“I don’t know any of those answers,” the militiaman said. “The people I spoke with in Tartesh wouldn’t tell me.” His eyes flicked to Peggol. “I suppose they didn’t care to be too public, either.”
“No doubt,” Peggol said. “Now we have to act as normally as we can, not letting on that we’ll have visitors in the morning.”
“I’d have an easier time acting normal if I knew I wouldn’t be wearing thumbscrews tomorrow,” Radnal said.
“After such ordeals, the Hereditary Tyrant generously compensates innocents,” Peggol said.
“The Hereditary Tyrant is generous.” That was all Radnal could say while talking to an Eye and Ear. But silver, while it worked wonders, didn’t fully make up for terror and pain and, sometimes, permanent injury. The tour guide preferred remaining as he was to riches and a limp.
Liem remarked, “Keeping things from the tourists won’t be hard. Look what they’re doing.”
Radnal turned, looked, and snorted. His charges had turned the area marked off with red cones into a little game field. All of them except prim Golobol ran around throwing somebody’s sponge rubber ball back and forth and trying to tackle one another. If their sport had rules, Radnal couldn’t figure them out.
Moblay Sopsirk’s son, stubborn if unwise, kept his yen for Evillia and Lofosa. Careless of the abrasions to his nearly naked hide, he dragged Lofosa into the dirt. When she stood up, her tunic was missing some of its big gold buttons. She remained indifferent to the flesh she exposed. Moblay had got grit in his eyes and stayed on the ground a while.
Evillia lost buttons, too; Toglo zev Pamdal’s belt broke, as did Nocso zev Martois’. Toglo capered with one hand holding her robes closed. Nocso didn’t bother. Watching her jounce up and down the improvised pitch, Radnal wished she were modest and Toglo otherwise.
Fer vez Canthal asked, “Shall I get supper started?”
“Get the coals going, but wait for the rest,” Radnal said. “They’re having such a good time, they might as well enjoy themselves. They won’t have any fun tomorrow.”
“Neither will we,” Fer answered. Radnal grimaced and nodded.
Benter vez Maprab tackled Eltsac vez Martois and stretched the bigger, younger man in the dust. Benter sprang to his feet, swatted Evillia on the backside. She spun round in surprise.
“The old fellow has life in him yet,” Peggol said, watching Eltsac rise, one hand pressed to a bloody nose.
“So he does.” Radnal watched Benter. He might be old, but he was spry. Maybe he could have broken Dokhnor of Kellef’s neck. Was losing a game of war reason enough? Or was he playing the same deeper game as Dokhnor?
Only when the sun slid behind the Barrier Mountains and dusk enfolded the lodge did the tourists give up their sport. The cones shone with a soft pink phosphorescent glow of their own. Toglo tossed the ball to Evillia, saying, “I’m glad you got this out, freelady. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much — and so foolishly — in a long time.”
“I thought it would be a good way for us to unwind after riding and sitting around,” Evillia answered.
She had a point. If Radnal ever led tourists down here again — if the lodge wasn’t buried under thousands of cubits of sea — he’d have to remember to bring along a ball himself. He frowned in self-reproach. He should have thought of that on his own instead of stealing the idea from someone in his group.
“If I was thirsty before, I’m drier than the desert now,” Moblay boomed. “Where’s that ale?”
“I’ll open the refrigerator,” Zosel vez Glesir said. “Who else wants something?” He cringed from the hot, sweaty tourists who dashed his way. “Come, my friends! If you squash me, who will get the drinks?”
“We’ll manage somehow,” Eltsac vez Martois said, the first sensible remark he’d made.
Fer vez Canthal had the coals in the firepit glowing red. Zosel fetched a cut-up pig carcass and a slab of beef ribs. Radnal started to warn him about going through the stored food so prodigally, but caught himself. If people fell into the interrogators’ hands tomorrow, no need to worry about the rest of the tour.
Radnal ate heartily, and joined in songs after supper. He managed to forget for hundreds of heartbeats what awaited when morning came. But every so often, realization came flooding back. Once his voice faltered so suddenly that Toglo glanced over to see what had happened. He smiled sheepishly and tried to do better.
Then he looked at her. He couldn’t imagine her being connected with the plot to flood the Bottomlands. He had trouble imagining Eyes and Ears interrogating her as they would anyone else. But he hadn’t thought they would risk international incidents to question foreign tourists, either. Maybe that meant he didn’t grasp how big the emergency was. If so, Toglo might be at as much risk as anyone.
Horken vez Sofana, the circumstances man from the Trench Park militia, came up to the tour guide. “I was told you wanted Benter vez Maprab’s saddlebags searched, freeman vez Krobir. I found — these.” He held out his hand.
“How interesting. Wait here, Senior Trooper vez Sofana.” Radnal walked over to where Benter was sitting, tapped him on the shoulder. “Would you please join me, freeman?”
“What is it?” Benter growled, but he came back with Radnal.
The tour guide said, “I’d like to hear how these red-veined orchids” — he pointed to the plants in Horken vez Sofana’s upturned palm-“appeared in your saddlebags. Removal of any plants or animals, especially rare varieties like these, is punishable by fine, imprisonment, stripes, or all three.”
Benter vez Maprab’s mouth opened and closed silently. He tried again: “I–I would have raised them carefully, freeman vez Krobir.” He was so used to complaining himself, he did not know how to react when someone complained of him — and caught him in the wrong.
Triumph turned hollow for Radnal. What were a couple of red-veined orchids when the whole Bottomlands might drown? The tour guide said, “We’ll confiscate these, freeman vez Maprab. Your gear will be searched again when you leave Trench Park. If we find no more contraband, we’ll let this pass. Otherwise — I’m sure I need not paint you a picture.”
“Thank you — very kind.” Benter fled.
Horken vez Sofana sent Radnal a disapproving look. “You let him off too lightly.”
“Maybe, but the interrogators will take charge of him tomorrow.”
“Hmm. Compared to everything else, stealing plants isn’t such a big thing.”
“Just what I was thinking. Maybe we ought to give them back to the old lemonface so they’ll be somewhere safe if — well, you know the ifs.”
“Yes.” The circumstances man looked thoughtful. “If we gave them back now, he’d wonder why. We don’t want that, either. Too bad, though.”
“Yes.” Discovering he worried about saving tiny pieces of Trench Park made Radnal realize he’d begun to believe in the starbomb.
The tourists began going off to their sleeping cubicles. Radnal envied their ignorance of what lay ahead. He hoped Evillia and Lofosa would visit him in the quiet darkness, and didn’t care what the Eyes and Ears and militiamen thought. The body had its own sweet forgetfulness.
But the body had its own problems, too. Both women from Krepalga started trotting back and forth to the privy every quarter of a daytenth, sometimes even more than that. “It must have been something I ate,” Evillia said, leaning wearily against the doorpost after her third trip. “Do you have a constipant?”
“The aid kit should have some.” Radnal rummaged through it, found the orange pills he wanted. He brought them to her with a paper cup of water. “Here.”
“Thank you.” She popped the pills into her mouth, drained the cup, threw back her head to swallow. “I hope they help.”
“So do I.” Radnal had trouble keeping his voice casual. When she’d straightened to take the constipant, her left breast popped out of her tunic. “Freelady, I think you have fewer buttons than you did when the game ended.”