"But I saw them filing aboard this afternoon…"
"You saw them boarding the Minyan of Sotaspe, where they'll be quartered for the time being. There she lies now!" He pointed up-channel towards the vague black mass of hulls.
"Well," said the man in a puzzled tone, "if ye say all's well, it must be so."
And the ship dropped astern to mingle with the rest of the fleet.
"Whew!" said Barnevelt. "Right rudder—steady as you go. All oars out. Number three port, you're fouling up the stroke! Now pull! Stroke! Stroke!"
They issued from the mouth of the channel, leaving behind the mass of the allied navy moored along the edges of the terpahla, the ships' lanterns showing like a swarm of fireflies frozen in position. As the breeze still blew from the south, Barnevelt ordered the sails set wing-and-wing to take full advantage of it and turned the Yars north. Under the blanketing overcast, the Sunqar receded into the darkness.
Barnevelt watched it go with mixed feelings. If their luck held, they'd stop at Majbur and then go straight up the Pichide to Novorecife, where he'd pay off the Sunqaruma.
Sometimes he thought he was tired of blue-green hair and olive-tinted skins, bright skimpy clothes, clanking cutlery, and windy speeches delivered with swaggering gestures in rolling, rhythmic, guttural Gozashtandou. He glanced towards where Sol would be were it visible. New York with its labyrinthine tangle of transportation, its suave eating and drinking and living places, and its swift wisecracking conversation, would look good…
Or would it? He'd be returning to a New York almost twenty-five years older than the one he'd left. Although his friends and relatives, thanks to modern geriatrics, would mostly be still alive and not much aged, they'd have scattered and forgotten him. He'd be separated from them by a whole generation, and it would take him a year just to get oriented again. Shortly before he left, he'd bought a hat of the new steeple-crowned shape. Now such hats were probably as archaic as derbies—which might in their turn have been revived. He understood why people like Shtain and Tangaloa, who made a business of interstellar trips, formed a clique of their own.
And his mother would probably be there. While he had accomplished the tasks formally set him—to solve the Sunqar mystery, rescue Shtain, and fulfill the Cosmic Features contract—he had not yet solved his personal problems. Or rather he'd solved his mother problem by removing himself light-years away from her, but his impending return would cancel that solution.
He also suffered an odd feeling of loss, as if he were missing a chance. One of his old professors had once told him that a young man should obey the romantic impulse at least once:
"Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring Your Winter garment of Repentance fling…"
As by telling his boss to go to hell, or by joining a radical political movement. And here he was, letting prudence and foresight get the better of him.
On the other hand, George's suggestion that he bring a creature of another species to Earth and live with her there daunted him utterly. Such,a life would be just too damned complicated for him to cope with, especially if his mother…
At least, he swore, this time he'd use his head in his relations with his crew: Be kind and affable, but firm and consistent, allowing no undue familiarity.
Gizil came up to report. Barnevelt asked, "Weren't you the masked man I conked with the mug in Jazmurian?"
Gizil grinned shamefacedly. "I hoped your lordship had not recognized me, but such is indeed the fact. I was to make a disturbance—as ye saw me do by picking a quarrel with the Osirian—while Gavao did drug your drink, but the lard-head must have doctored his own by error. 'Twas like an imbecile Balhibu so to do."
"Were you really going to kill Sishen?"
"No-o, I suppose not, though it did my liver good to see the eldrich monster quake with fear."
"One would think you didn't like Osirians, though you worked for one."
"Perforce—for once having clamped his claws upon our helm, Sheafase gained such power over us by his fascinative talents that there was no shaking him, though many of us privately opined his reckless course would bring us to disaster, as indeed it did. Had the dice of Da'vi not turned up a double blank, thus terminating his existence, he'd have compelled us to the last man to resist."
"What were you trying to do to Tagde and me?"
"To abduct, or failing that to slay. I trust you'll hold it not against us, for we did but as Sheafase commanded—commands we could not shirk for the mental grip he held upon us. By his acquaintanceship with Earth, he knew full well the plans of Igor Eshtain the Sunqar to explore, and laid his gins accordingly."
Gizil went on to explain the inner workings of the janru ring, an organization that included Earthmen, Osirians, and Krishnans—how they had kidnaped Shtain and put him under pseudo-hypnosis on Earth; how they had planted Gizil, under the name of Vizqash, at Novorecife to watch for people sniffing on Shtain's trail, and so on.
"… one of the heads of the ring is an officer on that Viagens ship—a chivenjinir, I think they call—what's that?"
Pandemonium from the cabin announced that the Amazons now knew they had been deceived.
Two ten-nights later, the Yars put in to bustling Majbur, having been blown out of her course by the tail of the season's first hurricane and having twice fled from unidentified fleets on the horizon.
Barnevelt and Tangaloa went ashore, dragging Shtain between them and leaving Gizil in charge of the ship. Barnevelt had come to have a good deal of respect for the ex-pirate, despite the Krishnan's lordly airs, predatory past, and assorted attempts to murder him.
They proceeded to the office of Gorbovast, official agent in Majbur of King Eqrar of Gozashtand and unofficial agent for the Viagens Interplanetarias.
"By all the gods!" cried Gorbovast, startled out of his habitual suavity. "The Free City's fleet arrived two days agone with a wild and wondrous tale of how you twain did lead the allied fleet to triumph over the Sunqar and then, over some darksome dispute with old Alvandi, did truss her like an unha on the way to market, steal a ship of Suruskand manned by pirate prisoners, and vanish into air attenuate. And here you be! What led a wight of proven probity to turn his coat in such amazing fashion?"
Barnevelt told the commissioner about the queen's plan to kill the surrendered Sunqaruma.
"Ah well," said Gorbovast, " 'tis said you are to singular idealisms given. Who's this frowsy fellow in gyves? The Free City forbids unlawful restraint upon free men, even Earth-men…"
"This," said Barnevelt, "is the Shtain we were hunting."
"Igor Eshtain, eh?"
"The same. The janru ring captured him, and the Osirian members of the ring made him into a pirate by their mental powers, so now he doesn't know his old friends. Sheaf ase's dead, but we met another Osirian, Sishen, in Jazmurian some ten-nights back. I think he was on his way to Majbur. D'you know if he's here?"
"No, but we can learn. Let's to the Chief Syndic's chambers, across the street."
The Chief Syndic, whom they had seen last in Ghulind6, greeted them with even more amazement than had Gorbovast. When the situation had been explained, he sent for his chief of police, who sent for one of his subordinates, who said yes, this Sishen was staying at the Chunar and could be brought in within the hour.
"Don't frighten him," said Barnevelt. "He's a timid soul. Tell him some old friends want to see him."
"Ahem," said the Chief Syndic. "While I mislike to dampen so auspicious an occasion, yet duty forces me to bring up certain matters." He fumbled in his desk. "I have here a letter from the President of Suruskand, requesting help in recovering his stolen ship."