Luzelle said nothing. Her face burned.

In comfortless silence the three of them crossed the square to the ugly city hall, with its registrar's office manned by some petty official authorized to stamp their pa.s.sports. A Grewzian sentry at the front door barred the way.

"Closed for the night," the sentry announced. "Come back tomorrow morning, eight o'clock."

"We require a clerk," Karsler informed his countryman. "It is not late, there will still be a few about. Stand aside."

The sentry straightened smartly. "You'll find someone up on the second floor, Overcommander," he answered with respect. "But I can't admit these civilians, sir."

Unfair, Luzelle thought, not for the first time.

"They are with me," Karsler said.

Perhaps he was reading her mind again. Certainly it seemed that his reluctance to exploit yet another unearned advantage was undermining his will to win. Much as she admired such n.o.bility, she had no intention of emulating it.

"Sorry, sir," the sentry returned. "Orders of the Undergeneral Ermendtrof. No civilians after hours."

"Very well." Turning to his companions/compet.i.tors, Karsler spoke with some regret. "It seems that we must part."

"Don't exult too soon, Stornzof," Girays advised with a smile. "We shall probably find ourselves pa.s.sengers on the same steamboat heading downriver tomorrow morning."

Unless I'm trapped here half the day tomorrow waiting to get my pa.s.sport stamped, thought Luzelle. If so, I might not be able to get out of this town until the day after. This may be a disaster. Oh, curse those Grewzians! If so, I might not be able to get out of this town until the day after. This may be a disaster. Oh, curse those Grewzians! Aloud, she remarked with such good grace as she could muster, "Good-bye for now, Karsler. Good luck." Aloud, she remarked with such good grace as she could muster, "Good-bye for now, Karsler. Good luck."

"Good luck to you as well. Until next time, then." Karsler walked into the building, and the door shut behind him.

"Well." Luzelle turned to face Girays. She had not quite forgiven him for the recent, stinging rebuke. "This seems somehow-strange. That he's gone, I mean."

"Yes." Girays looked bemused. "I discover I've grown accustomed to Stornzof's company."

"Evidently. The way you leaped leaped to his defense when I ventured to voice an opinion-" to his defense when I ventured to voice an opinion-"

"When you tried to take his head off."

"Well, your loyalty was touching. Really. Touching."

"Oh, I experience a kind of spontaneous fraternal sympathy for all fellow victims of the Devaire verbal stiletto."

"Thank you. Better take care, or you'll end up best friends with a Grewzian."

"I hardly think so. I'll acknowledge Stornzof as less of a boor than the majority of his countrymen-in fact, he's actually quite decent in his own peculiar way-"

"M. the Marquis waxes lyrical."

"But we are rivals, our a.s.sociation was a matter of expediency, and it is finished now."

"You and I are rivals too. What about our a.s.sociation?"

"Good for another few hours, at least," Girays told her. "Long enough to dine together, if you'll join me."

"Gladly." She hadn't meant to say that. She was still angry, she should have turned him down, but the a.s.sent had slipped out easily and naturally. "Where shall we go?"

"I don't suppose a place like Xoxo has any restaurants or cafes, but maybe there's a cookshop somewhere. Let's look."

They walked away from the city hall, across the lamplit square, by tacit agreement circling wide of the platform and pillory, but Luzelle could not help glancing at the prisoners as she pa.s.sed, and she caught too clear a glimpse of oozing wounds, busy insects, and bruised impa.s.sive faces. She looked away quickly, but could not banish the picture from her mind. She wondered if Girays was as revolted as she. His face told her little, but he was unusually silent.

They found neither restaurant nor cookshop, but a small western-style travelers' inn stood at the darker and dirtier end of the plaza, and the establishment boasted an old-fashioned common room whose hand-lettered sign promised Vonahrish cuisine. They studied the bill of fare tacked up below the sign, and everything listed was purely Grewzian, with the exception of potage Ygahroisse potage Ygahroisse, the Vonahrish version of a native soup incorporating local tubers seasoned with the astringent bark of the native shrink-tree, and enriched with condensed buffalo milk.

The common room contained too many Grewzian soldiers for comfort, but there was nowhere else to go. They seated themselves, and both ordered the soup. Luzelle wanted nothing more; the sight of the battered prisoners exposed to public view had killed her appet.i.te.

The soup arrived, accompanied by a small loaf of dense Grewzian-style bread. Luzelle ate without tasting. Her eyes traveled the dingy common room, encountered nothing agreeable, and returned to her bowl.

"I suppose we can stay here tonight," she said at last. "There must be vacancies."

"No doubt. Xoxo is hardly teeming with travelers. The real question is, what do we do tomorrow once we've had our pa.s.sports stamped? Have you made any plans?"

"Well, there's not much choice, is there? Steamboat downriver, south through the Forests of Oorex. No other practical means of transportation."

"If we don't make it to the wharves by eight-thirty A.M. A.M., we don't get out of town tomorrow."

"Why not?"

"Because that's the only scheduled southbound departure for the day. I've a timetable. See for yourself." He placed a creased paper sheet on the table before her.

She scanned the schedule, saw that he was right, and lost what little was left of her appet.i.te. "We're ruined, Girays! The city hall doesn't open until eight. We can't get our pa.s.sports stamped there and then reach the wharves by eight-thirty. It's impossible. We're dead!"

"Not necessarily. I think we might manage, provided we plan well."

"Oh, what good will that do? Planning can't slow the clock. Karsler's going to pull ahead, it isn't fair, and there's nothing we can do about it. Oh, confound these Grewzians!"

"Luzelle. Calm yourself. Focus."

"I am perfectly calm!" she exclaimed.

"And watch what you say about Grewzians around here," he advised quietly.

"I don't care if they hear me!" Thinking better of it, she lowered her voice. "Maybe they don't understand Vonahrish, anyway."

"Don't bank on it. Look here." He produced another paper sheet. "It's a map of Xoxo."

"Where in the world did you get that?"

"Some street vendor, somewhere or other. See"-his forefinger tapped the map-"we're sitting here at the southeast corner of the town square. Tomorrow morning at eight we cross the square to the city hall-"

"Let's get there earlier."

"If you think it will do any good. But when a Grewzian tells you the place opens at eight, he doesn't mean seven fifty-nine. In any case, we'll have our pa.s.sports stamped as quickly as possible, and then we head for the wharves. The distance between the town square and the waterfront is a little over a mile. There are no cabs available, no carriages for hire, no livery stable-we'll have to walk. Here's the most direct route." Girays's finger traced a line across the street map. "If we hurry, we might cover the distance in about fifteen minutes, reaching the wharves in time to board the"-he consulted the timetable-"the Water Sprite Water Sprite."

"We'd better. Maybe we should hire someone to carry our luggage."

"No time. If the bags slow us down, we'll have to discard them. Are you ready to do that?"

"Certainly, if necessary. I've done it once already, back in Aeshno."

"I had wondered about that new carpetbag. What happened?"

She hesitated. She did not particularly care to confess her experiment in larceny to Girays v'Alisante. She had only done what she needed to do in order to stay in the race. There had really been no choice, she reminded herself, and yet she was ashamed. She should have kept her big mouth shut about it, but now she was obliged to answer him. "I rode horseback from Aeshno to Quinnekevah, and couldn't carry the valise."

"No way of strapping it to the saddle?"

"No time for that."

"Curious. All it would have taken would have been a simple-"

"I was in a hurry."

"I see." He considered. "How did you manage to secure a horse in Aeshno? Neither Stornzof nor I could find one. We were both informed that horses were absolutely un.o.btainable. Where did you-"

"Oh, really, what does it matter?" She could feel the telltale heat in her cheeks. "I found a way, that's all."

"I see," Girays repeated dryly. "My compliments, Miss Devaire."

He looked as if he could see straight through her, and her discomfort deepened. Guilty conscience, nothing more. M. the Marquis wasn't about to throw her off balance as easily as that, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Lifting her chin, she met his eyes squarely, and murmured with apparent nonchalance, "The Water Sprite Water Sprite, eh? Let us hope she doesn't live up to her name and disappear on us."

FINISHING THEIR MODEST DINNER, they left the common room and went to the desk, where the concierge entered their names in his ledger, then issued them separate room numbers and keys. Together they climbed to the second story, where they paused briefly at the head of the stairs.

"Seven-forty, front door," Girays enjoined.

"Seven-forty," Luzelle agreed, and they parted. Proceeding alone to her a.s.signed chamber, she let herself in and froze on the threshold, unpleasantly surprised.

The inn-even more antiquated than she had first supposed-still employed the old-fashioned system of communal sleeping quarters. A small oil lamp hanging from the ceiling illumined a sizable dormitory containing ten narrow beds, each eerily misted with mosquito netting. Four of the beds were occupied. Two of the tenants were wide awake and sitting up. Luzelle glimpsed blond heads and solid buxom forms clothed in chaste white nightgowns. The features swam behind plentiful netting.

"Close the door, if you please," one of the blondes requested in Grewzian.

"You will let in the unwholesome night air," the other observed in the same language.

The place could use a little unwholesome night air, Luzelle noticed. The windows were closed, the mildew-edged atmosphere heavy and humming with insect life. Nevertheless she shut the door, and the noise woke a third tenant, who stirred and inquired in sleepy Grewzian, "What is that?"

"Someone new has come in."

"Forty-seventh?"

"Are you?" the first blonde demanded of Luzelle.

"Am I what?"

"Visiting a soldier of the Forty-seventh Squadron?"

"No, I-"

"Kreinzaufer's Eagle Battalion, then. What rank? My My husband is the Captain Hefhohn, a hero of the Ygahri campaign. Twice he has been decorated, and once commended for decisive action. What rank is yours?" husband is the Captain Hefhohn, a hero of the Ygahri campaign. Twice he has been decorated, and once commended for decisive action. What rank is yours?"

"I am not come here as a visitor of soldiers," Luzelle replied in her awkward Grewzian. "I make the fast trip through."

"You are not a woman of Grewzland," the captain's wife accused. She looked the new arrival up and down, taking in the bedraggled Bizaqhi costume. "What are you, some native? You cannot stay here."

"I am a native of Vonahr," Luzelle explained politely. "And I will certainly stay here tonight." So saying, she marched to the bed at the far end of the room and set her carpetbag firmly down beside it. The whispers sizzled behind her.

"She is Vonahrish, she says."

"Well, that is not so bad. At least her skin is white."

"Yes, but is it clean clean? The Vonahrish are a dirty people. Everyone knows it."

"They do not wash, but cover themselves with perfume."

"Look at the clothes. They are unseemly, and very dirty."

"Disgustingly dirty. I would die of shame to let myself be seen so."

"Ah, but the Vonahrish have no pride."

I'd like to see how you'd look after hiking through acres of dekwoati droppings, you witless Grewzian cows, Luzelle thought. Stripping to her linen, she stalked to the washstand and cleaned herself with ostentatious thoroughness, but this demonstration failed to satisfy her critics. The whispering commentary continued.

"Look, she parades about in her underwear."

"The Vonahrishwoman has no modesty."

"Will she sleep so?"

"This is not like a respectable woman."

"I think that one is no better than she should be."

Reining in her temper, Luzelle maintained silence. There was no point in picking a quarrel with these people. Moreover, what they said of her clothing was only the simple truth. Retrieving the garments, she washed them quickly in the basin, wrung them well, then draped them over a couple of pegs affixed to the wall near her bed. The gauzy, almost weightless fabric would probably dry before morning.

"Remove those wet things, if you please," the captain's wife requested from her bed. "It is not the proper place for them. You must know this is not a laundry."

Another truth. Jaw set, Luzelle took down the tunic and divided skirt, and spread them out over the wooden railing at the foot of her bed. A pleasant thought struck her. Stepping to the nearest window, she pushed the cas.e.m.e.nt wide open. The dead air stirred to life. Now her clothes would surely dry.

"You will shut the window at once, if you please," directed one of the rec.u.mbent blondes. "The night air enters."

"Yes. Is it not refreshing?" Luzelle smiled guilelessly. "So clean."

"It is unhealthy. It is damp and full of jungle rot. You will shut the window now."

"I prefer it open. If you please." Luzelle's rock-candy smile did not waver. For a few moments she waited to see if anyone would dare attempt to close the window, but n.o.body moved. Climbing into bed, she pulled the mosquito netting into place around her, drew the sheet up, and turned her face to the wall. Behind her the whispering feminine colloquy resumed.

"This Vonahrishwoman does not know how to behave."