A Circus of Hells by Poul Anderson. Part one

I

The story is of a lost treasure guarded by curious monsters, and of

captivity in a wilderness, and of a chase through reefs and shoals that

could wreck a ship. There is a beautiful girl in it, a magician, a spy

or two, and the rivalry of empires. So of course–Flandry was later

tempted to say–it begins with a coincidence.

However, the likelihood that he would meet Tachwyr the Dark was not

fantastically low. They were in the same profession, which had them

moving through a number of the same places; and they also shared the

adventurous-ness of youth. To be sure, once imperialism is practiced on

an interstellar scale, navies grow in size until the odds are huge

against any given pair of their members happening on each other.

Nevertheless, many such encounters were taking place, as was inevitable

on one of the rare occasions when a Merseian warship visited a Terran

planet. A life which included no improbable events would be the real

statistical impossibility.

The planet was Irumclaw, some 200 light-years from Sol in that march of

the human realm which faced Betelgeuse. Lieutenant (j.g.) Dominic

Flandry had been posted there not long before, with much wailing and

gnashing of teeth until he learned that even so dismal a clod had its

compensations. The Merseian vessel was the cruiser Brythioch, on a swing

through the buffer region of unclaimed, mostly unknown suns between the

spaces ruled in the names of Emperor and Roidhun. Neither government

would have allowed any craft belonging to its rival, capable of spouting

nuclear fire, any appreciable distance into its territory. But border

authorities could, at discretion, accept a “goodwill visit.” It broke

the monotony and gave a slight hope of observing the kind of trivia

which, fitted together, now and then revealed a fact the opposition

would have preferred to keep secret.

In this case Merseia profited, at least initially.

Official hospitality was exchanged. Besides protocol, the humans were

motivated, whether they knew it or not, to enjoy the delicate frisson

that came from holding converse with those who–beneath every diplomatic

phrase–were the enemy. Flandry did know it; he had seen more of life

than the average twenty-one-year-old. He was sure the liberty parties

down in Old Town were being offered quite a few drinks, and other

amenities in certain cases.

Well, why not? They had been long in the deeps between the stars. If

they were straight back from here, they must travel a good 140

light-years–about ten standard days at top hyperspeed, but still an

abyss whose immensity and strangeness wore down the hardiest

spirit–before they could raise the outermost of the worlds they called

their own. They needed a few hours of small-scale living, be their hosts

never so hostile.

Which we aren’t anyway, Flandry thought. We should be, but we aren’t,

most of us. He grinned. Including me. Though he would have liked to join

the fun; he couldn’t. The junior officers of Irumclaw Base must hold the

customary reception for their opposite numbers from the ship. (Their

seniors gave another in a separate building. The Merseians, variously

bemused or amused by the rigid Terran concept of rank, conformed. They

set more store by ceremony and tradition, even that of aliens, than

latter-day humans did.) While some of the visitors spoke Anglic, it

turned out that Flandry was the only man on this planet who knew Eriau.

The mess hall had no connection to the linguistic computer and there was

no time to jury-rig one. His translations would be needed more than his

physical presence.

Not that the latter was any disgrace, he reflected rather smugly. He was

tall and lithe and wore his dress uniform with panache and had become a

favorite among the girls downhill. Despite this, he remained well liked

by the younger men, if not always by his superiors.

He entered at the appointed evening hour. Under Commander Abdullah’s

fishy eye, he saluted the Emperor’s portrait not with his usual vague

wave but with a snap that well-nigh dislocated his shoulder. And a heel

click to boot, he reminded himself. Several persons being in line ahead

of him, he had a minute for taking stock. Its tables removed except for

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