Gulmanan flushed purple, but checked himself a bit, narrow lips together and made a bridge of his bony fingers. “This is not the time or place to question where the ghostly and the worldly authorities have their proper bounds,” he said. “I shall sacrifice for your soul, my lord, and pray you be led out of error.”

Morlach snorted and called for a beaker of wine. Alak sat inconspicuously till the king’s temper had abated. Then he began to speak of increased trade possibilities.

He had not the slightest power to make treaties, but he wanted to be sure he wasn’t kicked out of Wainabog yet.

Heavily dosed with anti-allergen, Alak was able to eat enough of the king’s food to cement his status as guest. But Drogs brought him a case of iron rations when the Galmathian came to attend his “master” in the assigned palace apartment.

The human sat moodily by the window, looking out at the glorious night sky of clotted stars and two moons. There was a fragrant garden beneath him, under the bleak castle walls. Somewhere a drunken band of nobles was singing—he had left the feast early and it was still carousing on. A few candles lit the tapestried dankness of the room; they were perfumed, but not being a Ryfinnian he did not enjoy the odor of mercaptan.

“If we got several thousand husky Patrolmen,” he said, “and put them in armor, and equipped them with clubs we might slug our way in and out of this place. Right now I can’t think of anything else.”

“Well, why don’t we?” Drogs hunched over a burbling water pipe, cheerfully immune to worry.

“It lacks finesse. Nor is it guaranteed—these Thunsbans are pretty hefty too, they might overpower our men. If we used tanks or something to make ourselves invincible it’d be just our luck to have some gallant fathead of a knight get squashed under the treads. Finally, with the trouble at Sannanton going on, the Patrol can’t spare so large a force—and by the time they can, it might well be too late. Those unprintable traders must have told half the League that Varris has been found. We can look for a rescue attempt from Caldon within a week.”

“Hm-m-m…according to your account, the local church is at loggerheads with the king. Maybe it can be persuaded to do our work for us. Nothing in the Prime Directive forbids letting entities murder each other.”

“No—I’m afraid the Temple priests are only allowed to fight in self-defense, and these people never break a law.” Alak rubbed his chin. “You may have the germ of an idea there, though. I’ll have to—”

* * *

The gong outside the door was struck. Drogs humped across the floor and opened it.

Varris came in, at the head of half a dozen warriors. Their drawn blades gleamed against flickering shadow.

Alak’s blaster snaked out. Varris grinned and lifted his hand. “Don’t be so impetuous,” he advised. “These boys are only precautionary. I just wanted to talk.”