Tower of Zanid by L. Sprague de Camp Page B

know—lived by his wits, and I should say he was still doing it.”
    “You judge everybody by yourself, Antane, be they Terran or Krishnan. I think Master Wagner is at base a good man, even though his methods be rash and injudicious. As for his theology I know not, but it might be true. At least his arguments sounded no whit more fallacious than those of the followers of Bakh, Yesht, Qondyor, and the rest.”
    Fallon frowned at his drink. His jagaini’s admiration for the despised Wagner nettled him, and alcohol had made him rash. To impress Gazi, and to change the subject to one wherein he could shine to better advantage, he broke his rule about never discussing business with her by saying: “By the way, if my present deal goes through, we should have Zamba practically wrapped up and tied with string.”
    “What now?”
    “Oh, I’ve made a deal. If I furnish some information to a certain party, I shall be paid enough to start me on my way.”
    “What party?”
    “You’d never guess. A mere mountebank and charlatan to all appearances, but he commands all the gold of Dakhaq. I met him at Kastambang’s this morning. Kastambang wrote out a draft, and he signed it, and the banker tore it into three parts and gave us each one. So if anybody can get all three parts, he can cash it either here or in Majbur.”
    “How exciting!” Gazi appeared from the kitchen. “May I see?”
    Fallon showed her his third of the draft, then put it away, “Don’t tell anybody about this.”
    “I’ll not.”
    “And don’t say I never confide in you. Now, how long before dinner?”

Chapter VIII
    Fallon was halfway through his second cup of shurab, the following morning, when the little brass gong suspended by the door went bonggg . The caller was a Zanido boy with a message, When he had sent the boy off with a five arzu tip, Fallon read:
     
    Dear Fallon: Fredro told me last night of your plans to attend Kastambang’s party tonight. Could you get around to see me today, bringing your invitation with you? Urgent.
    P. Mjipa, Consul
     
    Fallon scowled. Did Mjipa propose to interfere in his plans on some exalted pretext that Fallon would lower the prestige of the human race before “natives”? No, he could hardly do that and at the same time urge Fallon to proceed with the Safq project. And Fallon had to admit that the consul was an upright and truthful representative of the human species.
    So he had better go to see what Percy Mjipa had in mind, especially as he really had nothing better to do that morning. Fallon accordingly stepped back into his house to gather his gear.
    “What is it?” asked Gazi, clearing the table.
    “Percy wants to see me.”
    “What about?”
    “He doesn’t say.”
    Without further explanation, Fallon set forth-; the invitation snug in the wallet that swung from his girdle. Feeling less reckless with his money than he had the previous day, he caught an omnibus drawn by a pair of heavy draft-ayas on Asada Street over to the Kharju, where the Terran Consulate stood across the street from the government office building. Fallon waited while Mjipa held a long consultation with a Krishnan from the prefect’s office.
    When the prefect’s man had gone, Mjipa called Fallon into his inner office and began in his sharp, rhythmic tones: “Fredro tells me you’re taking Gazi to this binge at Kastambang’s. Is that right?”
    “Right as rain. And how does that concern the Consulate?”
    “Have you brought your invitation as I asked you to?”
    “Yes.”
    “May I see it, please?”
    “Look here, Percy, you’re not going to do anything silly like tearing it up, are you? Because I’m working on that blasted project of yours. No party, no Safq.”
    Mjipa shook his head. “Don’t be absurd.” He scrutinized the card. “I thought so.”
    “You thought what?”
    “Have you read this carefully?”
    “No. I speak Balhibou fluently enough, but I don’t read it very well.”
    “Then you didn’t read this