II
RIVER-BOAT FOLLIES
The priest whom Regent Tashian was sending as guide and interpreter was supposed to arrive on the tenth of Khastin. When he failed to appear, some of the tourists grumbled. Santiago Guzmán-Vidal shrugged, saying: “What do you expect of these half-barbarous people? They have no sense of time.”
Fergus Reith looked hard at Guzmán-Vidal, who was late for everything. Reith spent the extra time grimly working at his new skills. When, after a session with Heggstad, he emerged panting from the gym, Valerie Mulroy asked: “Do you really like that sort of thing, Fearless?” To his tourists, Reith had become “Fearless Leader” or simply “Fearless.”
“No, I hate it.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because I hate worse being caught with my pants down.”
She gave him a look that in a man would have been called a leer. “I could make a dirty crack about that. But you’re overconscientious; you take life too hard. Take things as they come, the way I do.”
“Easy for you to say, Valerie. You don’t have the respon—”
“Fergus!” bellowed Heggstad. “Get back in here! You got to learn to nail your man when he parries in seconde!”
When Reith had returned and resumed his mask, Heggstad went on: “On earth, ve have learned better. Ve parry low-right in octave, so ve don’t vaste time turning the hand back to supine. That fraction of a second can make all the difference. Now, you lunge, low and to your left. When I parry in seconde, double and kill me!”
Before Reith could obey, Castanhoso’s voice called: “Senhor Reith! Come quickly! I think your man is arriving!”
Still wearing his fencing jacket, Reith followed the security officer down through the river gate and out on the pier. Across the river, small in the distance, he saw a barge being towed upstream by a team of shaihans.
The animals plodded up the tow path to a point across the river, where another small pier led out from the shore. The crew tied up, unhitched the team, and took them aboard the vessel. They set out under oars and a triangular sail across the current to the north side.
As the Krishnans tied up at the Novorecife pier, a Krishnan in a long robe stepped ashore. After him came two servants carrying baggage. Castanhoso accosted the man: “The Senhor is Khorsh baf-Ferzao?”
“That is so,” said the man in good Portuguese. “Bless you, my sons.”
“Thank you,” said Castanhoso. When he had introduced Reith, he added: “We expected you several days ago.”
“What is one day more or less in eternity?” replied Khorsh. “I was detained in Majbur on sacerdotal business.”
###
Next day, Reith’s tourist party, together with several other passengers, boarded the Zaidun for the return to Majbur. The shaihans remained in their shipboard stall, for they were used on upstream journeys only. Going downstream, the current and sail sufficed.
When Reith had counted his tourists and their pieces of baggage twice and had thrice checked through his papers to be sure of all the maps, letters of introduction, and other documents, the crew pushed out from the pier. They rowed to the middle of the stream, where the current ran most swiftly. Thereafter, one man at the tiller and two more on oars sufficed to keep the craft in mid-stream.
Captain Ozum said to Reith, in broken Portuguese: “Ship all cleaned up, specially you-for. You like?”
“Estupendo,” said Reith. Although there had been some scrubbing, the vessel still stank of the shaihans and of the cargo carried on previous voyages. Since the shaihans were in the stern and the passengers in the bow, and since the prevailing wind was from the west, there was no escaping the draft beasts’ aroma.
They sailed eastward, paralleling the massive concrete wall that ran along the riverside to protect Novorecife. The pier and the boathouse were soon out of sight.
The terrain along the south bank flattened out, until there was nought to see between river and sky save a dark-green strip of tall reeds, with a scattering of exotic-looking multicolored trees. Flying creatures on brown, leathery wings rose, squawking and honking and whistling, from the reeds. They circled and flapped away.
The reeds gave way to low brown bluffs. A sloping green area, littered with large, regular-looking stones, came in sight.
“That is a ruined city,” said Khorsh, while Reith translated. “Nobody knows who built it or when. It is locally called Saba-o-Astiremá, which means merely ‘place of stones.’ Could these stones speak, who knows what tales they might tell?”
They neared Qou on the south bank. Reith asked: “Does anyone want to stop here? It’s on our itinerary; but were behind schedule, and you’ve already seen it with Castanhoso.”
“I want to,” said Shirley Waterford. “I’m going to give that official a piece of my mind, about the slavery and the discrimination against the tailed Krishnans—”
“Oh, no, you’re not!” said Reith. “We run enough risks without stirring up more alligators. You can look. You can even take pictures if you re discreet. But you’re not to say a word against local customs or beliefs.” He added in Gozashtandou: “Steady as you go, Captain Ozum. We shall not stop.”
“Squalid little place,” said Considine. “Hardly like one of the cities Dunsany saw along the Yann.”
Reith said: “So long as you’re wearing that sword, Maurice, how about a little practice in using it?”
Soon they were cutting and thrusting with the singlesticks. Although he looked twice as muscular as Reith, Considine was the first to admit fatigue.
“You’ve been touring and taking it easy while I was working out in Heggstad’s gym,” said Reith.
Considine peeled off his white protective jacket and mopped his streaming forehead. “How about a swim, Fearless? We could easily keep up with the boat.”
Reith asked Khorsh. The priest threw up his hands. “Nay, my son, broach not such a thought! Know that in these waters dwells a creature called the avval, which could seize and devour you in a trice. And how should we replace so valiant a youth?”
“That’s right; I remember reading about it.” Reith turned to his party. “They have here a kind of cross between a crocodile and a junior sea serpent, so we’d better not. Professor Mulroy, how would you like to tell us about the local fauna and flora?”
On his South American tour, Reith had learned that, to keep his charges out of mischief, it was well to arrange some event for them whenever they had a long, inactive period. The elderly paleontologist was soon in full form:
“. . . you see, vertebrate evolution on Krishna has followed a course in many ways parallel to but also quite distinct from that on earth. Whereas on earth, one group of fishes, the Crossopterygii, made the transition from water to land, on Krishna two groups did it: the Tetrapoda, which have remained oviparous although they include the hominoid species, and the Hexapoda, who early developed viviparity.”
“Why was that?” asked Mrs. Whitney Scott, who missed little.
“Probably a result of the fact that on earth, the continents are islands surrounded by a worldwide ocean, whereas on Krishna the seas are lakes surrounded by one worldwide land mass. So the transition from water to land was made twice independently. We have an earthly parallel, in the Periphthalmidae—”
“The what?” said Considine.
“A family of semiterrestrial gobies called mud skippers, from Southeast Asia. They have begun the transition to life on land. On the other hand, Krishnan land vertebrates do not show the sharp distinctions among Amphibia, Reptilia, and Mammalia that we are accustomed to. Homoiothermism—warm-bloodedness, I suppose I should say—evolved early in both taxa—”
“How about birds?” asked Shirley Waterford.
“It is like the snakes of Ireland: there are none. Krishnan life has never developed the feather, so the flying organisms are more comparable to our bats and pterosaurs than to the class Aves. Now, as we ascend the evolutionary scale—”
“Excuse me, Professor,” said a pudgy brown passenger, one of the several who did not belong to Reith’s party. “You seem to accept the false theory that all these evidences for evolution, on earth and other planets, testify to actual events.”
“Well?” snapped Mulroy.
“We servants of the Lords of Light know that truth is different. Divine revelation proves that all those fossil bones and things were put in the ground by the Lords of Darkness—what you would call the Devil—to seduce men away from the truth of God’s creation—”
“You are, sir—?” said Mulroy.
“Excuse me; I am Ganesh Kosambi of Bombay, humble representative of Board of Missions of the Church of the Lords of Light—”
Reith interrupted: “Mr. Kosambi, please let Professor Mulroy finish his lecture. We have plenty of time between here and Majbur. If you want to preach this afternoon, I’m sure we’d be glad to hear you.”
Kosambi subsided. When afternoon arrived, those not sleeping gathered in the bow to hear the missionary. Kosambi told how his sect was founded by Tallal Homsi, a Syrian whom God had directed to dig up a book in unknown writing on sheets of electrum. God also furnished him with a pair of miraculous spectacles. These enabled Tallal Homsi—before he was martyred by his Muslim fellow villagers—to read and transcribe the contents of the wonderful book. The book explained how God had sent out the Lords of Light, otherwise angels, to all habitable planets, bearing the seeds of living things of all kinds . . .
Silvester Pride turned away, remarking loudly: “Haw, what a lot of bullshit!”
Kosambi looked pained but carried on. Reith privately agreed about Kosambi’s theology but would not have hurt the earnest little man’s feelings.
###
Next morning, the Zaidun reached Gadri, larger than Qou but no metropolis. Reith told his people: “There’s not much to see here except the market and one temple. The things for sale are mostly staples and everyday working artifacts—no tourist gimcracks. The people haven’t yet become attuned to tourism, but give ’em time. In any case, I advise you not to load yourselves down with junk this early. You’ll have plenty of chances later.”
They tramped from the waterfront to the main square, a few blocks away. Every time they stopped to look at something, curious Krishnans gathered around to stare. These temporary crowds grew until Reith felt apprehensive. While the Krishnans seemed good-natured, anything might happen if some trivial mischance touched off a disturbance.
At the temple, a plainly massive structure of rust-red sandstone, Khorsh, the Duro priest, spoke to the doorkeeper and then told Reith it would be all right to enter. Of course, a free-will offering in the collection box would be appreciated.
Inside, the gilded statue of the god sat cross-legged on its dais at the far end. The feeble flames of the lamps were reflected from the statue’s gilt and the back wall of polished black onyx. Since the idol had four legs, its pose meant a complicated tangle of limbs. It also bore eight arms.
“It looks a little like Shiva,” said Kosambi, who had tagged along. Reith was hardened to free-loaders who attached themselves to tour groups.
“It looks like a centipede to me,” said Pride loudly. “Boy, couldn’t he dance a jig, with all those legs? Like this.” Pride began to demonstrate, hopping grotesquely in his shorts with his potbelly bouncing.
“Stop it, you damned fool!” hissed Reith.
“What? Who?” said Pride. “Look here, squirt—”
“If he doesn’t stop you, I will!” said Mrs. Whitney Scott. The old lady limped forward, gripping her walking stick like a club.
“Oh, all right,” mumbled Pride. “I didn’t mean any harm.”
Outside, they toured the market, where Pride insisted on buying and wearing a hat resembling a pink Terran lampshade. They viewed an undistinguished little municipal hall and started back towards the pier. Turner said: “Hey, Fearless! Maurice and I want to stop off for a drink. That’s a place that sells ’em, isn’t it?” He pointed to a tavern.
“I don’t like to let the party split up—” said Reith.
“Oh, come on. We know the way back. If you take the others to the boat and get worried, you can come back here for us.”
“All right,” said Reith. Then the Mulroys and the Jussacs decided to stop for a drink, too.
“Only,” said Jussac, “you will have to order and pay for us, since we don’t speak the language.”
Reith entered the tavern with the six drinkers and found a table. “Reverend Khorsh, will you please stay with them and order for them?”
“A strange request, my son, to me who drinks not. But for your sake I will do it. Who knows what unlooked-for wisdom I may acquire thereby?”
“Thanks. Remember, the rest of you, come straight back to the boat when you finish.”
When he went out to lead the remaining half of his gaggle back, Reith found that Schwerin had disappeared. After a frantic search, he found the man perched on the corner of a roof, photographing the square. The usual crowd of curious Krishnans had gathered below him, staring up.
As Reith fumed, a fragment of his rusty German returned. “Herr Schwerin! he shouted. “Bitte, kommen Sie herunter, sofort!”
Schwerin gave a vague wave and smile and continued his photography. Reith took the remaining five back to the Zaidun.
He was about to return to gather up the rest of his group when a disturbance drew his attention. Maurice Considine appeared running, his empty scabbard slapping against his legs. After him came a big Krishnan waving a sword.
Considine pounded out on the pier and leaped aboard the Zaidun. So did the Krishnan. The other passengers scattered with cries of alarm, falling over one another to get out of the way.
Reith looked about for something to stop the pursuer. His eye lighted upon a pile of fencing equipment against the bulwark. He and Guzmán-Vidal had placed it there after a practice bout that morning. He snatched up one of the singlesticks.
As Considine ran past him, Reith stepped into the path of the Krishnan. He wanted to order the man to stop but could not think of the right words. He shouted: “Stop! Halte-là! Pàre!” in hope that his tone would convey his meaning.
The Krishnan kept on, shouting, “Baghan!” and swinging up his sword. Reith parried and felt the steel blade bite into the wood. There was a quick exchange of cuts and thrusts.
Reith lunged, aiming low and to his left. The Krishnan brought his blade around in a whistling parry in seconde. If it had landed, it might have severed the singlestick.
Remembering what Heggstad had pounded into him, Reith doubled and thrust. The point of the Krishnan’s sword scarred the deck planks as Reith’s blunt wooden point took the Krishnan in the chest. Reith put all his strength into the push.
As the two had circled, the Krishnan had come to stand with his back to the gunwale. Hence, as Reith pushed him, he backed into the low bulwark and fell over backwards. Splash!
Keith stepped after the Krishnan and looked down. The Krishnan’s head emerged from the brown water with a strangled yell.
“He says ‘Help!’ ” said Ganesh Kosambi, who had appeared beside Reith. “He cannot swim.”
“Serve him right if he drowns,” said Reith.
“You had better pull him out,” said the missionary. “Otherwise there will be complications. You may find yourself in the Gadri jail. It is not a nice place.”
Reith sighed. “I suppose you’re right, damn it Captain Ozum! Have you—what the devil’s the word for ‘rope’?”
The Krishnan, who had lost his sword, was pulled out. Reith said to Kosambi: “Tell him, please, that I don’t know what started it, but I can’t have people carving up my tourists.”
Kosambi spoke. The Krishnan spat at Reith’s feet and stalked off, just as the remaining tourists straggled back to the ship.
Now that it was over, Reith suddenly realized how close he had come to being killed. His knees sagged, and for an instant he thought he was going to faint He grasped the gunwale to steady himself as his tourists flocked around. They drenched him with praise:
“Fearless, you were wonderful!” “He really is fearless, isn’t he?” “A real swashbuckler!”
Reith managed a wan smile.
When the crowd had dispersed, Aimé Jussac confided to Reith: “I saw it. Mr. Turner got to talking to Valerie Mulroy. You know, she would try even him, and she made her intentions evident. So Considine, jealous I suppose, made a—what you call a pass at this Krishnan, who was minding his own business at the next table. They had six or seven words of Portuguese in common, but—chouette!—it was enough.”
That evening, when they were again out in mid-river, Reith got Considine aside and asked for his side of the story. Considine professed ignorance of the cause of the disturbance.
“Sure you didn’t try—ah—undue familiarity with him?” asked Reith.
“I did not!” retorted Considine, drawing himself up. “I know what you mean. Look here, just because I have my own sexual preferences doesn’t mean I’m some cruising queen. One more crack like that and I’ll—”
“Okay, have it your own way. Just don’t do it again, see? Did you lose your sword there?”
“Yeah. When he drew on me, I drew, too, but he knocked it out of my hand. Too bad; it belonged to that hero, what’s his-name.”
Reith smiled. “My dear Maurice, if Qarar had really owned half the swords attributed to him, he’d have needed one of those Krishnan elephants called bishtars to carry them. You can buy as many as you like in Majbur, all just as authentic”