The sun was high in the heavens when the barge tied up at last. Barnevelt and Tangaloa bid goodbye to the master and his people and climbed on to the wharf to search out the office of Gorbovast, Barnevelt with the usual feeling of butterflies in the belly that afflicted him whenever he was called upon to walk in on a stranger and introduce himself.
He need not have worried. Gorbovast received them, Barnevelt thought, "with garrulous ease and oily courtesies" on the strength of their letter from Castanhoso. This sleek Krish-nan gentleman had long defied the dictum about the difficulty of serving two masters, for, while acting as the commissioner for King Eqrar of Gozashtand in Majbur, he had also for years augmented his income by sending information to the Viagens Interplanetarians Security Force at Novo-recife.
"The Synol of Pleshch? And gvam-hunting in the Sunqar, eh?" he said, pronouncing Barnevelt's Nyami name "Esnyol"— as for that matter did all Gozashtandou-speaking Krishnans. "Well, his the riches whose is the risk, as it says in Nevhav-end's proverbs. You know the Banjoa Sea has become a nest of most irregulous bloody pirates, and there's no putting 'em down because Dur in its arrogance subsidizes 'em with tribute so they'll hurt the trade of smaller powers like Majbur and Zamba. Moreover rumor links these same knaves to the janru trade, which makes every independent man shudder o' nights."
Barnevelt told him a little about the unmasking of Vizqash at Novorecife.
"So," said Gorbovast, "the cullions have been operating in these parts, eh? Well, well, and well. 'Twill do no harm to slip a word to the Chief Syndic, for the folk of Majbur mortally fear the stuff should spread among 'em and give their women the upper hand. While we be not so susceptible as the silly Earthmen, whom the merest whiff reduces to servile jelly, still much havoc could be wrought upon us by this subtle means. As to a letter to the Douri of Qirib, you shall have it straight. 'Twere well to hasten if you would deliver it."
"Why, is the old man-eater dying?"
"Nay—because so 'tis said in the mughouses, she intends, once her present consort be unheaded in accordance with their barbarous and bloody custom, the throne in favor of her daughter Zei to resign."
Barnevelt raised his eyebrows, and his glued-on antennae rose with them. Qirib under a young and newly-enthroned queen sounded more attractive than under a tough old Tatar like Alvandi. "I hadn't heard that angle. Perhaps, Master Gorbovast, you'd give us two letters of introduction, one to each dame."
"The very thing. And watch well your step among these masterful dames, for 'tis gossip that they keep their men subdued by this same drug…" And he told them what they needed to know about tickets and train times, adding: "As the glass shows that the celestial wheel has not yet turned to the meridian, you'll have time to view our jewel of a city ere sallies forth the southbound daily express."
And view it they did, wandering down to the waterfront to photograph the ships—mere dories compared with Earthly ships, but impressive enough in their own setting. There were high-sided square-riggers from Dur in the Va'andao Sea, lanteeners from Sotaspe and other Sadabao ports, and even a catamaran with a crescent sail from Malayer in the far South. And long low war galleys, outstanding among them the pride of Majbur's navy, the quinquireme Junsar, with her bank of five-man oars belayed to her sides, her high gilded stern, and her toothed ram projecting at the waterline fox-ward.
They braced themselves to withstand the odors of the seafood market and sampled one of the lunches the counters of this section offered.
Barnevelt soon regretted his curiosity, for the object placed before him in a bowl of soup, a sea creature something like a large slug with tentacles, had the curious property of remaining alive and wriggling for some time after being cooked. He got down a couple of writhing bites before his gorge rose and interrupted the experiment.
"You effete Westerners," chuckled Tangaloa, finishing his sea slug and wiping his mouth.
"Damn you," growled Barnevelt, and doggedly resumed his assault until his organism, too, was gone.
Then they took in the municipal zoo. Barnevelt, remembering his swim in the Pichide, winced at the sight of a half-grown awal in a tank. But then he would have loitered all afternoon watching the things in the cages until even Tangaloa, who almost never hurried, had to remind him of train time and drag him away.
In the park they came upon an open-air performance by a ballet-troupe of dancers from the temple of Dashmok, the Free City's own special god of commerce. A priest was passing the hat—or rather a gourd-like container—as part of the temple's drive for some fund. Watching the leaping girls, Barnevelt felt a blush qf embarrassment sweep over his face. Chautauqua County was never like this.
Tangaloa dryly remarked: "You see, Dirk, different cultures differ as to what should be covered. Few cultures other than your own Western one have that violent nudity-tabu that came into it from the old Syriac civilization via Judaism and its offshoot, Christianity…"
A shower ended the dance and scattered the audience. The Earthmen made their way to the terminal, to find that the train was not made up yet and would not leave for at least a Krishnan hour after its scheduled time. Since the station agent could give them no more definite statement than that, there was nothing to do but sit and smoke while waiting.
Presently a man in a pale blue costume, wearing a light and strictly ornamental silver helmet with a pair of silver aqebat-wings sprouting from its sides, strolled in with a big bag over his shoulder and took a place on the bench next to the Earthmen.
While Barnevelt had never had much talent for picking up conversations with strangers, the uninhibited Tangaloa was soon in animated discussion with the helmeted man.
"This," said the Krishnan, pointing to his helmet, "means I toil for the Mejrou Quarardena, bearing fardels hence to thither." (The name meant roughly Reliable Express Company.) "Our Company's motto is: 'Neither storm, nor night, nor beast of prey, nor men of evil intent stay our carriers in the swift performance of their duties.' "
"A fine motto," said Barnevelt. "Matter of fact it sounds familiar."
"No doubt word of our company has reached far Nya-madze," said the courier. "And some day shall we extend our services even unto that chilly clime. O masters, I could tell you tales of the deeds of our people that would make your antennae stand upright with terror. At the time my friend Gehr carried a parcel into the heart of the dread Sunqar and delivered it to the chief pirate himself, the fearsome Sheafase."
Both Barnevelt and Tangaloa leaned forward, the former saying: "What sort of person is this She—this pirate king?"
"As to that, my friend Gehr knows no more than you, for Sheafase shows himself to none but his own subjects. But since Gehr could not leave ere the consignee signed his receipt, 'twas finally arranged that the arch-robber should thrust his hand through a gap in a curtain to wield the pen. And Gehr thus caught a glimpse—ah, masters, what a dreadful thing was that! No human hand, but a shuddersome structure of claws and scales, like the foot of the fearful pudamef that haunts the glaciers of your own land. So Sheafase must be a creature, not of our own honest world, but of some depraved unwholesome other planet in the deeps of space—like that called Earth, for instance, the home of all the baneful and goetic sorceries…"