Two roads forked out from the Bridge of Klid—one going directly into Gelusar, the other bypassing the Holy City and carrying outward to Bel-rogas, which lay some five miles west of Gelusar. Kris guided his caravan through the backroads and byways to the fork, and then along the little-traveled road from there to Bel-rogas.
The coins jingled faintly as the deests struggled along under them. It was not, thought Kris, exactly a quiet group traveling along the road. He fingered the butt of the pistol at his sash; in case anyone should come down the road from the School, there might be trouble. It wouldn't be easy to explain where they were heading in the middle of the night with eight million weights of cobalt.
There were no difficulties, though, and finally they reached the borders of the School. Spacious parks bordered Bel-rogas; standing on the outskirts, Kris could see the group of majestic Earthman-designed buildings located around the central campus, and the spreading lawns that surrounded the entire School.
All was quiet. Lights burned in a few of the distant buildings, and Kris saw shadowy forms bent over desks in several of the windows. Earthmen, he thought. Plotting against us, late at night. A quiver of hatred ran through him.
It had taken five hours to cover the ten miles from the Tammul to the School. Five hours yet remained before the Great Light rose. Five hours to plant the cobalt and get moving back to the Krand. It was more than enough time.
He paused for a moment, mopping away the rain that had soaked into his eyes, and listened to the noisy breathing of the deests. They were struggling under the heavy load of coins, and some of them were scraping at the ground with their hoofs. They couldn't bear the burden too much longer.
"Let's go this way," Kris said. "Get the deests in line and follow single-file."
Stealthily, he edged into the grove that led to the School. He brought the caravan to a halt about half a mile from the nearest of the buildings. No one was around, though a light burned in a window of the building.
"Unload the deests," Kris ordered. "And don't clank those loops of coins around too much."
He joined them in the job of unloading, and before long eight million weights of cobalt lay in a deceptively small pile on the grass. Kris turned to Dran. "Pick two men and start driving the deests back to the ship. I don't want them bothering us while we work."
"We could always drive them down into the School and stable them there," Dran suggested.
"It wouldn't do," Kris said, chuckling. "The idea lacks practicality."
Dran chose his men and began herding the deests back out of the School grounds. Kris turned to the others.
"Unload those shovels," he ordered. He picked out four men and said, "You come with me. The rest of you deploy yourselves in a loose circle around us."
Each of his four chosen men grabbed a shovel and Kris led them as close to the School building as he dared. "We dig here," he said.
The eight million weights of cobalt took up more than thirty-six cubic feet. That meant a pit three by three by four, at least. Shovels bit into the ground.
It was slow work, because Kris insisted on a tidy job. When one of his men showed signs of tiring, he sent him back to be replaced with a fresh digger. They had the pit finished within three hours; the first glimmers of the Great Light were beginning to filter through.
"In with the cobalt, now," Kris said. He watched as they lowered the heavy loops of coin into the ground and painstakingly replaced the turf over the pit. He stepped back to survey the job.
"You'd hardly know anything was under that hump in the ground," he said approvingly. Then he chuckled. "Let's get back to the ship. The Earthmen are going to have a hard time explaining this away!"
Chapter X
The next few months moved slowly, as far as Kris was concerned. They were months of waiting, of exasperating detail-work and fine-lined planning. Slowly, he began to organize the sort of group that he felt would best serve his needs.
It took delicate juggling. Norvis peKrin took over the Scrip Exchange Office, carefully keeping the sagging monetary system of Dimay on a fairly even keel. But the paper scrip of Pelvash was none the less running dangerously low. Fewer and fewer people came in to exchange their money, true; since they assumed that it must be worth something, they were reluctant now to give it away for half its price. The money had acquired an artificial backing which consisted solely of Kris' pledge to redeem it for Pelvash money—a pledge that no longer mattered. It hadn't taken long for the Merchants' Party to accumulate several million in Dimay scrip by their trading policy. It now was back at its earlier value—and Kris and Norvis had thereby doubled their capital.
Meanwhile, Kris started his training program. It involved much word-of-mouth activity, a technique he was rapidly becoming proficient at, but before long he had assembled a fairly large corps of young men, drawing them from the landless farmers in the outlying districts, from the irreverent sailors willing to jump their papers, from anyone else who wanted to serve. Under the leadership of Dran peDran and Bor pePrannt, the men drilled every day in the flatlands just north of the city. No specific target had been revealed, but the men enjoyed the discipline.
Young Ganz peDel began to show promise, too. Norvis had suggested that he, too, be trained, and at first Kris had been reluctant. But the boy showed he was made of the right stuff. He could handle a peych-knife as well as, if not better than the others.
He had worked up a rather clever little exercise for the men. They formed up in a column on their deests, and then, galloping full tilt at a wooden pole, each man swung at it with his knife, lopping a bit off the top. Of course, as it grew shorter, each man had to bend lower to get his bit off. It improved their aim with the knife tremendously.
Yes, Ganz showed promise.
Marja geDel was doing her job well—even brilliantly. Kris became definitely aware of it the day a loutish-looking farmer in his thirties came to the office and asked to join Kris' men.
"Why do you want to join?" Kris asked. Norvis had suggested the question; it was helpful to know men's motives for doing something that was unheard of in Nidorian history.
The lout twisted his fingers together. "Well, Ancient One, I understand I can make a little extra money, which, Light knows, we need. My wife said she'd manage the farm; she said it was time I did something to help drive the devil Earthmen away. I never thought much about it, but she's right, I guess. All the women seem to think we've got to do something."
"We do," said Kris, hiding a grin, "Report to Garf peDom's farm tomorrow—just outside of Tammulcor, on the Tammul Road. That's our training held. Come at the Hour of Second Prayer."
"I'll be there, Aged One."
When he had gone, Kris thought over what he'd said. The women were definitely coming round. Preparations, then, were nearing completion. Now other wheels had to be set in motion—and for that, he would have to resort to his skill at rumormongering.
"Is there anything to the story that the Earthmen robbed that Bank?" Kris inquired casually, one evening, in a Tammulcor bar.
The barkeep looked surprised. "Haven't heard that story myself. Where'd you pick it up?"
Kris shrugged. "Oh ... it's all around. I thought you could give me some further information, that's all."
The barkeep leaned forward, interested. "Tell me about this, will you?"
"Seems the Earthmen—this is the way I got it—used some kind of magic to get into the Bank, and floated the cobalt out."