"The time has come to move on."
Anacho glanced toward the sky. "That time has come and gone. I suspect that a Dirdir sky-car approaches at this very moment ... Give me the button."
A Niss approached, black robes flapping to the stride of his legs. Anacho stepped forth, made a swift movement toward the black gown. The Niss sprang around with a grunt of menace, and for a moment seemed ready to abandon the unnatural restraints of Balul Zac Ag. Then he wheeled and continued along his way.
Anacho gave his thin fluting chuckle. "The Dirdir will be puzzled when Adam Reith proves to be a Niss."
"Before they learn differently, we had best be gone."
"Agreed, but how?"
"I suggest that we consult old Zarfo Detwiler."
"Luckily we know where to find him."
Skirting the bazaar, the two approached the ale-house, a ramshackle structure of stone and weather-beaten planks. Today Zarfo sat within, to escape the dust and confusion of the bazaar. A stone crock of ale almost hid his black-dyed face. He was dressed in unaccustomed elegance: polished black boots, a maroon cape, a black tricorn hat pulled down over his flowing white hair. He was somewhat drunk and even more garrulous than usual. With difficulty Reith made him aware of his problem. Zarfo at last became exercised. "So, the Dirdir now! Infamous, and during Balul Zac Ag! They had better control their arrogance, or know the wrath of the Lokhars!"
"All this to the side," said Reith, "how can we most quickly leave Smargash?"
Zarfo blinked and dipped another ladle of ale from the crock. "First I must learn where you wish to go."
"The Isles of Cloud, or perhaps the Carabas."
Zarfo let the ladle sag in shock. "The Lokhars are the most avaricious of people, yet how many attempt the Carabas? Few! And how many return with wealth?
Have you noticed the great manor house to the east, with the chain of carved ivory around the bower?"
"I have seen the manor."
"There are no other such manors near Smargash," said Zarfo portentously. "Do you get my meaning?" He rapped on the bench. "Pot-boy! More ale."
"I mentioned the Isles of Cloud as well," said Reith.
"Tusa Tala on the Draschade is more convenient for the Isles. How to reach Tusa Tala? The motor-wagon fares only to Siadz at the edge of the highlands; I know of no route down the chasms to the Draschade. The caravan to Zara is two months gone. A skyraft is the only sensible conveyance."
"Well, then, where can we obtain a sky-raft?"
"Not from the Lokhars; we have none. Look yonder: a skyraft and a party of rich Xars! They are about to depart. Maybe their destination is Tusa Tala. Let us inquire."
"A moment. We must get word to Traz." Reith called the potboy, sent him running to the inn.
Zarfo strode out across the compound with Reith and Anacho behind. Five Xars stood by their old sky-raft: short bullshouldered men with congested complexions. They wore rich robes of gray and green; their black hair rose in rigid varnished columns, flaring slightly outward and sheared off flat.
"Leaving Smargash so soon, friend Xars?" Zarfo called out in a cheerful voice.
The Xars muttered together and turned away.
Zarfo ignored the lack of affability. "Where then are you bound?"
"Lake Falas; where else?" declared the oldest Xar. "Our business is done; as usual we were cheated. We are anxious to return to the swamps."
"Excellent. This gentleman and his two friends need transportation to a point in your general direction. They asked me whether they should offer to pay; I said,
'Nonsense! The Xars are princes of generosity-' "
"Hold!" the Xar called sharply. "I have at least three remarks to make. First, our raft is crowded. Second, we are generous unless we lose sequins in the process. Third, these two nondescripts have a reckless and desperate air about them, not at all reassuring. Is this the third?" The reference was to Traz, who had arrived on the scene. "A mere lad but no less dubious for all that."
Another Xar spoke. "Two further questions: How much can they pay? Where do they wish to go?"
Reith, considering the uncomfortably scant supply of sequins in his pouch, said,
"A hundred sequins is all we can offer; and we want to be taken to Tusa Tala."
The Xars threw up their hands in outrage. "Tusa Tala? A thousand miles northwest! We head southeast to Lake Falas! A hundred sequins? Is this a joke?
Mountebanks! Off with all of you,„ Zarfo swaggered threateningly forward. "A mountebank, you call me? Were it not Balul Zac Ag, the 'unnatural dream time,' I would tweak all of your ludicrously long noses!"
The Xars made spitting sounds between their teeth, climbed aboard the raft and departed.
Zarfo stared after the departing raft. He heaved a sigh. "In this case, failure
... Well, all may not prove so churlish. In the sky comes another craft; we shall put the proposal to those aboard, or at an extremity, render them drunk and borrow the vehicle. A handsome craft, that. Surely-"
Anacho gave a startled outcry. "A Dirdir sky-car! Already they are here! Away to concealment, for our very lives!"
He started to dart away. Reith seized his arm. "Don't run; do you want them to identify us so quickly?" To Zarfo: "Where shall we hide?"
"In the ale-house storeroom but never forget that this is Balul Zac Ag! The Dirdir would never dare violence!"
"Bah," sneered Anacho. "What do they know of your customs, or care?"
"I will explain to them," declared Zarfo. He led the three to a shed beside the alehouse, ushered them within. Through a crack in the plank Reith watched the Dirdir sky-car settle into the compound. On sudden thought he turned to Traz, felt over his garments, and in vast dismay discovered a black disc.
"Quick," said Anacho. "Give it here." He left the shed, went into the ale-house.
A minute later he returned. "An old Lokhar departing for his cottage now carries the tell-tale." He went to a crack, peered out toward the field. "Dirdir, sure enough! As always when sport is to be had!"
The sky-car lay quiet: a craft different from any Reith had seen heretofore, the product of a sure and sophisticated technology. Five Dirdir stepped to the ground: impressive creatures, harsh, mercurial, decisive. They stood approximately at human height, and moved with sinister quickness, like lizards on a hot day. Their dermal surfaces suggested polished bone; their crania raised into sharp blade-like crests, with incandescent antennae streaming back at either side. The contours of the faces were oddly human, with deep eye-sockets, the scalp crests descending to suggest nasal ridges. They half-hopped, half-loped, like leopards walking erect; it was not hard to see in them the wild creatures which had hunted the hot plains of Sibol.
Three persons approached the Dirdir: the false Lokhar, the Dugbo girl, a man in nondescript gray garments. The Dirdir spoke with the three for several minutes, then brought forth instruments, which they pointed in different directions.
Anacho hissed: "They locate their tell-tales. And the old Lokhar in the alehouse still dawdles over his pot!"
"No matter," said Reith. "As well in the ale-house as anywhere else."
The Dirdir approached the ale-house, moving with their curious half-loping stride. Behind came the three spies.
The old Lokhar chose this moment to lurch from the alehouse. The Dirdir inspected him in puzzlement, and approached by great leaps. The Lokhar drew back in alarm. "What have we here? Dirdir? Don't interfere with me!"
The Dirdir spoke in sibilant lisping voices which suggested the absence of a larynx. "Do you know a man called Adam Reith?"
"Indeed not! Stand aside!"
Zarfo thrust himself forward. "Adam Reith, you say? What of him?"
"Where is he?"
"Why do you ask?"
The false Lokhar stepped forward, muttered to the Dirdir. The Dirdir said. "You know Adam Reith well?"