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There was a discreet knock on the door.
"Bloody ... what?"
"Your Highness," Dobrescu said diplomatically, "I know you have a conference in a minute, but I'd like to talk to you about Cord."
Roger shoved himself to his feet, shaking his head and breathing heavily, as Despreaux rearranged her clothes again.
"Come!" the Heir Tertiary to the Throne of Man said grimly.
"What now?" Sergeant Despreaux whispered.
* * *
Most of the supplies the Krath had laid in were stored in boxes of boiled turom leather. At first, going over the collection in the citadel's storerooms had been a bit like a very leathery Christmas. But after a few hours of opening boxes and cataloging contents, Poertena and Denat were getting worn out.
"Dried and salted fish." Denat slammed the top of the box closed and resealed it. "More damned dried and salted fish! I'm surprised these Krath didn't grow gills."
"T'ey needed to grow some damned brains," Poertena said. The company was still chuckling about Julian's find. "You scummies are frigging weird when it gets cold."
"Well, at least we don't go around bitching about a decently warm day," Denat snapped back. "How many times have I seen one of you Marines writhing on the ground over a little heat?!"
"Hey, I t'ink t'at was Pentzikis, and heatstroke's no joke!" Poertena protested. "I was only kidding! Get a pocking grip—we're almost done here."
"Well, pock you, you shrimp!" the Mardukan snarled. "I'm done. You finish. If you can even lift the boxes!"
"Denat, what's eating you?" Poertena asked, and there was genuine alarm in his tone. The Mardukan was trembling, as if he were having a fit. "We can quit t'is if we need to. You don' look so good."
"I'm fine!" Denat bellowed. He grasped his horns and yanked furiously at them. "I'm fine. I'll ... aaaarh!"
Poertena thought very hard about keeping his mouth shut, but he'd just noticed something, and it was really bothering him.
"Uh, Denat?" the armor asked carefully. "Did you know t'at t'e bases of your horns were swelling?"
* * *
Roger smiled and accepted the candied apsimon from O'Casey.
"Ah, for the days of kate fruit!" he sighed.
The main command group had gathered, and he turned to the newest member of their party.
"So, Harvard. What in hell are you doing here?"
The IAS journalist set down his basik leg and wiped his hands fastidiously.
"It was a routine assignment, Your Highness. Not much has been done on Marduk, since there's not a regular passenger line that stops here. There was an IAS piece back in your grandfather's time, when they were first pla
He took a sip of wine and shook his head.
"I knew as soon as I landed that things had changed. The only information on the planet available was the earlier IAS article and two studies of Mardukan sociology and planetography. They didn't say much, but there were obvious sociological changes in the Krath capital. Among other things, when I tried to get updated photos of their religious celebrations, I was barred from their temples."
"Updated?" O'Casey asked. "The previous IAS team had gotten pictures? And included them in its article?"
"Yes, the Krath were very open about their ceremonies," Mansul said. "It was a highly ascetic religion, similar in some ways to Buddhism, stressing personal restraint and meditation. The ceremonies involved small sacrifices of grain and meat to the God of Fire. Most of the contributions actually went to the priests, who were also the primary researchers and archivists, to pay for their upkeep. I don't know what they're doing now, but the rate of sacrifices has certainly gone up, if the smoke from the fires is any indication."
"You might say there have been a few ... liturgical changes," Roger said darkly. "I wonder what bright person introduced them to the concept of human sacrifice?"
Mansul choked on his wine.
"Human sacrifice?"
"Well, Mardukan, mostly," Roger said. "Ca
"I take it you find their transition ... unusual?" O'Casey asked Mansul.
"To put it mildly." The IAS photographer wiped daintily at the spilled wine. "All of the source material on the Krath religion insists that it's an ascetic faith, similar in some respects to Taoism in ancient China. Or, at least, that was the case when the original IAS team came through. Its sacrificial aspects were personal: meditation, and acts of generosity. They didn't even sacrifice turom!"
"Well, they sacrifice their slaves, now," the chief of staff said flatly. "And then they eat them. We saw the inside of the temples. And the kitchens and the bone pits."
"Are all the slaves from the Shin?" the journalist asked.
"I don't know," O'Casey admitted, "and our local Shin guide seems to be missing."
"She's tending to Cord," Roger said. He glanced at Mansul. "It's a long story."
"I like long stories," Mansul admitted. "Once they're boiled down, they make excellent articles. Why don't you tell it to me?"
"Where to start?" Roger asked.
"Start at the begi
"—and fill in all the stuff in the middle." Roger nodded. "Okay."
"But maybe later," the Marine added. "We need to determine what happens next. Mr. Mansul, you came from the port?"
"Yes, and there are problems there, too."
"Saints," Roger said.
"Really? That I hadn't noticed. What I did notice was that the governor did not want any humans drifting out of the compound. He hadn't been apprised of my visit, and he acted like I was an Imperial spy. Frankly, I was starting to wonder if I was going to be an 'accidental death' when one of the locals offered to smuggle me out. I fell in with the Shin, and I was with a village south of Mudh Hemh when a Krath raiding party fell on the group I was filming. They took the Shin with them to Kirsti, but left me here, presumably for repatriation. Or maybe to wait for the governor to recover me. And then you happened along."
"How were you 'smuggled out'?" Pahner asked.
"There are breaks in the defenses," Mansul replied. "Contraband moves in and out." He shrugged. "I was just one more package."
"Now that's interesting," Roger said.
"Isn't it, just?" the captain agreed.
"Oh, there's more," Mansul said. "There's a small ... colony, might be the right word ... of humans living among the Shin. Others who have run afoul of the governor's bully boys. There's about fifteen or twenty of them, and supplies are fu
"From where?" Julian asked.
"That I don't know, although I think the local chieftain does. These people aren't given to charity. He'd only be supporting the refugees if there was a reason."
"Satan," Kosutic sighed. "Complicateder and complicateder."
"Yeah," Roger said. "And no. The basics are the same, maybe even easier, if their security is so lax smugglers can move in and out at will. We need to get to Mudh Hemh and make contact with this Shin leader."
"Pedi Gastan," Mansul inserted.
"Pedi Gastan?" Pahner repeated sharply.
"Why, yes." Mansul looked surprised. "You've heard of him?"
"You might say that." Roger's expression was a cross between a grimace and a smile. "Truth being stranger than fiction, we rescued his daughter from pirates." Mansul blinked, and the prince chuckled. "But what I don't quite understand," he went on, "is why we didn't hear anything about this 'colony' of humans from her." He gazed at the photographer with just an edge of suspicion. "She's been very open with us, as far as we can tell, and she's never even heard of humans, much less anything about any refugees her father might be shielding."