Singer's plump face took on a broad grin as he thrust out a beefy hand. "Good-o! Shike on it, cobber!"
The other man shook with a steely grip, saying: "Are you English?"
"D'you tike me for a bleeding Pommy? Hell no, I'm an Austrylian! But ain't it a hang of a thing to yarn in the good old English language agine?"
"Sure is," said the man with a faintly ironical grin for which Singer could see no reason. "What's your name?"
"Born Cuthwih Singer, but me pals calls me 'Dinky.' Yours?"
"I'm Earl Okagamut."
"The Earl of what?"
"No; that's my name. Okagamut. Earl Okagamut."
"Oh. How'd you land in this hell-hole?"
"Studying for a Ph. D.," said Okagamut.
"That don't sound reasonable, now. Explain."
"Sure. I'm studying for a degree in xenanthropology, and for my thesis I took Krishnan religious customs. By a little bribery and a lot of damn foolishness I got into the purity ceremony in the Fprochan Temple, disguised as a Kangandite priest."
"You are a doer! And they caught you digging the jewel out of the idol's eye, I suppose?"
"No; they only worship geometrical abstractions."
"I know; I was Yadjye's butler. Maybe that's what makes 'em such wowsers. What happened?"
"You were Yadjye's butler? It was old Yadjye himself who caught me. I must have turned right when I should have turned left, or gotten up when I should have prostrated myself, for the first thing I knew the high priest was yelling 'sacrilege!' and a hundred minor Kangandites, not being supposed to shed blood, were trying to strangle me with the belt-cords of their robes."
"How d'you get out?" cried Singer excitedly.
"This." Okagamut whisked out his blade: slightly curved, too long for a knife though rather short for a sword, with a fancy knuckle-guard. "I had to prick a couple, for which my next incarnation will no doubt be in the body of an unha. Luckily I got out before the temple guards were alerted, and came here. How about you?"
"Oh, nothing much about me," said Singer with an air of false modesty. "But since you insist, I had a good pozzer at Novorecife and married a bonzer sheila, when who blows in from Earth but another wife I'd forgot about, complete with documents to prove it. Well, you know how it is there—for a Brazzy, Abreu's the worst wowser I ever seen ..."
"I know," said Okagamut. "Being scared of his own wife, he won't stand for liberties on the part of anyone else."
"That's the dinkum oil. I thought it wise to up stick before he put his Johns on me, and ever since then I've been a sundowner wandering the face of Krishna and living by what wits I've got. By devious methods I wormed my way into the household of His Sacredness High-Priest Yadjye, Archbishop or Chief Rabbi or whatever you call him of the Church of the Divine Space, otherwise the Kangandite Cult, for the Diocese of Nichnyamadze."
"As his butler?" asked Okagamut.
"Well, yes and no. Having once been an undertaker I knew something of forms and ceremonies. Therefore he employed me as a master of protocol, to tell the temple virgins when to bring on the roast and such. Only poor Yadjye can't eat roast, being head of a religion that disbelieves in meat-eating and any other kind of fun you might mention."
"How about the temple virgins? Are they?"
"They are; or at least they were before I came along. They serve him at table in rotation, you see. Well, there was a tonky little sort starting her training, named Lüdey, and we will not bandy a woman's name except to say that everything was as jolly as could be until she got the idea that I should take her away from it all to see the world. Several worlds, in fact, for in the course of the proceedings she had naturally got on to the fact that I was an Earthman. I explained how I couldn't get off Krishna unless they changed the law about bigamy, for Novorecife was the only spaceport and Abreu's troopers would catch me dinkum die if I tried it.
"But the situation deteriorated, as that bloke Shakespeare said, until she departed with a toss of her lovely head and a threat to tell Uncle Yadjye about the viper in his bosom. Not waiting to argue the toss I shook the dust of the Archepiscopal palace from my boots and—here I am! Now what'll we do?"
"Don't know. How are you fixed for money?"
"Oh," said Singer cautiously, "I copped one of Yadjye's candlesticks and gave it Syechas for board and keep."
"Is that all?"
"It's all I'm telling about. I didn't have time to pack me luggage. How about you?"
"Somewhat the same, except that I had some cash on me. I can't stay here much longer or I won't have enough for the kind of escape I'm planning."
"What's your idea?" said Singer eagerly.
"Well, I don't know. I'd planned it for one man, and it'll cost more than I've got with two."
Singer looked hard at Okagamut. While this man seemed fair dinkum, Singer was not free from prejudices. Finally he made up his mind.
"Look, cobber, let's take a chance," he said, bringing out the other candlestick and his small change and laying them on the floor. "We can trust each other farther than we can Syechas, anyhow. Part up your oscar and we shall see what we can do."
Okagamut brought out a money-belt. They counted coins and estimated the value of the candlestick, and were just securing their wealth when five raps on the trapdoor told them Syechas was bringing supper.
After they had closed the trap again Singer beamed at the tray with honest pleasure. "Meat, by God! After a month of greens I thought I'd never see real tucker again. How does he do it?"
Okagamut shrugged. "If he can get nyomnigë I guess he can bootleg a little meat. Contraband is his business."
"Including us," said Singer. "Look, what's this escape plan?"
"Had any polar experience?"
"Having been a professional tourist guide, I've done a little mountaineering. Why?"
"I thought we might buy a sled and cut across the Psheshuva. I know the President of Olñega."
"Hm," said Singer, not sure he liked the plan. The Psheshuva was a spur to the South Polar Plateau, which extended north a thousand hoda or so, separating the Kingdom of Nichnyamadze from the Republic of Olñega. Singer had never driven a fsyok-sled, and his mountaineering was confined to a few slides down an easy slope on skis. "How will you make arrangements?"
"Syechas can take care of most of it. Claims he can get us out of Vyutr—for a consideration, of course."
"What's he going to use, a glider? With these winds a big kite could lift us over the wall."
"I suspect a tunnel. How much trail can you take?"
Singer said: "I've had a bit of graft in my day, though I've lived an easy life lately." He patted his paunch. "That'll work off, I dare say."
"How about arms?"
Singer shook his head. "Nothing but me eating-dirk. I never could get the knack of these silly swords. Why, one bomb or gun—"
"I know, but we're on Krishna, where they don't have such things. Maybe it's just as well, because we'll have to watch our weight to the last gram."
Syechas said: "Myosl will take you through the tunnel. Then you have a three-days' walk into the mountains. When you reach Dyeniik's house, you can get your needfuls from there on."
Myosl led them, muffled in furs, out Syechas's back door into the cold night; along a winding path among rubbish-heaps and through fences, and down steps to another door. A lock squealed, and they were in complete darkness.
Myosl snapped one of those flint-and-steel contraptions and lit a small candle-lamp. The reflector threw a weak beam into a tunnel walled with rough stone down which water dripped from whiskers of mould and moss. Singer had to bend, and the mud sucked at his boots. Every few paces their shabby-looking guide looked back at them.
Okagamut said softly: "This must run for kilometres."