Now he saw that wasn't the case, although the other fishes, by their size and formidable appearance, didn't look any more pleasant to meet. There was a large crustacean resembling a giant armored scorpion with a lobster tail that looked able to propel it forward as well as back. He was intrigued by a small version of the plesiosaur they'd rammed, and a very ordinary-looking shark. He'd thought sharks wouldn't stand a chance in these far more lethal waters, and he suspected they weren't the dominant predators he'd always known them to be.
He glanced behind and saw that the procession was growing more boisterous, but it wasn't as large anymore. Many of Big Sal's crew had been tempted away by diversions or acquaintances. There was still quite a throng, and city dwellers caroused along with them as they made their way toward a massive edifice, squat in comparison to others but much broader and more imposing. It rested on considerably higher stilts than the buildings nearby, and growing up through the center and out through the top was a truly stupendous tree.
At its base, the procession finally halted and the crowd noises diminished. Keje stepped forward and raised his hands, palms forward. When he spoke, Chack quietly translated as best he could.
"Greetings, Nakja-Mur, High Chief of Baalkpan!" Keje's voice seemed unnaturally loud now that everyone nearby was silent."I am Keje-Fris-Ar, High Chief of Salissa Home, come from the Southern Sea with mighty friends, trade, and tales to tell. May we come aboard for counsel?"
There was a moment of silence, then a powerful voice from an unseen source boomed at them from above.
"Come aboard, and welcome, Brother. It is long since Salissa Home visited these waters, and some of your tale has arrived before you. Come, eat and drink and tell me your tale. Bring these mighty friends of yours.
I would meet them!"
Adar glanced back at them and suddenly spoke urgently to Keje. Keje looked at them and seemed to hesitate, but then clapped Adar on the back and scampered up the rope ladder that was, apparently, the only way up.
Adar looked at them again with what might have been uncertainty, but then followed his leader. Matt motioned for Sandra to make the twenty-foot climb and with a smile she grasped the ropes and started up. Matt would have sworn he hadn't consciously considered it when he suggested she go first, but he caught himself watching the shapely nurse ascending the ladder above and for a moment he was almost mesmerized. The white stockings didn't hide her athletic legs, and the way her hips swished from side to side at the bottom of her wasp-thin waist . . . He shook his head and looked away, vaguely ashamed, and saw all the other men watching as well. He coughed loudly and meaningfully and gestured Chack closer.
"How come these people build everything so high off the ground?"
Chack looked at him blankly, then his eyelids fluttered with amusement and he grinned. "Is, ah, tradition? Yes. Remind us of old ways. Also, keep dry when high water. Bad land lizards not climb good, too."
Matt grinned back at him. "Makes sense to me!" With that, he made his own way up.
Large as it was, Captain Reddy never imagined that the enormous hall he entered would possibly hold all who came along, but it did—as well as an equal number of locals. The size and shape reminded him of an oversized basketball court, dimly lit by oil lamps that exuded a pleasant, if somewhat fishy smell. Huge beams supported the vaulted ceiling and great gaudy tapestries lined the walls, stirring gently with the soft breeze from banks of open shutters. Dominating the center of the hall, the trunk of the massive Galla tree disappeared into the gloom above. Except for the size of the tree and the height of the ceiling, it looked like the Great Hall on Big Sal. Matt guessed there were close to five hundred occupants, talking animatedly, and for the moment, no one paid them any heed.
Along one wall, a long bar was laid with colorful dishes heaped with food. Every ten feet or so was a cluster of copper pitchers containing a dark amber liquid that smelled like honey and bread. Matt saw others grab pitchers and begin to drink, so he seized one each for himself and Sandra. Bradford took one too, but when the other destroyermen moved in that direction, Lieutenant Garrett scowled and shook his head. Matt peered into his pitcher and sipped experimentally. He looked at Bradford, surprised.
"Tastes . . . sort of like beer," he said. "Not bad, either." Sandra took a tentative sip and Bradford raised his mug. A moment later, he lowered it and smacked his lips.
"Ahhh! Beer! We've more in common with these Lemurians than we ever dreamed! I'd think the alcohol content is rather high as well."
Matt glanced at Garrett and the security detachment and felt a pang of remorse. They looked at him like dogs watching him eat. "Go ahead, men, but just one mug apiece. Mr. Garrett? See to it. All we need now is drunken sailors!" He and Sandra politely moved along the bar with the crowd, sampling small dishes here and there. The spices were different and some were quite brutal. Many of Big Sal 's 'Cats proudly pointed out this or that and made suggestions, but most of the locals just watched, wide-eyed.
"Cap-i-taan Riddy!"
Matt turned toward the somewhat familiar voice and faced Kas-Ra-Ar, Keje's cousin, and captain of his personal guard.
"Com plees."
Bradford had obviously been as busy teaching English on Big Sal as Chack had been learning it on Walker.
"By all means," Matt replied. "Mr. Garrett? Please supervise our protectors. Lieutenant Tucker, Mr. Bradford, would you accompany me?"
They followed Kas through the boisterous throng, threading their way down the far side, away from the buffet. At the other end of the hall, they came to a less-packed space, where Keje and Adar stood near a seated figure dressed in flowing robes of red and gold. The figure was easily the fattest Lemurian they'd seen, but he gave no impression of sedentary weakness. His dark fur was sleek and shiny with just a hint of silver, and he radiated an aura of strength and power despite the massive stomach his hands laid upon. He regarded them with keen, intelligent eyes as they approached and raised his hand palm outward and thundered a greeting in his own tongue.
Matt returned the gesture, and the Lemurian's eyes flicked to the sword at his side. Keje spoke quickly in Nakja-Mur's ear. While the Lemurian chief watched them, unblinking, Adar translated to Courtney Bradford.
"Never has he seen someone make the Sign of the Empty Hand when that person's hand wasn't empty. I believe he's referring to your sword, old boy."
Matt glanced with surprise at the sheathed ceremonial weapon. They'd worn the swords—as before—to seem less exotic. It hadn't occurred to him that it might cause trouble. Keje would have warned them if they were committing some terrible breach of convention. Wouldn't he? He thought quickly. "Tell him my hand is empty. Among our people, only the unsheathed weapon is a threat because it shows intent. The sign is given as a token of friendship and reflects more the intent than the actual fact."
"It is a lie, then?" came the question. Keje seemed uncomfortable and Adar radiated an air of vindication. Matt felt a surge of anger and wondered if they'd been set up. Sandra unobtrusively squeezed his arm.
"Tell him it's not a lie. We came here as friends, as we came to the aid of Salissa Home. We'd like to be the friends of all the People. Since our intentions are friendly, not making the sign would have been a lie. Among our people, friends may go among one another armed and still remain friends. Is that not the case among his?"