"No, he struck me. He's angry over something that happened a couple of years ago. I was showing my tourists around Mishé, when he came up and began haranguing about his new religion—or rather, the worship of the old Roman gods, which he said was better suited to Krishna than newfangled theologies like Christianity."
"It might be, at that," mused Castanhoso.
"He claimed to be an incarnation of Mars—the god, not the planet. He was dressed as Mars in a helmet with a scrubbing-brush crest and a ball-baring kilt. After he'd rattled on, I asked him politely to go away. He took a swing, and I conked him with my dagger pommel. Now he's calling himself a culture expert' and adds a 'von' to his name for instant gentility. What's his game?"
Castanhoso explained. "He's started a Society for the Preservation of Krishnan Culture and has quite a following in Suruskand. His gangs roam the streets; when they find a woman wearing clothes of Terran style, they tear the garments off."
"Wow! Imagine their stripping a party of my middle-aged tourists! What are you doing?"
"I have advised President Da'mir to expel this malvado as a subversive. What strange characters get passports to Krishna!" He eyed Reith sharply. "And that includes those two cinematic persons you fobbed off on me last night. This morning I sent my deputy to say they could come peaceably to settle damages or face arrest and deportation. They came meekly enough. The fat one seems to have had some sort of accident.
"By the way, rumors are flying of a campaign of conquest by the nomads of Qaath. Have you heard anything?"
Reith shrugged. "Not I; but then, you know rumors. May I have some new maps of Ruz and Mikardand? Mine are gastado."
Reith and Alicia hastened to the Conference Room to keep their appointment with the other clients. At the sight of Ordway, Reith exclaimed, "Good lord, what happened to you?"
Ordway, with purple discolorations outlining the bandages on his face, groaned. "You tell him, Jack."
White said, "We were walking back from breakfast when we passed that Krishnan with the false beard and the fancy clothes—the one you called Prince Fairy or something."
"Ferrian of Sotaspé" said Reith. "Go on."
"Well, this guy stopped Cyril and said, in perfect English: 'Sir, last night you made disparaging remarks about me in the presence of others. A man in my position does not brawl in public; but now you are here alone but for your fellow Terran. I think he will have the wisdom not to interfere."
"Then he took off his sword belt and coat, laid them down neatly, and beat the goddam stuffing out of Cyril. When he'd knocked Cyril cold, he wiped his hands on Cyril's suit, calmly gathered up his coat and sword, and walked away."
"You ought to do something, Reith," groaned Ordway. "What good are you if you can't protect us from these bloodthirsty natives?"
"Damn it!" exclaimed Reith. "If you pick fights the way you did last night, you'll get in trouble no matter what I do. You're lucky Ferrian knows Terran customs. Another Krishnan might have let daylight into you with his sticker."
"He's right, Cyril," said White. "Don't make things worse."
"Oh, very well, very well," said Ordway penitently. "I suppose I did go off the reservation a bit. We've been to the boss rozzer's office, paying fines and damages." After a moment's pause, he glanced from Reith to Alicia with a smirk that showed despite his bandages. "I'll wager you two had a jolly good night!"
Reith restrained an urge to punch Ordway's battered face. "You see, Lish," he growled, "one might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb." He turned his coldly steady regard on the production manager. "About your godawful script, I can tell you you've got a dud. Whoever wrote it doesn't know beans about Krishna. He merely cobbles together a couple of Arthurian legends, glues false antennae and ear points on some actors, and dyes their hair and skin—"
"Look here," said Ordway. "You may be right as rain, but it don't make a blasted bit of difference. Attila says this is how he wants it, so that's how it's going to be."
"Can't somebody tell the boss that this silly plot is risking your investment? It put me to sleep."
White spoke up diffidently. "Excuse my saying so, Mr. Reith; but it wouldn't do a bit of good. Even if you're right, you don't have any screen credits to give weight to your words."
Ordway added: "Just forget it, will you, like a good bloke?"
Reith began an angry retort, but a look from Alicia silenced him. "Fergus, I've dealt with these paranoid egomaniacs, and authenticity is the last thing they worry about Stavrakos and Fodor made one historical in which Abraham Lincoln married Queen Victoria."
"Didn't he?" asked Ordway innocently.
"Hell, no!" said White. "Even I know that. Lincoln was the man who liberated the Jews from slavery."
Alicia winked at Reith. "So, Fergus, my advice is: do your job, take your money, and run."
Reith drew a long breath. "Okay. I'm here to take you to shooting sites and help you recruit Krishnan extras." He unfolded a map. "You'll need a castle, unless you'd rather build your own."
"Let's see some real castles first" said Ordway.
Reith continued: "You'll find good castles in Ruz, here." He pointed a long finger. "So our first trip had better be to Rosid, the capital. I know the Dasht of Ruz—"
"The who of what?" interrupted Ordway.
"The Dasht of Ruz, a vassal of the Dour—Emperor, if you prefer—of Gozashtand. You could call the Dasht a count or baron. Dasht Gilan's raised one of the best units of armored cavalry around; but maintaining first-class cavalry is costly, so Gilan's always short. You could probably hire his lancers; how many would you need?"
Ordway answered. "About a thousand—five hundred on a side. What sort of country is this Ruz?"
"Hilly, with farms along little narrow valleys. Like Kentucky."
White shook his head. "We want a wide, flat area, so we can put up towers and shoot the whole scene from above."
Reith frowned in thought. "Much of Mikardand, south of here, is flat. But the area near Mishé, the capital, is all farmed, and you can bet the landowners won't allow cavalry charges across their crops.
"There's an arid section in the West, Zinjaban Province. The hardscrabble farmers there might let you trample their crops if you made it worth their while."
"How far is this Zinjaban?" asked Ordway.
"Over three hundred kilometers from Mishé. That's six to ten days' travel."
"How do we get our people from here to there?" said Ordway. "You can't expect the shooting crew to bounce all the way on the backs of those oversized six-legged gnus."
"How many in the crew?" asked Reith.
"We're trimming them to an absolute minimum—say thirty, including deadheads. For hewers of wood and drawers of water, we count on hiring locals."
"What are deadheads?"
"Our top people always have a dependent or two they insist on bringing. We try to find them jobs, in case the ruddy stockholders raise a stink. For example, Fodor will bring his wife and his mistress. Then, Cassie—"
"Who?"
"Cassie Norris, our leading lady—originally Kasimira Naruszewicz. She always wants both her husband and her current lover. Luckily, the lover this time is our leading man, Randal Fairweather. He at least will be earning his brass.
"Then, we shall need vehicles for equipment, which will require at least as much space as the people."
Reith said: "I'll tell you. Mishé has an omnibus system of buckboards seating twelve. If we could rent them, we could carry your people in three or four, plus a couple of wagons for equipment"
"Makes sense," said Ordway. "You know," he added plaintively, "I work my arse off trying to keep costs inside the budget. Then Fodor or Stavrakos gets a case of ego and says: 'Why be cheapskates, Cyril? Let's do the job right with twice as much of everything!' Then they wonder why some of their flicks lose money.