Hasselborg nodded. "But who gets the guns? Don't tell me, let me guess. Anthony Fallon, right?"
"Right again."
Hasselborg lit a cigar. "Have one? No wonder I ran into you here. It seemed too good for a coincidence, but with you on the track of Tony's guns, and me after his girl, our paths were bound to cross. Where are the guns now?"
Chuen shrugged. "Wish I knew. I heard a story that a mysterious crate has been hidden in the Koloft Swamp by one of gangs of robbers that live there, but was no way for me to find them. Swamp not only big, but full of unpleasant monsters, too. However, since I felt sure they'd be delivered to Majbur for Fallon to pick them up, I came here to try intercept them. Been here days, checking boats and rafts that come down the river and trying to pick up a lead in bars and restaurants."
Hasselborg said: "I may be able to help you there," and told the rumor of Fallon's impending arrival in Majbur. "I imagine whoever's in charge of the guns will arrange to have them here when Fallon arrives."
"I imagine, too. What connections you got in Majbur?"
"King Eqrar gave me a letter to his envoy Gorbovast."
"Good. Can you ask Gorbovast when Fallon is expected?"
"Not very well; I'm supposed to be here on a short vacation and not to be interested in Fallon, and I suppose old Eqrar will check up on me through Gorbovast. Could you?"
"Maybe. I am friend of Chief Syndic, who know Gorbovast. Maybe the syndic knows. We see."
The following afternoon, Chuen came upon Hasselborg sitting on the top of a pile on the biggest pier and giving a convincing imitation of a congenital loafer. Chuen said:
"The syndic say Fallon due to arrive tomorrow night or early next day. Guns must arrive soon. Are you sure nothing's come in this morning?"
"Not a thing except a towboat with two passengers and no freight at all, and a timber raft from way up-river with nothing on it except a stove and a tent for the raftmen. Tamates, haven't we forgotten about Qadr? Any piers over there?"
"Yes, but they're only used for fishing boats and such. All big commercial traffic uses this side."
"Well, mightn't our mysterious friends be landing in Qadr for just that reason?"
"Maybe, now that you mention it. What shall we do about it?"
"Suppose you take over here, and I'll go across the river and look around."
"All right."
It transpired that the ferry was across the river and would not return for another hour. Hasselborg killed time by strolling about the piers and through nearby streets to orient himself and by pumping another sucker in a bar. Another empty sack. Fortunately impatience was not prominent among Hasselborg's vices.
When he returned to the ferry pier, it was to find a crowd watching the efforts of a crew in the uniform of railroad employees trying to keep a bishtar calm. The ferry was unloading. The spectators watched with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, holding themselves poised for flight in case the huge animal got out of control.
When the last wagon rumbled off and the sails had been furled and reset, the ferry master signaled to board the boat. Some of those who had been intending to do so, seeing that they were to share the craft with the bishtar, changed their minds. Others got on, but huddled in the corners of the vessel, leaving as large a clear space as possible for the monster.
The bishtar, under the urging of its keepers, put out a foot and gingerly tried the deck of the ferry. Apparently not liking the yielding sensation, it shied back. The men yelled and whacked it with sticks and pulled on goads, which they hooked into its thick hide. The bishtar squealed angrily and rolled ugly little eyes this way and that but finally let itself be driven aboard, one foot after another. The ferry settled visibly as it took the weight.
Then the sailors cast off the lines and pushed off with poles. The oarsmen ran out their sweeps and set to their task, backing out from the pier and turning the scowlike vessel towards Qadr, grunting with every heave. As they came about, the sailors shook out the sails, whose flapping startled the bishtar. The animal set up an ominous squealing, swinging its head from side to side, shifting its feet, and lashing the air with its stubby trunks.
Hasselborg had stood on the wales, holding a stay, where he could leap ashore at the last minute if the animal ran amok. While wondering what all this portended, he noticed a bulge in one of his pockets and remembered that he still had one of the fruits he had bought on the ferry the day before. Some he had eaten, some he had fed to Avvau, and the rest he had stowed in his pockets this morning for lunch. Now one was left, a thing that looked like a tangerine but tasted quite different.
Hasselborg stepped near the bishtar's head and called up to the mahout on its neck: "Ohe there! Will he eat this if I give it to him?"
"Yes, sir, that she will," the man said.
Hasselborg extended the fruit in gingerly fashion, fatalistically half expecting the beast to grab his arm in a trunk and beat him to bits against the nearest mast. The bishtar, however, after a wary look, put out a trunk and delicately took the fruit. Chomp. Then it stood quietly wagging its ears, since the sails, having filled, were no longer flapping.
"Thank you, sir," said the mahout.
"No trouble. What's she being taken over for?"
"That I know not. They do say we're to run a double-header to Hershid tomorrow, or perhaps the next day."
"A big load?"
"So I suppose. If ye'd really like to know, ask the station agent in Qadr."
So far, thought Hasselborg, he and Chuen had assumed that Fallon would simply come into Majbur in one of his ships, take delivery on his guns, and sail away again to Zamba unless stopped. Could it be that he was planning a lightning descent on Hershid to seize the whole Empire of Gozashtand? It was a little odd for an invading army to come in on the daily train. Come to think of it, however, Fallon's men would be sailors, as out of place on an aya or shomal as a horse on a house top. Moreover, such a sudden move by Fallon, outpacing even the rumor of his coming, would catch the dour entirely unpre-pared.
A fishy smell announced that they were drawing near to Qadr. When they docked at the ferry pier, Fallon watched the railroad men get the bishtar in motion again. The animal got off with much more alacrity than it had shown on the other side and lumbered up the main street, while small tame eshuna ran out of the sagging shacks that lined the street to yowl at it.
Hasselborg, after pleasantly greeting the dour's frontier guards loafing on the pier, followed the bishtar to the railroad yard, his boots squilching in the mud. Here he loafed around the station, smoking, until nobody would take him for an importunate inquirer. Finally he got into conversation with the station agent and said:
"That bishtar you fellows brought over on the ferry this afternoon nearly scared the daylights out of the passengers. She doesn't like boats."
"No, that's a fact, they don't," said the agent. "But with the river so wide here, we can't build a bridge, so we must needs use the ferry to move bishtars and rolling stock between Majbur and Qadr."
"Are you planning to run some big train soon?"
"So they tell us. Somebody's coming in with a great crew of men to take to Hershid. Yesterday a man comes up to buy twenty-six tickets in advance. Who he be I know not; howsomever, since he had the gold, we've no choice but to get ready."
They were still engaged in small talk when Hasselborg heard the warning bell from the ferry. Knowing that this was the last trip that day, he had to run to make it, arriving just as the lines were being cast off.
He leaped the two-meter space between the barge and the pier and sat down to puff. He had not had time to snoop around for the guns, although this news about twenty-six tickets for Hershid was probably more urgent.