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"What do you know about it, hawk?" Sharts said. "Common criminals are executed by beheading."
"What difference does it make?" Hank said.
"It makes a great deal of difference," Sharts said. "It's the difference between knowledge and ignorance. I'm very anxious to know what those dead people were and why they were hanged. Knowing that might have some influence on my conduct in the near future. It might mean the difference between my being killed or living. Besides, knowledge for its own sake is desirable."
"A brain can only hold so much," Balthii said. "What's the use with cramming it full of trivial junk?"
"Your brain can only hold so much," Sharts said, and he snorted. "Birdbrain!"
Balthii bristled her feathers. There was no telling what might have happened then, a fight perhaps, if they had not been interrupted. Hank heard a flapping, and he was startled when something landed on his other shoulder.
"Bargma! Damn it, you almost made me jump out of my skin!"
"There's a patrol coming toward us," the owl said. "About half a mile away."
"How many?" Sharts said.
"Twelve men on deer and two camels."
Sharts wet his finger and held it up.
"The wind's still coming from the northwest. Pass the word along to turn in at the first gate on our left. Quick, you two!"
The birds launched themselves from Hank's shoulder. His jacket was being ruined by talons, he thought, irrelevantly. Not to mention that it needed cleaning every day.
A minute later, Blogo's lantern was turned toward them, and its bright eye swung. The cavalcade went through a wood and wire gate which had been opened with only a little squeaking. The raiders quickly left the narrow road leading to the farmhouse and cut across the grass to a copse of trees. They waited under its darkness until the lanterns of the patrol had disappeared around the bend a quarter mile north of them.
Sharts asked Unwaz how far they had to go before they reached their hiding place for today.
"A mile."
They went slowly, not wishing to hurry and so make noise which might wake up some farmer or beast. Their destination was a farmhouse where the owner and his son waited for them inside a barn. Unwaz introduced the members inside the building after its doors had been closed. The Gillikins looked with awe at the two giants, Sharts and Hank.
"My family and animals are all right, they hate Erakna," Abraam the farmer said. "You'll be safe while you sleep here. Only..."
"Only what?" Sharts said fiercely.
"Only... there's a mouse in the barn. Barabbaz there," he pointed at a large black tomcat, "hasn't been able to catch it yet. I suppose I'm overly worried. After all, what does a mouse care who's queen or what we humans do as long as it can fill its belly with my stolen grain? But..."
"It might think that if it went to the queen and squealed on us, it would get free food for the rest of its life and not have to worry about cats, right?" Sharts said.
"It's not too worried about Barabbaz," Abraam said. "I'm telling you, that cat is the laziest critter this side of the mountains."
"I do all right," Barabbaz said, and he licked his leg.
"Yes, but not for me."
"Enough of this idle chatter," Sharts said. "The mouse might not be dangerous to us, but we can't take a chance. You, cat, get busy. Flush out that mouse."
"Mouse?" Bargma said. "Where? Where?"
The owl had just returned from a search for a high beam to sleep on.
"You can help the cat," Sharts said. "If he'll get off his dead haunches and do what he's supposed to do."
"I can appreciate your concern," Barabbaz said, his yellow eyes glowing redly in the lantern light, "but, just now, I don't feel like hunting. Some other time, perhaps."
"No perhaps!" Sharts roared.
Barabbaz licked a paw and then sauntered towards a dark corner. He said over his shoulder, "Go screw yourself."
"What? What?" Sharts said. "Look, cat, do you know whom you're speaking to?"
"A pile of manure with fu
Sharts gargled something and ran towards the cat. Barabbaz sprinted up a pile of hay, leaped onto a beam, jumped to another, and flashed onto the loft. There he turned and snarled at Sharts.
"Blogo," Sharts said to the Rare Beast, "you get up in the loft and chase that damned pussy down here. I'll wring his neck like it's a bell."
Blogo was smiling, but whether it was in anticipation of the cat's demise or amusement because his arrogant chief had been insulted, no one could determine. He started up the ladder to the loft, but Hank said, "Hold it!"
Sharts turned and glared at him.
"You've probably scared the mouse out of the barn with all that noise," Hank said. "And if it overheard us, you can bet that it's hotfooting it now towards Wugma with an interesting story for the queen. The cat doesn't matter; the mouse does."
"I'm the chief here!" Sharts said. "I give the orders!"
Hank spoke to the owl. "Bargma, you should get outdoors and see if there is a mouse there."
Hank walked past Sharts, who was standing stiffly, fists clenched. He pushed open one of the barn doors, and the owl flew out. Hank turned and said, "Sharts, my people have a saying. ‘A cat may look at a queen.' One of its meanings is that cats are privileged, and their natures are not to be judged by human standards. Anyway, you're too big a man to take notice of such a creature. What would people say if they heard that our mission was jeopardized because you were chasing a cat?"
"That's telling him," Barabbaz said.
"You shut up and keep out of this!" Hank roared. "You've done enough harm as it is!"
Blogo, halfway up the ladder, looked past his long knobbed nose at his leader. He said, "What do I do, boss?"
Sharts unclenched his fingers, and he spoke softly. "The Earthman is at least half right. The cat is only a minor nuisance, a pest. Why should I, Sharts, bother with it? Though I'll squeeze his head until his eyes pop out if I get hold of him! Very well. Everybody pitch in and look for the mouse. You hawks get up there where we can't go and look for it. We'll ransack the barn if we have to take the hay apart blade by blade."
In a sotto voce to Hank, he said, "We'll have to talk about your ma
Hank suppressed his retort and began looking in a manger. The bull there said, "There's no mouse in here."
"You're probably right," Hank said politely, "but we can't risk overlooking anything."
The search had just started when Bargma spoke from outside. "Open the door. I got it."
A Gillikin, Smiirn, pushed the door out, and the owl flew in. Smiirn closed the door. Bargma lit on the edge of the loft. Her beak held a gray mouse. The creature, one-third smaller than a Terrestrial housemouse, was not struggling, but its eyes were bright with terror.
Bargma had no trouble talking clearly though her mouth was closed.
"It was just leaving the farm and turning onto the road when I swooped down and caught it. It must be your mouse."
"It could be any mouse," Sharts said. Hank did not like to agree with him, but this time the giant might be right.
The farmer, Abraam, looked up at the cat. He was sitting on the edge of the loft with his front legs folded.
"Barabbaz, is this the mouse?"
The cat yawned and said, "It's a mouse. Any fool can see that."
"Damn it!" the farmer said. "This is no time for your tomfoolery! Is it the one you couldn't catch?"
"Not couldn't," Barabbaz said. "Just wouldn't. I was saving it for when I got especially bored."
"Then it is the right one."
"The mouse doesn't think so, I'd say."
The farmer threw his hands up. "Godalmighty, why do I put up with him?"
"It's the other way around," Barabbaz said.
The mouse spoke then in a pitiful wavering voice.