by John Dalmas
Brokols was thunderstruck. These people, these pleasure droids, not only coupled without intention to conceive, but deliberately prevented conception!
"Is something the matter?" Cadriio asked.
He shook his head in quick denial. "No, no. It's simply that . . . the possibility is new to me." He paused. "Then—how often does one couple here? A—say a typical married man of our age?"
Eltrienn made a face and shrugged. "I never asked anyone. They share the same home and presumably the same bed, so I suppose they might couple very frequently." He tilted his head quizzically. "And in your country?"
The question took Brokols unprepared. "In my country? It, it varies with the person, I'm sure. But it's forbidden, criminal in fact, to couple with other than one's wife. And with one's wife, one couples only with the intent to produce a child."
Eltrienn's eyebrows jumped. "Oh? Interesting. You have large families then?"
Brokols wasn't sure what Cadriio considered large. "I was one of five children. Nine, including those my father sired by his second wife. My mother died in childbirth, and later my stepmother also. In his grief, my father has since declined to marry again."
"Hmm. Nine children. And did your father couple only nine times in his life?"
Brokols could feel the color rise in his face, though he felt no anger. "I—could hardly know. It's very doubtful. One might couple numerous times before successfully conceiving."
Eltrienn nodded, his lips pursed. "Ah! Then they do not know the birthwort in Almeon. Here, if a couple wishes a child and does not get one, the wife takes birthwort. It's an herb with flowers much like those of lamb foil, but the potency resides in the root, or actually in the skin of the root. One digs it up, or the herbalist does, strips and dries the inner bark, powders it, and adds it to food. It's available from any herbalist, and it's fairly reliable."
A thought occurred to Eltrienn then. Large families like Brokols' meant large populations, even if epidemics sometimes decimated them. "How many people are there in Almeon?" he asked.
"Forty million. More than forty-three million at last count."
The number stunned the Hrummean, but Brokols didn't notice because another thought had taken his attention. "Do you have any other herbs that deal with coupling?" he asked.
The question brought Cadriio's attention back. "None," he answered. "Or, there is one other, of the same family, but its use is illegal."
"Illegal? Why so?"
"It causes strong sexual desire. With it, a person can be gotten to 'couple' who otherwise would not. Which is a crime before Hrum. Also it's somewhat poisonous."
"Poisonous?!"
"It makes one ill, and prolonged use can kill. In the Djezes it has been used by nobles for extended orgies, and people have died from it. Though even there, it seems seldom used."
Brokols sat, shocked. Eltrienn nodded. "It is strange, I agree. Apparently if you take a second dose before the sickness strikes, the sickness is forestalled until you stop. But then you get twice as sick. Thus you can take it a number of times, one after the other, continuing the orgy without illness until, after several days, you drop dead." He shrugged. "There are those who otherwise are no longer able to couple, who consider it the best way to die. The reason it's illegal is the temptation to give it to someone other than yourself, someone who might otherwise refuse you."
The centurion's clear gray eyes were intent on Brokols; when the ambassador became aware of it, he shook his head as if to clear it. "This is all . . . all utterly strange to me," Brokols said. "I had not imagined such a thing as these herbs."
Eltrienn nodded. "We seem so much alike in some ways, it's interesting how different our two countries are. Perhaps as we come to know one another better, we will learn from each other."
* * *
Elver Brokols' biggest shock had not been the herbs. It had been a feeling—a feeling that hit him when Eltrienn had mentioned their countries learning from each other: He didn't want Hrumma to become like Almeon! He preferred it as it was! And that was not consistent with why he was here—with the emperor's plan.
* * *
Eltrienn Cadriio had something on his mind, too: Almeon's population of forty-three million! That was a great number of people, twenty times Hrumma's. Twice that of the two Djezes combined. He wondered how large an army Almeon might field.
* * *
A buzzer burped loudly in the luxurious palace apartment in Haipoor l'Djezzer. Lord Vendel Kryger, dressed in silk lounging pajamas, put aside a book and strode briskly to the radio room. Argant was there ahead of him. Kryger sat down and, after positioning a pad of paper, tapped out an acknowledgement, then picked up a pencil and sat ready. A moment later the set began to rattle off a series of letters which Kryger jotted as they came, Argant craning his neck to see.
* * *
STILFOS TO KRYGER STOP RELIGIOUS LEADER HERE SPEAKING AGAINST ALMEON STOP SOME LESSER RELIGIOUS FIGURES HAVE JOINED HIM STOP THIS EVENING I ATTENDED RALLY STOP—SPEAKER KNOWS ALMOST EVERYTHING INCLUDING FLEET OF 200 SHIPS STOP CROWD NOT VERY LARGE ABOUT 500 600 NOT UNRULY STOP REQUEST INSTRUCTIONS STOP STILFOS END
* * *
Kryger's mouth twisted into something like a snarl. He began rapidly tapping out his reply without taking time to write it down first, voicing the words as he sent them, so that Argant could jot them down.
"Message received. Stop. What meant by 'knows almost everything.' Question."
Stilfos answered that the Hrummeans knew about the impending imperial invasion. That apparently they thought it would be, or at least would include, an invasion of Hrumma.
Kryger sent again. "Received. Stop. Unless dangerous to you, attend future meetings until B returns. Stop. Keep me informed. Stop. Kryger End."
He waited briefly. The machine began to rattle again:
* * *
MESSAGE RECD STOP STILFOS END COMPLETED
* * *
Kryger's finger tapped out a final "Kryger end. Communication over." Then he got up and left the room and Argant. There's only one way they could have found out our plans, he told himself grimly. That ass Brokols has a loose mouth—either that or he's turned traitor. Which seemed highly unlikely; there'd be nothing in it for him, with an imperial takeover a certainty.
Or was it a certainty now? This security breakdown might cost heavily in Almaeic lives, but could it also change the outcome? He needed to reevaluate.
He threw himself down in his reading chair, but left his book where it lay. How could Brokols have let so much slip? Had the man begun drinking? Or gotten mixed up with a droid woman? He'd been investigated thoroughly before the prime minister appointed him. They all had. One might expect that any problems with drink or women would have been found out.
The most serious thing was, the problem went beyond Hrumma. Fortunately, King Gamaliiu had no ambassador in Hrumma, but he might well have spies there, Hrummean traitors perhaps, in which case they'd report all this to him. Which would be bound to alarm him.
If that happened, Gamaliiu would no doubt ask some hard questions. It would be well to have some good answers in advance. Probably the best would be a simple denial—say that the Hrummeans were imagining things. And that according to his informant, it was frightening the people there. Taking the heart out of them.
That just might work. Beneath those waxed curls, Gamaliiu was not an imbecile, but he had an unreasonably low opinion of the Hrummeans. Unreasonable because, if they were as inept as Gamaliiu insisted, they'd have fallen long ago.
Meanwhile, when he sent his weekly report to Larvis Royal, day after tomorrow, he should probably make a case for advancing the timetable. Get this place conquered before too many things went wrong. Of course, he'd have to think of a good reason without telling the truth. It wouldn't do for the emperor to know about the leak. Because he, Kryger, was in charge of this mission, and the blame would be his regardless of where it properly lay.
Meanwhile he'd speed Djez Gorrbul's attack on Hrumma. If Gama
liiu advanced his timetable, the emperor would advance his of necessity.
Fortunately, lacking wireless, word would travel slowly from Theedalit to Haipoor l'Djezzer. Probably not many Gorrbian ships went to Hrumma. The Gorballis had few ships; Djez Gorrbul just wasn't a maritime nation. So most cargoes would go in Hrummean hulls. And the Gorballis felt enough disdain for Hrumma and things Hrummean that probably few, if any, Gorrbian seamen understood the language there anyway. Or would attend a Hrummean religious rally.
As for Brokols—he was a liability now. Stilfos, Kryger decided, would have to become ambassador there. And . . .
That meant getting rid of Brokols. Would Stilfos do it if ordered to?
He should have discussed Brokols with Stilfos while he had him on the wireless, he told himself, but that could wait. Replacing Brokols could wait, as far as that was concerned. The damage was done, and he'd see what the man said when he reported in from his tour. According to his pre-trip plan, he'd be back in Theedalit any day now.
Kryger sat down at his desk and began to diagram the problems and possibilities on paper.
Fifteen
The day's shower had turned out to be twins, bracketing noon. Now, in midafternoon, the sun was out and the shay's top folded back, sacrificing shade for view. The matched kaabors trotted briskly, hooves thudding on the firm, wet soil of the highroad, splashing occasional puddles. The plateau tilted slightly toward the seacliff nearby, its soil thin atop basaltic caprock, its thick stand of bunchgrasses grazed down by scattered roan and white gleebor, dehorned and well-fleshed.
It seemed to Brokols the nicest landscape he'd ever seen for riding in, and he wished he was in a saddle instead of the shay. He was not an avid rider, but a rather skilled one. As a youth and a member of a noble family, he'd ridden a lot, and his military service had been as a junior officer of cavalry.
The day was moderately hot and the humidity high, but with breeze enough to keep Eltrienn comfortable in kilt and sleeveless tunic as he drove the team. Brokols, on the other hand, wore a woolen formal suit in preparation for their stop at the Hanorissio villa, and even with his jacket off, useless sweat ran down his face.
They crossed a slight rise. Before them, a broadly rounded draw breached the caprock and sloped away southwestward, opening on the sea. A slender ribbon of brook glinted along the bottom, and the highroad, crossing it, sent well-worn wheel tracks branching toward the sea.
Eltrienn pointed. "The road to the villa," he said. Minutes later they turned off on it, the brook beside them clattering and splashing downward toward a sea indigo blue beneath the sun. For a few minutes, the view and the brook music took Brokols' attention from the heat and sticky sweat.
Where they rolled out of the draw, the flank of the plateau was steep but less than cliffy, toeing out to broad sandy beach. Brokols shrugged reluctantly into his jacket as they approached a walled compound open toward the sea. A guard motioned them through the gate and, while they dismounted, called a second to take them to the villa and a third to care for their kaabors.
Within the outer wall and forming part of it were stone sheds, a low stone barn, and what seemed to be a smithy; these opened onto an outer bailey. A second wall separated the outer bailey from an inner—the grounds of the villa itself. Entering the grounds, Brokols found them subdivided in turn by screens of hedge and whitewashed sections of low wall. A large fountain splashed; honeysuckers darted gold and scarlet among blossoms; and massive, sprawling-limbed trees shaded much of the villa. Eltrienn and Brokols followed their guide across a patio furnished with movable cushioned chairs, and into the building.
A servant was just now opening doors and windows. The midday heat had gradually penetrated the thick walls, layered roof tiles, double-floored loft, overcoming the lingering coolness of a dawn long past. The two visitors waited briefly in a reception room until a large, black-haired woman came in to them, russet-cheeked, strangely amber-eyed, wearing loose, white trousers and sleeveless shirt.
"Hoo! Eltrienn!" she hooted, and embraced the centurion. "You vagabond! I haven't seen you since Leonessto sent you Hrum-knows-where, years ago. How many? Four? Five? I suppose you've eaten lunch."
"On the road," Eltrienn answered. "Rolls, cheese, and a strawbag of greenberries. What we need more than anything is to move about on our feet a bit; we've been jouncing in a shay for too many hours." He half-turned to Brokols. "Zeenia Hanorissia, this is His Excellency, Elver Brokols, Ambassador to the Court of Hrumma from His Highness Dard, Emperor of Almeon. I'm sure you've heard of His Excellency's arrival. Elver, this is Zeenia Hanorissia, the amirr's sister."
Brokols bowed. The tall woman looked him up and down, her eyes even with his own, taking in his exotic features and foreign garb. "Honored," she said, then gestured toward Eltrienn with her head. "I'd heard this scoundrel was assigned to be your guide." She motioned them to follow, and led them into a hall. "I hadn't expected to meet you," she told Brokols over her shoulder. "I go to Theedalit no more than I need to, which blessedly is seldom. It bores me silly." She gestured around as if to indicate the house and beyond. "I manage this place for the family, cattle and all. Daratto runs the home plantation, while Leonessto prefers government to managing a livestock operation."
Great Kaitmar! Brokols thought to himself, have they no protocol here? He'd never seen an aristocrat so unreserved about family affairs. And with a soldier and a stranger—a foreigner.
A broad door entered a sitting room built on two levels; she ushered them in. "Eltrienn used to be guard captain here," she said to Brokols. "He's a marvelous swordsman; we badgered him into demonstrations now and then. Back before my husband died—a merchant, lost at sea." She went to a desk-like work table where a journal lay open, and turning the chair, sat down facing them. They took seats on a couch opposite. "I'm indisposed today," she went on. "Happens every few weeks; Hrum's way of getting me to stay in and update my records. Otherwise you'd hardly have found me home; I'd have been off in the saddle somewhere. You'll stay the night, of course."
Eltrienn nodded, grinning at her volubility. "That's why we stopped. And to see you, naturally."
"That had better be part of it. I don't make houseguests of just anyone, you rascal. Only my friends, and theirs if I like 'em. Incidentally, Juliassa is here, probably down by the mouth of the brook. She's got a sellsu she spends a lot of time with, learning to talk their language. Found it on the beach, close to dead, and been nursing it back to health. It could have returned to the sea by now I suppose, but they both enjoy her language lessons. She sits by a lamp all evening till after I'm in bed, writing down what she's learned."
Learning to talk with the sea people? Brokols' interest was captured. The possibility had never occurred to him.
"And Tirros," Eltrienn said. "Is he around?"
Her jaw clamped. "I threw the rotten little troublemaker out two weeks ago," she snapped. "Somehow he'd heard about Juliassa's sellsu and came to visit. She caught him down on the beach, tormenting it, jabbing at it with a pitchfork. I heard her screaming clear up here; then she came up and got a bow and quiver. He thought it was funny! I've told Leonessto to keep him away from here or I'd have him thrashed."
She changed the subject then. "Two of the men brought in a pail of fresh skulter a bit ago; a favorite of yours I recall. Cook's making a salad of them. Now if I don't get back at the records, they'll have to wait another five weeks, and I'll have forgotten too much. We'll have supper the same time as always here, and talk later."
"Well then," said Eltrienn, getting up, "we'll go out and see Juliassa's sellsu, and then bathe before we eat."
* * *
When Juliassa had brought the sellsu home, she'd had some of the household staff build a weir across the mouth of the brook, curving like a deep U around the lower reach. Enough, she thought, to keep a weakened sellsu from escaping. After a few days of enclosure though, she'd had the sides of the U removed, making it easy for the sellsu to depart around the weir if he wished. What was left
would keep predaceous fish—sarrkas and sea lances—away from him. The sellsu had been content to stay, at least until he'd recovered his strength.
The weir was of saplings tied with rope and anchored to posts driven into beach and stream bottom. Brook water flowed out through it, and the high tides flowed freely in. Here, where the stream gradient was low, the brook was fifteen feet wide, three times its width a hundred yards upstream, and several times deeper. Except when the tide was in, the water was pure brook water, but the sellsu had suffered no ill effects from the freshwater environment. The ocean itself was not very saline, not nearly as much as on planets with two or three times the relative land surface.
