Hableyat nodded, drummed his fingers on the table. «Interesting, interesting. This brings a rather new emphasis to light.»
Joe said impatiently, «I'm not aware of any emphasis, either old or new. My business, such as it is, is personal. I have no interest in your enterprises and least of all do I want to become involved.»
There was a harsh pounding at the door. Hableyat rose to his feet with a grunt of satisfaction. This was what he had been awaiting, Joe thought.
«I repeat,» said Hableyat, «that you have no choice. You are involved in spite of any wish to the contrary. Do you want to live?»
«Of course I want to live.» Joe half-rose to his feet as the pounding was resumed.
«Then agree to whatever I say–no matter how farfetched it may seem to you. Do you understand?»
«Yes,» said Joe with resignation.
Hableyat spoke a sharp word. The two warriors bounded to their feet like mechanical men, «Open the door.»
The door slid back. The Thearch stood in the opening, his face wrathful. Behind him stood a half dozen Druids in robes of different colors–Ecclesiarchs, Sub-Thearchs, Presbytes, Hierophants.
Hableyat was transformed. His overt characteristics became intensified. His benignity softened to obsequiousness; his bland ease of manner become a polished unction. He trotted forward as if the Thearch's visit afforded him tremendous pride and delight.
The Thearch towered in the doorway, glaring up and down the room. His eyes passed over the two warriors, came to rest on Joe.
He raised a hand, pointed portentously. «There's the man! A murderous blackguard! Lay hold, we'll see the end of him before the hour's out.»
The Druids swept forward in a swift rustle of robes. Joe reached for his weapon. But the two Mang warriors, moving so deftly and easily that they seemed not to have moved at all, blocked the doorway. A hot-eyed Druid in a brown-and-green robe reached to thrust them aside.
There was a twinkle of blue light, a crackle, a startled exclamation and the Druid leapt back, trembling in indignation. «He's charged with static!»
Hableyat bustled forward, all dismay and alarm. «Your Worship, what is happening?»
The Thearch's expression was vastly contemptuous. «Stand aside, Mang, call off your electrified go-devils. I'll have that man.»
Cried Hableyat, «But Worship, Worship–you dismay me. Can it be that I've taken a criminal into my service?»
«Surely your Worship is aware that in order to pursue a realistic policy my government employs a number of unofficial observers?»
«Cutthroat spies!» roared the Thearch.
Hableyat rubbed his chin. «If such is the case, your Worship, I am disillusioned, since the Druid spies on Mangtse are uniformly self-effacing. Just what is my servant accused of?»
The Thearch thrust his head forward, said with soft fervor, «I'll tell you what he's done–he's killed one of your own men–a Mang! There's yellow blood all over the floor of my daughter's chamber. Where there's blood, there's death.»
«Your Worship!» exclaimed Hableyat. «This is serious news! Who is it that is dead?»
«How do I know? Enough that there's a man killed and that this–»
«But your Worship! This man has been in my company all day. Your news is alarming. It means that a representative of my government has been attacked. I fear that there will be tumult in the Lathbon. Where did you notice this blood? In the chamber of your daughter, the Priestess? Where is she? Perhaps she can shed some light on the matter.»
«I don't know where she is.» He turned, pointed a finger. «Alamaina–find the Priestess Elfane. I wish to speak to her.» Then to Hableyat, «Do I understand that you are taking this blackguard spy under your protection?»
Hableyat said courteously, «Our security officers have been solicitous in guarding the safety of the Druids representing your Worship on Mangtse.»
The Thearch turned on his heel, strode off through the hooded forms of his Druids.
Joe said, «So now I'm a Mang spy.»
«What would you have?» inquired Hableyat.
Joe returned to his seat. «For some reason I can't imagine you are determined to attach me to your staff.»
Hableyat made a gesture of deprecation.
Joe stared at him a moment. «You murder your own men, you strike down the Thearch in his daughter's sitting-room–and somehow I find myself held to account for it. It's not possible that you planned it that way?»
«Now, now, now,» murmured Hableyat.
Joe asked politely, «May I presume upon your courtesy further?»
«Certainly. By all means.» Hableyat waited attentively.
Joe said boldly, without any real expectation of Hableyat's assent, «Take me to the Terminal. Put me on the packet to Ballenkarch which leaves today.»
Hableyat, raising his eyebrows sagely, nodded. «A very reasonable request–and one which I would be unkind to deny. Are you ready to leave at once?»
«Yes,» said Joe dryly, «I am.»
«And you have sufficient funds?»
«I have five thousand stiples given me by the Priestess Elfane and Manaolo.»
«Hah! I see. They were anxious then to be on their way.» «I received that impression.»
Hableyat looked up sharply. «There is suppressed emotion in your voice.»
«The Druid Manaolo arouses a great deal of aversion in me.»
«
Joe said in precise tones, «My future plans involve neither Manaolo nor Elfane.»
«Only the future can tell,» intoned Hableyat. «Now then–to the Terminal.»
THERE WAS no signal which Joe could perceive but in three minutes, during which Hableyat sat silently hunched in a chair, a heavy well-appointed air-car swung alongside the plat. Joe went cautiously to the window, looked along the side of the Palace. The sun was low. Shadows from the various balconies, landing stages, carved work, ran obliquely along the stone, creating a confusion of shape in which almost anything might be hidden.
Below were the garage and his cubicle. Nothing there of value–the few hundred stiples he had saved from his salary as chauffeur he dismissed. Beyond rose the Tree, a monstrous mass his eye could not encompass at one glance. To see edge to edge he had to turn his head from right to left. The shape was uncertain from this close distance of a mile or so. A number of slow-swinging members laden with foliage overhung the Palace.
Hableyat joined him at the window. «It grows and grows. Some day it will grow beyond its strength or the strength of the ground. It will buckle and fall in the most terrible sound yet heard on the planet. And the crash will be the crack of doom for the Druids.»
He glanced carefully up and down the face of the Palace. «Now walk swiftly. Once you are in the car you are safe from any hidden marksmen.»
Again Joe searched the shadows. Then gingerly he stepped out on the plat. It seemed very wide, very
