Next morning, Myron beat his way through the swarming streets to North Hill, whereon stood the palace of Darius the Great. Myron climbed the stair to the top of the hill, passing brilliant brick reliefs of fantastic animals—winged bulls, and goat-horned lions with hindlegs and wings of eagles, in blue and emerald and crimson and gold. At the top he talked himself into the royal library. The librarian, who knew Myron of old as a respectable bookworm, welcomed him warmly.
Meanwhile, in the Daduchid mansion in Shushan, Zopyrus son of Bagabyxas paced restlessly while listening to his visitor, a fresh-faced young cousin from the barracks.
"There is no doubt at all," said this one, "that it is Bessas son of Phraates. Who else comes roaring in, knocks people over with playful slaps on the back, drinks half the troop's daily allowance of wine at one draft, breaks the troop commander's collarbone in a friendly wrestle, and then snores all night like seven thunderstorms?"
"You have convinced me, cousin, though I see not how—but never mind. Slave! Run to the house of Ardigula the Babylonian and fetch him hither. I have a task for him."
The sun had passed the meridian when the slave returned with a small, mouselike, brown man, wrapped in a camel's hair cloak and a shawl. The small one glided in, bowed deeply to Zopyrus, and touched his own nose. "God increase your wealth and family!" he said in Aramaic.
Zopyrus held out his hand for the man to kiss, ordered his servants out, and closed the door himself. Long and earnestly the two conferred. At length die little man, scratching, said:
"Ari! You drive a hard bargain, my lord. It had been simpler if your highness had spoken yesterday, ere Lord Sataspes left Shushan."
"That could not be helped," said Zopyrus. "I had not found you yesterday. Mean you that you cannot catch up with Sataspes?"
"Nay; there are ways. I shall summon sprites from the sunless North ... But give my unworthy self the money at once, that your slave can get about this business. Him whom I serve"—he made a reverential gesture towards the earth—"shall take the honor of the Daduchids into his keeping. He will not fail my master. As for Bessas the Bactrian, that were as simple as spearing fish in a bathtub."
Myron ran Bessas to earth in the tavern of Indabigas. This time he could not get the giant Bactrian to leave until he had sat and drunk with him till his senses swam. Bessas improvised:
At last Bessas suffered himself to be dragged forth. They walked towards the river Khavaspa, over which a gibbous moon hung high. Bessas continued:
Myron said: "You ought to write these down, old boy. They might preserve your name for posterity."
"Nay! That were hard work; it would spoil the fun. Posterity can make up its own rhymes." As they came to the parapet overlooking the Khavaspa, Bessas added: "How did you make out?"
"I unearthed a few more details of our route. How about you?"
"I have—hist!"
"What is it?"
"I thought I heard a man moving stealthily ... Be that as it may, I have got us passage as far as Babylon, at least." Bessas hiccupped.
"How?"
"I have a friend in the postal service whose next run was to be tomorrow. He's sick with a cold in the head, and they are short of spare drivers for the mail carts that run from here to Babylon. So the postmaster said I might take the car in my friend's——-"
Two shadows moved out from the houses on the landward side of the promenade and rushed towards the twain. Bessas cried:
" 'Ware knives!"
Myron gaped for a heartbeat, then snatched off his cloak, whipped it about his left arm as a shield, and fumbled for his knife. There was a rip of cloth as the man thrust at him, his blade agleam in the moonlight. Myron swept his cloak over his attacker's head and kicked. The man grunted and gave back, tearing himself loose from the folds of wool. Myron got his knife clear at last and thrust, driving his assailant back.
Looking past his assailant's head, Myron saw what happened to the other marauder. The man ran at Bessas with a short sword held out in front of him. Bessas, too, seemed to hesitate. Then he made a tremendous leap, which carried him to the top of the four-foot parapet between the promenade and the river.
Myron expected to see the Bactrian plunge on into the water. Instead, the huge man, balancing as lightly as a dancer, spun on the balls of his feet as he swept out his long horseman's sword. As the attacker plunged in, the sword whirled in a double circle. The first stroke sheared through the wrist that held the short sword; the second came down between shoulder and neck.
The man collapsed with a hoarse, choking cry. Bessas leaped down from his perch and started towards Myron. Myron's opponent, who was still trying to get past Myron's guard, turned and ran. Bessas ran after, but the man vanished. Presently Bessas came back.
"Ducked into an alley and lost me," he growled. "Let's see who this druj is."
He turned the dead assassin over. "I cannot be sure in this light, but I don't think I know him. Do you?"
Myron, breathing hard, said: "Not I." They searched in vain for marks of identification. Bessas said:
"We'd better get rid of him, or the watch will hale us into court, and we shall spend a year fighting a murder charge instead of getting to Kush. Take his sword."
Seizing the dead man's collar in one hand and his girdle in the other, Bessas picked up the corpse, swung it in a circle, and tossed it over the parapet. As it struck the river with a splash, shattering the moon's reflection into silvery shards, he threw the severed hand after it. Glancing warily to right and left, he said softly:
"Now I am damned to the Land of Silence for polluting running water. But my fravashi tells me that these were no ordinary footpads. Probably, like Puzur, they are creatures of Zopyrus. Let's get home."
Next morning, in the Daduchid mansion, Zopyrus snarled: "Well, Master Ardigula, what have you to say, aside from the fact that you have failed?"
The Babylonian spread his hands. "Take it not so to heart, my master. It is but a temporary check. It cost me a good man to learn that Bessas' guardian spirit, or fravashi as you call it, is of outstanding power and must be neutralized by mighty spells—"
"How will you neutralize his spirit when he is on his way to Babylon?"
"Fear not, noble sir. Your slave will communicate with his colleagues in that city, by the same method that I have used in the case of Sataspes."
"And what is that?"
"A secret cantrip, handed down in my family from the days before the Flood. As seven rare ingredients are required, however, you had better pay me an additional daric—"
"Not another farthing, scum!" said Zopyrus. "You know our bargain."
"Alas, good my lord, too well do I know it! Very well, I will do what I can with cheap ingredients; but blame me not if—"