"So?"
"Not your way, though. Not by just busting in there and wrecking the place."
Kris frowned quizzically. This had happened time and time again in the past, and he was getting not to like it. He would present a plan, carefully thought out and closely reasoned, and Norvis would hew it to threads in a moment's time.
Who is this Norvis anyway? Kris asked himself. He thinks he's smart, and I'll bet he thinks he can run me. Well, he never has, and he won't start now.
"We attack Bel-rogas next week," Kris said firmly. "My way. I've got the approach strategy all worked out."
"All right," Norvis said wearily. "But you'd better start wearing a brass hat if you don't want to rejoin your ancestors as fast as Del did."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that you won't outlive (he gutting of Bel-rogas by a month," Norvis said quietly.
"Are you dictating policy to me?" Kris demanded.
"Far from it," said the Secretary, "just offering my opinion."
"Your opinion's not needed," Kris snapped. "I'll manage by myself."
"Very well," Norvis said. He closed his eyes for a moment. Then, changing the subject, he said, "Oh, by the way—what do you plan to do with all that cobalt we have cached away on the Bronze Islands?"
"What does that have to do with—"
Suddenly Kris paused, stood up, smiled slyly as a thought occurred to him. I'll show Norvis who's a plotter, he thought vehemently. "Go get Dran peDran. Wake him up."
"What for?"
"We're journeying to the Bronze Islands tonight."
Norvis' face wrinkled. "You're ... why?"
"You'll see," Kris said. He didn't elaborate, and he made sure that the expression on his face would discourage Norvis from asking any further questions.
Chapter IX
The Krand left the harbor of Tammulcor a week later, carrying Kris, Dran, a crew of eighteen picked men, and a noisy, restless cargo of deests. The false bottom was also in use. Eight million weights in cobalt lay hidden there. It had been a quick but arduous job, getting the cache out of the Bronze Islands earlier in the week.
They pulled out of the Bay of Tammulcor and headed north up the river Tammul. A dinghy-load of Peacemen cut across their path before they had gotten very far upriver, and a tall man at the front of the small boat held up one hand, "Hoy! Who are you, and where are you heading?"
"Captain Kris peKym Yorgen," Kris replied. "Heading for Gelusar to market these deests." He gestured at the herd on the deck.
The Peaceman looked up at him suspiciously lor a moment. Kris waited impatiently. They were still worried about their missing cobalt, evidently—but since the recent upswing in Bank of Dimay currency, they were somewhat relaxed. Some-ivhal. Kris hoped he wouldn't be put to the nuisance of another three hour search; a delay of that length might be utterly damaging to his project.
Finally the Peaceman said, "Deests, eh? Very well, head up-river. They'll probably stop you again at the Bridge of Klid, though."
"Thanks," Kris said. "I appreciate the clearance. Any news of the missing cobalt, by the way?"
The Peaceman shook his head. "All is quiet. We're sure we'll find the money soon, though. No one's being allowed out of Dimay without full search."
"Wise move," Kris said, "I hope you won't search fruitlessly for long."
"Something tells me the cobalt will come to light soon," the Peaceman said. "Good voyage to you, captain."
"And a pleasant night to you," said Kris. "Great Light illumine you."
"And you," the Peaceman replied.
The dinghy glided away. "All right," Kris yelled. "Up river to Gelusar, now!"
It was early evening as they passed under the Great Cor Bridge, out of the environs of Tammulcor, and up the sluggish Tammul. The Great Light had begun to set, the Lesser Light was not yet in evidence, and the air was moist with promise of the evening's rain yet to come.
Kris stood on the deck, listening to the quiet complaining of the deests. Behind him, Tammulcor shrank in the distance; Gelusar lay far ahead upriver. The night was still young. If they made good time, they would reach the landing point just about this time the following night.
After a while, Dran came out on deck.
"Everything is well, captain."
"Good," Kris said. "It's going to be a tough trip, sailing upriver."
From starboard came the cry of one of the men, calling out the sounding.
"All well," Kris yelled back. He peered out at the wide, flat stretch of water ahead. The Tammul was a shallow, sleepy river, and Kris had little mind to run aground in the night—not with eight million weights of cobalt on board.
"Here comes the rain," he murmured to Dran, as the nightly drizzle began to sprinkle down. "Better get the deests under."
"I is just about to do that, captain," Dran said. "Hoy there! Drosh! Marn! Down with those deests!"
Kris stood alone on deck for a while, then strolled aft to the helmsman.
"How's it going, Dom?"
"We'll make it, captain."
"We'd better," Kris said. He frowned. "Not much wind tonight, is there?"
"No, captain," the helmsman said locanically. "It's a hard night for sailing, captain. A very hard night."
Kris nodded and walked away. It was a very hard night indeed.
Morning came, and the Krand was still a good distance from its destination. Other boats were moving downriver from Gelusar, heading toward Tammulcor, and occasionally a wandering Peace dinghy would cut by, peering suspiciously at the ship without hailing it. It was the river patrol, on guard for strange craft.
By the time evening had arrived, the journey was nearly over. Kris peered ahead into the gathering dusk at the shore to the westward, searching for the landing.
"All right," he said after some time. "There's where we go ashore." The Krand moved silently through the dark waters to the inlet, and they dropped anchor as close to shore as possible. Kris called the men on deck.
"We're landing here," he said.
"I thought we were going to Gelusar," a deckhand said. "Isn't that where we're going?"
"We're going to Bel-rogas," said Kris. "And it'll be a lot easier to leave the river now and finish the trip overland than to try to carry eight million weights of cobalt through the heart of town."
Dran nodded. "Is right. We is about ten miles from Bel-rogas now. Is not so bad."
"We'll have to make three trips, Bronze Islander," said Bor pePrannt unhappily. "We've got a hundred manweights aboard, and twenty deests. The best of our animals can't do better than two or three man-weights of cobalt."
"Not so," Kris said. "Each deest's going to carry five manweights."
"We can't do that!" Bor pePrannt protested. "They can't carry that much!"
"They can if we walk alongside of them instead of riding on their backs," Kris said. "We've only got ten hours till dawn. If the Great Light rises while we're still in Bel-roijas, we're finished. We'll have to make it in one trip and no doubts about it."
He looked around. "Everyone understand, then? Dran, get your crew down and start unslinging the cobalt from the hold. Bor, get a couple of men and drive the deests out on shore. We can't waste any time."
It was a strange sight—twenty deests, each groaning and swaying under a fortune in cobalt, each with a man walking at its side urging it along.
The Lesser Light glimmered faintly above as the strange caravan wound its way through the narrow dirt paths that led to Bel-rogas. Kris and his crew had anchored ship about two miles below the Bridge of Klid that spanned the Tammul, and, under cover of nightfall, they were heading west and north toward the School.