The Virgin of Zesh & the Tower of Zanid by L. Sprague de Camp Page A

of the cult and two non-members. We have news of interest to the Záva.”
    “News is judged by its verity, novelty, and portentousness, not by its origin.”
    In stumbling Portuguese, Althea told of her experience with the lecherous sailor on Memzadá’s ship. When she had finished, the cloaked figure said, “News, like fruit, spoils if delayed too long in transit.” She started to lower herself off the tripod.
    Bahr said, “Excuse me, senhora, but would you please also inform your Chief Yuruzh that I, Doctor Professor Gottfried Bahr, of the University of Jena, should like an interview with him?”
    “No time,” said the Virgin. “Out of my way, Terrans!”
    She scuttled through one of the arches and disappeared. Althea heard the diminishing sound of ascending footsteps. She and her companions waited around for some time, but nothing more happened.
    “Br-r-r, let’s be getting out of here!” said Kirwan. “The place gives me the shuddering creeps.”
    “Atavistic fears,” said Bahr. “However, as we do not seem to be accomplishing anything further, I am not averse with your suggestion to comply.”
    They trailed out. Althea looked back at the octagonal tower in the moonlight, from an upper window of which a light was winking. Then she plunged into the forest.
    She had been plodding at the tail of the procession, seeing only Kirwan’s broad back as little splashes of moonlight ran over it, for some time before she realized that Bahr was out of sight and hearing. She spoke, “Brian, you’d better hurry—”
    “And would you be afraid of being lost, now?” he said, turning. “To be sure, nobody’s ever lost with Brian Kirwan. And you don’t suppose, cuisle mo croidhe, that ’twas out of sheer weariness of spirit that I lagged?”
    “Why, I never thought—”
    Kirwan snatched Althea’s right hand in his. “Listen, darling, for days I’ve been tongue-tied with love for you, and me so eloquent and all. Even though the natural man turns out to be a fake and a disappointment, there’s enough romance left in the galaxy for a well-matched pair of hearts like ours. Let me show you—”
    “Brian! Let go!” said Althea, her voice rising in alarm. She twisted her arm, but Kirwan’s grip was too strong to break.
    “But me no buts, darling, for as sure as Ireland’s a damp little country, you belong to me body and soul. Why, if we could someday poison that worthless husband of yours, I might even let you marry me legal and all! Why should we let—”
    As Althea struggled to escape, the poet slid an arm around her waist. Squeezing her to him, he pinned her free arm between his body and hers and began to press slobbery kisses on her face. She squirmed and dodged while he poured out a stream of broken phrases: “Me little Sassenach rose . . . with three moons, we’ll love thrice as ardently . . . stop squirmin’, darlin’, and let me find a soft spot . . . isn’t one virgin on Zesh enough?”
    “Brian, please!” she cried. “Stop! Help!”
    His hot breath fanned her face. The bristles of his burgeoning beard scratched her skin. No help came.
    When Kirwan began to try to bend her down to the moss grass, Althea kicked him in the shins. He grunted and flinched. Getting an arm free, Althea raked his face with her nails, bit his wrist, and butted him in the nose.
    “Ye devil!” he panted. She got loose enough to bring a knee up to his crotch.
    He bawled with pain, and she broke free and ran like a deer. Kirwan blundered after. She had the advantage; besides his fat, his legs were short and his vision not the keenest.
    Althea tripped over a root and sprawled but was up again in an instant. Behind her, Kirwan fell even more heavily over another obstacle. After a few minutes of dodging, she stopped to get her breath and listen for sounds of pursuit. From afar came a call.
    “Althea, darling! Where the devil are you? Sure, come back; I’ll not be hurting you! You’ll be lost in the woods!” Althea