closed. The sounds quickly grew louder until they came from just outside. A stentorian voice rang out:

"The Terran stink stops here; he must needs be in this chamber! Open it, my bullies; but with care. This Terran's no feeble recusant." Mjipa recognized the Zhamanacian dialect of Verar, King Khorosh's envoy.

A sudden pull from the other side opened the door a crack. Exerting his strength, Mjipa slammed it shut again, cursing the lack of a bolt or other fastener. Again and again, stress was applied to the outer handle. Mjipa's muscles strained and sweat ran down his torso, as he braced himself to keep the door closed.

"What shall we do? What shall we do?" moaned Isayin, dancing about in an agony of apprehension. "If they hold us here till morn, the soldiers will come; but they'll arrest us along with them!"

"Drive that wedge under the door with the hammer again!" growled Mjipa. When Isayin seemed dazed, he repeated the instruction. He wished for his Webley and Scott 6-millimeter; that would soon have routed the miscreants.

A babel of voices outside seemed to discuss some method of access. Mjipa caught the phrase: "... thrust it under the handle, thus ..."

As Isayin at last collected the hammer and the wedge and approached, the door was forced open again. Mjipa braced himself and strained to keep it closed, but this time the force was beyond even his strength. Little by little the gap between door and frame widened. Through the gap, Mjipa saw a vague blur of faces and painted bodies in motion.

Then he perceived what the Zhamanacians were doing.

The outer side of the door bore a handle in the form of a vertical wooden bar attached by two thick bolts, instead of a knob. Someone had thrust the shaft of a pike beneath this handle. Then two of the group, pushing on the far end of the pike, exerted such leverage that not even Mjipa could hold the door.

As the gap widened, a Krishnan outside thrust a sword through the aperture and made a slash at the arm by which Mjipa was trying to hold the door closed. Mjipa released the knob and snatched his arm back; to have held on might have cost him his hand.

Instantly the door flew open. Mjipa whipped out his sword and dagger. Without pausing to parley, he threw himself into a violent attack on the Krishnans crowding the doorway. In the dim light, Mjipa's sword darted like a serpent's tongue. The nearest opponent, who swung a hatchet, was run through. Before he could even fall, the sword found the belly of the Krishnan on his left.

The one on his right, seeing the blade coming towards him, brought a sword up to parry; but Mjipa doubled and turned his thrust into a savage cut at the Krishnan's leg, which buckled under him. In a few seconds, three of the attackers were down, one dead and the others groaning and trying to crawl away though their comrades' legs.

Another stepped forward in a fencing lunge. Mjipa hit his sword with a force that shattered the Krishnan's blade and ran his point into the fellow's open mouth. The Krishnan fell back, making gargling noises and drooling blood.

A Zhamanacian called: "He's no Terran, but a monkey!"

"Fool!" shouted Verar. "Any noodle knows that reeky Terran stench. He's but disguised. At him!"

The door was narrow enough so that Mjipa, being larger than most Krishnans, comfortably filled it. So long as he stood in the doorway, they could not get past him to attack from side or rear. Although he was not a skilled fencer, his strength and reach, together with the darkness, made up for his deficiency. Furthermore, most of his assailants were armed only with daggers or knives of other kinds.

"In!" yelled Verar. "What pack of craven knaves have I hired? He's but one and we are many. All together now, charge!"

Again the Krishnans pressed forward. The light was too poor for accurate fencing, since a combatant could barely see his antagonist's blade. Mjipa hewed and thrust and brought down two more; but he felt the sting of a cut in his thigh, pierced by a blade he never even saw. He, who had never worn Krishnan armor, now mentally cursed the lack of it.

His leg turned weak, so that it seemed barely able to support him. He leaned against the left side of the door frame, still filling most of the door.

"At him!" shouted Verar. "See ye not he's wounded?"

A Krishnan tried to slide between Mjipa and the right side of the door frame. Mjipa caught him in the neck with a vicious backhand, which would have taken the Krishnan's head off if Mjipa's blade had not been stopped by the door frame. As it was, his neck half severed, the Krishnan fell forward. Another tried to lunge, but his foot slipped on the blood that now lubricated the floor. As he staggered, Mjipa hewed off his sword hand; hand and blade fell with a clang.

Another came forward bent double, as if to run in under Mjipa's sword with a dagger. Mjipa caught him in the throat with his own dirk in his left hand.

Dead and wounded bodies had piled up in the doorway, so that attackers had to step and stumble over them to get at the Terran. As if appalled by the harm he had wrought, the Krishnans pulled back out of reach of Mjipa's sword, now bloody to the hilt. They stood in a semicircle before the door, breathing heavily. Verar shouted:

"Hath no one a bow or crossbow? What idiot failed to bethink him of fetching them?"

"Ye did, my lord," said a voice in the darkness. There was a snicker of laughter.

"Well then, get ready to cast those pikes as javelins."

There was movement among the Krishnans, and two pikes appeared in the front rank. Mjipa, also gasping for breath, suspected that these were the pikes borne by the watchmen, who must have been either killed or, if they had recovered consciousness, chased away. A criminal gang would not carry such conspicuous weapons.

One pikeman drew back his arm and let fly. The heavy spear, ill-adapted to such use, flew past Mjipa as he leaned aside and clattered on the floor behind him.

"Fool!" came the strident voice of Verar. "Ye could not hit the side of Mount Meshaq!"

"Why try ye not handstrokes with this Terran giant yourself?" came another voice in the darkness. "Ye be very brave at ordering others into the fray."

Mjipa said: "Doctor, pick up that pike! Come forward here. The next one who tries to get past me, jab him in the guts."

"But I know nought of fighting! I was never trained ..."

"You know which end of a spear to poke with, don't you? Grab it and stop bleating!"

Isayin hesitantly picked up the pike. For an instant, the only sounds were the scuff of footsteps, the swish of heavy breathing, and the groans of wounded Krishnans. Some of these, having drawn back out of the fight, were trying to bandage one another's wounds. Then Verar's voice boomed:

"Ten golden khichit of Zhamanak to him who brings me the Terran's head!"

During the early stages of the fight, Mjipa had exerted himself beyond normal human capacity. He had strained his bodily powers harder than ever before in his life. Now his heart raced, his breath came in shuddering gasps, and the strength seemed to be leaking out of his sword arm. He muttered over his shoulder to Isayin:

"I know not how much longer I can hold, with this wounded leg. It may collapse beneath me."

"What can I do?" said Isayin.

"Come forward. I need your help for the next rush."

"I'll do what I can," mumbled the scholar.

A shuffling in the dark implied that the Krishnans were preparing to rush again. Then sounds from farther away were heard. There came a patter of feet on the stair and Alicia's voice crying: "Percy! Where are you? The Mutabwcians came to the ship ... Oh!"

"Run, Lish!" roared Mjipa. "It's Khorosh's gang!"

She gave a little shriek. Then came the sound of more feet on the stair. A ruddy-yellow, flickering light grew. Alicia called: "I can't go back; they're behind me!"

"Hold all!" shouted Verar. "Who be these? Guard the Terran, ye five before the door; the rest face about. Why, 'tis the Terran female! Another ten khichit for her head, too!"

Alicia, caught between the two gangs on the narrow gallery, gave another shriek as one of the second group seized her from behind. This band included one Krishnan with a torch. By leaning, Mjipa could see over the heads of the nearest Zhamanacians. The newcomers included the Mutabwcian herald Kuimaj, whom Mjipa and his allies had thrown bodily out of Irants's Inn.

Verar shouted:"The female Terran is ours! Give her to us, that we may take her head to my master, the mighty Heshvavu Khorosh!"

"Never!" shouted back Kuimaj. "She is destined for the harem of my master, the mighty Heshvavu Ainkhist!"

"Will you give her peacefully," yelled Verar, "or must we slay you to get her? Methinks we have the advantage of numbers."

"We fear you not. We'll fight you any when ye list; but the female ye shall not have."

There was a muttered consultation among the Zhamanacians. Verar said: "We'll offer a compromise. We have the male Terran trapped and shall take his head in due time. Ye may have the female's head, provided ye give us some other part of her, say her hands, to carry back to my lord as attest of her death."

"Ye grasp not the nub, dolt! Our master demands her whole and unharmed. 'Tis not her head that chiefly interests him."

"So that's it? I piss on your master, the cunt-besotted old fool! We'll have the dame's life, an it mean slaying every last villain of you!"

"Come and get her, caitiff churls!"

"Eaters of dung!"

"Mother-futterers!"

"We'll fry your testicles for breakfast!"

"Doctor," said Mjipa, "we must try to break through these hirelings, seize Mistress Dyckman, and get away."

"How can we, when there be two of us and twenty or thirty of them?"

"If their quarrel goes from words to blows, we may have a chance. I'll give the word. Pick up that hammer; it might be good for cracking skulls."

"I'm old for derring-do," sighed Isayin, "but I'll do what I can."

The envoys, Verar and Kuimaj, continued to trade threats, accusations, and demands. As their voices waxed louder and their threats more lurid, the attention of the Zhamanacians before Mjipa became more and more distracted towards the leaders' slanging match. Two of the five drifted away from the semicircle guarding the door. Verar screamed:

"Offspring of a monkey and an ambar! We'll flay you alive and make condoms of your hides!"

"Walking turds!" replied Kuimaj. "We'll turn you loose without eyes, hands, or yards!"

At last Verar cried:"Enough of these pleasantries! Have at you, scurvy cullions!"

He and the Krishnans around him moved along the gallery towards the Mutabwcians. Swords clashed; a wounded man yelled.

"Come, Doctor!" said Mjipa. "Spear that fellow on our right!"

Drawing on all his reserves of strength, Mjipa feinted towards the left-hand Krishnan and then thrust the middle one through. At the same instant, Isayin jabbed the right-hand one in the belly with his pike.

The left-hand Krishnan staggered back from Mjipa's attack, and Mjipa stumbled over the pile of dead and wounded after him. The Krishnan aimed a thrust; but Mjipa caught it in a bind and sent the sword spinning out of the thruster's hand. The Krishnan, thrusting Mjipa's blade aside with his hand, threw himself forward into a clinch. Mjipa dropped his sword, seized the Krishnan, and tossed him over the rail of the gallery. A diminishing shriek came up from the stair well, ending in a slam as the Krishnan struck bottom ten meters below.

For an instant, Mjipa saw the backs of the Zhamanacians, beyond whom swords and other weapons flickered in the torchlight, and beyond these the faces of the Mutabwcians. He could not see Alicia, who must have been taken to the rear.

"Give me that hammer," Mjipa ordered Isayin. When the scholar complied, Mjipa added: "When I throw this, we attack. Keep behind me and try not to spear me by mistake. Ready?"

Mjipa drew back his arm and let fly. The hammer, turning over and over, soared over the heads of the Zhamanacians and struck the torchbearer in the chest. The blow so startled him that he dropped the torch. At once the flame went out, leaving only a glowing stub.

In the sudden darkness, Mjipa, limping forward with his recovered sword, thrust two Zhamanacians through from behind before they realized he was among them. All the fighers appeared to have drawn back from one another, fearful of killing men of their own gang in the dark. All shouted, trying to establish identities, while Verar and Kuimaj screamed confused commands.

Among them moved Mjipa, half invisible, his passage marked by the yelps and groans of the Krishnans he sworded. Without this damned brown paint, he thought, they couldn't see me at all. Not having to worry about hurting someone on his own side, he thrust at every dim form he passed.

"Alicia!" roared Mjipa. "Where are you?"

"Over here!" came the high-pitched reply. "Two are holding me."

As Mjipa's eyes once more began to adjust to the dark, he found Alicia, standing between two Krishnans behind the general ruck of fighters. These Mutabwcians had their weapons sheathed in order to free both arms for holding their captive. As Mjipa advanced upon them, one released Alicia's arm to reach for his weapon, a half-sword; but Mjipa spitted him before he had it out.

Alicia pivoted and kneed her other captor in the crotch. He doubled over but retained his hold. Isayin, coming up behind Mjipa, aimed a thrust of his pike at the Krishnan but managed to hit Alicia instead. The point raked along her bare ribs, bringing a yell of pain.

Mjipa swung his sword for a cut at the bent-over Krishnan; but this foe released his hold and scuttled backwards out of reach. Mjipa seized Alicia's arm. "Let's go!"

"They flee!" cried someone in the darkness. From somewhere a hand caught Mjipa's tail, which came loose with a sound of ripping cloth.

"Run!" said Mjipa. The three loped and staggered around the gallery, Mjipa hopping on one leg and dragging the wounded limb. They reached the stair landing, where the spiral stair came up through the floor of the gallery from below and, further along, continued on upward.

"Down stairs!" panted Mjipa. As the three took the first steps, more light and sound came from below. Around the curve of the stair appeared another group of Krishnans, a couple bearing lanterns. The sparkle of the lamplight on gilded equipment and body paint identified them as King Vuzhov's soldiery. They were clattering up the stairs towards the fugitives.

"Up stair!" Mjipa gasped, turning about and limping painfully upward. By the time the Kalwmians reached the stair landing on the third story, Mjipa and his companions were out of sight on the spiral stair above. A Kalwmian officer yelled:

"What's all this? Drop your weapons, rapscallions!"

The spiral stair continued on up to the fifth story, which was completely floored. Since construction had only begun to rise above the fifth level, the floor of this story, open to the sky, was closed against the weather by a wooden hatch over the head of the stair. A vigorous push by Mjipa dislodged it and allowed the three to come out on the floor.

For an instant Mjipa listened, but there was no sign that they had been followed up the stair. From below, sounds of combat still came up, though in that confusion it was anyone's guess who was fighting whom.

Mjipa replaced the hatch. Examining it, he gasped: "I think I can wedge it shut. Wish I had that hammer. Where's your pike, Doctor?"

"I dropped it," croaked Isayin, gasping for breath. "I had—not strength—to bear it—up all those steps."

With a grunt, Mjipa placed the point of his dagger in the crack between the edge of the hatch and the opening into which it fitted. With the pommel of his sword he pounded the butt of the dagger until the blade was driven in as far as it would go.

"That'll hold them for a while," he said.

"But where can we go now?" said Alicia. "We can't fly, like Prince Bourujird in the legend, with his aqebat-chariot."

"A couple of Prince Ferrian's rocket gliders would be more practical. But I think I know a way. I say, did you get wounded, too?"

"Painful but not serious," she said. "Your professor friend did it by accident."

"Let's have some bandages. This leg is killing me, and that cut in your side is still bleeding."

"Lend me your sword," said Alicia, slipping off her kilt. Soon she had two strips cut from the lower edge of the garment.

I—I'm sorry I hurt your lady," gasped Isayin. "I said—I was no warrior."

"Never mind that," said Mjipa. The shorter strip of cloth, Alicia tied around Mjipa's wounded leg. He in turn bound the other strip around her body below the breasts.

"Now how shall we get down?" said Alicia, resuming the remains of the kilt.

"As soon as I get a little strength back, we'll go down by the hoist over there."

Mjipa limped to the edge, where he had seen brackets projecting from the outer wall to support pulleys, over which ran the ropes of the hoists. A tug on the ropes laid over those pulleys showed that the ropes had been made fast below.

"What I'll do," he said, "is to go down one of these ropes hand over hand. Then I'll hoist the basket up to your level. You and the doctor can climb in, and I'll lower you to the ground."

"Will the rope—hold the weight?" asked Isayin. "If it'll hold a couple of hundred kilos of bricks, it'll hold you two."

"Are you sure you can lower yourself so far?" said Alicia. "It must be twenty or thirty meters down. If your arms give out ..."

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Here goes!"

Mjipa climbed out and, gripping one of the ropes, backed off the top of the unfinished outer wall. Down he went, hand over hand.

Halfway down, his arms began to weaken with fatigue. A few more meters, he thought, and he would lose his hold and fall the rest of the way. He halted his descent, clamped his legs around the two legs of the rope, and rested his arms.

When he thought he was up to it, he resumed his descent. His strength began to leave him again before he reached the bottom. But now he had a mere four meters to go; so he released his hold and dropped, landing in a crouch.

Mjipa took a moment to recover his breath. The clash of arms and the shouts of the combatants, muffled by the thick brickwork, came to his ears. Then he unstayed the windlass and began cranking up the basket. The apparatus squeaked loudly, causing Mjipa to think dark thoughts about "these blasted natives," who did not properly maintain then-equipment.

When the basket reached the top, he called: "All aboard! Lively!"

Sounds from above and the quivering of the rope indicated that his passengers were boarding the basket. Alicia's voice came thinly down: "Okay, Percy!"

Mjipa turned the crank in the reverse direction. The crank wanted to run away with the weight of the passengers in the basket, but the gear ratio enabled Mjipa to control it.

In a few minutes, the basket touched ground. Alicia stepped out, saying: "I practically had to drag your professor aboard. He's afraid of heights."

"Aren't you?"

"Yes, but I know a lesser evil when I see it. Are they still fighting in the tower?"

"The noise seems to have died down. Let's go before they come out looking for us."

They started back towards the Tarvezid's pier, but they had not yet left the cleared area around the tower when sounds of pursuit brought them round. Turning, Mjipa saw a host of dark figures erupt from the tower. Some shouted and pointed at the fugitives.

"Run!" said Mjipa, hobbling along and using his scab-barded sword as a walking stick. They entered a narrow street. To throw off pursuers, they turned at the first crossing, and again at the next, and again at the next. Behind them the sounds of pursuit grew louder, albeit there was no way to tell which of the three contending parties was after them, or whether any two or all three had joined forces.

"Can't do this much longer," said Mjipa."My bloody leg ... Oh, look what we've got!"

One of Kalwm City's man-powered street cars was coming along its track towards them. "Here's our coach-and-four!" said Mjipa.

"But," said Alicia, "there's room inside for only two!"

"Never mind; watch me. Give me that cloak, Doctor!"

Mjipa slipped the cloak over his head and approached the vehicle. As he passed it, he spread his arms and the cloak with them. With a menacing grin, he roared: "Ah, carman, I am a demon come to drag you down to Hishkak! Ahhhgh!"

He lunged at the carman who, with a scream of terror, released his handlebar and bolted.

"Lish!" said Mjipa. "Get in and pull the curtains across. Doctor, you shall push us."

"But," quavered Isayin, "the car is headed back towards the tower and our pursuers!"

"So much the better, it's the last place they'll expect us."

Mjipa heaved himself into the car and put an arm around Alicia. He said: "Pretend we're a Krishnan couple out for a bit of a smooch. Don't worry; I shan't take advantage."

A few minutes later, a mob of pursuers appeared ahead, pouring down the street. Soldiers and gangsters mingled, they ran past the street car proceeding sedately along its track in the opposite direction, pushed by a small, elderly Kalwmian. They did not stop to investigate but raced past, their equipment clattering. They disappeared, shouting: "This way!"; "Nay, they must have gone that way ..."

Mjipa released his hold on Alicia, saying:"Can you direct the doctor back to the ship?"

"I think so. Doctor Isayin!"

"Aye, Mistress Dyckman?" came the reply from behind.

"Turn right at the next switch. That'll bring us to the waterfront, and there's a continuous track all the way to the ship."

"I hope you 're right," said Mjipa. "What happened after I left you on the Tarvezid?"

"I was eating my supper in the cabin when I heard a lot of tramping and shouting outside. Kuimaj and his men had come aboard and were demanding that Captain Farrá turn me over. He was telling them to go to Hishkak. Then some of them seized him by the arms and legs and held him while the others began a search of the ship.

"I slipped out of the cabin on the side of the deckhouse away from the pier. When they were all busy looking into the cabin or the hold, I went ashore and ran. But someone saw me, and soon they were all pounding after me.

"I was a pretty good runner in college, but I was all in by the time I reached the tower. I zigzagged through the streets to throw them off, but they followed me anyway by smell. We keep forgetting the marvelous sense of smell of these tropical Krishnans, like human beings with dogs' noses. Doctor Isayin! I think we turn right again here."

"I know how you felt," grumbled Mjipa. "I haven't been so whacked myself since the night I knocked out the Cambridge heavyweight, Rajendra Singh." He sighed and shook his head."We've got too damned civilized. In the old days, a Ngwato warrior could run fifty kilometers and fight a battle at the end of it."

"We 'll leave the car here," said Mjipa. "The carman can find it tomorrow."

The three walked out on the pier and aboard the Tarvezid. The sailor on watch said: "Ho! Who goes there?"

"Your passengers," said Mjipa. "How soon can we sail?"

"Not for a couple of hours yet, to catch the offshore dawn breeze."

"Wake the captain. I must speak with him."

"He'll not like it, sir."

"That can't be helped. Wake him up."

When Captain Farrá had been roused from his bunk, Mjipa said: "Captain, we must sail at once. Are all your people, aboard?"

Farrá shook his head groggily. "I ween so; all should have been on ship by midnight. But what's this folly of sailing forthwith? We sail when I say so, not at the whim of some landlubber."

"We may all have our throats cut if you don't. That gang that came aboard looking for Mistress Dyckman is on our trail."

"Oh, so that's it? Ye be a monstrous troublesome lot of passengers. Rather than be sucked into another such garboil, I'll give you back your passage money, put the lot of you ashore, and sail without."

"Captain," said Mjipa, "once we're clear of shore, I'm certain there'll be no more trouble. Is it worth a hundred karda of Majbur to advance your sailing by a couple of hours?"

"Hmm," said the captain. "Now ye talk sense. Make it two hundred and the deal's yours."

"I don't have that much; but I can manage a hundred and fifty."

"Done. Let's see your coin. Kutáhn!" He spoke to the sailor on watch. "Rouse me Master Ghanum and stand by to cast off. Pass the word, albeit quietly, all hands on deck."

Soon after, the Tarvezid, her cables coiled on deck, pushed off from the pier. Six stalwart Majburuma thrust out the sweeps through oar holes in the bulwark to work the ship out of the harbor. There had been no sign of Minyev.

A group appeared on the pier. One shouted: "Half, in the name of the Heshvavu! We have warrants for the arrest of your passengers."

Mjipa's heart skipped a beat. Although the figures were too distant for details, the sparkle of lantern light on their gilding proclaimed them King Vuzhov's soldiers. If Captain Farrá obeyed the command, Mjipa did not see how he could escape again. He was too exhausted and his leg was too painful for effective fighting. He might threaten the captain as he had Khorosh; but he could not keep that up for a whole voyage. The other officers and the crew would pounce upon him, disarm him, and probably pitch all their bothersome passengers into the Banjao Sea.

"Captain!" said Mjipa. "My last fifty karda say you cannot hear him."

The captain grinned slightly. Raising his speaking trumpet to his mouth, he shouted shoreward: "I cannot hear you!"

By now the ship was far enough from shore so that the royal officer's shouts could no longer be distinguished. As the ship reached deep water, the two triangular sails were hoisted. The dawn breeze was just beginning, in little puffs, to waft the Tarvezid northward.

As the sky lightened, Vuzhov's tower took form from the darkness. Then, it slowly dwindled, as the stuccoed houses shrank to a row of little beige boxes, and the shore became a single dark line between sea and sky.