Tower of Zanid (14 page)

Up Fallon went until he was using his hands. Where a hint of a ledge provided a toe-hold he looked down. Fredro was right below him, and the king was just starting to climb, while the royal retinue ran after and a horde of shouting spectators converged from all quarters. Fallon could of course have drawn his own sword and beaten off the king’s-attack; but had he done so, the guards—seeing him in combat with their demented lord—would have plugged him on general principles.

The only way out seemed at this point to be over the fence and into one of the cages. Fallon had not had time to read the signs on the fronts of the cages, and from where he now stood he could see only the backs of these signs. The right-hand cage held a pair of gerkas, medium-sized carnivores related to the larger yeki. These might well prove dangerous if their cage were invaded by strangers. Whatever was in the left-hand cage, it was at the moment withdrawn into its cave at the back.

Fallon grasped the tops of the bars on the left and heaved himself up. Though he was getting on in years, the less-than-Terran gravity, plus the fear of death, enabled him to hoist himself to the top of the fence, which he straddled. He held out a hand to the panting Fredro who, he noticed, still clutched the bundle containing the priestly robes. Fredro passed this bundle to Fallon, who dropped it on the inside of the fence. The bundle struck the nearly level rock at the base of the fence, then tipped over the edge and slid down the smooth slope until it stopped at a ledge.

With Fallon’s help, Fredro also hauled himself to the top, then dropped down inside just as King Kir appeared outside the bars. Clutching a cage-bar to keep himself from slipping, the Dour thrust his sword between the bars.

As the blade flicked out, the two Earthmen slid off down the slope as the bundle had done, stopping on the same ledge. Here Fredro collapsed in a heap from exhaustion.

Behind them rose the yell of the mad monarch: “Come back, ye thievish slabberers, and receive your just guerdon!”

The retinue, having sorted itself out from the mere spectators, was climbing up after their king. As Fallon watched, they surrounded Kir, soothing and flattering, until presently the whole crowd was climbing back down the slope and walking out from between the two cages. The guards shooed the curious out of the way and the royal party set off, the pipers tootling again and the king completely surrounded by keepers.

“Now if we can only get out…” said Fallon, looking around for a path.

The rock was too steep and slippery to climb up the way they had come down; but at one end, the ledge ran into a mass of irregular rock that provided means of descent to a point from which it should be an easy jump to the floor of the in closure.

A little knot of park officials had collected at the front of the cage, and seemed to be arguing the proper method of disposing of their unintended captives, gesticulating at one another with Latin verve. Around and behind them the crowd of spectators had closed in again following the passage of the king.

Fredro, having gotten his wind back and recovered from his unwonted exertions, rose, picked up the bundle, and started along the ledge, saying, “Not good—not good if this was found, yes?” He panted some more. Then: “What—ah—what does ‘shurgez’ mean, Mr. Fallon? The king shouted it at me again and again.”

“Shurgez was a knight from Mikardand who cut off Kir’s beard, so our balmy king has been sensitive on the subject ever since. It never occurred to me that that little goatee of yours would set him off—I say, look who’s here!”

A thunderous snarl made both men recoil back against the rock. Out from the cave at the back of the cage, its six lizardy legs moving like clockwork, came the biggest shan that Fallon had even seen; The saucer eyes picked out Fallon and Fredro on their ledge.

Fredro cried, “Why did you not pick safer cage?”

“How in Qondyor’s name was I to know? “If you’d shaved your beard as I told you…”

“He can reach up! What do now?”

“Prepare to die like a man, I suppose,” said Fallon, drawing his sword.

“But I have no weapon!”

“Unfortunate, what?”

The Krishnans in front of the cage yelled and screamed, though whether they were trying to distract the shan or were cheering it on to the assault Fallon could not tell. As for the shan, it ambled around to the section of the inclosure where the Earthmen were trapped and reared up against the rock so that its head came on a level with the men.

Fallon stood, ready to thrust as far as his limited footing allowed. The park keepers in front were shouting something at him, but he did not dare to take his eyes from the carnivore.

The jaws gaped and closed in. Fallon thrust at them. The shan clomped shut on the blade and, with a quick sideways jerk of its head tore the weapon from Fallon’s hand and sent it spinning across the inclosure. The beast gave a terrific snarl. As it opened its jaws again, Fallon saw that the blade had wounded it slightly. Brown blood drooled from its lower jaw.

The monster drew back its head and gaped for a final lunge—and then a bucketful of liquid fell upon Fallon from above. As he blinked and sputtered, he heard Fredro beside him getting the same treatment, and became aware of a horrid stench, like that of the sheep-dip.

The shan, after jerking back its head in surprise, now thrust it forward again, gave a sniff, and dropped back down on all sixes with a disgusted snort. Then it walked back into its cave.

Fallon looked around. Behind and above him a couple of zoo keepers were holding a ladder against the outside of the fence at the point where Fallon and Fredro had scaled it. A third Krishnan had climbed the ladder and emptied the buckets of liquid upon the Earthmen below him. He was now handing the second bucket to one of his mates preparatory to climbing back down the ladder.

Another Krishnan, lower down the slope, called through the bars, “Hasten down, my masters, and we’ll let ye out the gate. The smell will hold yon shan.”

“What
is
the stuff?” asked Fallon, scrambling down.

“Aliyab-juice. The beast loathes the stench thereof, wherefore we sprinkle a trace of it upon our garments when we wish to enter its cage.”

Fallon picked up his sword and hurried out the gate, which the keepers opened. He neither knew nor cared what aliyab-juice was, but he did think that his rescuers might have been a little less generous in their application of it. Fredro’ s bundle was soaked, and the Krishnan paper, which had little water-resistance, had begun to disintegrate.

A couple of the keepers closed in, hinting that a tip would be welcome as a reward for the rescue. Fallon, somewhat irked, felt like telling them to go to Hishkak, and that he was thinking of suing the city for letting him be chased into the cage in the first place. But that would be a foolish bluff, as Balhib had not yet attained that degree of civilization where a government allows a citizen to sue it. And they
had
saved his life.

“These blokes want some money,” he said to Fredro. “Shall we make up a purse for them to divide?”

“I take care of this,” said Fredro. “You are working for me, so I am responsible. Is matter of Polish honor.”

He handed Fallon a whole fistful of gold pieces, telling him to give them to the head keeper to be divided evenly among those who took part in the rescue. Fallon, only too willing to allow the honor of the
Polish
Republic to meet the cost of rescue, did so. Then he said to Fredro, “Come along. We shall have to work hard to get all this stuff memorized.”

Behind them, a furious dispute broke out among the keepers over the division of the money .The Earthmen boarded another omnibus and squeezed into the first seats they found.

For a while, the vehicle clattered westward along the northern part of the Bacha. Presently Fallon noticed that several seats around both Fredro and himself had become vacant. He moved over to where Fredro sat.

Across the aisle, a gaudily dressed Zanidu with a sword at his hip was sprinkling perfume on
handkerchief, which he then held to his nose, glaring at Fallon and Fredro over this improvised respirator. Another craned his neck to look back at the two Earthmen in a marked manner through a lorgnette. And finally a small spectacled fellow got up and spoke to the conductor.

The latter came forward, sniffed, and said to Fallon, “You must get off, Earthmen.”

“Why?” said Fallon.

“Because you’re making this omnibus untenable by your foul effluvium.”

“What he say?” said Fredro, for the conductor had spoken too fast in the city dialect for the archeologist to follow.

“He says we’re stinking up his bus and have to get off.”

Fredro puffed. “Tell him I am Polish citizen! I am good as him, and I don’t get off for…”

“Oh, for Qarar’s sake stow it! Come along; we won’t fight these beggars over your precious Polish citizenship.” Fallon rose and held out a hand to the conductor, palm up.

“Wherefore?” said the conductor.

“You will kindly return our fares, my good man.”

“But you have already come at least ten blocks…”

“
Fastuk
!” shouted Fallon, “I’ve had all the imposition from the city of Zanid today that I can put up with! Now will you…”

The conductor shrank back at this outburst and hastily handed over the money.

When they entered Fallon’s house and disposed of their burdens, Fredro asked: “Where is your—ah—jagaini?”

“Away visiting,” said Fallon brusquely, not caring to air his domestic upheavals at this stage.

“Most attractive female,” said Fredro. “Maybe I have been on Krishna so long that greeny coloring looks natural. But she had much charm. I am sorry not to see her again.”

“I’ll tell her,” said Fallon. “Let’s lay out these robes and our clothes, and hope that most of the stench will disappear by the time we have to put them on again.”

Fredro, unfolding the robes, sighed. “I have been widower thirty-four years. Have- many, descendants—children, grandchildren, and so on for six generation.”

“I envy you, Dr. Fredro,” said Fallon sincerely.

Fredro continued, “But no woman. Mr. Fallon, tell me, how does a Earthman go about getting the jagaini in Balhib?”

Fallon glanced at his companion with a sardonic little smile, “The same way you get a woman on Earth. You ask.”

“I see. You understand, I only wish information as scientific datum.”

“At your age you might, at that.”

They spent the rest of the day rehearsing the ritual and practicing the gliding walk of the Yeshtite priest. For the third meal of the Krishnan day they went out to Savaich’s.

Then they returned to Fallon’s house. Fallon shaved off Fredro’ s whiskers, despite the latter’s protests. A light dabbing of green face-powder gave their skins the correct chartreuse tinge. They gave their hair a green wash and glued to their heads the artificial ears and antennae that Mjipa had furnished.

Lastly they both donned the purple-black sacerdotal robes over their regular clothes. They left the hoods hanging down and hitched the skirts up to knee-length through the belt-cords. Then over these they put on each a Zanido rain-cloak—Fallon his new one and Fredro the old patched one that Fallon had been meaning to get rid of.

At last they set out for the Safq afoot. And soon the great enigmatic conical structure came into view against the darkening sky.

Fallon asked, “Are you sure you want to go ahead with this? It’s not too late to back out, you know.”

“Of course am sure. How—how many ways in?”

“Only one, so far as I know. There might be a tunnel over to the chapel, but that wouldn’t do us any good. Now remember, we shall first walk past, to see in as far as we can. I think they have a desk beside the entrance, where one has to identify oneself. But these robes ought to get us in. We watch until nobody’s looking, then nip around behind the bulletin-board and shed these rain-cloaks.”

“I know, I know,” said Fredro impatiently.

“Anybody’ d think you couldn’t wait to have your throat cut.”

“When I think of secrets inside, waiting for me to discover them, I do not care.”

Fallon snorted, giving Fredro the withering look that he reserved for foolhardy idealists.

Fredro continued, “You think I am damn fool, yes*? Well Mr. Consul Mjipa told me about you. Said you were just like that about getting back that place you were king of.”

Fallon privately admitted that there was justice in this comparison. But, as they were now entering the park surrounding the Safq, he did not have time to pursue that line of thought.

Fredro continued in a lower tone, “Krishna is archeologist’s paradise. Is ruins and relics representing at least thirty or forty thousand Terran- years of history—eight or ten times as long as recorded history on Earth—but all mixed up, with huge lacunae, and never properly studied by Krishnans themselves. A man can be a Schliemann, a Champollion, and a Carnarvon all at same time…”

“Hush, we’re getting close.”

The main entrance to the Safq was lit by fires, fluttering in the breeze, in a pair of cressets flanking the great doors. These doors now stood open. There was a coming and going of Krishnans, both priests and laymen, in and out of these doors. Voices murmured and purple-black robes flapped in the wind.

As Fallon and Fredro neared the entrance, the former could see over the heads of the Krishnans into the interior, lit by the light of many candles and oil-lamps. At intervals, the crowd would thin; and then Fallon could glimpse the desk at which sat the priest checking the register of those who entered.

Since the introduction of photography to Krishna, the priests of Yesht had taken to issuing to their trusted followers identification badges bearing small photographs of the wearers. Fifteen to twenty ingoing laymen stood in line, from the desk out through the doors, and down the three stone steps to the street-level.

Fallon strolled up close to the portal, watching and listening. He was relieved to see that, as he had hoped, priests pushed through the traffic-jam in the portal without bothering to identify themselves to the one at the desk. Evidently for a layman to wear the costume of such a priest was so unheard-of, that no precautions had been taken against it.