"I will buy Assalah."
Kissur was silent. The birds fluttered out of the grass, a lost cow mooed far away in the field, and the sun, round like a pumpkin, rolled above the Earthman's and the Empire ex-first minister's heads.
"What did the clerks do? The ones bankrupted by you?"
"What clerks?"
"Well, these…" Kissur clicked his fingers, "general directors."
"Nothing. They are civilized people."
"Now remember this, Bemish. I will help you. But, if you do as Shavash said, I will shoot you."
Kissur got up and walked down the road.
Richard Giles, the IC company representative, found the finance vice-minister, Shavash, performing a ceremony. Shavash walked stately around the new building of Adako bank carrying in his hands a golden basin, with a burning candle floating on a splinter, and two dozen children in the identical silk clothes followed him with the same candles in their arms.
Numerous gapers enjoyed the view.
Shavash entered the building, sluiced water on the marble floor and, with the proper words, handed the basin to the new bank's president — his good friend's nephew.
When the ceremony finished in five minutes, Shavash withdrew to the future director's office. Giles followed him. Shavash dropped the billowing silk vestment and an impeccable white suit underneath revealed itself.
"Oh, that's you, Dick," he said. "Welcome here, how didn't I see you at the ceremony start?"
"I flew to Assalah," Giles replied dryly. "Bemish was also there."
"He is in his right," Shavash shrugged his shoulders. "You have to agree, if the company wants to participate in the auction, its general director can visit a spaceport."
"We had an agreement that he would not take part in the auction."
"A man can't fulfill all his promises," Shavash explained, "especially, if the other offer is better."
Giles swore glumly and said. "Damn it, if we pay a dinar per share, we can't afford somebody else applying for the auction!"
"I regret, but you will have to raise the price. Terence Bemish is offering seven point seven dinars — just raise the price."
"I didn't pay you, Shavash, to pay for the shares. Kick Bemish out."
"I am sorry," Shavash said, "but Bemish is a Kissur's protege. If we show him the door, Kissur will complain to the sovereign. Do you want a second Kaminsky scandal?"
"Enraged Giles silently slammed the door. His friend was waiting for him in the corridor.
"So?"
"The damned briber!" the enraged Earthman hissed, "Kissur's protege, my ass! Do you know who got the officials' signatures on the papers when they were all drunk? Kissur? Devil's spawn! Kissur was lying with a wench — Shavash was getting the signatures! He will now harry us with this Bemish till we pay three dinars for a share."
By four o'clock, Bemish was fatigued. The road was dusty and covered with potholes, the spaceport disappeared a long time ago behind the endless flat fields and the rows of olive trees, planted next to the road so that the dust settled on olives and they ripened faster. They made at least twenty five miles, not including the morning spaceport trip. Bemish was tired as a dog and was slowly getting nuts — what is Kissur trying to prove? That he walks on foot better than Bemish? It comes as no surprise in a man who fought in a country with motorized divisions consisting of one horsepower units! The temptation to make it all clear to Kissur was pretty strong. But Bemish still kept silence and dragged himself after the ex-minister like a dog's tail.
By the evening, Bemish and Kissur reached a local village and came in a tavern. Both wanderers were dirty up to their ears and looked so unprepossessing, that the host didn't even move seeing them at the entrance. Only, when Kissur sat at the table and bellowed, did he amble to the visitors. Kissur inspected the geese the host offered, demanded to grill one of them and ordered, additionally, mushroom sauce, appetizers and wine.
The goose soon appeared in front of the travelers in the grilled state and it was impossible to recognize — such an appetizing crust covered it and so cheerfully did the goose fat drip down in the steaming rice plate. The travelers embarked on the food and, though Bemish was very hungry, he soon realized that he had no chance holding his own with Kissur. They conversed in English. Bemish noticed suddenly that Kissur was trying to not to bang his spoon on the plate and was listening to the conversation between two poorly dressed peasants — they were scraping rice quickly out of their plates with their heads down. Finally Kissur couldn't hold it, he bid them come to the table, handed over some goose and started to ask questions. Bemish, being barely able to understand a few words, inquired what the problem was.
"These are the peasants from the second village," Kissur said, "and they are going to the manor's headman. Two years ago, their father became sick and they borrowed money from the headman for medical treatment, at first, and then for the funeral. In two years, the interest grew to match the original loan size. At that point, the headman sent his servants to the village and took their sister as a loan payment. The guys went to their relatives to borrow money but it didn't work out and they are going to the headman again." They were silent for a while.
"What about the shares," Bemish wondered. "Did you ask them about the shares?"
"They don't know what shares are," Kissur replied, "if you mean the red paper pieces they were issued for their land, they gave it to the headman as a name day gift."
"But they cost ten isheviks a share even now!" Bemish exclaimed involuntarily, totally forgetting a vodka crock.
The peasants swung their heads nervously, listening to two bums talking — they were clearly speaking some thief's argot — the peasants couldn't make a single word out! Kissur pulled a wad of money out of his pants, counted two hundred isheviks and gave them to the older guy.
"Hold it," he said, "that's for your sister's bail." The peasant's eyes bulged out at the bum, he fell down on his knees and started kissing the earth in front of Kissur, till Kissur threw him outside.
"Where are we going now?" Bemish asked when the peasants left.
Kissur opened his dirty coat's flap, making sure that the gun was still there, and said, "Let's spend a night in the manor where the sister was taken to."
By the late evening, tired as a dog Bemish slogged after Kissur to a hilltop crowned by a toothy tarred fence. Upon the travelers' arrival, a gate appeared in the fence and a servant with a flashlight and an assault rifle appeared in the gate.
"Talk," Kissur elbowed Bemish.
"I… our… sleep," Bemish started.
The servant raised his flashlight a bit, realized that he was dealing with the foreigners that understood the human speech worse than dogs and let them into the manor with hardly a word.
It's should be pointed out, that the headman, in the manor they came to, was an awful man. He fleeced the peasants mercilessly, traded in girls, purchased stolen goods and ruled a racketeering gang. He had a great relationship with the regional authorities. At the same time, he attempted to look honorable. Fleecing the peasants, he always referred to the manor owner's merciless orders. Since the local peasants were really dumb, it had never even come to their mind to complain to the manor's owner, living in the capital and totally ignorant of all these depravities. In such a simple way the headman persuaded the peasants that he was their protector.
So, Kissur and Bemish found a place in a hay bale inside the cattle yard and watched the peasants come to the meeting hall. The headman even came out to meet them.
"I am so sorry about this," he declared, "but I have already sent your sister to the lord in the capital, so there is no way to get her back. If the lord likes her, you are lucky — maybe he will agree to forgive you the rest of your debt."