The Search for Zei

CHAPTER IV

The greenish sky had almost cleared; the setting sun threw reds and purples on the undersides of the remaining clouds. The plain concrete buildings were arranged in rectangles whose outsides were blank wall, all the doors and windows opening onto the central courts.

In the bar Castanhoso said: "Try a mug of kvad, since that is the chief distilled liquor of Krishna."

"I hope," replied Barnevelt, "it's not made by native women chewing and spitting, the way they do where George comes from."

Castanhoso made a face. As they ordered, a high, harsh voice called out: "Zeft, zeft! Ghuvoi zu! Zeft!"

Barnevelt peered around the partition between their booth and the next and saw a large red-yellow-and-blue macaw on a perch.

"That is Philo," said Castanhoso. "Mirza Fateh brought him in on the last ship, the one that also landed the man who might be your Dr. Shtain."

"Why did he leave the bird here?" asked Barnevelt.

"The regulations made us keep that bird for a quarantine period, and Mirza was in a hurry to get to a convention of his sect in Mishe. So he gave the parrot to Abreu, my chief, who gave him to me after he had bitten Senhora Abreu. You gentlemen don't need a parrot, do you?"

As the explorers shook their heads, the macaw shrieked: "Zeft! Baghan!"

"Somebody taught him all the obscenities of Gozashtandon," said Castanhoso. "When we have proper Krishnan guests we hide him."

Barnevelt asked: "Who's this Mirza Fateh? Sounds like an Iranian name."

"It is. He is a Cosmotheist missionary, a little fat fellow who wanders back and forth among the Cetic planets promoting his cult."

"I've been in Iran," said Tangaloa. "Hang of a country."

Castanhoso continued: "We hadn't seen Senhor Mirza for many years, since he went back to Earth to get the Word from the head of his cult."

Tangaloa said: "You mean that Madame von Zschaetzsch? Who claims to be a reincarnation of Franklin Roosevelt and to get her inspiration by telepathy from an immortal Imam who lives in a cave in the Antarctic ice-cap?"

"The same. Anyway, Mirza has been working this region for over a century. A curious character: sincere, I think, in his supernatural beliefs, and kindhearted, but not to be trusted for a minute. He was caught cheating at gambling on Vishnu."

Barnevelt said: "A rogue in grain, veneered in sanctimonious theory."

"So-yes? He has his troubles too, poor fellow. A couple of decades ago, just before he returned to Earth, he lost his wife and daughter here on Krishna."

"I thought Cosmotheists were celibates?"

"They are, and I have heard Mirza explain with tears running down his fat face that his misfortune was the result of violating that tabu."

"How'd it happen?"

"They were going by train from Majbur to Jazmurian (where you will be going) when a band of robbers ambushed the train. Mirza's wife was killed by an arrow. Mirza, who is not notable for courage, escaped by shamming dead, and when he opened his eyes the little girl was gone. No doubt the robbers took her to sell into slavery."

Tangaloa said: "Fascinating, but tell us more about Qirib."

"To be sure. Qirib is called a kingdom, but I suppose it should be 'queendom.' It's a matriarchal state, founded long ago by Queen Dejanai. Not only do the females run the country; they have a strange custom: The queen chooses a man for her consort, and after he has served for a year they kill him with much ceremony and choose another."

Tangaloa exclaimed: "Like some early agricultural cultures on Earth! Ancient Malabar, for instance…"

"I shouldn't think," said Barnevelt, "there'd be much competition for the siege perilous. There must be an easier way to make a living, even on Krishna."

Castanhoso shrugged. "The poor men have nothing to say. They are chosen by lot, though I hear the lots are sometimes rigged. There is a movement to replace the actual execution by a symbolic one—they would just nick the outgoing king a little—but the conservatives of course object that such a change would enrage the fertility goddess, in whose honor this gruesome ceremony is observed."

Barnevelt asked: "Is there any chance they'd choose one of us for the honor? It's one I could stand missing."

"No, no, only citizens of Qirib are eligible. However, you must take some sort of present for Queen Alvandi."

"Hm," said Barnevelt. "Well, George, I suppose the expense account will have to take another sock…"

"Wait a spell!" said Tangaloa, looking with liquid eyes towards the macaw. "How would that cockatoo do? I don't suppose the queen has any Earthly birds, has she?"

"Just the thing!" said Castanhoso. "It will cost you nothing, for I am glad to get rid of the creature."

"Hey!" said Barnevelt. "Much as I love animals, I'm allergic to feathers!"

"That's all right," said Tangaloa. "I shall carry the cage, and you the rest of our gear."

Castanhoso added: "You must warn the queen that Philo is not to be trusted."

Barnevelt said: "Actually he's probably grumpy because he hasn't seen a lady macaw in a long time."

"That may be, but as the nearest one is twelve light-years away, he will have to put up with it."

"How about his vocabulary? The queen might not like that avant-garde language he uses."

"That is nothing. She is said to have a pretty rough tongue herself."

"Come on," said Barnevelt sharply next morning. "You can't lie around digesting your breakfast all day like one of my old man's hogs."

And he bullied and dragged the unwilling Tangaloa into the Novorecife gymnasium. Although Tangaloa was nominally his superior, Dirk found he had to take more and more of the responsibility for the expedition if they were to get anywhere.

In the gym they found a stocky, balding, blue-eyed man chinning himself on a bar, who said his name was Heggstad.

"Vot do you vont? Massage?" asked this one, standing on his head.

"No, some fencing," said Barnevelt.

"Going out, eh? I got yust the thing for you," said Heggstad, doing deep-knee bends. The gymnast took time out to get out a pair of masks, jackets, gloves and epees.

"A little heavier than the Earthly epee," he explained, spreading his arms and doing a one-leg squat. "That's so it corresponds to the Krishnan rapier, which must be heavy to get through armor. You know the firsht principles?" he added, doing push-ups.

"Ayub," said Barnevelt, pulling on the jacket. "Get 'em on, George, unless you want me to carve my initials in your hide with my point dar'ret."

Tangaloa grumbled: "I have already informed you I'm a hopeless dub at all sports, except perhaps cricket."

"Oh, foof. You swim like a fish."

"That's not a sport, but a utilitarian method of crossing water when one has neither bridge nor boat. How do I grasp this archaic object?"

Barnevelt showed him, while Heggstad did a handstand on a pair of parallel bars.

"I'm exhausted just observing Mr. Heggstad," said Tangaloa, holding his blade listlessly.

"Vun of these dissipated high-liversh, that's the matter vit you," snapped Heggstad, standing on one hand. "Smoking, drinking, late hoursh, all that sort of thing. If you vould put yourself in my hands I could make a new man of you. Then you'd learn to really enjoy life."

"I enjoy it so much now I don't believe I could endure any more," said Tangaloa. "Ouch!"

"He vill never make a fencer," said Heggstad, leaping into the air, turning a somersault, and coming down on his feet again. "He has no killer instinct, that's the trouble. He takes it as a yoke."

"Of course I have no killer instinct, you Norwegian berserker!" said Tangaloa in an aggrieved tone. "I'm a scientist, not a bloody gladiator. The only time I ever smeared anybody was that time on Thor when they thought we'd stolen the sacred pie and we had to shoot our way out."

And in truth Tangaloa did not prove a promising pupil. He seemed slow, awkward, and not much interested.

"Come on, you big mass of lard," said Bamevelt. "Get that arm out! What would d'Artagnan think?"

"I don't give a damn what any unwashed seventeenth-century European thinks, and I am not obese," said Tangaloa with dignity. "Merely well-fleshed."

After half a Krishnan hour Barnevelt gave up and asked Heggstad: "Like a few touches?"

They went at it. Tangaloa, sweating hard, sat down on the canvas with his back to the wall and watched. "A more appropriate role-for one of my contemplative temperament. I shall observe while the medieval romanticists perform the work."

"He is yust lazy and trying to hide it vit big vords," said Heggstad. "Now you are pretty good, even though you look kind of awkvard. Touche!"

"Practice makes perfect," said Barnevelt, getting home again with a double degage. "The game George has had the most practice at won't help us on Krishna."

Heggstad said: "These Krishnans are not so good. They use a complicated drill, very formal, vit diagrams on the floor. Touche!"

Barnevelt finished his fencing and gave Heggstad back his gear.

Tangaloa yawned. "I presume our next objective will be to rout out Cas^anhoso for advice on equipment."

Castanhoso said: "Do not apologize! This is part of my job."

"Can I come?" asked Eileen Foley, casting sheep's eyes at Castanhoso.

"So-yes," said Castanhoso, and led them out of his office, across the compound, and into the Outfitting Store, where they were met by the first Krishnan whom Barnevelt had seen close up.

The young fellow looked superficially human, though his bright-green hair, large pointed ears, and smelling antennae sprouting from between his eyebrows made him look as if he had stepped out of an Earthly children's book about the Little People. As Barnevelt scrutinized the Krishnan, he began to notice other little differences as well: details of color and shape of teeth, finger-nails, eyes and so on. The Krishnan was small compared to Barnevelt but wiry and well-muscled, with a scar on his face that crossed his flattish nose diagonally.

"This is Vizqash bad-Murani, one of our tame Krishnans," said Castanhoso. "He will sell you any outfits you need. Vizqash, these gentlemen are going out as Nyamen."

"I have just the thing, gentlemen," said the Krishnan in a curious rasping accent. With immense dignity he led the way to a rack of bright fur-lined suits that might have been made for a squad of Earthly department-store Santa Clauses.

"Oh, no!" said Castanhoso. "I didn't mean they were going to Nyamadze. They are going to Qirib, which is much too hot for those!"

"To my old country?" said the Krishnan. "They don't wear clothes there!"

"You mean they go naked?" said Barnevelt in alarm, for he had been brought up as a non-nudist and did not regard his own long knobby form as a thing of beauty.

"No, except for swimming," said Castanhoso. "He means the Qiribuma do not tailor clothes to fit them as we and the Gozashtanduma do. They wrap a couple of squares of goods around themselves, pin them in place, and consider themselves dressed. Of course if you go farther south you find Krishnans who regard any clothes as indecent."

Eileen Foley said: "Boy, I'd like to see you disguised as one of those!"

"You'd be disappointed," said Barnevelt, blushing.

"How d'you know what I'd expect?"

"I'd only look more like a horse than ever." A fresh little snip, thought Barnevelt.

Castanhoso warned: "Stay away from such people, because you couldn't fool them as to your species. I think the best thing would be summer-weight Gozashtando suits."

"Size forty-four long," added Barnevelt.

Vizqash accordingly brought out outfits comprising tight jackets, legwear somewhere between divided kilts and longish shorts, trunk hose to go under these, calf-high soft-leather boots, and stocking caps whose tails were designed to be wound turbanwise around the head.

"When you get to warmer country you can go without the hose," said Vizqash. Staring at Tangaloa he added: "I fear we have nothing large enough for you. I shall have to have our tailor…"

"Here's a big one," said Barnevelt, rummaging.

"Ohe, I had forgotten! A hundred-kilo Earthman ordered it and then died before we could deliver."

Tangaloa put the suit on, and Barnevelt said: "George, you're a sight to shake the midriff of despair with laughter."

"At least my knees aren't knobby," retorted the xenologist.

"Now for arms and armor," said Castanhoso.

"This way," said Vizqash. "If you could tell me just what you plan to do…"

"Observing people and customs," said Barnevelt. "A general xenological survey."

"You want to know things like Krishnan history and archeology?"

"Yes, and also ecology, sociodynamics, and religion."

"Well, why not start by visiting the ruins west of Qou? That is only a short way from here—big ruins with inscriptions nobody can read. Nobody knows who built them."

"Let's all go there tomorrow for a picnic," suggested Eileen Foley. "It's Sunday, and we can borrow the big V. I. rowboat."

Barnevelt and Tangaloa looked questioningly at one another.

"A good idea," said Castanhoso. "I cannot go, but it will give you two practice at being Krishnans. I suggest that Vizqash go along as your guide."

Barnevelt suspected that Castanhoso was politely urging them to get out of his hair, but saw no objections. When the details of the picnic had been settled, he let Vizqash sell him an undershirt of fine link mail, a rapier, and a dagger. Tangaloa balked at the sword.

"No!" he said. "I'm a civilized man and won't load myself down with primitive ironmongery. Besides, where we're going, if I can't talk us out of trouble it's unlikely we shall be able to fight our way out either."

"Anything else?" asked Vizqash. "I have some fine curios-charms in the form of the Balhibo god Bakh. You can wear them anywhere but Upper Gherra, where it's a capital offense. And Krishnan books: dictionaries, travel-books…"

"What's this?" inquired Barnevelt, untying the string that held together the two wooden covers between which a book, a single long strip of native paper, was folded zigzag. "Looks like a Mayan codex."

"A navigational guide published in Majbur," said Vizqash. "It has tables showing the motions of all three moons, the tides, the constellations, an almanac of lucky and unlucky days."

"I'll take it."

They paid, made a date with Miss Foley for a language lesson, and departed for the barber shop to receive their disguises.