The Continent Makers and Other Tales of the Viagens by L. Sprague de Camp Page A

great advantage in employing the whistle against hostile Dzlieri since they can perceive it also; but with human beings or Romeli . . . For instance, assume some ill-intentioned Earthman were to assault me in my quarters when my guards were absent? A blast would bring them running without the miscreant’s knowing I had called.
    “That reminds me,” continued the adventurer, “tomorrow I desire you to commence twenty more of these, for my subordinate officers. I have decided to train them in the use of the device as well. And I must request haste, since I apprehend major movements in the near future.”
    “Moving against Kamatobden, eh?” said Frome.
    “You may think so if you wish. Do not look so fearful, Elena; I will take good care of myself. Your warrior shall return.”
    Maybe, thought Frome, that’s what she’s scared of.

    ###

    Frome looked over the Galton whistle Sirat had left with him. He now ran the whole shop and knew where he could lay hands on a length of copper tubing (probably once the fuel line of a helicopter) that should do for the duplication of the whistle.
    With the help of one of the natives, he completed the order by nightfall, plus one whistle the Dzlieri had spoiled. Sirat came over from the palace and said: “Excellent, my dear Adrian. We shall go far together. You must pardon my not inviting you to dine with me tonight, but I am compelled to confer with my officers. Will you and Miss Millán carry on in the regular dining room in my absence?”
    “Surely, Dom Sirat,” said Frome. “Glad to.”
    Sirat wagged a forefinger. “However, let me caution you against exercising your charm too strongly on my protégée. An inexperienced girl like that might find a tall young Englishman glamorous, and the results would indubitably be most deplorable for all concerned.”
    When the time came, he took his place opposite Elena Millán at the table. She said: “Let us speak English, since some of our friends here” (she referred to the ubiquitous Dzlieri guards) “know a little Portuguese, too. Oh, Adrian, I’m so afraid!”
    “Of what? Sirat? What’s new?”
    “He has been hinting that if I didn’t fall in with his dynastic plans, he would compel me. You know what that means.”
    “Yes. And you want me to rescue you?”
    “I—I should be most grateful if you could. While we are taught to resign ourselves to such misfortunes, as things earned in earlier incarnations, I don’t think I could bear it. I should kill myself.”
    Frome pondered. “D’you know when he’s planning this attack?”
    “He leaves the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow night the Dzlieri will celebrate.”
    That meant a wild orgy, and Sirat might well take the occasion to copy his subjects. On the other hand, the confusion afforded a chance to escape.
    “I’ll try to cook up a scheme,” he told her.
    Next day Frome found his assistants even more restless and insubordinate than usual. About noon they walked out for good. “Got to get ready for the party!” they shouted. “To hell with work!”
    Mishinatven had vanished, too. Frome sat alone, thinking. After a while he wandered around the shop, handling pieces of material. He noticed the spoilt Galton whistle lying where he had thrown it the day before; the remaining length of copper tubing from which he had made the whistles; the big copper kettle he had never gotten around either to scrapping or to fixing. Slowly an idea took shape.
    He went to the forge room and started the furnace up again. When he had a hot fire, he brazed a big thick patch over the hole in the kettle, on the inside where it would take pressure. He tested the kettle for leakage and found none. Then he sawed a length off the copper tube and made another Galton whistle, using the spoilt one as a model.
    In the scrap-sorting room he found a length of plastic which he made into a sealing ring or gasket to go between the kettle and its lid. He took off the regular handle of the kettle, twisted a