Tower of Zanid by L. Sprague de Camp Page A

closed and locked the door behind them.
    “Wagner, bear a hand with this couch. I’m moving it against the door, just in case.”
    The settee was placed in front of the door.
    “Now,” said Fallon, “you stay here and look out while we get dressed.”
    A few minutes later, Fallon had donned his diaper and Gazi a skirt. Fallon came back into the living room. “Any sign of our friends?”
    “Nope. No sign,” said Wagner.
    Fallon held out a cigar. “Do you smoke? Thought not.” He lit the cigar himself and poured a drink of kvad. “Same with alcohol?”
    “Not for me, but you go ahead. I wouldn’t try to tell you what to do in your own house, even if you are committing a sin.”
    “Well, that’s something, Dismal Dan.”
    “Oh, you heard about that? Sure, I used to be the biggest sinner in the Cetic planets—maybe in the whole galaxy. You got no idea of the sins I committed.” Wagner sighed wistfully, as if he would like to commit some of these sins over again for old times’ sake. “But then I seen the light. Miss Gazi…”
    “She doesn’t understand you,” said Fallon.
    Wagner switched to his imperfect Balhibou. “Mistress Gazi, I wanted to say, you just don’t know what real happiness is until you see the light. All these material mundane pleasures pass away like a cloud of smoke in the glory of Him who rules the universe. You know all these gods you got on Krishna? They don’t exist, really, unless you want to say that when you worship the god of love you worship an aspect of the true God, who is also a God of Love. But if you’re going to worship an aspect of the true God, why not worship all of Him…”
    Fallon, nursing his drink, soon became bored with the homily. However, Gazi seemed to be enjoying it, so Fallon put up with the sermon to humor her. He admitted that Wagner had a good deal of magnetism when he chose to turn it on. The man’s long nose, quivered, and his brown eyes shone with eagerness to make a convert. When Fallon tossed in an occasional question or objection, Wagner buried him under an avalanche of dialectics, quotations, and exhortations which he could not have answered had he wished.
    After more than an hour of this, however, Roqir had set and the Zanido mob had not materialized. Fallon, growing hungry, broke into the conversation to say: “I hope you don’t mind my throwing you out, old man, but…”
    “Oh, sure, you gotta eat. I forget myself when I get all wrapped up in testifying to the truth. Of course I don’t mind taking pot-luck with you, if you aren’t gonna serve safqa or ambara…”
    “It’s nice to have seen you,” said Fallon firmly, pulling the sofa away from the door. “Here’s your turban, and watch out for temptation.”
    With a sigh, Wagner wound the long dirty strip of white cloth around his lank black hair. “Yeah, I’ll go, then. But here’s my card.” He handed over a pasteboard printed in English, Portuguese, and Balhibou. “That address is a boarding-house in the Dumu. Any time you feel low in the spirit, just come to me and I’ll radiate you with divine light.”
    Fallon said: “I suggest that you’ll get further with the Krishnans if you don’t start by insulting their ancient customs, which are very well adapted to their kind of life.”
    Wagner bowed his head. “I’ll try to be more tactful. After all I’m just a poor, fallible sinner like the rest of us. Well, thanks again. G’bye and may the true God bless you.”
     
    “Thank Bakh he’s gone!” said Fallon. “How about some food?”
    “I’m preparing it now,” said Gazi. “But I think you do Master Wagner an injustice. At least he seems to be that rarity: a man unmoved by thoughts of self.”
    Fallon, though a little unsteady from all the kvad that he had drunk during Wagner’s harangue, poured himself another. “Didn’t you hear the zaft inviting himself to dinner? I don’t trust these people who claim to be so unselfish. Wagner was an adventurer, you