with traces of sulfurous reek. He saw a building blocky against the
clouds, and on its roof a gong to call for prayers to the God of a world
two and a half light-centuries hence. The shadow-less illumination made
distances hard to gauge; was that air-conditioned interior as remote as
he dreaded?
The crew were making for it. They weren’t in formation, but discipline
lived in their close ranks and careful jog-trot. What Merseians had
tasks to do outside wore muffling white coveralls with equipment on the
back.
“Move along, Terran,” said Flandry’s guard. “Or do you enjoy our
weather?”
The man started off. “I’ve known slightly more comfortable espresso
cookers,” he answered; but since the guard had never heard of espresso,
or coffee for that matter, his repartee fell flat again.
XII
—
In the Spartan tradition of Vach lords, the office of Ydwyr the Seeker
lacked any furniture save desk and cabinets. Though he and Morioch
Sun-in-eye were seated, it was on feet and tails, which looked to a
human as if they were crouched to spring. That, and their size, great
even for Wilwidh Merseians, and faint but sharp body odors, and rumbling
bass tones, and the explosive gutturals of Eriau, gave Djana a sense of
anger that might break loose in slaughter. She could see that Flandry
was worried and caught his hand in the cold dampness of hers. He made no
response; standing rigid, he listened.
“Perhaps the datholch has been misinformed about this affair,” Morioch
said with strained courtesy. Flandry didn’t know what the title
signified–and Merseian grades were subtle, variable things–but it was
plainly a high one, since the aristocratic-deferential form of address
was used.
“I shall hearken to whatever the qanryf wishes to say,” Ydwyr replied,
in the same taut manner but with the merely polite verbal construction.
Flandry would have understood “qanryf (the first letter representing,
more or less, k followed by dh = voiced th) from the argent saltire on
Morioch’s black uniform, had he not met the word often before. Morioch
was the commandant of this base, or anyhow on its naval aspect; but the
base was a minor one.
He–stockily built, hard of features, incongruous against the books and
reelboxes whose shelves filled every available square centimeter of wall
space–declared: “This is no capture of a scout who simply chanced by.
The female alone should … unquestionably does tell the datholch that.
But I didn’t want to intrude on your work by speaking to you of mine.
Besides, since it’s confidential, the fewer who are told, the better.
Correct?”
No guards had come in with their chief. They waited beyond the archway
curtains, which were not too soundproof to pass a cry for help.
Opposite, seen through a window, waited Talwin’s lethal summer.
Blue-black and enormous, a thunderhead was piling up over the stockade,
where the banners of those Vachs and regions that had members here
whipped on their staffs.
Ydwyr’s mouth drew into thinner lines. “I could have been trusted,” he
said. Flandry didn’t believe that mere wounded vanity spoke. Had a
prerogative been infringed? What was Ydwyr?
He wore a gray robe without emblems; at its sash hung only a purse. He
was taller than Morioch, but lean, wrinkled, aging. At first he had
spoken softly, when the humans were brought before him from their
quarters–on his demand after he learned of their arrival. As soon as
the commandant had given him a slight amount of back talk, he had
stiffened, and power fairly blazed from him.
Morioch confronted it stoutly. “That needs no utterance,” he said. “I
hope the datholch accepts that I saw no reason to trouble you with
matters outside your own purposes here.”
“Does the qanryf know every conceivable limit of my purposes?”
“No … however–” Raided but game, Morioch redonned formality. “May I
explain everything to the datholch?”
Ydwyr sighed permission. Morioch caught a breath and commenced:
“When the Brythioch stopped by, these months agone, her chief
intelligence officer gave me a word that did not then seem very
interesting. You recall she’d been at Irumclaw, the Terran frontier
post. There a mei–I have his name on record but don’t remember it–had