The Hostage of Zir (17 page)

“Goodman Hurgash,” he said to the engineer, “where’s your starting rod?”

“Yonder,” said the Krishnan, pointing to a crowbarlike rod in a bracket on the wall.

“Let’s give her a twist to see if the paddles turn.” Reith got down the bar and thrust it between the spokes of the flywheel. With both heaving on the pole, they made the crankshaft and paddle wheels do a quarter turn.

“She turns easily enough,” mused Reith. “So ’tis not the bearings. But where’s the power loss?”

The Krishnan made a helpless gesture. Ferrian called down: “You have but a few minutes, Mr. Reith, before the galleys arrive. I shan’t try to fight them. With all those rowers, who double as deck fighters, they outnumber us ten to one.”

Reith went over the mechanism again. Then he said: “Hurgash! What’s this?”

He pointed to a flyball governor on the main steam pipe. He could not understand the engineer’s reply, but it made no difference. He remembered that one of the children’s books told how the great James Watt invented the device. Reith had overlooked the governor because it rose from a section of the main steam pipe in shadow. The governor was in the closed position, with its balls at maximum extension and legs nearly horizontal. Reith crawled up to where he could reach it, yelping, “Ouch!” as a hot pipe burned his hand.

“A tool, Hurgash! Something wherewith to pry!”

The engineer handed Reith a screwdriver. Reith thrust the tool into the legs of the governor and pried. The lower bearing sleeve of the governor came down stickily. There was a loud hiss from the steam pipe; the governor began to spin and, much more slowly, the crankshaft to turn.

“I’ve got it, Prince!” yelled Reith. “You didn’t clean your governor. The oil dried up and got sticky, so she somehow jammed in the closed position. Hand me the oil can, Hurgash!”

Faster went the crankshaft. The ship shuddered to the sound of paddles striking water. Reith scrambled up the ladder.

On deck, sailors rushed about to obey Ferrian’s commands. They were setting wicker shields along the rail and pulling a catapult into position on the quarterdeck.

The
Mokinam
gathered speed. Astern, the two Duro galleys, like gigantic centipedes, foamed in her wake. The shouts and gong notes of the coxswains came across the water.

“Down!” cried Ferrian, dropping to the deck. His sailors did likewise. Something went
whang
on one of the galleys. Reith was just beginning to prostrate himself when a catapult dart screeched overhead.

“If you’re as slow as that, you may lose your head next time,” said the prince, rising. “They’re still gaining.”

Centimeter by centimeter, the Duro galleys crept closer. Ferrian said: “Good try, Mr. Reith, but I fear we must heave to. I’m sorry.”

“Wait!” said Reith. “They haven’t gained in the last minute.”

“Wishful thinking, my dear fellow . . . I say, you may be right at that! Their rowers can’t last long at that pace. That’s the big advantage of steam power over muscle: steam doesn’t get tired.”

Another catapult dart came whistling, to bury its head in the deck planking.

“They’re dropping back,” said Reith. “I’ll bet my head on it.”

Another dart fell into the water astern.

“See what I mean?” said Reith.

As their rowers became exhausted, the galleys went slower and slower. The
Mokinam
plodded ahead.

“Wow!” shouted Reith. “They’re turning back.”

Ferrian shut the brass spyglass with which he had been watching the pursuers. “You win point, set, and match, Mr. Reith.” In Gozashtandou he called: “Master Pasháu, set course for the Strait of Uporé!” Then back to Reith: “Let’s go to my cabin. We might have a bit of business to discuss.”

###

Into the Nova Iorque Bar stepped Fergus Reith. His costume was that of a Krishnan sailor, including a brass-hilted cutlass at his hip. His face was red and his nose was peeling.

In the bar, little Herculeu Castanhoso sat at a table, playing a samba tune on a recorder. A small dance floor had been cleared, and there four couples danced. There were Percy Mjipa and his massive black wife, Kenneth Strachan and a Krishnan female, Sigvard Lund and another female Krishnan, and Ivar Heggstad with one of the Terran girls who worked at Novorecife. To Castanhoso’s Brazilian tune they were doing a Scandinavian folk dance, with stamping, hand-clapping, and kissing.

Strachan glanced at the doorway and stopped dancing. Eyes wide, he cried: “Heuch, man, will ye look what’s come in! It’s aul’ Fergus or his ghaist!”

There was a stampede to greet Reith. Strachan said: “Every time we think poor Fergus is gone for good, he turns up alive. How do you do it?”

Reith said: “I can’t help it if I’ve become the greatest escape artist since that fellow Houdunnit, or whatever his name was. These nutty things happen to me, and I have to get out of them as best I can.”

They urged him to the table. Castanhoso said: “You have been sunburned lately.”

“Yes, cruising on Prince Ferrian’s steamship. We redheads don’t tan well.”

“We heard he had replaced the
Kerukchi
,”
said Castanhoso. “But tell us of your latest exploits. We thought you were settled in Baianch as the Douri’s pampered consort.”

Reith gave a brief account of his escape.

“By feigs, man!” said Strachan. “When your tourists called you ‘Fearless’, they weren’t altogether joking.”

“Don’t tell anybody, but I was scared as green as a Krishnan most of the time. Speaking of my geese, what happened to them?”

Mjipa said: “They got back to Novo, but just barely.”

“How did they manage for language, since Khorsh had only Portuguese?”

“That wasn’t the main problem. Jussac, it turned out, spoke some Portuguese, and Guzmán-Vidal’s Spanish was close enough to Khorsh’s Brazilian so that they could understand each other somewhat.”

“Then what was their trouble?”

“First, Jussac got sick with some stomach ailment.”

“No wonder,” said Reith, “the way he ate everything in sight. Then?”

“Everything went to pot. When Jussac resigned, Considine and Guzmán-Vidal both wanted to succeed him as leader. They quarreled and intrigued night and day. In Chesht, that black woman—Waterton?—Waterford, Shirley Waterford, almost got them arrested. The local journal sent a reporter for an interview, and as luck would have it, he picked Shirley. She told him all about the rotten socioeconomic systems of Krishna. All very true, of course, but that didn’t make it sit any better with the Pandr of Lusht when the paper appeared.”

“How would you say ‘socioeconomic’ in Gozashtandor,” said Strachan.

“No idea,” continued Mjipa. “Then, the Guzmán-Vidals were late for the sailing, and the
Sárbez
went off without them. It was all Khorsh could do to persuade Captain Denaikh to go back for them.

“In Reshr, that ass Pride got into an altercation with some seller of trinkets, neither understanding a word of what the other was saying. The coppers hauled Pride off to jail until Khorsh got him out.

“That night, Considine and Turner got roaring drunk and went around breaking windows. When one of the night watch tried to stop them, they threw him in the canal. It’s just luck the chap was fished out before he drowned, or they’d have lost their heads. As it was, the whole gang, including Father Khorsh, were thrown in the
calabouço
until I could come over from Monyisotri and get them out.

“A week in that stinking hole forced a little sense into their heads. They chose Mrs. Whitney Scott leader, and the old girl proved the best man of the lot. I saw them to Novo, and they all went off on the next earthbound ship except the Guzmán-Vidals and Maurice Considine.”

“What about the Guzmán-Vidals?”

“Señora Pilar had got pregnant They knew they weren’t supposed to but ran out of medicine. When I asked Santiago why in hell he couldn’t lay off his wife for a while, he gave me his usual guff.” Mjipa exaggerated Guzmán-Vidal’s accent: “ ‘Ay red-blodded man like me cannot become ay monk all at once! Eet ees against thee nature.’ Anyway, they didn’t dare leave with the others for fear of the acceleration.”

“Where are they now?”

“Here in Novo, awaiting the blessed event.”

“And Considine?”

“Funny thing. While waiting here for the flight, he took up with a Krishnan woman in the Hamda’. Turner got jealous, and they had a frightful quarrel and broke up. Turner went home on the ship, sniffling as he boarded it. Considine, who knows enough of the native speech to get by, somehow wangled a job as teacher of sculpture at the University of Hershid. He took the native female with him.”

“You mean Maurice has gone hetero?”

Mjipa shrugged. “Looks that way. Maybe Krishnan females affect him in a way that human women don’t.”

Reith said: “The Gozashtanduma will find him a difficult character. They’d better not let him near their little boys.”

“That’s their problem. Turner accused the Mulroy woman of leading Maurice down the primrose path. Perhaps she did; she seems to have bloody well tried out everything else with testicles.”

“Anyway, Valerie took my part against the other geese a couple of times when I needed all the support I could get, and I’m not ungrateful. For that matter, all of them—except maybe that loon Silvester Pride—had at least some good qualities.” Reith turned to Strachan. “How’s your railroad, Ken?”

“We’re waiting while Tashian and Barré hammer out a treaty for extending the line through Zir. Barré attacked the base camp, as you said he would, but was beaten off with loss. I got one of the bastitches myself, with a sword.”

“Up Scotland!” said Reith. “What then?”

Tashy sent a punitive force into Zir, but Barré ambushed them and killed over half. The Regent had tried to do it on the cheap, as usual. So they decided that, since neither could knock the other out, they’d better seek an agreement.”

The door opened and in came a stocky, flat-featured, black-haired man on crutches. Castanhoso said: “Mr. Reith, here is a colleague of yours. I present Mr. Wang Tso-liang, of the Middle Kingdom Travel Bureau. Mr. Wang, Mr. Fergus Reith—Sir Fergus, I suppose I should say.”

Reith got up and shook hands. “So you fellows got here after all!”

Wang ducked his head. “Yes, sir. It is disappointment that you beat us, but that is a small thing compared to our present misfortune.”

“What happened?”

“I am stupid, that is all. On arrival, I was leading my tourists down the ramp, and I fell off and broke leg. Now they are stranded here. Will not be good for me back in China.”

“I’m sorry,” said Reith. “Won’t you be out of your cast in time for their tour?”

Wang sighed. “Doctor says not for another month, earth time. If I could find substitute—” He broke off, staring at Reith. “Mr. Reith, could you take my party? Arrangements are all made. I will see you are paid what I should have been.”

“No sir!” cried Reith. “By God, I’ve shaken the dust of Krishna from my feet! I’m flattered by your offer, Mr. Wang, but I’ve had enough close shaves here to last me the rest of my life. Besides, I don’t speak Chinese.”

“Would not be necessary,” said Wang. “I have fourteen Chinese, one Korean, and one Japanese. Mr. Kamimura, Mr. Chien, and Mrs. Li speak excellent English, and most others know a little.”

Reith persisted in polite refusals until Wang leaned forward and said earnestly: “Mr. Reith, as you know, in China everything is government. My government allows me to draw on emergency fund, in case some disaster like this happens. If you will take my people, I will commit whole amount to your personal account. We cannot have so great loss of face.”

“How much?” said Reith.

“One hundred thousand liang.”

Reith stifled an impulse to whistle. “Where were you going?”

“Our itinerary much the same as yours. Majbur, Zamba, Katai-Jhogorai, and Dur.”

“You won’t get me near Dur!” said Reith. “I’ll explain some other time. One could, however, substitute a cruise on the Sadabao, on Prince Ferrian’s steamboat, to Varzeni-Ganderan and Sotaspé. Ferrian and I talked about it while he was bringing me to Majbur. He would of course have to be sure you people wouldn’t board and scuttle his ship, the way you did the other.”

“He need not worry,” said Castanhoso. “We have given up on his ships. The way things are going, what technical information does not leak through the blockade, the Krishnans will find out for themselves. Any day now,” he concluded gloomily, “we expect to hear that somebody has invented the gun.”

“Go ahead, Fergus,” said Strachan. “Back on Terra, that money’ll keep you for life. Besides, you’re now the ablest and most experienced guide to Krishna alive.”

“I can’t very well help being, since I’m the only one besides Mr. Wang,” said Reith. “But I’m determined to stay alive, too.”

Mjipa was filling his pipe. “In fact,” he growled, “you’re a bloody hero, whether you like it or not. According to your tourists, you’re the greatest tour leader since Moses. After what you’ve been through, you don’t have any silly sentimental notions about the natives. You know the blighters for what they are.”

“Sure,” said Heggstad. “It vould give me a chance to teach you some more fencing, while you are getting your tour organized.”

“You,” said Lund, breaking his usual silence, “are now the grand old man of Krishnan tour guiding. You might as well put your experience to use.”

Reith drew a long breath. “Okay, Mr. Wang; I’ll take your tour. My dream girl will have to wait.”

“What? I beg pardon?” said Wang.

“Nothing; just a silly thought. I’ll say one thing, though. I’d like to catch that guy Otis Burroughs or whatever his name was, who wrote those stories about earthmen who go to other planets and marry native princesses. Too bad he’s long dead. I could tell him a thing or two!”