“Tal,” said a thin, angular fellow, in an unusual, sashed robe, in which were two curved swords, a larger and a smaller, who stood at the bulwarks, to the right of the gangway, as one would look toward the ship.
“Be welcome, noble friends,” said Demetrion, “to the great port of Brundisium.”
The fellow on the ship bowed, slightly, presumably acknowledging this salutation. His hair was drawn back on his head, and fastened in a knot, behind the back of his head.
“I am Demetrion,” called out Demetrion. “Harbor master in Brundisium.”
Demetrion looked up to the bulwarks, but there was no response. The fellow on the ship did not exchange greetings, identify himself, or the ship, or state his business.
“Permission to come aboard,” called Demetrion.
“No,” said the fellow on the ship.
“No?” said Demetrion.
“No,” said the fellow.
Demetrion had placed one foot on the gangplank, in anticipation of boarding the ship. Two of the Pani, at the height of the gangplank, had instantly removed the longer of their two swords from their sash, and, two hands fixed on the long, tasseled handle, drew back the weapons.
Demetrion stepped back, on the pier.
“The great port of Brundisium is a neutral port, open to all shipping,” said Demetrion. “I trust you come in peace.”
“We seek one Cineas,” said the fellow on the ship, who seemed to be its captain, or, in any event, in a position of some authority.
“I know no Cineas,” said Demetrion.
“I know him,” said the stranger to me. “He is a mariner, who went ashore with me, and others, at Daphna. We arrived in Brundisium, together, oarsmen, some days ago. I soon spent my coin. But he seemed well supplied with silver.”
“Enough,” I asked, “to hire Assassins?”
The stranger looked at me, startled. “Yes,” he said.
Four Pani rapidly descended the gangplank, passed Demetrion and his party, and threaded their way through the crowd.
The stranger pressed back, unwilling, I gathered, to be noted. He did, however, scrutinize the four Pani who, intent on some mission, looking neither to the left nor right, moved quickly past.
“Do you know them?” I asked, when they had passed.
“I know one,” he said, “Tatsu, who was on the voyage west to the World’s End, to the Twelve Islands.”
“Then the ship sails still for Lord Temmu?” I said.
“I think so,” said the stranger.
“What is your business here?” called Demetrion to the fellow by the bulwarks, who seemed in authority.
That individual, however, made no answer.
“I know not your people, your land, your city, your ship, your family, your caste, your clan,” said Demetrion, “but whoever you be, if anyone, there is wharfage due in Brundisium.”
Many were about, and I fear that Demetrion sensed he had been affronted, and that his office, and station, had been too little recognized, let alone respected.
The man above Demetrion, on the deck of the strange ship, near the height of the gangway, the presumed captain or officer, drew forth from his sash a small sack and tossed it to the pier. It stuck the planks of the pier, at Demetrion’s feet, with an unmistakable sound.
This drew a response from the crowd.
“Pick it up,” said Demetrion to one of his aides, unwilling to do so himself. He was a personage of dignity, harbor master in Brundisium, perhaps the most important single person in Brundisium, or, at least, the best-known and most prominent. Brundisium has no Administrator and no Ubar. It is ruled by a Merchant Council, with its day to day affairs managed by an executive committee, chief of which is the harbor master.
Demetrion’s aides were as reluctant as he to stoop to retrieve the small, but weighty sack. The two Scribes, as well, looked away. Little love is lost between the Scribes and Merchants. The Scribes is a high caste and the Merchants is the richest caste. Each therefore regards itself as superior to the other, and each, then, would be reluctant to seem to lower itself before the other. I would have been quite willing to retrieve the sack and deliver it to Demetrion, but Phillip, my superior, was in his party, and there is, of course, the dignity, and the prestige, of the caste to maintain.
To my surprise, the stranger left my side, and slipped, unprevented, between the guardsmen, retrieved the sack, assured himself, it seemed, of its weight, which was apparently impressive, and climbed up the gangplank.
Neither of the Pani warriors at the top of the gangplank lifted their swords.
The crowd began to murmur, in astonishment.
The stranger, at the head of the gangplank, held out the sack of coin to the angular fellow, who had cast it to the feet of Demetrion.
“If this coin is what I think it is, from its weight,” he said to the spare, angular fellow, presumably the captain, or a high officer, “it is too much.”
“Give me the coin!” called Demetrion, from the pier.
Perhaps he then regretted that he had not stooped to pick up the sack himself.
“This sack, I take it,” said the stranger, “contains ten tarn disks, of double weight.”
“Fifteen,” said the angular fellow, “certified with the stamp of Ar.”
The stranger then removed one such disk from the sack, and held it up. “This,” he said, “is far too much.”
“What are such things but pieces of metal,” said the Pani.
The stranger then handed the sack, less the single tarn disk, to the angular warrior, who replaced it in his sash. The stranger then tossed the single coin which had been extracted from the sack to the planks at the feet of Demetrion, who swiftly reached down, and snatched it up.
He and his party then forced their way back through the crowd, some of whom had been close enough to see what the coin had been. “Festival!” called more than one man. “Set the public tables!” called another. “For a week!” cried another. “Free ka-la-na!” called a man. “Free paga!” cried another. “No, no!” cried Demetrion. “Only silver, only a tarsk!” But that single, weighty coin had been yellow, like
“I am Nakamura,” said the angular fellow, presumably an officer, certainly a warrior, to the stranger.
The stranger bowed, which gesture of greeting was returned by the officer, Nakamura.
“I do not know you,” said the stranger.
“I am captain of the
“You have come to Brundisium,” said the stranger.
“I am pleased to see that you are alive,” said the officer.
“You thought I might not be?”
“One did not know.”
“You know me, then,” said the stranger.
“I think so,” said the officer. “I think you are Callias, of Jad, a Cosian, he who prevented the destruction of the great ship, he who plotted its escape, he who set designs in motion, he who engineered its flight.”
“Scarcely by myself,” said the stranger.
“Then you are he,” said the officer.
“I fear so,” said the stranger.
“Lord Okimoto was not pleased,” said the officer.
“I regret his displeasure,” said the stranger.
“For far less,” said the officer, “men have perished most unpleasantly.”
“I am sure of it,” said the stranger.
“I am charged with seeking you out,” said the officer.
“You have been successful,” said the stranger.
“Do you know why I have come?” he asked.
“I would suppose,” he said, “to kill me.”
