Shardik

'Why, yes, that's so,' answered Ankray, 'and what of it? He's on his way to see the governor, so just don't you be hindering of him, now, my dear.'

The little girl turned to Siristrou, raised her palm to her forehead and addressed him in Beklan with a kind of confident joy, which both arrested and startled him.

'My lord,' she said, 'when we heard you were here we made wreaths, to welcome you and your servants to Zeray. We brought them to your house, but Lirrit told us you had just set out to see the governor. 'But you run,' she said, 'and you'll catch him,' so we came after you to give you the wreaths, and to say, 'Welcome, my lord, to Zeray.''

'What are they saying, sir?' asked Thyval, who had been staring at the children in some bewilderment. 'Are they trying to sell us these flowers?'

'No, they're a gift, or so it seems,' answered Siristrou. Fond of children as he was, the situation was outside his experience and he found himself at something of a loss. He turned back to the dark-haired girl.

'Thank you,' he said. 'You're all very kind.' It occurred to him that he had probably better try to discover a little more. Some further acknowledgement of this rather charming courtesy might well be expected of him later by whoever was behind it. 'Tell me, who told you to bring the wreaths? Was it the governor?'

'Oh, no, my lord, we picked the flowers ourselves. No one sent us. You see, we were gardening not far from the water-front and then we heard -' and she ran off into a chattering, happy explanation which he could not follow, while two of her companions stood on tip-toe to hang the wreaths round his neck and Thyval's. Most of the flowers were of one kind, small and lavender-coloured, -with a light, sharp scent 'What do you call these?' he asked, smiling and touching them.

'Planella,' she answered, and kissed his hand. 'We call them planella. And these are trepsis, the red ones.'

'Let's sing to them,' shouted a limping, dark-skinned boy at the back of the little crowd. 'Come on, let's sing to them!'

And thereupon he began and the others took up his song, rather breadilessly and in several different keys. Thyval scratched his head. 'What are they singing, sir, can you make it out?'

'Hardly at all,1 replied Siristrou. 'They're singing in some other language, not Beklan – although a word or two here and there seems the same. 'Something or other – pulls out – a fish' (I think) 'along the river -' Oh, well, you know the kind of songs children sing everywhere.'

'They'll be wanting some money in a moment, I suppose,' said Thyval. 'Have you managed to get hold of any of their money yet?' 'No, sir.'

But the song ended and the children, taking each other's hands, ran away, laughing and waving and carrying the lame boy along with them and leaving Siristrou staring after them in the sunshine, with the scent of the planella all about him from the wreath round his neck.

'Funny sort of a go,' muttered Thyval, making to remove his wreath.

'Don't take it off,' said Siristrou quickly. 'We mustn't risk doing anything that might offend these people.'

Thyval shrugged his scented shoulders and they set off again, Ankray pointing the way up the slope to a stone house at the top. Although newly-built, it was not very large or imposing, thought Siristrou, looking at the upper storey visible over the surrounding wall. In Zakalon such a house might do well enough, perhaps, for a prosperous merchant, a market-governor or some such man. It was not a nobleman's house. However, from what Ankray had said, it was plain that the town had begun to grow only recently, no doubt upon the completion of the ferry. The governor, perhaps, if not himself the ferry-designer, might be an old soldier, or some similar kind of practical man appointed to get through the early, rough task of building up the working port. Whoever he was, he certainly had little idea of style.

The gate in the wall – a heavy, cross-ply affair, studded with the broad heads of iron nails – was standing half open and Siristrou, following Ankray as he turned in without ceremony, found himself in a courtyard half- resembling that of a farmer and half that of a builder's merchant Materials of one kind and another were stacked all round the place – sacks of what appeared to be seed-corn, raised off the ground on slatted boards, several newly- turned ox-yokes and some leather straps, an iron rain-water tank half-full, two heaps of stones, sorted large and small, a plough, a stack of logs and another of long poles, ten or twelve rough-cut paddles and a mass of caulking material, some coils of rope and a pile of planks. On the north side of the courtyard, against the south wall of the house itself, stood a carpenter's bench, and here a grizzled, ageing man, with something of the look of an old soldier, was holding up an arrow in one hand while with the other he carefully fixed a trimmed goose-quill below the notch. A younger man and a small crowd of rather ragged-looking boys were standing round him and it was plain that he was instructing them in fletching, for he was both speaking and illustrating his meaning by thrusting forward the arrow held between his finger and thumb, to demonstrate the effect of this particular style of fixing the flights. One of the lads asked a question and the man answered him, pointing to some feature of the arrow and then patting the boy's shoulder, evidently in commendation.

As Siristrou came further into the courtyard, still following Ankray and feeling uncommonly self-conscious with the great wreath tickling the lobes of his ears, they all looked round at him, and at once the younger man stepped out of the little group and approached, clapping saw-dust off his hands and calling over his shoulder, 'All right, Kavass, just carry on. When you've finished, have a look at those thick blocks that Ankray's brought, will you?'

Since Ankray did not seem to be going to say anything to announce their arrival Siristrou, summoning his faulty Beklan, said carefully, 'I am here to see the governor.'

'I'm the governor,' replied the man, smiling. He inclined his head, raised his hand to his forehead and then, as though a little nervous, wiped it on his sleeve before offering it to Siristrou, who took it instinctively but with a certain sense of bewilderment. Perhaps the word he had used for 'governor' was the wrong one? He tried again. ' The – er – ruler – the ruler of the town.' 'Yes, I'm the ruler of the town. Aren't I, Ankray?'

'Yes, my lord. I've brought the thick blocks and this here foreign prince, just like you said. And that young fellow Shouter, he says to, to tell you -'

'Well, tell me that later. Will you let the saiyett know that the prince is here; and then ask Zilthe to bring some nuts and wine into the reception-room? See everything's as it should be; and take the prince's servant with you and look after him.' 'Very good, my lord.'

Walking beside his host into the house, Siristrou murmured, 'If I have the meaning of that word correctly, I ought to tell you that I am not a prince.'

'Never mind,' replied the governor cheerfully. 'If the people here think you are, it will please them and help you as well.' For the first time in several days Siristrou laughed and, able now to look directly at his host without seeming over-curious or unmannerly, tried to size him up. At first glance he looked about thirty, but of this it was hard to be sure, for in spite of his cheerful demeanour there was in his manner a kind of gravity and responsibility which suggested that he might be older. Nor was it easy to guess whether he was primarily a practical or a thinking man, for his face suggested to the perceptive Siristrou experience both of danger and – if words must be found – of grief; of suffering, perhaps. To come down to less fanciful matters, he was almost certainly not a nobleman. To begin with he was not, to tell the truth, particularly clean, although his roughened hands, his sweat and streaks of grime suggested the craftsman, not the oaf. But there was something else about him – a kind of grave ardour, an air suggesting that the world was not yet altogether as he wished it to be and meant to see it become – that was less aristocratic than any amount of dirt. Altogether, thought the diplomatic Siristrou, a somewhat cryptic and paradoxical character, who might need careful handling. The lobe of one of his cars was pierced by an ugly, ragged hole which contained no earring, and his left arm was carried stiffly, as though affected by an old injury. What might his past be and how had he become governor of Zeray? He seemed neither a rough man lining his pocket nor an ambitious man eager to rise. An idealist? The only man who could be found to take the job? Oh well, thought Siristrou, one knew nothing about this entire country anyway and the man, whatever his history, was too small a fish for the net King Luin had sent him to spread. Later there would be others who mattered more, though no doubt the impression he made here would precede him inland.

They entered a plain, clean room, stone-floored and rush-strewn, where a fire was palely burning, dimmed by the afternoon sunlight. The governor, with another smile, gently lifted the wreath from Siristrou's shoulders and put it on the table beside him. It had not been very soundly made, and was already beginning to fall to pieces.

'Some of your townspeople's children came up and gave that to me while I was on the way here,* said