Presently, the nasty customer, seeing that Green was not going to notice him, walked in front of him so that he could not help being annoyed. At the same time, the babble around them died and everybody turned his head to stare.
“Friend,” said Green, affably enough, “would you mind standing off to one side? You are blocking my view.”
The fellow spat grixtr juice at Green’s feet.
“No slave calls me friend. Yes, I am blocking your view, and I would mind getting out of the way.”
“Evidently you object to my presence here,” said Green. “What is the matter? You don’t like my face?”
“No, I don’t. And I don’t like to have as a crewmate a stinking slave.”
“Speaking of odors,” said Green, “would you please stand to leeward of me. I’ve been through a lot lately and I’ve a delicate stomach.”
“Silence, you son of an izzot!” roared the sailor, red-faced, “Have respect toward your betters, or I’ll strike you down and throw your body overboard.”
“It takes two to make a murder, just as it takes two to make a bargain,” said Green in a loud voice, hoping that Miran would hear and be reminded of his promise of protection. But Miran shrugged his shoulders. He had done as much as he could. It was up to Green to make his way from now on.
“It is true that I am a slave,” he said. “But I was not born one. Before being captured I was a freeman who knew liberty as none of you here know it. I came from a country where there were no masters because every man was his own master.
“However, that is neither here nor there. The point is that I earned my freedom, that I fought like a warrior, not a slave, to get aboard the Bird. I wish to become a crew member, to become a blood-brother to the Clan Effenycan.”
“Ah, indeed, and what can you contribute to the Clan that we should consider you worthy of sharing our blood?”
What indeed? Green thought. The sweat broke out all over his body, though the morning wind was cool.
At that moment he saw Miran speak to a sailor, who disappeared below decks and come out almost at once carrying a small harp in his hand. Oh, yes, now he remembered that he had told the captain what a wonderful harpist and singer he was, just the man that the Clan, eager for entertainment on the long voyages, would be likely to initiate.
The unfortunate thing about that was that Green couldn’t play a note.
Nevertheless he took the instrument from the sailor and gravely plucked its strings. He listened to the tones, frowned, adjusted the pegs, plucked them again, then handed the harp back.
“Sorry, this is an inferior instrument,” he said haughtily. “Haven’t you anything better? I couldn’t think of degrading my art on such a cheap monstrosity.”
“Gods above!” screamed a man standing nearby. “That is my harp you are talking about, the beloved harp of me, the bard Grazoot! Slave! Tone-deaf son of a laryngiteal mother! You will answer to me for that insult!”
“No,” said the sailor, “this is my affair. I, Ezkr, will test this lubber’s fitness to join the Clan and be called brother.”
“Over my dead body, brother!”
“If you so wish it, brother!”
There were more angry words until presently Miran himself came down to the middeck. “By Mennirox, this is a disgrace.” he bellowed. “Two Effenycan quarreling before a slave! Come, make a decision quietly, or I will have you both thrown overboard. It is not too far to walk back to Quotz.”
“We will cast dice to see who is the lucky man,” said the sailor, Ezkr. Grinning gap-toothedly, he reached into the pouch that hung from his belt, and pulled out the hexagonal ivories. A few minutes later he rose from his knees, having won four out of six throws. Green was disappointed mere than he cared to show, for he had hoped that if he had to fight anybody it would be the pudgy, soft-looking harpist, not the tough sailor.
Ezkr seemed to agree with Green that he could not have had worse luck. Chewing grixtr so rapidly that the green-flecked slaver ran down his long chin, Ezkr announced the terms that the blond slave would have to meet to prove his fitness.