«I'm watching for that devil Manaolo,» said Joe. «It would be just like him to be lurking in one of these shadows and step out and stab me.»
Elfane shook her head. «Manaolo has gone down to Tier Three. He has tried to make me his lover every night of the voyage but I have no desire for him. This morning he threatened that unless I yielded he would debauch himself along the Tier. I told him by all means to do so and then perhaps his virility would not be so ardently directed against me. He left in a huff.»
«Manaolo always seems to be in a state of offended dignity.»
«He is a man with a very exalted rank,» said Elfane. «Now let us go down here. I wish to–»
Joe took her arm, swung her around, gazed into her startled eyes, her nose an inch from his.
«Look here, young lady. I'm not trying to assert my virility but I'm not trotting here and there after you, carrying your bundles like a chauffeur.»
He knew it was the wrong word.
«Chauffeur,
«If you don't like my company,» said Joe, «now's the time to leave.» After a moment she said, «What's your name beside Smith?»
«Call me Joe.»
«Joe–you're a very remarkable man. Very strange. You puzzle me, Joe.»
«If you want to come with me–a chauffeur, a mechanic, a civil engineer, a moss-planter, a bartender, a tennis instructor, a freight docker, a dozen other things –we're going down to the Nineteen Gardens and see if they sell Earth-style beer.»
The Nineteen Gardens occupied a slice through the middle of the construction–nineteen wedge-shaped sections surrounding a central platform which served as a restaurant.
They found a vacant table and, to Joe's surprise, beer in frosted quart beakers was set before them without comment.
«If it pleases your Divinity,» said Elfane meekly.
Joe grinned sheepishly. «You don't need to carry it that far. It must be a Druid trait, an avalanche one way, another way, all the way. Well, what did you want?»
«Nothing.» She turned in her seat, looked out across the gardens. At this point Joe realized that willy-nilly, for good or bad, he was wildly enamored. Margaret? He sighed. She was far away, a thousand light-years.
He looked across the gardens, nineteen of them, flora of nineteen different planets, each with its distinctive color timbres–black, gray and white of Kelce–oranges, yellows, hot lime green of Zarjus–the soft pastel pink, green, blue and yellow blossoms which grew on the quiet little planets of Jonapah–green in a hundred rich tones, gay red, sky blue–Joe started, half-rose to his feet.
«What's the matter?» asked Elfane.
«That garden there–those are Earth plants or I'm a ring-tailed monkey.» He jumped up, went to the rail and she followed. «Geraniums, honeysuckle, petunias, zinnia, roses, Italian cypress, poplars, weeping willows. And a lawn. And hibiscus...» He looked at the descriptive plaque. «Planet Gea. Location uncertain.»
They returned to the table. «You act as if you're homesick,» said Elfane in an injured voice.
Joe smiled. «I am–very homesick. Tell me something about Ballenkarch.»
She tasted the beer, looked at it in surprise, screwed up her face.
«Nobody likes beer when they first drink it,» said Joe.
«Well–I don't know too much about Ballenkarch. Up to a few years ago it was completely savage. No ships stopped there because the autochthones were cannibals. Then the present prince united all of the smaller continent into a nation. It happened overnight. Many people were killed.
«But now there is no more murder and ships can land in comparative safety. The Prince has decided to industrialize and he's imported much machinery from Beland, Mangtse, and Grabo across the stream. Little by little he's extending his rule over the main continent– winning over the chiefs, hypnotizing them or killing them.
«Now you must understand the Ballenkarts have no religion whatever and we Druids hope to tie their new industrial power to us through the medium of a common faith. Then we will no longer depend on Mangtse for manufactured goods. The Mangs naturally don't care for the idea and so they are...» Her eyes widened. She reached across, grasped his arm. «Manaolo! Oh Joe, I hope he doesn't see us.»
Joe's mantle of caution ripped. Humility is impossible when the object of your love is fearing for your safety.
He sat back in his seat, watched Manaolo come striding onto the terrace like a Demonland hero.. A beige- skinned woman, wearing orange pantaloons, pointed slippers of blue cloth and a blue cloth cap, hung on his arm. In his other arm he carried the parcel he had taken off the ship. In the flicker of his dead eyes he saw Elfane and Joe, changed his course without expression, sauntered across the floor, casually drawing a stiletto from his belt.
«This is it,» muttered Joe. «This is it!» He rose to his feet.
Diners, drinkers, scattered. Manaolo stopped a yard distant, the ghost of a smile on his dark face. He set the parcel on the table, then easily stepped forward, thrust. It was done with an almost naive simplicity as if he expected Joe to stand still to be stabbed. Joe threw the beer into his face, hit his wrist with the beaker and the stiletto tinkled to the ground.
«Now,» said Joe, «I'm going to beat you within an inch of your life.»
Manaolo lay on the ground. Joe, panting, straddled him. The bandage across his nose had broken. Blood flowed down his face, down his chin. Manaolo's hand fell on the stiletto. With a subdued grunt he swung. Joe gripped the arm, guided it past him into Manaolo's shoulder.
Manaolo grunted once more, plucked the blade loose. Joe seized it away, stuck it through Manaolo's ear into the wooden floor, pounded it deep with blows of his fist, jumped to his feet, stood looking down.
Manaolo flopped like a fish, lay still, exhausted. An impassive litter crew came through the crowd, removed the stiletto, loaded him on the litter, bore him away. The beige-skinned woman ran along beside him. Manaolo spoke to her. She turned, ran to the table, took the parcel, ran back to where the attendants were loading Manaolo into a wheeled vehicle, placed the parcel on his chest.
Joe sank back into his chair, took Elfane's beer, drank deeply.
«Joe,» she whispered. «Are you–hurt?»
«I'm black and blue all over,» said Joe. «Manaolo's a rough boy. If you hadn't been here I would have ducked him. But,» he said with a blood-smeared grin, «I couldn't let you see me ducking my rival.»
«Rival?» she looked puzzled. «Rival?»
«For you.»
«Oh!» in a colorless tone.
«Now don't say 'I'm the Royal Druid God-almighty Priestess'!»
She looked up startled. «I wasn't thinking of that. I was thinking that Manaolo never was–your rival.»
Joe said, «I've got to clean up and get some new clothes. Would you like to come with me or–»
«No,» said Elfane, still in the colorless voice. «I'll stay here awhile. I want to–to think.»
Thirty-one hours. The
Thirty-one and a half hours. «Where's Manaolo?» Elfane asked the purser. «Has he come aboard?»
«No, Worship.»
Elfane chewed her lip, clenched her hands. «I'd better check at the hospital. You won't go off without me?»
«No, Worship, certainly not.»
Joe followed her to a telephone. «Hospital,» she said to the mechanical voice. Then, «I want to inquire about Ecclesiarch Manaolo, who was brought in yesterday. Has he been discharged?... Very well but hurry. His ship is waiting to take off.» She turned a side comment to Joe. «They've gone to check at his room.»
A moment passed; then she bent to the ear-phone. «
«What's the trouble?»
«He's dead. He's been murdered.»
