"It starts to be a toss-up pretty soon," Trimmer admitted. "I don't
think he gives me credit for that much subtlety.... What are you doing
the rest of the day?"
"Taking footage. Do you know where I can find some picturesque rites?
Mystical dances, human sacrifice? I've got to work up some glamor and
exotic lore."
"There's this sjambak in the cage. That's about as close to the medieval
as you'll find anywhere in Earth Commonwealth."
"Speaking of sjambaks ..."
"No time," said Trimmer. "Got to get back. Drop in at my office--right
down the square from the palace."
* * * * *
Murphy returned to his suite. The shadowy figure of his room servant
said, "His Highness the Sultan desires the Tuan's attendance in the
Cascade Garden."
"Thank you," said Murphy. "As soon as I load my camera."
The Cascade Room was an open patio in front of an artificial waterfall.
The Sultan was pacing back and forth, wearing dusty khaki puttees, brown
plastic boots, a yellow polo shirt. He carried a twig which he used as a
riding crop, slapping his boots as he walked. He turned his head as
Murphy appeared, pointed his twig at a wicker bench.
"I pray you sit down, Mr. Murphy." He paced once up and back. "How is
your suite? You find it to your liking?"
"Very much so."
"Excellent," said the Sultan. "You do me honor with your presence."
Murphy waited patiently.
"I understand that you had a visitor this morning," said the Sultan.
"Yes. Mr. Trimmer."
"May I inquire the nature of the conversation?"
"It was of a personal nature," said Murphy, rather more shortly than he
meant.
The Sultan nodded wistfully. "A Singhalûsi would have wasted an hour
telling me half-truths--distorted enough to confuse, but not
sufficiently inaccurate to anger me if I had a spy-cell on him all the
time."