“There’s something I don’t understand,” Carmody said. “Why are those Algulists who passed the Night during the reign of Yess still living? You remember when I’d been caught by the statue and had not made up my mind which way I was going, whether I’d choose the six of Yess or the six of Algul? Well, when I did make my choice, and it was definitely ascertained that Mary’s baby would be Yess, the would-be Fathers of Algul tried to run away. But they died.
“Now, I had always thought that Algulists survived the Night only if Algul won. Yet I’ve heard from you and others that successfully beNighted Algulists survive, are living right now. Why?”
“Those you saw die did so because we six Fathers, consciously, and you unconsciously, willed them to die. But there were other Algulists, not Fathers, who survived. They did not die because we did not know about them.
“It’s illegal to be an Algulist, you know. The penalty is death. Of course, if Algul should ever win—Boonta forbid—then you may be sure that any Yessite who’s caught will be executed. And much more painfully than an Algulist now dies.”
“Thank you, Tand. I’m going now to visit Mrs. Kri. I presume she’s still living at the old place?”
“I really couldn’t say. I haven’t seen or heard of her for many years.”
Carmody ordered a costume sent up to him, one with a large mask, that of a trogur bird. He put it on and then left the hotel, after having presented his credentials to the guards stationed at the main doorway. Before leaving, he looked into the dining room and saw that Gilson, Lieftin, and Abdu had left. However, about a dozen non-Kareenans were dining. They, too, looked depressed.
Outside, the tomb-like silence of the hotel gave way to a storm of music, shouts, screams, tootling of horns, whistles, firecrackers, drums, and bull-roarers. The streets were jammed with a noisy chaos of costume-clad merrymakers.
Carmody slowly made his much-jostled way through the mob. After about fifteen minutes, he managed to get to a side street which was much less populated. He walked for another fifteen minutes before he saw a taxi. The cabbie was not very eager to take a fare, but Carmody insisted. Grumbling beneath his breath, the driver eased the car through the crowds, and presently they were in a district through which they could drive with reasonable speed. Even so, the taxi had to stop now and then to nudge through clots of masquers walking toward the main streets.
It was a half-hour before the taxi halted in front of Mrs. Kri’s house. By then, the huge moon of Kareen was up, shedding its silver confetti on the black and gray stones of the massive houses. Carmody got out, paid the driver, and asked him to wait. The driver, who had apparently resigned himself to missing the fun, agreed.
Carmody strode up the walk, then stopped to look at the tree that had once been Mr. Kri. It had grown much larger since he had last seen it. It towered at least thirty-five meters high, and its branches spread out across the yard.
“Hello, Mr. Kri,” the priest said.
He went on by the unresponding man-plant to clang the huge knocker on the big iron door. There were no lights in the windows, and he began to wonder if he had been too hasty. He should have phoned first. But Mrs. Kri would be old by now, since the geriatrics of Earth was available only to wealthy Kareenans. He had taken it for granted that she would be staying home.
He clanged the knocker again. Silence. He turned to walk away, and as he did so he heard the door creak open behind him. A voice called, “Who is it?”
Carmody returned, taking off his mask.
“John Carmody, Earthman,” he said. Light streamed out of the doorway. In it stood an old female. But it was not Mrs. Kri.
“I lived here at one time,” he said. “Long ago. I thought I’d drop by to see Mrs. Kri.”
The shriveled-up old woman seemed frightened at confronting an alien from interstellar space. She closed the door until only part of her face showed, and said in a quavering voice, “Mrs. Kri doesn’t live here any more.”
“Would you mind telling me where I might find her?” Carmody asked gently.
“I don’t know. She decided to go through the last Night, and that’s the last anyone ever heard of her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Carmody said, and meant it. Despite her testiness and flightiness, he had been fond of Mrs. Kri.
He returned to the taxi. As he drew near, the headbeams of another car swung around the nearby corner, and a car sped toward him. Carmody dived under the taxi, thinking, as he did so, that he was probably making a fool of himself. But he did not usually argue with his hunches.
Nor was he wrong this time. Gunfire exploded; glass shattered. The taxi driver screamed. Then the car was gone down the street, gathering speed as it went. Its tires screeched going around a corner, and it disappeared.
Carmody started to rise. Something flashed just before his head came above the window of the car. He was hurled backward, blinded and deafened.
When he managed to get to his feet again, he was enveloped in bitter smoke. Fire spurted upward from the interior of the car and revealed, through the blown-open door on his side, the body half-hanging out of the car.
He ran back to the house and beat the knocker repeatedly against the tightly shut door. There was no sound within. He did not blame the old woman for not answering him; probably she was calling the police.
He picked up his mask, replaced it over his head, and started walking. The ringing went out of his ears and the dazzle out of his eyes. In two minutes he was inside a public phone booth. He called Gilson at the hotel, but the operative did not answer. He tried Lieftin. This time, a Kareenan policeman appeared on the screen.
At the policeman’s request, Carmody took his mask off. The Kareenan’s eyes widened on seeing the Earth Father of Yess, and his manner became very respectful.
“The Terrestrial, Lieftin, escaped over an hour ago,” he said. “Apparently, he used some sort of thermite to melt the bars over the windows and lowered himself by a rope he must have had in his luggage. We have an all-points out for him, but he is in a costume. He had it delivered by a bellhop.”
“Check on the Terrestrial, Raphael Abdu, for me, will you?” Carmody said. “Do you know where Gilson is?”
“Gilson left shortly after Lieftin escaped. Wait. We’ll check on Abdu for the Father.”
Carmody’s watch indicated five minutes passed before the officer’s face appeared again. He said, “The Terrestrial Abdu is in his room, Father.”
His face disappeared, but his voice said, “Just a moment.”
Apparently, he was talking to somebody else. “All right,” the policeman muttered. His face came back. “Gilson just sent in a message for you. You’re to call him at this number.”
Carmody spoke the number given him into the receiver. Gilson’s face came into view. Loud voices and laughter came through the receiver.
“I’m in a tavern on Wiilgrar and Tuwdon Streets,” Gilson said. “Just a minute while I put my mask back on. I took it off so you’d be sure it was me.”
“What’s up?” Carmody said. “By the way, I know about Lieftin’s escape.”
“You do? Well, I tailed him. He’s in the tavern here, talking with another fellow. A Kareenan, I’m sure. I got a good look at his fingernails and the back of his neck. Lieftin is dressed in a brown costume that’s supposed to represent some sort of animal. The Kareenan equivalent of a deer, I guess. His mask is an animal face with antlers. His buddy is dressed in a catlike outfit.”
Probably Ardour and Eeshquur, Carmody thought. He knew enough about the prominent figures of Kareenan mythology and fairy tale to identify them. But he did not take time to acquaint Gilson with his knowledge.