"Behold!" yelled Borel. "It works! The Order is all-rich and all-powerful!"
After letting the wheel spin for a minute or so, Borel resumed: "Brothers, what must we do to realize on this wonderful invention? One, we need funds to build a number of large wheels to try out various applications: to power ships and rail cars, to run grist mills, and to turn the shafts of machines in workshops. No machine is ever perfect when first completed; there are always details to be improved. Second, we need an organization to exploit the wheeclass="underline" to make treaties with other states to lease wheels from us and to give us the exclusive right to exploit wheels within their borders; and to negotiate with the powers that be to exchange the secret of the wheel for—I need go no further!
"On Earth we have a type of organization called a corporation for such purposes…" And he launched into the account he had previously given Kubanan and Juvain.
"Now," he said, "what do we need for this corporation? The officers of the Order and I have agreed that to start, the treasury shall advance the sum of 245,000 karda, for which the Order shall receive forty-nine percent of the stock of the company. The remaining fifty-one percent will naturally remain with the promoter and director of the company; that's the arrangement we've found most successful on Earth. However, before such a large sum can be invested in this great enterprise, we must in accordance with the constitution let you vote on the question. First I had better stop our little wheel here, lest the noise distract you."
The clicking stopped as Borel put his hand against the wheel. Zerdai broke the thread with a quick jerk, gathered it all in, and slipped away from her hiding place.
Borel continued: "I therefore turn the meeting back to our friend, guide, counsellor, and leader, Grand Master Sir Juvain."
The Grand Master put the vote, and the appropriation passed by a large majority. As the knights cheered, Kubanan led a line of pages staggering under bags of coins to the stage, where the bags were ranged in a row on the boards.
Borel, when he could get silence again, said: "I thank you one and all. If any would care to examine my little wheel, they shall see for themselves that no trickery is involved."
The Garma Qararuma climbed up en masse to congratulate Borel. The adventurer, trying not to seem to gloat over the money, was telling himself that once he got away with this bit of swag he would sell it for World Federation dollars, go back to Earth, invest his fortune conservatively, and never have to worry about money again. Of course he had promised himself the same thing on several previous occasions, but somehow the money always seemed to dissipate before he got around to investing it.
V.
Sir Volhaj was pushing through the crowd, saying: "Sir Felix, may I speak to you aside?"
"Sure. What is it?"
"How feel you?"
"Fine. Never better."
"That's good, for Shurgez has returned to Mishe with his mission accomplished."
"What's that?" said Kubanan. "Shurgez back, and my spies haven't told me?"
"Right, my lord."
"Oh-oh," said the treasurer. "If he challenges you, Sir Felix, you will, as a knight, have to give him instant satisfaction. What arms own you besides that sword?"
"Gluk," said Borel. "N-none. Doesn't the challenged party have a choice of weapons?" he asked with some vague idea of specifying boxing gloves.
"According to the rules of the Order," said Volhaj, "each fighter may use what weapons he pleases. Shurgez will indubitably employ the full panoply: lance, sword, and a mace or ax in reserve, and will enter the lists in full armor. As for you—well, since you and I are much of a size, feel free to borrow aught that you need."
Before Borel could say anything more, a murmur and a head-turning apprised him of the approach of some interest. As the crowd parted, a squat, immensely muscular, and very Mongoloid-looking knight came forward. "Are you he whom they call Sir Felix the Red?" asked the newcomer.
"Y-yes," said Borel, icicles of fear running through his viscera.
"I am Sir Shurgez. It has been revealed to me that in my absence you've taken the Lady Zerdai as your companion. Therefore I name you a vile traitor, scurvy knave, villainous rascal, base mechanic, and foul foreigner, and shall be at the tournament grounds immediately after lunch to prove my assertions upon your diseased and ugly body. Here, you thing of no account!" And Sir Shurgez, who had been peeling off his glove, threw it lightly in Borel's face.
"I'll fight you!" shouted Borel in a sudden surge of temper. "Baghan! Zeft!" He added a few more Gozashtandou obscenities and threw the glove back at Shurgez, who caught it, laughed shortly, and turned his back.
"That's that," said Kubanan as Shurgez marched off. "Sure am I that so bold and experienced a knight as yourself will make mincemeat of yon braggart. Shall I have my pages convey the gold to your chamber while we lunch?"
Borel felt like saying: "I don't want any lunch," but judged it impolitic. His wits, after the first moment of terror-stricken paralysis, had begun to work again. First he felt sorry for himself. What had he done to deserve this? Why had he joined this crummy club, where instead of swindling each other like gentlemen, the members settled differences by the cruel and barbarous methods of physical combat? All he'd done was to keep Zerdai happy while this blug was away…
Then he pulled himself together and tried to think his way out of the predicament. Should he simply refuse to fight? That meant skinning alive. Could he sprain an ankle? Maybe, but with all these people standing around… Why hadn't he told that well-meaning sap Volhaj that he was sick unto death?
And now how could he get away with the gold? It was probably too heavy for the buggy; he would need a big two-aya carriage, which could not be obtained in a matter of minutes. How could he make his getaway at all before the fight? With his dear damned friends clustering round…
They were filling him with good advice: "I knew a man who'd begin a charge with lance level, then whirl it around his head as 'twere a club…"; "When Sir Vardao slew that wight from Gozashtand, he dropped his lance altogether and snatched his mace…"; "If you can get him around the neck with one arm, go for his crotch with your dagger…"
What he really wanted was advice on how to sneak out of the acropolis and make tracks for Novorecife with a third of the Order's treasury. When he had gulped the last tasteless morsel, he said: "Good sirs, please excuse me. I have things to say to those near to me."
Zerdai was crying on her bed. He picked her up and kissed her. She responded avidly; this was a Terran custom on which the Krishnans had eagerly seized.
"Come," he said, "it's not that bad."
She clung to him frantically. "But I love only you! I couldn't live without you! And I've been counting so on going with you to far planets…"
Borel's vestigial conscience stirred, and in a rare burst of frankness he said: "Look, Zerdai, it'll be small loss no matter how the fight comes out. I'm not the shining hero you think I am; in fact some people consider me an unmitigated heel."
"No! No! You're kind and good…"
"… and even if I get through this alive I may have to run for it without you."
"I'll die! I could never companion with that brute Shurgez again ..."
Borel thought of giving her some of the gold, since he couldn't hope to get it all away himself. But then with the Guardians' communistic principles she couldn't keep it, and the Order would seize all he left in any case. Finally he unpinned several of his more glittery decorations and handed them to her, saying:
"At least you'll have these to remember me by." That seemed to break her down completely.