move, and despite my cares I found myself absorbed.[6]
Pushing the blue and yellow pieces back into their velvet-lined box, I stretched, and bellowed for tea. Chido grumbled but paid up, the golden deldy that was the bet ringing most sweetly upon the sturm-wood table. The tavern was filled with men stoking for the afternoon’s activities. There was no Jikhorkdun this day, I remember; instead there was another of the interminable handicapped zorca-versus-sleeth races. Unless the faithful zorca is given an impossible handicap, he will beat that two-legged dinosaurian monstrosity of a sleeth every time.
Our conversation turned on the wave of cults and faith-healing sweeping the country, and I was minded to tell Chido of Beng Salter’s bones and his grandiose claims at curing ailments, at which Chide laughed and said, stab him, he’d believe any of ’em in times like these.
Even as I watched his bright chinless face all agog and listened to his artless voice, sipping my sweet Kregan tea, I suddenly saw that same Strom Hormish of Rivensmot who had jostled and insulted me at the shrine of Beng Salter. This was the boor who had put into my head the idea of acting the part of a weakling so as to make a more effective spy. I regretted that decision now. It had seemed a good idea at the time. So you may imagine with what bile I regarded the fellow as he minced into the tavern, dressed in foppish finery, a foam of green lace at his neck, a beautifully cut satin coat on his back, a baldric blazing with gems over his shoulder, and — and! — a rapier and main-gauche for arms. This promised. He had evidently patronized this tavern before — it was
There are, as I have previously indicated, a whole range of taverns and inns on Kregen, ranging from those which are fit for mere swinish boozing to others which provide meals and overnight stops, to those where ladies may go for refreshments secure in the knowledge that they are perfectly safe in a first-class hostelry. Here in the sacred quarter
Casmas the Deldy, oiled, sweating, profuse, was guiding a girl to a table by the window. She was beautiful, beautiful, as I had observed before, when I’d snatched her from the beak and talons of a snow-white zhyan, beautiful in the way of looking and not touching. What the hell she was marrying old Casmas the Deldy for I had no idea — unless his cognomen held all the answer necessary. I think she saw me almost as soon as she entered the tavern. Certainly, she could scarcely keep her eyes off me, but she did not make a mention of me to Casmas, for he had not seen Chido and me, and bent all his effusiveness upon his bride-to-be.
As though in some shadow play of a Kregen village, with the samphron-oil lamps casting the grotesque or beautiful shadows upon the linen sheet, with entrance after entrance, Strom Lart, he with whom I would soon be crossing swords, entered. He saw Strom Hormish, already swilling wine among the tea-drinkers, and he went straight across. There was a sickly plethora of bows and blandishments, then both men sat down and put their heads together. Birds of a feather, thought I. This pretty pot might yet boil into an affair of light amusement, or deadly peril, with the steel flying and the blood spurting. In my mood I knew which I would prefer.
The way it did go I would not relish to have to suffer again.
Chido’s slender frame partially shielded me from the view of the two Storms at their table. Casmas was so wrapped up in his little passionflower that he had eyes for nothing else. The girl was pale, very pale. Her color came and went, it is true, but by the way her breast moved, and the little helpless fluttery movements of her hands, and by other signs, I knew she had no joy in this marriage with Casmas the Deldy.
The genteel uproar in the tavern, so different from the full-throated bellowings of taverns when the moons have risen, sounded all about; there was much coming and going as the midday meal was served. Kregans like six or more good meals a day, as I have said. Chido and I tucked into good red beef from cattle that might, for all we knew, have been destroying Rees’s lands. There were momolams, green vegetables, a great fruit pie, and many cups of tea to follow the table wine, a poor stuff, to my surprise; then the inevitable and sweetly necessary silver dish of palines.
With my mouth full of palines I looked up and there was the fair hair, rosebud mouth, and pale blue eyes of the girl I had pulled from the zhyan’s claws outside
“I have only a moment, Horter. You saved me once, in Urigal. You risked your life for me, a stranger, and I could not thank you then, for my guardian and his men prevented, and you were gone. But now, Horter, I beseech you! I need a strong arm to defend me once again.”
Chido was staring in bewilderment, beginning to stutter a question. She ignored him as I half rose, a serviette to my lips, bowing to her.
“I am Rosala of Match Urt. My father was the Strom there, but he is dead now and my fortunes have fallen away, and I am being forced to marry that fat disgusting Casmas.”
“Jolly bad show, that,” burbled Chido. We ignored him. She was imploring me with her great pale blue eyes, the tears dropping down her deathly white cheeks, pleading with me.
“You are a brave warrior. I know that. You have proved it, Horter. . I do not know your name. No one knew. . or would not tell me. I beseech you, sir, help me! Take me away from that horrid Casmas!
Please!”
Of course! Nothing simpler! Just leap on the nearest zorca and away!
But I was not Dray Prescot here. I was Hamun ham Farthytu, with a certain reputation to uphold. What a situation!
I was aware of movement on the other side of the table and then of course laughter breaking through Rosala’s words as she pleaded.
“Please, Horter! You are brave! You will find a way. I beseech you, for the courage you have already shown, the kindness to me — save me from that wretch!”
“Courage, Hortera, courage?” Strom Lart bellowed his amusement. “The man is a poltroon!”
“He is a ninny,” boomed Strom Hormish, “a swordless weakling, fit only for rast-nest fodder.”
Rosala of Match Urt stared speechlessly at me, her hands clasped together, all her vulnerable beauty crying out for rescue.
I put down the serviette.
“I am Hamun ham Farthytu, Hortera. I regret I do not know you. You are mistaken. I cannot help you.”
Chapter Fourteen
A blank followed that performance until I found myself back in my rooms in the inn, with Chido much perplexed and worried and declaring that, by Krun, he’d never known me like this before, old fellow. I took a stiff drink of wine; the stuff tasted foul, unmixed as it was, and I spat it out. I said to Chido: “You’re a good fellow, Chido. But leave me alone right now. I have some thinking to do-”
“If that’s the way of it, Hamun. .” He brightened. “I’ve engaged to race old Tothord.” He hovered, hesitating. “Well, Remberee, Hamun. I’ll see you.”
“Remberee, Chido.”
When he had gone, shaking his head, I stretched out on the bed, shooed Nulty away, threw a boot at the Fristle, Salima, who wanted to comfort me, and I fell into dark and evil thoughts. How low I had sunk!
And yet, it was all my own doing. Every step of the way I had been the master of my own decisions. I had chosen to act this part, thinking how clever it would be. I had forfeited my primitive ideas of honor to what I conceived of as my duty.
Well, this day’s sorry doing was an end to the business.
