Insider

agreements out to the peasants while the district head, happy to still have his nose whole, was certifying that the deeds were fake.

By the evening, the headman was taken away in the stocks and the satisfied crowd dispersed.

X X X

Kissur and Bemish stayed in the orphaned manor overnight.

'So, how was I?' Kissur inquired Bemish at the dinner. He reminded Bemish of a victorious fighting cock.

'If a society's fairness,' Bemish said, 'depended on the number of squashed noses, then your Empire would be the fairest place in the Universe. However, the situation is reversed.'

Kissur frowned.

'The objective is,' the Earthman said instructively, 'not to break the corrupted officials' noses. The objective is to position the officials in such a way that they couldn't harass the people.'

'How do you like this place?'

'Wonderful place,' Bemish said, 'one could build a heaven here or, at least, a wondrous chicken farm.'

Kissur burst out in laughter and slapped him on the shoulder.

'It's all yours, then!'

Bemish was astonished.

'I can't accept such a gift.'

'Why? You just stated that the goal is not to kick a bad owner's butt, but to find an honest one. You are all bark and no bite.'

'But I don't even speak the language.'

Kissur, however, wasn't even going to listen.

'Also, you need to live somewhere,' he declared, 'you will surely get this company in your pocket, don't worry! I will wheedle it out of the sovereign for you.'

And he started enthusiastically treating Bemish with wine.

X X X

Bemish woke up late. The sun was pushing in the open window and dancing on a deity's jade mug, grinning above the door, on an ancient silver lantern where an electric light bulb bloated like a white bubble. With an effort, Bemish recalled yesterday events. 'There was a fight… We drank… Oh, my God! He granted me the manor!' Bemish jumped up in the bed — the house deed and a note from Kissur lay on the table — he returned to the capital.

In an hour, Bemish thoughtfully consumed breakfast on a veranda. Frightened servants ran around. He could barely talk to the servants and was absolutely unable to understand their replies. He thought for a moment, went inside and called to Mr. Shavash's office.

'Mr. Shavash,' the Earthman said, 'could you recommend me a really honest administrator?'

The first finance vice-minister assured him, in a slightly ironic voice, that he would be happy to find for Mr. Bemish anything in the world — an eternal phoenix, three-headed dragon, and even an honest administrator.

X X X

At the other end of the line, Shavash hung up the receiver. He pondered for a moment and, then, he called the secretary and gave the necessary orders.

Soon, a young man, with a round face and pleasant but sad azure eyes, entered his office. The young man's face was unusually pale, a raw dough color. An Earthman or another ignorant person would think that the face's owner was unhealthy or hadn't left home for a while. A Weian would immediately suspect that the guy had been in jail.

So, the young man named Adini, approached to the official's table and froze three steps away, waiting for orders.

'Kissur,' Shavash said, 'bestowed to a Earthman, named Terence Bemish, a manor next to Assalah and the Earthman is looking for a manor's headman. I would like to bestow you to him.'

'Yes, master,' Adini said deferentially.

'You will watch him and report all his meetings and plans to me.'

Shavash picked a sheet of paper with a personal seal out of a folder. 'The moment Bemish leaves the planet,' Shavash said, 'this sheet of paper will be destroyed. It is in your best interests, to operate so that Bemish leaves the planet quickly. Do you understand me?'

'Yes, master.'

'Terence Bemish is a smart man and he, most certainly, expects me to use this opportunity to send him a spy.'

'Why did he ask you for a headman, then?'

'He hopes to allure the spy to his side. Once he has given you enough favors, you may pretend that it indeed has happened. Remember, however, that Bemish can give you money or a stipend but only I can get rid of this paper for you. Also remember that, if Bemish had this sheet, he would not act as a good Samaritan towards you. He will be kind to you only because he doesn't have another weapon.'

X X X

Bemish was enjoying the ancient mosaic overlaying the walls on the second floor, when he heard a descending flyer's characteristic rustle. He walked out to the gallery — a white flyer stood in the yard, the last 'rainbow' shimmers were beating above its wings. In a moment, the 'rainbow' dimmed, the flyer's roof opened up like a poppy flower carpel, and two people got out of the car — a handsome lithe youth in a strict white suit and another guy, more scrawny than slim, in a checked shirt with torn-off sleeves and a red flower in his hair, following the contemporary rebel fashion.

'You can live here two months and more,' the youth in the strict suit said loudly in English, evidently being sure that nobody could understand him, 'no one will say a word. The local headman has sinned quite a bit and he won't even tell my brother about you.'

'And how much has he sinned?'

'Not more than any damned bank director.'

Here, the older youth turned around and noticed Bemish who was standing openly at the gallery encircling the villa at the second store.

'Hey, who are you?' the youth called out in Weian.

'I am Terence Bemish and I am the villa's owner.'

'That's nonsense! The villa belongs to my brother.'

'That's true. However, Kissur threw out the manor's headman yesterday and gave the manor to me.'

The youth span his head nervously and Bemish said,

'You are welcome. I don't think that Kissur would be happy to know that I showed his brother and his guest off.'

Bemish ordered the servants to serve the terrace table and, soon, he and his unexpected guests were devouring an ample breakfast. Kissur brother's name was Ashidan and his companion introduced himself, not without sarcasm, as John Smith.

'What do you do?' Ashidan asked.

'I am a financier.'

'My brother makes strange acquaintances,' Ashidan noticed.

'What do you do?' Bemish inquired from the new guest.

'It's none of your business, shithead.'

Bemish was a bit flustered.

'Excuse me,' he asked, 'didn't we meet two minutes ago? I don't know anything about you. What do you know about me to call me a shithead?'

'What class did you fly coming here?'

'First class.'

'That's it. How can a man with enough money to fly first class not to be a shithead?'

'Are you an anarchist,' Bemish wondered, 'a communist?'

'I am a sympathizer'

'Whom and what do you sympathize with? Esinole? Marks? Le Dan?'