"Then you are a fool. But the state of your intellect is hardly an issue of paramount importance; there are more pressing concerns. You are aware that the railroad laborers in this anarchic sinkhole have launched a full-scale revolt."

"I speak no Aennorvi," Karsler returned. "I gather from your translations that the workers are on strike."

"The local authorities inexplicably fail to crush the rebellion."

"It is possible they favor subtler methods."

"Subtlety is the first refuge of the weak. You are also aware," Torvid continued, "that the antics of those Travornish twin cretins have delayed you by hours or days."

"They seem remarkably inventive, as cretins go."

"When you have finished amusing yourself, perhaps you will be so good as to state your immediate plan of action, if in fact you have one."

"I will use whatever means available to travel from Aeshno to the town of Eynisse, on the River Arune," Karsler replied without hesitation. "There it is possible to book barge pa.s.sage east to Yellow Noki, where I will pick up the eastbound coach headed for Quinnekevah, in Bizaqh. Once over the Bizaqhi border, and train service will resume."

"You have toiled like some little clerk over your maps and timetables, and you have formulated a strategy worthy of a clerk-meticulous and pedestrian. You will keep in mind, I trust, as you laze along some river on a mule-drawn barge, that those Travornish buffoons will increase their lead with every pa.s.sing hour."

"For now there is little to be done." Karsler's impa.s.sive courtesy never wavered. "We can only proceed in the hope that an opportunity to regain lost time will eventually present itself."

"You may do so if you wish, Nephew. As for me, I am not in the habit of awaiting opportunity-I prefer to make my own."

"So I have observed. As you are not a Grand Ellipse contestant, however, the point is academic."

"Exactly so. My agreeable state of uninvolvement frees me of countless tiresome obligations. Just now, for example, I escape the necessity of enduring purgatorial progress across Aennorve, a land whose climate, customs, and population I despise. These Aennorvi peasants are animals, little better."

Philanthropy hardly informed his uncle's judgment, yet the complaint was not altogether unfounded. The crowd milling about them on the wharf was surly beyond normal expectation. Several times he was roughly jostled, not by accident, and once some urchin actually dared to spit, missing his boot by inches. He had often known foreign enmity, but never before so intensely immediate, and never so fearlessly expressed. His blood quickened a little, but no sign of perturbation touched his face as he observed, "These Aennorvis are no friends of the Imperium. Perhaps the sight of my uniform offends them."

"Bah, they want the lash, that is all. Happily I need not concern myself, as I intend to abandon this dismal little olive-oil slick of a nation within the hour. a.s.suming that those idiots in the customhouse have not misinformed me, there remain staterooms available aboard the next ship out."

"Indeed." Karsler suppressed every outward sign of pleasant surprise. "Your plans have altered, and you are homeward bound, Grandlandsman?"

"Not at all. I do not desert the Grand Ellipse, but shorten its tedium, merely. The prospect of protracted Aennorvi junketing succeeded by the archaic discomforts of Bizaqh and Zuleekistan appalls me, and therefore I have chosen to proceed directly to Jumo, there to await your coming."

"According to your will, Grandlandsman."

"The separation should serve us well," Torvid added unexpectedly. "We are too much in each other's way, Nephew-like two wolves locked in a small cage. We chafe one another, we are always annoyed, and it is so foolish, when we are natural allies linked by blood and Destiny. It is my hope that a time apart will restore proper perspective."

"My hope as well, Grandlandsman." Karsler's concealed surprise deepened.

"A point of accord at last. Upon that happy note I will take my leave. Nephew, I wish you a journey swift and untroubled-in a.s.surance whereof, you would do well to observe your fellow racers closely. It is more than probable that some serve in agency of their respective governments, and in such cases a preemptive strike may best serve your purposes. As far as that goes, I leave the matter in your hands. You will report your actions when we meet again in Jumo."

"Understood. Farewell, Grandlandsman."

Torvid turned and marched away, straight-spined figure swiftly vanishing from view. Karsler Stornzof stood motionless, bemused by the speed and suddenness of his kinsman's disappearance. For the first time since the race began he was fully free of Torvid's pervasive presence, and certain to remain so for days or weeks to come. It was as if an invisible band of steel encircling his temples had fallen away. An odd sense of almost forgotten freedom dawned within him; a new buoyancy, and a contentment unknown since his Promontory days. Someone elbowed him aggressively, and he caught a snarling burst of Aennorvi, unintelligible but unmistakably imprecatory. He hardly heard it. Drawing a deep breath of sea-smelling fresh air down to the bottom of his lungs, he savored the moment, despite the nearly tangible hatred simmering all around him.

THE MULES PLODDED. The cart seemed scarcely to move. Nothing much to be done about it, either, given the nature of mules. She would have traded kingdoms for a proper hansom. Luzelle shifted her weight and flashed an impatient glance around her. Pedestrians, donkey carts, and miskin wagons clogged the street, but nowhere did she spy a horse-drawn vehicle. The Festinette boys couldn't have banished all of them. The The cart seemed scarcely to move. Nothing much to be done about it, either, given the nature of mules. She would have traded kingdoms for a proper hansom. Luzelle shifted her weight and flashed an impatient glance around her. Pedestrians, donkey carts, and miskin wagons clogged the street, but nowhere did she spy a horse-drawn vehicle. The Festinette boys couldn't have banished all of them. The "strevvio" "strevvio" that her carter had mentioned-a disease of horses, perhaps? that her carter had mentioned-a disease of horses, perhaps?

The cart plowed on through dusty streets filled with light, noise, and a rich swirl of rival odors ruled by the garlic-powered fragrance of hroviapoul, the famous Aennorvi stew of squid, silverdarts, and a.s.sorted native mollusks. Luzelle's nostrils flared and her stomach growled. She had not eaten since early morning and she badly wanted a meal, but it would wait. Soon she would be on a train speeding east toward Bizaqh, and the train would include a restaurant car, a lounge, and presumably plush sleeping compartments as well, as the Aennorvi folk were famously devoted to their personal comforts.

Should the train schedules favor her, she might expect to gain several hours of advantage over her compet.i.tors.

Except for the Stornzofs. And the Festinettes.

The streets lagged by at the stolid mules' pace, and her eagerness grew along with her impatience and hunger. Had she spoken his language, she might have urged the carter to ply his whip; not that it would have done much good. As it was, she sat wordlessly fidgeting.

The avenue terminated at the verge of a broad plaza. Straight ahead rose a ma.s.sive structure of white stone roofed in rich red-brown tile. The carter pointed.

"Ferignello," he announced. he announced.

The train station, as she had hoped, but who were those men a.s.sembled before it? There must have been at least two hundred of them blocking the entrance, and certainly it was no random, spontaneous gathering. The men-ordinary, respectable workers, by the look of them-stood ranged in neat, quasi-military ranks stretching the entire width of the big building. Many of them carried signs, large placards hand lettered in Aennorvi, which she could not read. They were singing or chanting something in unison, the words incomprehensible, but suggestive of infinite determination.

"What?" Luzelle inquired concisely.

"Ferignello," the carter explained. the carter explained.

"The men. There. Men. They doing?"

"Strevvio."

"What is strevvio strevvio?"

He chattered bad Lanthian at her, and she understood next to nothing. She held up one hand, and the verbal current slackened.

"Train men stop work. Want money. Bigger money, or trains no go. Strevvio Strevvio."

"You're telling me that the Aennorvi railroad workers have called a strike?" Luzelle comprehended. "Can they do that? Won't the government intervene?" The other's eyes went blank, and she knew that she must have spoken Vonahrish. "Strevvio-trains no go?" she amended in the appropriate tongue.

"Trains no go," he agreed.

"Voyagers do what?"

The carter shrugged. "Ferignello," "Ferignello," he declared conclusively, and his meaning was clear. He had fulfilled his commission, his task was done, and he wanted to be on his way. he declared conclusively, and his meaning was clear. He had fulfilled his commission, his task was done, and he wanted to be on his way.

She resisted the impulse to grab him and shake him. For a moment she was unreasonably angry, then perceived her own folly. It certainly wasn't the driver's fault, he had even tried to warn her. Climbing down from the seat, she dismissed him with an adequately civil nod, and the cart lumbered on its way.

Now what? A couple of hundred resolute workers stood between herself and the station. Bigger money, or trains no go. But perhaps service hadn't entirely halted yet? If anything was moving east along those tracks, she would brave a thousand striking workers to reach it.

Chin up, she advanced on the picket line as if expecting a path to open itself for her.

The human barrier stood firm. She confronted closed ranks and closed faces. She aimed herself at one such face. Its owner was male, young, and possibly susceptible.

"Do you speak Vonahrish, sir?" she inquired melodiously.

He shook his head, uncomprehending but interested.

"Speak Lanthian?" she essayed in that tongue.

"Like a native," he returned enthusiastically. "I could probably pa.s.s myself off as a Dalyonic n.o.ble, if I wanted. I know how to a.s.sume the grand manner to perfection. Would you like to see?"

His accent and p.r.o.nunciation were far superior to the carter's, and she understood him surprisingly well.

"Other time, perhaps." An admiring smile softened the refusal.

"Oh. You sure? Well, what can I do for you, then?"

"Strevvio stop all trains?" stop all trains?"

"Absolutely. Nothing moves until we get that salary increase, and that could take days or weeks. If only they'd listen to me, I know how we could get it before midnight, though. I've come up with a plan, you see. Guaranteed success. Would you like to hear about it?"

"Other time. Nothing go east? To Bizaqh?"

"Not since three o'clock this afternoon. That was the last train out."

Three o'clock. Plenty of time for the Festinette boys to secure seats. d.a.m.n them. d.a.m.n them.

"What travelers east doing, then?"

"Waiting, I suppose. But cheer up, it's not so bad. Aeshno is a fine city, with plenty to see and do. I know every street by heart, I know all the best places. Would you like me to show them to you?"

"Other time."

"You sure? No one knows his way around the Sailors' Cemetery the way I do. Then there's Feyp's Windmill, that dates back all the way to-"

"Other ways go east Bizaqh?"

"Why go there? Bizaqh's a dump. Take it from me, you're better off here. There's nothing can match Aeshno for excitement. Have you ever heard of Youpi's Bog? No? Where have you been living? Well, just outside the city limits, there's-"

"Horses go east?"

"Oh, you won't have any luck there. Mule cart, now, or maybe a miskin-"

"Too slow. Horses Horses."

"Gone, sold at inflated prices days ago, as soon as it was known that we meant business about the strike. There may still be a few fiacres hanging about the waterfront, but they're doing such business, they'll never sell out. No horses."

"Yes. Some. Saw them." She frowned, reviewed vocabulary, and continued, "Horses with carriage of-of-fruit."

"Horse-drawn fruit cart? I don't think so, not these days."

"Carriage. Color of fruit."

"Apple? Soapfruit? Grape? Kiwi?"

Pumpkin. What was the Lanthian word for pumpkin? She could not remember, or else she had never known. What was the Lanthian word for pumpkin? She could not remember, or else she had never known.

"Red-yellow," she compromised. "Yellow-red."

"Orange? Tangerine? Sweetspitter?"

"Yes. Yes."

"You want some really ripe sweetspitters? I know all the best fruit stalls at North Market. Best produce, best prices. Want me to show you?"

"Today no, thank you. You know sweetspitter carriage?"

"Who doesn't? That flashy eyesore belongs to Madame Phingria Tastriune, wife of none other than Gleftus Tastriune himself." He eyed her expectantly, as if awaiting a reaction. "That's the the Gleftus Tastriune, otherwise known as Mr. Moneybags, chief stockholder and president of the Feyenne-Aeshno Railroad. If the Moneybags could only bring himself to loosen those purse strings just a trifle, let me tell you, this strike would be over before nightfall." Gleftus Tastriune, otherwise known as Mr. Moneybags, chief stockholder and president of the Feyenne-Aeshno Railroad. If the Moneybags could only bring himself to loosen those purse strings just a trifle, let me tell you, this strike would be over before nightfall."

It would only be another hour or so before nightfall, Luzelle realized. The sun was dipping below the city skyline, and the long rays were tinting the white stuccoed buildings with pink. Soon the color would fade, the shops would close, and presumably the picketers would retire for the night. Should she fail to secure transportation, she would find herself obliged to seek the nearest decent hotel, there to sit cooling her heels for the next twelve hours or more, during which time the Festinettes would increase their ill-gotten lead, and farther yet along the Grand Ellipse the Stornzof kinsmen would doubtless be doing the same....

"Madame Tastriune sell horse?" she inquired.

"What, and abandon her pleasure? Not for a million."

"Pleasure?"

"The rich lady trots those nags of hers all over town, just to make mouths water. People swarm around begging to buy, and she toys with them for a while, then enjoys the satisfaction of turning them down and tossing 'em out. If the customers hang around her door after that, she's been known to set the dogs on them. Oh, she's the proper consort to Mr. Moneybags, all right. They were made for each other!"

I believe it. Pebble face, shark eyes.

"Madame Tastriune live where?" Luzelle inquired.

"New brick mansion the color of raw meat in Old Knightly Crescent," he told her. "But you're not thinking of going there, are you?"

"Ummm-"

"Don't even consider it; she'll only sic the mastiffs on you. I've got a better idea. Why don't you plan on spending a few days or a few weeks here in Aeshno? Don't worry about the expense. My sister-in-law's second cousin once removed has a room with an extra cot, and if I put in the word, she'll let you sleep there for free. Free porridge in the morning too. You can't do better than that."

"I cannot stay, thank you."

"You don't really mean to leave without seeing Youpi's Bog, do you?"

"Madame Tastriune in Old Knightly Crescent?"

"Fancy section of town. Lots of big new houses. Would you like to see them?"

"Yes, I go there."

"If you'll just wait for another hour, the picket line folds up for the night, and then I-"

"I cannot wait. Thank you for help. Good luck with strevvio. strevvio." She turned and walked away. As she went, she heard his voice behind her.

"I know the best route to Old Knightly Crescent-wouldn't you like me to show you?"

...The Honorable Flen Oshune, together with his family members, staff, retainers, and all other Aennorvi nationals expelled from the Governor's Mansion and the neighboring residences, are currently upon the high seas, en route for Feyenne. The many Aennorvi citizens slain during the final defense of Jumo Towne remain incompletely accounted for, their bodies awaiting final disposition dependent upon the approval of the Overcommander Kilke Ghonauer, current leader of the Grewzian occupying force. To date Overcommander Ghonauer has declined to issue a list of Aennorvi dead. As for the courageous and loyal South Ygahri natives offering up their lives in defense of the Aennorvi Empire, no estimate of their number has yet been made available....

Girays v'Alisante tossed the newspaper aside without finishing the lead article, whose content and style equally annoyed him. So the Grewzians had grabbed Jumo, site of those famous diamond mines, longtime source of Aennorvi prosperity. Kicked out the colonial governor and his flunkies, wiped out squadrons of doubtless bewildered Ygahri natives, and declared themselves new administrators of the entire South Ygahro Territory. The repercussions of the loss would soon be making themselves felt throughout Aennorve and beyond. No wonder the prevailing mood in Aeshno was sour.

The plate on the table before him bore a pair of the famous Aennorvi giant black olives, each the size of a duck's egg, each stuffed with a mixture of ground lamb, onion, shredded seaweed, and herbs. Beside the plate stood a mug of iced citrus-water. Girays applied himself to the snack, while letting his eyes wander. He sat beneath a broad canvas awning shading one of Aeshno's countless outdoor akrobatterias akrobatterias, where the little wrought-iron tables edged the perimeter of a circular s.p.a.ce left clear for the use of the professional acrobats so beloved of the locals.