Part 29 (1/2)
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-fas.h.i.+oned 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?”