The Continent Makers and Other Tales of the Viagens by L. Sprague de Camp Page B

background and less manners. He and Quinlan had gotten on each other’s nerves, though Frome had tried to keep things smooth. Hayataka, despite his technical skill and experience, was too mild and patient a little man to keep such an unruly subordinate as Quinlan in line.
    First the Dzlieri guide had run off and Quinlan had begun making homesick noises. Hayataka and Frome, however, had agreed to try for Mount Ertma by travelling on a magnetic bearing, though cross-country travel on this steaming soup kettle of a planet with its dense jungle and almost constant rain was far from pleasant.
    They had heard of the vanished Earthfolk yesterday when Quinlan had raised Comandante Silva himself on the radio: “. . . and when you get into the Dzlieri country, look for traces of Sirat Mongkut and Elena Millán. Sirat Mongkut is an entrepreneur dealing mainly in scrap metals with the Dzlieri and has not been heard of for a Vishnuvan year. Elena Millán is a Cosmotheist missionary who has not been heard of in six weeks. If they’re in trouble, try to help them and get word to us . . .”
    After signing off, Quinlan had said: “Ain’t that a hell of a thing, now? As if the climate and bugs and natives wasn’t enough, it’s hunting a couple of fools we are. What was that first name? It don’t sound like any Earthly name I ever heard.”
    Hayataka answered: “Sirat Mongkut. He’s a Thai—what you would call a Siamese.”
    Quinlan laughed loudly. “You mean a pair of twins joined together?”
    Then this morning a party of Dzlieri, following the forbidden old custom of hunting heads, had rushed the camp. They had sent a javelin through both Hayataka’s calves and mortally wounded the two zebras before Frome had knocked over two and scattered the rest with the light machine gun.
    Quinlan, however, had panicked and run. Frome, trying to be fair-minded, couldn’t blame the lad too much; he’d panicked on his first trail trip himself. But when Quinlan had slunk back, Frome, furious, had promised him a damning entry in his fitness report. Then they had bound Hayataka’s wounds and let the chief surveyor put himself out with a trance pill while they got ready to retreat to Bembom.
    Quinlan must have brooded over his blighted career, slugged Frome, and left him for the Dzlieri, while he hauled his unconscious supervisor back to Bembom.

    ###

    After a couple of hours of cross-country gallop, the party taking Frome to Amnairad began to use roads. Presently they passed patches of clearings where the Dzlieri raised the pushball-sized lettucelike plants they ate. Then they entered a “town,” which to human eyes looked more like a series of corrals with stables attached. This was Amnairad. Beyond loomed Mount Ertma, its top hidden in the clouds. Frome was surprised to see a half-dozen zebras in one of the enclosures; that meant men.
    At the center of this area they approached a group of “buildings”—enclosed structures made of poles with sheets of matting stretched between them. Up to the biggest structure the cavalcade cantered. At the entrance a pair of Dzlieri, imposing in helmets, spears, and shields, blocked the way.
    “Tell God we have something for him,” said Mishinatven.
    One of the guards went into the structure and presently came out again. “Go on in.” he said, “Only you and your two officers, Mishinatven. And the Earthman.”
    As they trotted through the maze of passages, Frome heard the rain on the matting overhead. He noted that the appointments of this odd place seemed more civilized than one would expect of Dzlieri, who, though clever in some ways, seemed too impulsive and quarrelsome to benefit from civilizing influences. They arrived in a room hung with drapes, of native textiles and decorated with groups of crossed Dzlieri weapons: bows, spears and the like.
    “Get off,” said Mishinatven. “God, this in an Earthman named Frome we found in the woods. Frome, this is God.”
    Frome watched Mishinatven to