While digesting this information, Reith ate his crisped unha skin with small nánasha or Krishnan pancakes, served with a sour-sweet sauce. This was followed by a fungus stuffed with arthropod paste; and that by the shredded roots of the sha'pir herb, detoxified, with slices of fried máru, a small relative of the semi-reptilian 'avval. At last he said, "Did you have anything to do with the change in women's fashions? I notice the ladies no longer wear dresses like those of my associate Doctor Dyckman, the blond Terran woman beside the Dasht—that is, before she improvised a small change in it."
"Indeed," said Melissa Trask. "We told the Dasht we considered that bare-bosomed fashion indecent. He hasn't actually forbidden it; but he's let it be known that women so clad will not be welcome in the castle. He is a person of austere tastes; you will notice that he drinks only fruit juice, as Edmund and I do.
"But tell me, is that Doctor Dyckman the same lady who had a reputation on Krishna, before we arrived, for research in the social sciences? I believe her first name was something like 'Alice.' "
"It's Alicia," said Reith. "Yes, she's the same."
"I should have expected an older-looking person."
"She's been back to Earth, and you know what space travel does to the normal passage of time."
"Dear me, yes!" said Melissa Trask. "Though I've never understood it. We heard she was always involved in some controversy or adventure."
Reith smiled. "Her story is more fantastic than anything you can imagine."
"Oh, really? And such a pretty woman, too! Do tell me the story."
Reith said: "Some other time, perhaps. Why do you consider the traditional Krishnan style of dress indecent?"
"Isn't it obvious, Mr. Reith? The sight of the bare female bosom arouses carnal thoughts in the male. Such emotions are to be expected between a wedded pair; but public displays of nudity lead to sinful conduct with drastic social consequences. One of our converts told us a horrifying story, that recently in Novo one of our brothers in Christ—though of the Romish persuasion— was pursued down the street by a naked Terran woman, menacing him with a sign on a pole. Do you know anything of this?"
"No," said Reith, keeping his face straight by sheer willpower. "But you know how rumors exaggerate."
Leaning towards Reith with eyes aglow, the Reverend Trask ran off with the conversation like a football player intercepting a pass. "First, Mr. Reith, there are the social diseases. Every time the medical profession thinks it has one of them under control, a new epidemic appears—by mutation, I think they call it. Providence works in wondrous ways. Then there are the countless homicides and family tragedies arising from adulteries. We know—and I'm sure Doctor Dyckman would agree— that it's better for a child to grow up with both its biological parents than with only one, as so often results from sexual laxity. You've heard, I'm sure, of the broken-home syndrome, with its delinquency, addictions, crime, and suicide."
As Trask paused for breath, Melissa Trask seized the thread of the discourse. "So you see, dear, dear Mr. Reith, even if you don't believe that Moses literally came down from Mount Sinai carrying a slab of stone engraved with Thou shalt not commit adultery', the ancients still had good reasons for imposing strict rules on sex."
"Did you and the Reverend urge the Dasht to order modification of the bathhouses?"
The Reverend Trask clasped his hands, looking saintly. "The Dasht asked our opinion, and we gave it. We compel nobody. As it is, the bathhouse proprietors find one excuse after another for putting off the change."
Reith's imp of perversity tempted him to launch a harangue on the destructive effects on native populations of missionary meddling; but his common sense asserted itself. 'Tell me more about your good works," he said.
While the Trasks prattled guilelessly on, Reith worked his way through the rest of the repast: boiled burind, an animal resembling a winged monkey, stuffed with an omelet of bijar eggs; a cut of roast shaihan smothered in a piscoid sauce ... A glance down the long table showed that White had given up trying to follow Judaic dietary rules. He was at least sampling everything.
When food and drink were finished, the Dasht stood up in his glittering mail and rapped for silence. The chatter died a quick death.
"Friends!" shouted Gilan III in Gozashtandou. "We have eaten and drunk and enjoyed ourselves. My Altitude hopes that my hospitality hath not displeased you.
"Tonight I shall speak of the defense of our homeland. Harken closely, for I am never wrong! It hath come to mine ears that some do grumble at the taxes required to defend the realm against its foes within and without. A nation that be not prepared to don its shining armor and sharpen its gleaming sword doth five at hazard!
"We have witnessed all too many examples of the tragic effects of such cowardice. Once Jo'ol was independent; what is Jo'ol today save a sphere of the barbarous nomads of Qaath? But fear nought, my friends. I shall be your shining armor; I shall be your invincible sword ..."
The speech rambled on for half a Krishnan hour. Trask whispered to Reith: "I wish we could convince him to follow the Christian way: 'Whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek ...' "
"Wouldn't work on the Kamoran of Qaath," grunted Reith. "He'd not only smite thy left cheek but take thy head for good measure."
When the speech was over, the glittering company trooped into a large chamber filled with seats that faced a stage. Here Strachan displayed his automata: a mechanical yeki, which stalked and pounced on a wild unha; ayas and shomals, which leaped fences; bijars and aqebats, which flew in circles on the ends of wires; a pair of puppets, a Qaathian and a Gozashtando warrior, who fought, circling and whacking. The show concluded with the eruption of a miniature volcano, which sent a fountain of smoke and a spray of sparks to the ceiling.
Afterwards, when the guests had cracked their thumb joints and rose to chat, Reith congratulated Strachan. The Scot glanced about before muttering in English: "Ye know I dinna care burha-shit for these gadgets. All their principles are already known to the Krishnans, or I cudna use them. As soon as ma contract's up and I'm paid off, I'll be out of here faster than Maibud left Bákh's treasure vault when the god caught him stealing. How's ma little Jenny and ma wee house?"
"Juanita was all right the last time I saw her," said Reith. "Where did you find that new Highland getup?"
"Had it made in Majbur. The sporran, noo, is of burha hide in place of badger." Strachan chuckled, fingering the furry purse that hung from the waistband of his kilt. "Mrs. Trask, the missionary's wife, asked me what a Scot carried in his scrotum. I tried to explain athoot embarrassing the dear lady; but not, I fear, wi' complete success."
"What's funny?" asked Alicia, seeing Reith convulsed.
"I'll tell you later," he said. "Where are Jack and Cyril?"
At the inn, Reith bade his companions good night and entered his room. As he started to close the door behind him, the sound of a scuffle, followed by the thud of a heavy fall, brought him round. He looked out, saw Ordway sitting on the floor, and glimpsed Alicia's door slamming shut.
Reith hurried to the fallen production manager, who was dazedly shaking his head. Blood ran from his roseate nose and spread out over his lips.
"Now what the devil!" exclaimed Reith.
Ordway groaned. "You were right, Fergus," he mumbled, "and I was a silly ass. Help me up, will you like a good bloke?"