Everyone turned to the source of those stentorian tones.
A tran they hadn’t seen before was striding toward them. He was resplendent in azure and emerald silks, overlaid with fine leather bindings and straps. His beard was longer than Hunnar’s and tinged with white over the steel-gray.
The eyes were sunken deep under hairy brows. As he drew closer another aspect of his person was made clear. Here was the first really fat tran they’d encountered.
“Darmuka Brownoak,” announced the herald, rather after the question. “Prefect of Wannome!”
“What’s all this mean?” September whispered to Hunnar.
“Darmuka is prefect of the city and a powerful member in Council besides,” the knight replied. “A very forceful and stubborn individual. Also ambitious and greedy. And very wealthy, which in the long run ’tis more important than all the others. There are few richer than he. The Landgrave is one, of course. Of the others, some support him, some Darmuka.”
“Hmm. Political conflict,” murmured Ethan to no one in particular. “I thought the Landgrave had absolute power?”
“In all decisions the Landgrave has final power,” said Hunnar. “This does not mean he imprudently acts against the wishes of a majority of influential citizens.” The knight quieted as the prefect came within hearing distance.
Darmuka put one foot up on the dais and surveyed the gathering with interest and undisguised contempt.
“So these are the strange ones who come on a raft of flying metal, eh?” he said almost challengingly. “They surely are strange strangers.”
“You’re no interstellar sex god yourself, fatso,” countered September. Ethan winced, but the prefect merely grunted satisfaction.
“There will be no insulting of guests in my presence,” declared Kurdagh-Vlata rather lamely.
“Insult?” The prefect put both paws delicately on his chest and drew himself erect. “I, insult a visitor to the Council Chamber? I?” He turned and looked intently around the room then, so hard that the herald and even the Landgrave couldn’t resist doing the same. The prefect stared at the ceiling and even raised the corner of a throw fur to glance beneath it.
“By the by,” he continued in mock surprise, “where is the Council? I do believe a quorum is not present. Here we have six alien creatures of unknown power and intentions. They bring with them a ship of more forged metal than Wannome has seen since the Great Sack. And not a member of the Council present… other than my poor, hastily arrived self, of course.” He looked innocently at the Landgrave. “Is this in accordance with the Charter of Council? Perhaps the Council should be called into session, to discuss their absence. Since they are not here, it cannot be debated. Dear me, a paradox.”
“I did not feel it necessary yet to trouble the full Council with such an odd matter,” replied Kurdagh-Vlata. It sounded mighty feeble to Ethan.
“I see,” said Brownoak. “As is well known, his Lordship’s wisdom exceeds all of ours combined. I bow to his decision.” Darmuka executed a sloppy half-bow. “However, as I entered, I think ’twas mentioned something about ‘dealing with the Horde.’ Would you say, milord, that anything which relates to that matter is of more than odd nature? Worthy perhaps even for discussion by Council, as it does affect every adult and cub in the great land of Sofold?”
“Yes, surely,” Kurdagh-Vlata responded.
“Then might it not be prudent to postpone any discussion of matters relating to such until full Council has been gathered?” Kurdagh-Vlata said nothing and Darmuka prompted, “Is this agreed, milord?”
“I… oh, very well, Darmuka! Confound your impudence!” He stood abruptly and struck the floor twice with the base of the jeweled staff. Sir Hunnar and Darmuka both bowed. The humans copied them. The Landgrave then retired, taking his daughter and advisor with him.
“Tis good to see you returned safe and whole, Sir Hunnar,” said Brownoak. “Did your expedition include any successful massacres?”
“We met no one, so we fought with no one, spineless messenger,” replied the knight stiffly. He smiled slightly at the other. But this time a flash of white was visible between his lips. Clearly he was controlling himself with an effort.
“How very fortunate. I should be distressed to see one of our finest knights injured over such an odd matter. Especially with a crisis approaching. Good day to you, outlanders.” He bowed toward Ethan. “We shall undoubtedly see more of each other.”
With a fluttering of sea-colored silk and rich brown hides, the prefect stalked off down the hall.
“Well,” said Hellespont, “I may not have the grasp of the local language that you gentlemen possess, but that chap is of a type I need no words to recognize.”
“He’s a character, all right,” September commented in Trannish, nodding. He looked over at Hunnar and grinned. “You two aren’t exactly blood-brothers, I take it.”
“The Brownoak has less blood for battle than a jelly-moss,” spat the knight, staring after the other. “That one so bereft of heart should wield so much power… Worse, he is an unconscionable butcher who would dress the whole province for rape, content in the rightness of his way!”
He sighed. “Come. I will take you to rooms. And there is something of great significance you should be informed of before we can discuss your journey any further. Or before you are put before the Council… I will see to the transfer of your food to your apartments. The Council, however, will expect you to dine with them. Can you eat our food?”
“It’s a long way from the Honeybucket Room in the Grand Hotel on Hivehom, but I think we can manage,” replied September.
“That one,” said Ethan, reminding Hunnar of Walther’s presence, “should dine alone in his room, with a guard in attendance. One who is not susceptible to bribery.”
Walther shook his head but said nothing. “I’m even smaller than the lady du Kane and you’re all frightened of me.”
September just laughed.
“I will see to it,” said Sir Hunnar.
VI
ETHAN’S ROOM WAS NEATLY furnished. He suspected his accommodations were fancy by local standards. If Wannome was a typical province capital, then the trade prospects for the planet were far better than anyone had guessed. Why, in precious metalwork alone… and these marvelous coats…
Now, if he could only find a way to file a report!…
The big canopied bed had damask-like draperies and covers. He wondered how such material was made. All of the wealthy tran they’d encountered so far had been clad in similar material. Neatly worked, too. He doubted the material came from silkworms. If there were insects on this world they kept themselves scarce. Any self-respecting silkworm would turn to a small lump of frozen flesh in a short day. And they didn’t seem advanced enough for artificial fabric. Another mystery to unravel.
The bed was probably intended for a single occupant, but it was three times the width of any single bed he’d ever slept on. The wooden chest at its foot was intricately carved. A huge mirror covered much of one wall, no doubt just the right size for an adult tran.
A real double bed must be an ocean of morphean comfort.
The door bolted solidly—from the inside only, he noted—although the bolt itself was made of hardwood and not metal. Wannome’s designers had left nothing to chance in creating their guest suites. The door would hold well enough to keep out the casual thief, but not well enough to resist a concerted charge from a couple of well-muscled guardsmen.
He also noticed a small but elaborately set whetstone. It was placed near the foot of the bed and could be operated with one foot. Its purpose escaped him for a moment. It was too low to conveniently sharpen a knife, for example. Then he realized it was for putting an edge on one’s own chiv.