He hadn't wanted to bring her, but she'd been persuasive. If the purpose was to convince the Shalnuksis that Armagh was the principal seat of Rick's holdings, they would expect his wife to be there; and if at the castle, then why not to meet the ship when it landed? "Would they think me afraid?" she asked. "Or that you would marry one who feared them?"
He'd had-no answer to that. Perhaps it would help if she came. Perhaps not. He had no way of knowing how much they could find out from orbit. Certainly Armagh appeared to be an important place. At the moment the castle was crammed from rafters to cellars with household goods, supplies, animals, and people. There were courtiers and cooks, administrators and acolytes, scribes and scullerymaids, judges, journeymen, apprentices, and masters of nearly every trade; even two dozen of the Children of Vothan in training for domestic service, and several of their teachers.
There was nothing better than oil lamps and bonfires for light, but even so, Armagh ought to be visible from orbit. Every room and courtyard blazed as they celebrated the news of the great victory. The Westmen were driven from the land, and even now the Alliance army was escorting them northwards, out of Drantos, into the wild lands to the northwest, lands nominally part of Drantos but long ago claimed by Margilos on the one hand and the Five Kingdoms on the other. Let the High Rexja have both the disputed lands and the Westmen. Perhaps it would keep him too busy to annoy Drantos.
One problem down, another to go. The flying saucer didn't look like doing anything. Gingerly Rick detached Tylara's hand from his arm and walked toward the craft. "Hi!" he called. "Hello, the ship."
It could have been the ship that brought him to Tran. Certainly it was more like that than like the sleek craft that had rescued the mercenaries from their African hilltop. Even in the dim light of the Demon Star he could see that the hull showed stains, patches, and dents. There were bulges and flutings in random places on its surface. Les had once told them the ship that brought them to Tran was chartered; perhaps this one was also, or it might have been the same ship.
The whine muted and died, and the ship settled more heavily on its large circular landing feet. There were small crackling noises as it crushed the fragrant Tran shrubbery. A small square opened near the saucer's top, and the hillside was bathed in yellow light. Rick moved closer, carefully keeping his hands away from the.45 in its shoulder holster.
A rectangular hatchway opened into a gangway. The inside of the ship was bright with the yellow light the Shalnuksis seemed to favor. Rick could see crates and packages, a lot of them, many painted olive drab.
"Good evening, Captain Galloway." The voice boomed out unexpectedly, startling Rick. It was the same cold, impersonal voice he'd heard on the transceiver. It sounded like a recording, or perhaps like something synthesized on a computer. Its tones told him nothing about the person-or being-who spoke.
"Good evening," he said. He was surprised at how dry his mouth had gotten.
"You see we have brought your-supplies. Have you brought the-work crew-as instructed?"
"Yes."
"Excellent. Have them bring the surinomaz." The hatchway Rick was watching closed, and another, smaller doorway, leading into a much smaller compartment, opened about 45 degrees around the base of the ship. "Captain, you will oblige us by remaining where you are, while others bring the surinomaz."
He felt rather than heard Tylara come up behind him. Then she took his arm. "We will stand here together," she said softly.
"A-noble sentiment," the impersonal voice said. "Very well. Instruct your crew to hurry. They are to carry no metal into the ship. Is that understood?"
"Right." He turned to face down the hill. "Elliot, get the stuff loaded in that open compartment. Make sure the troops leave all their metal behind. Daggers, armor, everything. Make it sharp."
"Sir! All right, you sons, move it." There was a cacophony of sounds from lower down the hill, then Elliot's voice rose above the chatter. "Move it now, or by Vothan you'll be in the madweed fields before the True Sun is high! Move!"
The clerks and apprentices scurried up the hill. They were led by Apelles, who looked like a man not entirely successful at trying to be brave. None of them had been armed, so it didn't take them long to shed all of their metal. Then they carried the semi-refined madweed into the small cargo compartment.
"It is not a large amount," Rick shouted. "The rogue star isn't close enough yet. Next year is supposed to be a better crop."
"We know," the ship answered.
Rick and Tylara watched as the cargo was loaded. Finally Apelles came out and signalled they were done.
"Now stand clear," the voice called. The compartment door closed. The whining noise rose in pitch.
"I had thought they had goods for us," Tylara said.
"Will it rise now?"
"I don't know," Rick said. He turned away from the ship.
"Remain there, Captain. If you please." This time the voice sounded different.
Rick stood with Tylara for what seemed a long time. Then the first compartment door opened again.
"Your men may now begin to unload. They will stay on this side of the ship, and they will not carry weapons. You will remain where you are."
"All right. Elliot, move 'em."
This time there was no argument from the work crew. The clerks and apprentices sweated and strained to get the boxes outside the ship. Others brought up mules and began to lash gear on their pack saddles.
Rick could see most of the cargo as it came out.
A lot of it was ammunition. One crate was labelled
"Armor, Body, Ballistic Nylon, Personal Protective."
Another was unmistakably Johnny Walker Black, and two more bore Meyers Jamaica Rum labels. There was a case of Camel cigarettes.
Elliot came out grinning. He was holding a portable typewriter. "Carbon paper, too!" he shouted in triumph. "And a Carl Gustav recoilless."
"Just like Christmas," Rick answered with a grin. He didn't move from his place in the circle of light. "Tylara-they didn't say you have to stay here," he said softly.
"They did not," she answered.
"Hey, I love you."
"I think perhaps you do," she said. She squeezed his arm.
"Talisker Scotch!" Elliot shouted. "And Rennault fifty-year-old cognac! Can't say they don't pay for what they get!"
Oh, they pay, Rick thought. They understand about not binding the mouths of the kine that tread the grain. But they won't take us home, and they gave us damned little choice about coming here.
The ship was unloaded, and most of the gear sent down the mountain on mules. The hatch closed, but the bright light from near the top of the ship continued to flood the bill with yellow light. Then the whine rose in pitch and became louder and louder. The ship seemed to lift slightly. It hung for a second, then rose swiftly and almost vertically into the dark sky.
"It is gone," Tylara whispered. "I had-you had told me. But until I saw-"
Rick laughed. "I know," he said. "Back on Earth I wouldn't have believed it." And I knew about airplanes, and radio, and- "Rick." Tylara spoke quietly, but there was an urgent note in her voice. She tilted her head. "Look." His eyes had not yet adjusted to the dark, and at first he couldn't see what had alarmed her. Then it became clear. There was a man standing beyond where the ship had been. He wore a Burberry raincoat and Irish tweed hat, and beside him stood a plain Samsonite suitcase. An instrument about the size of a small briefcase hung from a strap over his left shoulder. It glowed with faint lights from dials on its face.
The man waved. "Hello, Captain," he said.
It was Les.
"He is but a man," Tylara whispered.
"Yes. He is the human pilot who brought us to Tran."
"You know him-then he is-"