The Virgin of Zesh & the Tower of Zanid (28 page)

XX

Anthony Fallon came to in a clean bed in a strange room. As his vision cleared he recognized Dr. Nung.

“Better now?” asked Nung, who then did to him all the things that physicians do to patients to determine their state of health. Fallon learned that he was in the consul’s house. Sometime later, the doctor went out and came back with two Earthmen, Percy Mjipa and a leathery-looking white man.

Mjipa said, “Fallon, this is Adam Daly, one of my missing Earthmen. I got them all back.”

After acknowledging the introduction in his ghost of a voice, Fallon asked, “What happened? How did I get here?”

“The Kamuran saw you lying in the gutter in the course of his triumphal procession up to the royal palace and told his flunkeys to toss you out with the other offal. Lucky for you, I happened along. As it was, you were within minutes of going out for good by the time I got you here. Nung just pulled you through.”

“The Qaathians took Zanid?”

“Surrender on conditions. I arranged the conditions, mainly by convincing Ghuur that the Zaniduma would fight to the death otherwise, and by threatening to stand in front of the Geklan Gate myself while he tried to knock it down with a battering-ram. These natives respect firmness when they see it, you know, and Ghuur’s not such a fool as to court trouble with Novorecife. I’m not supposed to interfere, but I didn’t care to see Ghuur’s barbarians ruin a perfectly good city.”

“What were the conditions?”

“Oh, Balhib to retain local autonomy under Chindor as Pandr—a treacherous swine, but there didn’t seem any alternative. And no more than two thousand Qaathians to be let into the city at once, to discourage robbery and abuse of the Zaniduma.”

“Could you hold Ghuur to that, once he got the gates open?”

“He lived up to it. His record of keeping his word is better than that of most of these native headmen. And besides, I think he was a little afraid of me. You see he’d never seen an Earthman with my skin color, and the superstitious beggar probably thought I was some sort of demon.”

“I see,” murmured Fallon. He understood one thing now: that quaint as some of Mjipa’s affectations of superiority to the “natives” might be, they had the partial justification that Percy Mjipa was, as an individual, a superior sort of Earthman.

“How about the missing Earthmen?”

“Oh, that. Ghuur’s men had carried them off—another coup arranged by your late friend Qais. The Kamuran has a hideout in Madhiq where he makes arms.”

“But they’ve been pseudo-hypnotized . . .”

“Yes, and un-pseudo-hypnotized as well. Seems there’s a Krishnan psychologist who studied at Vienna many years ago, before the technological blockade was tightened up, and he had worked out a method of undoing the Saint-Rémy treatment. He worked his stunt on these three, and—you tell it, Mr. Daly.”

Adam Daly cleared his throat. “When we’d had the treatment, the Kamuran came to us and told us to invent something to beat Balhibuma, or else. There was no use pretending we couldn’t, or didn’t know how, and so forth. He even had another Earthman—some fellow we never heard of—hauled in and his head chopped off in front of us just to show us he wasn’t fooling.

“We thought of guns, of course, but none of us could mix gunpowder. But we did know enough practical engineering to make a passable reciprocating steam-engine, especially as the Kamuran had a surprisingly fine machine-shop set up for us. So we built a tank, armored with qong-wood planks and armed with a fixed catapult. The first couple didn’t work, but the third was good enough to serve as a pilot model for mass production.

“The Kamuran ordered twenty-five of the things and pushed the project with all his power; but what with shortages of metals and things, only seventeen of them were actually started—and what with breakdowns and bugs only three arrived at the battle. And from what I hear of the musketry of the Balhibou army, I take it that Balhib had been doing something similar.”

“Yes,” said Fallon, “but that was an all-Krishnan project. Good-bye technological blockade! And I see the day when the sword will be as useless here as on Earth, and all the time I spent learning to fence will be wasted. By the way, Percy, what happened to the Safq?”

Mjipa replied, “Under the treaty, Ghuur has control of all armament facilities, so when the priests of Yesht closed their doors on his men he had ’em pile the Balhibou army’s remaining store of powder against the doors and blew ’em in.”

“Did the Qaathians find a couple of Krishnan philosophers named Sainian and Zarrash in the crypt?”

“I believe they did.”

“Where are they now?”

“I don’t know. I suppose Ghurr has them in confinement while he decides what to do with them.”

“Well, try to get ’em free, will you? I promised I’d try to help ’em.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Mjipa.

“And where’s that ass Fredro?”

“He’s happy, photographing and making rubbings in the Safq. I persuaded Chindor to give him the run of the place after Liyará the Brazer—for reasons you can guess—prevailed upon the Protector to suppress the cult of Yesht. Fredro’s babbling with excitement—says he’s already proved that Myandé the Execrable was not only a historical character but built the Safq as a monument to his father—who wasn’t Kharaj but some other chap. Kharaj, it seems, was centuries earlier, and the myths mixed them all up. And Myandé was called the Execrable not because of anything he did to his old man, but because he beggared his kingdom and ran all his subjects ragged building the thing . . . But if you’re interested he’ll be glad to tell you himself.”

Fallon sighed. “Percy, you seem able to fix up everything for everybody, except getting me back my kingdom.” He turned to Daly. “You know, those tanks of yours wouldn’t have been worth a brass arzu against anybody who knew about them ahead of time. They could easily have been ditched, or overturned, or set afire.”

“I know, but the Balhibuma didn’t,” said Daly.

Fallon turned back to Mjipa. “How about Gazi and Wagner and those people? And my friend Kordaq?”

Mjipa frowned in thought. “As far as I know, Captain Kordaq never came back from Chos—so he’s either dead, or a slave in Qaath. Gazi’s living with Fredro.”

Fallon grinned wryly. “Why, the old . . .”

“I know. He took an apartment—said he’d probably be here for a year or more, so . . . Dismal Dan Wagner, you’ll be pleased to hear, tried to lower himself down the city wall by a rope one night and was shot by a Qaathian archer.”

“Fatally?”

“Yes. It seems he’d been trying to reach Majbur to cash a draft from the late Qais on Kastambang’s bank, not knowing that the Balhibou government sent orders by the last train from Zanid to the Majbur bank to sequester Kastambang’s account, he being a convicted traitor.”

“Unh,” said Fallon.

Dr. Nung appeared, saying: “You must go now, gentlemen. The patient has to rest.”

“Very well,” said Mjipa, rising. “Oh, one more thing. As soon as you’re well enough to travel, we shall have to smuggle you out of the city. The Zaniduma know you spied for Ghuur. They can’t arrest and try you openly, but a lot of them have sworn to assassinate you at the first opportunity.”

“Thanks,” said Fallon without enthusiasm.

###

A Krishnan year later, a disreputable-looking Earthman slouched along the streets of Mishé, the capital of Mikardand. His eyes were bloodshot, his face bore a stubble of beard, and his gait was unsteady.

He had peddled a small item of gossip to Mishé’s newspaper, the oldest of Krishna. He had drunk half the proceeds and was on his way with the remainder to the dismal room that he shared with a Mikardando woman. As he staggered along, Anthony Fallon muttered. The passing Knight of Qarar who turned to stare did not understand the words, not knowing English.

“I can only work one deal—one good old coup—I’ll get an army, and I’ll take that ruddy army to Zamba, and I’ll be king again . . . Yesh,
king!”