The business of searching the Morya Sunqaruma to make sure they were not carrying more money and weapons than they were allowed, and loading them into various allied ships, took the rest of the day. Because the pirates from Qirib— who comprised nearly half the total—were to be sent to a special destination, Barnevelt borrowed a troopship, the Yars, from the Suruskando admiral.
Queen Alvandi insisted upon manning it with her own people: men to row and Amazons to guard the passengers. She said, "I shan't be satisfied until I hear from my own girls that these villains have been landed at a place whence it'd take 'em years to regain Qirib."
By the red evening light of Roqir, the unwounded ex-pirates filed aboard the Yars near the mouth of the channel. There were three hundred ninety-seven men, one hundred twenty-three women, and eighty-six children, which crowded the ship even without the Qiribo rowers who were going along to bring her back.
Barnevelt ate alone, Tangaloa being off shooting movie film. After his meal, Barnevelt had himself rowed from the Junsar down-channel to Alvandi's Douri Dejanai. He had not previously seen the queen's private cabin, now streaked with black from a fire set by the Sunqaro rockets. He was surprised to be greeted by a raucous cry of "Baghan! Ghuvoi zu!"
There was Philo the macaw chained to a perch at the side of the room. He looked at Barnevelt first with one eye and then the other, finally seemed to recognize him, and let his feathers be scratched.
In came Queen Alvandi, saying, "You and I are the only ones who can handle yon monster. You have a subtle power over such creatures, and me he fears. Guzzle yourself a mug of prime falat, in the carafe yonder. I suppose you'll preside over the meeting to divide the spoils this eve?"
"Yes, and I dread it. Everybody'll be grabbing at once. I'm comforted, however, by the knowledge that this'll be about my last act as commander-in-chief."
"Oh, no need for dissonance. Tell 'em your decision and make it stand. I ask but my fair share—all the Sunqar, plus my proportionate part of ships and treasure."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
She made a never-mind gesture. "So that you demand not a fourth for your private portion there'll be no discord."
"Matter of fact I wasn't going to ask any for myself."
"What? Art mad? Or be this some subtle scheme to rive one of us of our throne? Seek you to subvert the popinjay of Sotaspe?"
"I never thought of such a thing! I like Ferrian!"
"What have likes to do with high politics? No doubt Ferrian likes you too, which fact wouldn't hinder him from slitting your weazand for the good of Sotaspe. But then it matters not, for I have other plans for you."
"What?" said Barnevelt apprehensively. Alvandi had a way of carrying through her plans in spite of hell or high water.
"Relinquish your share of loot, if you will, with a hoity-toity affectation of simple honesty, like Abhar the farm lad in the fable. But see to it that what would have been your share goes to me. Then 'twont matter for it will all be in the family. Though you did vex me sore this afternoon when you gave in to the thieves on their demand to let wounded Qiribuma land upon the nearer mainland."
"I came here to ask about that," said Barnevelt. "The wounded ones are no problem, since they'll be mixed in with the rest. But I've been calculating, and the Yars with the unwounded ones will never get to where you want to send them with enough food and water for all those people. Therefore we must either divide them among two ships, or…"
"Nonsense!" cried Alvandi in her Queen-of-Hearts manner. "Think ye for an instant I mean to set these ravening predators ashore, my realm to infiltrate and subvert? Am I daft?"
"What d'you mean?"
"The captain of the Yars has my orders, as soon's he's out of sight, to pitch these miscreants into the sea, and their drabs and brats with 'em. For a carbuncle nought serves but the knife."
"Hey! I can't allow that!"
"And why not, Master Snyol?"
"I gave them my word."
"And who in Hishkak are you? A foreign vagabond, elevated by my contrivance to command of this expedition— and now our labor's over, chief no more, but one of my subjects, to do with as I will. And my will in this case…"
Barnevelt, feeling as if a cold hand were clutching his windpipe, jumped up, spilling his wine. "What's that about it's being all in the family?"
"So you've guessed? 'Tis plain as the peaks of Darya that my daughter Zei's in love with you. Therefore I choose you as her first husband, to serve in accordance with our ancient and unalterable custom until your function be performed. The lot's a fake, of course. And let's hope you provide a better meal at the end of your service than would the unlamented Kaj have done!"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Barnevelt stood, breathing hard. At last he said: "You forget, madam, I'm not a Qiribu, nor is this Qirib. You have no jurisdiction over me."
"And you forget, sirrah, that I conferred Qiribo citizenship upon you when you returned to Ghulinde with Zei. By not refusing then, you did incur the usual obligations of such status, as the most learned doctor of laws would agree. So let's have no more of this mutinous moonshine…"
"Excuse me, but we'll have a lot more of it. I won't marry your daughter and I won't let you massacre those surrendered Qiribuma."
"So? I'll show you, you treasonous oppugner!" Her voice rose to a scream as she hurried across the cabin to fumble in a drawer.
Barnevelt at once guessed that she was after a container of janru perfume—perhaps a bottle or a water pistol—to spray him with. One whiff and he'd be subjected to her will as if he were under Osirian pseudo-hypnosis. She was nearer the door than he at the moment; what to do?
"Grrrrkl" said Philo, aroused by the shouting.
Barnevelt thought of the one defense he had against such an attack. He leaped to the parrot's perch, seized the astonished bird, pressed his long nose in amongst its breast feathers, and inhaled vigorously.
Philo squawked indignantly, struggled, and bit a piece out of the rim of Barnevelt's left ear, as neatly as a conductor punching a ticket.
Barnevelt released the bird as .Alvandi rushed upon him with an atomizer, squirting at his face. His eyes were red, his nose was dripping, and blood ran down his ear from the notch the bird's beak had made. He whipped out his sword, grinning.
"Sorry," he said, "but I cadt sbell a thig. Dow get back id your bedroob, ad dot a word out of you, or Zei'll be queed without your havig to abdicate."
When he reinforced the command with a sharp jab in her midriff, she went, muttering maledictions like a Gypsy grifter being marched off to the paddy wagon. In the royal bedchamber he collected sheets, which he tore into strips: "… my best sheets, inherited from my grandmother!" wailed Alvandi.
Soon her plaints were smothered by a tight gag. In another quarter-hour he bundled her, trussed and bound, into her own clothes-closet and locked the door.
He told the sentry at the cabin door: "Her Altitude feels udwell, ad seds word that od do accout is she to be disturbed. By boat, please?"
He returned to his own ship filled with an odd bubbly elation, despite the peril in which he stood, as if in quelling the queen he had also defeated his own mother once and for all.
On the Junsar's deck he found Tangaloa, who began, "I've been looking for you…"
"Matter of fact I've been looking for you too. We've got to get out of here. Alvandi thinks she's going to massacre all those surrendered Sunqaruma from Qirib and make me her son-in-law, complete with chopping block."
"My God, what shall we do then? Where is the old bat?**
"Tied up in her closet. Let's load Igor into our boat and— let me see—the Yars is at the mouth of the channel, isn't it? We'll row down there. You distract Alvandi's girl warriors while I arrange with Vizqash—I mean Gizil—to take over the Yars and sail back to Novorecife."
"With the ex-pirates as crew?"
"Why not? They're homeless men who'll probably be glad of our leadership. They'll believe me when I tell 'em I've switched
to their side rather than let 'em be killed, because that's the sort of damn-fool thing the real Snyol would do."
"Good-o!" said the xenologist. They hurried below.
"Get me a pair of handcuffs," Barnevelt told the sergeant-at-arms. With these they went into the brig, where Shtain sat apathetically upon his bunk.
"Put out your hands," said Barnevelt, and snapped the cuffs on Shtain's wrists. "Now come."
Shtain, who had sunk into a torpor, shambled back up on deck with them and over the side into the longboat.
"Pull down the channel to the Yars," Barnevelt told his rowers. "Quietly."
"How did you avoid a whiff of that nuit d'amour perfume while you were tussling with the queen?" asked Tangaloa. When Barnevelt told him he laughed. "I'll be damned! That is the first time I ever heard of a bloke being saved from a fate worse than death by feathers!"
To facilitate loading, a small floating pier had been towed down the channel and made fast to the side of the Yars. The rowboat pulled up to this, and its passengers got out.
The sentry on the pier flashed her lantern towards them and challenged, then said, "I crave pardon, General Snyol. Oh, Taggo! Girls, 'tis Taggo come to sport with us!"
"So that's what they call you?" said Barnevelt. "Try to inveigle 'em into the deckhouse. Tell 'em you'll teach 'em strip poker or something." He raised his voice. "Admiral Gizil!"
"Here I be. What would you, General Snyol?"
"Come down here and I'll tell you. It's all right, girls— everything's under control. Go topside and play with Taggo while I hold a conference."
The Krishnan dropped lightly from the rail of the Yars to the pier. When the Amazons were out of earshot, Barnevelt told him what had happened.
Gizil struck his palm with his fist. "A prime fool I, not to have thought of such waggery! Now that we know, what's to be done? Here lie we with nought but eating knives to fight with, under guard, surrounded by unfriendly ships. What's to stop them from working their will upon us?"
"I'll stop them."
"You?"
"Yes. Will you and your men follow me?"
"You mean you'll take our side instead of theirs, solely on a matter of honor?"
"Certainly. After all I am who I am," said Barnevelt, using a favorite Krishnan cliche.
"Let me grasp your thumb, sir! For now I do perceive that, though you be no more Snyol of Pleshch than I, but a vagrant Earthman, yet have you the true spirit that rumor credits to the noble Nyame. Fear not. Your secret's safe with me. 'Twas for such urgency as this I did withhold it in the council with your admirals. What's to be done?"
"When Tagde gets those women in the cabin, we'll call a conference with your officers—have you still got an organization?"
"Of sorts."
"We'll tell them what's up, and at the proper time we'll bar the cabin door, cut the mooring lines, and shove off. If anybody asks questions I'll handle 'em."
From the cabin came sounds of ribald revelry. Barnevelt reflected that discipline had surely gone to hell in the fleet in the last few hours, but he supposed that was a natural let-down after the tension of the campaign.
The word was passed. Barnevelt added, "Assign the men to the benches and have 'em get their oars ready to thrust through the ports. The first man who drops an oar gets left. Who's got a sharp knife? Cut the ropes and push the pier away with a boathook. The first pair of oars out first… Cut the lines to the weed… Now row. Softly—just enough force to move the ship… Here, stuff rags into the ports to deaden the sound. No rags? Use your women's clothes. If they object, smack 'em… That's right. Now another pair… Take that kid below…"
As the Yars crept snail-like out into the fairway and down the channel, a hail came from close aboard.
"What is it?" asked Barnevelt, peering over the rail at the ship they were passing. A man's head showed in the light of a riding lantern. "I'm Snyol of Pleshch, and all's well."
"Oh, my lord Snyol… I thought… Be that not the Yars, with the pirate prisoners?"
"It's the Yars, but with her regular crew. The prisoners haven't been put aboard yet, and we're going out for a practice row."
"But I saw them filing aboard this afternoon…"
"You saw them boarding the Minyan of Sotaspe, where they'll be quartered for the time being. There she lies now!" He pointed up-channel towards the vague black mass of hulls.
"Well," said the man in a puzzled tone, "if ye say all's well, it must be so."
And the ship dropped astern to mingle with the rest of the fleet.
"Whew!" said Barnevelt. "Right rudder—steady as you go. All oars out. Number three port, you're fouling up the stroke! Now pull! Stroke! Stroke!"
They issued from the mouth of the channel, leaving behind the mass of the allied navy moored along the edges of the terpahla, the ships' lanterns showing like a swarm of fireflies frozen in position. As the breeze still blew from the south, Barnevelt ordered the sails set wing-and-wing to take full advantage of it and turned the Yars north. Under the blanketing overcast, the Sunqar receded into the darkness.
Barnevelt watched it go with mixed feelings. If their luck held, they'd stop at Majbur and then go straight up the Pichide to Novorecife, where he'd pay off the Sunqaruma.
Sometimes he thought he was tired of blue-green hair and olive-tinted skins, bright skimpy clothes, clanking cutlery, and windy speeches delivered with swaggering gestures in rolling, rhythmic, guttural Gozashtandou. He glanced towards where Sol would be were it visible. New York with its labyrinthine tangle of transportation, its suave eating and drinking and living places, and its swift wisecracking conversation, would look good…
Or would it? He'd be returning to a New York almost twenty-five years older than the one he'd left. Although his friends and relatives, thanks to modern geriatrics, would mostly be still alive and not much aged, they'd have scattered and forgotten him. He'd be separated from them by a whole generation, and it would take him a year just to get oriented again. Shortly before he left, he'd bought a hat of the new steeple-crowned shape. Now such hats were probably as archaic as derbies—which might in their turn have been revived. He understood why people like Shtain and Tangaloa, who made a business of interstellar trips, formed a clique of their own.
And his mother would probably be there. While he had accomplished the tasks formally set him—to solve the Sunqar mystery, rescue Shtain, and fulfill the Cosmic Features contract—he had not yet solved his personal problems. Or rather he'd solved his mother problem by removing himself light-years away from her, but his impending return would cancel that solution.
He also suffered an odd feeling of loss, as if he were missing a chance. One of his old professors had once told him that a young man should obey the romantic impulse at least once:
"Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring Your Winter garment of Repentance fling…"
As by telling his boss to go to hell, or by joining a radical political movement. And here he was, letting prudence and foresight get the better of him.
On the other hand, George's suggestion that he bring a creature of another species to Earth and live with her there daunted him utterly. Such,a life would be just too damned complicated for him to cope with, especially if his mother…
At least, he swore, this time he'd use his head in his relations with his crew: Be kind and affable, but firm and consistent, allowing no undue familiarity.
Gizil came up to report. Barnevelt asked, "Weren't you the masked man I conked with the mug in Jazmurian?"
Gizil grinned shamefacedly. "I hoped your lordship had not recognized me, but such is indeed the fact. I was to make a disturbance—as ye saw me do by picking a quarrel with the Osirian—while Gavao did drug your drink, but the lard-head must have doctored his own by error. 'Twas like an imbecile Balhibu so to do."
"Were you really going to kill Sishen?"
"No-o, I suppose not, though it did my liver good to see the eldrich monster quake with fear."
"One would
think you didn't like Osirians, though you worked for one."
"Perforce—for once having clamped his claws upon our helm, Sheafase gained such power over us by his fascinative talents that there was no shaking him, though many of us privately opined his reckless course would bring us to disaster, as indeed it did. Had the dice of Da'vi not turned up a double blank, thus terminating his existence, he'd have compelled us to the last man to resist."
"What were you trying to do to Tagde and me?"
"To abduct, or failing that to slay. I trust you'll hold it not against us, for we did but as Sheafase commanded—commands we could not shirk for the mental grip he held upon us. By his acquaintanceship with Earth, he knew full well the plans of Igor Eshtain the Sunqar to explore, and laid his gins accordingly."
Gizil went on to explain the inner workings of the janru ring, an organization that included Earthmen, Osirians, and Krishnans—how they had kidnaped Shtain and put him under pseudo-hypnosis on Earth; how they had planted Gizil, under the name of Vizqash, at Novorecife to watch for people sniffing on Shtain's trail, and so on.
"… one of the heads of the ring is an officer on that Viagens ship—a chivenjinir, I think they call—what's that?"
Pandemonium from the cabin announced that the Amazons now knew they had been deceived.
Two ten-nights later, the Yars put in to bustling Majbur, having been blown out of her course by the tail of the season's first hurricane and having twice fled from unidentified fleets on the horizon.
Barnevelt and Tangaloa went ashore, dragging Shtain between them and leaving Gizil in charge of the ship. Barnevelt had come to have a good deal of respect for the ex-pirate, despite the Krishnan's lordly airs, predatory past, and assorted attempts to murder him.
They proceeded to the office of Gorbovast, official agent in Majbur of King Eqrar of Gozashtand and unofficial agent for the Viagens Interplanetarias.
"By all the gods!" cried Gorbovast, startled out of his habitual suavity. "The Free City's fleet arrived two days agone with a wild and wondrous tale of how you twain did lead the allied fleet to triumph over the Sunqar and then, over some darksome dispute with old Alvandi, did truss her like an unha on the way to market, steal a ship of Suruskand manned by pirate prisoners, and vanish into air attenuate. And here you be! What led a wight of proven probity to turn his coat in such amazing fashion?"
The Hand of Zei Page 10
