The Virgin of Zesh & the Tower of Zanid (17 page)

VII

The wagon drove in among the crowd, dividing it as a ship does flotsam, while the Balhibuma who had started to chase Fredro ran in behind it, shouting threats and objurgations. Under Fallon’s guidance, the wagon slewed up against the wall around the tomb, like a motorboat coming in to dock, where Welcome Wagner was shakily getting to his feet again.

“Jump aboard!” yelled Fallon.

Wagner jumped, almost falling off on the far side of the water tank. A few more cracks of the whip, and the team broke into a shambling run for the nearest exit from the Square of Qarar.

“Au!”
shrieked the driver. “Come back with my wagon!”

The driver ran up alongside the wagon and began to swing himself aboard. Fallon hit him a sharp rap over the head with the butt of the whip, at which he fell back upon the cobbles. A glance to the rear showed Fallon that several others were trying to climb up also, but Fredro got rid of one by kicking him in the face while Wagner stamped on the fingers of another as he grasped one of the hand holds. Fallon leaned forward and snapped his whip against the bare hide of yet another, who was trying to seize the bridle of one of the animals. With a howl, the Krishnan hopped away to nurse his welt.

Fallon urged the shaihans to greater speed as the wagon rumbled into the nearest street. It seemed to Fallon that half the people of Zanid must be chasing his vehicle. But with the water tank three-quarters empty, the team made good speed, sending chance pedestrians leaping for safety.

“Where—where are we going?” asked Gazi.

“Away from that mob,” growled Fallon, jerking his thumb back toward the horde. “Hold on!”

He pulled the team into a tight turn around a corner, so that the wagon rocked and skidded perilously. Then he did another, and another, zigzagging until, despite his own familiarity with the city, he was a bit confused himself as to where he was. A few more turns and the mob seemed to have been left behind, so he let the team drop back to their six-legged trot.

People along the street stared with interest as the water wagon went by, bearing three Earthmen—two in their native costume and one nude, and an equally unclad Krishnan woman.

Wagner spoke up: “Well, say, I don’t know who you are, but I’m glad you got me out of that. I guess I hadn’t ought to have stirred up these heathens so. They’re kind of excitable.”

Fallon said: “My name’s Fallon, and these are Gazi er-Doukh and Dr. Fredro.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Wagner. “Say, aren’t you two gonna put your clothes back on?”

“When we get around to it,” said Fallon.

“It makes us kind of conspicuous,” said Wagner.

Fallon was about to reply that nothing prevented Wagner from getting off, when the wagon rumbled into the park around the Safq. Fredro gave an exclamation.

Wagner looked at the looming structure, and he shook a fist, crying: “If I could blow up that lair of heathen idolatry, I wouldn’t care none if I got blown up with it!”

“What?” cried Fredro. “You crazy? Blow up priceless archaeological 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 Pickleface my love. You might suggest he find an excuse for cancelling the Reverend Wagner’s passport. That bloke damages Balhibou-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 Balhibou! 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 Balhibouu, 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 Balhibouu. “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 Zanidu 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 potluck with you, if you aren’t gonna serve safqa or ambara . . .”

“It’s nice to have seen you,” said Fallon firmly, pulling the sofa away from the door. “Here’s your turban, and watch out for temptation.”

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 Balhibouu. “That address is a boardinghouse 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 Bákh he’s gone!” said Fallon. “How about some food?”

“I’m preparing it now,” said Gazi. “But I think ye 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.”

“Ye judge everybody by yourself, Antané, 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 Bákh, 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?”