"I say that because I've run into two Mycenaeans who were actually at the siege of Troy. At least, they claimed to have been. There are so many phonies on The River, you know. Both said that Troy wasn't where Odysseus said it was. He had told me that Troy was much further down in Asia Minor than the archaeologists said it was. The two Greeks said that it was where everybody had always said it was. Near Hissarlik, Turkey. Well, they didn't identify the town and country under those names, of course. Neither was in existence in their day.
"But they did say that Troy was near the Hellespont, where Hissarlik was later built. Now, how about that mess?"
"If that Greek feller was an agent," Johnston said, "why would he make up a lie like that?"
"Maybe to convince me that he was the real stuff. That he was the dyed-in-the-wool original. He wasn't likely to encounter anyone who could call him a bald-faced liar. For one thing, he didn't stick around long enough to be challenged.
"Here's another thing. The scholars of my time had all said that the wooden horse of Troy was a myth. The story was about as credible as a politician's campaign promises. But Odysseus said that there was a wooden horse, and he himself proposed it, just as Homer said he did, and it did get the Greek soldiers into the city.
"But then maybe it was a double-ply lie. By telling me that the scholars were all wrong, he made it sound as if he'd really been there. Anybody who could stand there and look you in the eye and tell you the scholars were full of sawdust and mouse droppings, because he had been there and they hadn't, would convince me. The scholars are always sailing out, looking for a textural Northwest Passage, trying to navigate with a sextant in a snowstorm, not sure whether the bowsprit is on the fore or the stem."
"At least, they tried," Johnston said.
"So did the eunuch in the sheik's harem. I wish I had some idea of what's going on. We are in deep waters, as Holmes said to Watson."
"Who're thothe guyth?" Joe said.
The giant mountaineer growled. Sam said, "Okay, John, sorry. I was hoping we could follow at least one thread through in this tangled warp and woof. Hell, we can't even find the end of one thread!"
"Maybe Gwenafra thyould be in thith," Joe said. "Thyee'th a voman, vhich you may have notithed, Tham. You thaid vomen can pertheive thingth men can't becauthe they got female intuithyon. Anyvay, thye doethn't like being left out in the cold. Thye ain't no dummy. Thye knowth there'th been thomething going on for a long time that you've been hiding from her. Right now, thye'th thulking in the main lounge. Thye hath the red athth every time you run her out tho ve can have a conferenthe about thith thubchect."
"I don't believe in women's intuition," Sam said. "They're just culturally conditioned to observe different patterns of action and speech, different gestures and inflections from those men observe. They're more sensitive to certain subtleties because of this conditioning."
"It'th the thame thing in the end," Joe said. "Vhat do ve care vhat ith'th called? I thay, ve been beating out our brainth on thith. It'th about time ve had a new dealer in on thith poker game."
"Squaws talk too much," Johnston said.
"According to you, everybody talks too much," Sam said. "Anyway, Gwen is as smart as anyone here, maybe smarter."
"It'll end up with the whole world knowing about it," Johnston said.
"Well, if you think on it," Sam said, "why shouldn't everybody know? Ain't it everybody's business?"
"The Stranger must have his reasons for wanting us to keep quiet."
"But are they good reasons?" Sam said. "On the other hand, if we did blabber about this there'd be a mob trying to get to the North Pole. The '49 Gold Rush couldn't hold a candle to it. There'd be hundreds of thousands wanting to get to the tower. And a million hanging around to exploit them."
"Let'th take a vote on Gven."
"You ever heard of a woman at a council of war? The first thing you know, she'll be wanting to run us. Them petticoats take an inch if ye give 'em a mile.''
"Women don't wear petticoats anymore," Sam said. "In fact, they don't wear much of anything, as you must've noticed."
The vote was two to one. Johnston said, "Okay. But you make her keep her legs crossed when she sits down, Sam."
"It's a strain just getting her to cover her breasts," Sam said. "She's a caution. But it ain't her fault. Anyway, just about everybody swims naked. So what's the difference if she is a little careless about how many square inches of flesh she exposes?"
"It ain't the flesh, it's the hair,'' Johnston said. "Don't it bother you none?"
"It used to. After all, I lived about the same time as you. But I didn't spend my life among the Rocky Mountain Indians. We've been here thirty-four years, John, on a planet where even Queen Victoria is traipsing around in an outfit that would've given her heart failure followed by diarrhoea if she'd seen it worn in front of Buckingham Palace. Now nudity seems as natural as sleeping in church."
64
Gwenafra, forewarned by Sam, was wearing a loincloth under her kilt. She sat in a chair and listened wide-eyed while Sam explained why she had been admitted to the council.
After she had heard Sam out, she sat silently for a while, sipping from a cup of tea. Then she said, "I knew more than you thought I did. You've talked a lot in your sleep. I knew you were keeping something very serious from me. That hurt me very much. In fact, I was going to tell you, Sam, that you must tell me what was going on. Otherwise, I was going to leave you."
"Why didn't you say so? I had no idea you felt that way."
"Because I supposed that you must have a very good reason for keeping it from me. But I was getting to the point where I couldn't stand it anymore. Haven't you noticed how cross I've been lately?"
"It hadn't escaped me. I thought you were just being moody. One of the mysteries of woman. But this is no place to discuss our personal affairs."
"What is the place, then? I know I would have said something if you'd been so irritable. Anyway, women are about as mysterious as a tin mine. All you have to do is carry a lantern into the dark places, and you see everything. But men like to think women are the eternally mysterious. That saves men the trouble of asking questions, taking a little time and effort."
"The eternally loquacious, then," Sam said. "You take as long to get to the point as a broken pencil." "You're both gabby," Johnston said, scowling.
"There are other extremes," she said, glaring at Johnston. "But you're right. Maybe 'there's one thing that you could consider as a key to the mystery of the tower. That is, what kind of a person was Piscator?"
"Ah, hmmm," Sam said. "I see what you mean. Why was he able to enter the tower while the others couldn't? Well, for one thing, he could have been an agent. But if agents can get through the barrier, why couldn't Thorn?
"Besides, why should Thorn have to Use the Parseval to get to the tower? The Ethicals and their agents have their own methods of transportation, some kind of flying machine."
"I don't know," Gwenafra said. "Let's concentrate on Piscator. How was he different from the others? It couldn't be a physical element-clothing, say-that was the key to entry. All tried to get in naked, yet only Piscator got in.
"Also, there was a difference in how far each was able to advance into the entrance. What were the elements in character that made some advance further than others?"
"We'd need a computer to figure that out," Sam said. "However, Gulbirra knows the men in the airship. She can describe them when she gets here. Anyway, to be scientific, the exact distance each person traveled would have to be known. And that would have to be compared to each person's character. Nobody was taking measurements there, so that's out."