Mongamri leaped to the left end of the platform and started to run across it. Marko jumped up after him. In the middle of the stage, President Vlora was still shouting directions to his beadles and threats to his students, while Sokrati Popu continued to deliver his inaudible speech. On the upstage part of the platform, the faculty and the distinguished guests were crouched on their knees, holding the light chairs in front of them as shields against the rain of missiles.
Mongamri pushed between the president and Popu and ran on to the right end of the platform. The president and Popu looked around at this interruption. Both saw Marko approaching with his ax. With a scream of terror, Sokrati Popu turned and dove in amongst the cowering faculty, while Mathai Vlora leaped off the platform into the boiling, black-cloaked mass of undergraduates.
Marko ran on. He reached the right end of the platform to see Chet Mongamri streaking back up the right interior aisle. The fellow was actually gaining on him. Marko sprang down from the edge of the platform and gathered his great muscles for a desperate sprint, when his head exploded and he knew no more.
When Marko Prokopiu regained consciousness, he was first aware of lying on a bed and then of a splitting headache. He raised a hand to his head and discovered that on the crown, just in front of the scalp lock, it bore a lump the size of a terser egg.
“Waking up, eh?” said a voice with an accent. After a few seconds, Marko identified the voice as that of Boert Halran, the little Anglonian philosopher.
Marko groaned and sat up. “Where is this?” he asked.
“This is my room,” said Halran.
“How did I get here? The last thing I remember was chasing that lecher Mongamri”
“A beadle fractured his staff on your head as you ran past him. He would have arrested you, because it transpires that in Thine there is some quaint law that renders it a misdemeanor to kill people during commencement exercises, church services, and other public occasions. But the riot became general, and the beadle had his hands full with whacking undergraduates. I thought only Anglonian students did that sort of thing.”
“I don’t know Anglonia, but the Thinean undergraduates are the rowdiest lot of savages in the Kralate. I had to knock several of them cold when I was here before. Go on, please.”
“Well, Noli and I fought our way through the mob and carried you to his office; or rather, we got an undergraduate, to help us, because you are the heaviest man I ever tried to lift. Then we could not bring you back to consciousness. You must have had a slight concussion.”
“Where’s my ax?” said Marko.
“Here is that murderous monstrosity. While you were in the office, some of your local police agents came by looking for you. Noli hid you in his closet. They explained they had a warrant for your arrest, which had been sent down from Skudra for breaking jail there. I did not realize you were such a calloused character.”
“I didn’t use to be,” groaned Marko. “I was only trying to do my duty.”
“Well, they informed us about your having been sentenced for teaching Descensionism, too, and Noli told them he had no conception of where you were. As he explained to me subsequently, he is an Evolutionist himself; but, believing in freedom of speech, he thought himself obliged to protect you. Finally, they departed to scour the town for you. Then Noli asked me to conceal you. I do not like to become involved in the domestic quarrels of another country, but I owe Noli many favors and so let myself be persuaded.”
Marko’s mind had begun to work, despite the fact that an invisible smith seemed to be using his head for an anvil. “What day is this?”
“The fifth of Napoleon. You have been unconscious for almost exactly twenty-four hours.”
Marko groaned. “They’ll have left on the caravan! I must get my horse!”
“You will not find your horse, I fear.”
“What? Why not?”
“The officers informed us they had recovered a horse you had stolen from some magistrate in Skudra. Is that the one you refer to?”
“Yes.” Marko held his head for a few seconds. “Do you know when the next caravan leaves for Niok?”
“On the eleventh. That is the one I shall take.”
“Then I shall go too.”
“Oh?” said Boert Halran with a note of alarm in his voice.
“Why not? I can pay my way, and it looks as though the Kralate would be too warm for me for a while.” Marko stood up and cautiously moved his head. “A little dizzy, but it will pass. I’ll go to my own quarters so as not to encumber you any more, sir.”
“Are you feeling all right?” said Halran. “It would be most inexpedient for you to lose consciousness in the street.”
“It will take a thicker club than that to crack my skull. Thank you for your valued hospitality.”
“You are welcome, my friend. Oh, before you go, Noli asked me to collect from you the price of that academic hat he obtained for you. The blow ruined it, and if you do not pay for it he will be compelled to do so.”
Marko paid and departed. He got back to his own room without encounters and spent most of the next five days there. He would have liked to search the town some more, to make sure that Mongamri and Petronela had in fact departed on the caravan of the fifth. But he feared being recognized.
4
As Muphrid rose on the eleventh of Napoleon, Marko Prokopiu, carrying his bag, came to the central square, where the caravan was mustering. Having no mount, he would have to buy a seat on a camel to Niok.
The caravan conductor, a swart Arabistani, stood at the center of a knot of travelers, assigning them their places and collecting fares. Among the passengers, Marko recognized Boert Halran. Halran had, besides his own luggage, a large hand cart on which stood four huge jugs. A pair of workmen leaned against the wheels of the cart.
Four archers in well-oiled hauberks of chain mail squatted on their heels, holding the reins of their horses. These men were supposed to protect the caravan from robbers and wild beasts. Because of the protection they afforded, the conductor collected fares even from those who had their own mounts or vehicles for the privilege of accompanying the rest.
“All right,” said the conductor to Halran. “I’ll hang these four jugs on one of my camels and give you a seat on another. Can you manage a camel?”
“Yes.”
“Then let me see, who shall take the other seat of old Mutasim? … You!” The conductor addressed Marko. “Do you wish a seat too?”
“Yes,” said Marko. “To Niok.”
“Can you drive a camel?” . “I’ve never tried.”
“Then you can’t. You shall take the back seat on this beast. I ought to charge you extra fare because of your weight, but I’m in a generous mood.”
Halran looked quizzically at Marko. “You seem to be my fate, my sanguinary young friend. Have you ever traveled by camel?”
“No, sir.”
“You have much to learn, then. Strap your bag on here.”
Boert Halran showed Marko how to stow himself and his gear aboard their beast. Then he went to help the two workmen, the conductor, and the caravan dispatcher to manhandle the jars off the cart and sling them on the next camel astern. When this had been done, he came back and climbed into the front seat on Marko’s camel.
The caravan dispatcher looked at the big vertical sun dial, which rose out of the ornamental fountain at the center of the square. “Only fifteen minutes late,” said he to the conductor. “If I live long enough, I shall get a caravan off on time yet.”
The dispatcher smote a gong near the sun dial with a long-handled mallet. The conductor shouted orders. With a chorus of snorts and moans, the camels rose. Marko, forewarned, held the handhold in front of him and so was not thrown off, although one other passenger was. The camel behind Marko’s rose, laden with the four amphorae of stupa gum.