The Hostage of Zir (14 page)

“Has Barré sent out any of my people’s ears or heads to speed things up?”

“No; at least, not yet. I hear he’s waiting for a lucky day before doing aucht so drastic.”

“Then I’ve got to get back to Baianch, pronto. Can you arrange it?”

“Man, you’re in no shape to travel! You need rest and loving care.”

“Never mind what shape I’m in. I’ve tried everything I can think of to spring my geese, and nothing works. I’ve got to see if Mjipa can help.”

“If Percy can’t, nobody can,” said Strachan. “But tell me where you’ve been! Barré sent word you’d escaped and supposed you’d come back to us. He demanded you back, on pain of killing one or more of your tourists. We told him we hadn’t seen you, but he didn’t believe us. Where were you all that time?”

Reith gave a resumé of his experiences with the Witch of Zir. “Where’s Mrs. Whitney Scott? She was left behind in Gha’id.”

“I took her back to Baianch on the train. Tashian’s put her up in his palace.”

“What happened to that Lieutenant Gandubán, who got away when Barré caught us? Did he make good his escape?”

“Aye, but, when Tashian found out, he cashiered the fellow from the army. Just like the Regent, not to give his officer enough men to do his job and then to sack him when the job’s not done. Gandubán’s lucky to have kept his head. But look here, laddie, you must stay with us long enough to get some strength back. We can’t have you dying on the way to Baianch.”

They argued amiably until Reith agreed to remain at the camp at least one day before setting forth again. Two days later, washed, shaved, clad in the spare clothing he had left at the camp, and filled out after a series of enormous meals, he boarded a small rail car drawn by a single aya. The vehicle was an ordinary Krishnan carriage, corresponding to a Terran barouche and adapted to rail use by flanged wheels. Strachan rode with Reith, while a Krishnan driver up front kept the animal moving.

Strachan explained that he and Lund used the vehicle for inspection trips. It was twice as fast as a bishtar-drawn train, so that they made the three-day journey to Baianch in two days. When, after leaving Jizorg, they met the daily head-on on the single track, they pried the carriage off the rails and pulled it to one side to let the train pass.

As they clattered into the Baianch terminal after dark on the second day, Reith said: “That’s better time than you could make with a horse on earth. We must have gone three or four hundred kilometers. That’s how many hoda?”

“Six legs have advantages,” said Strachan.

“How can I find Percy Mjipa?”

“I’d start with the chief of police, but almost any upper bureaucrat in the Old Palace could tell you. Before you do that, you ought to pay your respects to the Regent.”

“But I’m in a hurry, Ken! With my tourists in danger, I can’t fool around with all that damned ceremony.”

“Tashian’ll be affronted if you don’t. This isn’t the earth, you know. More haste, less speed. You’ll get further if you follow routine. These folk don’t have our sense of time.”

At length, Strachan persuaded Reith to abide by protocol. He clapped Reith on the back, saying: “Guid nicht, laddie! You know what I come to town for. Care to come along and dip your wick?”

“Thanks, but I had enough of that with Shosti to last me quite a while.”

###

The morning after his arrival, Reith stood in the small chamber of private audience. He faced Tashian bag-Gárin, clad in his usual shabby black; a couple of the Regent’s officials; and the inevitable guards. For over a Krishnan hour, they grilled Reith about Barré vas-Sarf and his army, and about Senarzé and its Protectress. One official said to the Regent: “Your Excellence, methinks a modest subsidy to Dame Shosti might so strengthen her in Barré’s rear that he durst not interfere with us.”

“What had you in mind?” said Tashian.

“Oh, an initial sportula of ten thousand—”

The Regent uttered a strangled sound. “Are you mad, to start with so lavish an offer? She’d scent wealth to be had for the taking and demand thrice the amount. Nay rather, let’s begin with a mere thousand . . .”

The argument rattled on. Reith waited until both disputants paused for breath and said: “Your Excellence, may I withdraw? I fain would find my fellow earthman Mjipa.”

“Aye, you may go, Master Reese. You’ll find your man at the new consulate building, just completing, on Bourujird Avenue near the Sea Gate. Oh, wait an instant. Come back ere eventide for a supper with Douri and me. You shall tell us more of your adventures.”

“I thank Your Excellence,” said Reith, bowing his way out.

Near the waterfront, he found the towering black diplomat overseeing the final touches on a new but modest two-story house. In fluent Durou, Mjipa was berating a Duro plasterer for doing a sloppy job around the front door frame. He swung around as Reith approached.

“What ho, Mr. Reith!” he said, wringing Reith’s hand. “There was a rumor that you’d returned from the dead. I didn’t believe it—you know these natives—but I’m jolly glad to see it wasn’t exaggerated. What of your trippers?”

“That what I’m here to see about.”

“Hm. I see we shall need a talk. Hang it all, I hate to leave these beggars unsupervised—turn your back five minutes and they’ve done something wrong—but duty calls. Come to my digs.”

Mjipa occupied a small apartment three blocks from the consulate. Here Reith met Mjipa’s wife, a black woman taller than Reith (who was above average) and massive. She must, Reith thought, outweigh him two to one.

“Mr. Reith,” she said, “I’m glad to see somebody can make Percy take time off. He’s what you call a workaholic; thinks he has to watch every little detail.”

“You try getting Krishnans to do anything without watching every little detail,” said Mjipa, “and you’ll bloody well see what happens. Pour us a drink, will you, my dear?”

“Will you and Mrs. Mjipa be moving into the new building?” asked Reith.

“For a little while. Once I have the consulate running, Ishimoto’s slated to take over. He’s a sound enough man but routine-minded. Then I’m to have a crack at setting up another one in Zanid, the capital of Balhib. They’ve got some weird customs out there, even by Krishnan standards, so it ought to present a challenge. But, how about your tourists?”

Reith again told his story. Mjipa listened, chin in hand.

“I wonder,” he said at last. “I haven’t any force to use on Barré, and he jolly well knows it. If the World Federation weren’t a lot of squeamish old ladies, saying we dare not protect our own against outrages for fear of looking like bloody imperialists . . . But never mind that.”

“Could we offer a cash ransom?” said Reith.

“Barré’s already sent word he’s not interested. Of course, that may be a bluff. Even if it were, Novo wouldn’t consider paying for fear of setting a precedent. Tashian’s too stingy, and I have no private fortune to dip into. Besides, I don’t want to encourage the blighters any more than Novo does. Too bad your female witch-doctor isn’t the real thing so she could put a spell on Barré!”

“I’m thinking. Just a minute,” said Reith. He closed his eyes, searching his memory. “Barré said something about wanting a new religion to consolidate his political position. If we could offer him one . . .”

“Maybe he does, but he wants guns even more.”

“I’m still thinking.” Reith stared at Mjipa. “Do you know an Indian missionary, Ganesh Kosambi?”

“An Indian Indian or a Red Indian?”

“An East Indian. One of the Lords of Light people.”

“Seems to me I’ve heard of him, but I’ve never met him.”

“Have you ever attended one of their services?”

“No,” said Mjipa.

“Well, I have. I was thinking: With a turban and one of those orange robes, you’d make a pretty good Indian yourself.”

“Oh, rubbish, my dear fellow! Anybody can see I’m of the Negroid race. My frizzy hair would give me away instantly. Makes a damned good natural sun helmet in the tropics, though.”

“But your hair couldn’t be seen under the turban; anyway, what do Krishnans know of Terran ethnology?”

“Look, old boy, are you proposing to pass me off as some bloody cultist missionary?”

“Yes, sir. Now wait!” said Reith as Mjipa opened his mouth to protest. “Barré himself told me he was inclined toward the Lords of Light cult, and you haven’t heard my idea . . .”

After an hour of argument, Mjipa said: “Well, damn it, I suppose I’ve got to try out this mad scheme of yours since nothing else seems to work. Can’t let the side down. The things I’m called on to do on my rotten pay . . . At least, if I survive, I can use it to demand a step up on the civil service list.”

###

Reith sat at a table with the Regent and the Douri. A servitor stood behind each of the diners. The candle flames were reflected on the silvered breastplates of the guards who stood in the doorway.

“. . . and so I found myself installed in the Temple of Ultimate Verity,” said Reith. “I must say it was luxurious enough.”

“What wanted the Protectress with you?” asked Vázni.

Reith made a vague motion. “Some silly idea they have about a red-haired savior from the stars.”

“Was that all?” asked Tashian, looking sharply at Reith.

“Well—ah—I really know not the details of their theology . . .”

Tashian smiled. “Master Reese, I am better informed than you give me credit for. ’Tis Dame Shosti’s whim-wham that an earthman like unto you will beget upon her a world-saving hero. I have my sources, you see.”

“And did you in sooth futter the Witch?” asked Vázni eagerly. “Do the dames of our world give as keen a pleasure as those of yours? Why, Master Reese, wherefore glows your face so red? Are you ill? Is the heat excessive?”

Reith cleared his throat. “Let’s say I did what I had to do to save my skin. Earthmen of my sort discuss not such matters so freely.”

Tashian raised his antennae. “Indeed? You must belong to a tribe or sect other than that of your fellow
Ertsu,
Master Strachan. He has no such reserves, boasting rather of his lubricity. Of course, as you doubtless know, customs differ widely among the nations of this world. Some regulate the sexual act most stringently, while others let men and women couple as they list. Left you the harridan with egg?”

Reith shook his head. “That were impossible, sir. Earthmen and Krishnans are as mutually sterile as—as an aya and a shomal. Professor Mulroy, among my tourists, could explain it; something to do with the tiny cells whence living things originate. The—the—our word is
chromosomes—
fit not together.”

“I can see how that might be,” said Tashian, looking at Reith from under lowered antennae. “ ’Tis a subject of hot dispute amongst our learned ones. Forsooth, I’ve heard rumors of such a hybrid but have never seen one; albeit I’ve told my agents to search the land for such.”

“Your Excellence may take it for granted that such rumors are baseless. I’m no scientist, but I studied such things when I was a teacher.”

“So, if one of you beings wedded a wench from our ruling families, in hopes of founding a dynasty, I ween he’d be disappointed?”

“Certes, Your Excellence.”

Vázni broke in. “Since you’ll tell us nought of your prowess in the Witch’s bed, then let us hear of your escape from her embraces!”

When Reith had finished his narrative, she said: “By the green eyes of Hoi, Master Reese, you may not be a god, but if half of what you tell be sooth, you are a true hero. You deserve a reward.”

“Oh, I did nought really—” Reith began.

Vázni, however, got up and came around the table. She sat down on Reith’s lap and kissed him with fierce intentness.

“There!” she said. “Did I it rightly? This Terran custom has but lately spread to our barbarous northland.”

Reith drew a deep breath. Across the table, Tashian beamed complacently.

“Th-thank you, Douri,” said Reith.

“And now,” said Tashian, “what are your plans?”

“I leave for Gha’id on the morrow with Mjipa, for one more attempt to free my folk.”

“May the luck of Maibud the Light-Fingered go with you,” said the Regent. “When you return, we shall have further matters to discuss. There are many possibilities.”

“Your Excellence means, if I return,” said Reith.

Vázni spoke: “A veritable Qarar like you cannot fail; the stars in their courses fight for you. When you come back, if my cousin prove as niggardly as is his wont, I’ll see to your reward myself.”

XI

TRUMPET AND DRUM

Fergus Reith and Percy Mjipa sat with Strachan and Lund in the engineers’ sitting room at the railroad camp. They glumly stared at a six-foot strip of crimson cloth, festooned around Mjipa’s neck. Mjipa said: “Every time I make a sudden move, the damned thing comes unstuck. When I joined the consular service, nobody told me I should have to know how to wind a turban. Bloody stupid native costumery!”

“The thing to do,” said Reith, “is to wind it up and have someone stitch it together.”

“Not quite sporting, I suppose,” said Mjipa, “but our bandit king won’t know the difference. Who’s got a needle and thread?”

“I know a good seamstress in Gha’id,” said Strachan. “Khar’s wife Gulási.”

“Can you fetch her?” said Lund.

“Aye.”

“Well, try not to be murdered by her kin, be so good.”

“I’ve done her nae damage!” said Strachan. “Merely a bit of harmless fun while her mate was off fishing.”

“I know, but these villagers have some quaint ideas on sex. Now, Mr. Mjipa, what shall be your Indian name? Barré might have heard of you, so you can’t use your own. Besides, an obviously Bantu name might arouse suspicion.”

“Well,” said Mjipa, “who’s that chap you were telling me about, Fergus? The one who runs the Lords of Light in Majbur?”

“Ganesh Kosambi,” said Reith. “You can’t use his name because Barré might have heard of him, too. Anyway, you’re not at all like him; he’s short and fat. Same objections apply to Judge Keshavachandra.”

“Let me think, then,” said Mjipa. “There’s a consul on Vishnu from India, Vasant Panikkar. I’m sure he’s never set foot on Krishna outside of Novo, so I’ll jolly well borrow his name.”

###

Several days later, Reith and Mjipa, the latter in saffron robe and crimson turban, mounted two bishtars. The baggage of each was handed up. Reith’s baggage consisted of a heavy canvas sack, which jingled.

The railroad base camp had changed since the abduction. Tashian had sent a company of soldiers, who had fortified the camp with a ditch and a log stockade. Under a gruff captain, the soldiers drilled smartly, making camp noisy with shouted commands and the clatter of practice weapons.

The soldiers opened the massive timber gate to let the bishtars out. The animals plodded up the switchback road to the construction site. There, they were told, Barré’s envoy awaited them.

At the site, Reith climbed down one of the rope ladders hanging from the howdah. He shook hands with Barré’s man, an elderly Ziro named Ramost, saying: “You must excuse the Reverend Vasant Panikkar from shaking hands. He fears damage to his aura.”

“Ah,” said Ramost. “I see. But tell me, Master Reese, wherefore sit you two earthmen upon two bishtars, when one such beast can bear six or eight riders with ease?”

“His Reverence is too sacred to share his mount,” said Reith. “The radiations of his holiness might harm a mere mortal placed too close to him.”

“Ah, I see. Are you ready, forth to sally?”

“Aye, sir.”

Reith climbed back into his howdah, while Ramost mounted an aya and trotted off into the forest. The bishtars lumbered after.

For the rest of the day, Reith and Mjipa were bounced around their howdahs as their mounts plodded up and down sloping trails, splashed through mountain streams, and pushed through dense vegetation where the trail had become overgrown. Branches bearing many-colored leaves whipped the faces of the riders, who fended them off. After Mjipa had twice lost his turban, he took it off and put it on the floor of his howdah.

The day was hot and humid, so that Reith’s clothes were soon sweat-soaked. Once they crossed a swamp, where the bishtars’ legs sank in until the water was up to the animals’ bellies. Reith had visions of being mired for good. The bishtars’ feet, however, came readily out of their holes with sucking sounds.

Towards evening, a sharp challenge sounded. Ramost answered. A pair of armed Ziruma wheeled out of the forest on ayas and escorted the visitors to Barré’s camp. Mjipa put on his crimson turban.

It occurred to Reith that this camp differed from the other. Barré must have moved his base to forestall a surprise by the forces of Dur. As Reith descended, Barré stepped forward and shook hands, saying: “I should never have believed it, Master Reese! Little did I think that, once free of my trammels, you’d wittingly put yourself back in my power. You must be that which I thought existed not amongst the
Ertsuma:
a true idealist—or else the biggest fool on either of our worlds. What brings you hither?”

“I’ve brought you your Lords of Light missionary,” said Reith, “hoping thus perhaps to soften your demands upon my people.”

“Well, well. Think not that I’ll let them go for that reason; their ransom remains as before. Still, as a man of honor, I shall take into account the favor you’ve done me. You, sir, may leave my camp as you list.”

“I thank Your Altitude,” said Reith. “And now let me present the Reverend Vasant Panikkar . . .”

Reith was explaining why the Reverend could not shake hands when a feminine shriek, of Terran timbre, told that his tourists had learned of his return. They rushed upon him, brushing Barré aside. The women kissed him and the men wrung his hands and pounded his back. Under cover of the noise, he said to Aimé Jussac: “We’re going to try something. When the Reverend says ‘Go!’, you must all jump up, run to the bishtars, and climb into the howdahs. Quietly; not a peep out of anyone! Pass the word along.”

Silvester Pride was looking closely at Mjipa, who stood statuesquely with his hands clasped behind his back. Pride’s raucous voice rose: “Say, aren’t you that guy we met—”

“This,” said Reith loudly, “is His Holiness, the Reverend Vasant Panikkar, a bishop of the Church of the Lords of Light. Don’t talk to him, Silvester. He needs to meditate and send out vibrations of goodness.”

“What the hell you talking about, Fearless?” said Pride. “You said you never believed these con-men—”

Guzmán-Vidal snarled into Pride’s ear: “Shut up,
idiota,
or I twist your balls off with my bare hands!”

Grumbling, Pride subsided.

“Thanks, Santiago,” said Reith.

Barré asked: “When, good my sirs, will His Reverence have his first service? I’m fain to see how my brave men take it.”

Receiving a nod from Mjipa, Reith replied: “Roqir’s disk nears the horizon. If you’ll suffer us to clean ourselves and rest a little space, His Reverence would conduct prayers at sunset.”

“So be it,” said Barré.

In the tent assigned to Reith and Mjipa, Reith clapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh, God, what a stupid ass I am! No matter how quiet our people try to be, they’ll make enough noise to arouse the Ziruma. Why didn’t I bring some noise-making gadget to drown them out?”

“I should have thought of it likewise,” said Mjipa. “But perhaps all is not lost. Do Barré’s men use drums or trumpets?”

“Both. They beat a drum for close-order drills and blow a trumpet for signals. Maybe we can borrow a drum.”

“Both would be useful.”

“But we’d have to get one of the Ziruma to blow the trumpet, and he couldn’t do that while lying on his face.”

“Could you or any of your tourists play the thing?”

“I’ve never blown a horn in my life. As for the others, even if one could, he couldn’t blow and run for the bishtars at the same time.”

“Too bad we don’t have Strachan with his bagpipes. Look, old boy, you borrow the drum and the trumpet while I go over my notes. When the time comes, you can beat the drum while I play the trumpet.”

“Can you play a trumpet?”

“I could toot a jolly good bugle when I was a Botswana Boy Scout. That was many years ago, but I’ll have a go at this native instrument anyway.”

Reith went out, found Barré, and explained that the service called for sacred music. He returned to find Mjipa, wearing spectacles with the bows poked up under his turban, poring over his notes.

“Here you are,” said Reith.

“Smashing!” said Mjipa. “Let’s have a look at this thing.”

He raised the gleaming brass horn. A discordant squall came from the trumpet.

“Sounds like a dying dinosaur,” said Reith.

“Takes practice, that’s all.” Mjipa essayed a few more toots and found the scale. He played a few bars of a tune.

“Let’s hope we don’t have any connoisseurs of Terran music among the Ziruma,” said Reith.

“If you think you can do better, my dear chap, you’re welcome to try.”

###

The twilit sky darkened, and thunderheads loomed in the west. Reith and Mjipa confronted Barré’s entire force in formation. Reith’s eleven tourists stood in a clump to one side.

“Friends,” began Reith, “we are privileged to attend a service of the Lords of Light, the most exalted of all my world’s many faiths and the only one that is perfectly true. I present to you, in gratitude and humility, His Reverence, Bishop Panikkar, to whom I turn over the proceedings.”

“Dearly beloved friends,” began Mjipa in flawless Durou, “I am here to tell you the tale of the true messenger of God, the martyr Tallal Homsi. Born in humble surroundings in the land called Syria . . .”

Mjipa retold the story of the founder of the sect, embroidering on the tale that Reith had heard from Ganesh Kosambi. Where the official version gave Homsi credit for only three miracles, Mjipa expanded this to a dozen.

Heavy clouds blotted out the stars. A flicker of lavender lightning preceded a roll of thunder. Mjipa said: “Now, friends, we come to the most vital part of our ritual. You must follow my directions exactly. When I call
shar pu’ án!
, you shall cover your eyes and bow your faces to the earth. I shall pray for one of the Lords of Light to manifest himself. It comes not often to pass; but, when it does come, if your eyes be not covered, you will be blinded by his awful glory. I knew one unfortunate, back on earth, who opened his eyes for the merest blink. The poor wight had thereafter to be led about by a trained animal, called a
dog,
somewhat like unto your eshun. You must not look up until I cry, ‘Arise!’ By then, either our angelic visitor will have departed, or I shall know that he comes not.”

With a clatter, Barré’s warriors and the chief himself sank to their knees. Mjipa launched into a harangue in a language Reith did not know. A resonant speech with tongue-clicks, Reith guessed it to be Mjipa’s native African tongue. At last, Mjipa paused and cried:
“Shar pu’án!”

Barré and his men bowed their faces to the ground and covered their eyes. Mjipa picked up the trumpet and nodded to Reith, who beat the drum. Mjipa began playing his tune on the trumpet Reith looked towards his tourists and said, as loudly as he dared: “Go! Damn it, go!”

He and Mjipa were making so much noise that the tourists did not at first catch on. Then they scrambled up and ran towards the bishtars. The mahouts had turned the animals around, so that they faced the trail back towards Gha’id.

“Keep on, Percy!” panted Reith, banging his drum harder than ever.

The pair continued to play until the last tourist was halfway up his rope ladder. Then, with a mutual nod, they ran for the animals.

Reith’s bishtar was already in motion when he reached it. He grabbed for a ladder, missed, grabbed again, and was jerked off his feet and dragged. For an instant, he thought he would be swept under the elephantine feet and squashed. The first raindrops fell.

Reith hauled himself clear of the ground. The bishtar’s speed increased, so that Reith found himself swinging like a clock pendulum at the end of the rope ladder. In climbing, he got his sword entangled in the rope. He had to hold a rung with one hand while he freed the weapon with the other.

“Come on up, Fearless!” Valerie Mulroy called down.

“I’m trying, damn it!” he called back.

The rain came harder. From Barré’s camp was heard a shout, then a chorus of yells.

Reith hauled himself into the howdah. He pushed his way aft, where lay his bag.

“Oh, Goddamn!” he said.

“What’s the matter?” said someone.

“We’re supposed to be second in line. Just a minute.”

Although Barré’s camp was now out of sight, a rising volume of sound told Reith that the Ziruma were organizing pursuit. On ayas, they could easily overtake the lumbering bishtars.

Reith worked his way to the front of the howdah and shouted to the mahout: “Full over to the side and stop! We must let the others past.”

The Krishnan, who had raised an umbrella over his head, ignored the command. Reith shook him by the shoulder and repeated his command.

“I dare not,” said the mahout. “The Ziruma would catch and slay us all!”

“Do as I command!” yelled Reith.

“I cannot. I am afraid—”

Holding the edge of the howdah with one hand, Reith drew his sword with the other. “By Qondyor’s iron prick, do what I tell you or I’ll take off your head!” He touched the side of the Krishnan’s neck with his blade.

Grumbling, the mahout obeyed. In the howdah behind Reith, Considine cried: “Hey, Fearless, what are you stopping for? You’ll get us caught again, you damned fool!” A crash of thunder drowned out his next words.

“Shut up!” said Reith. Waving frantically in the dark, he called: “Go on, Percy! I’ve got to bring up the rear!”

The second bishtar tramped past, its huge feet squelching in the mud. Reith could barely make out the beast and its riders.

“Now go again,” he told the mahout. “Stay close behind the other.”

Reith sheathed his sword, went back to the rear, and took up his bag. He fumbled with the knot in the draw string, which, wet from the rain, refused to untie.

From back up the trail came the rumble of hooves, the clatter of weapons, the creak of harness, and commanding shouts.

“You’ve got us killed for sure this time!” wailed Turner.

Reith drew his sword again and cut the string. He dropped the weapon to the floor, reached into the bag, and drew out a caltrop. This consisted of four iron spikes, each six or seven centimeters long. All four were welded together at the base, so that their points made a tetrahedron or triangular pyramid. Hence, when the object was dropped, it always landed standing on the points of three spikes with the fourth sticking straight up. The blacksmith of Gha’id and his sons had worked day and night to complete Reith’s order for a hundred and fifty of these devices.