“By the time they reach the condemned, those sail-powered lances have built up enough speed to drive halfway up someone’s body. The head of the victim is always propped up so he or she can see the lances coming. Isn’t that cute?”
“I wish you could have saved that little anecdote till after dinner,” Ethan mumbled. He believed he had a reasonably strong stomach, but this world… “Okay, you’ve convinced me he’s not a nice fella. What does Hunnar want from us? He wants something, that’s sure, or he wouldn’t have spent all that time telling you about it. Nor describing what a bastard this Sagyanak is. Sales technique. And he said there was something important he wanted us to know about before dinner tonight.”
“Good lad,” said September approvingly. “Here it is, then: As you would expect, Hunnar and this general Balavere are being very careful about the whole idea. They’d much rather convince the Council that tribute isn’t a paying proposition and it’s more logical to fight. But if they can do it by creating so much emotion for fighting that no one will speak against them, then by the Black Hole, they’ll do it that way.”
“Which means?” asked Ethan, digging his toes into the warmth of a fur blanket.
“That when they put their proposition forward, it would be appreciated muchly if we spring up like good chappies and swear to fight to the last dribble of blood alongside ’em.”
“Umm. Don’t you mean that they want us to support their idea of fighting?”
“No,” said September bluntly. “We are to agree to pick up swords and spears and make suitable hacking motions alongside our Sofoldian brethren.”
Ethan sat up quickly. All thoughts of napping remained stuck to the blankets.
“They want us to fight? But why? We’re not citizens of Sofold and we’re surely not warriors… at least, I’m not.”
“That will change,” September replied placidly. “While the locals seem to have responded to our appearance with a great deal of calm, Hunnar assures me that we’ve created quite a sensation. Otherwise their attitude might lead one to think that strange aliens dropped in on them every day. Hunnar would like the opposition to believe we’re some kind of omen, what? The signs for battle are auspicious and all that sort of thing… But if we cower in the castle while the real fighting is taking place, all potential psychological lift will go down the tubes. So we’ll be expected to march happily into the action, spending the blood of the enemy left and right with mysterious alien devices. Eh, me lad?”
Ethan had gotten stuck in a mental cul-de-sac several sentences back.
“Fight?” he murmured wonderingly to himself. “I can handle a nullgee club or a tennis racket. And I’m not bad at ricochet golf, if I do say so. But as to standing up and exchanging ax blows with one of these super-muscled pussycats—”
“In return for this minor physical but major moral support,” September continued smoothly, “Hunnar has promised us all the aid we need to reach Arsudun.”
Ethan threw up his hands. “Oh great! Assuming that any of us are left alive to take advantage of his munificence. I suppose in that event he’ll personally see to a splendid funeral cortege. We’ll be deposited with much weeping and heaving of anguished breasts at the foot of a reluctant Landgrave. I know one thing. There’ll be no smile on my corpse. Suppose we don’t go along?”
He expected September to counter with something like “we can’t refuse,” or “they’ll chop off our fingers until we agree.” His reply was a surprise.
“Nothing.” He shook his head slowly. “They’ll just do the best they can to persuade the others, without our commitment. If we want, we can leave for Brass Monkey tomorrow and make our own way as best we can.”
“Oh.” He thought again of Hunnar’s face when, at last, the chance to fight had been mentioned. “When are you going to ask the others?”
“I already have. Colette du Kane thought it over real hard. Then she said we had no alternative. I’m beginning to think that girl’s got a mind as sharp as her torso is flabby… You know how the old man is. Odd fella. One minute he was trying to tell me about how he’s got to take care of himself so’s he can get back to his bloody flowers, the next it’s ‘down with the cowardly invaders, up Sofold!’ He went along… Walther said no, not surpri—”
Ethan was surprised himself. “You asked him?”
“Sure I asked him. He started to say no, but changed his mind. Just wanted to make it unanimous.” The big man smiled.
“And Williams?” Ethan was trying to visualize the schoolmaster in helmet and armor with battle-ax in hand. The picture served to cheer him.
“He’s been holed up with that top-dog wizard… what’s his name?’… Eer-Meesach. Barely looked up from their confab long enough to nod at me before diving back into a stream of chatter I couldn’t follow. Don’t know if he’s even aware of what I asked. One of us seems to have made a real pal among the locals.”
“It’s hardly surprising,” said Ethan thoughtfully. “Think of the things someone like this Eer-Meesach could learn from a Commonwealth plain citizen—let alone a teacher. We can use an open-minded native or two on our side. A man of science is helpless by himself, but two of them constitute an entity capable of ignoring starvation, freezing, and prospects of imminent death just by chatting about some item of mutual interest,” he concluded.
“Really?” mocked September, caterpillar eyebrows arching. “Are you in that category too, young feller-me-lad?”
“Who, me?” He chuckled. “Right now my greatest scientific aspiration is to annihilate the biggest steak in this quadrant. With Hammoud’s barbecue sauce, crisp-turned reshka, and a bottle of Lafitte Calm Nursery Blend ’96, or maybe ’97. Speaking of which,” he continued, turning on his side, “what are we going to do for food tonight?”
“A question of real significance,” agreed September, nodding. “I suggested to Hunnar that we use our own food from the boat. Looked positively shocked, he did. Wouldn’t hear of it. Claimed our alien odors and smells might make some important councilman ill. I pointed out that if one of us threw our dinner all over said councilman it wouldn’t do his contingent any good either. He wouldn’t buy it. Said it would be a poor way of showing our solidarity if we refused to tear meat with them… at least, that’s how I mangle the metaphor he used… So we’re stuck with whatever the chef has in mind. I didn’t have a chance to wangle a copy of the menu. You said we shouldn’t have any trouble handling the food, right?”
“I hope not,” Ethan replied thoughtfully. “I don’t anticipate any, from what I remember. That doesn’t rule out the possibility of there being one or two just bad goodies in the banquet. I’d advise sticking to one or two plain dishes and not trying to play the interstellar gourmet. Probably most of it will be hearty and bland. Did you happen to find out anything about local etiquette?”
September smiled. “You eat with your fingers. Beyond that you improvise. And armor is optional.”
“I asked Hunnar about the local manners myself,” Ethan mentioned to September. He was nervously trying to adjust the brilliant gold sash that swept diagonally across his brown spotted-fur dress jacket. The royal tailor had gone through a triple funk trying to fit them with clothing suitable to the occasion.