"Are you willing to let a grandfather fight your battles?" exclaimed another, kicking me smartly in the ribs.
With noise and confusion mounting everywhere, I felt that it was not a prudent moment to enter into a discussion of my strategies. The backward citizens could not appreciate that my sitting down was merely the triumph of a sharp mind and responsive body over brute force.
Cowardice, indeed!
"By Crok, where is he? Somebody point me toward that mountain of flab—!"
So saying, Conax batted aside assorted fish and personal items—beads, pebbles, even a few zebs—flung at him by the irate citizenry. A quick glance informed me that his position made it impossible for him to locate me at once. He was turned the other way, and still suffering many indignities. That gave me a chance to roll over. Stomach downward, I began to scuttle away in the manner of an ocean crab.
Kicked, gouged, bumped, I nevertheless managed to put a fair distance between myself and the quivering-thewed warrior, while all around, men and women rushed every which way, clamoring:
"Murther, murther!!" (That was the fishmonger. His outcries certainly didn't help restore order; I marveled at the lack of bravery of certain members of our populace.)
"Let's flee, it's a riot!"
"Too late! Here come the soldiers!"
These remarks reached my ears through a forest of churning legs. Intemperate slave-buyers were picking up benches and hurling them. Neighbor was assaulting neighbor without pretext or warning. Oaths grew more pungent, not to say blasphemous, and in the hurly-burly, everyone was attempting to escape at one time.
I ventured to rise into a semi-crouch, searching for my purchase of the morning. All at once I came face to face with a militaristic plug-ugly, one of a platoon no doubt hastily summoned when the fracas broke out. The whole mart remained in a turmoil, and of a sudden I heard the word "arrest" being bandied about.
I do not rightly know how many of Pytho's minions thronged into the slave mart on short notice. But it seemed to be regiments. The plug-ugly previously noted rushed me and attempted to wrap a rope around my chest.
"No, no, release me! I'm only passing through! I'm a messenger on my way to—"
He stoppered my protests with a blow of his fist.
It is not true, as was later charged, that I bit him on the wrist in sheer panic. There was no panic; I knew precisely what I was doing.
But I didn't manage to escape.
Of that confused and horrendous confrontation, I mercifully remember little more, for what happened next was humiliating in the extreme. I, lifelong resident of the Island Kingdom, was arrested without a warrant and hustled off. Of course, quite a few others were in like position, as I discovered when my senses unfogged.
A straggling procession of two or three dozen Atlanteans limped along in a direction all too familiar. Soldiers flanked the line of prisoners. It seemed that an unusually large number guarded me, fore, aft, and to either side. I soon learned why.
The various citizens swept into the official net gestured rudely—not to say ferociously—whenever my eye chanced to meet theirs.
Swiveling my head, I espied Aphrodisia behind me. She lifted her nose and gazed elsewhere.
Further back, restrained by thick cords, the ends of which were held by fully a dozen men, Conax saw me staring. He began to lunge like a wild beast after a meal. The soldiers fought to hold him, for he seemed ready to burst his bonds by sheer expansion and contraction of his thews.
In short, I had the distinct impression that virtually all of those who hadn't escaped held me personally responsible for their arrest. Of weak moral fiber, they obviously hadn't the stomach for accusing the true perpetrator—Conax. So the guilt became mine. I kept my head down and studied my toes, wondering how I could extricate myself from this predicament.
As I feared, our route led directly to a grim structure near the palace. We were thrust into a queue on the main floor, inspected by a soldier with tablet and stylus, and forced to make our marks. Then we were led downward at least two flights, to the foul, airless confines of the dungeons.
As we passed along the damp passage, other prisoners—dregs of our Island society!—idled between the bars and exchanged comments at our expense:
"Say, isn't that old Hoptor? Did your grapes run away and report you to the authorities?"
"Notice that redhead. Oh, sergeant! What about putting her in my cell? I get chilly at night."
"Who's the muscle man wearing all those hides? Some carnival entertainer?"
This last provoked Conax to a maniacal howl. Before the soldiers could react, he flashed his hands through the bars and half throttled the unfortunate who had failed to recognize his kingly demeanor.
I grew more dismayed every moment, for I knew that I might be in for some unpleasantness when I was abandoned in one of the cells with my fellow captives. And so it came to pass, when we were herded into a large barred enclosure.
Instantly I found myself ringed by antagonists. They backed me slowly into an offal-strewn corner. I raised my hands.
"One moment, friends! If you'll give me leave to explain—"
"You got us into this, you pandering rogue!" exclaimed a matron whose eye makeup had been ludicrously smeared. The others growled assent to her charge.
I looked in vain at Aphrodisia. With arms crossed over her bosoms—it was fiendish cold in those dripping cellars!— she was content to remain at the back of the pack, smugly enjoying my discomfort.
"Let me through!" boomed a voice. "I'll tally up his accounts!"
But Conax was thrust back by the others.
"It's just as much your fault, you ill-bred foreigner. Leave this to us!"
Conax's thews vibrated vigorously. "What, balk me? Stand aside, you crawling cravens—!"
This outburst was jeered, and he was punched roundly by the crowd, there being safety in numbers. In a moment, he subsided. He withdrew to sulk and shoot menacing glances in my direction. I caught his remark to the effect that the citizens would chant a different anthem when his looting, raping, murdering reavers arrived to rescue him.
Growling once more, the crowd shuffled forward in my direction. But having frowned for a lengthy period, the gods saw fit to change their mood.
A spear rattled on the bars. Metal clanged metal. A burly soldier announced:
"Here's lunch, you dogs."
The reeking swillpot poured its unwholesome fumes over the entire cell, causing many gasps. The matron fainted upon the befouled straw.
Someone sampled the brew, and spat it out. Someone else suggested I be placed headfirst in the pot.
"Wait, wait!" I protested. "If you'll only give me leave to speak to the officer in charge, perhaps I can remedy our plight. You forget that Hoptor the Vintner is not without friends in Atlantis."
"All right," was the decision. "You have one minute. Then it's into the pot with you."
"Sergeant? Sergeant, in heaven's name—!" I rattled the bars noisily. When that scowling worthy presented himself, I leaned forward and whispered, "It's urgent that you take a message to the commander of the prison. Good Menos is still in charge, isn't he?"
"He is. But he's out to lunch."
"The moment he returns, inform him that Hoptor the Vintner wishes to speak to him. Be sure to mention my name."
"Why should I?"
"Because if you don't, he's liable to demote you. There is a certain matter of two female teachers of mathematics — and a pickle-shaped birthmark—" Switching tactics, I gestured grandly. "But see here! I'll not bandy with lesser fry."
"Fancy this," exclaimed the soldier. "Being ordered about by a fat-shanked jailbird. Any other instructions for me, porky?"
All my years of assiduously cultivating citizens of every stamp, from one end of fair Atlantis to the other, came to my assistance once more, in the form of a prisoner down the hall who chimed in:
"If that's truly Hoptor, friend, you had better convey the message. The Vintner has influence in
unusual quarters."
The sergeant reflected upon this. Without answering yea or nay, he took himself away up the slimy corridor. Putting on a good front, I turned to my fellow-prisoners.
"You'll see, we'll get results—and soon!"
We certainly did—though not as I anticipated!
About an hour later, soldiers invaded the cell. Most of the citizens were hustled out, to their surprise and glee. Only Conax, Aphrodisia, and I were restrained behind a barricade of spears.
"What's this new indignity?" I cried. "They're being let go and we're not?"
"They're to be fined for disturbing the peace," replied the sergeant whom I had sent on the mission.
"Did you not carry word to Menos?"
"I did, and it's on his orders that you three are being detained. However, he did instruct us to take you to the roof and permit you to exercise." He seized me by the cowl of my cloak. "Menos will speak to you there, you—influence-peddler!"
"Good-bye, Hoptor, and many thanks!" chorused the citizens, trooping off up the stairs to freedom.
Aphrodisia, Conax and I were led up another stairway. The barbarian had fallen into a sullen silence, nibbling his lips and glowering from under his brows. As we were hustled along, I contrived to place myself next to Aphrodisia.
"Don't worry, dear," I whispered. "I'm sure my friendship with Menos will get us out."
She tossed her red curls and said to Conax, "Would you be so good as to inform this person that, even though he purchased me, I am not speaking to him?"
"Tell him yourself, you devil's daughter," Conax returned, in a pet.
Severely short of breath from climbing several flights, I emerged into an unnatural darkness. The spacious roof of the drab old building was being lashed by a stiff wind. And instead of clear blue heavens above, my eyes beheld a sky of fast-sailing gray clouds. Indeed, it looked as if night was nigh. Beyond the rooftops and the seawall, the mighty ocean was a frenzy of foam.
Perhaps three dozen souls who had fallen victim to Atlantean justice were tottering back and forth on the roof, watched by Pytho's armored bullies. Yonder at the parapet, I spied a familiar figure—seedy old Babylos. Instead of exercising, he stood with head thrown back, regarding the clouds with mad concentration.
Conax and Aphrodisia moved off, the latter shivering because of her near-nudity. This aroused lascivious stares and remarks from prisoners and guards, you may be sure.
There was a sudden tug at my sleeve. I turned to confront emaciated, one-eyed Menos.
"I received your message, Hoptor."
"Then I trust you will shortly rectify the mistake."
He scratched a white eyebrow and sucked a yellow tooth.
"Uh—mistake?"
"Definitely. Why weren't we freed with the rest?"
"Because, old friend, I have orders to the contrary."
"What?" I exclaimed, feigning horror. "Can my ears be hearing aright? Is this the same Menos who, through my intervention, was relieved of the burden of disproving not one but two separate charges of paternity levied by those lewd lady mathematics teachers? Am I listening to the same keeper of the royal jails who was set free from the haunting memory of a birthmark shaped like a pickle?"
"Must you keep mentioning that wench's particular—?"
"I certainly must, until friendship repays friendship!"
Leaning close—and giving me a whiff of his leek-perfumed breath, I don't mind saying!—he confided, "Hoptor, I would swing the prison doors open if I could. I am ever in your debt—just like a majority of the population."
"Those curs in the dungeon had rather short memories. They would have mauled me for starting the melee at the mart. In truth, that blustering son of the steppes caused the entire affair."
"You refer to that one over there, the brute who calls himself King Conax?"
"Who else?"
"A desperate sort, I'm advised."
"Down in the dungeon," I went on, "I distinctly glimpsed at least three people for whom I've done favors. Did they remember? Did they acknowledge it? Did they even know me? They did not—except as objects of their wrath! Now," I added, with as much significance as I could muster, "it seems that even older, truer friends suffer the same convenient lapse of memory."
"There is nothing I can do, Hoptor!"
"Why not?"
"Because Captain Num himself inspected the roster of prisoners. And personally made a mark beside your name—"
"That vengeful pretty-boy!" I cried, flailing my fists at heaven.
"—not to mention the name of your—ah—vintage. Num insisted that she is General Pytho's property."
"Oh? I figured he would want to get rid of her. Well, no doubt he weighed the choices, and found toadying to Pytho more advantageous than disposing of a romantic rival."
"The captain also marked the name of Conax, who has been under observation ever since he arrived in fair Atlantis. Conax has been identified as a troublemaker and undesirable. For one thing, he's started a whole string of tavern fights. Thus, for various reasons, I have strict orders to hold all three of you, until—"
He trailed off in somewhat ominous fashion, casting his eyes to the cloud-streaming heavens.
"In the name of the gods, don't leave me dangling, Menos! We are to be held until what happens?"
"I don't think you'll be long in discovering that, Hoptor. I am informed that this very afternoon—"
Again the melodramatic pause, which only served to set my skin to crawling. Thereupon he grew even more confidential.
"I would repay your past help tenfold. But take my word — the situation forbids it."
I drew myself up wrathfully. "In other words, as a venal bureaucrat, your position in the system means more to you than debts of honor?"
"Actually, it's not my position that concerns me, it's my head."
"But at very least, you can tell me what is supposed to happen this aft—"
"Look, look! Calamity and corruption have at last reaped their harvest!"
This strident, not to say startling, cry electrified the entire rooftop, causing all heads to swivel in the direction in which mad Babylos was pointing.
His palsied finger indicated the high heavens, across which, unless my eyes confounded me, fully a dozen disc-shaped apparitions flashed at fantastical speed.
The shapes radiated a strange, brilliant light. In addition, they maintained a uniform distance one from another. Without warning, all turned left—or southward—simultaneously.
Soldiers began falling to their knees. Aphrodisia gripped the parapet. Even Conax appeared dumbfounded.
"There are the signs!" Babylos shrieked, the very figure of a prophet, his long white beard flapping in the wind. "Those are the manifestations I have seen in the heavens before! There is my proof that the gods are displeased!"
"Have we all gone crazy?" Menos said. "I see them too."
"You're not the only one," I told him, rushing over to the old soothsayer. "Babylos, I thought your talk of heavenly discs was mere prattling. Forgive me, can you?"
"Vindicated!" he crowed, beating his fists on the parapet gleefully. "Perhaps now the people will heed my words — recognize that the imperial line has rotted—O Geriasticus, thy hour approaches! O Voluptua, thy depravities bring forth divine wrath! Doom gathers round fair Atlantis—doom, doom—!"
And, kicking and thrashing, he fell to the roof. There he writhed in a lively fashion. But, it must be admitted, he seemed unusually happy the while!
As for me, my flesh stirred—not to say crept!—at the unnatural sight of those eerie lights veering again. Traveling with incredible swiftness, they came streaking back across the heavens. In a trice they were directly overhead.
Aphrodisia flung herself into my arms. "Protect me, Hoptor, I'm terrified!"
"I—I—I thought you weren't speaking to me."
"That was before those lights appeared. Is it the end of the world?"
"Certainly not," I replied, though with little conv
iction. "There must be some natural explanation—"
"Doom, doom, that's the explanation!" Babylos wailed, rolling about in animated fashion. Two trembling soldiers whacked him with spear-butts, silencing his outcries temporarily.
"Had I my broadsword," Conax announced, "I would fly at those phantasmagorical lanterns and slay them, slay in red fury, slay—!" And he began to hop and caper, making passes with an imaginary blade, performing what I supposed must be a ritual dance of his native country. Aphrodisia snuffled and snuggled closer.
"At least those dreadful lights take his mind off you."
"Oh? I thought you wanted me dispatched to the nether regions."
"I keep thinking I should want that! But I just haven't the heart to see it happen, no matter how ill you treat me. Love is unpredictable, isn't it, Hoptor? And bittersweet, now that we obviously have little time left to enjoy it. Do you suppose there's a prison chaplain who could—?"
"And with my killing iron, I'd skewer you, too, you thrice-branded barrel of bilge!" Conax informed me, as if to make certain I realized he still bore a grudge. "I'd do it with my own mighty hands, this instant—but that's letting you off too easily!"
Just then, another party of soldiers appeared. They demanded to know what all the fuss was about.
I swung and discovered that, in a twinkling, the discs of light had vanished to the eastward.
Menos rushed up and whispered:
"I'm afraid the rope's run out, Hoptor. Those men have orders to bring you, your wench, the barbarian, and that traitor Babylos before none other than Geriasticus X himself."
"For vindication!" I announced, mainly for Aphrodisia's benefit. Privately, I was concerned that the mass judgment might have an entirely different outcome!
* Five *
Brazen horns tootled. Massed tympani bumped and thumped in an ostentatious way. Two mighty metal doors, each displaying the bossed sigil of the Geriastic kings, began to swing inward.
The doors squeaked. The sycophants of the imperial palace were too caught up in their pell-mell pursuit of pleasure to handle menial housekeeping chores!