III
THE EMERALD IDOL
On the right, along the low shores of the Pichidé estuary, the piers and wharves of the Free City of Majbur came into view. About these landing places clustered a swarm of local and river craft. There were fishing smacks, river barges, timber rafts, pleasure yachts, ferries, and water taxis. Beyond these, around the curve of the shore, rose a spiky fence of the masts and yards of deepwater ships. Here lay high-sided square-riggers from the stormy Va’andao Sea and lateeners with slanting yards from the more southerly ports. Here, too, were war galleys with bronzen beaks and gilded sterns, gleaming in the ruddy afternoon light of Roqir, under a greenish sky.
With much shouting of threats and curses towards other ships, Captain Ozum worked the Zaidun under oar power towards a berth. Reith asked: “Father Khorsh, they sound as if they were going to riot. Is there any danger?”
“No, my son. They are always noisy, but rarely does anything come of it.”
Reith consulted his notebook. “I’m supposed to get them to Haftid’s Inn, at Forty-six Shodsir. Where would that street be?”
“Shodsir is not a street.”
“O que? What is it, then?”
“O my son, have they not told you of the system of addresses used here? Shodsir is a block, and Forty-six is the forty-sixth building in that block.”
“The forty-sixth counting from where?”
“Not the forty-sixth in any geographical sense, but the forty-sixth in order of construction.”
Reith digested this concept. “Well, suppose I want to meet a fellow on a given street. Where do I tell him to go?”
“Streets in Majbur have no names. If you wished to meet your man on the street bounding the Shodsir on the north, you would say, ‘Shodsir North’. It is simple.”
“To you, maybe. Then how do I find the Shodsir block?”
“Any hackney driver or litter bearer can take you thither.”
“Bem. How shall I find these drivers and bearers? We shall also need porters.”
Khorsh smiled. “Fear not, my son. The gods will provide.”
Reith asked Khorsh about the rates for portage and transportation. “I hope you can translate for me. I’ve been practicing my Gozashtandou, but when they all start to chatter at once, it’s just a buzz of noise.”
“Com gôsto! Permit me to recommend litters instead of carriages. During the Festival of Dashmok, traffic is such that you will find litters more practical.”
“Oh, yes, the Festival. We timed our arrival for it, and we plan to attend the grand ballet. Yes, Mr. Kosambi?”
The plump Indian had oozed quietly up. “While you are viewing these pagan orgies, Mr. Reith, I trust you will also bring them to the Church of the Lords of Light You should show them not only the past of this backward planet but also the future, which I am sure will be a brighter one. Compared to the temple of Dashmok nearby, our fane is a humble one, but it represents the true enlightenment.”
“Thank you,” said Reith. “When will there be a service or meeting or whatever you call it?”
“The day after tomorrow, at high noon. Your presence will be most welcome.”
“I’ll try to work it into our schedule.”
After a wait, a small red-sailed coaster pulled out from the wharf. Captain Ozum slipped the Zaidun into the vacated dock, while Krishnans on other waiting craft screamed maledictions. Reith saw what Khorsh had meant by the gods providing portage and transport As soon as those on shore realized that the Zaidun carried passengers, they swarmed towards that part of the wharf, shouting. Some proclaimed their might and skill as porters or chairmen; some offered services as guides; others waved articles of merchandise.
Reith lined up his tourists, saying: “Stick together and carry your own small hand luggage. We’re taking litters.”
“Huh?” said Pride. “What’s that?”
“Sedan chairs.”
The gangplank was thrust over the side. Two of the Zaidun’s boatmen stood at the shore end with belaying pins, to discourage unauthorized boarders.
With his heart nervously pounding, Reith stepped up on the gangplank and called in Gozashtandou: “I want twelve porters!”
From the shoving, shouting mob, Reith chose his dozen. He passed them, one at a time, aboard the ship. Then he lined them up on deck and explained that they were going to Haftid’s Inn in the Shodsir. When they seemed to understand, he went ashore to round up chairmen. The tourists straggled up the plank after him. He was hiring his litters when Shirley Waterford spoke: “Fearless, I can’t ride in one of those things.”
He turned. “Why not?”
“It’s not decent, using people as beasts of burden. It’s a kind of racism.”
“Oh, my God, Shirley, don’t start that now! This is the local custom, and we’re expected to follow it. Besides, if we don’t hire these poor fellows, how will they make their living?”
“I don’t care; I just won’t do it. It’s an insult to human dignity. Why can’t I take this carriage?”
The harried Reith asked the hackney driver for his price. The reply was in such strong Majburo dialect that Reith had to find Khorsh to translate.
When Miss Waterford was in the carriage, Considine and Turner decided that they, too, would prefer to ride behind an aya than be jounced in a litter. They scurried to the carriage and leaped in. Their chairman broke into voluble protests.
“What are they saying, Father Khorsh?” asked Reith.
“They say you have a legitimate contract with them, my son. They say you owe them for the portage, whether or not they carry these two earthmen.”
Reith restrained himself from pulling his coppery hair. “What should I do? Pay them for the trip or tell them to go to Hishkak?”
“Permit me to ponder, my son. Ah! I think I have it. In your haste, you neglected to order transport either for yourself or for me.”
“I was going to walk, to watch the porters. I’m sorry to have forgotten about you.”
“In that case, let us occupy the two vacant chairs, thereby satisfying everyone, as Kurdé the Wise is said to have done in the legend.”
“If none of my people or their baggage gets lost.”
The litter resembled a telephone booth with a seat inside and a pair of wooden shafts extending fore and aft. Reith squirmed into the seat, getting tangled in his sword. The two chairmen, each of whom wore a leather harness depending from his shoulders to take some of the weight, stooped and hoisted the chair.
The procession set out. Reith craned his neck out the window to see how his convoy was doing. He was in the middle of the string of litters. After the litters came the porters, and after the porters, the carriage.
The column plunged into the streets beyond the waterfront. These streets were so narrow and crooked that the chairmen had to crowd to one side to let pedestrians squeeze past. Because none of these streets ran straight for more than two blocks, Reith soon lost sight of the ends of his column.
When the route straightened out enough to allow a clear view to the rear, the carriage was not to be seen. The porters were plodding along with their loads, but the coach, with Shirley Waterford and the dear boys, was gone.
Reith wondered whether the vehicle was stuck at a corner, or had been caught in a riot, or had been attacked by kidnappers. He asked himself whether he ought to run back. Then he committed his missing tourists to the mercy of Dashmok. If they got lost, it would be their own stupid fault.
###
Roqir was setting in the full scarlet-and-purple glory of a Krishnan sunset when the litters drew up at a nondescript stone-and-timber building, with the skull of some Krishnan beast above the door. A hand-lettered wooden sign bore a row of fishhook characters, looking something like Arabic and something like shorthand. Reith guessed that they gave the name of Haftid’s Inn.
Reith spent a frantic half-hour paying off the porters and the chairmen and collecting his tourists and their baggage. There was no sign of the carriage. At last, while Reith was wondering how to organize a search party, the sextuple clop of an aya’s hooves resounded, and the carriage arrived. The press of traffic had thinned with the arrival of supper hour.
“Got caught in a jam,” said Considine. “I thought we left earth to get away from those, but . . . Hey, where’s my little blue case?”
Considine was examining the pile of baggage. Reith knew the case in question. In it, Maurice Considine kept the ornaments and jewelry with which he enhanced his looks. Reith, too, failed to find the case.
“God damn it!” yelled Considine. “One of these gooks stole it. I’ll—”
“Calm down, Maurice,” said Reith. “I told you to carry small hand luggage. If you didn’t—”
“Oh, screw you! Some of that junk was valuable! I’ll raise hell! I won’t stand for it!”
“Looks as if you’ll have to,” said Reith. “Now I’ve got to see to our accommodations. Stay here, everybody. Father Khorsh, will you come along?”
Reith pushed through swinging doors and entered the common room of Haftid’s Inn. One side was for eating and drinking, with benches and long tables. A few customers sat at these. The other side included some crude stools and a large desk. Behind the desk sat a stout Krishnan running calculations with an abacus and writing them down with pen and ink. Reith gave his name and said in careful Gozashtandou: “We have a reservation for sixteen, thirteen Ertsuma and three Krishnans, in the name of the Magic Carpet Travel Agency.” He flourished a paper.
The Krishnan glowered up. “No room.”
“What?” Reith turned to Khorsh, who corroborated the statement. “But—but I have a definite reservation, with a deposit paid in advance!” Reith waved the paper under the Krishnan’s nose.
The Krishnan, whom Reith supposed to be Haftid himself, flapped his hands in the Krishnan equivalent of a shrug. “All full. Festival of Dashmok.”
“But I have your own signature here! Get the other people out!”
“I cannot. Too bad.” The Krishnan returned to his accounts.
“Now look here, Master Haftid—” said Reith in rising anger. He touched the Krishnan’s shoulder.
“Do not, my son!” said Khorsh.
Haftid looked up with a sudden glare. He rose slowly, towering over Reith. “Get ye gone, Ertsu! We are full, and that’s that!” He pointed doorward.
Enraged, Reith was tempted to draw the sword that clanked about his legs. The fit quickly passed as he recalled that, in a strange city, lost among thousands of beings of another species, he and his tourists could easily drop out of sight for good and all. He cursed himself for not having foreseen this contingency.
In desperation, he turned to Khorsh. “You heard, Father?” he said in Portuguese. “What does one do in a case like that? On earth I’d have some idea, but not here.”
Khorsh spread his hands. “I can say very little, my son. He can claim that some guests unexpectedly prolonged their stay, and the law does not let him evict them for a later arrival. You could sue him in the civil courts for the return of the deposit, but that would take years and cost many times the amount at issue.”
Reith turned back to the innkeeper and spoke slowly, in the most polite voice he could manage: “Master Haftid, will you do me the goodness to recommend another inn, where I can lodge my people?”
Haftid looked up from his accounts. “I could recite some names, my good foreigner, but ’twould avail you little. All, including those accepting earthmen as guests, are replete with multitudes arriving for the Festival. In every hostelry, be it manor house or hovel, ye’ll find folk sleeping on pallets in the common room, for want of better lodging.”
Considine called from the doorway: “Hey, Fearless, how much longer you going to keep us standing out here?”
Reith turned back to Khorsh. “Father, have you any idea of where I could put my people? I could doss down on the floor, but I can’t ask it of them.”
The priest spread hands in resignation. “Alas, my son, I know little of the local hospices. When I travel, I can always put up at a temple; but such accommodations are not open to laymen.”
Reith racked his brains. Then he remembered the words of Pierce Angioletti at Novorecife: “If you get into trouble in Majbur, go to see Gorbovast . . . he can fix anything.”
“Master Haftid,” said Reith, “will you be so kind as to direct me to the office of Commissioner Gorbovast?”
Now that he no longer faced a confrontation, the innkeeper became more agreeable. “Out the front door, turn left, go to the first crossing, turn right, straight ahead two blocks, and there it is. ’Twere unlikely ye’ll find Gorbovast so late in the day, for already Roqir’s disk does osculate the far horizon.”
Reith made Haftid repeat the directions. Then he hurried out. His tourists set up an outcry, all asking questions: What was wrong? Was there a hitch? Where was he going to put them? Why hadn’t the agency made better arrangements? Where was his efficiency? When did they eat?
Considine yelled: “Where’s my little blue case?”
“You’ll have to sit on your luggage for a while, folks,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He set off at a jog trot, holding his scabbard in his left hand to keep it from tripping him. Dodging beggars and pimps, he soon reached the area to which he had been directed. Then, unable to read the signs over the doors, he realized that he could not tell one office from another. He had a horrid vision of trying every door in the block and asking those within, in broken Gozashtandou, for directions.
As he stood in perplexity, working up his nerve, a trio of Krishnans came out of a building a few doors away. With a large key, one of the three locked the door behind him. Two of the three wheeled out vehicles like an adult version of a Terran child’s scooter.
Reith hurried up to the group, panting. When he could speak, he said: “Beg excuse, sirs, but could you tell me which is office of Commissioner Gorbovast?”
The smallest of the three turned. In the fading light, this proved an elderly Krishnan with tiny wrinkles all over his face and hair faded to pale jade, now turning silvery in the fading light. Instead of answering the question, tins one asked: “Se fala português? Parlez-vous français? Do you speak English? Tum Hindi boltâ ho?”
“English, if you please,” said Reith. “Are you Commissioner Gorbovast bad-Sár?”
“I am he, sir. You are Mr. Reese, of whom I am hearing, wiz a party of travelers from your planet. What can I do for you?”
Reith explained his predicament. Gorbovast said: “Oh, zat is easy. You and your travelers shall stay at my humble house.”
“Oh?” said Reith warily. “There are twelve besides myself, and a Duro priest with two attendants.”
“Zat is nossing. I have room. Where are zese children of misfortune?”
“At Haftid’s. The bastitch wouldn’t let us in, even though the agency had sent him a deposit.”
Gorbovast smiled and gave the Krishnan equivalent of a shrug. “Zat happen. I sink he is one of zose wiz a prejudice against earsmen, so he was glad of an excuse. Have you dismiss your transport?”
“Yes.”
“Well, zen . . .” Gorbovast spoke in rapid Gozashtandou to the other two Krishnans, who departed on their scooters.
“Wait, Mr. Gorbovast,” said Reith. “How much is all this going to cost us? I have a budget to meet . . .”
Gorbovast looked pained. “My dear sir, it shall cost you nosing! You are my guests. After all, I am who I am. Now let us go to Haftid’s to reassure your people, who must be anxious.”
Feeling relieved. Reith walked back to Haftid’s with Gorbovast. Roqir had set; but Karrim, the largest of the three moons, was high in the sky, so there was still plenty of light. As Reith approached, the tourists began to yammer. He silenced them with a gesture and introduced Gorbovast.
“I still want my little blue case!” grumbled Maurice Considine.
Privately, Reith was not sure that Gorbovast’s hospitality would cost them nothing. His own experience with tours had made him cynical. At the moment, however, there seemed nothing else to do.
The two Krishnans whom Gorbovast had sent away appeared, each with several hackney coaches in tow. Gorbovast’s assistants and the drivers loaded the baggage aboard, and the string of carriages set out at a brisk trot through the crooked streets.
###
In the gathering dusk, the carriages wound through the city and out a massive fortified gate. In the suburb, they turned into a graveled driveway and drew up outside a big square structure with blank outside stone walls.
“My humble home,” said Gorbovast, waving the tourists in through a small, thick door.
The house was built in the form of a hollow square, so it looked able to stand a minor siege. When he passed through the short tunnel beyond the door, Reith found himself in a spacious courtyard, where flowers bloomed and fountains tinkled. There were other Krishnans, whom Gorbovast introduced. First was his wife; then sons, daughters, and in-laws. The children of these raced about, yelling, in some Krishnan children’s game.
“Wow!” said John Turner. “He can call it a hovel, but it looks more like a palace to me. We sure were lucky.”
Professor Mulroy’s dry old academic voice spoke out: “Charles Darwin, writing of his Beagle voyage, said that a traveler should learn to be suspicious; but that he would also discover how many kind-hearted people there are, who would extend him disinterested assistance. This appears to be a case in point.”
Gorbovast’s servitors took the baggage and led the earthlings to the rooms, as if the sudden descent of sixteen unexpected guests were the most natural thing in Krishna.
###
“My friends,” said Gorbovast after supper, “let us consider ze plans for your stay. What do you propose to do tomorrow, Mr. Reese?”
“I thought I’d take them on a general sightseeing tour of the city,” said Reith.
“If I may make a suggestion, you might do better to put zat off for one day.”
“Why?”
“Because ze city will be at its most crowded tomorrow, which is a general holiday. Ze shops will be mostly closed, and you will not be able to see much because of ze press of people. Ze day after would be better.”
“Then what do you think we should do tomorrow?”
“I have ze idea. I suppose you allow your people a day for shopping?”
“Oh, yes. We had figured on doing that the day before the Sárbez sails, three days from now.”
“Ze shopping in Majbur during ze festival is bad at best, especially if you do not speak ze language. Ze crowds, ze noise! Sometime a fight begins among ze religious ensusiasts, and zen it is not good for earsmen to be zere. We have some ignorants, full of barbarous racial prejudices.”
“Then, how—”
“I can get word to ze merchants, to bring zeir goods here to zis house. You tell me what sort of sings you want to buy, and you shall make your choices in peace and safety.”
When most of the tourists approved this plan, Reith assented. Next morning witnessed a procession of merchants from Majbur, spreading out their wares in Gorbovast’s courtyard. When he saw that the shopping was under control, with Gorbovast as interpreter, Reith went back to Majbur with Khorsh and Khorsh’s servants, in Gorbovast’s private coach. Saying he had business in one of the temples, the priest left Reith but promised to rejoin the group the following day. Reith hunted up the berth of the Sárbez to confirm his reservations and the sailing date.
###
Reith returned to Gorbovast’s mansion in the afternoon, as a couple of the merchants were loading their carts to return to the city. Nearby stood Maurice Considine, examining a new sword and trying to communicate by sign language with a merchant.
“Fearless!” said Considine. “Maybe you can make this gook understand. I’ll buy his sword, since I’ve got to have one, but I still think he’s a robber. He wants three times as much as that Krishnan at Novorecife.”
In halting Gozashtandou, Reith passed the message on to the merchant, who spread his hands.
“What expects this Ertsu?” said the swordseller. “All prices are up because of the Festival. Moreover, with the vast commission of twenty-five percentum, which Master Gorbovast charges us poor merchants, I needs must elevate my prices thus to show any profit whatsoever. Thinks this wight from far and barbarous worlds that I’ll arm him with a blade of fine Mikardando steel for nought? True, Dashmok enjoins upon his followers the virtue of charity; but as says Nehavend, charity begins at home—”
Reith held up a hand to check the flow of oratory in rolling, rhythmic, guttural Gozashtandou. “He said prices are up because of the Festival and because Gorbovast nicks him one-quarter of it as commission. Sounds like our native earth; our charming host isn’t going to be out-of-pocket on our account.”
“What?” yelled Considine. “Why, the lousy crook! Bringing us out here, saying it’s all free, and turning these vultures loose on his captive market! They’re all crooks!”
“What are you crabbing about? They do it back home.”
The remark only further infuriated Considine. “And here it’s a whole day since one of ’em stole my little blue case, and you haven’t done a thing about it. What sort of police have they got? I’ll find somebody to translate and go to ’em myself to make a stink. I’ll tell ’em we earthmen could wipe this crummy city off the map with one bomb! I’ll get some action out of this bunch of lying thieves if you can’t. I’ll . . .”
A weather-beaten Krishnan of vaguely familiar aspect approached on foot from the highway. Racking his brain, Reith recognized Captain Ozum of the Zaidun. The riverboat skipper accosted Considine, saying in bad Portuguese: “Senhor, is this not yours?”
From under his arm, he produced the missing blue case, explaining: “I found it in your cabin this morning. I looked for you all over Majbur, until someone told me ye were here.”
“Oh,” said Considine, when Reith had translated. After a moment’s hesitation, Considine muttered “Obrigado” and turned back to the swordseller to pay for his new blade.
“He is speechless with gratitude,” said Reith to the captain. “Anyway, let me thank you most sincerely. Would you accept a small gift?”
He pressed a silver kard on Ozum, who made a show of declining but finally accepted the coin. The captain bade Reith a ceremonious farewell, cast a scornful glance at Considine, and swung into a departing cart.
###
“This,” said Reith, “is the temple of Dashmok, the god of dancing and fun and the tutelary deity of Majbur. Before we go in, you will have to take off your shoes.”
“You mean,” said Maurice Considine, “leave ’em outside, where anybody could steal them?”
“Yes. The doorkeepers, those tall fellows with the spears, will watch them.”
“I still don’t trust any of these gooks,” growled Considine. “I’ll take mine with me.” He removed his shoes but hung them around his neck by tying the laces together.
“Boy,” said Valerie Mulroy, regarding the stalwart, olive-skinned doorkeepers, “they look as if they could do a woman a world of good.”
“Keep your mind on higher things,” said Reith. “This is a religious center, so lower your voices. Don’t touch anything. Father Khorsh, what did you say was the customary donation?”
After a wait in the vestibule, Reith’s gaggle was taken in tow by a young Krishnan acolyte. The visitors exclaimed over the gilded magnificence of the interior, the intricate floral tracery on the walls, the colorful murals, and the columns inlaid with patterns of mother-of-pearl and glittering semi-precious stones of scarlet and green and azure.
The acolyte knew his lecture but tended to rattle it off without pauses for translation. Moreover, he spoke too fast and in too strong a Majburo accent for Reith to follow. Khorsh had to translate into Portuguese to Reith, who rendered that version into English for his people. When Reith asked the acolyte to repeat something he had missed, the Krishnan got confused, went back to the beginning of his speech, and started over.
At the far end of the cella stood the main statue of the jolly god, cross-legged, pot-bellied, grinning, and thrice life size. In front of this statue rose a pedestal of onyx. On this shaft, lit by lamplight focused by concave mirrors, gleamed a replica of the big statue, a mere ten centimeters high and made of a green translucent substance.
“This,” said the acolyte, indicating the statuette, “is our most sacred property, carved from a single balzhik stone by the artistic demigod Khorbizé, in the days of the Kalwm Empire. It is on this image that we focus our current of etheric force when we pray to Dashmok.”
“What does he mean by a balzhik?” asked Reith.
The priest spoke to the acolyte, who volubly replied. Then Khorsh said: “It is just the balzhik. I do not know what you would call it.”
“Nothing but a hunk of green glass,” said Silvester Pride.
Aimé Jussac screwed a jeweler’s loupe into his eye socket. “Ask him, please, if I may take a close look.”
“He says okay, if you don’t touch,” said Reith.
Jussac stepped close and peered, then turned and put away the loupe. “Either it is an emerald of surpassing size and brilliancy, or the Krishnan art of synthetic gems is in advance of ours.”
“Gee!” said Pride. “Can I look, too?”
“Don’t drool on it, Silvester,” murmured Considine.
“Listen, jerk—” began Pride loudly, but Mrs. Whitney Scott shushed him.
“Come on,” said Reith. “We’re due at Kosambi’s chapel in a quarter-hour Krishnan.”
###
The chapel of the Lords of Lights was a large, bare room, which the sect had rented a block from the temple of Dashmok. There had been some effort, with hangings and religious pictures, to give the place a sacerdotal air, but the effect was still depressing.
There were no chairs. Thirty-odd Krishnans sat on the floor in rows, facing the far end of the room. There behind a lectern stood Ganesh Kosambi, in an orange-yellow robe.
“Welcome, kind friends!” said Kosambi, beaming, as Reith and the tourists straggled in. “Sit wherever you like.”
The travelers folded themselves up on the floor. Kosambi renewed his discourse in Gozashtandou, pausing betimes to give a summary in English. The talk appeared to be a sermon of the sort that one could hear almost any week in a Terran house of worship, exhorting the congregation to refrain from lying, theft, assault, and murder; to be good to their kin, kind to their neighbors, and hospitable to strangers; and to practice all the other conventional virtues. It was high-minded but stupefyingly dull.
Silvester Pride muttered: “Bullshit.”
Kosambi ended his discourse. The congregation sang in Gozashtandou.
“Now,” said Kosambi, “my new friends, this is a part of our ritual I wish you would join in. When you hear me call out: shar pu’án!, please to cover your eyes and bow your faces to the floor. The reason is that we shall pray for one of the Lords of Light to manifest himself in this room, and some time one of them might do so. Then, if your eyes were not covered, you might be blinded by his glory.”
Kosambi switched back to Gozashtandou. When he ended a passage with a loud “Shar pu’án!, Reith bowed his head and covered his eyes.
Kosambi’s prayer continued for half a minute. Then the Indian said: “All right, my friends, you may look up now.”
Reith stared around. With grunts of discomfort, his tourists were changing their positions from kneeling to sitting. At first he saw nothing wrong. Then a feeling grew upon him that something was missing. He counted his people and realized that Silvester Pride had vanished.
Behind the lectern, Kosambi had launched into another sermon. Reith became impatient. Loath as he was to interrupt, he wished to show his tourists several more local sights before returning to Gorbovast’s house. Further, he did not trust Pride on his own.
A rising clamor came from the street outside. Feet pounded on the stair. Pride burst into the room in stocking feet, holding the emerald figurine of Dashmok. After him came the two guards from the temple, spears at ready, and after them several white-robed priests. The screaming rose until Reith could understand nothing.
“Save me!” mouthed Pride, ducking behind Reith to avoid a thrust from one of the spears.
Reith hesitated, wondering whether to draw his sword. He dismissed that idea at once. As the guard drew back his spear for another jab, Reith placed himself in front of the Krishnan, spreading his arms and shouting one of the few Gozashtandou words he could recall: “Astoí! Halt!”
The guards paused. Kosambi and his assistant were wrangling furiously with the priests of Dashmok. Reith’s tourists added their voices to the din.
“ ’Irim! Quiet!” yelled Reith. When the noise had subsided a little, he added: “Father Khorsh, you must interpret. Ask one of Dashmok’s folk what happened.”
Khorsh talked to the oldest priest and said: “My son, their tale is that your Senhor Pride came back to the temple after the rest of you had departed. He reverently took off his shoes and entered. Knowing him by sight from the previous visit, the guards thought no harm in it. The next thing they knew, the alarm sounded to indicate the theft of the image. Then out the door comes the Senhor Pride, flying with the idol in his hand. Naturally, they pursued the blashphemer.”
“What have you to say, Silvester?” asked Reith.
“I never meant to steal the damned thing! I just wanted a good look at it. On earth it would be worth half a million. Besides, I got bored with the sermon. So I went back in and picked it off the post to see it better. Well, there’s some sort of clockwork alarm in the pillar, with a little knob sticking up through a hole in the top. The statue sits on this knob, and when you pick it up all hell breaks loose. This thing went off like an alarm clock, and all these priests came boiling out of their holes. I don’t understand their lingo, but it sounded like they wanted to boil me in oil. So I ran for it I didn’t dare take time to try to put the statue back, and I didn’t want to drop it for fear of busting it. Here, let ’em take it!”
Pride thrust out the figurine. The oldest priest snatched the statue. Then another priest clattered up the stairs, followed by four Krishnans in the red-and-blue uniforms of the day watch. These laid hands on Pride.
“They say he is under arrest,” said Khorsh. “They are taking him to headquarters.”
Pride was marched out complaining: “Hey, don’t you guys even let a man go get his shoes?”
Besides the policemen, the prisoner, the temple guards, the priests, and Reith’s tourists, Ganesh Kosambi and his congregation came along, too. Other curious Majburuma joined the procession, until over a hundred arrived at police headquarters.
Hours were spent in confusing procedures. The magistrate denied Pride bail on the ground that as a foreigner he had no local kith or kin to be responsible for him.
Then Reith clapped a hand to his forehead in anguish at his own stupidity. “Father Khorsh!” he said. “Can you find me someone to take a message to Gorbovast?”
Khorsh summoned an urchin, who departed on a run with a sheet from Reith’s pocket notebook in his grimy fist. Soon Gorbovast appeared.
“Quel poise! Ai Râm! Holy stars!” cried Gorbovast “What have your people been getting zemselves into now, Mr. Reese?”
When things had been explained, Gorbovast engaged the magistrate in a long, low-voiced conversation. At last he turned back.
“He has decided zat, in view of ze peculiar circumstances, he will let Mr. Pride go wiz a fine of one sousand karda, half of which will be paid to ze temple for damages.”
“It’ll wipe me out!” said Pride. “I won’t be able to buy so much as a postage stamp for the rest of the trip.”
“If Mr. Pride prefers,” said Gorbovast, “ze police will turn him over to ze priests. Zey have very ingenious messods of punishing blashphemers.”
As Pride counted out most of the gold in his purse, one of the younger priests burst into impassioned speech.
“He say,” reported Gorbovast, “zat Pride should be given to zem for proper penances. He say if ze magistrate will not do it, ze priests will seize him when he leave ze headquarters. Now ze magistrate ask your plans . . . He say, if you will take Mr. Pride direct to ship, put him on board, and stay zere wiz ze rest of your people until it sail, ze police will protect you to ze pier. After zat, if you go ashore, you are on your own.” Gorbovast gave a dry chuckle. “Zere is a big dispute in Majbur just now over separation of church and state. Your man is lucky; ozzerwise he would not get off so easy. I will send ze baggage to ze ship.”
Another procession formed, from police headquarters to the Sárbez’s pier. In front marched Silvester Pride, surrounded by a cordon of eight watchmen. Outside this cordon surged a dozen priests of Dashmok, glaring at Pride and watching for a break in the cordon so that they could snatch him from his escort. After this group came the rest of the crowd, including Reith and his tourists.
At the pier, Reith and his people bid Gorbovast a hasty farewell and went aboard. After the rest of the crowd had dispersed, two watchmen remained to guard the gangplank.
Captain Denaikh was not pleased. “ ’Twill cost you eke,” he grumbled, “since I must feed this troop for an extra day. Besides and moreover, I’d fain have no lubbers prancing about my deck whilst we’re loading, lest he set himself beneath some descending tun and be smashed, like as a bug beneath a boot heel. Understand ye, good my sir?”
As Reith herded his people into their cabins in the deckhouse, Pride said: “Hey, Fearless, you mean we’ve got to stay cooped up all day tomorrow? We can’t see the ballet, with the little priestesses waggling their pretty bare tits?”
“No; we’ll miss the show.”
“That’s not fair! I paid for that along with the rest of the trip.”
Reith grabbed Pride’s lapels. “Look, you blithering ass! You got us into this. By God, if I could figure how, I’d ship you back to Novorecife and tell you to sue the agency if you didn’t like it. If you want to go ashore and take your chances with those guys—” (Reith pointed at the line of white-clad priests, waiting hopefully on the pier) “—go right ahead, and I hope they tear you limb from limb!”
“Why, you—you jerk!” cried Pride. “Take your hands off me, damn it! You dare talk to me like that—I’ll have your job when we get home! I’ll turn in a report on you that’ll—”
Valerie Mulroy came to Reith’s defense. “Mr. Pride, after you caused all this trouble, and Fearless saved us from being massacred, you want to blame him? Fergus is a nice boy, and you’re a silly old fart!”
“She is right,” Santiago Guzmán-Vidal chimed in. “Shut up and go away, you sapillo!”
Several other tourists spoke up in Reith’s behalf. Pride subsided and entered his cabin.