"Right-o. I should think we'd be outside the walls now. I don't—" Singer paused as Myosl bent another of those looks on him.
"Go on. I'm sure he can't understand English."
"I was about to say, I don't trust that joker. Wouldn't it be a go, now, if after our host back there had got all the brass he could wring out of us, we was to be smeared by a push in these here catacombs and robbed of the rest?"
They plodded on, their breaths making plumes of vapour in the cold air. The silence was broken only by the drip of water and the squelching of their boots in the mud. The place stank.
"It's rising," said Okagamut.
The tunnel not only rose, but also made a couple of right-angled turns and ended with a door. Myosl took another look behind him and opened the door.
Beyond the room was a small space like a closet and another door. Through this door they found themselves in a kind of underground meeting-room, far gone in ruin. At the far end a broken door hung askew on one hinge. Through the triangular opening Singer could see steps going up and moonlight coming down.
Okagamut said: "See that helmet in stone carved on the altar? This must be a secret chapel of Qondyorr, the old Gozashtando god of war. After the Kangandites got control of the kingdom, they drove the other cults underground, in both senses. Wish I could get access to the records of—"
Myosl whistled sharply.
"Watch it, bod!" cried Singer, reaching for the clasp of his cloak.
Two men stepped out of the shadows. Each ran at one of the Earthmen with a sword. Myosl laid down his lantern, drew a dagger, and danced after them.
Skipping back to stay out of reach of the point, Singer tripped and fell on his back. His assailant lunged. Singer knocked the blade aside with his forearm and shot his heel out against the man's belly. The man reeled back and crashed into Myosl. By the time they had recovered, Singer was up again, the clasp finally undone.
"Come on, ringtails!" said Singer, whipping the cloak into a roll and swinging it with both hands. The heavy fur-lined garment made a fine club. Whang! The nearest attacker's sword went flying across the room. Whang! Myosl was knocked sideways.
Somebody screamed. Beyond his assailants Singer saw Okagamut's man thrashing on the floor. Okagamut turned towards them. Myosl lunged with his dagger; Singer caught his wrist and they grappled, Myosl trying to cut through Singer's glove. The other attacker squared off with his fists at Okagamut, who led with his left. The Krishnan countered with a straight right which the Earthman dodged, and the latter came back with a right, almost at the same instant, to the side of the Krishnan's jaw. Crack! The Krishnan sat down.
Singer brought his leg into play and sent Myosl staggering back. Then he got out his own knife, a special number with a knobby guard that made a fine knuckleduster. As Myosl recovered from the kick, Singer punched his face with the guard and then let him have the point.
"You're late," Singer told Okagamut as Myosl collapsed. "No, wait, the other's getting up!"
Both rushed at the remaining Krishnan, who, however, was now on his feet and using them. He leaped through the doorway and up the stairs. The Earthmen tripped and stumbled after him. The stairs, half buried in moss and stones, led up to what must have once been a hidden entrance on the surface, long since fallen to pieces. Though all three moons bathed the snow-spotted landscape, the Krishnan could not be seen. A half-hoda away rose the wall of Vyutr.
Okagamut said: "Maybe he's behind one of these boulders or bushes, but even if we flushed him the racket would bring the guard out."
"Good-o," said Singer. "Let's see what we've got below."
The two Krishnans in the chapel were dead, one with the hilt of Okagamut's short sword sticking out of his ribs. The blade must have stuck in a bone, for Okagamut had to take the hilt in both hands and set his foot on the corpse to jerk the blade out.
"That's the trouble with Krishnans," said Singer. "They looks human except for details like the ears and feelers, but you never can tell where their bones and vital organs are." He picked up the sword of the man who had run away. "You know, Earl, maybe swords ain't so silly here after all. I think I'll keep this half-pie article. Of course if I had me lady from Bristol ..." He examined the cheap sword, whose scabbard had fled with its owner. On the other hand the attacker whom Okagamut had killed had broken his sword.
"His lunge went over my shoulder and hit the wall," Okagamut explained. "What do you make of this attack?"
Singer fitted the odd sword into the dead man's scabbard. A little tight, but it would have to do.
"Simple robbery, near as I can see;" he said. "I don't know this smear here. Still, we'd best push off. I say, there ought to be a fortune in smuggling modern arms to these bushmen!"
"Been tried. The Interplanetary Council goes to any length to stop it. There was the King of Zamba's crate of machine-guns—but that's a long story."
"What's the idea of that crook I.C. regulation?"
"To keep Krishnans from exterminating each other, I suppose. Still, a smart Earthman can use his brains without actually breaking the rule."
"Like the way you stoushed that skite? If I'm not mistaken, the pugilistic manoeuvre you employed was a right cross, which takes practice and is only for experts. How about it?"
"I was in the ring once," said Okagamut. "Before I went to college. When I was a freshman the coach found out and had me in the gym showing the boys how to do rights over lefts. Funny thing, nobody ever tried to haze me."
"I can see why," said Singer.
Singer said: "We ought to come to this cocky's hut sarvo."
They had stopped to rest where the road crossed a spur of the range leading up to the Psheshuva. The clear air allowed a view over many miles of hills covered with bushy growths, rolling away to the snowy plain beyond. Vyutr was a smudge on the horizon.
"We'd better, before we run out of grub," said Okagamut. "I'll ask the next smitrot-herder."
The herder gripped his club suspiciously, while his fsyok rose to its six legs and yowled threateningly. When assured that they had no designs on his herd he told them: "A little farther, my masters; see yon hill? Just out of sight over it, take a trail to the right ..."
They took up the weary walk again. At last they found the hut. Their knock was answered by a short gnome of a Krishnan with frayed antennae and white hair. "Who be ye?"
"Are you Dyenük?" said Okagamut.
"Answer not one question with another, if ye'd do business with me."
"We are the men from Syechas."
"Prove it," said the gnome.
"Here's a letter from him. Uh, you're holding it upside down."
"So I be, heh heh. Come in, come in. Mayey!" he shouted.
He led them into the house, rudely furnished but comfortable, solidly built, and too big to be called a hut. A flat-faced Nichnyamadze girl, clad only in the smitrot-skin pants worn by the country folk of both sexes in this cold region, looked up from her housecleaning to giggle. A second one appeared. "My daughters, Mayey and Pyesatül. Good girls ever since they were hatched. Ye'd like rest and food ere we take up the business?"
"You are right, sir," said Okagamut, sinking into a chair and tugging at a boot.
"So your name's Mayey?" said Singer to the first girl, grinning. "Now that is a nice name. I. think not that I ever heard it before."
"Oh, great lord, you mock a poor mountain maid. 'Tis common."
"Well, that could be, as I have never—uh—been hereabouts before. A pretty name goes with a pretty face and other things ..."
Okagamut said: "Drink your kvad, Dinky, and leave Mayey alone. Have you got all the stuff for us, Dyenük?"
The gnome counted on fingers. "The overboots, mittens, and other items of clothing, aye. The sled, skis and poles, tent, stove, and such-like items of gear, aye. The horashevë, not yet ready, but with your help, good sirs—"