said: “Master Antane, all is prepared. Will you come, pray?”
Fallon followed his host to a small room where two servants came forward, one with a mask and the other with a voluminous black robe.”
“Don these,” said Kastambang. “Your interlocutor will be similarly dight to forestall recognition.”
Fallon, feeling foolishly histrionic, let the servants put the mask and robe upon him. Then Kastambang, puffing and hobbling, led him through passages hung with black velvet, which gave Fallon an uneasy feeling of passing down the alimentary canal of some great beast. They came to the door of another chamber, which the banker opened.
As he motioned Fallon in he said: “No tricks or violence, now. My men do guard all exits.”
Then he went out and closed the door.
As Fallon’s eyes surveyed the dim-lit chamber, the first thing that they encountered was a single, small oil-lamp burning in a niche before a writhesome, wicked-looking little copper god from far Ziada, beyond the Triple Seas. And against the opposite wall he saw a squat black shadow which suddenly shot up to a height equal to his own.
Fallon started, and his hand flew to his rapier-hilt—when he remembered that he had been relieved of his sword when he entered the house. Then he realized that the shadow was merely another man—or Krishnan—robed and hooded like himself.
“What wish you to know?” asked the black figure.
The voice was high with tension; the language was Balhibou; the accent—it sounded like that of eastern Balhib, where the tongue shaded into the westernmost varieties of Gozashtandou.
“The complete ritual of Yesht,” said Fallon, fumbling for a pad and pencil and moving closer to the lamp.
“By the God of the Earthmen, ‘tis no mean quest,” said the other. “The enchiridion of prayers and hymns alone does occupy a weighty volume—I can remember but little of these.”
“Is this enchiridion secret?”
“Nay. You can buy it at any good bookshop.”
“Well then, give me everything that’s not in the enchiridion: the costumes, movements, and so on.”
An hour or so later, Fallon had the whole thing down in shorthand, nearly filling his pad. “Is that all there is?”
“All that I know of.”
“Well, thanks a lot. You know, if I knew who you were, perhaps you and I could do one another a bit of good from time to time. I sometimes collect information…”
“For what purpose, good my sir?”
“Oh—let’s say for stories for the Rashm .” Fallon had actually supplied the paper with a few stories, which furnished a cover for his otherwise suspicious lack of regular employment.
The other said: “Without casting aspersions upon your goodwill, sir, I’m also aware that one who knew me and my history could, were he so minded, also wreak me grievous harm.”
“No harm intended. After all I’d let you know who I was.”
“I have more than a ghost of an idea,” said the other. “A Terran from your twang, and I know that our host has bidden few such hither this night. A choosy wight.”
Fallon thought of leaping upon the other and tearing off the mask. But then, he might get a knife in the ribs; and even unarmed, the fellow might be stronger than he while the average Earthman, used to a slightly greater gravity, could out-wrestle the average Krishnan, that was not always true; besides Fallon was not so young as once.
“Very well,” he said. “Good-bye.” And he knocked on the door by which he had entered.
As this door opened, Fallon heard his interlocutor knock likewise upon the other door. Fallon stepped out and followed the servant back through the velvet-hung passage to the ‘room where he had received his disguise, which was here removed.
“Did you obtain satisfaction?” asked Kastambang, limping in. “Have you that which you sought?”
“Yes, thanks. May I ask what’s the program for the rest of the evening.”
“You’re just in good time for the
Fallon followed his host to a small room where two servants came forward, one with a mask and the other with a voluminous black robe.”
“Don these,” said Kastambang. “Your interlocutor will be similarly dight to forestall recognition.”
Fallon, feeling foolishly histrionic, let the servants put the mask and robe upon him. Then Kastambang, puffing and hobbling, led him through passages hung with black velvet, which gave Fallon an uneasy feeling of passing down the alimentary canal of some great beast. They came to the door of another chamber, which the banker opened.
As he motioned Fallon in he said: “No tricks or violence, now. My men do guard all exits.”
Then he went out and closed the door.
As Fallon’s eyes surveyed the dim-lit chamber, the first thing that they encountered was a single, small oil-lamp burning in a niche before a writhesome, wicked-looking little copper god from far Ziada, beyond the Triple Seas. And against the opposite wall he saw a squat black shadow which suddenly shot up to a height equal to his own.
Fallon started, and his hand flew to his rapier-hilt—when he remembered that he had been relieved of his sword when he entered the house. Then he realized that the shadow was merely another man—or Krishnan—robed and hooded like himself.
“What wish you to know?” asked the black figure.
The voice was high with tension; the language was Balhibou; the accent—it sounded like that of eastern Balhib, where the tongue shaded into the westernmost varieties of Gozashtandou.
“The complete ritual of Yesht,” said Fallon, fumbling for a pad and pencil and moving closer to the lamp.
“By the God of the Earthmen, ‘tis no mean quest,” said the other. “The enchiridion of prayers and hymns alone does occupy a weighty volume—I can remember but little of these.”
“Is this enchiridion secret?”
“Nay. You can buy it at any good bookshop.”
“Well then, give me everything that’s not in the enchiridion: the costumes, movements, and so on.”
An hour or so later, Fallon had the whole thing down in shorthand, nearly filling his pad. “Is that all there is?”
“All that I know of.”
“Well, thanks a lot. You know, if I knew who you were, perhaps you and I could do one another a bit of good from time to time. I sometimes collect information…”
“For what purpose, good my sir?”
“Oh—let’s say for stories for the Rashm .” Fallon had actually supplied the paper with a few stories, which furnished a cover for his otherwise suspicious lack of regular employment.
The other said: “Without casting aspersions upon your goodwill, sir, I’m also aware that one who knew me and my history could, were he so minded, also wreak me grievous harm.”
“No harm intended. After all I’d let you know who I was.”
“I have more than a ghost of an idea,” said the other. “A Terran from your twang, and I know that our host has bidden few such hither this night. A choosy wight.”
Fallon thought of leaping upon the other and tearing off the mask. But then, he might get a knife in the ribs; and even unarmed, the fellow might be stronger than he while the average Earthman, used to a slightly greater gravity, could out-wrestle the average Krishnan, that was not always true; besides Fallon was not so young as once.
“Very well,” he said. “Good-bye.” And he knocked on the door by which he had entered.
As this door opened, Fallon heard his interlocutor knock likewise upon the other door. Fallon stepped out and followed the servant back through the velvet-hung passage to the ‘room where he had received his disguise, which was here removed.
“Did you obtain satisfaction?” asked Kastambang, limping in. “Have you that which you sought?”
“Yes, thanks. May I ask what’s the program for the rest of the evening.”
“You’re just in good time for the
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