Good humor instantly restored, Roupe Jhiv-Huze pocketed his knife. Turning to encounter Luzelle's alarmed gaze, he advised with an air of whimsy, "Do not trouble yourself, Madame. Jhiv-Huze has educated his subordinate, that is all. Sometimes a small touch of kindly firmness is indicated."

EARLY THAT EVENING, not long before sunset, the Blind Cripple Blind Cripple entered the narrow, convoluted Ta'ahri Capillaries. The Forests of Oorex, hitherto distanced by the broad expanse of the Ygah, now crowded close, almost ominously immediate. entered the narrow, convoluted Ta'ahri Capillaries. The Forests of Oorex, hitherto distanced by the broad expanse of the Ygah, now crowded close, almost ominously immediate.

Luzelle and Girays were on deck. She had already described the second confrontation between Jhiv-Huze and Oonuvu, and he had p.r.o.nounced the captain a sodden swine and the stoker a perverted urchin. Thereafter conversation paused while they stood watching the jungle flow by.

The forests were different when viewed at such intimate range. Bigger. Darker. More powerful. The channel just barely accommodating the Blind Cripple Blind Cripple was so constricted that the arching branches of the tall trees that lined the banks met above the water to roof a shadowy tunnel. The dim air was very still, very dank, and unpleasantly redolent of fungus. Luzelle could imagine drawing a.s.sorted airborne spores down into her lungs and, in the rampant fertility of the jungle, picture them taking hold there, spreading and expanding throughout her body to cram every organ with triumphant mold. She shuddered. was so constricted that the arching branches of the tall trees that lined the banks met above the water to roof a shadowy tunnel. The dim air was very still, very dank, and unpleasantly redolent of fungus. Luzelle could imagine drawing a.s.sorted airborne spores down into her lungs and, in the rampant fertility of the jungle, picture them taking hold there, spreading and expanding throughout her body to cram every organ with triumphant mold. She shuddered.

"What's wrong?" asked Girays.

"Nothing beyond an overactive imagination. I don't like this place, that's all," she confided. "It may be exotic and wonderful in its own way, but I just don't like it. I feel as if I'm being watched."

"You very probably are," he concurred unnervingly. "Here in the Ta'ahri Capillaries the Grewzian presence is almost negligible. Here the Blessed Tribesmen reign yet, and it's more than likely that they keep close watch over the strangers in their midst."

"They're really out there, then?" Her searching gaze strained to pierce shadows, but the dark forest kept its secrets. Another thought struck her. "Do those Blessed Tribesmen ever attack travelers? Are they dangerous?"

"Partial to blowguns and poisoned darts, I'm told," returned Girays, and very soon thereafter the two of them sought sanctuary belowdecks.

THE BLIND CRIPPLE BLIND CRIPPLE DROPPED ANCHOR DROPPED ANCHOR as the surrounding grey atmosphere deepened to the black of the darkest imaginable night. No straying beam of moonlight, nor the faintest glimmer of starlight, filtered down through the branches overhead. The waters of the Capillaries lapping against the hull could be heard but not seen. as the surrounding grey atmosphere deepened to the black of the darkest imaginable night. No straying beam of moonlight, nor the faintest glimmer of starlight, filtered down through the branches overhead. The waters of the Capillaries lapping against the hull could be heard but not seen.

They made a late dinner of stew that evening, and Oonuvu was not present to share it. Luzelle a.s.sumed that the stoker must be either exiled or sulking. She did not care enough to ask which. Roupe Jhiv-Huze partook hugely of xussi, regaled his audience with repet.i.tive reminiscences, and presently fell asleep at the table. His snores filled the tiny galley, all but excluding the incessant hum of insects, the amphibious croaks, the avian hoots and b.e.s.t.i.a.l roars from the depths of the forest, the elusive trilling of flutes- Flutes?

Thin, high notes tripping along the edge of her consciousness; audible for some time before she had quite noticed them, and now impossible to ignore. The music, if such it was, struck her as intensely alien, the fruit of unknowable minds presumably belonging to the Blessed Tribesmen. She glanced across the table at Girays and saw that he heard it too. Their eyes met and he shrugged, minutely but with eloquence.

Leaving Captain Jhiv-Huze unconscious in his chair, they made their way back to the main cabin, where Luzelle composed herself for slumber in utter darkness. At length she climbed into her hammock and heard the ropes creak on the opposite side of the room as Girays did the same.

For a while she lay with her eyes wide open and sightless, her ears alert to the uncanny chorus of the jungle flutes. The sound was intermittent, unpredictable, and oddly compelling. Each time it paused she found herself waiting, breath bated in comfortless suspense.

Ridiculous. A little night music was nothing to fear.

Blowguns and poisoned darts, Girays had said. Had he really needed to mention that? And having destroyed her repose, was he now comfortably sleeping? She lay there wondering. The flutes wailed and the darkness pressed with a weight all its own. At last she could bear it no longer, and whispered very softly, "Girays?"

"Yes?" he answered at once.

"Did I wake you?"

"No. Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have disturbed you."

"You haven't. What's the matter?"

"Nothing. It's only that it's so dark in here, and I just wanted to check-wanted to be sure-"

"Of what?"

"That you're still here."

"I'm here."

She could not see a thing, but knew that he smiled. An answering smile curved her lips invisibly in the dark. After that she dropped off to sleep almost at once.

15.

THE BANG OF THE CABIN DOOR flinging wide woke her at the crack of dawn. Luzelle's eyes snapped open and she sat up. Anemic grey light trickled into the little room. She saw that Girays was already on his feet and facing Roupe Jhiv-Huze, who stood in the doorway. flinging wide woke her at the crack of dawn. Luzelle's eyes snapped open and she sat up. Anemic grey light trickled into the little room. She saw that Girays was already on his feet and facing Roupe Jhiv-Huze, who stood in the doorway.

Jhiv-Huze-blear eyed, puffy faced, and still reeking of xussi-radiated intense agitation. His hands were jerking and his bloodshot eyes darted everywhere as he announced without preamble, "Pa.s.sengers, we are in a state of emergency! Your services are required!"

"What emergency?" Wide awake, Luzelle scrambled from her hammock. "What services?"

"He is gone!" Jhiv-Huze declared. "The ungrateful little deserter has jumped ship. In a less indulgent age his captain would order him hanged!"

"His captain would have to catch him first," Girays suggested. "You allude to the stoker, I presume."

"Disappeared during the night, without a thought to spare for loyalty or duty. Over the side to join his fellow savages of the jungle, no doubt."

"I cannot imagine what possessed him," Girays murmured.

"Sir, your levity is misplaced," the captain complained. "Allow Jhiv-Huze to remind you that laughter hardly fuels the boiler. Oonuvu's desertion leaves us stranded here in the Capillaries perhaps for days to come. Laugh at that if you can."

"Surely the Ygahri boy can be replaced," Girays opined.

"But at what cost of time?" Jhiv-Huze gnawed his lower lip. "How many hours, how many days, do we languish here, far from Jumo and all civilized amenities?"

The captain, Luzelle suspected, was starving for his marukinutu. marukinutu. Good. His desperation served her purposes admirably. Once again she was surprised and a little disturbed by the workings of her own mind, but there was no time to worry about it, for Jhiv-Huze was still talking. Good. His desperation served her purposes admirably. Once again she was surprised and a little disturbed by the workings of her own mind, but there was no time to worry about it, for Jhiv-Huze was still talking.

"We can't spare the time, we've no leisure to search the forests for a healthy and tractable native. At this juncture one remedy alone presents itself. It is you, my friend. You are our hope and our salvation. Master v'Alisante, you are the Blind Cripple Blind Cripple's new stoker. I trust you will serve well."

Had the man lost his wits? Luzelle wondered. Did he not understand that he addressed a formerly-Exalted v'Alisante, master of Belfaireau, and possessor of several quarts of Vonahr's bluest blood? Did he actually imagine it possible that M. the Marquis could or would stoop to shoveling coal shoveling coal?

"Right," Girays returned without the slightest flicker of affront and Luzelle stared at him in amazement. "Fire survive the night?"

"Just barely," the captain told him. "A few small embers glow yet, and Jhiv-Huze has already fed them."

"Good. Let's move, then."

"Jhiv-Huze admires your spirit, sir."

"Wait." Luzelle found her voice, and both men turned to look at her. "Girays shouldn't have to do all the work. I'll help."

Girays and the captain traded brief glances of unendurable amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Thank you, Luzelle. That's kind, but I don't think I'll require a.s.sistance," Girays replied with a courteous gravity that would have deceived anyone who did not know him well.

"Don't you think I'm capable of lifting a few shovelfuls of coal?" she inquired, carefully suppressing any note of belligerence.

"I'm sure that you are, but it's simply unnecessary."

"But heavy exertion in these temperatures will take its toll, and you'll need relief from time to time. While you rest, I can-"

"Madame's womanly concern is charming, quite charming." Jhiv-Huze beamed tolerance. "Alas that we have not the leisure to lavish upon her the admiration that her generosity merits."

Condescending crackpot, thought Luzelle, and cast about for a politely annihilating reply.

"No more delay." Girays's decree cut her cogitations short. "Let's go."

The two men exited. Scowling after them, she thought, Very well, M. the Marquis, treat me like some foolish child if you will. You are welcome to your masculine pride and you are also welcome to drown in your own sweat. Very well, M. the Marquis, treat me like some foolish child if you will. You are welcome to your masculine pride and you are also welcome to drown in your own sweat.

She washed, breakfasted on cold stew, and ascended to the deck. The air was almost cool by local standards, but would not remain so for long. The sun was up, its low rays slanting through the leafy branches overhead to dapple the boat and water with quivery sunlight and shadow. Soon the humid atmosphere would heat to steambath temperatures, but for now she could stroll the deck in relative comfort. And why not? That was all her traveling companions deemed her fit for.

She made her slow way aft, pausing often to study the intensely hued flora glowing amid the deep jungle shadows, the jumping play of the morning sun on the ripples of the Ygah, the aerial acrobatics of the indigenous diurnal bats. A moist breeze cooled her face. The Blind Cripple Blind Cripple had picked up considerable speed; down below Girays must be toiling devotedly. And he wasn't used to such labor, he wasn't born to it or for it, and it would be just like him to drive himself to the point of collapse.... had picked up considerable speed; down below Girays must be toiling devotedly. And he wasn't used to such labor, he wasn't born to it or for it, and it would be just like him to drive himself to the point of collapse....

No he wouldn't; he was smarter than that. She contained the impulse to rush down to the engine room. He had made it clear that he didn't need or want her help; he would hardly relish her intrusion. Let him work himself sick, then, it was his own choice.

Frowning, she continued her promenade. Her mind's eye focused on coal, shovels, flames, and steam; she no longer heeded her actual surroundings, until she rounded the stern to the starboard side of the boat and there found a couple of small foreign objects protruding from the rail. They did not belong there, and they caught her attention at once. She took a closer look and discovered a pair of delicate feathered darts with needle points well sunk in the wood. They were beautifully made, and must have been launched with a certain force.

Blowguns and poisoned darts, Girays had said.

Her eyes jumped to the forest, but failed to penetrate the green gloom. She saw n.o.body there, and it occurred to her then that she herself stood completely exposed and vulnerable to attack. A little late to be thinking of that. Anyone so inclined might easily have picked her off at any time during the past quarter hour or so. Just as anyone might easily pick off the captain, who stood on the bridge, protected from rain or killing sun by an awning of ragged canvas, but otherwise fully exposed. Jhiv-Huze wasn't worrying, however, and neither should she. There was no reason to expect hostility from the natives, she a.s.sured herself. On the other hand, the arrival of the darts should be directed to the captain's attention.

Gingerly she plucked the two little missiles from the rail and, holding both at arm's length, advanced along the main deck as far as the bridge.

"Captain," she called, and he looked down at her. She held the darts aloft for his inspection. "Found these stuck to the railing."

"Very fine." Jhiv-Huze nodded equably. "A delightful souvenir of Madame's voyage."

"But what do you suppose they mean?" She let her arm sink.

"The Blessed Tribesmen remind us of their presence."

"Yes, but why? What's the message? Is it a warning? A threat? A challenge?"

"Who can say? Jhiv-Huze has piloted his vessel along this river for twenty-five years and more, and even he cannot claim perfect comprehension of the Ygahri mind. It is useless to speculate."

"But don't you think you ought to take some sort of precautions?"

"What sort?"

Good question. Her brow wrinkled. No practical solution came to mind.

Noting her expression, the captain rumbled a benign chuckle. "Madame need not concern herself," he advised. "The natives are friendly, the weather is fine, and Jhiv-Huze is at the helm." His gaze returned to the river.

She had patently been dismissed. For a moment longer she stood looking up at him, then shrugged and moved away. The two darts remained clasped in her right hand, and she wondered what to do with them. Dump them overboard, she supposed. They were probably poisoned, and quite dangerous. Still, they were so well crafted that it seemed a shame to throw them away. She studied them closely, noting for the first time the tiny designs incised into the polished shaft of each dart. Exquisite work, and curiously familiar. Something about the symbols, something she had seen somewhere, sometime.

She squinted. A magnifying gla.s.s would have helped, but her eyes were good and she was able to make out minuscule sets of parallel wavy lines, elaborate intersecting polygons, cl.u.s.tering dots, leaf shapes, boat shapes, stylized birds, and much more.

It was the leaf shapes that jogged her memory. Distinctively palmate, they were impossible to mistake, and now she remembered just where she had once seen them-on the ancient carven plaques decorating the hut of the head tl'gh-tiz tl'gh-tiz of the Bhomiri-D'tal tribe; the same of the Bhomiri-D'tal tribe; the same tl'gh-tiz tl'gh-tiz who had once offered to accept her on a trial basis as junior wife number thirteen. She squinted harder; yes, the same symbol, beyond doubt. But how? The Bhomiri Islands rose near the center of the Bay of Zif, hundreds of miles to the west. How could the Bhomiri-D'tals share symbols with the Blessed Tribesmen of the Ygahro Territories? Coincidentally similar stylized renderings of the same plant? No. For the highly recognizable palmately compound leaves of the symbol abounded in the Forests of Oorex. She did not know the name of the shrub, but she saw it all around her, flourishing along the banks of the Ta'ahri Capillaries. No such shrub, however, graced the Bhomiri Islands. The head who had once offered to accept her on a trial basis as junior wife number thirteen. She squinted harder; yes, the same symbol, beyond doubt. But how? The Bhomiri Islands rose near the center of the Bay of Zif, hundreds of miles to the west. How could the Bhomiri-D'tals share symbols with the Blessed Tribesmen of the Ygahro Territories? Coincidentally similar stylized renderings of the same plant? No. For the highly recognizable palmately compound leaves of the symbol abounded in the Forests of Oorex. She did not know the name of the shrub, but she saw it all around her, flourishing along the banks of the Ta'ahri Capillaries. No such shrub, however, graced the Bhomiri Islands. The head tl'gh-tiz tl'gh-tiz had characterized the leaf as had characterized the leaf as uxe hoivo-Tl'ghurhi uxe hoivo-Tl'ghurhi-belonging to Paradise-and she had deemed the description purely fanciful. But now she recalled that the Bhomiri-D'tal term for Paradise translated with equal facility to "Land of the Blessed," or "Land of the Ancestors." She remembered also that Bhomiri-D'tal oral history included tales of the first Bhomiri ancestors sailing unimaginable distances from their homeland far beyond the rising sun.

Had some ancient party of Blessed Tribesmen sailed west from the mouth of the Ygah, following the warm fish-hospitable currents over the Nether Ocean and northwest into the Bay of Zif, there to settle upon the Bhomiri Islands? If such a connection existed and she could prove it, then she could write a book, an important book certain to attract notice. There would be speaking engagements-healthy lecture fees-a comfortable independent living, even if she failed to win the Grand Ellipse.

But she would not fail to win the Grand Ellipse.

Still, the thought of a respectable alternative- She was hurrying along at an excited trot, her lips curved in an unconscious smile, the two darts tightly gripped in her hand. And to think, but moments earlier she had actually considered throwing such treasures away. She would preserve them at all costs now.

Returning to the main cabin, she wrapped the darts with care and stowed them at the bottom of her carpetbag. This done, she raced to the engine room.

The place was infernal. The heat was unbearable, the atmosphere all but unbreathable, and the sole occupant barely recognizable. Girays v'Alisante, ordinarily so impeccable, was sweat soaked, disheveled, and coal blackened. He had removed his shirt, a sensible move under the circ.u.mstances, but she had never seen him without it before, and now all thoughts of decorated darts and seafaring tribesmen fled her mind. She had never quite realized that his lean frame was so well muscled. She was trying hard not to stare at his bare chest, shoulders, and arms, so she anch.o.r.ed her eyes steadfastly on his face and felt an utter fool. She realized that she was blushing like a schoolgirl, and her discomfort deepened.

She asked if she could bring him a drink, and he a.s.sented readily. She went to the galley, filled a dented tin cup with beer, carried it back to the engine room, and watched in some wonder as he gulped it down. She had not hitherto imagined M. the Marquis capable of gulping, or indeed of anything less than perfect deportment. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and her wonder increased. She noticed that his unwontedly long hair was straggling across his wet forehead, and she curbed the impulse to brush the stray locks away from his eyes. He ought to have some sort of scarf or rag tied across his forehead to absorb the sweat. She pictured a red bandanna accenting that angular, sun-browned, dark-eyed face; added a gold earring for emphasis, and found the resulting image so incongruously piratical that she burst into laughter. When he asked her why she was laughing, she refused to tell him, but spoke instead of the Ygahri darts she had discovered stuck in the starboard railing, and of the captain's lackadaisical reaction. She wanted to tell him of the leaf symbol and its possible significance, but the fire under the boiler demanded replenishment, and Girays was obliged to apply himself to his shovel.

She fetched him another cup of beer and a bowl of cold stew, watching bemusedly as he gulped the one and wolfed the other. When she offered once more to take a turn at shoveling coal, his instant refusal fulfilled her expectations.

"You must think me quite useless," she accused.

"Far from it. But I couldn't stand by watching while you break your back over the coal bin."

"I'm not made of porcelain, Girays."

"I've sometimes wondered if you aren't made of steel, but that's beside the point. You're young and strong, and I freely concede that a few minutes of physical labor are unlikely to injure your health, but my own peace of mind would suffer. It is the fault of my upbringing, I suppose. Try not to take it as a personal insult, but I'm not letting go of this shovel."

She had to laugh at that, but departed the engine room incompletely mollified. Despite his humor and diplomacy it was plain that he viewed her as useless. Or else she would always think that he did, no matter how often he denied it....

The Blind Cripple Blind Cripple maintained good speed throughout the day, perhaps too good for safety. Luzelle worried at the jovial abandon with which Jhiv-Huze hurled his craft through the narrow, shallow channels of the Ta'ahri Capillaries, around the treacherous sharp bends, straight through the blinding veils of leafy low-hanging boughs and vines. A single fallen tree in the water or the slightest misjudgment of a channel's navigable curve might have proved disastrous, but the captain possessed either preternatural skill or luck. The maintained good speed throughout the day, perhaps too good for safety. Luzelle worried at the jovial abandon with which Jhiv-Huze hurled his craft through the narrow, shallow channels of the Ta'ahri Capillaries, around the treacherous sharp bends, straight through the blinding veils of leafy low-hanging boughs and vines. A single fallen tree in the water or the slightest misjudgment of a channel's navigable curve might have proved disastrous, but the captain possessed either preternatural skill or luck. The Blind Cripple Blind Cripple rushed through unscathed, and Luzelle's uneasiness subsided. She might simply have relished the sensation of swift progress, but for the increasingly noticeable presence of the Blessed Tribesmen. rushed through unscathed, and Luzelle's uneasiness subsided. She might simply have relished the sensation of swift progress, but for the increasingly noticeable presence of the Blessed Tribesmen.

She caught the thin high notes of their flutes trailing through the forests around noon, and her heart jumped. Stepping to the rail, she peered off into the shadows, but saw nothing. The sound faded, and her knotted muscles relaxed; too soon, for minutes later it was back, faint and intermittent at first, then waxing in authority as the day wore on. She could neither ignore it nor make any sense of it, for there was nothing resembling a recognizable tune, a rhythm, or even a consistent pattern, but she could not stop trying to find one.

The sound broke off around midafternoon, and that was when she caught her first glimpse of the Blessed Tribesmen. A couple of compact tattooed figures lingered in the deep shade near the bank, watching in still silence as the Blind Cripple Blind Cripple steamed by. So motionless were they, so much a part of their surroundings, although they made no effort at concealment, that she might easily have overlooked them had not a glancing ray of sunlight struck fire off the gla.s.s beads woven into their braided hair. She caught her breath and stared. They looked straight back at her, and their faces told her nothing at all. Both tribesmen carried slim tubes in their hands. Flutes? Or blowguns? In such uncertain light, impossible to judge. steamed by. So motionless were they, so much a part of their surroundings, although they made no effort at concealment, that she might easily have overlooked them had not a glancing ray of sunlight struck fire off the gla.s.s beads woven into their braided hair. She caught her breath and stared. They looked straight back at her, and their faces told her nothing at all. Both tribesmen carried slim tubes in their hands. Flutes? Or blowguns? In such uncertain light, impossible to judge.

The Blind Cripple Blind Cripple sped on. The statuelike tribesmen were behind her, then they were gone. The flutes resumed, along with Luzelle's breathing. sped on. The statuelike tribesmen were behind her, then they were gone. The flutes resumed, along with Luzelle's breathing.

After that, throughout the rest of the afternoon, she glimpsed them sporadically; sometimes poised in the shadows under the trees, sometimes squatting on the flat mossy rocks along the bank, sometimes crouched in the branches overhanging the water. They offered no overt hostility. There were no taunts or flying darts, but Luzelle sensed an animosity so dark and profound that the responsive p.r.i.c.kling of her flesh eventually drove her belowdecks, where she kept herself occupied with one of Girays's histories for hours.

That night, as she lay in the moonless starless dark of the cabin, she did not need to wonder whether Girays slept or not. He had plunged into deep slumber the moment he reclined in his hammock. Now the sound of his deep, regular breathing blended with the endless vocalization of the jungle and the wailing of the flutes. She expected protracted insomnia, but fell asleep almost at once.

She woke to the green dimness typical of the region. Girays's hammock was empty. The engine was pulsing, and the Blind Cripple Blind Cripple was already under way. The captain's efficiency was commendable. The scent of was already under way. The captain's efficiency was commendable. The scent of marukinutu marukinutu must be strong in his nostrils. must be strong in his nostrils.

She washed, ate, and returned to a scene grown too familiar. Captain on the bridge, speeding his vessel through the tortuous tunnels of the Ta'ahri Capillaries; Blessed Tribesmen slipping through the dark of the undergrowth along both banks; alien music and menace weighting the air.

Somehow it seemed worse this morning, the hostility stronger and darker. Probably her imagination, she told herself.

But today no borrowed book could hold her attention.

She visited with Girays in the engine room for a while, but found him immersed in his labors and insensitive to atmospheric inhospitality. His shirt was off again. She watched as he shoveled and for a while the play of his muscles kept her diverted, but eventually the forebodings resurfaced and she went away, more restless than ever.