When the dancer departed, a female singer took her place. Reith was glad to escape the inquisition of the Secretary of Commerce, whose mind was as voracious for facts as a yeki for meat. Sweating, Reith picked up his silver goblet for another sip of kvad.
At the sight of the level of the liquid, he frowned. He was sure he had drunk at least one gobletful and perhaps two; but his drinking vessel seemed to remain full no matter how much he drank. He became watchful, vaguely aware that the dancer had reentered the chamber and was flitting about behind him.
When the singer finished, a flunkey came in and whispered in Parenj's ear. Rising, the opposition leader bowed to Vizman, excused himself to the other guests, and followed the attendant out. From beyond the dining hall, sounds of a scuffle and a shout of protest arose, above the chanting of the songstress. Then these sounds died away.
"It is unfortunate," said Vizman evenly when the singer had finished, "that Parenj should compel me to cause his arrest whilst our Terran guests be in residence. Today I received evidence that he planned an uprising and had arranged for my assassination." The President sadly nodded his head. "He is the fourth such leader whom I have been forced to dispose of. His was the last opposition group."
Reith blinked, wondering if he had drunk more than he intended. The heat had tempted him half-unconsciously to keep sipping. Although his head buzzed and the walls seemed to sway, he managed to ask: "Your Excellency, are you—have you—does this mean that Qirib will become a one-party state?"
"Aye. I fear my people are not yet ready for a government of your parliamentary Terran type. Here, the purpose of politics is to magnify oneself, enrich one's friends, and exterminate one's foes. I have striven to give the Qiribuma a liberal rule, but I have been compelled to defend myself and my party against subversive plots and murderous conspiracies.
"Let us not, however, dwell upon these sordid realities. One of our poets, the eminent Sarhad er-Sandu, will give a reading."
The poet, a lean, stooped, eyeglassed Krishnan, held a scroll in both hands. In a high, thin voice, he announced:
"To begin, I shall read a composition of my own, The Fall of Malayer, telling the tale of this tragic event, all too recently in the minds of all here.
Although the Krishnans' long-winded rhetoric often made Reith impatient, he liked their poetry. It had a fine, rolling swing; moreover, it actually had form, rhyme, and meter, qualities missing from most Terran poetry for a couple of centuries.
Reith found it hard to give the poet his full attention, however, because at the other side of the table Alicia and Vizman continued whispering. Closer, Kiri was asking Marot for his views on the evolution of Krishnan life. Every time the paleontologist started a carefully-phrased answer, the Secretary of Commerce broke in with a comment or another question. She was not the sort to hold her tongue for any mere entertainer.
When Sarhad had finished the poem, he said: "I shall now read from the celebrated epic, Abbeq and Dánqi." He gave a wry smile. "Fear not, gentlefolk; I do not propose to read the entire two hundred and sixty-four cantos. A single canto will, methinks, suffice. This is the forty-first ..."
The poet launched into the vast metrical romance. Reith had more trouble following, because the language was an archaic form of Gozashtandou, with many obsolete words. He had once, while a prisoner in Dur, tried to read it himself, but he had never gotten beyond a few cantos.
Between Kiri's ever more strident voice and the difficult dialect of the poem, Reith gave up. Then he found that the dancing girl had slipped into the seat once occupied by the unfortunate Parenj. The girl leaned towards Reith with a beguiling smile and a sinuous wriggle.
"Ye Terrans seem like unto gods to me!" she breathed. "All my life have I heard of your might and wisdom. Would that I could know one intimately, instead of being a mere dancing puppet, turning back-flips for his amusement. For I, too, am a person. I breathe! I love! I rage!"
She glanced at Reith's goblet. "A moment, Master." She slid out of her chair, circled around behind Reith, and reappeared with a bottle. She filled Reith's goblet almost to overflowing.
Reith took a sip to avoid spilling the fluid and watched her undulating body as she returned to her chair. "I have no doubt of your personhood," he said dryly. "But tell me, Mistress— what's—ah—what's your name?"
"Shei, my lord."
"Well, Ss—Sh—Shei, tell me: Have you been sneaking kvad into my goblet every time I set it down?"
She gave a delighted laugh. "My lord must have eyes in the back of's head! I was commanded to make sure ye never wanted for refreshment."
"How much have you poured for me this evening?"
"How know I? A splash now and then. But hold; ye've emptied one bottle and are halfway through your second."
"Great Qonyor!" muttered Reith. That must, he thought, be the equivalent of over half a liter of Terran whiskey. No wonder ...
"Art ill, Master?" said Shei anxiously.
"Yes, little one. I must with—withdraw. Pray present my apologies to the President."
The poet had finished and departed some time since; Reith suspected that the poor fellow had cut his canto short when he saw he was not holding his audience. Shei darted around and whispered in Vizman's ear. When the President nodded and resumed his conversation with Alicia, the girl came back and helped Reith to rise unsteadily. He staggered out with an arm around Shei's neck. Like Alicia, the dancer was stronger than she looked.
Vizman had assigned the Terrans three separate bedrooms. Reith had planned, after the palace had quieted for the night, to move from his own room into Alicia's. Now he reeled into his room and saw the walls waver. He wanted to lie down in his clothes and pass out; but he feared he might vomit and make a mess. He grabbed a bedpost and lowered himself heavily to a seated position on the bed, clinging to the post. While he sat staring stuporously, Shei busied herself with his buttons and buckles.
"Lie down, Master!" said Shei. "Ye will feel better anon."
Reith collapsed on the bed, and Shei pulled off his clothes. The bed, he found, developed the alarming property of whirling round and round, like a small airplane out of control. He was wondering how to bring it out of its tailspin when consciousness fled.
Hours later, Reith opened a sticky eye. A glance at the window showed the night sky paling into dawn. He looked at himself, sprawling naked in a tangle of bedclothes. As he shook his head to clear it, he saw that Shei lay beside him, breathing evenly. When he raised himself on one elbow, the motion aroused the dancer, who came awake instantly. She asked:
"How fares my lord this morn?"
"A slight headache, but otherwise intact. What—what are you doing here?"
"What? Why, good my sir, what think ye?"
"Suppose you tell me."
"I'm here to serve your pleasure. What ye command, that I will do."
For the blink of an eye, Reith was tempted to take Shei up on her offer. But a host of other thoughts crowded this idea out. He looked at her narrowly, asking: