When he asked the landlord about baths, the latter referred him to a public bathhouse down the street. He went down to have a look at the place, identified by a sea shell big enough for a bathtub over the door. He paid his way in, then found to his dismay that the bath customs of Ruz were much like those of Japan. While as an ex-married man he had no strong inhibitions along that line, a look at the male Krishnans convinced him that he'd never pass as one under those circumstances. For one thing, Krishnans had no navels.
He returned to his inn and told the landlord: "Sorry, chum, but I just remembered—I'm under a religious penance not to bathe in public. Could you furnish me with a tub and some hot water in my room?"
The landlord scratched the roots of his antennae and reckoned he could.
Hasselborg added: "Also I should like some—uh—" What was the word for "soap"? "Never mind; I'll tell you later." He climbed the stairs on aching feet to consult his dictionary in private, learning that there was no such word in Gozashtandou.
Evidently the stuff had not yet been invented. No wonder the Krishnans used perfume!
The scullery maids who arrived in a few minutes with tub, brush, and buckets of hot water showed an embarrassing interest in their guest's eccentricity, wanted to scrub his back, and had to be curtly dismissed. He'd have to depend upon a prolonged soak and a vigorous scrub to dislodge dirt and deadly germs. No more soapless expeditions to strange planets for him, even if he had to smuggle the stuff past the Viagens' vigilance!
As soon as the water had cooled to a bearable temperature, he lowered himself into it as far as he could go and settled the back of his head against one of the handles with a sigh of relief. Boy, that felt good on his poor beat-up feet! With a glance at the door to make sure the bolt was home, he burst into song. He had just gotten to:
"He knew the world was round-o, He knew it could be found-o—" when a loud knock interrupted him.
"Who's there?" he said.
"The Law! Open up!"
"Just a minute," he grumbled, getting out of his tub and trying to dry himself all over at once. What was he getting into now, in the name of Ahuramazda?
"Open right away or we'll break the door!"
Hasselborg groaned internally, wrapped the towel around himself, and slid back the bolt. A man in black entered, followed by two others in official-looking armor.
The first said: "You're arrested. Come."
VI.
"What for?" said Victor Hasselborg, looking as innocent as a plush teddy bear.
"You shall learn. Here, drop that sword! You think not that we let prisoners go armed, do you?"
"But somebody might steal—"
"Fear not; we'll set the seal of the dasht upon your door, so that if acquitted you'll find your gear intact. Not that you will be. Hasten, now."
The dasht, thought Hasselborg, must somehow have found out about his alteration of that letter from Gois. He was given little time for reflection, though, for they bundled him out of the hotel and onto a led aya. Then they set off at breakneck speed through the city, yelling "Byant-hao!" to clear their way.
The jail, about a block from the ducal palace, looked like—a jail. The jailer proved a wrinkled individual with one antenna missing.
"How now?" cried this one. "The gentleman from Novorecife, I'll be bound! Ye'U wish one of our better chambers, won't ye? A fine view of Master Rail's countinghouse, and the rates no higher than in some of the more genteel inns, heh heh. What say ye, my fine lad?"
Hasselborg understood that he was being offered a cell to himself if he could pay for it, instead of being tossed in the general tank. He took the jailer up on his offer with only a slight haggle. While the jailer and the black-clad one fussed with papers, an assistant jailer led Hasselborg to his cell. This contained a chair, which was something, and being on the second story had fair lighting despite the smallness of the barred window. More importantly from Hasselborg's viewpoint, it seemed fairly clean, though he would still have given a lot to know whether the previous tenant had anything contagious.
He asked: "What's the head jailer's name?"
"Yeshram bad-Yeshram," replied the assistant jailer.
"Will you please tell him I should like to see him at his convenience?"
The jailer arrived with disconcerting promptness, saying: "Look ye, Master Kavir, I'm no monster joying in the sufferings of my wards, like the giant Damghan in the legend, nor yet a saintly philanthropist putting their welfare ahead of my own. If they can pay for extras to lighten their last hours, why, say I, why not let 'em have 'em? I had Lord Hardiqasp in my personal charge for thirty ten-nights ere they headed him, and before they took him away he said: 'Yeshram, ye've made my captivity almost a pleasure!' Think of it! So fear not that if ye treat Yeshram right, obey the rules, not try to escape, not form seditions with the other prisoners, and pay your way, ye'll have little to complain of, heh heh."
"I understand," said Hasselborg. "Right now I most want information. Why am I here at all?"
"That I know not precisely, save that your indictment reads 'treason'."
"When am I to have a hearing? Do they let you have lawyers?"
"Why, as for your hearing, know ye not that ye're to be tried this afternoon?"
"When? Where?"
"The trial will take place in the chambers of justice, as of always. As to the precise time, I can't tell you; perchance the trial's beginning even now."
"You mean one doesn't attend one's own trial in Rüz?"
"Of course not, for what good would that do? Anything the prisoner said in his defense would be a lie, so why ask him?"
"Well then, when the trial's over, can you find out what happened?"
"For a consideration I can."
Left alone, Hasselborg wondered whether to unmask himself as an Earthman. They would be at least a little more careful how they treated him. Or would they? At Novorecife they had specifically warned him not to count on any interplanetary prestige. Since the Interplanetary Council had ordered a policy of strict nonimperialism and noninterference in Krishnan affairs, the native states did pretty much as they pleased to the Ertsuma in their midst. Sometimes they pleased to treat them with honor, and at other times they looked upon them as legitimate prey. When people protested some particularly atrocious outrage upon a visiting Earthman, the I.C. blandly replied that nobody compelled Earthmen to go there, did they?
Moreover, such a revelation might jeopardize the success of Hasselborg's mission. Altogether he decided to stick to his role of Krishnan artist for the time being, at least until all its possibilities had been exhausted.
The jailer reported back: "It seems ye came hither with some letter from an Ertsu at Novorecife, saying ye be an artist or something. Well, now, that would have been all right, only this morning, while ye were out hunting with the dasht, who comes in but a messenger from this same Ertsu, with another letter. This letter would be about some other matter, some different thing entirely, ye see, but at the end oft the Ertsu puts in one little sentence, something like: 'Has that Mikardando spy I sent on to you with a letter of introduction arrived yet, and if so what have ye done with him?' That makes the dasht suspicious, the gods blind me if it don't, and he takes the original letter—the one ye brought—and looks it over carefully, and sees where it looks like as some knave's rubbed out part of the writing and put in some new words over the old. Tsk, tsk, ye spies must think our dasht a true simpleton."