“What?” cried Fredro. “You crazy? Blow up priceless archeological treasure?”
“I don’t care nothing about your atheistic science.”
“Ignorant savage,” said Fredro.
“Ignorant, huh?” said Wagner with heat. “Well, your so-called science don’t mean a blessed thing, mister. You see, I know the truth, so that puts me ahead of you no matter how many of them college degrees you got.”
“Shut up, you two,” said Fallon. “You’re making us conspicuous.”
“I will not shut up,” said Wagner. “I bear witness to the truth, and I won’t be silenced by the ignorant tongues of…”
“Then get off the wagon,” interrupted Fallon.
“I will not! It ain’t your wagon neither, mister, and I got as much right on it as you.”
Fallon caught Fredro’s eye. “Abwerfen ihn, ja?”
“Jawohl!” said the Pole.
“Catch,” said Fallon to Gazi, tossing her the reins.
Then he and Fredro each caught one of Welcome Wagner’s arms. The muscular evangelist braced himself to resist, but the double attack was too much for him. A grunt and a heave, and Wagner flew off the top of the water-tank to land on his white turban in a spacious puddle of muddy water.
Splash!
Fallon took back the reins and speeded up the shaihans lest Wagner run after to try to clamber back aboard. He took one last look back around the water-tank. Wagner was sitting in the puddle, head bowed, and beating the brown water with his fists. He seemed to be crying.
Fredro smiled. “Good for him! Crazy fools like that, who want to blow up a monument, should be boiled in oil.” He clenched his fists. “When I think of such crazy fools, I—I…” He ground his teeth audibly as his limited English failed him.
Fallon pulled up to the curb, stopped the shaihans, and set the brake. “Best leave this here.”
“Why not ride it to your house?” asked Fredro.
“Haven’t you ever heard that American expression, ‘Don’t steal chickens close to home’?”
“No. What does it mean, please?”
Fallon, wondering how so educated a man could be such a fool, explained why he would not park the vehicle right in front of his own domicile, to be found by the prefect’s men when they scoured the Juru for it. As he explained, he climbed down from the water-wagon and donned his sufkir.
“Care to drop in on us for a spot of kvad, Fredro? I could do with one after this afternoon’s events.”
“Thank you, no. I must get back to my hotel to develop my photos. And I am—ah—dining with Mr. Consul Mjipa tonight.”
“Well, give Percy Pickle-face my love. You might suggest he find an excuse for cancelling the Reverend Wagner’s passport. That bloke damages Balhibo-Terran relations more with one sermon than Percy can .make up for by a hundred good-will gestures.”
“That wretched obscurantist! I will do. Is funny. I know some Ecumenical Monotheists on Earth. While I don’t believe their teachings, or approve of their movement, none is like this Wagner. He is a class of himself.”
“Well,” said Fallon, “I suppose at this distance they don’t feel they can import missionaries specially, so they grab anybody here who shows willingness and send him out after souls. And speaking of souls, don’t try to photograph a naked Balhibu. At least not without his or her permission. That’s as bad as the sort of thing Wagner does.”
Fredro’s face took on the look of a puppy surprised in a heinous deed. “I was stupid, yes? Will you excuse, please? I will not do it again. A burnt child is twice shy.”
“Eh? Oh, surely. Or if you must photograph them, use one of those little Hayashi ring-cameras.”
“They do not take a very clear picture, but… And thank you again. I—I am sorry to be such a trouble.” Fredro glanced back along the street by which they had driven, and a look of horror came over his face. “Oh, look who is coming! Dubranec!”
He turned and walked off rapidly. Fallon said: “Nasuk genda” in Balhibou, then looked in the direction indicated. To his astonishment, he saw Welcome Wagner running toward him, his muddy turban still on his head.
“Hey, Mr. Fallon!” said Wagner. “Looky, I’m sorry we had. this here little trouble. I get so riled up when something goes against my principles that I don’t hardly know what I’m doing.”
“Well?” said Fallon, looking at Wagner as if the latter had crawled out from under a garbage pile.
“Well, what I mean is, do you mind if I walk home with you? And pay a visit to your place for a little while? Please?”
“Everybody’s apologizing to me today,” said Fallon. “Why should you wish to call on me, of all people?”
“Well, you see, when I was sitting there in the street after you threw me off, I heard a crowd of people—and sure enough there came all that mob of naked Krishnans some of ‘em with clubs even. They musta trailed us by asking which way the wagon went. So I thought it might be safer if I could get indoors for a while, until they give up looking. Them heathens looked like they was stirred up real mean.”
“By all means, let’s move,” said Fallon, setting out at a brisk walk and dragging Gazi after him. “Come along, Wagner. You caused most of this trouble, but I wouldn’t leave you to the mob. Krishnan mobs can do worse things even than Terran ones.”
They walked as fast as they could without breaking into a run the few blocks to Fallon’s house. Here Fallon shepherded the other two in and closed and locked the door behind them.
“Wagner, bear a hand with this couch. I’m moving it against the door, just in case.”
The settee was placed in front of the door.
“Now,” said Fallon, “you stay here and look out while we get dressed.”
A few minutes later, Fallon had donned his diaper and Gazi a skirt. Fallon came back into the living room. “Any sign of our friends?”
“Nope. No sign,” said Wagner.
Fallon held out a cigar. “Do you smoke? Thought not.” He lit the cigar himself and poured a drink of kvad. “Same with alcohol?”
“Not for me, but you go ahead. I wouldn’t try to tell you what to do in your own house, even if you are committing a sin.”
“Well, that’s something, Dismal Dan.”
“Oh, you heard about that? Sure, I used to be the biggest sinner in the Cetic planets—maybe in the whole galaxy. You got no idea of the sins I committed.” Wagner sighed wistfully, as if he would like to commit some of these sins over again for old times’ sake. “But then I seen the light. Miss Gazi…”
“She doesn’t understand you,” said Fallon.
Wagner switched to his imperfect Balhibou. “Mistress Gazi, I wanted to say, you just don’t know what real happiness is until you see the light. All these material mundane pleasures pass away like a cloud of smoke in the glory of Him who rules the universe. You know all these gods you got on Krishna? They don’t exist, really, unless you want to say that when you worship the god of love you worship an aspect of the true God, who is also a God of Love. But if you’re going to worship an aspect of the true God, why not worship all of Him…”
Fallon, nursing his drink, soon became bored with the homily. However, Gazi seemed to be enjoying it, so Fallon put up with the sermon to humor her. He admitted that Wagner had a good deal of magnetism when he chose to turn it on. The man’s long nose, quivered, and his brown eyes shone with eagerness to make a convert. When Fallon tossed in an occasional question or objection, Wagner buried him under an avalanche of dialectics, quotations, and exhortations which he could not have answered had he wished.
After more than an hour of this, however, Roqir had set and the Zanido mob had not materialized. Fallon, growing hungry, broke into the conversation to say: “I hope you don’t mind my throwing you out, old man, but…”
“Oh, sure, you gotta eat. I forget myself when I get all wrapped up in testifying to the truth. Of course I don’t mind taking pot-luck with you, if you aren’t gonna serve safqa or ambara…”
With a sigh, Wagner wound the long dirty strip of white cloth around his lank black hair. “Yeah, I’ll go, then. But here’s my card.” He handed over a pasteboard printed in English, Portuguese, and Balhibou. “That address is a boarding-house in the Dumu. Any time you feel low in the spirit, just come to me and I’ll radiate you with divine light.”
Fallon said: “I suggest that you’ll get further with the Krishnans if you don’t start by insulting their ancient customs, which are very well adapted to their kind of life.”
Wagner bowed his head. “I’ll try to be more tactful. After all I’m just a poor, fallible sinner like the rest of us. Well, thanks again. G’bye and may the true God bless you.”
“Thank Bakh he’s gone!” said Fallon. “How about some food?”
“I’m preparing it now,” said Gazi. “But I think you do Master Wagner an injustice. At least he seems to be that rarity: a man unmoved by thoughts of self.”
Fallon, though a little unsteady from all the kvad that he had drunk during Wagner’s harangue, poured himself another. “Didn’t you hear the zaft inviting himself to dinner? I don’t trust these people who claim to be so unselfish. Wagner was an adventurer, you know—lived by his wits, and I should say he was still doing it.”
“You judge everybody by yourself, Antane, be they Terran or Krishnan. I think Master Wagner is at base a good man, even though his methods be rash and injudicious. As for his theology I know not, but it might be true. At least his arguments sounded no whit more fallacious than those of the followers of Bakh, Yesht, Qondyor, and the rest.”
Fallon frowned at his drink. His jagaini’s admiration for the despised Wagner nettled him, and alcohol had made him rash. To impress Gazi, and to change the subject to one wherein he could shine to better advantage, he broke his rule about never discussing business with her by saying: “By the way, if my present deal goes through, we should have Zamba practically wrapped up and tied with string.”
“What now?”
“Oh, I’ve made a deal. If I furnish some information to a certain party, I shall be paid enough to start me on my way.”
“What party?”
“You’d never guess. A mere mountebank and charlatan to all appearances, but he commands all the gold of Dakhaq. I met him at Kastambang’s this morning. Kastambang wrote out a draft, and he signed it, and the banker tore it into three parts and gave us each one. So if anybody can get all three parts, he can cash it either here or in Majbur.”
“How exciting!” Gazi appeared from the kitchen. “May I see?”
Fallon showed her his third of the draft, then put it away, “Don’t tell anybody about this.”
“I’ll not.”
“And don’t say I never confide in you. Now, how long before dinner?”
Chapter VIII
Fallon was halfway through his second cup of shurab, the following morning, when the little brass gong suspended by the door went bonggg. The caller was a Zanido boy with a message, When he had sent the boy off with a five arzu tip, Fallon read:
Dear Fallon: Fredro told me last night of your plans to attend Kastambang’s party tonight. Could you get around to see me today, bringing your invitation with you? Urgent.
P. Mjipa, Consul
Fallon scowled. Did Mjipa propose to interfere in his plans on some exalted pretext that Fallon would lower the prestige of the human race before “natives”? No, he could hardly do that and at the same time urge Fallon to proceed with the Safq project. And Fallon had to admit that the consul was an upright and truthful representative of the human species.
So he had better go to see what Percy Mjipa had in mind, especially as he really had nothing better to do that morning. Fallon accordingly stepped back into his house to gather his gear.
“What is it?” asked Gazi, clearing the table.
“Percy wants to see me.”
“What about?”
“He doesn’t say.”
Without further explanation, Fallon set forth-; the invitation snug in the wallet that swung from his girdle. Feeling less reckless with his money than he had the previous day, he caught an omnibus drawn by a pair of heavy draft-ayas on Asada Street over to the Kharju, where the Terran Consulate stood across the street from the government office building. Fallon waited while Mjipa held a long consultation with a Krishnan from the prefect’s office.
When the prefect’s man had gone, Mjipa called Fallon into his inner office and began in his sharp, rhythmic tones: “Fredro tells me you’re taking Gazi to this binge at Kastambang’s. Is that right?”
“Right as rain. And how does that concern the Consulate?”
“Have you brought your invitation as I asked you to?”
“Yes.”
“May I see it, please?”
“Look here, Percy, you’re not going to do anything silly like tearing it up, are you? Because I’m working on that blasted project of yours. No party, no Safq.”
Mjipa shook his head. “Don’t be absurd.” He scrutinized the card. “I thought so.”
“You thought what?”
“Have you read this carefully?”
“No. I speak Balhibou fluently enough, but I don’t read it very well.”
“Then you didn’t read this line, ‘Admit one only’?”
“What?”
Mjipa indicated the line in question. Fallon read with a sinking heart. “Fointsaq!” he cried in tones of anguish.
Mjipa explained: “You see, I know Kastambang pretty well. He belongs to one of these disentitled noble families. A frightful snot—even looks down on us, if you can imagine such cheek. I’d seen one of his ‘Admit one only’ cards and I didn’t think he would want Gazi—a brotherless, lower-class woman. So I thought I’d warn you to save you embarrassment later if you both showed up at his town house and the flunkey wouldn’t let her in.”
Fallon stared blankly at Mjipa’s face. He could see no sign of gloating. Hence, while he hated to admit it, it looked as though the consul had really done him a kindness.
“Thanks,” said Fallon finally. “Now all I have to do is break the news to Gazi without getting my own neck broken in the process. I shall need the wisdom of Anerik to get me out of this one.”
“I can’t help you there. If you must live with these big brawny Krishnan women…”
Fallon refrained from remarking that Mjipa’s wife was built on the lines of the elephants of her native continent. He asked: “Will you be there?”
“No. I wangled invitations for myself and Fredro, but he decided against going.”
“Why? I should think he’d drool over the prospect.”
“He heard about the beast-fights they stage at these things, and he hates cruelty. As for me, these brawls merely make my head ache. I’d rather stay home reading ‘Abbeq and Dangi’.”
“In the original Gozashtandou? All two hundred and sixty-four cantos?”
“Certainly,” said Mjipa.
“Gad, what a frightful fate to be an intellectual! By the bye, you said something the other day about getting me some false feelers and things for disguises.”
“A good thing you reminded me.” Mjipa dug into a drawer and brought out a package. “You’ll find enough cosmetics to disguise both of you: hair-dye, ears, antennae, and so on. As Earthmen practically never use them in Balhib any more, you should be able to get away with it.”
“Thanks. Cheerio, Percy.”
Fallon strolled out, thinking furiously. First he suppressed, not without a struggle, an urge to get so drunk that the accursed party would be over and done with by the time he sobered up. Then, as the day was a fine one, he decided to spend some “time walking along the city wall instead of returning directly home.
He did not wish to quarrel or break up with Gazi; on the other hand there would certainly be fireworks if he simply told her the trut
h. He was plainly in the wrong for not having puzzled out the meaning of all the squiggles on the card. Of course he had shown it to her, so she should also have seen the fatal phrase. But it would do no good to tell her that.
The nearest section of the wall lay to the east, directly away from his home, where the wall extended from the palace on the hill to the Lummish Gate. Most of the space from the fortifications surrounding the palace grounds to the Lummish Gate was taken up by the barracks of the regular army of Balhib. These barracks were occupied by whichever regiment happened to be on. capital duty, plus officers and men on detached service. These last included Captain Kordaq, assigned the command of the Juru Company of the Civic Guard.
Thinking of Kordaq set off a new train of speculation. Perhaps, if he worked it right…
He inquired at the barracks and presently the captain appeared, polishing his spectacles.
“Hello, Kordaq,” said Fallon. “How’s life in the regular army?”
“Greeting, Master Antane! To answer your question, though ‘twere meant as mere courteous persiflage: ‘tis onerous, yet not utterly without compensation.”
“Any more rumors of wars?”
“In truth the rumors continued to fly-like insensate aqebats, yet no thicker than before. One becomes immunized, as when one has survived the bambir-plague one need never fear it again. But, sir, what brings you hither to this grim edifice?”
Fallon replied: “I’m in trouble, my friend, and you’re the only one who can help me out.”
“Forsooth? Though grateful for the praise implied by your confidence, yet do I hope you’ll not lean too heavily upon this frail swamp-reed.”
Fallon candidly explained his blunder, and added: .“Now, you’ve been wanting to renew your acquaintance with Mistress Gazi, yes?”
“Aye, sir, for old times’ sake.”
“Well, if I went home sick and took to bed, of course Gazi would be much disappointed.”
“Meseems she would,” said Kordaq. “But why all this tumultation over a mere entertainment? Why not simply tell her straight you cannot go, and carry her elsewhither?”
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