It took a while before the constables reappeared. They were trained searchers, and they had done a thorough job, having searched through the vessel for nearly three hours. When they came above, though, it was immediately apparent to Kris that they had been unsuccessful in their search.
He smiled to himself. Obviously, they didn't even as much as suspect the existence of a false hold in the bottom of the ship. After all, a ship is only built one way; the thought that anyone might break time-honored tradition would never enter into their heads.
The leader of the squad seemed a great deal more at ease than he had been when he had boarded the ship. "Well?" Kris asked. "Find the untold millions below?"
"I'm glad to say your ship's in fine order, captain. Not a trace of contraband of any sort. But still—"
"Yes?" Kris asked suspiciously.
"It's very odd, you know. A hundred manweights of cobalt is no easy load; how could it disappear like that? It's like magic."
Kris looked thoughtfully at the top of the mizzenmast. "Yes. You're right. It's almost as though the stuff had floated off into thin air—-as the Earthmen do, when they leave us."
A startled expression crossed the constable's face. "You aren't suggesting—"
"Oh, no!" Kris said, his face taking on an expression of horror. "Great Light forbid! No! But, as you said, it looks like magic."
The officer scowled. "Little help that is. Well, that'll be all. Good sailing, Captain Kris peKym."
Without another word, he and his men climbed down to the dinghy and rowed off. Kris barely managed to repress the urge to chuckle uproariously as their oars swept busily through the water.
When they were a good distance from the ship, Kris breathed deeply and turned around to Dran peDran.
"All right, let's turn in. We have to take sail tomorrow—and we have to look like honest sailors, don't we?"
Then he noticed the peculiarly solemn look on the First Officer's face.
"What's the matter, Dran peDran?"
The little Bronze Islander glanced apprehensively at the Public Peace dinghy that was moving smoothly away, some hundred yards from the ship. "We is got somewhat of trouble, captain. Come below, eh?"
Kris followed Dran down the ladder to the First Officer's cabin. There, he saw two burly sailors standing guard over a third seaman. The prisoner looked dazed.
"We has to clout him on the head when we find what he is up to, captain. Look at this." He handed Kris a bit of paper.
Kris took in the words scribbled on it at a quick glance:
The money is in a false bottom built into the ship. I had nothing to do with the robbery. Ask the Grandfathers to pray for me.
It was signed, Vels peKorvin Danoy.
"He is trying to give it to the Peaceman when I catch him," said Dran peDran.
Kris frowned. "Did you write this, Vels peKorvin?"
"Sure he write it!" Dran snarled. "I signal the boys when I see him, and they clout him and take him here! We tell the Peacemen that he is seasick," he added as an afterthought.
"Quiet, Dran," Kris said softly. "Let him talk. Did you write this, Vels peKorvin?"
The prisoner looked up stiffly. "I wrote it, captain. To steal money from a bank is nothing but sacrilege. It is a sin which I do not want on my soul."
"Why didn't you just denounce us?" Kris asked. His voice was still soft.
"It would have done no good," Vels said bitterly. "You would have killed us all. But if they got the note, they could have done something about it later, after they got ashore."
"Then you admit your guilt? You admit you have endangered the life of those aboard this vessel?" Kris crossed his arms sternly. "There is only one sentence for that, Vels peKorvin Danoy."
"I know. But I did what I thought was right."
"Very well." Kris turned to Dran. "Prepare a Cup of Eternal Quiet."
The little First Officer registered astonishment. "What, captain? The drug is only for those who is too badly hurt to live, or for those who is dying of an evil growth! Traitors is hanged!"
"Quiet!" Kris said sharply. "Hanging is for criminals; stoning is for blasphemers. Vels peKorvin is neither. He has done what he thought was right. If he had done it through fear of being caught, if he had denied it through cowardice, if he had tried to smuggle the Peacemen the note because of his fear of us—then I most assuredly would have hanged him. But he did what he did because of a mistaken belief that we are not on the side of the Great Light; he thinks that following the way of the Earthmen is following the Way of our Ancestors. Therefore, his death shall be honorable. Bring the Cup, Dran peDran."
The First Officer bobbed his head. "Yes, sir. I sees." He turned quickly and left the room.
Kris faced the stony-featured prisoner. "Your clan, the Danoy, will be told that you died in the course of duty, Vels peKorvin. I will see that the Passing Service is said for you at the Temple in Vashcor."
Hypocrite! Kris thought accusingly. All this solemnity when the thing to do is just to heave the man overboard. But revolutions move slowly.
The seaman bowed his head. "You are a great man, captain, even though you are misled. My prayers shall be for you."
"And mine for you. Would you care to hear the Scripture?"
The sailor nodded.
Kris crossed the tiny cabin to the locker where Dran peDran kept his personal belongings. He opened it, took out a thick book bound in brown deest leather, and began leafing through it.
At that moment, Dran peDran came in quietly, holding a cup of peych beer. The little cabin was silent as the prisoner took the bitter-tasting cup and drank it. He lay down on the bunk, face down, his hands clasped above his head. It would be a few minutes before the poison took effect.
"The Book of History," Kris peKym said. "Second section. 'And the Great Light spoke to the Lawyer Bel-rogas, saying: The Cataclysm has destroyed those who were not righteous, and they shall suffer forever. But he who dies for My sake shall live in eternal peace.
" 'Now, at that time, a certain man came to Bel-rogas,' "
Chapter III
The Krand weighed anchor at firstlight, sailing out of the Bay of Tammulcor and making her way due cast, along the coast. She skirted Thyvocor, the small port city of Thyvash Province, staying well out to sea so that her tall masts would not be seen. Then she angled northeast, heading for the Bronze Islands.
The trip was uneventful. The Krand dropped anchor well offshore in the dead of night. In the distance could be heard the rumble of the sea splashing against tall cliffs, and the occasional cry of a flying sea lizard.
Silently and carefully, the crew set to work. All that night they labored, doing their job doggedly and without case. A ship's longboat made the passage from ship to shore and back again many times. It was not until firstlight that Kris announced that the job was nearly done. He made the last trip himself.
Kris peKym eased himself down into the longboat and whispered: "Dran peDran, if you make those oars creak one more time, I swear I'll tie a rock around your neck and throw you overboard."
"Us is made twelve trips in this boat," said Dran stolidly. "Us is carried lots heavier cargoes than you is, captain. How many creaks is you heard?"
Kris glanced at the other crewmen in the dim illumination of the setting Lesser Light "I heard three," he said succinctly. "And that's about four too many."