"You'll come home tonight? Surely the Duchess will let you out one
night a week?"
"Not one single night. And I can't come here this evening because I'm
to meet Miran the Merchant at the House of Equality. Business, you
know."
"Oh, I know! You'll dillydally about the whole matter, and put off
acting for one reason or another, and the first thing you know, years
will go by, and----"
"If this keeps up I'll be dead in six months," he said. "I'm _tired_! I
have to get some sleep."
She changed instantly from anger to sympathy. "Poor dear, why don't you
forget that appointment and sleep here until it's time to go back to
the castle? I'll send a messenger to Miran telling him you're sick."
"No, this is something I just can't pass by."
"What is it?"
"It's of such a nature that telling you, or anybody, would spoil it."
"And just what could that be?" she demanded, angry again. "It concerns
some woman, I'll bet!"
"My problem is keeping away from you women, not getting into more
trouble. No, it's just that Miran has sworn me by all his gods to keep
silent and of course I couldn't think of breaking a vow."
"I know your opinion of our gods," she said. "Well, go along with you!
But I warn you, I'm an impatient woman; I'll give you a week to work on
the Duchess, then I'm launching an attack myself."
"That won't be necessary," he said. He kissed her and the children and
left. He congratulated himself on having delayed Amra that long. If he
couldn't carry out his scheme in a week he was lost, anyway. He'd have
to walk away from the city and out onto the Xurdimur, even if packs of
wild dogs and man-eating grass cats and cannibalistic men and God knew
what else did roam the grassy plains.
4
Every city and village of the Empire had its House of Equality, within
whose walls distinctions of every type were abandoned. Green did not
know the origin of the institution, but he recognized its value as
a safety valve to blow off the extreme social pressure put on every
class. Here the slave who did not dare open his mouth in the outside
mundane world could curse his master to his face and go unpunished by
the authorities. Of course, there was nothing to keep the master from
retaliating in kind, for the slave also cast off his legal rights when
he entered. Violence was not unknown here, though it was infrequent.
Blood shed within these walls did not, theoretically, call for
punishment. But any murderer would find that, though the police paid
no attention to him, he'd have to deal with the slain one's relatives.
Many feuds had had their origin and end here.
Green had excused himself after the evening meal, saying that he had to
talk to Miran about getting some spices from Estorya. Also the merchant
had mentioned that on his last trip he'd heard that a band of Estoryan
hunters were going after the rare and beautiful _getzlen_ bird and that
he might find some for sale when he returned there. Zuni's face lit up,
because she desired a _getzlen_ bird even more than a chance to annoy
her husband. Graciously she gave Green permission to leave.
Inwardly exultant, though outwardly pulling a long face that was
supposed to suggest his sadness at having to leave the Duchess, he
backed out of the dining room. Not very gracefully, for Alzo chose that
moment to refuse to get out of Green's path. Green tumbled backward,
sprawling over the huge mastiff, who snarled with anger and trembled
with hypocritical indignation and bared his fangs with the intention
of tearing Green apart. The Earthman did not try to rise, because he
did not want to give Alzo an excuse for jumping him. Instead he bared
his own teeth and snarled back. The hall roared with laughter and the
Duke, holding his sides, tears running from his bulging eyes, rose
and staggered over to where the two faced each other on all fours. He
clutched Alzo's spike-studded collar and dragged him away, meanwhile
choking out a command to Green to take off while the taking off was
good.
Green swallowed his anger, thanked the Duke and left. Swearing that
he'd rip the hound apart some day with his bare hands, the Earthman
left for the House of Equality. It took all the long rickshaw ride to
the temple for him to calm down.
The great central room with its three-story ceiling was full that
night. Men in their long evening kilts and women in masks crowded
around the gambling tables, the bars and the grudge-stages. There
was a large crowd around the platform on which two dealers in wheat
were slugging it out to work off resentment arising from business
disputes. But by far the greatest number had gathered to watch a
husband-and-wife match. His left hand had been tied to his side, and
she had been armed with a club. Thus equalized, they'd been given the
word to go to it. So far the man had had the worst of the match, as
bloody patches on his head and bruises on his arm showed. If he could
get the club away from her he had the right to do what he wanted to
her. But if she could break his free arm she had him at her complete
mercy.
Green avoided the stage, because such barbarous doings made him sick.
Looking for Miran, he finally found him rolling a pair of six-sided
dice with another captain. This fellow wore the red turban and black
robes of the Clan Axucan. He had just lost to Miran and was paying him
sixty _iquogr_, a goodly sum even for a merchant-prince.
Miran took Green's arm, something he'd never have done outside the
House, and led him off to a curtained booth where they could get as
much privacy as they wished. He matched Green for drinks; Green lost,
and Miran ordered a large pitcher of Chalousma.
"Nothing but the best for yours truly--whenever someone else is
paying," Miran said jovially. "Now, I'm a great one for fun, but I'm
here primarily for business. So--let's have your proposal at once, if
you please."
"First I must have your solemn oath that you will tell absolutely no
one what you hear in this booth. Second, that if you reject my idea
you do not then use it later on. Third, that if you do accept you will
never attempt later on to kill me or get rid of me and thus reap the
profits."
Miran's face had been blank, but at the word "profits" it twisted into
many folds and creases, all expressive of joy.
He reached into the huge purse he carried slung over his shoulder
and pulled out a little golden idol of the patron deity of the Clan
Effenycan. Putting his right hand upon its ugly head, he lifted his
left and said, "I swear by Zaceffucanquanr that I will obey your wishes
in this matter. May he strike me with lice, leprosy, lecher's disease
and lightning if I should break this, my solemn vow."
Satisfied, Green said, "First I want you to arrange for me to be aboard
your windroller when you leave for Estorya."
Miran choked on his wine and coughed and sputtered until Green pounded
his back.
"I do not ask that you give me passage _back_. Now, here's my idea. You
plan to be taking a large cargo of dried fish because the Estoryans'
religion requires that they eat them at every meal and because they use
them in great quantities at their numerous festivals."
"True, true. Do you know, I've never been able to figure out why they
should worship a fish-goddess. They live over five thousand miles from
the sea, and there's no evidence that any of them have ever been to the
sea. Yet, they demand saltwater fish, won't use the fish from a nearby
lake."
"There're many mysteries about the Xurdimur. However, they needn't
concern us. Now, do you know that the Estoryans' Book of Gods places
much more ritual-power in freshly killed and cooked fish than in smoked
fish? However, they've always had to be content with the dried fish
the windrollers brought them. What price would they not pay for living
sea-fish?"