Part 2

She turned and barked orders at a squad of husky males standing nearby, and they turned and trotted off at high speed. It was nearly fifteen minutes before they returned, during which time the Earthmen and the Oassi tried to outdo each other in displaying nothing but stolid patience.

The "chair of suitable dignity" was quite something. It was painted a rust red and decorated with gold leaf and polished but unfaceted gems. It took a dozen of the little aliens, six on either side, to hoist the thing off the ground and carry it after Captain Smith had climbed in. She was obviously a little cramped in a conveyance built for someone two-thirds her size, but she bore it with dignified hauteur. Ksitka, looking very superior, trotted along beside the sedan chair; he was big for a Dynakian, standing a good three inches taller than the city-dwellers.

Newhouse and Pemberton had climbed into the less brightly decorated chairs that they'd provided, and were carried along behind the captain as the procession wound its way through the streets of the city toward the citadel.

A runner had been sent on ahead to warn the Shanni that an unexpected guest was coming, and she and her rather diminutive consort were on the top step of the citadel, flanked by another batch of guardsmen when the guests arrived. Her daughter, the Shannil, and her consort, Boccaccio di Vino, were nowhere to be seen.

_That's partial confirmation, at least_, Newhouse thought wryly. The jungle tribesmen who had occasion to trade in the city had brought word back that the Shannil feared that her new husband might take it in his head to return to his own people--a crime which, like suicide, might not be punishable when successful, but to try and fail was a criminal offense in Oassi. Evidently the citadel guards were making sure that lover-boy didn't go over the hill.

* * * * *

Not that he'd ever been allowed much freedom. The royal family had kept a wary eye on him ever since the wedding; the old Shanni seemed to have a hunch that di Vino hadn't realized he was a bridegroom until it was too late, and she had seemed to sense right away that he was not too keen on the idea of staying.

As arranged, it was Sergeant Pemberton who performed all the amenities and introductions between Her Supremacy, the Captain, and Her Splendor, the Shanni. In the first place, his Oassish was better, and, in the second, Newhouse wanted to observe the expressions on the faces of the Shanni and the Shann.

The Shann was an elderly male who looked--naturally--rather henpecked. He didn't say much; he just stood there and smiled half-heartedly as the Shanni chatted in friendly fashion with her "sister," Captain Virginia Smith, through the fluent interpretation of Pemberton. They might have been any ruling family of Earth welcoming another chief executive.

Pemberton, of course, was giving the impression that Captain Smith was the ruler of the alien fortress that was situated a hundred miles away, on the banks of the Ngong River. The people of Oassi hadn't been informed of the true origin of the Earthmen, nor would they be; as far as Oassi was concerned, they came from a "far land," and knew a little something about magic, but they weren't dangerous, they just had to be watched, like any other non-Oassi group. And, after all, Oassi had a much larger army and the magicians and priests of Oassi had magic, too, didn't they? _Sure_ they did.

And Earth, the capital of the United Commonwealth of Planets, not only liked the way things stood, but demanded that they be kept that way. Any civilization which appeared to be capable of lifting itself by its own bootstraps should do so; at this stage of the game, Man should not interfere. Of course, their very presence on the planet had already changed, somewhat, the course of Oassi's history, but that couldn't be helped; nothing can be observed without affecting it.

The Shanni of Oassi appeared to be pleasantly impressed with Captain Smith, just as Newhouse had figured. She had certainly not been impressed by human males, which was perfectly understandable. What would Haroun al Rashid have said if some other country had sent a delegation of women to Baghdad?

Oh, the Shanni had been perfectly happy to agree to a treaty to furnish _gakgak_ milk for good, honest gold (well, maybe not _too_ honest; it was the product of an atomic converter), but that was just business. Gold is fine stuff, even if a lowly male brings it.

But when it came to statesmanship, that was a different matter. The Shanni seemed obviously more at home with Captain Smith, even if the conversation did have to be filtered through Sergeant Pemberton.

After a minute or two, the Shanni turned to a nearby officer and gave her a slight nod. The whole guard unit wheeled about in precision array and everyone marched into the citadel: a half dozen guards in the lead, followed by the Shanni and Shann, and Captain Smith; Pemberton and Newhouse followed them, and behind the two officers came the rest of the guardsmen. And last, but foremost, came the carriers bearing the precious bundles of Earth-type food.

* * * * *

The banquet that night was a sumptuous, but somewhat lopsided affair, Newhouse thought. The Oassi stuffed themselves like pigs, and the four Earth people ate nothing. The Shanni already understood that her guests, for some mysterious reason, could not partake of Oassi food.

Boccaccio di Vino and his wife, the Shannil, had made their appearance, and di Vino, still a diplomat, put on an excellent face, but there was worry in his eyes.

Newhouse wanted to pump some information out of him, but he didn't dare address him in English, for fear that the Shanni might suspect a plot was being fomented at her banquet table, right under her nose. But that was just the reason why he had told Captain Smith not even to speak the few words of Oassish that she did know.

* * * * *

He smiled at her and said: "Captain, I'm going to be talking to our friend, the bridegroom, but pretend I'm addressing you. I'm not going to mention your name," he went on, knowing that di Vino was listening, "because they'd recognize the words. Captain, say something in a questioning tone. Something fairly long."

"Fine," she said, "because I do have a question to ask. How long do you think we'll have to be here before we can get our diplomat out?"

"I don't know. That's why I want to ask some questions." Then he turned to the Shanni and smiled. "Her Supremacy wishes to inquire as to the health of the royal family, if that is not forbidden by rules of etiquette." He knew perfectly well that it wasn't.

"Not at all," said the Shanni, in her rather high, brittle voice. "Our family is quite well. All sound in body and mind. Although--" A small smile came to her face, and something shone in her eyes. "--we await fertile eggs."

"I see." He turned to Captain Smith, but his words were obviously meant for di Vino. "Don't speak to Smith until I've spoken to you in Oassish. What I want to know is, how many unfertile clutches of eggs has your wife produced so far, and how long is the production cycle?"

Captain Smith nodded. "Tell me, what am I supposed to do?"

"Just look at the Shanni and smile, then smile _very_ benignly on the Shannil."

While that was going on, Newhouse turned pleasantly to di Vino. "And how are you and your wife, Your Eminence?"

"Quite well, thank you," said di Vino suavely. "We expect to have a family before long, you know."

"Indeed? I hope your attempts will be successful."

"We all do," said the Shannil in a smooth voice. Looking at her, Newhouse could see why, in spite of her alienness, she had been the cause of di Vino's troubles.

There was a momentary silence around the room.

Then di Vino looked at Smith and said casually: "I don't know who you are, Lieutenant, but if you can get me out of this mess, you can have my right arm. To answer your question, my--uh--wife produces an egg every sixty-five days or thereabouts. The fertilization has to take place about twenty days before the cycle is completed. Since I've been here, she's produced two. If the next one isn't fertile, I'll end up in the family mausoleum, accompanied by much lamentation." He paused and smiled at Captain Smith expectantly.

Smith smiled back. "I have a question, if you two don't mind. If that's the case, it seems to me that these people could have a child every sixty-five days. They'd have overrun the planet centuries ago."

"No," di Vino said. "Even the cycles have cycles--or epicycles, maybe. The females produce three or four, stop for about four years before another cycle comes on. I just happened to catch this girl at the wrong time; otherwise, I wouldn't be married now."

"I see," said the captain. She smiled pleasantly.

Before di Vino could say anything in answer, the Shanni's voice cut in--rather sharply, Newhouse thought. "Are you a relative of the Kapteen, my dear?" she asked di Vino.

"No, Your Splendor," said di Vino.

"Well, in Oassi, well-bred princes don't speak to visiting ladies to whom they are not related. And remember, my dear, you're an Oassi now."

"I beg forgiveness, your Splendor," di Vino said humbly.

That put somewhat of a chill on the whole dinner party. Conversation from that point on was utterly innocuous and utterly boring.

Newhouse only got one more small piece of information. The Shanni's consort, the Shann, had made a remark about having "produced his three eggs," and further conversation elicited the information that each Shanni or Shannil was supposed to have three children by her consort. Newhouse marked it down in his mental files for later use when he formed a plan.

* * * * *

When the meal was finally finished, the visitors were taken to their quarters in a wing of the citadel reserved for visitors, well away from the wing reserved for the Shanni and Shann.

The citadel itself was built strongly, with the thick walls of a fortress, and the heavy silverwood doors--white as limed oak and hard as teak--were capable of being barred from either side. Although the Earthmen were not locked in, there was an "honor" guard in the hall outside, and Newhouse had no doubt that any idea he might have of roaming about the citadel would be politely but firmly vetoed.

* * * * *

The apartment that had been assigned to them was hardly comfortable by modern Terrestrial standards, though a medieval English baron would probably have been cozy enough.

"Looks like a jail, sir," said Sergeant Pemberton as he surveyed the room.

"It is," said Newhouse. "I'm afraid that freedom of the grounds isn't on our agenda." He walked over to the door that connected his and the sergeant's room with the one next to it.

"Come in, Lieutenant," said Virginia Smith.

Newhouse pushed open the heavy door. "I'm going to take a flit about the citadel, Captain," he said. "Would you and the sergeant whip up something to eat? I shouldn't be gone long."

"All right. But watch yourself. My Supremacy might be a little hard put to explain what you were doing if you got caught."

"Don't worry; I'm supposed to get an Earthman out of a jam, not get another one in. You want to give me that harness?"

"Sure. Close the door and give me two minutes."

Newhouse did as he'd been asked. Captain Smith had been wearing an antigrav harness under her robes. Since none of the three was obviously carrying a sword, axe, or spear, it had been assumed that they were unarmed, except, perhaps, for a small dagger or the like, which was perfectly permissible. But the Oassi had no idea what the term "miniaturization" meant. Newhouse, Pemberton, and Smith were all armed to the teeth.

Even so, an antigravity unit required extra clothing to cover it; the uniforms of Pemberton and Newhouse were a little too close-fitting to hide it completely.

Captain Smith was better than her word. Less than two minutes later, she opened the door and handed Newhouse the harness. The lieutenant put it on and walked over to the narrow, slit-like window that looked out on the courtyard.

Dynak was a moonless planet, and, at this time of year, the stars that might have shone in the night sky were obscured by the black blanket of a nearby dark nebula, a great dust-cloud that shrouded most of the sky.

Except for the flickering torches in the courtyard below and the glow of candlelight from the windows of the citadel, the walls of the citadel were in utter darkness. Certainly the guards forty feet below couldn't see a man crawling along the walls, and they probably wouldn't believe their eyes if they did.

Newhouse then adjusted the power unit to a point where he only weighed a few ounces and lifted his feet off the floor, doubling his knees up against his abdomen. Since his mass remained the same, he drifted downwards very slowly under the slight pull of attenuated gravity.

"You're not completely neutralized," Captain Smith then pointed out.

"I don't want to be," Newhouse said. "I've got to have a little weight so that I can get a fingertip purchase on that rough wall. Otherwise, I'm likely to push myself away from it, and I don't want to use the air jet unless I have to." He landed lightly on his heels and then stood up slowly, so as not to push himself off the floor again. He slid, rather than walked, back to the window. "Bye, kiddies," he said. "Save me a sandwich." And he eased himself out the window.

* * * * *

He was gone longer than he had thought he would be. It took him nearly an hour to find which of the windows in the royal wing opened into Boccaccio di Vino's bedroom, moving himself carefully across the stone wall of the citadel, avoiding windows, staying out of sight of the patrols that walked the upper parapets, and keeping his ears open for the distinctive sound of the Earthman's voice. He even found time to curse the nomadic tribes that roamed the grass plains to the south because their very existence kept the city of Oassi in a perpetual state of preparedness against raids, which meant that there were lookouts and guards all over the place and he had to be extra cautious.

At each window, he had to skirt around it, pause and listen, then carefully ease a tiny spy-eye out to take a look inside, until he found di Vino's quarters.

[Illustration: For the royal couple the future did not look bright.]

When he finally found them, he had to wait another ten minutes while di Vino and the young Shannil concluded a rather strained conversation. When the Shannil walked off toward her own room, Newhouse peeked his head around the edge of the window and said: "Hssst! Di Vino!"

* * * * *

The young diplomat jerked his head around quickly. When he saw who it was, he ran quickly to the window. "What is it?" he asked. "Are we getting out of here?"

"Not just yet. I'm getting you out of here all nice and legal-like, if I can. We won't use force except as the last resort." He didn't add that such a "very last resort" might be too late for di Vino.

"But--how?"

"Never mind that now; I've got to get some information. It's vitally necessary. I tried to get it at the banquet, but the Shanni shut you up."

"Sure. Anything you want."

"Well, I know all about the cyclic pattern of Dynakian reproduction, but I need _specific_ information. Times and dates, right down to the minute, if possible."

"That's easy," di Vino said wryly. "The Shanni is keeping pretty accurate records, and so is Oanella. She knows by now that I don't love her, and she's going to be perfectly happy to get rid of me. She--"

"Never mind that now!" Newhouse snapped in irritation. "The _dates_ man! The _dates_!"

Hurriedly, di Vino told him. When he did, Newhouse breathed a sigh of relief. "Good! We've got three days yet!" He fished into his jacket and came out with a small, black cylinder a little larger than a cigarette, with a small stud at one end. "You know how to use a sleep gun?"

Di Vino nodded.

"Good. Take it. Keep it on you at all times. Day after tomorrow when Oanella goes to sleep for the night, use it on her. But, for heavens sake, _wait till she gets to sleep_. Got that?"

"Right. Then what?"

"Then wait for me to show up. That sleep gun's got a signal built into it. As soon as you shoot her, I'll know about it. All you'll have to do is blow out your candles, so that there's no light coming from your room. Got that?"

"I've got it. But--"

There were footsteps outside the door. "So long," Newhouse whispered. "Don't slip up." He moved away from the window just as the door opened, and he heard the Shannil say: "What's so interesting at the window, dear? Getting homesick?" There was more than a trace of sarcasm in her voice.

Newhouse made his way back to his own quarters as fast as he could.

"Hope I didn't worry anyone," he said as he popped into the window.

"Nope," said Pemberton. "We figured if you'd been caught there would have been an uproar and we'd have heard about it. Come in and have a sandwich. And some coffee."

"In a minute," said Newhouse. "I've got some radioing to do."

"The call box is on the table," said Captain Virginia Smith.

* * * * *

The next day was largely devoted to discussion between Her Supremacy, the Captain, and Her Splendor, the Shanni, on the increased production of _gakgak_ milk. The Shanni, after much careful negotiation, promised that more would be forthcoming.

Newhouse, personally, had a hunch that the Shanni was trying to negotiate a treaty with the southern nomads for _gakgak_ milk, with the intent of selling it to the Earthmen at a profit--which was all right with everyone, if she could swing it.

The third day was much like the second, but this time, Newhouse began to inject something new into the discussions--presumably suggestions from Captain Smith.

"Would it be possible, Your Splendor, to have the young Shannil's consort return home for a space of--say, ten days?"

A wary look came into the old woman's eyes, but the smile never left her face. "The Shannexa's home is Oassi," she said smoothly.

"True, true. We apologize for the error in terminology. Let us say, rather, that we would like to have him visit his previous home."

The Shanni looked almost apologetic. "It would be my pleasure to allow the dear child to revisit his old home," she said, "but, alas, it cannot be."

"Indeed?"

"I fear not. The ancient laws of Oassi are very strict on that point, and I would not dare to violate them. Even the Shanni is not all-powerful. My people would disown me if I violated so powerful a taboo."

"Just what is this--ah--law, Your Splendor?"

"A very ancient one, Your Supremacy. No royal consort may leave his wife until he produces his three eggs. Three off-spring, in other words, of which at least one must be a girl."

"Ah, well, of course, we would hesitate to ask you to violate so powerful a law. We will be content to wait. But you will permit the visit at that time?"

The Shanni smiled thinly. "I give you my solemn vow that he will be permitted to leave when--and _if_--that time arrives."

_Well, well, well_, Newhouse thought to himself, _the old dame suspects already that her daughter can never have children by di Vino. She's out after his hide. And it's getting more obvious by the minute._

"And how long do you estimate that to be, Your Splendor?"

The Shanni's eyes became veiled. "You know our law. But, even if the first egg is produced within the period, I'm afraid it would be another four years before the next is produced. It would be four years at the minimum before he could leave."

"Very well. So be it." The subject was dismissed as though it were a light thing, but Newhouse already had what he wanted. Every Oassi noble in the room had heard the Shanni make a solemn vow.

* * * * *

That night, Newhouse sat by his detector, waiting for it to give the telltale blink that would come when di Vino fired the sleep gun. When it did come, Newhouse already had his harness on, and he was out the window before the glow had died in the telltale. He scuttled crabwise across the great stone wall of the citadel, but this time he knew exactly where he was going, and he made it in less than ten minutes.

Di Vino was waiting in the darkened window. "Thank heaven!" he whispered. "I thought you'd never get here. Now what."

"Where is she?" Newhouse asked.

"Over on the bed."

"Good. Now put a blanket or something over that window so that the guard can't see a light."

When the window was blacked out and a candle had been lit, Newhouse bent over the unconscious female. The sleep gun had done its work well.

"All right, di Vino, help me get this harness on her. We're kidnapping the Shannil."

"Kidnap the--" Di Vino choked and blinked. "But _I'm_ the one who's supposed to get out of here."

"I'll explain the whole thing when she's gone. Come on! We haven't much time!"

When the Shannil was securely fixed in the harness, Newhouse turned up the power until her weight was a minus twenty pounds. Then he fastened a length of strong plaston cording to the harness. Then he calmly tossed her out the window. She fell upwards fairly rapidly.

When the cord was taut, Newhouse tied the end of it around the arm of a heavy silverwood chair. "That's that," he said. "Now all we have to do is wait."

Boccaccio di Vino said: "Wait? For _what_? What's going on?"

"Your lady-love is about two hundred feet over the citadel, with a signalling gadget on her. There's been an aircar hovering on its antigravs up there for the last two hours. When they pick up the signal, they'll pick up the girl. Simple, isn't it?"

"But what are they going to do?"

Newhouse grinned. "I think I'll let you suffer a while longer. Teach you to keep away from strange females."

"I've already learned that," di Vino said morosely.

"Then this ought to drive it home, pal. Just sit down and relax; we've got several hours to kill. Got a drink?"

"Some Scotch," said di Vino in a glum tone. "And a deck of cards, if we have to kill time. Play cribbage?"

"Yup. Drag 'em out."

The cord moved a little, and Newhouse knew they were taking the Shannil out of the harness, which would be left there until they came back.

"That's that for a while," he said. "Get the bottle out."

* * * * *