TEN

"The Drunkard's Lair" was comparatively clean today; the floor had been carefully swept and the table vigorously scrubbed. Bunches of sweet-smelling herbs and lavender lay in the comers. Father Kabani sat respectably on a bench in the comer. He was completely sober and calm and his clean hands rested in his lap.

While they waited for Budach to fall asleep, they discussed everything imaginable. Budach, who sat next to Rumata at the table, followed the lighthearted chatter of the noble dons with a kind, indulgent smile. From time to time he would give a sudden start, when he was just about to nod off. His hollow cheeks burned from the double dose of Tetraluminal they had slipped unnoticed into his food. The old man was highly excited and had great difficulty falling asleep. Don Hug, filled with impatience, fingered a camel's horseshoe underneath the table; his face, however, kept its appearance of unaffected ease. Rumata crumbled his bread into balls and followed with tired interest Don Kondor's efforts to swallow his anger. The Keeper of the Seal of State was excessively nervous since he had arrived late at the extraordinary nocturnal conference of the twenty terrestrial agents. The conference was to deal with the overthrow of the government in Arkanar, and he was supposed to be the chairman.

"My dear friends!" Doctor Budach said at last with a sonorous voice. He stood up and immediately fell onto Rumata's shoulder.

Rumata carefully put an arm around him.

"Ready?" asked Don Kondor.

"He won't wake up till tomorrow morning," said Rumata, and he took Budach into his arms and carried him over onto Father Kabani's cot.

Father Kabani said with jealousy:

"You certainly take good care of the doctor, but you forget about old Kabani. Well, then, gentlemen!"

"I have fifteen minutes," Don Kondor said in Russian.

"I need only five minutes," answered Rumata. He could hardly hide his irritation. "And I've told you earlier so much about it that even one minute will do now. In complete accordance with the basis theory of feudalism," his furious glance was directed straight at Don Kondor's eyes, "this is merely a normal confrontation between the burghers and the barons"--he looked over at Don Hug--"which developed, however, into a provoking intrigue of the Holy Order and eventually made Arkanar a stronghold of feudal-fascist aggression. We are sitting here, racking our brains in an attempt to align the complicated, contradictory, and enigmatic figure of our Enlightened Eagle, Don Reba, with historical personalities of similar stature, such as Richelieu, Oliver Necker, Tokugawa Ledschasu, and Monk--and our eagle turns out to be merely a little insignificant hoodlum and dolt. He betrayed and sold out anything he could lay his hands on; got caught in the web of his own intrigues, was overcome by mortal terror, then tried to save his skin by throwing himself into the hands of the Holy Order. Wait another six months: they'll cut his throat, but the Order will remain. The consequences resulting from this for the coastal regions and eventually for the entire kingdom I simply dare not envision. One fact, though, is certain: our entire work of twenty years within the borders of the kingdom has gone down the drain. There is no way back under the regime of the Holy Order. In all probability, Budach is the last person I'll be able to rescue. We won't save anyone else; it's too late. That is all I have to say."

Don Hug finally broke the horseshoe in two and hurled the fragments into a comer.

"That's quite a setback, to be sure," he said. "But maybe it isn't quite as bad as you think, Anton."

Rumata glanced briefly at him.

"You should have removed Don Reba," said Don Kondor suddenly.

"What do you mean by 'removed'?"

Red splotches spread over Don Kondor's face.

"In a physical sense!" he said sharply.

Rumata sat down.

"Kill him?"

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Kidnap! Destroy! Squash! Kill him! You should have acted and not conferred with two idiots about the matter, men who had not the vaguest notion what was really going on."

"Neither did I!"

"You sensed it, at least."

There was an uneasy silence.

Then Don Kondor started up again. He spoke softly and looked to one side. "Something like the carnage at Barkan?"

"Yes, something like it. Only better organized."

Don Kondor bit his lips.

"Would it be too late now to remove him from the scene?"

"Completely senseless," said Rumata. "First of all, they'll finish him off anyhow, with or without our assistance; and secondly, it won't even be necessary to kill him. He's eating out of my hand."

"What do you mean?"

"He's afraid of me. He senses that some mysterious power is standing behind me. He even suggested that we collaborate."

"Really?" growled Don Kondor. "Then there's no point in doing it."

Don Hug swallowed hard.

"What is the matter with you, comrades, are you serious about all this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, all this . . . everything ... to remove him, to kill him off ... What has gotten into you, are you out of your mind?"

"The noble don is cut to the quick," Rumata remarked softly. Don Kondor chose his words deliberately and cautiously:

"In case of extraordinary circumstances only extraordinary means are effective!"

Don Hug let his eyes wander from one to the other, his lips trembling.

"Do you ... do you . . . really know what you are getting into?" He could hardly bring the words to his lips. "Do you realize what this might lead to?"

"Calm down, please," said Don Kondor. "Nothing will happen. And now, enough of that. What shall we do about the Holy Order? I suggest a blockade of the area around Arkanar. What's your opinion, comrades? Make it quick, will you, I'm in a hurry."

"I have no opinion, not yet," replied Rumata. "And neither has Pashka. Well have to confer with Controls. Let's wait a bit. We'll meet again in one week and then come to a decision."

"Agreed," said Don Kondor and stood up. "Let's go!"

Rumata loaded Budach onto his shoulders and left the hut. Don Kondor lit the way with a lantern. They walked to the helicopter and Rumata laid Budach down on the back seat. Don Kondor's foot got caught in his long cloak and he fell into the driver's seat with rattling swords.

"Couldn't you take me home quickly?" asked Rumata. "I have to get some sleep."

"Yes, yes," rumbled Don Kondor. "Make it quick, will you!"

"I'll be right back," said Rumata and hurriedly returned to the hut.

Don Hug was still sitting at the table, staring vacantly ahead of him and rubbing his chin. Father Kabani, who stood beside him, said:

"This is the way it always ends, my friend. You strive tooth and nail, try to do your best, and still it doesn't turn out right in the end ..."

Rumata swiftly picked up his swords and his fez.

"Cheer up, Pashka," he said to Don Hug. "Don't lose heart, we're all overtired and irritable."

Don Hug shook his head vigorously.

"Look here, Anton," he said. "Will you please look! I won't say anything about Uncle Sasha. He's been here a long time, and we can't change him any more. But you . . ."

"I want to sleep, that's all I want now. Father Kabani, do me the favor and take my horses and bring them to Baron Pampa. I'll come to see him in a few days."

Outside, the propeller started up a gentle roar. Rumata waved to his friends and ran out of the hut. The bright light streaming from the helicopter's headlights made the gigantic tangled growths of the high fern look ghostly against the background of the brilliant white trunks of the birch trees. Rumata climbed into the cabin and slammed the little door.

Inside the cabin it smelled of oxygen, synthetic wall-boards, and cologne. Don Kondor let the machine climb and guided it with nonchalant assuredness along the country road. I wouldn't be up to that now, thought Rumata, a bit jealous. From the back seat came the peaceful snore of old Doctor Budach.

"Anton," said Don Kondor, "I'd like to ... that is, 1 don't ... I don't want to be tactless, and please believe me, I don't want to ... uh ... interfere with your personal affairs..."

"I'm listening," said Rumata. He knew at once what Don Kondor had in mind.

"We are scouts on a mission here," said Don Kondor. "And all we cherish must either remain back on Earth or locked up inside ourselves. This way it can never be taken away from us or used for blackmail or as hostages against us."

"Are you referring to Kyra?" asked Rumata.

"Yes, my friend. If all I have heard about Don Reba is true, then it will be neither easy nor safe to hold him back. Do you understand what I mean?"

"Yes, I understand," said Rumata. " I'll try to think of something."

They lay next to each other holding hands in the darkness. It was very quiet now in the city. From the distance came only an occasional neighing and stomping of horses. From time to time Rumata would drop off into a light sleep, but he woke up quickly again. Then Kyra would hold her breath; in his sleep he clung tightly to her hand.

"You are very, very tired," said Kyra softly. "Go to sleep, my darling."

"No, no, tell me all, I am listening."

"You keep falling asleep, my darling."

"I'm nevertheless listening to you. You are right, I am extremely tired, but I am longing even more to be near you and to listen to your words. I won't sleep. Just go an telling me, I'll pay attention, go ahead."

Gratefully she rubbed her nose against his shoulder, kissed him on the cheek and picked up her story again, how recently the son of her father's neighbor had come to her one evening at her father's bidding. "Your father is confined to his bed. They chased him from the office and beat him up with sticks as a farewell present. He hardly eats anymore, he just drinks. His face looks bluish-gray, and he's got the shakes." The boy also told her that her brother had appeared again, wounded, but happy and drunk, in a new uniform. He gave some money to the father, had a few drinks with him, then threatened that he was going to slaughter all of them. He is now a lieutenant--goodness knows where--in some special detachment, has sworn loyalty to the Holy Order, and will soon be knighted. Her father implored her not to come home, at least for the time being. Her brother was constantly threatening to disavow her since she, the red witch, had taken up with some nobleman...

Sure enough, he thought, she can't go home anymore. And under no circumstances can she stay here either. If anything should happen to her ... He had vivid visions that some evil would befall her. Chills ran down his back at the mere thought.

"Are you asleep?" asked Kyra.

He gave a sudden start and relaxed the hand that had been squeezing her little finger spasmodically.

"No," he said, only half awake. "What else did you do?"

"I tidied up your rooms; everything was in a terrible disorder. I found a book, a work by Father Our. It tells about a noble prince who loves a beautiful but primitive young girl from the mountain regions. She is really a savage and thinks he is a god, but she still loves him with all her heart. Then they become separated and she dies of grief."

"It's a good book," said Rumata.

"I even cried. I kept thinking it was about us, about you and me."

"Yes, it concerns people like the two of us. And, in general, all human beings who are in love with each other. Except that nobody will ever separate us."

The safest place for her would be on Earth, he thought. But how will she get along there without me? And how will I fare here, all alone? I could ask Anka to become your friend. But how will I be able to remain here without you? No, we'll fly to Earth, but together! I myself will steer the spaceship and you will sit beside me and I'll explain everything to you. So that you won't be afraid. So that you'll love Earth immediately. So that you will never be homesick. This planet isn't your home at all. Your home has rejected you. And you were born a thousand years before your time. My darling, you good, you dear, you selfless girl, willing to sacrifice yourself . . . people like you have been born in every epoch of the bloody history of our planets. Pure, unsullied souls who do not understand cruelty and who know no hatred. Victims. Unnecessary victims. Far more senseless still than the poet Our or Galileo. For people like you are no fighters. In order to be a fighter one has to be able to hate and this is exactly what you cannot do...

Rumata dropped off to sleep again. In his dreams he saw Kyra standing at the edge of a flat rooftop in Soviet Russia with a degravitator fastened to her belt. And Anka, in gay and mocking mood, urging Kyra impatiently toward the edge of a mile-deep abyss ...

"Rumata," said Kyra, "I'm afraid!"

"Of what, my darling?" .

"You are always silent, forever silent I get an uncanny feeling..."

Rumata pulled her closer to him.

"All right, my darling," he said, "then I'll talk and you pay close attention to me: Far, far away from here, beyond the great forest, is a sinister-looking, inaccessible castle There lives Baron Pampa, a merry, happy and good man the very best baron of all of Arkanar. He has a wife, a beautiful, kind woman, who loves Pampa when he is sober but who cannot stand him when he is drunk..."

He fell silent and listened attentively. He heard the stomping of many hooves in the street and the loud snorting of many men and horses. "Looks like it's here, eh?" asked a coarse voice under their windows. "Looks like it, yes." "Ha-a-alt!" The heels of many boots were clicked outside on the steps of the terraced staircase, and shortly afterwards several fists hammered on the gate. Kyra was frightened and clung closely to Rumata.

"Wait, my darling," he said and threw back the blankets.

"They've come for me," she whispered, "I knew they would!"

Rumata freed himself with difficulty from her arms and rushed to the window. "In the name of the Lord!" they shouted down below. "Open up, it'll go bad with you if w have to beat down the front door!" Rumata pushed the curtain aside a bit and the dancing light of torches flitted into the room. A fairly large crowd of riders were trampling the ground in front of the house, somber people, dressed in black with pointed hoods on their heads. Rumata cast a swift glance down below, then looked and examined the window frame. The frame was solidly anchored in the masonry. Downstairs they were trying to ram the front door. Rumata groped for his sword in the dark and smashed the window pane with the hilt A tinkling shower of splinters rained down to the street.

"Hey, you there!" he shouted down to them. "What's the matter with you? You must be tired of living!"

The pounding and ramming stopped.

"They always mess things up," came the low voices from below. "The master is home..."

"And what should that matter to us?"

"Don't you know? He's unbeatable with his swords in his hands..."

"And they said he was away for the night and wouldn't be back before daybreak."

"Scared?"

"N-n-o, we aren't scared. It's just that we have no orders to do anything with him. No orders to kill him . . ."

"Well tie him up, beat him over the head, and then chain his legs and hands! Hey, who's fidgeting with their spears back there?"

"If only he won't bash in our skulls ..."

"No, don't be afraid. They all say he has the strange habit of never killing anybody."

"I'll slit your throats like puppies," said Rumata with a frightening voice.

Kyra pressed herself against his back. Her heart was beating wildly; he could hear it. Downstairs the screaming commands were flying: "Knock the gate down, brothers! In the name of the Lord!"

Rumata turned around and looked into Kyra's eyes. She stared at him as she had done a little while ago, with fear and hope in her glance. The reflection of the torches shone in her dry eyes.

"Come, come, my little one," he said tenderly. "You aren't afraid of that mob? Go and get dressed. There's no sense in staying here any longer." Hastily he put on his metalloplast shirt. "I'll chase them away and then well leave. We'll go to Baron Pampa's castle."

She stood at the window and was looking down into the street Red dots of light ran across her face. Sounds of smashing, splintering wood, clanking metal came from downstairs. Rumata's heart seemed to burst, it was so full of pity and tender love for her.--I'll chase them away like mangy dogs, he thought. He bent down to pick up his other sword but when he straightened up again, Kyra was no longer standing at the window. Her fingers clutched the drapes as she slowly sank to the ground.

"Kyra!" he cried.

A bolt from a crossbow had pierced her throat, another stuck in her chest. He seized her in his arms and carried her to the bed, gently placing her down on the covers. "Kyra . . . ," he called out softly. She moaned briefly and her limbs went limp. "Kyra," he said. She did not answer. For a moment he stood over her, then he took his swords, slowly walked down the stairs to the entrance hall and waited for the gate to give way under their blows...