"Here's one who hasn't caught up with Krishnan birth-control methods," said Alicia. She and Mjipa gave brief answers.
At the rambling, stucco palace, they had to wait most of the morning in the anteroom, because the Phathvum was busy with the government-in-exile of Suria, now overrun by the steppe-dwelling nomads of Qaath. When at last admitted, they found the stout Chanapar puffing a cigar and saying:
"Good morrow, sir and madam. What hap?"
Mjipa made a long speech, full of flattery and circumlocution. He finally got around to his request: "... and so, good my lord, 'twould greatly pleasure us to visit the unfortunate Doctor Isayin in his cell."
"Nay," said Chanapar. "Though I grieve as King Sabzavar did when his daughter was abducted, I must refuse. 'Twere clean against our legal procedures."
"We might even convert him to the true belief, the official doctrine geographical of Kalwm. If he were so converted, would he then be released?"
"Nay. Let a heretic think he hath but to recant to be enlarged, and who would stay convicted to furnish an ensample wherewith to terrify other sinners into the ways of virtue? I am truly sorry, my friends, but you strive to weave a rope of sand."
"Oh, Your Altitude!" said Alicia. "Will nothing persuade you? We are not without influence at Novorecife, and we might be able to do the kingdom favors on our return thither."
"Nay, 'tis stark impossible. And now I must beg your indulgence, for the Treasurer's report, about to arrive, will command my full diligence."
They walked slowly back to Irants's Inn, Alicia bubbling over the prospect of a shopping spree, Mjipa sunk in frowning thought. At the afternoon meal, Mjipa ate a whole ambar. This item of sea food bore an uncanny resemblance to a Terran cockroach enlarged to lobster size. Its appearance made some Earthlings nauseated at the thought of eating it, but Mjipa was hardened.
During this dinner, Mjipa queried Irants about the shopping districts. Armed with this knowledge they set out, Alicia sprightly, Mjipa feeling martyred. He lost track of the number of shops they stopped at. In each one they listened to the unctuous sales talk of the merchant, while Alicia looked over countless items and rejected them. Mjipa found standing around in shops more fatiguing than a fifty-kilometer gallop. His feet began to hurt.
In the end, Alicia bought a Kalwmian kilt with horizontal stripes of red, yellow, and blue. She also bought a wide-brimmed straw hat, such as they had seen otherwise naked farm workers wear. "I don't tan well," she explained. "I just burn and peel."
"It's the same with Fergus Reith, our permanent tour guide," said Mjipa. "You must meet him. Here, a pale skin's a badge aristocracy, just as it once was in Europe. A deep tan means you work out of doors, say on a farm, so you're a proletarian. That distinction never applied to us Africans, since we stayed black no matter what."
Her last purchase was a necklace of semi-precious stones in silver settings. This took as much time as several previous stops together. She studied the jeweler's offerings, tried them on, pirouetted before a mirror, and seemed unable to make up her mind. At last Mjipa growled:
"Look, my dear, if you'll just buy one of those bloody things and get it over with, I'll pay for it out of my own meager salary."
"Don't be silly!" She fumbled in her musette bag. "I've got money enough. It's just that they're all so divine."
When, having bought the necklace, they reached the street, Roqir had disappeared behind the buildings. The greenish blue of the sky was deepening towards twilight; small bijars flitted in pursuit of flying arthropods.
In starting back for the inn, they took a wrong turn and found themselves in a district poorer than any they had yet seen. "Looks like a tough neighborhood," murmured Mjipa.
"Oh, you needn't worry, with your size and your—oh, my! You don't have your sword!"
"I haven't been wearing the damned thing around the city. It would be a comfort now, I admit. We'd better hurry."
They strode on past doorways in which members of the Kalwmian underclass lounged, smoked, drank, and played piza on the pavement. One such group looked up simultaneously as the Terrans passed. Mjipa heard a shout that sounded like "Chaispis vatsw eqhav khos ash tserku!"
"What did he say?" asked Alicia. "I can't quite follow the extreme city dialect."
"It sounded like a sexual insult, directed at you." Mjipa slowed his stride and looked around.
Alicia pulled his arm. "Ignore them, Percy! We don't want a brawl, here of all places."
"When I'm with a lady, I don't let hooligans insult her—"
"Never mind! These thugs have the numbers and the swords. Now come along, Don Quixote!"
They continued to the next crossing, when footsteps and a repetition of the opprobrious sentence warned them they were followed. They crossed the intersecting street into a more prosperous neighborhood, where Mjipa halted and faced about.
He confronted four Kalwmians. One, with a scar on one cheek, bore a sword; the other three had daggers only.
"Were you speaking to me?" Mjipa addressed the swordsman in Khaldoni.
"Nay," said the Krishnan. "We care nought for you. We gape for the Terran doxy. Come with us, sweetling, and we'll show you a more frolicsome time than ever this black Terran shomal could."
"Never!" exclaimed Alicia and Mjipa together.
"Keep out of this, O Terran," said the swordsman, grasping his hilt, "unless ye list to be eunuchized."
"Alicia," said Mjipa,"hand me that kilt you bought." As she opened her mouth, he added sharply: "Don't argue!"
She gave him the folded garment. He said: "The lady is going nowhere. Now run along about your business."
The swordsman spat and bared a span of his steel, saying: "Ye seem not to know who I am."
"I admit my ignorance," said Mjipa.
"My name is Khostavorn."
"So?" said Mjipa. "That means nothing to me."
"It means that those who are wise belay not my path." Out came another few centimeters of blade. "Now go about your business!"
"I am minding my business right now," said Mjipa.
"Then ye'll have brought the fruits of your folly upon yourself," said Khostavorn, sweeping out his sword. "Will ye yield, or must your foul Terran blood be upon my hands?"
"Go to Hishkak!"
Khostavorn plunged forward in an extended lunge, with his point aimed for Mjipa's chest. As he did so, Mjipa unfurled the kilt and whipped it around the blade, spoiling its aim and for the second immobilizing it Before the swordsman could recover, Mjipa sprang forward, past the sword's point, and brought his right fist up in a seeping uppercut. It landed with a crack, sending Kostavorn staggering.
A second punch caused the Krishnan to drop his sword. Mjipa bored in, pounding the gangster with rights and lefts. Khostavorn fell back against a house front and toppled to the ground, unconscious.
Drawing his dagger, Mjipa whirled as one of the other three moved towards him. At the consul's formidable aspect, the three backed away, turned, and fled.
Nursing bruised knuckles, Mjipa muttered: "You never know where to hit these blokes for best results, because their internal anatomy is different. I think I'll help myself to Master Khostavorn's sword."
"Hadn't you better kill him while you have the chance? Nobody's in sight."
Mjipa gave Alicia a sharp look. "For a pretty, delicate-looking little thing, you surely have the bloodiest ideas."
"Well, will you? It's only common sense."
"No, I won't."
"Why not? He's not human, and he'd have killed you."
"I won't because I've seen how native justice works. A bloke's attacked you, and you've killed him in self-defense—a clear case. But they take one look and say, 'He's an alien monster from outer space. He's obviously guilty; boil him in oil!' "