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"You've got your orders," said Hasselborg. "Go to it."

Ferzao halted and deployed his men. One of them handed him a Roman candle, which he lit with flint and steel. As the fuse fizzed, the sergeant galloped across the moss towards the leading bishtar, holding the firework in front of him like a lance. At the same time the other twenty-eight set up a yell, banging on their brass bucklers with their mailed hands to augment the din.

The Roman candle spat fireballs at the bishtar. A couple bounced off its slaty hide, while its mahout yelled in terror. The animal screamed and lumbered off across the plain away from its tormentors, dragging its fellow after it. Behind the second bishtar, the first of the little cars left the rails; the next teetered and fell over on its side.

A mighty chorus of yells arose from the train, and two dozen men in sailors' dress tumbled out of the remaining cars with Colt-Thompson machine guns. With a disciplined movement, the sailors dashed out and flung themselves down on the moss in a line of skirmishers.

Hasselborg's men galloped towards them with lances couched and arrows nocked. Up came the guns.

"Pazzoi!" shouted a voice from the train. A multiple click came from the twenty-four guns.

"Surrender!" shouted Ferzao. "Those things won't work!"

He pulled up a few feet in front of them. A couple of sailors worked their bolts and tried again with no better success. The rest, in the face of the lances and drawn bows, threw down their guns and rose to their knees, arms extended in token of surrender.

"What's all this?" yelled a voice, as a tall, gaudily-dressed person walked across the moss from the train.

Hasselborg recognized the handsome heartbreaker of the photographs under the Krishnan makeup. With him came a splendid-looking dark girl, and behind them the stocky form of Chuen Liao-dz. "What sort of reception—"

"Hello there, Fallon," said Hasselborg, who had secured his reins and, like Fallon, followed his army on foot to the scene of the battle.

"Who's speaking English? You? Are you—"

"Careful, chum; if you don't give me away I'll do the same for you. Officially I'm Kavir bad-Ma'lum, portrait painter by appointment to His Awesomeness King Eqrar of Gozashtand. Unofficially I'm Victor Hasselborg of London."

"Oh, really? Well, what do you think you're doing—"

"You'll learn. Meanwhile keep calm, because I've got the advantage. This is Miss Julnar Batruni, isn't it?"

"Our wife!" growled Fallon. '"Her Resplendency Queen Julnar of Zamba, if you please!"

"Seems to me you already had one wife in London, didn't you? She sent her regards."

"You didn't come clear from Earth to tell us that! Anyway, it's not exactly true. We fixed things up."

"How?"

"Why, we divorced her and married Julnar under Zamban law."

"How convenient! I'll be judge, I'll be jury, said cunning old Fury. Delighted to know you, Queen. Mr. Batruni sent me to find out what had become of you."

"Oh, is that so?" said the girl. "Well, now that you know, why don't you go back to Earth and tell the old dear, and take your nose out of our affairs?"

"Uh—well, the fact is he commissioned me to bring you back if possible."

"You—" shouted Fallon, and tugged at his sword.

"Grab him!" said Hasselborg. Two of his men pounced on Fallon, twisted his arms behind him, and took his sword away.

"Naughty, naughty," said Hasselborg. "Now let's continue more calmly. As I was saying, Miss Batruni —pardon me, Mrs. Fallon—or Queen Jul-nar—your father's lonesome and would like to see you again."

"Well I—I do love the old fellow, you know, but one can't leave one's husband and run home half a dozen light-years for a week-end. Won't you please let us be? I'll write Father, or send a message, or anything like that—"

Hasselborg shook his head. "We'll have to go into this further. King Anthony, will you please mount this aya? One of my men will lead it for you, and don't try any breaks. Chuen, here's one for you—"

"Oh," said Chuen, looking apprehensive. "Is no other way to go?"

"No; I'm taking Miss Ba—the young lady with me."

"You know this fella?" said Fallon to Hasselborg. "Who is he?"

"He's Master Li-yau, who's looking into the disappearance of certain machine guns from—uh—from the mails, if you follow me. How did you get on the train with the rest, Chuen?"

"Bought ticket; told some lies about how my old uncle was dying in Hershid, so they let me ride in Fallon's special. What you doing with the Zambava?"

"Sending 'em back. Hey, you there!" Hasselborg called to the mahouts, who were just getting their beasts calmed. "Special's canceled. Break the train and hitch one of those bishtars to the Qadr end of the passenger coaches. Now, you!" He addressed the sailors, collected in a glum and muttering group. "You know you were caught invading Gozashtand with arms, don't you?"

They nodded.

"And it would go pretty hard with you if I turned you over to the dour?"

A sailor asked: "Don't you work for him, master?"

"As it happens I don't, though he and I are good friends. Wouldn't you like to be carried back to Qadr, and nothing said about this?"

"Aye, sir!" cried several of the Zambava with a sudden access of interest in life.

"Okay. Ferzao, detail a couple of men to see these boys off to Qadr in the train. Have somebody help get those derailed cars back on the track. Assign somebody to lead King Antane's aya, and a couple more to shoot him if he tries a break. We'll tell the guards at the gate that we're just back from the hunt, and hope they won't count us. You there, pick up those guns and load 'em into the carriage."

"I say," said Fallon, "what happened that those guns didn't shoot? We're told they were all right when they arrived on Krishna."

"Trade secret; tell you some day," said Hasselborg. "Queen Julnar, will you do me the honor? Don't look so scared, Chuen!"

"Is long way to the ground," said Chuen, peering down from his uneasy saddle.

"Not so far as it looks. And weren't you kidding me about being scared of germs?"

"Where are you taking us?" demanded Fallon. "To King Eqrar?"

"Not yet. Keep quiet and behave yourself and perhaps you won't have to meet him at all. Hao!"

Hasselborg cracked his whip, and his buggy headed back for Hershid at a canter through the sunset.

Haste stroked the arm of his chair with long fingers. "No, I'll see the fellow not, until this matter's settled. Till then I've no official knowledge of his presence."

"Well," said Hasselborg, trying without complete success to conceal his exasperation, "will Your Re-verence do what I ask, or won't you?"

"I know not, Master Kavir. I know not. Tis true I promised, but things have changed since then. I fain would help you, yet you ask a thing bigger than the Six Labors of Qarar. For look you, these sailors will arrive back in Majbur, and nothing on Krishna will stop them from talking. The talk will come to the ears of Gorbovast, who'll report back to the king, who will naturally wonder what befell him who led this strange invasion. He'll know you carried King Antane off, and the people of the city saw you drive up to my palace with your retinue. Therefore he'll come snooping around here with armed men at his back, and if he finds Antane locked in that old cell, there'll be awkward queries to answer."

Hasselborg said: "I think we can divert him. Tell him I took Antane with me to Novorecife. He won't be able to catch me to find out, I hope."

"Surely, you put a fair face on things. Still, I know not—"

"Well, there it is. If you want to carry out your promise—" Privately Hasselborg was more and more sharing the king's opinion of his vacillating high priest.