“Hah!” said the commander with satisfaction. “Let’s go see what they can offer worth the taking! You!”—handing a prong to a nervous she’un—”keep watch over him, hear me?”
And, surrounded by his sub-commanders, headed landward.
More miserable than ever, Tenthag was compelled to look on as the Neesans delivered everything they owned for the visitors’ inspection. Meantime, however, a suspicion began to gnaw at the back of his mind. At first he was too despondent to react; by degrees it overcame his depression, and he roused himself enough to survey the close-clustered briqs and junqs.
They still bore their complement of old’uns and she’uns. But not a single one among the latter was in bud…
The monstrosity of the deceit these nomads were perpetrating stabbed him to the pith, and he almost made a leap for Flapper. But the she-guard was ready to spike him, and he was in no hurry to become an underwater banquet.
He must match their deception without giving off a betraying odor, therefore. Would anger-stink cover up a lie?
Well, by now experience had made him cynical enough to try…
He and the guard were isolated near the briq’s after end; the rest of her riders were gathered forward. He said softly, “What’s your commander’s name?”
She hesitated; then, finding no reason to refuse the information, muttered, “He’s called Sprapter.”
“And he is a good person to serve under?”
“He does well by us. He’s clever. The proof’s around you.” Her tone was curt, but uneasy, as though she feared a trap.
Tenthag saw nothing special about the accoutrements of the briqs and junqs—indeed, they could have been matched by any kyq from his youth, and the latter would have been set about with useful gorborangs, as well—but now was no time to be patronizing. He said hastily, “And you are …?”
“Veetalya.”
“Do you believe it to be part of Sprapter’s plan that I must parch to death?”
Taken aback, she said, “You heard his order to me!”
“So I did. It made no mention of my being denied water. Oh, I know the People of the Sea hate us couriers nowadays, but our lives have much in common, and I take it that if Sprapter ordered you to guard me he’ll expect to find me fit and well when he returns,”
Alongside the briq Flapper was growing restive, as always in salt water. Why had they not turned her loose, or stripped and killed her? Did Sprapter cherish grandiose dreams of adding a porp to his little fleet? Or did he think she might prove useful for trade purposes when they headed south in search of the secret they claimed to possess, but did not? Whatever the reason, it was a stroke of luck. Tenthag said in his most wheedling tones, “Your drink-bladders are bulging, aren’t they? And if there’s one thing a porp lacks, it’s adequate drink. A briq is far superior in that regard. You People of the Sea know ancient tricks that we ought really to have studied, but of course, as you know, we tend to be arrogant. With a few exceptions, like myself for example. But isn’t that a fault you too display?”
She was nervously tightening her grip on the prong. With a reflex glance at the drink-bladders, she said, “I don’t know what you mean!”
“Oh, it’s plain as sunlight! You’re not in bud, although your folk possess the secret of fertility, and I can only explain the fact by assuming that you angered Sprapter, and he refused to let you have a bud until you’d made amends for some offense you’d given. Well, if you give me drink, I’ll speak up on your behalf when he returns.”
By this time, as he had dared to hope, she was thoroughly confused. Providentially, a shout rose from the beach at the same moment. The distance was too great for Tenthag to make out exactly what was being said, but a fair guess suggested that one of the Neesans had complained about all their best possessions being taken, and one of the visitors had demanded what price was too high to pay for fertility.
The same might be asked concerning freedom. Accustomed, like almost everybody else, to imagining that the risk of being stabbed through a major tubule was sufficient to make anyone sit quiet, Sprapter had relied on Veetalya’s possession of a good sharp prong a padlong distant to ensure his captive would obey her. But he had seen Pletrow calmly cut her own body with a far keener blade, and heard her casual dismissal of the risk…