Chuen seemed to think so, too. "Nothing has come, sir. One large towboat with some baggage aboard, but nothing that could hold machine guns."
"There's no other way from the Koloft Swamp to Majbur?"
"Are roads from the swamp to Mishe. One runs straight south from Novorecife and the other from the village of Qou at edge of the swamp. So you could take these guns to Mishe and then by big highway from there to Majbur. I think that unlikely, because it's more roundabout, and also the Order of Qarar polices the Republic of Mikardand very thoroughly. So chances of getting them through would be less."
"It'll be dinner time soon," said Hasselborg, looking at another stunning Krishnan sunset.
"Do you want go eat while I watch river and then take my place?"
"Okay—say, what's that?"
Up-river, its one lateen sail pink in the sunset, a boat was approaching. Chuen, following Hasselborg's gaze, reached out and gave his companion's wrist a quick squeeze of warning. "It's type of boat I saw used around Qou," he murmured.
As the boat came closer, it resolved into a kind of wherry with a single mast stepped in the bow and eight or ten oars on a side.
"Better get back a little from the end of the pier," muttered Hasselborg.
"Shi. You take base of this pier; I take base of second pier up," said Chuen. "You got a cigar? I'm all out."
Hasselborg yawned, stretched, and sauntered back towards shore, to resume his loafing against a warehouse wall. Chuen departed up-river.
Hasselborg watched the boat with ostentatious lack of interest. Between the current, the breeze, and the efforts of the oarsmen, the boat soon arrived off their sections of the waterfront. Down came the sail with a rattle of blocks, and the boat crawled toward shore under oar-power alone. The crew were tough-looking types, and in front of the tillerman in the stern lay a large packing case.
The boat was pulling into the dock that Chuen had chosen to watch. Hasselborg strolled in that direction as the boat tied up and the crew manhandled the case ashore. Nobody paid them any heed as they rigged a sling with two carrying-poles through the loops. Two of them got under each end of each pole, put pads on their shoulders, and hoisted the case into the air with a simultaneous grunt. The eight carriers set off briskly towards the base of the pier, the case bobbing slightly and the ropes creaking with every step. Two others of the crew went with them, while the rest sat on the pier, smoked, and waited.
Chuen followed the shore party, and Hasselborg followed a little behind Chuen. After a couple of turns in the narrow streets, they stopped at the door of a big featureless building with windows high up. Chuen kept right on walking past them, while Hasselborg became interested in the creatures displayed in the window of a wholesale sea food establishment, although the wobbly Krishnan glass made the things seem even odder than they were.
The man who had held the tiller plied the big iron knocker on the door of the house. Presently the door opened. There was a conversation, inaudible from where Hasselborg stood, and the bearers took up their burden and marched into the house. Slam!
After a while they came out again; or rather, nine of the ten came out. Hasselborg kept his eyes glued to the sea food, especially one thing that seemed to combine the less attractive features of a lobster, an octopus, and a centipede, as they walked past behind him. He drew a long breath of relief when they went by without trying to stab him in the back.
Chuen popped out of the alley into which he had slipped and came towards Hasselborg, saying: "I looked around back of building. No windows on ground floor."
"Then how do we get in?"
"There's one window a little way up. Maybe two and a half meters. If we had something to stand on, could get in."
"If we had a ladder—and a crow."
"A crow? Bird?"
"No, a pry-bar—you know, a jimmy."
"Oh, you mean one of those iron things with hook on the end?"
"Uh-huh. I don't know what they call it in Gozashtandou."
"Neither do I, but can do lots with sign language. One of us must go buy while other one watches."
"Hm-m-m," said Hasselborg. "I suppose whatever they have in the way of hardware stores are closed up by now."
"Maybe some open. Majbur keeps very late hours."
"Okay, d'you want me to hunt while you watch? My legs are longer than yours."
"Thanks, but better you watch while I hunt. You got sword and know how to use. I don't."
Forebearing to argue, Hasselborg took up his post while Chuen toddled off on his short legs. The polychrome lights faded from the sky, and all three of the moons cast pyramidal shadows into the narrow, smelly streets. Peopled passed occasionally," sometimes leading beasts of burden. A man whom Hasselborg did not recognize—not one of the boatmen, surely—came out of the building and pushed off on a scooter. Hasselborg was just wondering whether to give his second cigar one more puff or put it out when Chuen reappeared lugging a short ladder.
"Here," said Chuen, thrusting a pry bar with a hooked end into Hasselborg's hand.
They glanced about. As nobody seemed to be in sight at the moment, they slipped into the alley that led to the rear of the warehouse.
Chuen had neglected to state that the medium-low window opened on a little court or backyard isolated by a substantial wall with spikes along the top. That, however, represented only a momentary check. They set the ladder against the wall, swarmed up it, and balanced themselves on top of the wall while they hauled the ladder up after them and planted it on the ground on the opposite side. Then down again; then to put the ladder against the wall of the warehouse itself.
Hasselborg mounted the ladder first. He attacked the window—a casement-type affair having a lot of little diamond-shaped panes—with the bar. Since he was an old hand at breaking and entering in line of duty, the window presently opened with a slight crunching of splintered wood. He stuck his head inside.
By the narrow beams of moonlight, which slanted in through the high windows, and the faint light reflected from a candle out of sight somewhere on the other side of the structure, he could see the tops of what looked like acres of bales, crates, and boxes. No movement; no sound.
Hasselborg whispered to Chuen: "I think we can get down to the floor level from here without hauling the ladder in. I'm going to drop down inside and scout around. If I find it's okay, I'll tell you to come down after me. If not, I'll ask you to hand me down the ladder, so we'll have a way out. Got my sword? Okay, here goes."
And Victor Hasselborg slid off the window sill into the darkness inside.
XII.
As Hasselborg's toes struck the wooden top of the nearest packing case, he thanked the local gods for the soft-leather Krishnan boots, which let him alight silently. The window sill was about the height of his chin, so that he should be able to get out without much trouble. He stalked catlike around the top of the case, peering about to plan his route. Da'yi was still with him, for an easy route led down by a series of crates and piles of sacks of diminishing heights.
"Chuen!" he whispered. "It's okay; we can leave the ladder where it is. Hand me my sword."
Chuen's bulk blocked the dim light through the window as he heaved himself over the sill with surprising quietness for one of his build. Together they stole down the piles of merchandise to the floor and walked steathily towards the candlelight. Twice they got lost in the maze of aisles between the rows of crates. Finally they came to the corner of the building where the candle was located.
Looking around the corner of a pile of bags, Has-selborg espied a little cleared space, with a desk and a chair, and the candle burning in a holder on a shelf. Just outside the cleared space stood the packing case they were after. And, in the angle between the case and the wall, a man sat with legs asprawl, sleeping—one of the boat crew.