The Thearch towered in the doorway, glaring up and down the room. His eyes passed over the two warriors, came to rest on Joe.
He raised a hand, pointed portentously. «There's the man! A murderous blackguard! Lay hold, we'll see the end of him before the hour's out.»
The Druids swept forward in a swift rustle of robes. Joe reached for his weapon. But the two Mang warriors, moving so deftly and easily that they seemed not to have moved at all, blocked the doorway. A hot-eyed Druid in a brown-and-green robe reached to thrust them aside.
There was a twinkle of blue light, a crackle, a startled exclamation and the Druid leapt back, trembling in indignation. «He's charged with static!»
Hableyat bustled forward, all dismay and alarm. «Your Worship, what is happening?»
The Thearch's expression was vastly contemptuous. «Stand aside, Mang, call off your electrified go-devils. I'll have that man.»
Cried Hableyat, «But Worship, Worship–you dismay me. Can it be that I've taken a criminal into my service?»
«Your service?»
«Surely your Worship is aware that in order to pursue a realistic policy my government employs a number of unofficial observers?»
«Cutthroat spies!» roared the Thearch.
Hableyat rubbed his chin. «If such is the case, your Worship, I am disillusioned, since the Druid spies on Mangtse are uniformly self-effacing. Just what is my servant accused of?»
The Thearch thrust his head forward, said with soft fervor, «I'll tell you what he's done–he's killed one of your own men–a Mang! There's yellow blood all over the floor of my daughter's chamber. Where there's blood, there's death.»
«Your Worship!» exclaimed Hableyat. «This is serious news! Who is it that is dead?»
«How do I know? Enough that there's a man killed and that this–»
«But your Worship! This man has been in my company all day. Your news is alarming. It means that a representative of my government has been attacked. I fear that there will be tumult in the Lathbon. Where did you notice this blood? In the chamber of your daughter, the Priestess? Where is she? Perhaps she can shed some light on the matter.»
«I don't know where she is.» He turned, pointed a finger. «Alamaina–find the Priestess Elfane. I wish to speak to her.» Then to Hableyat, «Do I understand that you are taking this blackguard spy under your protection?»
Hableyat said courteously, «Our security officers have been solicitous in guarding the safety of the Druids representing your Worship on Mangtse.»
The Thearch turned on his heel, strode off through the hooded forms of his Druids.
Joe said, «So now I'm a Mang spy.»
«What would you have?» inquired Hableyat.
Joe returned to his seat. «For some reason I can't imagine you are determined to attach me to your staff.»
Hableyat made a gesture of deprecation.
Joe stared at him a moment. «You murder your own men, you strike down the Thearch in his daughter's sitting-room–and somehow I find myself held to account for it. It's not possible that you planned it that way?»
«Now, now, now,» murmured Hableyat.
Joe asked politely, «May I presume upon your courtesy further?»
«Certainly. By all means.» Hableyat waited attentively.
Joe said boldly, without any real expectation of Hableyat's assent, «Take me to the Terminal. Put me on the packet to Ballenkarch which leaves today.»
Hableyat, raising his eyebrows sagely, nodded. «A very reasonable request–and one which I would be unkind to deny. Are you ready to leave at once?»
«Yes,» said Joe dryly, «I am.»
«And you have sufficient funds?»
«I have five thousand stiples given me by the Priestess Elfane and Manaolo.»
«Hah! I see. They were anxious then to be on their way.» «I received that impression.»
Hableyat looked up sharply. «There is suppressed emotion in your voice.»
«The Druid Manaolo arouses a great deal of aversion in me.»
« Hah!» said Hableyat with a sly wink. «And the Priestess arouses a great deal of the opposite? Oh, you youngsters! If only I had my youth back how I would enjoy myself!»
Joe said in precise tones, «My future plans involve neither Manaolo nor Elfane.»
«Only the future can tell,» intoned Hableyat. «Now then–to the Terminal.»
IV
THERE WAS no signal which Joe could perceive but in three minutes, during which Hableyat sat silently hunched in a chair, a heavy well-appointed air-car swung alongside the plat. Joe went cautiously to the window, looked along the side of the Palace. The sun was low. Shadows from the various balconies, landing stages, carved work, ran obliquely along the stone, creating a confusion of shape in which almost anything might be hidden.
Below were the garage and his cubicle. Nothing there of value–the few hundred stiples he had saved from his salary as chauffeur he dismissed. Beyond rose the Tree, a monstrous mass his eye could not encompass at one glance. To see edge to edge he had to turn his head from right to left. The shape was uncertain from this close distance of a mile or so. A number of slow-swinging members laden with foliage overhung the Palace.
Hableyat joined him at the window. «It grows and grows. Some day it will grow beyond its strength or the strength of the ground. It will buckle and fall in the most terrible sound yet heard on the planet. And the crash will be the crack of doom for the Druids.»
He glanced carefully up and down the face of the Palace. «Now walk swiftly. Once you are in the car you are safe from any hidden marksmen.»
Again Joe searched the shadows. Then gingerly he stepped out on the plat. It seemed very wide, very empty. He crossed to the car with a naked tingling under his skin. He stepped through the door and the car swayed under him. Hableyat bounced in beside him.
«Very well, Juliam,» said Hableyat to the driver, a very old Mang, sad-eyed, wrinkled of face, his hair gone brindle-brown with age. «We'll be off–to the Terminal. Stage Four, I believe. The Belsaurion for Junction and Ballenkarch.»
Juliam trod on the elevator pedal. The car swung up and away. The Palace dwindled below and they rose beside the dun trunk of the Tree, up under the first umbrella of fronds.
The air of Kyril was usually filled with a smoky haze but today the slanting sun shone crisply through a perfectly clear atmosphere. The city Divinal, such as it was –a heterogeneity of palaces, administrative offices, temples, a few low warehouses–huddled among the roots of the Tree and quickly gave way to a gently rolling plain thronged with farms and villages.
Roads converged in all directions toward the Tree and along these roads walked the drab men and women of the Laity–making their pilgrimage to the Tree. Joe had watched them once or twice as they entered the Ordinal Cleft, a gap between two great arched roots. Tiny figures like ants, they paused, turned to stare out across the gray land before continuing on into the Tree. Every day brought thousands from all corners of Kyril, old and young. Wan dark-eyed men, aflame for the peace of the Tree.
They crossed a flat plain covered with small black capsules. To one side a mass of naked men performed calisthenics–jumping, twisting in perfect time. Hableyat said, «There you see the Druid space-navy.» Joe looked sharply to see if he were indulging in sarcasm, but the pudgy face was immobile.
«They are well suited to the defense of Kyril, which is to say, the Tree. Naturally anyone wishing to defeat the Druids by violence would think to destroy the Tree, thus demolishing the morale of the natives. But in order to destroy the Tree a flotilla must approach relatively close to Kyril, say within a hundred thousand miles, for any accuracy of bombardment.