"As his butler?" asked Okagamut.
"Well, yes and no. Having once been an undertaker I knew something of forms and ceremonies. Therefore he employed me as a master of protocol, to tell the temple virgins when to bring on the roast and such. Only poor Yadjye can't eat roast, being head of a religion that disbelieves in meat-eating and any other kind of fun you might mention."
"How about the temple virgins? Are they?"
"They are; or at least they were before I came along. They serve him at table in rotation, you see. Well, there was a tonky little sort starting her training, named Lüdey, and we will not bandy a woman's name except to say that everything was as jolly as could be until she got the idea that I should take her away from it all to see the world. Several worlds, in fact, for in the course of the proceedings she had naturally got on to the fact that I was an Earthman. I explained how I couldn't get off Krishna unless they changed the law about bigamy, for Novorecife was the only spaceport and Abreu's troopers would catch me dinkum die if I tried it.
"But the situation deteriorated, as that bloke Shakespeare said, until she departed with a toss of her lovely head and a threat to tell Uncle Yadjye about the viper in his bosom. Not waiting to argue the toss I shook the dust of the Archepiscopal palace from my boots and—here I am! Now what'll we do?"
"Don't know. How are you fixed for money?"
"Oh," said Singer cautiously, "I copped one of Yadjye's candlesticks and gave it Syechas for board and keep."
"Is that all?"
"It's all I'm telling about. I didn't have time to pack me luggage. How about you?"
"Somewhat the same, except that I had some cash on me. I can't stay here much longer or I won't have enough for the kind of escape I'm planning."
"What's your idea?" said Singer eagerly.
"Well, I don't know. I'd planned it for one man, and it'll cost more than I've got with two."
Singer looked hard at Okagamut. While this man seemed fair dinkum, Singer was not free from prejudices. Finally he made up his mind.
"Look, cobber, let's take a chance," he said, bringing out the other candlestick and his small change and laying them on the floor. "We can trust each other farther than we can Syechas, anyhow. Part up your oscar and we shall see what we can do."
Okagamut brought out a money-belt. They counted coins and estimated the value of the candlestick, and were just securing their wealth when five raps on the trapdoor told them Syechas was bringing supper.
After they had closed the trap again Singer beamed at the tray with honest pleasure. "Meat, by God! After a month of greens I thought I'd never see real tucker again. How does he do it?"
Okagamut shrugged. "If he can get nyomnigë I guess he can bootleg a little meat. Contraband is his business."
"Including us," said Singer. "Look, what's this escape plan?"
"Had any polar experience?"
"Having been a professional tourist guide, I've done a little mountaineering. Why?"
"I thought we might buy a sled and cut across the Psheshuva. I know the President of Olñega."
"Hm," said Singer, not sure he liked the plan. The Psheshuva was a spur to the South Polar Plateau, which extended north a thousand hoda or so, separating the Kingdom of Nichnyamadze from the Republic of Olñega. Singer had never driven a fsyok-sled, and his mountaineering was confined to a few slides down an easy slope on skis. "How will you make arrangements?"
"Syechas can take care of most of it. Claims he can get us out of Vyutr—for a consideration, of course."
"What's he going to use, a glider? With these winds a big kite could lift us over the wall."
"I suspect a tunnel. How much trail can you take?"
Singer said: "I've had a bit of graft in my day, though I've lived an easy life lately." He patted his paunch. "That'll work off, I dare say."
"How about arms?"
Singer shook his head. "Nothing but me eating-dirk. I never could get the knack of these silly swords. Why, one bomb or gun—"
"I know, but we're on Krishna, where they don't have such things. Maybe it's just as well, because we'll have to watch our weight to the last gram."
Syechas said: "Myosl will take you through the tunnel. Then you have a three-days' walk into the mountains. When you reach Dyeniik's house, you can get your needfuls from there on."
Myosl led them, muffled in furs, out Syechas's back door into the cold night; along a winding path among rubbish-heaps and through fences, and down steps to another door. A lock squealed, and they were in complete darkness.
Myosl snapped one of those flint-and-steel contraptions and lit a small candle-lamp. The reflector threw a weak beam into a tunnel walled with rough stone down which water dripped from whiskers of mould and moss. Singer had to bend, and the mud sucked at his boots. Every few paces their shabby-looking guide looked back at them.
Okagamut said softly: "This must run for kilometres."
"Right-o. I should think we'd be outside the walls now. I don't—" Singer paused as Myosl bent another of those looks on him.
"Go on. I'm sure he can't understand English."
"I was about to say, I don't trust that joker. Wouldn't it be a go, now, if after our host back there had got all the brass he could wring out of us, we was to be smeared by a push in these here catacombs and robbed of the rest?"
They plodded on, their breaths making plumes of vapour in the cold air. The silence was broken only by the drip of water and the squelching of their boots in the mud. The place stank.
"It's rising," said Okagamut.
The tunnel not only rose, but also made a couple of right-angled turns and ended with a door. Myosl took another look behind him and opened the door.
Beyond the room was a small space like a closet and another door. Through this door they found themselves in a kind of underground meeting-room, far gone in ruin. At the far end a broken door hung askew on one hinge. Through the triangular opening Singer could see steps going up and moonlight coming down.
Okagamut said: "See that helmet in stone carved on the altar? This must be a secret chapel of Qondyorr, the old Gozashtando god of war. After the Kangandites got control of the kingdom, they drove the other cults underground, in both senses. Wish I could get access to the records of—"
Myosl whistled sharply.
"Watch it, bod!" cried Singer, reaching for the clasp of his cloak.
Two men stepped out of the shadows. Each ran at one of the Earthmen with a sword. Myosl laid down his lantern, drew a dagger, and danced after them.
Skipping back to stay out of reach of the point, Singer tripped and fell on his back. His assailant lunged. Singer knocked the blade aside with his forearm and shot his heel out against the man's belly. The man reeled back and crashed into Myosl. By the time they had recovered, Singer was up again, the clasp finally undone.
"Come on, ringtails!" said Singer, whipping the cloak into a roll and swinging it with both hands. The heavy fur-lined garment made a fine club. Whang! The nearest attacker's sword went flying across the room. Whang! Myosl was knocked sideways.
Somebody screamed. Beyond his assailants Singer saw Okagamut's man thrashing on the floor. Okagamut turned towards them. Myosl lunged with his dagger; Singer caught his wrist and they grappled, Myosl trying to cut through Singer's glove. The other attacker squared off with his fists at Okagamut, who led with his left. The Krishnan countered with a straight right which the Earthman dodged, and the latter came back with a right, almost at the same instant, to the side of the Krishnan's jaw. Crack! The Krishnan sat down.
Singer brought his leg into play and sent Myosl staggering back. Then he got out his own knife, a special number with a knobby guard that made a fine knuckleduster. As Myosl recovered from the kick, Singer punched his face with the guard and then let him have the point.