The Hostage of Zir (13 page)

He inspected the great gong atop the city gate, which alerted the citizens to the approach of enemies and other emergencies. He attended services in the temple. He made a pal of Captain Parang and played games of piza to kill time. He worked at Iris push-ups and other calisthenics.

His attendance at the services caused some stir. Shosti insisted that he sit, not among the congregation, but up front, facing them from a gilded throne. The throne had been gathering dust in the storeroom, but the Witch of Zir commanded the temple servants to bring it out and shine it up.

Then Shosti modified the services so that the congregation addressed its prayers and flatteries directly to Reith. After a week of being called immortal, all-powerful, all-knowing, all-wise, faultless, heroic, just, merciful, compassionate, etcetera, Reith found that once the novelty had worn off, being worshiped became a great bore. A weaker character, he thought, might make the mistake of taking all this nonsense seriously. He wondered if he would not have been wiser firmly to deny his divinity at the outset, but that was the wisdom of hindsight.

After the third day, Reith persuaded Shosti to move the throne to one side, with its back against the wall. Then he faced the altar in the middle and presented his profile to the congregation. He wanted to study the glittering temple map, which he could not do while sitting with his back to it.

The map had too many details to memorize all at once. Alone in his room, on a sheet of Krishnan paper, Reith made a rough sketch in pencil of what he could remember. During the following services, he stole glances at the map on the wall. As soon as each service was over, he went back to his rooms and corrected the errors on his map. After repeated corrections and additions, the map he drew corresponded closely enough to the original for practical purposes.

The next problem was a rope. There did not seem to be a rope walk in Senarzé. All the rope in town had been brought from elsewhere. In a seaport, there would be plenty of rope; but on this mountain top there was but little, and that already in use. Reith could not readily steal enough of this rope—say that which acted as drive belts in the windmills—with a pair of Ziro soldiers dogging his steps.

While he brooded in his room, he pulled the bell rope to summon a temple servant. Then he clapped a hand to his forehead. How stupid could he be!

The bell was answered by Gháshmi, who spoke only Zirou. Reith, however, had become adept enough at the dialect to make his wishes known. He said: “I am curious, Gháshmi. Whither goes this rope? I know it passes through tubes to some other part of the temple, where it rings a bell.”

“Will Your Divinity honor us with a visit to the servants’ quarters?”

“Aye, my dear mortal, I will. Lead on.”

The servants’ quarters, in the cellar, were far less grand than his own. The girls were jammed into small double-deck beds, with hardly room to turn around. Gháshmi giggled.

“No male is allowed in this section, my lord,” she said, “for obvious reasons. You are the first in years, but of course the rules apply not to Your Divinity.” She looked at him sidelong. “If you were to command one of us to do aught that you wished, we could not gainsay you—”

Reith cleared his throat. “Later, perhaps. Right now I am more concerned with the operations of the temple.”

Beside the stair leading up to the main floor was a bank of a dozen bells, bracketed to the wall. To each bell was attached the end of a pull-rope similar to that in Reith’s bedchamber. The twelve ropes disappeared into holes in the ceiling. Another temple girl sat on a chair before the bells, knitting. She rose and bowed as Reith approached.

“You see, my lord,” said Gháshmi, “the bells are of different sizes and hence sound different notes. One girl must ever be on duty to answer a summons. We know which part of the temple it comes from by the note. When the girl on duty goes to answer a call, she rings that little bell to one side, to warn her replacement to take her place instanter. We take the duty in rotation.”

“Very interesting,” said Reith peering. “Which bell summons you to my chambers?”

“This one,” said Gháshmi. “Your Divinity honors us with your interest.”

She and the other girl chattered at him, giving him details of temple routine. He finally begged off, saying he had to wash up for the next service.

###

The next time Reith prowled the city, he came upon a house whose owner was tarring his roof. Feigning interest, he persuaded the Krishnan to come down his ladder and explain.

“You see, Your serene Divinity,” said the Krishnan, “I put the cold pitch in this barrel and light the little fire underneath. When the pitch is melted, I scoop up a bucketful, carry it up to the roof, and apply it with this brush.”

All this was obvious. Nevertheless, Reith kept the fellow talking. Then the house owner looked into his bucket and said: “Oh, my lord, my pitch has cooled and solidified! Now must I dump it back in the barrel to melt it again.”

“My apologies; I am sorry,” said Reith.

“A god need never apologize, Your Divinity!”

“I do so natheless. A god should not be careless with his worshipers’ goods. May I see that cold pitch?”

“Certes, Your Divinity. Here.”

Reith dug his fingers into the pitch and scooped out a lump the size of a golfball. The pitch was still hot enough to scorch his fingers. Wincing, he held on.

“May I keep this, to remind me of my divine duty?” he asked.

“Your Divinity is more than welcome. You honor me by your request. Would you like the whole bucketful?”

“Nay, goodman; this will suffice. Good day.”

Followed by his escorts, Reith walked back to the temple, tossing the lump of pitch from hand to hand. One of the soldiers, the stout, heavy-set Lieutenant Khonj, said: “Permit me to ask Your Divinity what your godlike purpose was, in begging that lump of pitch?”

“Just an experiment I had in mind,” said Reith carelessly. “Know you not that I am a god of inventors among others? I had an idea for a new device.”

“But my lord, you could have asked one of us to fetch you all the pitch you could use!”

“The idea came to me but now. I wished to strike whilst the iron was hot, as we say in Heaven. But I appreciate your assiduity.”

###

That night, Captain Parang had the evening shift. When Beizi asked Reith if he was ready to join Shosti, Reith said: “Kindly tell Her Rectitude I am fatigued. I need a night out with the boys, as we put it in Heaven. I shall join her after she is asleep; I perform better in the morning anyway.”

“I will tell my lady.”

“And ask Captain Parang to step in, will you?”

When the officer appeared, Reith said: “How about another game of piza, old fellow?”

“Your Divinity is too kind.”

“And no pretending to make mistakes so that I shall win! I your god am a sporting god.” Reith got out the board and the pieces. “I’ll tell you what. Every time one of us loses a piece, he shall take a drink.”

“How much of a drink, my lord?”

“This much.” Reith produced a large jug of kvad and two small silver tumblers. “One of these full. They are supposed to have come down from Gámand the Unshorn, but I believe it not. Gámand was an ascetic who never touched strong drink or owned costly baubles. I stole these from the display cabinet in the temple.”

“My lord!” Parang sounded shocked. “Whatever a god does is good by definition. So how can you speak of yourself as ‘stealing’ aught? The temple and all in it is yours. If a mortal accused Your Divinity of theft, ’twere blasphemy.”

“Well, what’s the use of being a god if one cannot take one’s own name in vain? Black or white?”

The game began. Soon Reith lost a piece and swallowed his kvad at a gulp. Moving more cautiously, he presently captured one of Parang’s men; then another.

So it went. For several days, Reith had been studying the game, playing with anyone he could find: the temple servants, the soldiers, even Shosti. Hence he soon outclassed Parang, who was forced to drink two or three tumblers of kvad to Reith’s one.

When they were halfway through the fourth game, Captain Parang was visibly affected. He yawned, mumbled, and made patent efforts to stay awake and alert.

Reith saw a chance for a rare move, capturing three of Parang’s men at once. He made the move, swept up the pieces, and said: “Now you must drink a triple, my friend . . .”

A gentle wheeze, the Krishnan version of a snore, answered him.

Reith glanced at the time candle on the dresser. All was quiet. He picked up the jug of kvad and tiptoed to the door.

Outside, Parang’s back-up was sitting against the wall. At sight of Reith, he rubbed his eyes and scrambled up. Reith murmured: “Good Private Ghirch, we are having a hot game within and would not be disturbed. Would a swig of this ease your watch?”

The Krishnan’s eyes lit up. “Aye verily, Your Divinity!”

Reith left the jug with the soldier, returned to his room, and snuffed out all but one of the candles. He took the lump of pitch from under his pillow and warmed it over the remaining candle until it was plastic.

Then he went swiftly through the passage to the servants’ quarters. At the foot of the long stair, he found one of the girls sitting in the chair before the bank of bells, trying, in the feeble light, to read a Krishnan book. The book consisted of a long strip of native paper folded zigzag, with a pair of wooden covers.

“Hail, good Jazeri!” he said as the girl rose and bowed. “Would you do your god a small favor?”

“Aught you say, my lord.”

“Well then, how about a cup of hot
chaven
?” This was a nonalcoholic, mildly stimulating Krishnan drink. “I have drunk so much kvad, gaming with Captain Parang, that my mortal body needs a sobering draft.”

“At once, Your Divinity!” Jazeri scuttled away.

Reith examined the bells. Into the one whose rope extended to his bedchamber, he inserted the lump of warm pitch. He pressed it between the bell and the clapper, pushing the clapper into the yielding surface with his thumbs. Now the clapper was firmly stuck to the bell and would not ring.

Then he took out his pocket knife and sawed the rope, where it came down behind the bell. He cut through all but the last few fibers, so that any vigorous pull would break the rope.

He put the knife away as he heard Jazeri’s returning footsteps. He leisurely sipped the
chaven,
flattering Jazeri and her fellow temple workers. He praised the cleanliness of the temple and the high polish on the decorations. The girl purred.

When he had downed the cup, he handed it to Jazeri and mounted the stairs. Back in Reith’s bedchamber, Parang still slept. A peek out the door showed that Private Ghirch had likewise fallen asleep.

Reith stepped to the bell pull and gave a vigorous tug. A metre of rope snaked out of the hole in the wall and was not withdrawn. Reith kept pulling until the entire length tumbled down before him.

He wound the rope around his waist, under the cloth-of-gold tunic. Then he looked at Parang. The captain was dead to the world. His hooded cloak lay on the floor by the door.

Reith wondered if he could unbuckle the captain’s baldric and get his sword. Fearing that this would surely arouse Parang, he decided instead to unhook the captain’s scabbard from the baldric. Captain Parang wheezed on.

Lacking a proper sword belt, Reith stuck the scabbard through his emerald-studded girdle. The arrangement was uncomfortable but would have to do.

From under his bed, Reith recovered the sack of biscuits he had secreted. Since he had begun collecting them days earlier, some must be pretty stale; but that was no matter. He got the map from his desk.

He donned Parang’s cloak, pulling the hood well down. He was tempted to write a note saying that Captain Parang was not to be blamed for his escape, since Reith had tricked him. He liked the old Krishnan; but, with his meager knowledge of Krishnan writing, it would take him an hour to compose an intelligible note. While he hoped that nothing would happen to Parang, Reith put his own life and those of his tourists first.

###

Soon after, Reith mounted the stone stair to the top of the city wall, near the main gate. A sentry saw him, saluted at the sight of an officer’s cloak, and continued his rounds. The sentries in front of the temple had done likewise.

With sweaty hands and pounding heart, Reith unwound the pull rope from his waist. He slipped the bight in the middle over the merlon next to the gate tower, scrambled through the embrasure, got his scabbard caught crosswise in the opening, worked it loose, and lowered himself down the outer face of the wall.

As he did so, a horrid thought struck him. In preparing for his flight, he had tried to think of everything; but, in his nervous haste, he had forgotten to change his shoes. He still wore the thin, ornate, gilded footwear, scarcely more than bedroom slippers that formed a part of his temple costume. He had meant to don the stout boots in which he had been captured and which he used in his walks about the city. These, however, still stood peacefully in his clothes closet, and it was too late to go back for them.

X

A PAIR OF BOOTS

By feeling around in the dark, moving slowly lest he tumble down the slope, Fergus Reith found, near the base of the wall, an outcropping of rock. He looped his bight of the rope around the projection and backed down the slope, a step at a time.

The night was overcast. This helped to hide Reith from Krishnan eyes, since Krishnan nights whence all three moons were absent at once occurred not often. On the other hand, he could just barely make out the forms of the hillside. The slope near the top was almost vertical. If he slipped, he would go bouncing down base-over-apex.

Then he felt more solid footing beneath his feet. Straining his eyes, he saw he had reached a narrow ledge. Below, the slope eased.

Reith halted and began to pull on one end of the rope. The rope came down, while the other end disappeared into the darkness above. Then something caught.

Reith jerked the rope, which remained snagged. With both hands, he gave his strongest tug, almost losing his balance.

Reith recovered, but sounds from above indicated that his final jerk had loosened the rock around which he had looped the rope. The sound swiftly waxed and changed to a series of thumps as the stone, gathering speed, began to bounce. Reith knew that a boulder, weighing perhaps thirty to sixty kilos, was headed towards him.

The ledge was not spacious enough for dodging, even if he had time and could have seen the stone’s approach. He flattened himself against the slope like a lizard, pressing himself into the rock and dirt as tightly as he could.

The boulder struck above his head, bounced, and cleared him by a few centimeters. He felt the wind of its passage on his neck. Trembling with relief, he heard diminishing thumps as the boulder bounded on down the slope. Several smaller stones followed. One struck his shoulder with bruising force, but he paid it no heed.

When he stopped shaking, he peered into the darkness below. The slope seemed gentle enough so that, backing down and using his hands, he could make the rest of the descent without rappelling. He gathered up his rope and resumed his descent.

Reith was nearing the base of the crag, where the slope was gentle enough to walk facing forward, when a deep bell-note sounded above. It was the great gong over the main gate. Lights bobbed and flickered along the city wall far above, like a swarm of agitated fireflies. A rattle of chains indicated that the drawbridge was being lowered.

As fast as he dared, Reith picked his way over the talus at the foot of the peak of Senarzé and pushed into the scrubby forest at the bottom. He tripped over stones and fallen logs and blundered into the little stream that trickled down the vale. He kept on forcing his way through the growth.

###

At sunrise, Reith wearily sat on a log and pulled out his map. His gaudy clothes were dirty and torn; he was bruised, scratched, and bug-bitten. Even at the snail’s pace at which he had had to move, he must have gone at least half a dozen kilometers. Senarzé was no longer in sight.

Staring about, he thought that if he climbed a ridge to the east and went down the other side, he could reach a stream that took him close to Mount Kehar. Once he had sighted that snow cap, he could, if his strength held out, reach Gha’id and the railroad camp.

Fatigue, however, was catching up with him. He would have to eat and find some hidden place to sleep. His feet hurt from walking over sticks and stones in his fragile, disintegrating temple shoes.

He was munching a stale biscuit and washing it down with cold water from the stream when a sound made him start. A game trail ran up the hillside, and down this trail appeared an armed Krishnan.

Reith and the warrior sighted each other at the same instant. Reith recognized Lieutenant Khonj, who had been one of his regular escorts. At the sight of Reith, Khonj shouted:
“Ohé!
Here he is!”

He advanced upon Reith, sweeping out his sword and hitching a buckler around to grasp in his left hand. Most Krishnans were right-handed.

Reith jumped up and drew, his exhaustion forgotten. “What would you?”

“Your head, my fine impostor!” said Khonj. “Order of the Protectress.”

The Krishnan rushed upon Reith. Khonj came forward with his left foot advanced and the buckler held out before him. His right arm was raised, with his fist above his right ear, so that his sword was horizontal with the hilt towards Reith and the point projecting backwards.

Evidently, Khonj relied on his edge. From that stance, he could slash at Reith without having to raise his blade first, and he could easily parry a downright cut at his head.

Reith took the position that Heggstad had taught him, right foot advanced and sword held in front of him, point towards his antagonist and slightly above the horizontal. Although he had learned the rudiments of saber technique at Novorecife, Heggstad’s teachings had not shown him how to face a man with a shield. There had not been time.

Khonj launched a downright cut. It came with a stunning force, but Reith got his blade up in time to parry. The swords clanged, and the force of the blow almost knocked the weapon from Reith’s hand. A backhand cut he evaded by scrambling backward.

“Stand and die, coward!” shouted Khonj.
“Ohé!
To me! I have the blashphemer!”

There was no reply. Reith guessed that Khonj had become separated from his search party.

“There’s no point in fighting me,” said Reith. “Let’s talk this over.”

“Ha!” said Khonj. “A vile earthman cozens us into worshiping him as a god! No reasons, eh?”

“Not my idea,” said Reith. “You people insisted I was a god, and I didn’t feel I could dispute the matter.”

He parried another slash and riposted with a thrust over Khonj’s shield. Khonj brought his shield up to block the thrust, but Reith’s point still ripped the Krishnan’s tunic and scratched his shoulder. Khonj gave back a step. He paused as if uncertain how to handle the earthman.

Then he came on again with a flurry of slashes. His blade was a little shorter than Reith’s but heavier. This made his cuts hard to stop but also slowed them enough so that Reith could parry them. When Khonj hesitated between cuts, Reith lunged at the Krishnan’s face. The lunge went awry, missing the Krishnan’s head, but Khonj threw up his shield and gave back a step, panting.

“You’re being foolish,” said Reith. “I mean Senarzé no harm.”

“Liar! You caused the death of my beloved friend, Captain Parang.”

“I’m sorry. I liked him.”

“A fine way to show it! Now your head shall decorate the city gate beside his.”

“I had to escape. You know what befell my predecessor, Borel.”

“You should have told us at the outset you were but mortal.”

“Belike; but I knew not what—”

Reith broke off as Khonj attacked again, raining blows. Back and forth they went, stumbling over the uneven ground. Reith made cuts and lunges, but Khonj stopped them with his shield, and his whistling slashes kept Reith dodging, parrying, and backing.

Sweat soaked through Reith’s cloth-of-gold tunic and ran down Khonj’s dust-caked face from under his spired helmet. Between times they stood, panting and glaring.

Evidently, Khonj was determined to kill Reith, no matter what. Reith gave up the argument, saving his breath for fighting. The next time Khonj came on, Reith feinted a stop thrust at Khonj’s face.

At that instant, a stone turned under Khonj’s foot, causing him a small stumble. Hence, in bringing up his buckler to block Reith’s thrust, he jerked the shield much higher than was needed. Reith lunged quickly at Khonj’s left leg, where it emerged from beneath his tunic. He felt his point bite meat. Before he could recover, the heavy blade came whizzing down on his head.

Reith thought he was dead. Although the blow staggered him, the blade was stopped by the folds of the turban; the edge bit deeply enough to cause him only a slight scalp wound. As Reith reeled back, Khonj stepped forward to follow him. Then Khonj’s wounded leg buckled beneath him, and Khonj sprawled amid the stones.

Obeying his Terran habits, Reith lowered his sword and stepped forward, saying: “I’m sorry. Can I help—”

Teeth bared, Khonj propped himself up on one elbow and swung his sword at Reith’s legs. Reith saved his feet by leaping backward.

“Son of a bitch!” said Reith, then in Zirou: “You truly list to slay me, do you not?”

“Your head or mine!” snarled Khonj. The Krishnan got to all fours and began to crawl towards Reith, sword in hand.

“Baghan!”
said Reith, wishing he knew more expletives. He picked up a five-kilo stone and hurled it at Khonj’s head. The missile clanged off the Krishnan s helmet, bowling Khonj over. Khonj clapped his hands to his head, dropping his sword. Reith sprang forward and kicked the sword out of reach. Then he went over and picked it up.

Khonj sat up, still holding his head. A trickle of blue-green blood ran down the side of his face, where the stone had dented his helmet. The hose on his left leg was already soaked with the same fluid.

“Well, slay me and have done!” said Khonj.

“Why?” said Reith. “I eat not Krishnans. I need not your hide for leather, and your head were too heavy to carry off as a trophy. So what use could I make of your carcass?”

“What would you, then?”

“I want your boots.”

“Take them off my corpse, if you dare!”

“If you insist.” Reith picked up another stone and made a baseball windup.

“You would pound me to death in that unsoldierly manner?” said Khonj.

“Why not? You’d be equally dead in any case.”

“A peasantry way of fighting, unworthy of a warrior.”

“As you please.” Reith threw the stone, which thumped against Khonj’s chest and bounced off.

Khonj groaned but grabbed the stone as it rolled away. He tried to throw it at Reith, but his throw went wild.

“You know not our Terran games,” said Reith, picking up another stone.

“Wait,” said Khonj.

“Well?”

“You leave me no choice. I was a fool to fight an
Ertsu;
they scorn our notions of honor and chivalry. Take the boots. I shall probably bleed to death ere I regain Senarzé, but no matter.”

“Pull them off for me,” said Reith, nervous about placing himself within reach of Khonj’s powerful hands.

After a struggle, Khonj got the right boot off. He tried to remove the left but failed because of the pain in his wounded leg.

“Lie back,” said Reith.

Holding his sword poised, he gingerly approached Khonj’s supine form. With his left hand, he grasped the heel of the boot and tugged, watching Khonj’s face against a sudden move.

Khonj lay back, gripping a couple of rocks, and groaned. His face turned pale under its greenish complexion. At last Reith got the boot off and retreated to a safe distance.

“You must have the biggest feet on Krishna, my friend,” he said as he examined the boots.

“Mock me not,” muttered Khonj.

Reith experimented with the boots. He finally took off and unwound his turban, now soaked with blood from his scalp cut. By cutting the long strip of cloth in half and winding each half around a foot, he could make do with the boots. He rose and gathered up his provisions, saying: “Farewell, Lieutenant. Since I have no use for two swords, I shall stick yours in yonder tree, where you can recover it. I shall also leave you these temple shoes; they are falling apart but may be better than nought.

“If you want my advice, it were to desert. You know what Shosti does to servants who fail to carry out her commands. You see, I really have nought against you.”

“Of course you have nought!” grunted Khonj. “To you off-worlders, we are but interesting animals. You have no more sentiment for us as thinking, feeling beings than we have for a strange unha or kargán. To you we are mere things.”

“Please yourself,” said Reith, turning away. “Some of my best friends are Krishnans.”

“Think not to escape!” Khonj called after him. The Koloftuma will surely track you down.”

Reith sheathed his notched blade and took the game trail down which Khonj had come. As the shrubbery closed in, he heard a final shout—doubtless a parting defiance or insult—from Khonj. He headed up the ridge towards the valley, which, he believed, would bring him within sight of Mount Kehar.

###

Sigvard Lund looked up from checking a sight with his archaic surveying instrument and exclaimed:
“För Guds skull!
Are you not that tour-guide leader?”

Reith mumbled a reply as he limped out of the woods, using his scabbarded sword as a walking stick. His temple finery was in rags. Such of his face as was not masked by a coppery stubble was caked with dirt; a dark-brown stripe of dried blood ran down his forehead from his scalp wound. Whereas he had been lean before, now he was skeletally gaunt and hollow-eyed. He staggered toward Lund, who rushed to support him and shouted: “Kenneth! Where are you?”

“Here,” said Strachan, stepping out from behind a pile of railroad ties. “Loshtie!” he cried. “If it isna ma brither Scot, aul’ Fergus! We thocht ye deed!”

“I’m alive, all right,” said Reith, “but just barely. Can you guys get me down to the camp? I don’t know if I could walk it.”

Lund shouted to the nearest Krishnan: “Fetch the nearest bishtar! Ken, you take him down, be so good.”

When Reith had been boosted into the howdah and joined by Strachan, the latter said: “What do you need most, Fergus? Any bones broken or aucht?”

“The first thing,” said Reith, “is your first-aid kit. I’ve got some broken blisters that may be infected.”

“I’ll fix them, but dinna worry. Very few Krishnan microorganisms can live in a Terran host.”

“That’s hopeful, anyway. The next thing is a bucket full of hot water to soak my feet in. Ever try to wear a pair of Krishnan boots three sizes too large over thirty kilometers of forested mountains, with rain every other day? And the next thing is a good meal. I finished my last biscuit three days ago, and I could eat this bishtar, hide, hair, and all. But tell me, what’s become of my tourists? Has Barré still got them?”

“Aye, he has. His man and Tashian’s still meet to chaffer, but they get nowhere. They’re as suspicious of each other as Qarar and the Witch of the Va’andao.”