The Queen of Zamba

VIII.

An hour later he said: "I'm afraid we're lost good and proper."

"What do we then? Stay for the dawn?"

"We could, of course, though I don't like the idea with these hijackers hanging around." After further thought he added: "All we need to make things perfect is to be treed by a yeki."

As if in answer, a low roar came across the mountains. Fouri threw her arms around his neck. "I fear!"

"There, there." He patted her back. "It's many hoda away." Although he could have stood in that agreeable position all night, they had more urgent things to think of. "If I could only find that long ridge again, we could walk right down the top of it—I know, you hold Avvaü." No more letting his mount run loose for him!

He took off his sword belt, found a tree with low branches, and climbed. While it was hard going, especially since the trunk was smooth and the branches widely spaced, he nevertheless managed to raise himself eight or ten meters above the ground.

There were still only hills dotted with patches of woods and isolated trees, fitfully moonlit. Was that the missing spur? Couldn't be sure—

Then he snapped his attention to one thing—a little spark of light, far off, like a fifth-magnitude star. He strained his eyes, then remembered to look just to one side of it. Yes, there it was all right, twinkling like a star on a cold Earth night. That meant, prob-ably, a fire. The robbers?

He studied as much as he could see of the terrain, noted the position of the moon, and descended. "If we go over that way, we may run into trouble. On the other hand, if they're sitting around the fire, they probably won't see us if we're careful, and we should be able to find our road at least."

"Whatever my hero says."

Hasselborg's eyebrows went up with a jerk. So, he was a hero now? He set out again briskly, stopping from time to time to verify his direction. At the end of an hour's walk he could see the spot of light from ground level.

"We'll have to be very quiet," he whispered. "At least I know where I am now. Come on."

He began a big circle to the left of the fire, spiral-ing gradually closer to it. After another quarter-hour he halted at the top of a steep slope.

"Here's the road," he said. "The thing seems to go right towards our friends."

The fire was now out of sight. As they skidded down the slope and started along the road, Hassel-borg recognized the place as the slope up which he was walking the aya that afternoon when the idea of painting a sunset came to him. He dropped Fouri's hand and held his sword to keep it from clanking.

"Here's the buggy," he breathed.

He poked about it but found no sign of its having been tampered with. Up ahead, although the fire itself was invisible, he could see the light from it on trees over the crest of the rise.

"Hold the aya a minute," he said.

He left Fouri and walked slowly up the slope, crouching as he neared the top lest he blunder into the gang unawares. For the last few feet he lowered himself to hands and knees, then peered cautiously over.

Seven robbers stood or squatted about the fire, which had been built alongside the road. Two, crudely bandaged, sprawled in the dirt; the others ate in hasty gulps. Hasselborg could hear the snorts of their animals tethered nearby and the words:

"Why in the name of the stars didn't you—"

"Fool, how knew I you'd run off after—"

"You zeft! The caravan was no matter; we were being paid for the girl. All should have—"

"A fine thing—four slain, two hurt, one missing, and not a kard to show! The dasht can keep his gold for all—"

"Why slew you not the folk of the caravan? Then they'd not have taken courage and—"

"Ransoms, idiot—"

"… hasten, lest the soldiery find us—"

"… the dasht promised—"

"Ghuvoi the dasht! I think of the dour. 'Tis nigh his bourne—"

Hasselborg crept back and whispered: "If we hitch up quietly, we can drive right through them. Are you game to try? I don't think they'll follow us very far into the dour's dominions."

"Whatever you say."

They unsaddled the aya, jumping fearfully at every click of a buckle. Then they put its harness back on it, moving snail-slowly to avoid noise.

"Now," said Hasselborg when they had hitched Avvaü to the carriage, "can you drive?"

"Well enough."

"All right, take the reins. To get speed up fast, I'll have to run alongside and then swing aboard. When I say 'go', use the whip for all it's worth. Ready? Go!"

He reached in and snapped off the brakes as the whip whistled and crackled. The carriage shuddered, the wheels crunched, and dirt flew from the six hoofs of the outraged animal. Hasselborg, walking alongside with one hand on the carriage body, broke into a trot, then into a run, and then swung aboard.

"Give him the business!" he said. Hanging onto the dashboard with his left hand, he drew his sword with his right and leaned out.

As they topped the rise into the firelight, they picked up speed until they were hurtling at the group of men by the fire.

The minute they appeared, some of the robbers looked around at the noise. These jumped to their feet and reached for weapons as the vehicle bore down upon them. One held up a hand like a traffic cop and shouted, then leaped for dear life. Another stepped forward with a sword. Hasselborg thrust at him. His stroke was parried with a clang, and then they were through and thundering into the dark.

"They don't seem to be coming after us," said Hasselborg, leaning out of the buggy and looking to the rear. "I guess they were as badly scared as we were and didn't know their chosen victim was in this rig."

"What mean you, chosen victim?"

Hasselborg told her what he had overheard.

"That foul unha!" she cried. "Not satisfied with forcing me to flee his court, Jam hires cutthroats to kidnap me! I'll make him pay for this, the way Queen Nirizi made the jeweler pay for what he did."

Although Hasselborg would like to have known what drastic fate Queen Nirizi inflicted upon the jeweler, he had other things to occupy him at the moment. They passed the place where the caravan had been attacked. Aside from a brief glimpse of the ruins of the bishtar cart and a couple of unburied bodies, nothing remained.

Hasselborg said: "I think I see what happened. The bandits thought they had everything under control, and so they did until a couple of them tore away after that fellow who rode off on his aya, and some more came after us, which left only a couple guarding the prisoners. Seeing which, the prisoners grabbed up the weapons they'd just laid down and smote the robbers hip and thigh. When the others came back after hunting for us, the caravan was miles away, and they didn't dare follow it out of Jam's territory, since they'd bought their protection from him."

"Then my people may still live! We should catch them ere they reach Hershid, think you not?"

"Don't know; I'd have to scale it off on the map, and I don't know how accurate that is."

"Well then, will you take over the driving now?"

"In a minute." Hasselborg gave another look to the rear. The robbers' fire slid out of sight. A couple of miles more and he said: "Let's stop long enough to light the lanterns. This tearing around in the dark d la Ben Hur gives me the bleeps."

"Is that an expression in your native tongue? Surely my lord showed courage enough on that ride through the hills. I could have done nought without you, 0 man of might."

"Oh, I'm not so hot as all that," he said, fumbling with the lanterns and glad that she could not see his look of embarrassment. "In fact, the whole idea—" He was about to say that the whole idea of rescuing her had been a piece of irrational folly, which he would never have undertaken if he had stopped to think, but judged such a remark tactless. "There, now at least we shan't miss a turn and smash up."

He took up the reins again. Since her costume was inadequate protection against the coolth of the long Krishnan night, he wrapped his cloak around both of them. She snuggled up to him, tickled his face with her antennae, and presently kissed the angle of his jaw.

So, sex was raising its beautiful head? How nice that the Krishnans had adopted this Terran practice! And how nice that one could take one's eyes off the road and trust one's steed to find the way! O quente cachorro!

The sun was well up before Fouri awoke and stretched. "Where are we?" she asked. "Somewhere on the road to Hershid."

"I know that, man of little wit! But where?"

"I can only guess that we'll arrive some time this afternoon."

"Well then, stop at the next farmhouse. I would eat."

This sharp, imperious tone was something new. He thought, some of the hero-worship must have already worn off, and gave her a silent, wooden look.

Thereupon she was all contrition: "Oh, did I wound my hero? I crawl! I abase myself! A foul-tempered and selfish witch am I!" She seized his hand and began kissing it. "You break my liver! Bear unkind-ness from you I cannot! Say I'm forgiven, or I throw myself from your carriage to my doom!"

"That's okay, Lady Fouri," he said, wishing she would not be so theatrical about it. Life was complicated enough without superfluous histrionics. He patted her and kissed her and cheered her up, while his mind ran far ahead, thinking of plans for his arrival in Hershid.

Presently she said: "We must be well into the dour's territory. Passed we not his bourne in the night?"

"You mean that place with a gate across the road and a sentry house? You were asleep."

"How about the sentries? Did they admit you?"

"Matter of fact, they were asleep too, so I just got out and opened the gate myself. Seemed a shame to wake the poor guys."

They stopped at a hamlet for a meal, during which Hasselborg asked: "What's a good respectable inn in Hershid? I landed in some Thieves' Rest in Rosid and don't care to repeat the mistake."

"Oh, but Kavir, you shall stay at no inn! What think you of me? Chambers of the best in my uncle's palace shall be yours, where I can see you every day!"

Although the last item made it plain that more than simple gratitude was involved in this offer, Hasselborg suppressed a smile as he protested: "I couldn't accept such unearned hospitality! After all, I'm a mere nobody, not even a knight, and your uncle doesn't know me from Ad— from Qarar."

"Who Ad may be I know not, but accept you he shall; he'd welcome his niece's rescuer in any event; and should he not, I'd make him wish he'd never been hatched."

He did not doubt that she could, too. "Well… if you insist—"

She did, of course, which fact pleased Hasselborg mightily, despite its threat of future complications, because it gave him a free and perhaps luxurious lodging right in the midst of things. While, despite his fear of germs, he could cheerfully put up with the worst in the way of accommodations when he had to, he still enjoyed the best when he could get it.

The rest of the journey proved uneventful. They failed to overhaul the caravan, which must have been making good time to get away from the perils of the Kodum Hills.

Hershid, as befitted the capital of an empire, was a larger and more splendid city than Rosid. As expected, they were halted at the gate. The guards recognized Fouri before she had said two words, jumped to present arms with their halberds, and waved the carriage through.

Fouri guided Hasselborg through the city until they stopped at the gates of a palace. The gates were adorned with geometrical gimmicks, which Hasselborg recognized as Krishnan astrological symbols.

The inevitable gatekeeper stepped out, cried: "Mistress Fouri!" and ran across the court shouting. A whole swarm of people thereupon erupted out of the palace and crowded around the carriage, all trying to kiss Fouri's hands at once.

Then a tall Krishnan in a long blue robe appeared and the crowd opened to let him through. He and Fouri embraced. The latter said: "Uncle, this is my rescuer, the gallant Master Kavir—"

Hasselborg had his hand shaken—another borrowed Earth custom—and tried to follow the conversation with everybody talking at once:

"What happened?"

"Sandu, run to the barracks and tell the commander not to send out that squadron—"

"Aye, the caravan arrived but a few minutes past with their tale of woe—"

"Whatever befell your ladyship? You look as if you'd been trampled by wild ayas!"

An exaggeration, even though Fouri's flimsy costume did look beat-up as a result of her ride and hike through the Kodum Hills in the dark. As he was led to his room, it occurred to Hasselborg that if anyone needed valet service, it was himself. He could see that his suit was torn and mud-splattered, and could feel the whiskers sprouting on his chin and the weal where a branch had lashed him across the face on that wild ride into the hills. He'd have to shave soon, or it would be obvious that his bristly beard was reddish-brown instead of Krishnan green, unless he emulated the gent who

and was, moreover, of Terran luxuriance.

All that was taken care of by Haste's household, which ran with un-Krishnan efficiency.

An hour later he was shaved, bathed, perfumed— something he had to endure for the sake of sweet verisimilitude^—and his clean suit had been laid out for him. After a short nap, he dressed and went down to meet his host, whom he found awaiting him with what appeared to be a cocktail shaker.

Haste bad-Labbade was unusual among Krishnans in having lost most of his hair and all the color from the rest, which was silky white. His wrinkled, parch-mentlike features were also sharper than those of most of the race. In fact, had it not been for the organs of smell sprouting from between his brows, he might have passed for an Earthman.

"My son," said Haste, pouring, "there's little I can say to impress upon you my gratitude, save this: Feel free to call upon me at any time for aught I can do for you."

"Thank you, Your Reverence," said Hasselborg, warily eyeing his drink. However, so skillfully had it been mixed that the taste of alcohol could hardly be detected, and he got it down without gagging. He reminded himself that, as a habitual nondrinker, he would have to be careful and count his drinks, stretching them out as long as possible.

When Fouri joined them, Haste said: "Tell me all about this extraordinary feat of rescue."

When they had told, Fouri asked her uncle: "Think you the dour will finally take action against Jam on your representation?"

Haste smiled thinly. "I know not. You know ,how little weight I have with the dour these days."

" 'Tis only because you lack courage to face down the old aqebat!" she snapped. "I could do better with him myself."

"Why, so you could, the reason being he likes you, looking upon you as a sort of daughter, while he holds me in despite."

"No matter of liking at all; but that he's a hard man and a clever one, who's gained his ends by struggle and expects those about him to be equally hard and clever. Best him and he'll respect you; yield to him, as you've done, and he'll trample you into the mire. Would that I were a man!"

Hasselborg felt a suppressed tension between these two, too strong to be accounted for by a simple difference of opinion on how to manage the king. This might bear looking into. He said: "I—uh—perhaps you could explain this to me, Your Reverence? I've never been in Hershid and so don't know the local situation."

Haste gave him a keen look. "My niece is no dissembler. Were she on trial for her life, she'd even so tell the judge what she thought of him, be it never so libelous."

"How about the differences between you and the dour?"

" Tis a long tale, my son, going back many years and touching upon the very wellsprings of men's actions. I know not how they think in your land, but here in Gozashtand men have been of several minds as to why events follow the course they do.

"The old belief had it, you see, that all was due to the will of the gods. However, with the growth of knowledge, that belief seemed insufficient for divers causes, such as the question of why the gods seemed to make such a mess of human affairs, or why they should interest themselves in us mortals at all. In fact some blasphemers were heard to say that the gods existed not, though these were soon suppressed.

"Then about three hundred years past, our theologians proved to their satisfaction that the gods were neither a crew of lustful brawling barbarians reveling on the heights of Mount Meshaq, as thought our simple ancestors, nor yet a set of impalpable abstractions, the 'spirit of love' and the like, which none ever understood. Instead, they were in truth the luminaries of heaven: the sun, the moons, the planets, and the stars, which as they spun about our world sent down their occult influences singly and in combination and so controlled the fortunes of men. You'll recall 'twas about this time that the roundness of the world was discovered.

"So, thought we, we had at last the true scientific religion which should perform the proper offices of religion—to explain man and the universe, to predict the future, to comfort men in affliction, and to inculcate sound morals in the minds of the young. And so it seemed; the faith was made official in Gozashtand and its neighboring nations, and any deviation therefrom was condignly punished. Later, if you like, I'll show you one of the old cells in my own cellar, where heretics were kept for questioning. Now we can do nothing of the kind, though the dour betimes uses the accusation of heresy to dispose of politically inconvenient persons.

"Then what happened? The Ertsuma landed in their spaceships at the place that is now Novorecife, bringing news of other suns and other worlds revolving about them, for they told us for the first time that our world went around the sun and not vice versa. The planet Qondyor"—he meant Vishnu—"for instance, far from being the god of war, was but another world like our own, save warmer, with creatures on it not wholly unlike those of this world.

"So you see, good Master Kavir, the result has been a falling-away from the true faith. The Church may no longer punish her foes directly but must sit in silence while a host of minor cults, even some brought in by the Ertsuma, spreads over the land like a murrain, sapping our spiritual strength and preempting our income. And as our power declines, that of the dour waxes, wherefore relations are less cordial than once they were."

A little astonished by such frankness, Hasselborg asked: "your Reverence, what's your opinion about the gods, the planets, and so on?"

Haste smiled faintly again. "As head of the Church, my official views are, of course, in accord with those adopted at the Council of Mishe forty-six years past. Privately, though I prefer that this be not repeated, I'm somewhat puzzled myself. Let's to dinner."

Fouri had put on another of her dazzling variety of personalities—grave and formal. She said: "Kavir's in Hershid to get commissions for painting portraits. Could we not put him in the way of some business? 'Twere the least recompense for his heroism."

"To be sure we could. Let me think—I'd order one myself, had I not had one done within the year; I'll still do so if all else fails. As for the court, I know not quite how… my star is not in its dominant sector at the moment, but—"

"Oh, come, uncle! Why try you not the dour himself?"

"The dour, Fouri? But you know how blows the wind in that quarter—"

"Rouse yourself, you old man of jelly!" she cried suddenly, the grave manner gone. "Always excuses. The privy council meets on the morrow, does it not?"

"To be sure, my child, but ..."

"No buts! Take Master Kavir with you and present him to His Awesomeness as the world's greatest portraitist. Unless," she added ominously, "you prefer to try contentions with your loving niece?"

"Dear stars, no; I'll take him! Assuming he'll come, that is. You're for this scheme, my son?"

"Sure," said Hasselborg, adding a murmur of inexpressible thanks.

"I feared as much," said Haste.

Later, over the cigars, Hasselborg brought up another matter: "Your reverence, I'm on the lookout for a certain young man who bought a portrait from me and then decamped without paying. He had a girl with him."

"Yes?"

"I wondered if there were any place in Hershid where they'd know whether he passed through here?"

"Why, let me think—the dour has a good spy service, though I doubt they'd keep track of every traveler who passes this way, since Hershid is after all the crossroads of the empire. What were these runaways like?"

"Like this," said Hasselborg, producing the sketches.

Haste frowned at them, then began to laugh. "How much did he owe you?"

"Five hundred karda."

Haste rang a bell, and when a silent young man in a plain blue priestly robe answered, he said: "Draw five hundred karda from my privy hoard and give them to Master Kavir."

"Stars preserve me!" said Hasselborg. "I didn't mean to collect it from Your Reverence—"

"All's well, my son, and count not the teeth of a gift shomal, as Qarar did in his dealings with the Witch of the Va'andao Sea. First, 'tis but a mean recompense for your rescue of my niece; and second, time, which brings all things, will bring me the chance to collect the debt from this your debtor."

"You know him?"

"But slightly."

"Who is he?"

"Can it be that you're yet so new in these parts? Why, unless I'm vastly mistaken, this is the true ten days' wonder, the paragon of the political virtues, the new Dour of Zamba, and the other's his douri."

"The King of Zamba?" said Hasselborg. "Since when? And what's Zamba?"

At this point the young priest glided back into the room with a heavy canvas sack, which he set down with a clink beside Hasselborg.

Haste said: "Fetch a map of Gozashtand and adjacent lands, Ghaddal. Master Kavir, for a traveled man, your knowledge is most—shall I say—spotty? Whence came you originally?"

"Malayer in the far South," said Hasselborg.

"That may be. Know, then, that Zamba is an island in the Sadabao Sea, lying just off the end of the Harqain peninsula, which forms the eastern extremity of Gozashtand. For years have the Zambava been plagued with seditions and uprisings, party against party and class against class. Finally the commons overthrew the aristocracy altogether and slew all those who did not escape. Thereupon, having no more common foe, the commons fell into factions with battles and murders, leader against leader.

"The upshot was that a few ten-nights ago, your friend Antane—his name, is it not?—landed upon the isle with a gang of bullies whom he'd collected from the stars know whence, and in a few days had made himself master of all. Oh, 'twas neatly done, and he's gone on to effect many changes. For instance, you see, he's built a new aristocracy of leaders of the commons—those who came over to his side, that is—with all the titles and trappings of the old. However, the titles but cover the official posts of his little kingdom, are not hereditary, and are withdrawn the instant the incumbent fails to give satisfaction. No more young noblemen wallowing in the sin of idleness on Zamba!"

Maybe Fallon had been reading a life of Napoleon, thought Hasselborg, or maybe in that social situation things just broke that way. Although he would have liked to hear more about King Anthony, Haste seemed disinclined to discuss the subject further. The priest preferred to talk about large generalities like progress versus stability, or free will versus predestination.

"For look you," he said, "there be those who pass rumors to the effect that King Antane's no true man at all, but an Ertsu in disguise. Not that it would matter greatly to me, since for years I've been telling my flock that 'tis wrong to judge people on a basis of their race rather than of their individual merits. I'm sure, however, that Antane's no earthman; for they believe, most of them, in the curious doctrine of equality for all men, while our young paragon has set up no such system in his island kingdom. Now, you were among the Ertsuma during your stay at Novorecife, my son. Enlighten an old man on these matters. What is this doctrine of equality, and do all Earthmen indeed adhere to it?"

"As a matter of fact," Hasselborg began, and would have launched into a brilliant ten-minute speech on the subject when it occurred to him that a Krishnan painter would hardly know that much about Earth's political theory. Was the old boy trying to trap him? He cautiously qualified his reply: "I don't know about these things from first-hand knowledge, Your Reverence; all I know is what I heard my Ertso friends saying in the course of conversation. As I get it, this theory is now the dominant one among Earthmen, although it has not always been and may not always be. Moreover it doesn't mean literal equality of indi-viduals, but a legal equality, or equality in matters of law—rights, obligations, and so on.

"They told me there were two great difficulties in building a political system on such a basis—first that people aren't biologically equal, but individuals dif-fere widely in ability; second, that you have to have some sort of political organization to run the society except among the most primitive groups, and those in power have a natural tendency to try to alter the setup to make themselves legally superior to the governed. They all do it, whether they call themselves counts, capitalists, or commissars—"

As they fenced with ideas, Hasselborg thought that Haste showed flashes of a rather surprising knowledge of Terran institutions.

Fouri maintained her gravity all evening, through supper, until they were saying good night. She gave Hasselborg her hand to kiss, glanced at Haste's retreating back, leaned forward, and whispered: "Are you married, my hero?"

Hasselborg raised his eyebrows. "No."

"Excellent!" She gave him a swift kiss and went.

Oh-oh, thought Hasselborg, you don't need X-ray eyes to see what she's leading up to! Now that he knew where Fallon was, he had better get away from Hershid quickly. Could he sneak out that very night on the pretext that he liked to take buggy rides in the moonlight? No. In the first place, that wouldn't get him to Zamba; the map showed the rocky Har-qain peninsula as roadless. You had to take ship from Majbur.

Moreover, did he want to go to Zamba so precipitately? If he simply walked in on Julnar to argue that she should return to her papa, Fallon might have him liquidated out of hand. Maybe he had better hang around Hershid for a few days despite the matrimonial menace of the fair Fouri, and try to work out an angle.

Hasselborg was surprised when Haste presented him to the dour. From Fouri's remarks, had been led to expect something physically impressive, like the Dasht of Ruz. Instead, King Eqrar bad-Qavitar reminded Hasselborg of nothing so much as a terran mouse.

"Yes, yes, yes," squeaked the mighty monarch quickly, offering his small hand to be kissed. "I've often thought of the same thing. A portrait. Hm-m-m. Hm-m-m. A fine idea. An excellent suggestion. Glad am I that you brought this wight around, Haste. I'll wager that niece of yours put you up to it; she knows how to get around the old man, ha. Knew you as much, you'd be a power in the land. Master Kavir, how many sittings would you require?"

"Perhaps a dozen, Your Awesomeness."

"Right, right, right. We'll have the first this afternoon. An hour before dinner. West wing of the palace. The flunkies will pass you in and show you where. Bring all your gear. All of it. Nought vexes me more than an expert who comes to perform some office for one and then has to return home for more tools. Mind you, now."

"Yessir," said Hasselborg. Eqrar was evidently one of those who believed that "What I tell you three times is true."

"Good, good. And it is my command that you leave not the city of Hershid until the portrait be completed. A busy king am I, and I shall have to fit the sittings into my schedules as best I can. You have my leave to go."

Hasselborg, outwardly obsequious, swore under his breath. Now he was stuck in Hershid for the gods knew how long, especially if the dour was given to canceling appointments. While he might run away in defiance of the dour, he might also be caught and dragged back before he reached the border. At best, he would land in this nervous but powerful king's black book.

When he got back to Haste's palace, he asked Fouri: "How do you get to Majbur?"

"Depart you so soon?" she cried, her voice rising in alarm.

"Not yet; the king says no. Still, I should like to know."

"Then you might drive your carriage—there's a good road from the south gate—or you might take the railroad."

"Railroad?"

"Of course! Knew you not that Hershid's on the end of the line to Majbur and on down the coast to Jazmurian?"

This I must see, thought Hasselborg, forbearing to ask more questions for fear of revealing ignorance. "Like a ride before lunch?"

She would, of course, and showed him the way to the terminal outside the wall on the south side of the city. The rails were about a meter apart, the cars little four-wheeled affairs with bodies like those of carriages, and the locomotives bishtars. A couple of the beasts were pushing and pulling cars around the yard under the guidance of mahouts, who sat on their necks and blew little trumpets to warn of their approach. Fouri said:

"Alack, my hero, you're too late to see the daily train for Qadr pull out, and that from Qadr comes not in till around sunset."

"Where's Qadr?"

"A suburb of Majbur, on this side of the Pichide. No through train to Jazmurian, you see, because the river's too wide to be bridged; one must detrain at Qadr and cross the river by boat ere continuing on."

"Thanks."

After they had watched for a while she continued: "I can see we're truly soul mates, Kavir, for I, too, have always loved to hang on the fence of the railroad yard and watch the trains made up."

Hasselborg shuddered a little mentally, as though he had cut himself on a dirty knife with no disinfectant available.

She went on: "If you're really set on going to

Majbur—I can wheedle aught I wish from the dour. Shout I, for example, tell him that my affianced husband wished to travel, I know I could persuade him—"

Hasselborg changed the subject by asking about Zamba and its new ruler, although Fouri could add but little to what he already knew.

The king proved a difficult portrait subject, always fidgeting and scratching and wiping his pointed nose on his sleeve. To make matters worse, characters kept coming in to whisper in his ear or to present papers for him to sign. All this distraction reduced Hasselborg, who had little enough confidence in his ability as a painter, to a state bordering on frantic despair. He complained:

"If Your Awesomeness would only hold that pose for five minutes on end—"

"What mean you, painter?" yelped the king. "You scoundrel, you criticize me? I've held this pose without moving the breadth of a hair for the better part of an hour, and you dare say I've not? Get out! Why did I ever let you begin this thing? Begone! No, no, no, I meant it not. Come back and fall to work. Only let it be understood, no more irreverent criticisms! I'm a very busy man, and if I work not on my royal business every minute, I never get it fulfilled. You're a good and faithful fellow. Fall to, waste no time, stand not gaping, get to work!"

Hasselborg sighed and stoically resumed his sketching. Then another man came in, this time omitting to whisper. The newcomer cried:

"May it please Your Awesomeness, the Dasht of Rüz has arrived unannounced, with fifty men-at-arms! He seeks an escaped prisoner who he thinks has fled to your court!"