screech. “There he is, the plunderer, the reaver, the barbarian! He holds my property, Pur Dray — and he has destroyed the finest tree in the women’s quarters—”
“Oh-ho!” I said. I looked at Seg. He gripped the stave with the clutch of a man sliding over the side of an airboat.
“I did but cut the best stave suited to a bow.”
The little man danced and spluttered and shook his fist.
“Only! And ripped it out of the heart — the very heart — of the tree that gives shade to my favorite wife—”
The Proconians believed in the quaint habit of marrying three wives. They were a punishment-loving race.
“Is the tree mortally wounded, sir?”
“Mortally! It has suffered a wound from which nothing can save it. My tree — my favorite wife’s favorite tree!”
“Then, if nothing can be done to save the tree, I think it best to uproot it and plant another.”
He gobbled over that, and wiped his forehead, and found a chair and collapsed into it. I nodded at Seg and that reckless man had sense enough to fill to brimming a silver-chased goblet with noble Chremson wine and hurry it across. The Proconian wiped his lips and gulped the wine, and gasped and palpitated, a hand to his heart, and gulped some more.
“Very good,” he said, looking at the wine afresh. “Booty from Chremson, I take it?”
I inclined my head, but the word booty had inflamed him anew. “Plunderers, reavers — that is all you red-raiders from Sanurkazz are! You tear down my best tree, leave it in shattered fragments across my tessellated pavement so that my second wife barks her pretty shin and removes at least a palm of skin—”
“Come, sir,” I said, putting the merest fraction of that rasp into my voice. “You have not yet favored me with your name. I do not know it was your tree. You could be fabricating the entire story to gain my sympathy — and my wine!”
He staggered upright with the assistance of the chair back. He tried to speak and his fat lips popped and blew and his cheeks turned purple and his eyes stood out. Then: “By the fair hair of the Primate Proc himself! I am Uppippoo of Lower Pattelonia! I am respected in this city, with wide lands on the mainland beyond Perithia, owner of ten broad ships, and with three of the most delectable wives a man could boast — and now they have kicked me out because their shaded garden has been ruined!”
Seg couldn’t hold himself in and spilled wine trying to stop from bursting a gut laughing. I remained severe.
“Very well, Uppippoo of Lower Pattelonia. I would not wish a man to suffer, particularly from three wives. Rest assured, I shall make complete restitution.” A thought occurred to me. “Can another tree be procured?”
A kind of frenzy possessed Uppippoo. “You imbecile! Those trees take a hundred years to grow!”
That was half a lifetime or so on Kregen.
“In that case, my friend here, who comes from Erthyrdrin, will be returning to his country shortly. I know he will immediately take steps to have a fresh tree prepared and shipped out to you. There, sir, what can be fairer than that?”
Uppippoo merely goggled at us.
“In the meantime, if you would accept a little common gold, which is nowhere as romantic as a tree, you could purchase a length of colorfully-striped awning, and thus protect your charming wives from the suns.”
And I put down carefully onto a table a handful of gold scooped out of my waist-belt — for I had now, in the city, perforce to dress as a citizen with tunic, apron, and accouterments.
Uppippoo looked at the gold.
“An — awning?”
“Why — yes.”
“An awning.” He considered. “But a tree is alive, it looks beautiful, it soughs in the wind and its leaves create the most delightful patterns of shade and light upon my pavements — and the tesselae are renowned in Pattelonia, Pur Dray, renowned.”
“Quite so. Take the gold. Buy an awning or buy a new tree of a different kind. But, Uppippoo, I would wish
“Oh-ho!” I said. I looked at Seg. He gripped the stave with the clutch of a man sliding over the side of an airboat.
“I did but cut the best stave suited to a bow.”
The little man danced and spluttered and shook his fist.
“Only! And ripped it out of the heart — the very heart — of the tree that gives shade to my favorite wife—”
The Proconians believed in the quaint habit of marrying three wives. They were a punishment-loving race.
“Is the tree mortally wounded, sir?”
“Mortally! It has suffered a wound from which nothing can save it. My tree — my favorite wife’s favorite tree!”
“Then, if nothing can be done to save the tree, I think it best to uproot it and plant another.”
He gobbled over that, and wiped his forehead, and found a chair and collapsed into it. I nodded at Seg and that reckless man had sense enough to fill to brimming a silver-chased goblet with noble Chremson wine and hurry it across. The Proconian wiped his lips and gulped the wine, and gasped and palpitated, a hand to his heart, and gulped some more.
“Very good,” he said, looking at the wine afresh. “Booty from Chremson, I take it?”
I inclined my head, but the word booty had inflamed him anew. “Plunderers, reavers — that is all you red-raiders from Sanurkazz are! You tear down my best tree, leave it in shattered fragments across my tessellated pavement so that my second wife barks her pretty shin and removes at least a palm of skin—”
“Come, sir,” I said, putting the merest fraction of that rasp into my voice. “You have not yet favored me with your name. I do not know it was your tree. You could be fabricating the entire story to gain my sympathy — and my wine!”
He staggered upright with the assistance of the chair back. He tried to speak and his fat lips popped and blew and his cheeks turned purple and his eyes stood out. Then: “By the fair hair of the Primate Proc himself! I am Uppippoo of Lower Pattelonia! I am respected in this city, with wide lands on the mainland beyond Perithia, owner of ten broad ships, and with three of the most delectable wives a man could boast — and now they have kicked me out because their shaded garden has been ruined!”
Seg couldn’t hold himself in and spilled wine trying to stop from bursting a gut laughing. I remained severe.
“Very well, Uppippoo of Lower Pattelonia. I would not wish a man to suffer, particularly from three wives. Rest assured, I shall make complete restitution.” A thought occurred to me. “Can another tree be procured?”
A kind of frenzy possessed Uppippoo. “You imbecile! Those trees take a hundred years to grow!”
That was half a lifetime or so on Kregen.
“In that case, my friend here, who comes from Erthyrdrin, will be returning to his country shortly. I know he will immediately take steps to have a fresh tree prepared and shipped out to you. There, sir, what can be fairer than that?”
Uppippoo merely goggled at us.
“In the meantime, if you would accept a little common gold, which is nowhere as romantic as a tree, you could purchase a length of colorfully-striped awning, and thus protect your charming wives from the suns.”
And I put down carefully onto a table a handful of gold scooped out of my waist-belt — for I had now, in the city, perforce to dress as a citizen with tunic, apron, and accouterments.
Uppippoo looked at the gold.
“An — awning?”
“Why — yes.”
“An awning.” He considered. “But a tree is alive, it looks beautiful, it soughs in the wind and its leaves create the most delightful patterns of shade and light upon my pavements — and the tesselae are renowned in Pattelonia, Pur Dray, renowned.”
“Quite so. Take the gold. Buy an awning or buy a new tree of a different kind. But, Uppippoo, I would wish
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