The Swords of Zinjaban

VII - Attila Fodor

Kardir the ranch cook answered the doorbell. Reith asked, "Where's Alister?"

"He hath gone to visit a friend, sir. I believe he left you a note, yonder." The cook indicated the mantelpiece, whereon lay a folded sheet of paper. Reith read:

Dear Dad:

I'm over at the Jemadaris' seeing Egbert. When are you two going to make up your minds? The suspense is killing me. Know what I'd like for Christmas? A mother!

Alister

Reith smiled as he thoughtfully folded the missive and put it away in his wallet. He asked Kardir: "Where's Minyev?"

"He said you owed him some leave, sir; so he went forth, soon after you departed."

"That's odd. Did he, too, leave a written message?"

"Nay, sir. Two men—of our kind—rode up one day and asked for you. After I explained your absence, they were fain to speak with your secretary. Minyev came forth, and the three walked away to the aya corral to talk beyond my hearing. Then Minyev came back, saying he would take his leave now. Soon he carried out his gear in a big sack and rode off on his own beast with the other two. I have not seen him since."

Reith's suspicions stirred, like a snake uncoiling. With half an ear he heard the cook ask: "Wilt have company for dinner, sir?"

"Hmm—tomorrow, perhaps. What can you tell me about the persons who took Minyev away?"

The cook shrugged. "They wore common shaihan-herd's garb and spoke Mikardandou."

"That could mean they came from Mikardand, Qirib, Suruskand, or the city of Majbur. Or it might not be their native tongue. Could you learn anything from their accents?"

"Nay, sir; how could I, who have never studied such matters?"

Reith spent the evening in his office, recording expenses and straightening up his files, which Minyev, surprisingly, had left in considerable confusion. The following morning he saw to the management of his modest ranch; then drove his gig to Novorecife. He spent an hour picking up his mail, reading the latest issue of the Novo News, consulting the space-ship schedule in the Space Control center, and discussing with Castanhoso the rumors of wars and upheavals in the nearby Krishnan countries. He also sought the security officer's opinion of Minyev's sudden departure.

"Can't think of a reason for his taking off like that," mused Reith.

"Is there anything missing—silver or pictures, for example?"

"Not so far as I can tell, except that my personal papers were in something of a mess. Could it have anything to do with these rumors of a Qaathian invasion?"

Castanhoso shrugged. "Não sei. Fallon tells me the Kamoran has spies out; but I have heard nothing to implicate your secretary."

Reith then visited the room occupied by White and Ordway, saying: "The São Paolo, with your shooting crew, won't arrive for several days. What do you want me to do in the meantime?"

Ordway looked up from a paper-littered desk. "Matter of fact, old boy, Jack and I shall be so busy calculating times, costs, and distances that we really shan't have anything for you to do."

"Any objection if Alicia and I stay out at my ranch until the ship comes in?"

"Can't think of any. In fact, you might use the time to make up your shilly-shallying mind—if 'mind' is the word I want. You must be one of those prooks I've heard about."

"I beg your pardon?" said Reith, puzzled.

"Hey, what are you apologizing to me for?"

"I mean, Cyril, what's a prook?"

"You know, a prooks—a cavalier. One of those Johnnies who used to gallop around in stove piping, to save fair maidens from dragons and enchanters; like in that old flick, Three Hearts and Three Lions."

Reith laughed, forgetting the sharp retort he had meant to make to Ordway's all-too-accurate gibe. "Oh, you mean preux. It's French for 'gallant.' "

"Oh? What I'm trying to say is, you remind me of those old plays by that Russian chap with a name like Check-out. In his scripts there's always some bloke who most frightfully wants to get his gel between sheets; but every time he gets the beazel steamed up, the silly ass loses his nerve and backs away."

Reith grinned. "There may be something in what you say. But none of Chekhov's characters was ever in exactly our position."

"And why on earth do you call the gel 'Wart Hog'? If there's anything she's not, it's ugly."

"Just a private joke between us, like her calling me 'Fearless'."

Ordway sighed. "When a couple start calling each other pet names, it means the cement's nearly set. Go on with your mating dance, and try not to be like the heroes in that fellow Checkout's plays. Cheer-o!"

"So long! If you want us, send someone after us."

Musing on Ordway's whimsical words of encouragement, Reith crossed the compound and found Alicia in her room. "Hey, Wart Hog! Ordway and White won't need us for a few days, until the São Paolo comes in with its load of nameless creeping things."

"You mean the Cosmic crew? Actually, some are almost human. So?"

"So why not come out to my place?"

"Well—ah—I might be needed ..."

"Oh, come on! Let me be your conscience. Then if anything happens, you can pin the blame on me. We can swim, play tennis, and fence; and you won't have our demon newsperson in your hair, trying to pry out a story about the star-crossed Reiths."

"Meilung will draw all the inferences she needs from my absence," said Alicia primly.

"So what? She'll draw them anyway. Under that hardbitten exterior, she's a romantic little soul. Besides, at the ranch you won't have our own nameless creeping thing making passes all the time."

Alicia snorted. "That pimple on the face of mankind can think of more subtle little sexual suggestions ..."

"Maybe I should take lessons—"

"You wouldn't need ... Anyway, I'll come, if we can have the same arrangements as before."

"Whatever you say."

The following morning, as Reith bent to pick up tennis balls, Alicia said: "Your accuracy is coming up fast. You just need more practice."

"Huh! I was lucky to take one set out of ten. Trouble is, if I play with you only, you'll improve as fast as I. I'll never catch up."

Alicia laughed. "You'll get even at our fencing match this afternoon." She blew a puff of air at the golden bang that overlay her damp forehead. "Bákh! I've never seen it so hot and muggy. I'm drowning in sweat!"

"My dear Lish," said Reith, "men sweat; ladies glow. You glow, like a luminous Krishnan arthropod. Tell you what! I'll get Kardir to put us up a lunch, and we'll ride out into the country."

"Divine! Maybe we could try that swimming hole you—"

She broke off at the sound of hoofbeats. A mounted Krishnan trotted up the driveway, drew rein before the ranchhouse entry, and leaped out of the saddle. He wore a divided kilt and, about his upper body, a simple square of cloth pinned over one shoulder and passed beneath the other arm. Both garments bore a checkered pattern of emerald-green-and-purple squares. Reith said, "That—by Bákh! That's King Vizman's livery! What's he up to ..."

The Krishnan approached, bowed, and said in the Qiribo dialect of Mikardandou: "Have I the honor of addressing Doctor Alicia Dyckman?"

"Yes," said Alicia.

"I bear an epistle from my master, the great Dour of Balhib, to the noble Mistress Dyckman." He proffered a letter.

Alicia turned the envelope over. "Thank you, good-man." When the messenger did not move, she added, "Is there aught else?"

"My master hath commanded me to await your reply."

Alicia fingered the letter as if it might explode. "Fergus, may I borrow your knife?"

She pried off the seal and read. Reith said, "Well?"

"He's heard I'm back on Krishna and begs me to come visit him. He practically offers me all three moons if I'll come. Says he's carried out his promise about the slaves."

"That's true," said Reith. "But what's your answer?" Alicia looked about like an animal caught in a trap. "I ought to think it over ..."To the messenger she said, "Speak you English, goodman?"

"Nay, mistress; of the Terran tongues, only a little Portuguese."

She turned back to Reith. "At least, we can discuss things in front of him. I don't want to write Vizman without the most careful thought—certainly not with this fellow fidgeting to begone ..." She turned back to the messenger. "Tell your master—"

"One moment, my lady," said the courier. From his belt pouch he brought out a notebook, made of a set of cardboard-thin wooden sheets, strung together and waxed. "Pray, speak slowly so that I can prick it down."

"Tell your master that, grateful as I am for his invitation, I am under a contract that will occupy all my time for another moon or two. Ask him to communicate with me again anon." The messenger scratched on his pad with his stylus.

"Alicia!" said Reith. "After the movie's shot, you wouldn't really go putting yourself into that character's power, would you?"

With chin up, she defiantly met his eyes. "I don't know. By then I may be on my way back to Terra, or I may be looking for a job here. If nothing better turns up, I'm sure Vizman would have work for me. I just might ..."

"But—but—" sputtered Reith.

The messenger bowed again. "I thank you, noble madam. God den, good my sir." He put away his pad, mounted, and trotted off. At the gate he broke into a canter.

Reith chewed his lip. She's putting me on notice, he thought. If I don't get off dead center soon, she'll start looking at other prospects. With forced composure he said: "How about our picnic and swim?" This time, he resolved, they would settle matters once and for all.

"Fine! We'll—"

Suddenly an earthshaking rumble quivered the ground beneath their feet. Reith looked up, startled. Alicia said: "Don't tell me a thunderstorm is coming up on a nice, fair day like this!"

"Thunder, hell! That's the São Paolo, coming in ahead of schedule! And we have to meet her. Hey, Simkash! Fetch the gig, byant-hao!"

They found White and Ordway among a crowd of Krishnanders milling about the waiting room of the Customs and Security Building. The São Paolo had already discharged its passengers, but none had yet come through the door from baggage inspection. A grinning Ordway said: "That fellow Kush—Kash—you know, the head copper—said he'd give 'em an exceptionally thorough screening, because everyone knows that Californians are crazy, and movie folk are a lot of drug smugglers and other delinquents."

The door opened, and the passengers began to file through. Most were from Cosmic Productions, and Ordway hailed them: "Hey there, Attila! Here we are, Kostis! Hi, Cassie!"

Ordway gathered his twenty-nine colleagues and began introductions in strict order of rank. Reith tried to fix each name and face in his mind. First Ordway introduced Kostis Stavrakos, the producer, a short, plump individual, well along in years.

Next came Attila Fodor, the script writer and director. This proved to be a huge man, half a head taller than the lanky Reith, and of rangy build. His craggy face bore a luxuriant mustache, whose ends hung down to his chin on either side of his mouth. In an age when a man could promote the growth of hair anywhere on himself that he wished, Fodor was bald. He had a bone-crushing handshake and a strong Magyar accent.

Cassie Norris, the leading lady, was a full-lipped, bosomy platinum blonde, wearing a scarlet, high-style jacket and skirt better suited to the boulevards of Paris than to the austerely functional Customs and Security Building.

Randal Fairweather, the leading man, was tall and impossibly handsome, with a built-in seductive manner. His first words to Alicia were: "My dear, how I've been looking forward to seeing you again! How simply smashing you look, in that great-outdoors getup!"

He bent to kiss her. She did not exactly dodge, but turned her cheek towards him. Cassie Norris, Reith noticed, viewed the interplay without pleasure. Reith, too, felt a surge of jealousy.

The head grip or property man, Ernesto Valdez, was small, dark, and intense. Bennett Ames, his assistant, was introduced as Cassie's husband. He was a big man with a bewildered look on his blunt features.

Hari Motilal, assistant script writer and assistant director, proved small-boned and chocolate brown; he wore what seemed to be a permanent sneer on his aquiline Hindi visage. He looked Reith over with an uncordial stare and remarked: "So you, Mr. Reith, are the old Krishnan hand Doctor Dyckman has been telling us about! To judge from her remarks, you must be some sort of superman."

"You'll have to judge that for yourself," said Reith. Thereafter, names and faces began to blur. All seemed to talk at once, paying no heed to the remarks of anyone else.

"Excuse me, please!" said Reith. He rounded up Krishnan porters with hand trucks and directed the loading of the new arrivals' baggage.

Stavrakos said: "Mr. Reith, that security officer says he wants to keep our equipment here until tomorrow, to make sure it complies with the regulations. Can't you speed things up?"

"No," said Reith. "In such matters, what Castanhoso says, goes."

"Would a little ..." The producer held out a hand, rubbing the thumb back and forth against the fingertips, "... help any?"

"Worst thing you could do. You may not believe it, but Herculeu is incorruptible."

"Hell of a place," muttered Stavrakos, turning away. "Can't even use an honest bribe."

Reith held up an arm and raised his voice. "Will everybody from Cosmic Productions please follow me?"

The next hour was spent in leading the movie crew to the Visitors' Building, assigning them rooms, sorting out hand luggage, and explaining the schedules of the cafeteria and the Nova Iorque bar and lounge.

When Reith's charges were disposed of, Alicia confronted him in the hallway. "Fergus," she said, "I hate to ask this of you; but will you go back to the ranch and fetch my things?"

"Why not come back yourself and change?"

"Oh, darling, how I wish I could! But starting right now, Kostis and the rest have me tied up in conferences practically every minute until we leave for location. They'll want you in on some of them, too."

"How shall I know—"

"I'll put a note in your mail box. That's a dear!"

She moved towards him, and Reith thought he was about to be kissed. But then she glanced down the hall, where several of the Cosmic crew were standing about chattering, and evidently thought better of the idea.

"Well," he said, "I wouldn't do this for any other woman. Até logo!"

A couple of hours later, Reith returned to Novorecife. A bag containing Alicia's possessions lay beside him on the seat of the gig. She was not in her room; but a note in his mailbox asked him please to attend a conference in Stavrakos's suite, beginning at the twelfth hour.

The next few days became a blur in his memory. Conference followed conference. Alicia was in the thick of it all, so that he had no chance to speak to her alone. He was called in on many conferences, mainly as a backup for Alicia when questions arose about Krishnan politics, topography, climate, and other matters where his knowledge surpassed hers.

By the time the meeting adjourned each night, Reith was glad to drive home, throw his clothes on the bedroom floor, and tumble into bed.

To entertain the Cosmic employees not included in the working sessions, Reith arranged for Timásh to take them on boat trips up the river to Rimbid and down to Qou. He hoped that, if they ever stopped chattering and admiring themselves long enough, they would learn something of the Krishnan countryside and its inhabitants.

During the first few conferences, Reith tried to lead the discussion around to things that he thought were wrong with the script and to suggest improvements. But Stavrakos, Fodor, and Motilal brushed all his objections aside.

Motilal said: "Perhaps you have not yet realized, Mr. Reith, not being of our profession, that we are not making a documentary. A number of cinematographers have already done this. What we are doing is pure entertainment. Do you understand the distinction?"

"Of course, but—"

"Then kindly leave to us the matters on which we are expert, and we shall likewise depend on you for information we lack. You understand?"

"I'm not a half-wit, Mr. Motilal. I understand, all right." Nasty little man, thought Reith; why the hell should I give free advice to people who don't want it? Hereafter they can ask for it and pay extra.

Reith's dislike of Motilal was somewhat softened when the assistant director, a stickler for authentic detail, took Reith's side in arguments over the film's veracity. One dispute concerned the color of the simulated blood to be shed in scenes of violence. Stavrakos insisted that the blood be red, since to a Terran audience blood was red by definition. The fact that Krishnan blood was blue-green, having a base of hemocyanin instead of hemoglobin, meant nothing to him. But Fodor, Motilal, Alicia, and Reith all objected so vehemently that Stavrakos gave in.

Four days after the arrival of the Sáo Paolo, a train of vehicles appeared on the road from Qou: three of Mishé's omnibuses and four wagons, each drawn by a pair of ayas. Each omnibus bore, rising from the body, a wooden framework over which a canopy could be stretched in times of rain or excessive heat.

The whole Cosmic crew went out to examine the vehicles as they rattled into the compound. Reith heard grumbling, and Fodor said: "Is this the best you could do, Fergus? The people, they complain about the hard seats. These things will give a hell of a rough ride." (Actually he said: "Is dis de best ... De people, dey complain about de hard seats. Dese tings ..." Fodor had never mastered the dental fricatives of English.)

"That's what we've got," said Reith. "Tell your people that Sivird in the Outfitting shop will sell them seat cushions. If need be, he'll have some made."

Later, Reith ran into a grinning Kenneth Strachan, who said, "I'm working for Cosmic, too."

"Really? What as?"

"Set designer. The production designer thocht he wanted an engineer familiar with the local materials— strength in tension and compression and so forth—so he hired me. Says I could double as interpreter. You'll have to watch me and haul me awa' if I cast adulterous eyes on aucht female."

Reith sighed. As if, he thought, his list of problems were not long enough already!

The final conference broke up in late afternoon. It was agreed that all should leave Novorecife early the following morning, as soon as the vehicles could be loaded. Reith would drive his gig north to Rosid, to tell the Dasht of Ruz to assemble his five hundred warriors and to give him the authorization, signed by the Grand Master of the Knights of Qarar, to admit this armed band of foreigners to the Republic of Mikardand. This errand completed, Reith was to retrace his steps and join the shooting crew at Mishé.

Meanwhile the Cosmic crew would set out for Mishé with Alicia and Strachan as guides and interpreters. In Mishé they would shoot the urban scenes and buy the equipment needed for camping out at Zinjaban.

Reith balked at the plan to send him to Rosid. Not wishing to say that he hated the thought of being separated from Alicia, especially with handsome lechers like Fairweather dancing attendance on her, he invented reasons for staying with the shooting crew. He feared, he said, that Dasht Gilan might suspect him of complicity in the disappearance of Princess Vázni and imprison him, or even shorten him by a head.

Stavrakos, however, waved the contract like a flag and threatened to withhold Reith's pay. Since nobody else was available to handle the task assigned to Reith, and since he prided himself on punctilious fulfillment of his obligations, Reith gave in.

As he rose to leave the conference room, Reith heard Fodor's bellow. "Hey, Fergus! Come here a minute!"

Although the blustering Fodor was not to Reith's taste, the tour guide came. The director boomed: "Now that the business is over, I am hosting a party in my rooms this evening. Come, and bring your money!"

"What sort of party?"

"Oh, some liquor, and a few hands of poker. We begin at half past twenty, Earth time, whatever the hell that would be here. Come! It will be a very select little party. I invite only my good friends."

Reith thought, With Attila Fodor for a friend, who needs an enemy? While he hesitated, Fodor slyly added: "Besides, your little yellow-haired Alicia, she is coming."

Reith was surprised; he had expected an all-male gathering. He was also concerned; although Alicia took pride in being able to take care of herself, she just might need her former husband's protection. After a moment he answered: "All right, thanks. I'll be there."

At the appointed hour, Reith found Cyril Ordway and two handsome young women, both dark and petite, in Fodor's suite in the Visitors' Building. The air was heavy with the smoke of huge Krishnan cigars, as Fodor rose with a cheerful roar.

"Come in Fergus! Have a drink. You've met my wife, Michelle." He nodded at one of the girls. "And my mistress, Nancy Boyce." He nodded at the other. "The rest will be here soon. Jack White is coming. Poor Jack always loses, but he can't keep away. I invited your friend Strachan, but he said he couldn't afford it. I guess he is like those Scotchmen in the stories, squeezing every pengö." He thrust a box of cigars at Reith, who declined.

Ordway remained seated, glass in hand, staring at Reith from bloodshot eyes as Fodor continued.

"You got no prejudice against playing with Krishnans, have you?"

"Of course not," said Reith. "I live among them."

"Good; we got one coming. Cyril here is a little touchy about those things; but I told him he could either be a good boy or get the hell out. Here's the guy, now!"

Tall and slender, Sivird, master of the Outfitting Shop, ducked under the door lintel, saying: "I am glad to see you, Mr. Reece."

"The reason I have invited him," said Fodor, "is he did such a good job getting those pillows made. He had all the whores in the place—what do you call it?—the Hamda', that's it. He had them all sewing and stuffing. Ah, here come the others. Hello, Jack; hello, Alicia! Come in, sit, have drinks. I pour."

White and Alicia, she in her topless dress, each accepted a glass of kvad and sipped cautiously as Fodor and Ordway stared at her with lustful fixation. White kept his eyes on his goblet, in patent embarrassment; but, as Reith noted with amusement, he rhythmically caressed the rounded curve of his drinking vessel.

"I was saying," continued their host, "that the reason people will flock to this movie is, they are sick and tired of too much civilization. They want a breath of clean, virile barbarism, which is after all the natural state of man. Now they got the Earth so damned civilized that you can't take a piss without filling out a form. So for a barbarian milieu, you got to come to Krishna."

Sivird gave the Krishnan version of a frown. "Mr. Fodor, I hope you will not take offense; but we Gozashtanduma do not consider ourselves barbarians. In fact, we are highly civilized."

"I suppose, compared to the Krishnans with tails, you are," said Fodor. "Compared to us decadent Earthmen, however, you are the noble savages—and all the better for it. Barbarism is the natural state of reasoning beings, and men always return to it the minute the restraints are off. Then we become real men!" Fodor thumped his chest with his fist. "Those who can't, die."

Alicia gave him a level stare. "You mean you'd prefer to live like those verminous nomads in Qaath, struggling to stay alive?"

Fodor nodded. "If I had been born a barbarian, I'd be twice the man I am. Why am I bald? Because no true barbarian would smear on his scalp the stuff that grows hair on a bowling ball."

White whispered to Reith, "The real reason is that he's allergic to the pilogen, like me."

Waving an arm like a knobby utility pole, Fodor orated, "I am barbarian swordsman at heart! Cut! Thrust! Slash! Blood running in the gutters! Heads rolling in the mud! If I could make a picture with real heads, real blood, that would be my great artistic triumph."

White snorted. "It's easy for you to talk about blood and gore. But when I saw those heads on spikes at Mishé, they almost made me shoot my cookies."

"Aw, hell!" said Fodor. "Your trouble, Jack, is your ancestors got civilized too long ago. The disease you call civilization only infected us Magyars in the last thousand years; so we haven't been so long going downhill. We still got a little of the old, manly barbarism.''

Alicia said: "If the Qaathians were to spring one of their lightning invasions while you're shooting your picture, you wouldn't think them so romantic."

Reith added: "They may in fact be up to something. For moons they kept their borders closed."

Fodor snorted. "Just a couple of rabbity decadents, scared of your shadows. Now let's play. Jack, set up the table. Nancy, where the hell are the cards? Michelle, get out the chips. Fergus, you seem sober; you be banter. Straight draw, nothing wild. Poker with wild cards is degenerate."

"It's my lucky night," murmured White. "The astrologer told me so." His eyes held the glitter of a compulsive gambler about to indulge his addiction.

Reith took the money—Terran paper and a pile of silver coins from Sivird. There was a tedious wrangle about rates of exchange until Reith said: "Damn it, if I'm banker, I set the rates!"

Alicia said: "I didn't bring much cash. What'll you allow me on this?"

She unclasped a silver necklace, set with amethysts and rock crystal, and laid it on the table. With a start, Reith recognized the ornament as a souvenir from her long-ago days of wild adventure in the Khaldoni countries.

"What would you say, Sivird?" asked Reith.

The Krishnan picked up the bauble. "I would allow the lady five hundred karda."

"Good enough," said Reith, counting out chips.

"Hey!" bellowed Fodor. "Since we got so many beautiful ladies, let's play strip poker. Then we have a real game! How about?"

Michelle spoke with a French accent. "I do not sink so. On ze Riviera, perhaps ..."

"No!" said Nancy Boyce. "I will not take off my clothes in front of all these people!"

"It's against my religion," muttered White.

"Okay, okay," grumbled Fodor. "Cut the cards. Fergus, you deal first. Nancy bets."

Fodor pulled a new deck of cards from their box, ruffled them, and laid them before Reith, who saw that the backs bore a complex design centering on the monogram F.A.G.

"Are these your special cards, Attila?" Reith asked.

"Sure. I had them made."

"What does F.A.G. stand for?"

"Fodor Attilla Graf," growled Fodor. "In Magyar, we put the surname first, like the Chinese."

"Then is 'Graf your middle name? It's German for 'count.' "

"It means 'count' on the cards, too. I'm a hereditary Hungarian count, or I would be if they hadn't abolished tides there long ago." He shrugged. "To use it makes me feel good; so why not?"

"No reason," said Reith. "I'll call you the Grand Khan of Tatary if you like."

"Ah, the Tatars!" exclaimed Fodor. "The last real men—"

"Let's play!" said Reith loudly, to cut off another monologue on the joys of barbarism.

For the first few hands, betting was cautious and stakes, low. Unfamiliar with their opponents, the players felt each other out. Reith lost a little through over-cautiously dropping out early; then he won a pot with three kings and more than recovered his losses.

White lost small sums. Then he plunged; Reith called his bluff, and White had to buy more chips. Fodor played in swashbuckling style, winning and losing substantial sums but coming out about even.

Ordway, now deep in his cups, leaned forward between hands to stare at Alicia's bosom. His playing was erratic; his words, surly.

To Reith's surprise, Alicia began steadily winning. Her face was as blank as when he had tried to talk about their joint future at Rimbid.

On Reith's left, Sivird played thoughtfully in a style much like that of Reith. He accumulated chips foster than Reith; but then Alicia beat him on a couple of hands and reduced his holdings almost to his starting stake. Fodor's women, who sat on either side of the director, played timidly, repeatedly dropping out before cards were called for.

Ordway, who had lost most of his chips, roused himself and began raising the limit. All dropped save Sivird, who kept raising until Ordway's pile had vanished. Ordway called. He showed a foil house; Sivird laid down a flush.

For a long moment, Ordway blinked at the exposed hands as if he could not believe his eyes. Fodor said: "All right, Cyril! Shove them over!"

Ordway's stubble-bearded face turned an apoplectic red. "Goddamned if I'll let any fuckin' wog ramp me! Oo the hell does he fink—"

Ordway rose; his chair crashed to the floor. Instantly Fodor was on his feet, roaring: "Drunken son of a bitch!" With two strides he came around Michelle's chair and seized Ordway's arm. Ordway swung a fist at Fodor, but his short arms merely fanned the smoky air.

"Out!" yelled the director, whirling Ordway towards the door. He yanked it open and thrust the struggling inebriate through. Putting a large foot against Ordway's rump, he shoved, catapulting the production manager across the corridor, to crash into the wall on the far side.

Fodor slammed and locked the door and returned to the table. "Sorry, folks," he growled. "Poor Cyril goes on these bats. Tomorrow he'll come crawling with apologies. Whose deal?"

Play continued. Then Fodor said he had a pat hand. Alicia took three cards and bet the limit; she raised him. Back and forth they went until Alicia's pile was almost exhausted and Fodor's completely so. At that point, Fodor dropped.

Reith hoped for a glimpse of the cards; but Alicia and Fodor both folded their hands, keeping the faces of the cards out of sight. Fodor pushed his pile to Alicia.

"You got to give me a chance to get even!" he said. "Fergus, I am broke, and I got no more cash. If I was a proper barbarian, I would just whack off a couple of heads and take back the chips. But as things are, let me give you Nancy as security for a loan, until I get to the bank tomorrow."

"Eh? What's that?" said Reith. "An I.O.U. would do—"

"No, no, you do like I say. I might be dead tomorrow, and then where would you be?"

"Now what," said Reith, "do you expect me to do with Nancy?"

"Good God! You have to ask? Take her to bed and ride her till she founders, natural!"

Reith looked around the table. "Does he really mean this?"

Nancy said, "Yes, he does! I've been through this before."

"He must be crazy," said Reith.

"I—we had a fight today," said Nancy, "and th-this is his way of g-getting even." She dissolved in tears, rose, and started for the door.

Michelle also rose, put an arm around Nancy, and went out with her, murmuring: "Ma pauvre petite! Il est un sale bête, ce grand fripouille-lá!"

"We still got five," said Fodor. "Jack, it's your deal."

"I think I've had enough," said White.

Sivird said: "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I must get the shop open early tomorrow, for last-minute purchases by your cinema people." He rose, bowed, and pushed his chips forward for redemption.

Fodor sighed. "I guess the party is pooped. Help me collect the bottles and glasses. Fergus, pay the people off." He scooped up the cards, put them back in their box, and handed the box to Alicia, saying: "Take! They are your lucky cards, and they will remind you of Attila Fodor."

Walking Alicia back to her room, Reith said: "Hey, Wart Hog! There's more to this than meets the eye. What cards did you hold on that last hand?"

"You could have paid to see them."

"Oh, come off it! We're old co-conspirators."

"Well, then," she said, "I had three jacks."

"Not much, for a game and a pot of that size. Any idea of what the King of the Huns had?"

"I'm sure he was bluffing. Maybe king high or something."

"How on Krishna did you know that?"

"Because I'd been studying his style. Sivird would have cleaned out the Cosmic people, because they're not used to Krishnan facial expressions and body language. But I kept taking chips away from him almost as last as he won them, because I'm used to Krishnans and Terrans both. Besides, you don't think I wore this dress just to look pretty, do you?"

"I've been wondering why. Hoped it was to please me."

Alicia smiled. "Besides, I knew the men from Cosmic weren't used to Krishnan styles and would spend more time gaping at my contours than studying cards. It didn't work with Cyril and Jack, because Cyril got too drunk and Jack has inhibitions. But it hit the shaihan's eye with Attila."

Reith chuckled. "You she-devil! That dress sure paid for itself tonight. Where did you learn to play poker like an old pro?"

"In Montecito, with the movie people. After losing a month's salary, I learned the tricks. By the way, will you take charge of these cards Attila gave me? I really don't care for card games."

"From what I saw tonight, you could make a living gambling."

Alicia shrugged. "Not how I want to spend my life. I came only because Attila told me you'd be there."

"Son of a bitch! I came because he told me the same about you. Bet I know why he pulled that nutty stunt with his mistress. He thought if I was kept busy all night with her, I wouldn't be around to interfere while he turned tricks with you."

"Dear Fergus! With Fodor at large, I'd have been delighted to have you around to interfere."

They reached Alicia's door. Realizing that this would be his last chance for many days to ask his unfinished questions, Reith put his hands on Alicia's shoulders and turned her to face him. Holding her at arm's length, he drew a deep breath and said: "Dearest Lish, how would you like it if—"

"Ah, there you are!" A mellow actor's voice wafted lightly along the corridor. Randal Fairweather, as tall as Reith and much handsomer, approached with long strides. "Alicia darling! If I'd known you were wearing that dress, I'd have crashed Attila's party." He turned to Reith. "Hear you're going back to Ruz, Fergus. Is that right?"

"Yes," growled Reith.

"Well, keep your ass covered old boy. We can't afford to lose you. Say, is it true that you two were once married to each other?"

"It is," said Reith, wishing for some magical spell to make this charmer vanish in a puff of smoke.

"Reminds me of the time," Fairweather rattled on, "when I was married to Nadya O'Brien, who played the lead in Sweat and Lust. We stayed pals for years after we split. I was with the Loathsome Creatures—"

"You were what?" interrupted Reith.

"A Loathsome Creature. It was a dance band; I played the electronic banjo. You know, Fergus, you did the entire male sex a favor by breaking up. No one man should monopolize such a gorgeous woman."

"I'm not polyandrously inclined, Randal," said Alicia, "if that's what you're hinting at."

"You might give it a try, my fairy princess," said Fairweather. "Take my colleague, Gina Petrovsky ..."

As he chattered on, oozing charm, it became obvious that the actor was waiting for Reith to set out for his ranch, so that he could make a pitch for Alicia without competition. Reith stubbornly stood his ground, matching anecdote with anecdote and joke with joke, until Alicia, patting a yawn, said: "Good night, boys!" She closed her door firmly, and Reith heard the snick of the bolt.

Reith said: "Care to come out to the ranch, Randal? I have some good drinking kvad, and I can easily put you up."

"Thanks," said Fairweather, "but I think I'll turn in. We've got to be up with the aqebats tomorrow."

When Reith still did not move, Fairweather cast a look at the bolted door and laughed. "Okay, I'll come! We'd look pretty damned silly, standing here all night, each waiting for the other to go. Let me get my kit."

In the courtyard of the Visitors' Building, noisy confusion reigned. Climbing into the omnibuses, some Cosmic employees jostled one another for better seats. Others fretted lest any of their belongings be left behind.

On the pavement below them, Krishnan drivers and workmen shouted. Impatient ayas shook their horns, pawed the ground, and bleated. Valdez and Ordway yelled at the heavy-laden porters.

Reith stood moodily scowling with vexation at having muffed another opportunity. He roused himself when he heard Ordway's voice, turning Cockney under stress.

"No, no, you've got it all wrong, mate! Hey, Strachan, can you explyne to this bloody wog that he's got to unload the wagon and start over?"

"And tell him," shouted Valdez, "that if he drops a camera, it will explode and blow us all to pieces!"

This, if an exaggeration, was not altogether untrue. While Interplanetary Council rules had been somewhat eased since the days when nobody might take any mechanism more complex than an abacus out of Novorecife, cameras and other advanced equipment were fitted with self-destruct mechanisms. If some inquisitive Krishnan tried to take one apart, either to discover Terran technical secrets or just to satisfy his curiosity, the machine would fly apart into hundreds of components, which no Krishnan could ever reassemble.

"Easy, easy," came Strachan's deep voice. "Ye'll frighten him so he'll drop something for sure." Strachan then spoke in Gozashtandou, and the reloading proceeded.

Reith saw that Ordway had recovered from his excesses, save for a pair of bloodshot eyes and a lump on his forehead. He had to admit that the Londoner was effective in bringing order out of chaos.

Roqir stood well up in the greenish sky when the last piece of freight had been checked aboard and the last passenger who had wandered off while waiting had been rounded up. Ordway swung up on the foremost wagon and stood looking aft. He called out: "I say, Alicia! Will you please for sweet Jesus's sake get aboard? You'll have time for that sort of thing at Zinjaban!"

"That sort of thing" was a parting embrace between Alicia and Reith. When they kissed, the passengers, leaning out to watch, sent up a ragged cheer. As he and Alicia pulled apart, Reith caught remarks amid the buzz.

"She's his ex-wife, you know."

"Hell, I wish my ex-wife would treat me like that!"

"She can be my ex, any time she likes!"

Ordway blew his whistle. The drivers cracked their whips, and the vehicles lurched, groaned, and rumbled into motion.

When the last wagon had swayed out through the gate in the compound wall, Reith turned to Timásh, who held the bridles of three ayas, one of them hitched between the shafts of Reith's gig. Reith climbed into the trap and, followed by Timásh riding one beast and leading another, guided his gig out the gate. Instead of taking the river road to Qou, however, he headed north towards Rosid.