"Yes," said Barnevelt. "Why didn't you fix him with your glittering eye?" .
Sishen spread his claws helplessly. "For the following reasons: Item, ere we Sha'akhfi be allowed on Earth or the Earthly space line, we must pledge ourselves the use of this small talent to forswear. And since our own space line runs not hitherward nigher than Epsilon Eridani, to visit the Cetic planets must we of the Procyonic group to this pledge subject ourselves. Item: I'm far from the most effective of my species in the employ of this mental suasion, though given time I can cast the mental net or lift it as well as others. And item: Krishnans are less liable to our guidance than men of Earth, wherefore I'd not have had time this bellowing bully to subdue before my own life were sped. Hence came your intervention in time's nick. Now, if you would aught in recompense of Sishen, speak, and to the length of my poor ability shall it be given."
"Thanks—I'll bear that in mind. But what brings you to Jazmurian? Not a lady Osirian, surely."
"I? I am a simple tourist visiting places far and strange for the satisfaction of my longing after new experience. Here am I stuck, for three days ago was my guide, poor lad, fished from the harbor with a knife-wound in his back, and the travel agency yet essays to find me another. So meager is my command of these tongues that I dare not journey unaccompanied. This loss made good, I will onward press to Majbur, where it's said there stands a temple of rare workmanship." The Osirian yawned, a gruesome sight. "Forgive me, gentles, but I am fordone: Let us forthwith to our rest."
And Sishen unrolled the rug he used in lieu of a bed and flattened himself down upon it, like a lizard basking in the sun.
Next morning Barnevelt found it necessary to rouse Tanga-loa, the world's soundest sleeper, by bellowing in his ear:
They left while Sishen was still touching up his body paint, a task that apparently consumed much of his waking time. When they came downstairs, they found Angur arguing with three rough-looking youths with cudgels.
"My masters!" cried Angur. "Explain to these jolt-heads that the pictures the old photographer left this morn are yours, not mine, and deal with the matter howso you will."
"What's this?" said Barnevelt.
The biggest of the three said: "Know, O men of Nya-madze, that we're a committee from the Artists' Guild, which has resolved to root out this fiendish new invention that otherwise will rape us of our livelihood. For how can we compete with one who, possessing neither skill nor talent, does but point a silly box and click! his picture's done? Never did the gods intend that men should limn likenesses by such base mechanical means."
"Good Lord," muttered Barnevelt, "they actually worry about technological unemployment here!"
The Krishnan went on: "If you do but yield the pictures the old coystril made, all shall be well. Should you wish portraits of yourselves, our Guild will rejoice to draft or daub 'em for a nominal fee. But these delusive shadows—chal Will you give them up like wights of sense? Or must we to robustious measures come?"
Barnevelt and Tangaloa exchanged a long look. The latter said in English: "It does not really matter to us…"
"Oh, no!" said Barnevelt. "We can't let em think they can push us around. Ready?"
Tangaloa sighed. "You have been eating meat again. And you were such a peaceful chap on Earth, too! Coo-eel"
Barnevelt hauled on his hilt. The wire parted and the sword swept out. With a mighty blow he brought the blade down flatwise on the head of the spokesman for the Artists' Guild. The Krishnan fell back on the cobbles, dropping his club. Tangaloa at the same time tugged out his mace and advanced upon the other two, who ran like rabbits. The fallen man scrambled up and fled after them. The Earthmen chased them a few steps, then returned to the inn.
"One damn thing after another," said Barnevelt, after looking around to make sure no Qiribo police-woman had observed the fracas. "Let's see those pictures—jeepers cripus, if I'd known they were as bad as that I'd have given them to those guys. I look like a mildewed mummy!"
"Is that bloated gargoyle I?" said Tangaloa plaintively.
Reluctantly they gave Angur the money for the photographer, wired up their weapons again, gathered their gear, and set out across the main boulevard of Jazmurian for the railroad station.
CHAPTER XI
On the boulevard, beside the depot, a big stagecoach drawn by six horned ayas stood waiting. The expressman who had ridden with them from Majbur was already there, talking with the driver, but of Sir Gavao there was no sign.
Barnevelt asked the driver: "Is this the diligence for Ghulinde?"
Receiving the affirmative head motion, he and Tangaloa gave the man the remaining stubs of their combination rail-and-coach tickets. They stowed their bag on top (the baggage-rack at the rear being full) and climbed in with their birdcage.
The interior of the coach seated about a dozen and, by the time the vehicle left, it was somewhat over half full. Most of the passengers wore the wrap-around garb of Qirib, which reminded Barnevelt of the patrons of a Turkish bath instead of the tailored garments of the more northerly regions.
The driver blew his trumpet and cracked his whip. Off they went, the wheels rattling over cobblestones and splashing through puddles. Since the load was comparatively light, the springs were stiff and gave the passengers a sharp bouncing.
Barnevelt said: "I think both Vizqash and Gavao are agents of the Sunqar crowd, with orders to get us."
"How so?" said Tangaloa.
"It all fits. The plan last night was for Gavao to dope us, and then he and Vizqash, claiming to be dear old friends of ours, would lug us out into the alley and cut our throats. When I doped Gavao instead, Vizqash didn't know what to do about it: You saw how he stood there glaring at us?"
"That sounds reasonable, Sherlock. And speaking of Si-shen…" Tangaloa switched languages and asked the expressman: "Did you tell us that the mysterious Sheafase, who rules the Sunqar, has a scaly hand with claws?"
"Even so, good my lords."
"My God!" said Barnevelt. "You actually think Sishen is Sheafase, and we slept in the same room with him? That's worse than swimming with the awal!"
"Not necessarily. That quarrel looked genuine. But suppose you'd known the two were the same, what would you have done about it?"
"Hell, I don't know—you can't erase a passing stranger on mere suspicion. It seems unlikely the real head of the Sunqar gang would prowl around incog like that Caliph in the Arabian Nights."
"We shall no doubt learn in time."
"Ayuh, though I like this job less and less. To catch a dragon in a cherry net, to trip a tigress with a gossamer, were wisdom to it."
Barnevelt offered a cigar to the expressman, who took it but said: "To smoke herein is forbidden, my masters. Therefore will I wait for a halt to clamber to the top."
Barnevelt found the smell of a lot of Krishnans in an inclosed space oppressive, something like that of a glue factory. He wished the Interplanetary Council in one of its spasms of liberal-mindedness would let knowledge of the art of soapmaking into the planet. After all, they had let in printing, which was much more revolutionary.
He was glad when they stopped at a hamlet to drop a passenger and a couple of packages. He got out, lit up, and climbed to the top along with Tangaloa and the expressman. The coach started up, again, following the railroad around the shores of Bajjai Bay, crossing creeks and embayments. At Mishdakh, at the base of the Qiribo peninsula, the road swung to the left, or east, along the northern shore of the peninsula, while the track disappeared to the right towards Shaf.