"Be calm, Poertena," the big Mardukan snorted. "Next you'll think these brainless females are giving us tips!" He gestured at the nearest one, who was slowly shuffling along in a squat, sweeping the floor with nothing more than a handful of barleyrice straw while she crooned and murmured tunelessly to herself.
A group of the simpleminded peasant women had been sent in the previous day to clean and had stayed. Not surprisingly; they were treated better among the humans than anywhere else in the city. But in the short time they'd been there, while the company waited for word on what the king intended, the inoffensive little creatures had faded into the background.
Poertena looked up at Tratan's gesture, and snorted.
"I don't t'ink so," he said.
The small, retiring Mardukan noted their regard and ducked her head, raising the volume of her croon slightly, and Poertena grunted a laugh and started to look back at his cards, then paused as his toot's translation program started to cycle. The system had tried to react to his unconscious desire to listen to the words of the song and detected that it was in an unknown dialect. He started to disengage the translation protocol's furious cycling, but decided to let it finish the run when the first phrase to pop out was "stupid man."
He hid a chuckle and picked at the program. The tiny female, very little more than normal human height, was apparently cursing the three Mardukan tribesmen.
"O, most stupid of men, am I not singing in your language? "Look at me, just a glance is all I ask. "I dare not call attention, for there may be spies among my fellows. "But I am the only one who knows your language, "You stupid, foolish, gutless, idiotic men. "Will you not listen to me that your prince might live?"
Poertena wasn't quite certain how he managed to keep a straight face as he shifted from humor to panic, but he was a long-experienced negotiator, and that experience wasn't limited to legal goods and services. Individuals had made clandestine contact with him in public places before, and as soon as he realized the song was an attempt to do just that, he probed the translation program.
The problem was that the female was not using language of The People. Nor was she using the dialect of Q'Nkok, which was very similar. Instead, she was using a third dialect which was significantly different, and between those differences and the fact that she was trying to avoid calling anyone else's attention to herself, the three tribesmen had been totally oblivious to her.
"The problem is you language, O silly female," Poertena said. The translator, noting who the target of the statement was, automatically used the odd dialect. "They do no' speak it. So, who is tee foolish one, I ask you?"
"Ah," she sang. "I had wondered how any three boys could be so stupid. It is the language of the city you have passed through, a city restored." The song was almost atonal and, sung in a whisper, it could have been a lullaby in an unknown language. No threat. Despite that, the contact shifted to a completely wordless hum as another female passed through carrying a tray of food. She let the other female draw out of earshot, then glanced up discreetly while she continued her aimless sweeping.
"Move it or lose it," Cranla said, thumping on the table, and Poertena jerked out of his reverie and threw a card without even looking at it.
"Hey, partner," Denat began with a snarl, "what—"
"No, no, no table talk," Tratan chuckled as he covered the king with a spade. "Gotcha."
"Su', su'," Poertena said quietly. "We jus' stopped playing anyway. We gonna continue to throw cards until t'is hand is done, then we done."
"Hey, it's not that bad..." Cranla started to say.
"I jus' got word t'at there's a problem," Poertena lied. "So, me, I'm not really pay attention to tee game. We need to stop. Soon."
"I can quit," Tratan said. There was half a hand left, but he flashed his cards. "We just throw them down, tot up the score like it's real, and deal a hand of poker. And pretend to play until you have to move." He looked casually around for any immediate threats. "We need to get our spears?"
"What?" Cranla said. "I don't—"
"Shut up," Denat said mildly. "Just do it."
"Oh." The young Mardukan finally caught the drift and tossed his cards into the middle of the table with a shrug. "Not a great hand, anyway."
"Yeah," Tratan said. "I think it was a lousy hand we were just dealt."
"Okay, Lady," Poertena said. "What you message?" He deliberately kept his eyes on the table and addressed the apparent nonsense syllables to Tratan.
"I think I caught a bit of that," the tribesman said in return, glancing involuntarily at the female and then down at the table. "So it wasn't one of your mystical radio communications?"
"There is one who needs to talk to your leaders," the female sang, dusting the walls beside the table now. "One who must meet with your leaders."
"T'at will be hard," Poertena said, but he glanced up at Cord's nephews. "Cranla, go get tee Sergeant Major?"
"Okay," the Mardukan said, using the actual Standard, and got up and trotted towards the stairs.
"I will meet you near the fireplace downstairs, in a little while," the female sang, sweeping her way towards the door. "In the time a candle takes to burn a finger's breadth."
Poertena thought about it but decided against trying to get her to stay put. She was obviously working to a game plan, and if the humans wanted to use it, they had to have some idea what it was.
"All right," he answered, picking up the poker hand. "A half-hour." He glanced at his cards and grimaced. "A full house on deal. Jus' my luck."
"Not really," Tratan said soothingly. "I just didn't want you to be distracted trying to decide what to draw."
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
"You're sure about this, Poertena?" Lieutenant Jasco asked dubiously.
The blazing fireplace made the kitchen an inferno which was normally empty, but for Matsugae and the mahout's wives who helped him with meals. Now, however, it was crowded with the sergeant major, the lieutenant, Poertena, and Denat, along with Julian and one of his fire teams. Matsugae and his current assistant continued preparing the evening meal, stepping around the Marines and Mardukans crowding the room, but it wasn't exactly easy.
"T'is is where she said, Sir."
"She's late, then," the lieutenant said.
"The time is ambiguous," Pahner said over the radio. "A 'finger's breadth' on a candle. Human or Mardukan, and what kind of candle?" The captain, Roger, and O'Casey were attending the assembly through the suit cameras from Despreaux's squad.
"But it still should have been about half an hour, Sir," Jasco argued. "This is a fool's errand," he added with a glance at the armorer.
"So you think we should have dismissed it, Sir?" Kosutic asked.
"I think," the lieutenant replied as the wall behind him swung silently open, "that we should all get ready to be hit. We don't know what might be coming at us," he finished as the female menial, moving in a much less menial fashion and accompanied by a familiar face, stepped out of the secret passage.
"Shit," Kosutic said mildly, and flipped her helmet sensors to deep-sonar. The view of the "visitors' quarters" in that frequency was interesting. "Captain, we got us a honeycomb here."
Jasco looked at her very strangely, then noticed where everyone else was staring, looked over his shoulder, and jumped half out of his chameleon suit, then backed hastily over to join the other humans.
Julian wrinkled his nose and chuckled.