* * * * *
Jaro grinned. "You might step in the shower, pull the curtain around
you and turn on the water."
The big young man looked perplexed. "Couldn't we join her in the dining
room in a few moments?"
"No," expostulated Jaro. "I should say not. She just ate enough to last
a Mercurian family a week. If I turned her loose down with all that
food she'd probably flounder herself. Besides Albert Peet's gunmen
would like nothing better than to catch her alone. No, Irving, you'll
have to talk in front of her."
"I don't like it," replied Landovitch. He shook his head full-like from
side to side. "But, well Jaro, how are you mixed up in this?"
Jaro hitched his chair closer. "Listen, I was at Valego, organizing the
Martian army. The prince had commissioned me."
"We know all about your disreputable past," Landovitch interrupted
blandly.
"Quit heckling him," said Joan. "For all I've been able to gather he
was born yesterday. He's the most uncommunicative man ever."
Irving Landovitch clucked sympathetically. "Jaro, how did you impose on
this poor innocent child. If you'd let me know, maybe I could, too."
"I was on Mars," Jaro continued patiently, "when I got a flash from the
Red Witch--she's using the name of Mikail--to grab the first spaceship
for Mercury. She said she was singing at _Mercury Sam's Garden_." In
as few words as possible he sketched his adventures since arriving.
Landovitch whistled.
"The Rains are three days overdue," he said.
"What is the Festival like?" asked Jaro. "I've heard something about
it, but I've never been here during the Rains."
The T.I.S. agent rolled his eyes. "It would make a Roman orgy look like
a Sunday School picnic. Ordinarily the Mercurians are the meekest
people in the Universe, but during the Rains, they go a little crazy."
"A little?" said Joan. "They're mad as hatters." She paused, her
expression undergoing an abrupt change. "Listen!"
At first they could distinguish nothing, then from outside the window
came a persistent sigh which gradually deepened into a full-throated
roar.
"The Rains," breathed Joan with a catch in her throat. "In a moment we
will hear the flutes."
* * * * *
Out in the hall someone knocked on the door.
"Third time's the charm," said Jaro, and drew the slug gun.
Landovitch said: "He won't be expecting me. When he shoots you I ought
to be able to catch him by surprise."
"Maybe I should allow you to answer the door."
"Go on." Landovitch waved his gun. "I'm right behind you, but out of
the line of fire, of course."
Jaro threw open the door. Both men thrust their guns in the face of the
little Mercurian waiter who had served the food.
"I'm growing accustomed," the waiter said; "to your peculiar sense of
humor." He marched between the two big men, closed and locked the heavy
storm shutters, marched back out. Joan burst into peals of laughter.
Jaro and Landovitch sheepishly returned their guns to their holsters.
"Will you quit laughing like a hyena," said Jaro, "I think I hear
something."
Joan subsided into giggles. From beneath their feet came a thin minor
melody. It possessed a maddening undercurrent indescribable in its
effect. Other instruments joined the first until the sound was like a
field of katydids.
"The flutes," said Joan. "It's the flutes."
Jaro, listening to their reedy melody, thought of the pipes of Pan. He
allowed his pale blue eyes to examine Joan Webb. She had long legs,
hips that were full, rounded, but not too broad, a slim waist, high
breasts. He took a long drink of Latonka. He said, "I want to revel."
Landovitch said with admiration in his voice, "You sure can pick 'em,
Jaro."
She glanced in alarm from Jaro to Landovitch. "Don't get any ideas, you
two predatory wolves, you. I absolutely refuse to be a party to any
orgies."
"Tell me," said Jaro, "what is this Festival of the Rains? What does it
symbolize?"
Joan explained: "It celebrates the marriage of Nemi, the god of the
rain, with the soil. Each year Nemi takes a new bride. She's chosen
from the prettiest girls of Acecia. She symbolizes the earth. The last
night of the festival, she is led into a beautiful chamber deep in
the lower levels of the rain god's temple and placed in bed and left.
Nemi, himself, is--ah--er, supposed to visit her during the night. For
a whole year she must remain faithful to Nemi. The people actually
believe her a goddess. But at the end of that time Nemi divorces
her, and she is relegated to the Temple Priestesses. The Temple
Priestesses," she added dryly, "aren't noted for their rigidity of
morals."
They all took a drink of Latonka. The flutes were louder, more
insistent in their suggestion. Landovitch twitched his blond scalp
pensively. He did it like a horse twitches a patch of hide. Joan stared
at him fascinated. She said, "How did you do that?" She wrinkled her
nose, frowned, trying to imitate his feat.
"Gimme that jug," said Jaro. He turned to Joan. "We," he said
impressively, "are the revolution." Joan realized that the two men had
consumed considerable wine. Landovitch threw wide his arms. "Camarade!"
he shouted. There were tears in his eyes.
Jaro put down the jug empty. "Camarade!" he cried. They embraced.
Joan watched them, her brown eyes round as saucers. Jaro turned to
Joan. "Camarade!" he said. He embraced her. She said, "Camarade" in a
weak voice. He continued to embrace her. Landovitch lost interest in
the revolution. He was searching for another jug. With a chortle, he
dragged one forth from beneath the bed.
He observed Jaro and Joan with a lifted eyebrow. "Such brazenness," he
said in a reproving voice; "and right before my eyes, too."
"Oh!" exploded Joan angrily. She pushed Jaro away. "Of all the
disgusting tricks!" she said. "This isn't any time for clowning."
"I think," said Jaro Moynahan, "our best plan is to locate Karfial
Hodes. I have an idea that he is the key to this mess."
Landovitch said, "Lead on, Moynahan. Your faithful friend, Last Ditch
Landovitch, is with you." He waved the jug. "Camarade," he said.
"Camarade," said Jaro. They opened their arms. They embraced like two
football tackles. Jaro turned to Joan, "Camarade," he said.
"No you don't!" said Joan grimly. "I've been 'cameraded' the last
time." Jaro's arms encircled her like bands of steel. She had never
imagined such strength. "Oh well," she said, "camarade."
Landovitch opened the door. The music of the flutes swept into the
room. Jaro and Landovitch linked their arms in Joan's. She was not a
small girl, but she appeared fragile and doll-like between the two big
men. The T.I.S. agent twirled the two gallon jug of Latonka on his
finger. They paraded into the hall, down the stairs, three abreast.
Jaro saw with surprise that the lobby was deserted. The clerk seemed
nervous, irritable, anxious to join the revelry which assailed their
ears from the runs.