Hasselborg sighed and stoically resumed his sketching. Then another man came in, this time omitting to whisper. The newcomer cried:
"May it please Your Awesomeness, the Dasht of Rüz has arrived unannounced, with fifty men-at-arms! He seeks an escaped prisoner who he thinks has fled to your court!"
IX.
After sitting with his mouth open for a few seconds, the king jumped up with a yell. "That blundering fool! 'Tis just like him to descend upon me without an hour's warning! No permission, no invitation, no request, no nought—Ohe!" He looked keenly at Hasselborg, who had given up trying to make a sketch for the time being. "You, master painter, arrive one morning with a fine story of rescuing Haste's niece from robbers in Jam's demesne. Then at the close of that selfsame day comes Jam himself hot on the trail of an alleged fugitive. A singular coincidence, would you not say?"
"Yes, Your Awesomeness."
"Well, show him in, show him in! We'll soon get to the bottom of this coil." The king paced up and down. "I doubt not that the rescue took place even as stated, for my men questioned the survivors of that unlucky caravan at length. Still there's a mystery here; there's a mystery; there's a myst— Ah, my good vassal Jam!"
The Dasht of Rüz strode into the room, made the barest pretense of dropping to one knee in front of the king, and then went for Hasselborg with a roar, pulling at his sword. "You zeft! I'll show you to bribe your way out of my jail!"
Hasselborg, who was getting a little tired of hairbreadth escapes, looked around frantically for a weapon, since he had been required to check his sword before being closeted with the king.
Eqrar, however, took care of that. Placing one of the big rings on his fingers in his mouth, he blew a high, piercing whistle. Instantly a pair of inconspicuous little doors in the wall flew open, and out of each sprang a couple of guards with cocked crossbows.
"Stand, or you're a dead vassal!" squeaked the king.
Jam sheathed his sword reluctantly. "Your Awe-someness, my humble apologies for an irreverent intrusion. But by Qondyor and Hoi, 'tis not to be borne that this heap of foulness who calls himself a painter shall be allowed to encumber the earth with his loathsome presence any longer!"
"What's he done?"
"I'll tell you straight. He comes to me, pretending to paint portraits, and is welcomed as an old friend. What happens? Within the day I learn that he's no painter at all, but a spy from Mikardand sent to assassinate me. So, naturally, I fling him in pokey to be expended at the holy games. Then by some witchcraft he magicks the yeki so the beast won't eat him, and subsequently is spirited out of jail by a pair of fellow-desperadoes and disappears. Belike he corrupted someone in my service, or 'twould not have passed off so smoothly, though the villains all swear innocence and I can't hang 'em all in the hope of getting the right one."
"How know you he's a spy?" asked the king.
"My friend at Novorecife, Julio Gois, sent word. Here's his letter, see you, and here's another he sent with yon baghan who altered it."
Hasselborg broke in: "May it please Your Awe-someness, I'm not a Mikardandu, as you'll find out if you inquire there. I only stopped a night at Mishe on my way to Novorecife, since Mikardand is no place for an artist. At Novorecife I made Gois's acquaintance and asked for an introduction to somebody in Rosid; that's all I know about it. The reason the dasht is so sore is that I busted up his attempt to have the Lady Fouri kidnaped by his gang of tame bandits."
"What's this? What's this?" said Eqrar.
"Sure, he did it. She told me herself she left Rosid because he wouldn't let her alone, so he had her snatched, and I don't think because he wanted a partner to play checkers with, either."
"What about this, my lord Jam?" said the king.
"Lies, all lies," said the dasht. "Where's his proof?"
Hasselborg said: "I heard the robbers discussing the matter around their campfire. Bring some of them in and they'll tell you."
The king asked: "Where be these robbers now?"
"Hanged, every one of 'em," shouted Jam. "I chanced upon 'em whilst in pursuit of this wretch, and applied the high justice on the spot."
Hasselborg thought, I passed by his garden, and marked with one eye, how the Owl and the Pan'ther were sharing a pie— "Because they'd failed to get her as he ordered, or else to shut their mouths for good."
The dasht started to bellow obscenities, when the king said: "Peace, peace, peace, both of you. Now, here's a veritable puzzle. You, Jam, say that Master Kavir's a spy, though your only evidence is the word of the Ertsu Julio, which is inadmissible in Gozashtando law and worthless as a matter of general experience. Then you, sir painter, accuse my faithful vassal of suborning the abduction of the niece of the high priest of the Established Church for fell purposes—though the fellness of these purposes might be mitigated by the damsel's excessive beauty, which would rouse thoughts of love in the liver of the holiest eremite. Still, the chick's a favorite of mine, since I have no girl-children of my own, and therefore I'd take a grave view of the matter were it substantially proved. Yet your only proof is the word of men whose word would carry little weight were they alive and none at all since they're deceased.
"I could, of course, have both of you interrogated with hot pincers"—he smiled unpleasantly, whereupon both Hasselborg and Jam looked gravely respectful—"save that in my experience that treatment, while oft beneficial to the victim as well as edifying to the spectator, fails to elicit that for which we're most eager—to wit, the truth. What would you with this man, Lord Jam?"
"I would snatch him back to Ruz, Your Awesome-ness, to commute his sentence from death-by-beast to death-by-beheading, thereby showing my merciful nature, though I doubt he'll appreciate the change. If his magic'll glue him back together after his head's been separated from the rest of him, I'd say he'd earned his worthless life."
"But," cried the king, "how then shall my portrait be finished? From his sketch I can see that 'twill be the best ever made of me, which implies that, spy or no, he's a true artist even as he claims. No, no, no, Jam, you shall not take him away ere he's finished the great work; we owe that to the empire and to posterity!"
Jam chewed his lip, then said: "Could we not leave him here under guard long enough to complete the picture, and then slay him as he deserves?"
Hasselborg said: "Your Supremacy, d'you really think a man with my artistic temperament could give his best to his art with a death sentence hanging over him?"
"No, no, I see your point, Master Kavir, and moreover there's the matter of your charge against Jam—"
"You're not crediting these fantastic lies?" said the dasht.
"You will kindly not interrupt your sovereign. Tis a serious matter, Master Kavir, to level such a charge against an anointed dasht. But withal, your charge is as well-attested as his, which is to say not at all. Now, hear my judgment, both of you: You, Kavir bad-Ma'lum, shall remain inviolate at Hershid until the work be done. After that you may remain in this city, taking the hazard that Jam will return with evidence that would force me to give you to him; or you may leave, and in that case he may have you if he can catch you. You, Jam bad-Kone, abide by these conditions, and no sending of one of your ruffians to extinguish Master Kavir by stealth while he's in my territory. Should aught of that nature befall him, I'll know where to look. Seems that not fair?"