Author's Note

While the reader may, naturally, pronounce the names in this tale as he
pleases, for Penembic names I had the following scheme in mind: ue and oe as
in German; ui (obscured) as in "biscuit"; other vowels more or less as in
Spanish and consonants as in English. Hence Ayuir rhymes with "fire";
Chaluish, with "demolish"; Chui-vir, with "severe." The h in Sahmet, Fahramak
is sounded: "sah-h'm-met," etc. The scheme is based upon the phonetics of
Turkish.

THE CHRLET MflMMOTH

T WAS THE HOUR OF THE COAT, ON THE THIRTEENTH OF

the Month of the Unicorn, in the republic of Ir, one of the twelve city-states
of Novaria.

In the tavern called the Scarlet Mammoth, in the city of Orynx, a slim, well-
dressed young man toyed absently with a glass of wine and watched the door.
Although this man wore Novanan garb, there was about him a suggestion of the
exotic. His skin was darker than that of most Novarians, although the latter
were a mainly brunet folk. Furthermore, his ornaments were gaudier than those
of the Land of the Twelve Cities.

Across the common room sat an older man: a chunky fellow of medium height,
with a plain, nondescript face, clad in garments of sober black. If the first
man looked foppish, the second looked ostentatiously austere.

While the tall youth watched the door, the chunky man, now and then sipping
from a leathern drinking jack of ale, watched the tall youth. Sweat beaded the
foreheads of both men, for the weather was unseasonably hot.

The door flew open. In stamped six noisy, rough-looking men, covered with
sweat and dust and cursing the heat. They seized the largest table in the
common room and hammered on it. The tallest man, a burly, ruddy fellow with
deep-set dark eyes under heavy black brows and a close-cut black beard,
shouted:

"Ho, Theudus! Can't a gang of honest workmen get a drink, when their throats
are caked with dust thick enough to raise a crop in?"

1

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"Coming, coming, Master Nikko, if you'll stop that hellish racket," grumbled
the taverner, appearing with his fists full of jacks of ale, a thick finger
hooked around each handle. As he set the vessels down, he asked: "Be this your
last day, working out of Orynx?"

"That's right," said the big man, across whose face a sword-cut had left a
scar and put a kink in his nose. "We move to Evrodium on the morrow. Our
orders are to make the aqueduct swing south, following the high ground, before
reaching Ir City."
"I should think you'd cut directly across to Ir," said Theudus, "to shorten
the total length."

"We would, but the Syndicate would have to pay for an arcade several leagues
long, and you know how they are with money; they give it out as a glacier
gives out heat. When the thing is built, they'll doubtless complain that the
grade is too low and the channel ciogs up. 1 warned 'em, but they wouldn't
listen. No matter what route we pick, we poor surveyors get blamed."

"They've been talking about this project for years," said the taverner.

"Aye. They should have built it years agone, but I suppose they hoped that
Zevatas would send enough rain to fill the old aqueducts. They did nought till
water got so scarce that they had to ration baths. You ought to smell the air
in that underground city! They could cut it up and sell it for fertilizer.
Well, what's tor dinner?"

As the men gave their orders, the slim young man approached the surveyors'
table. Standing behind the big man, he rapped the latter on the shoulder with
a peremptory forefinger. As the chief surveyor looked up, the younger man,
speaking Novarian with an accent, said:

"You, there! Are you not |onan of Ardamai?"

The big man's eyes narrowed, but his face remained blank and his voice level.
"Never heard of him. I'm Nikko of Kortoli, as my mates here will attest."

"But that is — well, come over to my table, where we can talk."

"Certes, my unknown friend," said the surveyor in

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

no friendly tone. Carrying his ale, he rose and followed the other back to his
table. He sat down beside the younger one, while his hand strayed to the knife
at his belt. "Now, sir, what can I do for you?"

The other gave a high-pitched giggle. "Come, good my sir. Everyone has heard
of Jorian of Ardamai, once king of Xylar, who fled his official decapitation
and has been hiding—ow!"

"Be quiet," murmured the big man, who had slid an arm around the younger man's
waist and then, with his other hand, had thrust his knife so that its point
gently pricked the skin of the other's belly.

"How — how dare you!" cried the slim young man. "You cannot order me around!
You durst not harm one of my rank!"

"Want to find out? An you'd not mess up Theudus' nice clean floor with your
guts, you shall do exactly as told."

"B-but, my dear Jorian, I know you! Doctor Karadur said that Nikko of Kortoli
was one of your false names, and that is how I tracked you hither—eh, stop
that!"

"Then shut up, idiot! What has Karadur to do with this? Keep your voice down!"
"He gave me a letter to you—"

"Who are you, anyway?"

"M-my name is Zerltk-son of Doerumik son of—"

"An uncouth name, if ever I heard one. Whence come you? Penembei?"

" Precisely, sir. The great "city of Iraz, in fact. Now—"

"And Karadur is in Iraz?"

"Aye, Master jor—ow\"

"The next time you speak that name aloud, I'll let you have it up to the hilt.
Let's see this letter."

Zerlik looked down his long, hooked, high-bridged nose. "Really, sir, a
gentleman like myself is not accustomed to such unmannerly—"

"The letter, your lordship, unless you want steel in your guts. Did Karadur
hire you as messenger?"

"Really, good my sir! Persons of my quality do not work for pay. It is our
duty to serve the court, and my

3

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

task is that of royal messenger. When His Majesty, knowing me fluent in
Novarian, commanded me to bear Karadur's missive..."

During this speech, the big man had pried the seal off the letter and unfolded
the sheet of reed paper. He frowned at the spidery writing on the crackly,
golden-brown surface, then called:

"O Theudus! A candle, if you please." When the candle had been brought, the
big man read the following epistle'

Karadur the Mulvaman to his stout comrade in the adventure of the Kist of
Avlen, greetings.

If you would recover your little   Estrildis, and if you remember   enough of your
early training in clockmaking to   put in order the clocks on the   Tower of
Kumashar, then come to Iraz with   Master Zerlik. The task should   not be
difficult, for I understand that   these clocks were installed by   your sire in
the first place. Farewell.

jorian of Ardamai murmured: "The old fellow has better sense than you, Zerlik
my boy. You'll notice he mentioned no names—"

He broke off as a movement on the other side of the room caught his eye. The
man in plain, dark clothing laid a coin on his table, rose, and walked quietly
out. Jorian caught a glimpse of his profile against the darkening sky, and
then the door closed on the man.
"Theudus!" Jorian called.

"Aye, Master Nikko?"

"Who was that who just left?"

The taverner shrugged. "I know not. He's been here all afternoon, sipping a
little ale and watching about him."

"Could you place him by his speech-"

"He said little; but what he said was, meseemcd, with a southern accent."

Jorian grunted. "With those clothes and a southern accent, he has 'Xylar'
written all over him, as surely as if he bore the crimson hourglass on his
tunic."

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"Are you not jumping to conclusions on scant evidence'" said Zerlik.

"Mayhap, but in my position one becomes sensitive to such things. If it make
you happy, Master Zerlik, know that you're not the only stupid man in the
room. I should have noticed this wight as soon as I came in, but I was
thinking of other things."

"Mean you the Xylarians are still fain to cut your head off and throw it up
for grabs, by way of choosing the next king? A beastly custom, I always
thought."

"You'd find it even beastlier if it were your head. Well, I shall have to
accept Karadur's invitation in-stanter. But travel costs money, and I have but
little of the precious stuff."

"That is all right. Doctor Karadur entrusted me with a sum adequate for the
purpose."

"Good. How came you hither?"

"In my chariot," said Zerlik.

"You drove all the way from Iraz' 1 knew not that the coastal road was good
for wheeled traffic."

"It is not. My man and 1 had to dismount a hundred times, to manhandle the
thing over rocks and out of holes. But we made it."

"Where is this man of yours?"

"Ayuir is in the kitchen. You would not expect him to dine with his master,
would you?"

Jorian shrugged. After a pause, Zerlik said: "Well, sir, and what next?"

"I'm thinking. We have perhaps half an hour wherein to flee the Scarlet
Mammoth ere a squad of Royal Guardsmen from Xylar arrives with nets and
lariats. Are you staying here?"
"Aye. I have a private room. But surely you do not propose to leave tonight?"

"Yes I do, and forthwith."

"But my dinner!" cried Zerlik.

"Bugger your dinner; corpses have no appetite. If you hadn't blabbed my
name... Anyway, command your man to hitch up your chariot whilst we gather our
gear. What's your idea of whither we should go?"

"Why, back the way I came—through Xylar and along

5

THE CLOCKS OF 1RAZ

the coastal road, at the foot of the Lograms, and down the coast to Penembei
to Iraz."

(orian shook his head grimly. "You'll never see me in Xylar—not whilst they
seek to chop off my head."

"What, then- Shall we send eastward to Vindium and around the other end of the
Lograms?"

"Not practical. Twould take months, and the valley of the Jhukna is wild,
roadless land. Methinks we needs must go by sea."

"By sea!" Zerlik's voice rose to a squeak. "I hate the sea. Besides, what
would become of my beautiful chariot?"

"You and your man can take it back the way you came. I'll join you in Iraz as
soon as I can find passage."

"From what I hear, there is not much coastal shipping just now, with the
pirates of Algarth active off the coast. Besides, I was commanded to accompany
you, to render aid and assistance."

lorian thought that if any help were called for, it would be he who rendered
aid to this spoilt young fop rather than the other way round. But he merely
said:

"Then come with me, whilst your man takes the chariot. If we cannot find
passage on a coaster, we may have to sail our own ship, and that takes at
least two."

"Ayuir might steal my car and run off with it!"

"That, young sir, is your problem."

"Nor can I be expected to flit about the world without a single attendant,
like some wretched vagrant—"

"You'll learn, laddie. You'd be surprised what one can do when one puts one's
mind to it." Jorian rose. "In any event, we cannot sit here havering all
night. I go to pack and shall meet you back here in a quarter-hour. Tell your
man to be ready to drive us down the river road to Chemnis." He stepped back
to the large table and touched one of the surveyors on the arm. "Come up to
the dormitory a moment, Ikadion."

With a puzzled frown, the other followed forian up the creaking stairs. In the
dormitory, Jorian pulled his spare clothing, sword, and other possessions out
from under the bed. He donned the scabbard and jammed the

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

other gear into a stout canvas hag. As he worked he said:

"I fear I must run out on you, as the pard said to the lioness when the lion
returned home."

"You mean — you mean to leave the gang?"

"Aye. That makes you head surveyor. The Syndicate owes me for the work I've
done so far. Pray collect my pay and keep it against my return."

"When will that be, Nikko?"

"I know not. Perchance in a fortnight, perchance in a year."

"Whither away? Why the haste and mystery?"

"Say that 1 fear the blast of the wintry winds and the drip, drip, drip of the
rain. When and if I return, I'll seek you out and tell you about it—and also
collect my pay."

"The boys will be sorry to see you go. You drive them hard, but they think
you're a good boss."

"Tis good of you to say so. By rights you should have had my job."

"True, but 1 never could get the work out of them as you do. Did 1 hear that
foreign fellow call you 'lorian'?"

"Aye, but he had confused me with another man entirely."

With his duffel bag slung over his back and Ikadion following, lorian strode
to the head of the stair. Glancing over the scene below, he muttered: "Where's
that Zerlik?" Then he stepped back and knocked on the door of the private room
occupied by the Irazi.

"Coming, coming," said Zerlik's voice.

"Well, hurry up! Have you sent your man to get out the car-"

"Nay, Ayuir is in here helping me. You do not expect me to pack my own gear,
do you?"

Jorian sucked his breath through his teeth. "I've just packed mine without
dying of the effects. What do you want, an egg in your beer? Send the fellow
out; we have no time to squander."

The door jerked open. Zerlik said: "My good man,
7

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

if you think I will do my own chores like a common lout, just to meet your
convenience—"

jorian Bushed a dangerous red. At that moment, Zer-lik's servant, a small,
swarthy man, spoke timidly in his own tongue. Zerlik hriefly replied. Ayuir
picked up the massive wooden chest and issued from the room.

"One moment," said Zeriik. "I needs must give the room a last inspection, lest
I forget aught."

forian waited while the servant staggered down the stairs with the chest.
Ayuir set the box down near the door and scuttled out.

Zerlik came out of his room; he, Jorian, and Ikadion started down the stairs.
As they did-so, five men in plain black clothing entered the Scarlet Mammoth.
In the lead came the chunky man, who pointed to Jorian and shouted:

"There he is, hoys! Take him! King Jorian, I com-maud you in the name of the
kingdom of Xylar to surrender!"

The five rushed across the floor, circling around the table at which the
gaping surveyors sat. As one of the former started up the stairs, {orian swung
his duffel bag off his shoulder and hurled it at the man. The missile bowled
the fellow over, and the man behind him tripped over his body.

Before they could recover, Jonan's sword came out with a wheep. Jorian hurdled
the two sprawling figures and brought the blade down in a whistling cut on the
shoulder of the next intruder. The man screamed and staggered back, cloven
halfway to the breastbone. He sank to the floor in a swiftly widening pool of
blood.

Another black-clad man threw a net over Jorian's head. Jorian slashed at the
net but only entangled his sword in its meshes. He struggled to tear off the
net, but the men in black expertly drew it tighter about him, while one
stepped up behind him with a bludgeon.

"Surveyors, to me," roared forian. "Help! Zerlik, bear a hand! Theudus!"

Coming out of their daze, the surveyors rose to attack the men in black. Three
of the latter pulled out short swords. The surveyor had only daggers, but one

8

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

picked up a stool and smote the nearest Xylanan over the head.

Theudus appeared with a mallet. After hesitating to see who was fighting whom,
he waded in with the surveyors. Zerlik, after dancing excitedly about on the
fringe of the fray, ran to his chest, fumbled with a key, opened the chest,
and took out a light scimitar.
Assailed from all sides, the Xylarians left off co-cooning Jorian to   defend
themselves. Jorian tore and cut his way out of the net and fell upon   the foe.
Since not only was he the largest man in the room hut also his sword   had much
the longest reach, his reentry into the fray tipped the odds against   the
kidnappers.

The combatants swayed back and forth, stabbing, punching, grappling, falling
down and scrambling up again, hurling crockery, thrusting, slashing, swinging,
and kicking. The room resounded with the shouts of the fighters, the boom of
overturned furniture, and the crash of breaking tableware. Red blood spattered
the floor and stained the fighters' garments. The Red Mammoth trembled to the
stamping of feet. The dm of roars, yells, curses, and threats wafted into the
street, so that several Oryncians gathered about the door.

Outnumbered, the newcomers were soon overborne. Jorian sped a fierce thrust
through the body of one, while the Xylarian was engaged with Zerlik. As the
man fell, the remaining four set up a cry:

"Out! Flee! Save himself who can!"

The four burst through their opponents and out the door. Two dragged another,
half-stunned by a blow from Theudus' mallet. The three still on their feet
displayed slashed clothing and oozing wounds. The faees of two were masks of
blood from head wounds. A flourish of weapons sent the spectators fleeing, and
the quartet vanished into the gathering dark.

Inside, two surveyors bound up cuts, while Ikadion sat with head in hands,
nursing a growing lump on his pate from a Xylarian bludgeon. The first man
whom

9

THE CLOCKS OF [RAZ

Jorian had struck down was dead; the other coughed bloody froth.

"My nice tavern!" wailed Theudus, surveying the wreckage.

"We didn't do it wantonly, Master Theudus," said Jorian, leaning on his sword
and breathing hard. "Bear a hand with cleaning up, Floro. You, too, Vilerias.
Tot up the cost of breakage, mine host, and Master Zerlik will pay."

"What?" shrilled Zerlik.

"Charge it against the sum Karadur entrusted to you on my behalf."

"Are you in sooth the fugitive King Jorian of Xylar?" said a surveyor in an
awed tone.

Jorian ignored the question and turned to Theudus, who stood over the wounded
Xylarian. The taverner said:

"This fellow may linger for hours, but I misdoubt he'll survive- Someone
should fetch the constable; there must be an inquest on these manslayings."

"Inquest all you like, but without me," said Jorian. "I'm off with Master
Zerlik."
Theudus shook his head. "Tis not lawful, to leave town ere the magistrate has
dismissed you. There might be charges."

"I'm sorry. Whereas I am a reasonably law-abiding wight, I can't wait around
for another gang to lay me by the heels, whilst your men of the law mumble
gravely in their beards. Pay Master Theudus, O Zerlik." While Zerlik fumbled
with his purse, Jorian donned his hat and shouldered his duffel bag. "Now
let's forth!"

"But, Master forian!" said Zerlik. "It is all but dark."

"So much the better."

"But we shall get lost or overset the chariot—"

"Fear not; I'll drive. There's a moon, and I know the roads hereabouts."

Heavily laden with three men and their gear, Zerlik's chariot, drawn by a pair
of handsome Fedirum whites, reached the village of Evrodmm around midnight.
Zerlik climbed down shakily, saying:

10

THE CLOCKS OF 1RAZ

"Methought my last moment had come a hundred times, Master Jorian. Where got
you that skill with driving a car?"

fonan laughed. "I can do many things, some passing well and some not so well.
I'm probably the only wandering adventurer especially trained for the role."

When they had secured quarters, Zerlik asked Jorian to elucidate his last
remark. Over dinner, Jorian — who had a weakness for talk—explained.

"I got into the king business by happenstance. I was about your age and had
been apprenticed to various crafts, such as clockmaking and carpentry, and had
served a hitch in the army of Othomae. When that was over, I wandered into
Xylar to see what might turn up. I happened upon the drill field outside Xylar
City on the day of the casting of the Lot of Imbal, when they behead the old
king and toss his head to the crowd.

"When, not knowing this curious custom, I saw this dark, round thing whirling
towards me, I caught it without thinking. To my horror I found that I was the
new king of Xylar, having caught my predecessor's gory head.

"As soon as I learnt that the same fate awaited me five years thence, I sought
means to escape. I tried to flee, to bribe my way out, to persuade the
Xylarians to change their damned system, and even to drink myself to death,
all without avail.

"Then I learnt that, with the help of Doctor Kara-dur's spells, I might just
possibly escape, in return for a favor I was able to do him. Did I succeed,
howsomever, the Xylarians would pursue me to the ends of the earth, since
their laws suffer not a new king to be chosen by any but the prescribed
method, and therefore they must essay to drag me back and resume their
interrupted rite to permit public business to go on-""
"How if the king die in office-" asked Zerlik. "Or if you die ere they can
recapture you?"

"They have other procedures in such cases; but they

'Sec L. Spraguc du Camp: The Goblin Tower (Pyramid Books, 19681-

II

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

are irrelevant to me, since I'm not yet dead and have no yearning to become
so. To resume: Knowing that I was virtually condemned—should my escape succeed
— to the life of a wandering adventurer, I prepared myself therefore by the
practice of such arts as acting, rough-and-tumble fighting, sleight-of-hand,
cozenage, and burglary. Fur these, I had the tutoring of some of the most
unsavory rogues in the Twelve Cities. But some of their lessons have proven
most serviceable."

Zerlik: "Do you like this irregulous life?"

"Nay. My real ambition is to be a respectable craftsman or tradesman — a
surveyor, for ensample—earning a decent if modest living, rearing a family,
meeting my obligations, and plaguing no man. A peaceful bourgeois life would
suit me well, but it seems to flee betore me like the end of a rainbow."

"If you knew the Xylanans were after you, why took you this post in Ir, next
door to Xylar? Why not work in some more distant place, like Zolon or Tarxia?"

"Because the Xylarians hold something I wish: to wit, my wife. Therefore I
skulk about their borders, seeking means to get her out."

"Oh. Is this the Estrildis whereof the letter from Karadur speaks?"

fonan gave Zerlik a hard look. "By Imbal's iron piz-zle, young sir, you seem
to have made rather free with my private correspondence!"

"Oh, but [orian, Doctor Karadur requested that 1 memorize the message, in case
the letter were lost or destroyed!"

"Ah, that's different. Ay, 'tis she."

"Oh. I have heard that you Novarians entertain ro-mantical notions about
women. When one has several wives, as I have, one takes a particular woman
less seriously."

"I had several wives, too, when I was king. Five, in fact; the Xylarians allow
a plurality of wives to the king but not to his subjects. Mulvanian or
Penembic influence in the southern tier, I suppose. But this was the last, and
the one I chose myself."

"Really-" Zerlik patted a yawn. "It is hard for me to

12

THE CLOCKS OF [RAZ
imagine going to such trouble and risk over any woman. After all, they are ail
basically alike."

"1 have not found them so."

Zerlik shrugged. "But why- It cannot be that you were otherwise condemned to a
celibate life, for you Novarians seem to have no such rigid interdicts against
fornication and adultery as, I am told, obtain among the Mulvanians. Is it
that this woman is rich, and you wish to possess yourself of her property-"

"Not at all; she's a Kortolian farmer's daughter."

"Is she then of extraordinary beauty?"

"Not even that. She's a pretty little thing, with golden hair like a Sbvemte;
hut of stocky build and too thick in the ankles to please the connoisseur of
female beauty. No, Zerlik, it's what we call love."

"Oh, we have this 'love' amongst us, too. In our land, however, to fall in
love is accounted a misfortune—a kind of madness. It leads men to entangle
themselves with unsuitable women, causing their km distress and embarrassment.
Ordinarily, our parents choose our wives for us, very sensibly, by go-
betweens, with the advice of astrologers and haruspices."

"This is not quite the same as your falling in love, laddie. Let me merely say
that I enjoy Estrildis' company more than that of any other person I have
known, and I am fain to have more of it, until death do us part."

"Well, 1 wish you joy of it. But does not one become bored with a single
woman?"

"That depends. Having tried your system, I have no faith in it, either."

"How so?"

"There's a jingle that explains:

"Oh, pity the man with a score of wives! For when they're at outs, however he
strives To gentle them down, the quarrel revives, With curses and blows, and
even with knives, Till among them 'tis wonder that he survives.

"Oh, weep for the fellow with multiple mates! For when they're in concord,
with garrulous spates

13

THE CLOCKS OF 1RAZ

Of chatter, they seek their desiderates And wear him away by alternates, Until
the poor devil capitulates.

"Condole with the poor polygamist! For every night he must keep a tryst With
one of the wives on the harem's list, And he dare not repose or leave one
unkissed, Lest the peace of his family cease to exist."

"Whose verse is that?"
"An obscure poetaster, night [orian son of Evor. Anyway, one woman at a time's
enough for me. When 1 get mine back, one wife, one house, and one honest trade
will suffice me." Jorian yawned. "We must to bed, to be up ere dawn."

"But that will give us scarce four hours' sleep!" "Aye, but Chemnis is a long
day's drive hence." "You mean to make Chemnis in one day?" "Certes. Since four
of those rogues escaped, the Xy-larians will soon be on my trail again."
"You'll slay my poor horses!"

"1 think not; and if I did, a self-proclaimed gentleman like you could afford
another pair."

Beyond Evrodium, the road swung north to join the main road from Ir City to
Chemnis, the main port of the republic at the mouth of the Kyamos. As Zerlik's
chariot thundered down the river road to where Chemnis arose on the margin of
the estuary, a forest of masts and yards loomed over the houses along the
waterfront. Many ships had been laid up for the winter earlier than usual,
since the depredations of the Algarthian pirates had depressed seaborne
traffic.

The day after the arrival of Jorian and his companions in Chemnis, they walked
to the waterfront in the early morning. Zerlik still staggered from the
jolting of the previous day's headlong drive. Jorian growled-.

"When 1 was king, we kept the sea thieves down. 1 built up our little fleet
and commanded it myself. Betwixt us in the South and the navy of Zolon in the

14

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

North, no pirate dared to show his sail off the western coast of Novaria. But
they've let the fleet go to the shipworms since I fled, whilst Zolon has a new
High Admiral who dotes on fancy uniforms but never goes to sea."

Zerlik looked more and more unhappy. At last he said: "Master Jorian, 1 fear
that when His Majesty sent me forth on this errand, he did not mean me to get
my throat cut by pirates."

"Afraid-"

"Sirrah, a man of my rank does not brook insults!"

"Keep your doublet on, young fellow. I did but ask."

"I bloodied my scimitar on your side against the kidnappers. But meseems it
were pure madness for us twain to set forth in some cockleshell craft alone.
If these bloody freebooters caught up with us, what earthly chance should we
have?"

Jorian frowned. "Well, no regular ships sail now to ; so 'tis either buy or
rent a ship of our own or not go at all. Rental were impractical, they say,
for the owner would demand so large a deposit that one might as well buy the
craft. Still, what you say makes sense of a sort.

"I have it! We'll be a pair of poor fishermen with but a meager catch to show
for our pains." They reached the waterfront, and Jorian consulted a list of
ships for sale. "Let's see; the Divrunia should lie yonder, with the Flying
Fish beyond and the Psaanius in the other direction..."

Jorian hunted up a ship broker whose name he had. The broker took them on a
tour of the waterfront. After a morning of inspecting ships, Jorian bid the
broker farewell for the nonce. While he and Zerlik ate at a waterfront tavern,
Jorian said:

"Meseems the Flying Fish is our craft, an we can beat Master Gatorix down to a
reasonable price."

"That dirty little tub!" cried Zerlik. "Why—"

"You forget, laddie, that we shall be a pair of indigent fishers. So a craft
like the Divrunia, as spick as a royal yacht, were the last thing we want. We
must look the part."

15

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"Well, the Flying Fish certainly stinks of fish. Why cannot we get a proper
warship—say, one of those Irian biremes anchored out yonder? Then, with a
well-armed crew, we should have nought to fear from corsairs."

"Imprimis, those galleys are the property of the Republic of Ir, and I have no
reason to think the Syndicate would wish to sell one. Secundus, such a deal
would at best require months of negotiation, during which time the Xylanans
would be upon me. And tertius, have you a hundred thousand marks wherewith to
buy the ship, with an equal amount for the hire of the crew?"

"Unh. But my good clothes—"

"We shall, naturally, wear garb suitable to our assumed rank. So fear not for
your finery. We shall be ragged and stinking."

"Ugh!"

"Moreover, the Flying Fish is sound of hull and rigging. With her beam she may
be slow, but she'll get us whither we fain would go. Finish your repast, so
that we can sally forth to seek Master Gatorix."

When they found the ship broker again, lorian said: "We should like another
look at your Flying Fish; albeit a thousand marks is beyond the vault to
heaven. Why, I could buy a surplus Zolonian trireme for that..."

After two hours of haggling, [orian brought the price down to 650 marks. He
said: "Methmks we can do business, Master Gatorix. Of course, you'll throw in
a sun stone, a chart, and an astrolabe-.."

After further chaffering, Jorian asked the broker about distances, winds, and
currents between Chemnis and Iraz. Gatorix advised him that even with
favorable weather, the voyage would take at least a sennight. Jorian
calculated and dispatched Zerlik and Ayuir to buy supplies. When they
returned, followed by longshoremen laden with sacks of biscuits, salt pork,
apples, salted fish, salt, a fish net, two poles with lines and extra hooks,
and suits of rough, worn seamen's garb, lorian was again engrossed in an
argument with Gatorix.

"I'm trying to get him to include this spyglass in the

16

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

deal," he explained. "He wants a hundred marks extra for the thing."

"Great Ughroluk!" cried Zerlik. "In Iraz, one can buy a good glass for a
fraction of that."

"Naturally," said Gatorix, "since you Irazians invented the contraption and
make it, 'tis cheaper there than here/'

Jorian had raised the brass tube to his eye and trained it eastward. He stood
silently for a moment, then closed the telescope with a snap and said in a
changed voice:

"Pay Gatorix his hundred marks, Zerlik."

"But-—"

"No buts! We're taking the glass without further argument."

"But—"

"And help me to get this stuff aboard, yarely."

"Surely, sirs," said Gatorix, "you're not putting to sea so late in the day?"

"No help for it," said Jorian. "Hop to it, Ayuir; you, too, Zerlik."

Between a quarter and a half of an hour later, the Flying Fish cast off and
wallowed out into the estuary. The ship was a"* two-masted lateener, with a
blue hull and yellow sails. She flew a large mainsail forward and a smaller
mizzen aft. Seated abreast on the thwarts abaft the cabin, )orian and Zerlik
each heaved on an oar. lorian had to exert only a fraction of his normal
strength to keep the craft going in a straight line. He was so much stronger
than Zerlik that, if he had put his back into it, he would have made the
Flying Fish spin in circles.

As they drew   away with exasperating slowness, Ayuir waved from the quay before
disappearing   towards their inn. The Flying Fish heaved and bounced on a brisk
chop, driven   up the estuary by a steady west wind. The afternoon sun blazed in
a clear blue   sky.

"I hope he makes it back to Penembei safely," said Zerlik in a worried tone.
The young Irazi was already looking green. "He speaks but few words of
Novarian."

"Poor fellow! 1 would have given him lessons."

17
THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"Oh, it is not with him that I am concerned, but with my beautiful car and
team. 1 can always get another manservant."

jorian grunted. Zerlik said: "Excuse me. I have heard of these curious ideals
that are rife in Novaria, of consideration for the lower classes, and I
suppose I should guard my tongue with more care. Why put we not up the sails
now?"

"We ought to get farther from that lee shore first, lest this sea breeze blow
us back thither and pile us up."

They rowed for a while in silence, until Zerlik said: "Let me rest for a
moment; I am fordone."

"Very well. What sort of speech do you use in Pe-nembei?"

"Why, Penembic, of course."

"Is it related to Fediruni? 1 speak fair Fediruni, as well as Mulvani and
Shvenic."

"Nay; Penembic is related to no other tongue—at least, in this part of the
world—albeit it contains not a few words of Fediruni and Novarian origin. Our
dynasty is of remotely Fediruni origin, you know; King luktar was a nomadic
chieftain in Fedirun. And before that, a Novarian adventurer founded the city
and begat a dynasty. But Penembic is a much more precise and logical tongue
than your congeries of Novarian dialects. Most of us speak a little Fediruni,
since that is the tongue of the cult of the supreme god Ughroluk."

"You must teach me Penembic."

"1 shall be pleased to. At least it will take my mind off this damnable stench
of fish. Tell me: Why took you Gatorix's exhorbitant price for his glass? And
why the sudden haste?"

Jorian chuckled. "I looked through the telescope up the Kyamos and saw a squad
of horsemen riding hard down the river road. They were mere specks in the
glass, but natheless they gave the impression of Xylar-ian guardsmen... Hola!"
forian reached behind him into the cabin and took the spyglass from its rack.
He peered through it shoreward. "By Astis' ivory teats, those !o-sels are on
the quay now!"

18

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"Let me see," said Zerlik.

On shore, the telescope showed a group of black-clad men, one of whom held the
horses while the others expostulated with several Chemnites. Their vigorous
gestures could he seen.

"Let's hope they don't find a barge and put to sea after us," muttered Jorian.
"Eight oars could easily overhaul two. Row harder!"
After a while, Zerlik asked: "Could we not put up the sails now?"

"We shall, but count not too heavily upon them. With this onshore wind, we
shall have to tack out to sea, and I know not how high our little tub will
point. Here, give me the glass. Ten thousand demons, but they've already found
a barge and are putting out! Now we're for it!"

19

n

THE FLYING FISH

E MUST HOIST THE SAILS INSTANTER," SAID JORIAN.

Zerlik asked: "How do we that? I have never sailed."

"First, we heave to in the eye of the wind." With powerful strokes of his oar,
Jorian turned the bow of the Flying Fish westward. The little ship pitched
wildly as she took the waves bow-on. Jorian shipped his oar.

"Now," he said, "keep her in this position whilst I raise the sails. Oh, dip
me in dung!"

"What is the matter?"

"I forgot that these sails had their covers on."

"I thought you were a nautical expert?"

"Do be quiet and let me think!" Jorian quickly unhooked the lashing of the
mizzen cover.

"It is my skin, too," said Zerlik plaintively.

"Fear not for your precious skin. Tis I whom they're after."

"But if a fight develop, they will not draw subtle distinctions..."

forian, heaving on the mizzen halyard, forbore to answer. The mizzen yard went
up by jerks. The yellow sail flapped and boomed as it luffed. Jorian shouted:

"Keep her head into the wind!"

"Why not sail on this sail alone?"

"Too far aft; she'd give us too much weather helm."

"I know not your nautical terms. Here come our pursuers!"

The black-hulled barge, rowed by eight men, had covered half the distance from
the quay to the Flying Fish. Zerlik asked:

20

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ
"Then why did you not put up that big front sail first?"

"One must hoist sail from stern forward. If one hoists the foremost sail
first, the wind takes charge and sweeps one downwind—which in this case is
upriver, whither we are fain not to go. There!"

forian belayed the halyard and worked his way forward to the mainmast. An
instant later, Zerlik heard a wild yell. He called:

"What is the matter now?"

"May fiends torment, for a million eternities, the bastard who lashed this
sail cover! He tied it in a hard knot, around to the front where I can't see
it."

"Hasten, or the Xylarians will be upon us," The pursuers were now close enough
for their faces to be discerned.

"I do my utmost. Shut up and hold her bow steady!"

The mainsail yard, swathed in the canvas sail cover, extended out for several
feet beyond the bow. The knot that secured the lashing was at the forward end
of this yard. To reach it, Jorian had to sprawl out lizardlike on the yard,
gripping for dear life with his left arm, with his feet on the anchor, while
he felt around the butt end of the yard with his free hand. To untie a hard
knot with one hand takes doing even when one can see the knot, let alone when
one has to work solely by touch.

The freshening wind drove larger and larger waves up the estuary. The Flying
Fish leaped to each impact like £ horse at a fence. Smash! smash! went the
little ship's bow as she came down from each pitch.

Tossed up and down, eight or ten feet to each toss, [orian had much ado to
keep his grip on the yard. The sun, near to setting, turned the seaward waves
to gold, which glared in Jorian's eyes like the glow from a furnace.

The barge drew closer. The Xylarians were within

easy bowshot, but Jorian was sure they would not try

archery. For one thing, the wind would carry their shafts

awry; for another, they wanted him aiive.

' "Zevatas damn it!" he screamed as his hat blew off,

21

THE CLOCKS OH 1RAZ

alighted gently on a wave, and went sailing up the estuary on its own.

"Jonan!" called Zerlik. "A man is readying a lariat."

When it seemed hopeless, Jorian felt the knot yield to his straining fingers.
The black pursuing barge was almost within spitting distance. The knot came
loose at last. Feverishly, lorian unhooked the sail cover, bundled it up, and
tossed it aft. It carne down on Zerlik and wrapped itself pythonlike about
him. In trying to free himself from the canvas, he let go his oar.

"Keep her head into the wind!" bellowed forian, heaving on the main halyard.

Zerlik bundled up the sail cover and returned his attention to his oar. "Here
comes the noose!" he called.

One Xylarian cast his lariat, but the cast fell short, into the heaving blue
water. The yellow mainsail went up. Its luffing in the strong wind shook the
ship, forian snouted:

"Point her to starboard!"

"Which is that?"

"Oh, my gods! Back water, stupid!"

Zerlik caught a crab with his oar but at last did as commanded. As the bow
fell off to starboard, the wind, with sharp cracks, filled the sails on the
port tack. The Flying Fish heeled to starboard and began to pick up speed.

As forian scrambled aft, he saw that the Xylarian with the lariat was again
whirling his noose. The man's black hood had fallen back, exposing a head of
long, wheat-colored hair. The man, (orian thought, was probably a nomad from
the steppes of Shven. Xylar often hired these Northerners for the Royal Guard
because of their skill with the lariat, since the principal duty of the Guard
was, not to protect the king, but to keep him from escaping and to catch him
alive if he tried.

This time, forian was within easy casting distance. He scuttled into the
cockpit.

"Ship your oar," he said, "and catch hold of my belt in back."

"Why?"

"Just do it.."

22

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

The oar clattered inboard, jorian stood up in the cockpit, with one hand on
the mizzen backstay, and thumbed his nose at the Xylarians. Zerlik caught his
belt from behind. The Xylarian put one foot on his gunwale to make his cast.

Helped by the wind, the noose whirled through the air and settled around
Jorian's shoulders. Jorian seized the rope in both hands and gave a mighty
heave. Zerlik pulled at the same time. The Xylarian was jerked clear out of
the barge, splash!

With cries of rage and alarm, the pursuers stopped rowing. Those on the near
side of the barge rose and stretched out their oars to the man in the water.
One, in his zeal, hit the swimmer over the head. The head vanished but soon
bobbed up again.
The Flying Fish gained speed. Jorian crouched in the cockpit, holding the
tiller with one hand and with the other, reeling in the rope. He grinned at
Zerlik.

"One can never have too much good rope on shipboard," he said.

The barge fell astern, while the Xylarians hauled their dripping comrade
aboard. Zerlik asked;

"Are we safe, now?"

"I know not. She seems to point pretty well on this tack; but we have yet to
learn how featly she comes about and how well she pointed with the sails taken
aback."

"What means that?"

Jorian explained the features of lateen sails and the good and bad points of
shifting the yards to the leeward of the masts with each tack. He cast a
worried glance ahead, where the far side of the estuary was opening out as
they neared it: a long, low green line of marshes and woods, interspersed with
croplands and villages.

"Get forward, Zerlik," he said, "and watch for shoal water. All we need now is
to run aground."

"How shall I do that?"

"Look straight down and yell when you think you see bottom."

After a while, Jorian called a warning, put the helm sharply down, and brought
the Flying Fish about on the

23

THE CLOCKS OF 1RAZ

starboard tack. The little ship responded well and pointed almost as high on
this tack as on the other. Zerlik called:

"The Xylanans have not yet given up, O Jonan. They seek to cut us off."

Jorian shaded his eyes. Laboring into the teeth of the wind, the pursuers were
forging seaward. Although the Flying Fish moved much faster than the barge,
the angle at which the lateener was forced to sail by the direction of the
wind brought the two vessels on converging courses.

"Should we not tack again, ere we come close?" asked Zerlik.

"Mayhap; but they'd still he south of us. They'd run farther out to sea and
intercept us on the next tack. 1 have a better idea."

With a dangerous glint in his eye, Jorian held his course. Closer came the
barge.

"Now," said forian, "take the trumpet, go forward, and shout a warning, that
we mean to exercise our right of way. Let them stand off if they would not be
run down."

"Jorian! The collision would smash both ships!"

"Do as I say!"

Shaking his head, Zerlik went forward and shouted his warning. The Xylarians
turned faces towards the Flying Fish, swiftly bearing down upon them. There
was motion aboard the craft as some of the pursuers readied their nets and
lariats. The F/ying Fish kept on.

"Can you swim, Zerlik?" asked Jorian.

"A little, but not from here to shore! My gods, (orian, would you really ram
them?"

"You shall see. Repeat your warning."

At the last minute, the barge burst into action. The rowers backed water, the
sea foaming over their oars. The Flying Fish raced past so close to windward
that the barge rocked in her wake. One Xylarian stood up to shake a fist until
his comrades pulled him down again.

"Whew!" breathed Zerlik- "Would you have truly run them down?"

24

THE CLOCKS OF [RAZ

Jorian grinned. "You'll   never know. But, with that much way on, 'twould not
have been hard to dodge   them. Anyway, we can now devote ourselves to the sea
road to Iraz—if storms,   calms, sea monsters, and pirates interfere not. Now
excuse me whilst I pray   to Psaan to avert these perils."

. Night fell, but the brisk wind held. Having lost his lunch and being unable
to eat any dinner, Zerlik sat moaning with his head in his hands.

"How do you stand it?" he asked, watching with revulsion as Jorian, one hand
on the tiller, put away a hearty supper. "You eat enough for two."

Jorian bit a piece out of an apple, swallowed, and replied: "Oh, I used to get
seasick, too. On my first cruise against pirates, as king of Xylar, 1 was sick
as a dying dog. I was like that fellow in the operetta, The Good Ship
Petticoat, by Galliben and Silfero—you know, the one who sings about being a
pirate captain bold."

"I know it not. Could you give it to me?"

"I can try, albeit vocal training is one skill wherefore I've not had time."
In a heavy bass voice, slightly off key, Jorian sang:

"Oh, I am a pirate captain bold; I fill my vessel with jewels and gold And
slaughter my captives, young and old, To rule the raging sea, oh!

"And whether the blast be hot or cold, And the tossing main be deep or
shoaled, I'm master of all that I behold As I cruise the ocean free, oh!
"But although with treasure I fill my hold, And my loot at a bountiful price
is sold, 1 harbor a secret that's never been told: I'm sick as a dog at sea,
oh!"

25

THE CLOCKS OF 1RAZ

"That is good!" said Zerlik. "1 would learn it; for I know no Novarian songs."
He started off in a high but well-controlled tenor.

"You sing better than I ever shall," said forian after he had helped his
comrade through the lyrics.

"Ah, but amongst us, to carry a tune well is deemed one of the accomplishments
of a gentleman! How got you over your seasickness?"

"Well, thanks to Psaan—"

"Thanks to whom?"

"Psaan, the Novarian sea god. Anyway, my system adjusted, and I've never been
seasick since. Perhaps you will adapt likewise. That reminds me: Is my—ah—
colorful past known in Iraz?"

"Nay, at least so far as I know."

"Then how did you learn of it?"

"Doctor Karadur told me about your having been king of Xylar and accompanying
him to Mulvan and Shven, to make it easier for me to find you. He swore me to
secrecy, howsomever."

"Good for him! Karadur is a wise old man, if sometimes absent-minded. Now,
when we reach your homeland, I want no word of my former kingship or aught
else breathed abroad. To the Irazis I shall be merely a respectable
technician. Do you understand?"

"Aye, sir."

"Then come hither and take the tiller. It must be the hour of the owl already,
and 1 needs must get some sleep."

"May I run her closer to shore? I can barely see the coast, and so much water
around me makes me nervous."

Zerlik gestured to eastward, where the Xylarian coast formed a black strip
between sky and sea, both illuminated by the rising moon. The moon cast a
million silvery spangles on the waves between the Flying Fish and the shore.

"Gods, no!" said lorian. "Off a lee shore like this, the more water around us
the better. Keep her as far from shore as we are now, and wake me if aught
happens."

26

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ *       *      *
Next day, the west wind continued, blowing little cotton-wool clouds across
the deep-blue sky. Zerlik still complained of headache but summoned enough
strength to eat. lorian, with a scarf tied around his head in piratical
fashion in place of his lost hat, took the tiller. As he guided the Flying
Fish, he quizzed Zerlik about the language of Penembei. After an hour of
explanation, he clapped a hand to his forehead.

"Gods and goddesses!" he cried. "How do little Pe-nembians ever master so
complicated a tongue? I can understand having indicative, interrogative,
imperative, conditional, and subjunctive moods; but when you add to those the
optative, causative, dubitative, repor-tative, accelerative, narrative,
continuative, and—"

"But of course, my good Jorian!   That is why we deem our speech superior to all
others, for one can say exactly   what one means. Now, to go over the aorist
perfect reportative of the verb   'to sleep' again. In Novarian you would say:
'They say that I used to sleep'   but in Pe-nembic we do all that with a single
word—"

"A single word with fifty-three suffixes," growled Jorian. Later he said:
"Perhaps you'd better merely teach me common expressions, like 'Good morning'
and 'How much?' I used to think myself a fair linguist; but your grammar
baffles me."

"Ah, but once you learn the rules, you have but to follow them to speak
correctly. There is none of those irregularities and exceptions that make your
Novarian tongue so maddening."

By mid-afternoon, the wind and the sea had moderated. Feeling better, Zerlik
moved about, learning the spars, the lines, and the other parts of the ship.

"I shall be a true mariner yet!" he exclaimed in a rush of enthusiasm.
Standing on the gunwale abeam of the mizzenmast, he burst into the song from
The Good Ship Petticoat. As he reached the final "oh!" he let go the mizzen
stay to make a dramatic gesture. At that instant, the Flying Fish lurched to a
large wave. With a yell of dismay, Zerlik fell into the sea.

27

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"By Vaisus' brazen arse!" cried Jorian as he put the helm down. The Flying
Fish turned into the wind, lost way, and luffed. Jonan gathered up the rope he
had taken from the Xyiarians, belayed one end to a cleat, and hurled the rest
of it to Zerlik, whose head bobbed into sight and out again with the rise and
fall of the

waves.

With the third cast, Zerlik got his hands on the rope, (orian hauled him by
the slack of his fisherman's blouse up over the counter. While Zerlik, bent
into a knot of misery, retched, coughed, spat, and sneered, Jorian said:
"That'll teach you to keep a grip on Something all the time you're out of the
cockpit! Remember the rule: one hand for yourself, one for the ship."

"Ghrlp," said Zerlik.
The wind fell. The sun set behind a bank of fog, which rolled in from the sea.
Jorian said:

"We shall be becalmed in that fog. We'd better head into shore and anchor."

An hour later, as the first tendrils of fog drifted past the Flying Fish,
Jorian dropped anchor and furled sail. The wind died. The waves became smooth
little oily swells, just big enough to rock the Flying Fish gently. Jorian and
Zerlik bailed out the bilge water with sponge and bucket.

When daylight vanished, utter darkness settled down, since the moon did not
rise until hours after sunset. Jorian lit a small lanthorn. When he and his
companion tired of language lessons, they played skillet by the feeble light.
Jorian won several marks.

"Never bluff more than once at a sitting/' he said. "Would you like me to take
first watch?"

"Nay; 1 could not sleep, with all the salt water I have swallowed."

Later, [orian was awakened. Zerlik whispered: "1 hear something!"

Yawning and rubbing his eyes, forian ducked out of the cabin, A pearly
opalescence in the fog showed that

28

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

the moon had risen. The ocean was still as a pond, so tbat Jonan could not
tell direction.

The sound was a rhythmic thump. Jorian, listening, said: "Galley oars."

"Whose galley?"

Jorian shrugged. "Belike Ir; beiike Xylar; belike Al-garthian pirates."

"What were the galleys of Ir or Xylar doing out in this murk?"

"1 know not. The sea power of both states is at ebb— Ir because their
pmchpenny Syndicate won't keep up their fleet; Xylar because they don't have
me to keep 'em on their toes. Hence 1 surmise that all the ships of both are
snug in harbor, and that the oars we hear are piratical."

"I should think the Algarthians would fear running aground as much as we do."

"They have wizards whose second sight enables them to warn their ships away
from rocks and shoals. They can also see storms and fogs approaching from
afar. Now let's be quiet, lest they hear us."

"A Penembic gentleman," muttered Zerlik, "would scorn to let such scum
frighten him into silence."

"Be as knightly as you please, when you're on your own. Just now, 'tis my
skin, too—as you remarked the other day. Since I am neither a Penembian nor a
gentleman, 1 prefer saving my hide to parading my courage. Now shut up."

"You ought not to speak to me like that—" began Zerlik indignantly, but Jorian
shot him so fierce a look that he subsided.

The sound of the oars grew louder. Mingled with them was the splash of the oar
blades, the tap of the coxswain's drum, and an occasional snatch of speech.
Jorian cocked an ear.

"1 cannot quite make out their language," he breathed.

The sounds receded and died. Zerlik said: "May we speak, now?"

"I think so."

"Well, if these Algarthian wizards can foresee the weather, why cannot they
control it?"

29

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"Seeing is one thing; doing, quite another. There have been but few wizards
who could control the winds and the waves, and their efforts have gone awry as
often as not. Take the case of King Fusinian and the tides."

"What story is this?"

Jorian settled himself. "Fusinian was a former king of my native Kortoli. A
son of Filoman the Well-Meaning, he was called Fusinian the Fox on account of
his small stature, agility, and quickness of wit.

"Once, King Fusinian invited the leading members of his court to a picnic on
the beach of Sigrum, a few leagues from Kortoli City, where the waves of the
Inner Sea break on the silvery sands. A fine beach for picnicking, swimming,
and like amusements it is. The beach lies in a long curve at the foot of a low
bluff. Thither went Fusinian, with his lovely queen Thanuda and the royal
children, and his high officers of state with their wives and children, too.

"Now, one of the guests was Fusinian's distant cousin Forvil, then enjoying a
sinecure as curator of the royal art gallery. Being fat and lazy, Forvil
impressed those who knew him—including the king—as a harmless nonentity. But
the fact was that Forvil cherished royal ambitions of his own and, at the time
of the picnic, had already begun to put forth tendrils of intrigue.

"In Fusinian's presence, however, the Honorable Forvil was full of unctuous
flattery. This time he outdid himself, for he said: 'Your Majesty, your
servants have placed the picnic chairs and tables where the rising tide will
inundate us all.'

"'Really?' said Fusinian, staring. 'By Zevatas, I do believe you're right! I
shall order all this gear moved to higher ground forthwith.'

" 'Oh, sire, that will not be needed,' quoth Forvil. 'So great are Your Serene
Majesty's powers that you have but to command the tides, and they will obey
you.' For the tides in the Inner Sea, while smaller than those along this
coast, are still big enough to drench a crew of picnickers who carelessly site
their feast below the high-water mark."

30

THE CLOCKS OF [RAZ

"'Don't talk nonsense,' said Fusinian, and turned to give the command to move
the chairs and tables.

"'Oh, but sire! 'Tis a simple fact!' persisted Forvil. 'An you believe me not,
command the sea, and you shall see!'

"'Damn it, I will!' said Fusinian, no little annoyed, for he suspected that
Forvil essayed to make a fool of him. 'And you, dear cousin, shall see what
nugacities you are uttering.' So Fusinian stood up and waved his hands in
mystic passes and cried:

"Hocus pocus Keep your locus Do not soak us!"

"Then he sat down and resumed eating, saying: 'If we get wet, O Forvil, you
shall pay for the damage to our raiment.'

"The guests likewise remained seated and ate, albeit nervously, since they did
not wish on one hand to wet their finery, nor on the other to entreat their
king discourteously by fleeing the tide whilst he faced it unflinching. And so
things went for a time, whilst the picnic was consumed and the sweet wines
were poured.

"But, strangely, the tide failed to rise at the appointed time. People looked
surreptitiously at pocket sundials and at one another and—with deepening awe—
at their lively little king, who ate and drank unconcerned. At last there was
no doubt about it, that the tide had been halted in us wonted rise. Forvil
stared at his king with his fat face the color of gypsum plaster.

"Fusinian was perturbed by this phenomenon, for he knew well enough that he
had uttered no real magical spell, nor summoned a horde of demons to hold back
the tide. And, whilst he pondered—keeping a straight face the whiles—one of
his children approached him, saying: 'Daddy, a lady up on the hill asked us to
give •this to you.'

"Fusinian saw that the note was from the witch Gloe, who dwelt in the hills of
southern Kortoli and had long coveted the post of chief magician of the
kingdom. The

31

\v

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

fact was that she was not even a licensed wizardess, because of a long-
standing feud betwixt her and Fusi-nian's Bureau of Commerce and Licenses. She
had come uninvited to the picnic in hope of persuading King Fu-sinian to
intervene with his bureaucrats. When, by her super-normal powers, she
overheard the colloquy between Fusinian and Forvil, she seized the opportunity
and, concealed in the woods above the bluff, cast her mightiest spell, to hold
back the tide.
"Gloe's powers were, however, limited, as are those of all sentient beings.
For most of an hour she held back the tide but then felt her authority
weakening. She therefore scribbled this note and called to her the young
prince, who was playing tag with the other children on the slope of the bluff.
The note said: 'Gloe to His Majesty: Sire, my spell has slipped, and the
waters are returning. Get you to higher ground.'

"Fusinian divined what had happened. But, if he confessed the truth, all the
effect of retarding the tide would be lost, and Forvil would win this round.
So he stood up and cried:

" 'My friends, we have sat here gorging and swilling longer than is good for
us. To settle our stomachs, I ordain a race to the top of yonder bluff. There
shall be three classes: first, the children below the age of thirteen; the
winner shall have a pony from the royal stables. Second: the ladies, for whom
the prize shall be a silver tiara from the royal coffers. Third: the men, the
swiftest of whom shall receive a crossbow from the royal armory. I warn you
that I shall take part in the third race. Since, howsomever, 'twere ridiculous
to award a prize to myself, I will, if I win, bestow it upon him who comes in
second. Line up, children! Ready, set, go!' And the children were off like the
wind in a yelling mob. Then he said: 'Line up, girls! You'd better hike those
gowns up to the knee, if you would make any speed. Ready, set, go! And now,
gentlemen...' And he repeated the performance with the men."

Zerlik put in: "If the king were competing, would not all the courtiers make a
point of losing?"

"With some kings, aye; but not with Fusinian, whom

32

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

they knew to be a true sportsman. They knew that he would resent it if he
caught anyone patronizing him by deliberately holding back. So they all ran
their best. Being very wiry and active, Fusinian did in sooth reach the top of
the bluff the first of the men. But poor Forvil, being fat, was puffing and
waddling along at the base of the bluff when the tide came in with a rush,
knocked him down, rolled him over, and half drowned him before a pair of
servants pulled him out of the water.

"Fusinian always disclaimed any hand in the phenomenon of the tides, saying
that it must have been the libration of the moon or some such thing. But his
folk believed not these disclaimers and looked upon him with more awe than
ever."

"Did he reward the witch?"

"Nay: for he said that she'd acted without authorization and, moreover, had
given him a very uncomfortable time whilst trying to think his way out of the
predicament into which she had plunged him. When he came down with a
persistent itch on the soles of his feet, he suspected that Gloe in revenge
had sent it upon him by goe'tic magic. But nought could be proven; and his
chief wizard, Doctor Aichos, managed to cure it."

"And the Honorable Forvil?"
"In consequence of these events, Fusinian entertained a lively suspicion of
his cousin. Being Fusinian, he thought of an original way to discourage Forvil
from hanging about the court and intriguing for power. Pretending that Forvil
was a connoisseur of all the arts, he invited him down to the dungeon beneath
his palace to listen to Fusinian practicing on his bagpipes. Forvil's
perceptive criticisms of his playing, he said, would soon make him the finest
piper in Novaria. After three days of this, Forvil 'got religion,' as they
say, and became a priest of Astis. Thereafter his sacerdotal duties furnished
him with a legitimate excuse for not listening to the howls of the royal
instrument. In any case, he .gave up his intrigues lest worse befall him."

An hour after sunrise, the fog thinned. A land breeze sprang up. The fog
dissolved into patches and dwindled

33

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

away; the sun blazed forth. Jorian hoisted the anchor and broke out the yellow
sails. When they were well out to sea, Zerlik said:

"How convenient, that the wind should take us out to sea again when we wish to
go thither! Did you pray to your Psaan?"

jorian shook his head. "I like it not. A regular land breeze springs up at
night and takes coasters and fishermen out to sea ere dawn. This feels like
the kind of caster that heralds a storm.. .Murrain! Do I see ships off our
starboard bow?"

Zerlik ducked around the mizzen. "Aye, that you do! One is a sailing ship; the
other looks like some sort of galley but is also under sail."

"Take the tiller." Through the spyglass, Jorian examined the ships, which were
bearing briskly down upon the Flying Fish. "Fry my balls, but I'm a dolt for
not keeping a sharper watch! I ought to have seen them as soon as their
mastheads showed. Now they've seen us."

"Pirates?"

"Indubitably. That blue thing they fly is the Algar-thian flag."

"Can we flee?"

"No chance, curse it. If I knew the rocks and shoals hereabouts, 1 might seek
refuge in water too shallow for them to follow; but I don't. If we had
Karadur, belike he could cast a glamor on us to make us invisible, or at least
to make us look like a rock in the sea. But we have him not."

"Why do the Twelve Cities not get together to extirpate this nuisance?"

"Because they're too busy quarreling amongst themselves, and one is ever
hiring the pirates to plague another. Some years ago, in the reign of Tonio of
Xylar, the Syndicate of Ir did hire the Zolonian navy to root the rascals out.
But then the Novarians lapsed into their old ways, and the pirates sprang up
in the archipelago again."
"You need an all-powerful emperor, like our king. What shall we do if they
stop us?"

34

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"We're humble fishermen, remember? Get a line over the side and troll."

The approaching ships were now near enough for details to be made out. One was
a carack, converted from merchant service. The other had been a bireme, which
now had her lower oar ports blocked to make her more serviceable in rough
weather. Her oars had been shipped, but now several were thrust out through
the upper ports on each side to add to her speed.

"I will not!" said Zerlik.

Jorian turned a puzzled frown. "Will not what?"

"Pretend to be a humble fisherman! I have been running and hiding ever since I
met you, and I am sick of it. I will defy these scoundrels to do their worst!"

"Calm down, you idiot! You can't fight a whole shipload of freebooters."

"I care not!" cried Zertik, becoming ever more excited. "At least, I shall
take a few of these wretches with me!"

He ducked into the cabin and reappeared with his scimitar, which he unwrapped
from its oilskin covering and drew from its sheath. He waved it at the
approaching ships, forcing Jorian to duck to avoid getting slashed.

"Come on!" shrilled Zerlik. "I defy you! Come, and you shall taste the steel
of a gentleman of—"

A heavy thump cut off his   words, and he slumped to the floor of the cockpit,
his sword clanging beside   him. Jorian had struck him on the head with the
heavy leaden ball forming   the pommel of his dagger. He lashed the tiller,
sheathed and put away the   scimitar, got out the fishing tackle, and let a line
trail a stern.

"Heave to!" carne a shout through a speaking trumpet from the forecastle of
the galley.

A sharp tug on Jorian's fishing pole told of a strike. He jerked the pole and
felt a solid, quivering pull.

"Heave to, I said!" came the cry from the galley. "Are you fain to be run
down?"

"Can ye na see that I've got a fish?" yelled Jorian, struggling with line and
pole.

There was a buzz of talk on the galley. Some sportsman among the Algarthians
was arguing that Jorian

35
THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

should be given a chance to land his catch before being pirated. The galley
swung to starboard, backing water with her starboard oars. She furled her sail
and rowed parallel to the Flying Fish, twenty paces away. The car-ack trimmed
sail to follow more distantly.

Jormn landed a mackerel. Leaving the fish to flop in the bottom of the cockpit
beside the unconscious Zer-lik, he brought the Flying Fish into the wind and
luffed.

"God den, me buckos, and what would ye with me?" he said in down-west Xylarian
dialect. "Would ye buy some of me fish? There he this bonny fresh one ye seen
me catch, and a dozen or three more salted in the hold. What would ye?"

More muttering on the galley. The man with the trumpet called: "We'll take
your fish, Master Fisherman." As the galley maneuvered close to the Flying
Fish, the man said: "What ails the other fellow, lying in the bilge-"

"Ah, the poor spalpeen—me nephew, he be—had no better sense than to try to
drink the port dry, afore we cast off. So now he be as ye see him. He'll be
jimp in an hour."

Someone on the galley lowered a basket on a line over the side. While several
pirates with boathooks held the two vessels apart, )onan tossed his fresh
mackerel into the basket and followed it with salted fish from the hold. When
the basket had been hoisted back aboard the galley, )onan said:

"Now about me price..."

The pirate with the trumpet grinned over his rail. "Oh, we'll give you
something vastly more precious than money."

"Eh? And what might that be?"

"Namely, your life. Farewell, Master Fisherman. Shove off!"

[orian sat scowling up and moving his mouth in silent curses as the galley
rowed away and broke out its sails. Then his scowl changed to a smile as he
put his tiller to starboard, so that the little ship, as she backed before the
shpre wind, swung clockwise. The sails filled, and the Flying Fish resumed her
southward course. Zer-

36

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

lik stirred, groaned, and pulled himself up on the thwart. He asked:

"What did you hit me with?"

Jorian unhooked his dagger from his belt. "See this? The blade won't come out
unless you press this button. Hence I can use it as a bludgeon, holding the
sheath and striking with this leaden pommel. I had one a couple of years ago,
when I was adventuring with Karadur. I lost it later, but I liked the design
so well that I had another made. It comes in handy when I wish, not to slay a
man, but merely to stop him from doing something foolish—like getting my
throat cut so that he can show what a fearless, gallant gentleman he is."

"I will get even with you for that blow, you insolent bully!"

"You'd better save your revenge until after we reach Iraz. I doubt if I could
handle this craft alone; and if 1 could not, I'm sure you couldn't."

"Are you always so invincibly practical? Have you no human emotions? Are you a
man or a machine of cogs and wires?"

Jorian chuckled. "Oh, I daresay I could make as big a fool of myself as the
next, did I let myself go. When 1 was a young lad like you—"

"You are no doddering graybeard!"

"Forsooth, I'm not yet thirty; but the vicissitudes of an irregulous life have
forced maturity upon me. If you're lucky, you will grow up fast, too, ere some
childish blunder puts you into your next incarnation—as has almost happened
thrice on this little voyage."

"Humph!" Zerlik ducked into the cabin, where he sat, holding his head and
sulking, for the rest of the day.

Next day, however, he was cheerful again. He obeyed orders and performed his
duties on the ship as if nothing had happened.

37

Ill

THE T0WE

^' OR   NEARLY   A   HUNDRED   LEAGUES,   THE   MIGHTY   LO

grams marched along the western coast. The dragon-spine of the range, clad in
evergreen forests of somber hue, continued down into the sea. Hence, this part
of the Western Ocean was spangled with islets and sea-washed reefs and rocks,
forcing ships to detour to seaward. Then the Lograms dwindled into the hills
of Penembei, green in spring but a drab dun color, with only a faint speckling
of green, in autumn.

As the sun arose above these green-spotted brown hills on the twenty-fourth of
the Month of the Unicorn, Jorian aimed his spyglass southward along the coast.
He said:

"Take a look, Zerlik. Is that your clock tower—that little thing that sticks
up where the shoreline meets the horizon?"

Zerlik looked. "It could be...I do believe that it is... Aye, I see a plume of
smoke from the top. That is the veritable Tower of Kumashar."

"Named for some former king, I suppose?" "Nay, not so. It is a curious story
as to how this came to pass." "Say on."

"Know that Kumashar was an eminent architect and engineer, over a century ago
in the reign of Shashtai the Third, otherwise called Shashtai the Crotchety.
Now, Kumashar persuaded King Shashtai to hire him to build this lighthouse
tower—without the clocks, however; those were installed later."

38

THE CLOCKS OF 1RAZ

"I know," said Jorian. "My own dear father installed them when I was a little
fellow."

"Really? Now that I think, I believe Karadur said something of that in this
letter. Did your father take you to Iraz with him?"

"Nay; we dwelt in Ardamai, in Kortoli, and he was gone for several months on
this contract. He claimed your king cheated him out of most of his tee, too;
some confiscatory tax on money taken out of the kingdom. But go on with the
tale."

"Well, King Shashtai wished his own name — not that of the architect—inscribed
on the masonry for all to see. When Kumashar said that his name, too, ought to
appear, the king waxed wroth. He told Kumashar that he was getting above
himself and had better mend his ways.

"But Kumashar was not so easily balked. He built the tower with a shallow
recess on one side, and on the masonry of the recess he personally chiseled:
'Erected by Kumashar the Son of Yuinda in the Two Hundred and Thirtieth Year
of the Juktarian Dynasty.' Then he covered this inscription with a coating of
plaster, flush with the rest of that side of the tower, and on the plaster he
inscribed the name of the king as commanded.

"For some years, the tower bore the name of King Shashtai. But then the
plaster softened in the brumal rains and peeled away, exposing the name of the
architect.

"King Shashtai was furious when he learnt how he had been flouted. It would
have gone hard with Kumashar had he not—fortunately or unfortunately,
depending upon how one looks at it—already died of natural causes.

"So the king commanded that the offending inscription be chiseled out and one
more to his liking substituted. But his officials had esteemed Kumashar highly
and did not much like Shashtai the Crotchety, who was by this time old and
infirm himself. So they politely acceded to the king's commands but then found
endless pretexts for delaying the work. There was never quite enough money in
the treasury, or unforeseen technical

39

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

problems had arisen, or something. And soon King Shashtai died in his turn,
leaving the inscription still

unmodified."

"Showing that the power even of these mighty mon-archs is limited   by human
factors," said Jorian. "I went all through that as king of Xylar.   Tis one
thing to say to one's minion: 'Do this/ and have him reply: 'Yes,   sire; 1 hear
and obey'; and quite another to follow one's order down the chain   of command
and see that it be not mislaid along the way. What sort of king have you

now?"

"King Ishabar?" Zerlik's features took on a stiff controlled expression. He
gave a mechanical smile, such as jorian had often seen on the faces of
courtiers and officials during his own reign in Xylar. "Oh, sir, what a
splendid monarch he is! Quite a paragon of wisdom, justice, courage, morality,
prudence, dignity, generosity, and nobility."

"Sounds too good to be true. Has he no faults?" "Ughroluk preserve us! Nay,
not a fault. Of course, , he is a bit of a gourmet. He sensibly devotes
himself to the harmless pleasures of the table and leaves the details of
running the state to experts, over whom he merely exercises a benevolent
supervision, Moreoever, he is too prudent to risk his precious person by
buzzing about the kingdom, forcing heavy expenses upon the locals to entertain
him and upsetting the provincial officials and military commanders by
importunate interference. Like a good king, he stays home in his palace and
minds his business."

In other words, thought Jorian, the fellow is a lazy, self-indulgent hog who
sits gorging in his gilded sty and lets the kingdom shift for itself.

The hills leveled off into the broad valley of the river Lyap, at the mouth of
which sprawled vast Iraz. The Flying Fish sailed serenely past the suburb of
Zaktan, on the northern side of the river. Zerlik pointed to a large, many-
spired building, on whose gilded domes and turrets the midday sun flashed.

"The temple of Nubalyaga," he said.

40

THt CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"Who or what is Nubalyaga?"

"Our goddess of the moon and of love and fertility. The racecourse lies behind
it. There is supposed to be a secret tunnel under the river, joining that
temple with the royal palace. It is reported to have been dug at vast expense
in the reign of King Hoshcha, to serve the king on the occasions of the Divine
Marriage, but I know of none who will admit having actually seen it."

"If it ever existed, it must have filled up with water," said Jorian. "Those
things always leak, and it would take an army with mops and buckets to keep it
dry. But what's this Divine Marriage?"

"On the night of the full moon, the temple of Nubalyaga celebrates the wedding
of Nubalyaga to Ughroluk, the god of the sun, of storms, and of war. The king
plays the role of Ughroluk and the high priestess, that of Nubalyaga.
Chaluish, the high priest of Ughroluk, and High Priestess Sahmet are nominally
husband and wife, as required by their offices; hut they have long been at
bitter enmity, each trying to rape away some of the other's power. They fell
out over the Prophecies of Salvation, a decade agone."

"What prophecies were these?"

"Oh, Sahmet announced that Nubalyaga had revealed to her in a dream that the
salvation of Iraz depended on a barbarian savior from the North." Zerlik
looked sharply at Jorian. "Would you qualify as a barbarian savior from the
North?"

"Me? By Astis' ivory teats, no! I'm no barbarian, and I have all I can do to
save my own hide, let alone a city's. But the other prophecy?"

"Well, not to be outdone, Chaluish proclaimed that all this about barbarian
saviors was nonsense. His god Ughroluk had appeared to him in a trance and
avouched that the salvation of Iraz depended on keeping the clocks in
Kumashar's Tower running. And there things rest— albeit 'rest' is not the word
I want, since the twain have continued to plot and intrigue against each other
from that day to this."

They sailed past the mouth of the Lyap, where scores of ships, large and
small, lay at anchor. There were high-

41

THE CLOCKS OF 1RAZ

sided merchant galleons, smaller caracks and caravels, little coasters and
fishermen, barges and wherries, and the long, low, lethal, black-hulled forms
of war galleys. Preeminent among these were several huge catamarans, capable
of carrying thousands of rowers, sailors, and marines in each twin-hulled
ship. The sun gleamed on the gold-plated ornaments of the galleys. The
Penembic flag, with a golden torch on a blue field, flew from their
lackstaffs.

"I shouldn't think Algarthian pirates would venture near Iraz, in the face of
that fleet," said [orian.

Zerlik shrugged. "It is not, alas, so formidable as it looks."

"Wherefore so'"

"The costs of labor have been rising, so that His Majesty has been unable to
afford full crews. And one of those monster double-hulled battleships, if its
oars be not fully manned, is too slow and unwieldly to cope with pirates.
There have in fact been several piracies within a few leagues of Iraz during
the past year. Now there is talk of ships of black freebooters from Paalua,
across the ocean, ioming in the game. They once invaded Ir, did they not?"

"Aye, and not so long past."

The cries of sailormen came faintly across the water as some ships furled
sails and were towed to their anchorages by tug-wherries. Others were towed
out, broke out their sails, and put to sea.

The Flying Fish sailed past the river mouth and reached the waterfront of Iraz
proper. Here, ships pushed off from the piers and quays, while others sought
places at them, with much shouting and cursing.

Along the shore, wooden cranes slowly rotated and raised and lowered their
loads, like long-necked water birds. They were powered by huge treadwheels,
which in turn were manned by convicts. Behind them rose the sea wall guarding
the city, and over the wall could be seen the domes and spires of Iraz. The
hot sun flashed on roof plates of copper, or of copper plated with silver and
gold. Beyond the city, on a ridge of higher ground, a row of windmills turned
lazily in the gentle breeze.

42

THE CLOCKS OF IKAZ

"Where should we dock?" asked Jonan.

"I—I believe the fishing wharves are at the south end," said Zerlik.

The Flying Fish passed the Tower of Kumashar, soaring up over a furlong.
Halfway up, on all four sides, the circle of a clock face interrupted the
sweep of the buff-colored masonry. The single hand of all four clocks showed
the Hour of the Otter, (orian took out a ring with a short length of fine
chain, held it suspended, and turned it slowly against the sun. A pinhole in
the upper part of the ring let a tiny shaft of light through to illumine the
hours marked on the inner side of the lower half of the ring.

"As I thought, 'tis past the Hour of the Turtle," said forian.

"If that be designed for measuring times in Ir," said Zerlik, "you must needs
correct it for the distance you have come southward."

"I know that; but even with such a correction, 'tis plain that your clocks are
out of order."

"They have not run for months. Old Yiyim, the clockmaster, kept saying that he
would get them fixed any day. At length His Majesty lost patience. Doctor
Karadur had been pressing him to let him take over the task, and now the king
told him to go ahead. So the .good doctor requested His Majesty to dispatch me
to fetch you to Iraz. And behold, here we are! Excuse me whilst I don more
seemly garb."

Zerlik vanished into the cabin, whence he presently emerged with a complete
change of clothes. He wore a silken shirt with full sleeves and over it a
short, embroidered, sleeveless vest. A knee-length pleated skirt clad his
legs; slippers with turned-up toes, his feet. On his head sat the cylindrical,
brimless, felt Irazi cap, like a small inverted bucket.

"You had better don your more respectable raiment, also," he said. "Even
though you disclaim the status of gentleman, it were well as a practical
matter to look like one."

"I daresay you're right," replied [orian. In his turn,

43

THE CLOCKS OF 1RAZ

he got out his one decent suit of shirt, jacket, hose tights, and soft boots.

"You are obviously a foreigner," said Zerlik, surveying him, "but that is no
matter. Iraz is a cosmopolitan city, and the folk are used to exotic garb."

The Flying Fish came abreast of the fishing wharves, where nets spread like
gigantic bats from house to house to dry. Jorian guided the little ship to
within a score of yards of the first empty quay, then hove to and lowered the
sails.

"Why sail we not right up to the mooring?" asked Zerlik. "It would make a
better impression than laboring into shore by our oars, like a pair of base
lumpers."

"If 1 knew the ship and the waterfront better, 1 might. As it is, I might
miscalculate. Then we should smash into the quay and damage our ship. That
would make a far worse impression than rowing."

As the Flying Fish touched gently against the quay, forian and Zerlik
scrambled ashore and made fast to the bollards. While they were tying up, an
official-looking person with brass buttons on his dark-blue vest and a short,
curved sword at his side bustled up and spoke in Penembic. Zerlik answered.
Although he could now make up a few simple sentences in the complex Penembic
tongue, forian could not understand the language when spoken rapidly.

"He is a deputy port inspector," said Zerlik as the man climbed aboard the
Flying Fish. "He will collect the harbor tax and issue you a temporary pass.
Then you must apply at the Bureau of Travel and Immigration for a permit as a
resident alien."

"Can we leave the ship tied up here?"

"I do not believe we are supposed to leave it overnight, but for a small bribe
1 think I can arrange it. He will not make things difficult for one of my
rank."

"How shall I find Karadur?"

"Oh, I will take care of that. Instead of lugging our gear to our quarters
like navvies, let you remain with the ship, guarding it, whilst I go to inform
Doctor Kar-

44

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

adur of our arrival. He will send transportation suitable for persons of our
quality."

lorian was not much taken with this plan, fearing being stranded in a strange
city where he neither knew his way nor spoke the language. While he pondered
his reply, the inspector sprang ashore again and chattered with Zerlik. Next,
the inspector produced writing materials, including several small sheets of
reed paper.

"He wants your name and nationality," said Zerlik.

With Zerlik translating, forian furnished the needed information, while the
inspector filled in blanks on his form in duplicate. At last )orian was asked
to sign both copies.

"Will you kindly read this to me?" he said. "I like not to sign my name to
aught I can't read; and your Penembic script looks like a tangle of
fishhooks."

Zerhk translated the text: a statement of Jorian's identity, the purpose of
his visit, and other elementary matters. At length he signed. The official
handed him one copy and departed. Zerlik shouted across the waterfront street,
and a donkey boy came running with his animal behind him.

"Farewell for the nonce!" cried Zerlik, swinging aboard the ass. "Guard well
our impedimenta!"

He jogged off along the waterfront street, with the boy running beside him.
Then he turned and vanished through one of the huge fortified gates in the sea
wall, which rose behind the row of slatternly houses on the landward side of
the street.

Jorian shaded his eyes against the low westering sun and gazed out to sea,
which had become an undulating carpet of golden flakes. Then he examined his
surroundings.

Men came and went along the waterfront. Most were Penembians in felt caps.
Some wore a pleated knee-length skirt like Zerlik's, while others encased
their legs in baggy trousers, gathered at the ankle. There was a sprinkling of
Fedirunis in head cloths and robes, and an occasional Mulvanian in a bulbous
turban. Now and then came a black man—a Paaluan with wavy hair and beard,
wearing a feather cloak, or perhaps a kinky-

45

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

haired, scar-faced man from the tropical jungles of Ber-aoti, swathed in
animal skins or in a loosely-pinned rectangle of cloth. A train of laden
camels swayed past, their bells chiming.

(orian waited.

And he waited.

He took a turn along the waterfront, peering in the doors of the taverns and
lodginghouses that backed against the sea wall and looking in shop windows. He
tried to ask a few Irazis the way to Doctor Karadur's dwelling. He had put
together the words comprising a simple question; but each time, the native
came back with a long, rattling sentence, too fast for Jorian to understand.
He stopped a man in a head cloth and queried him in Fediruni, but all the
reply he got was:

"I am sorry, good sir, but I am a stranger here, too."

Jorian returned to the Flying Fish and waited some more. The sun set. He
prepared a dinner from the supplies on the ship, ate, waited some more, and
went to sleep in the cabin.

Next morning, there was still no sign of Zerlik. Jor-ian wondered whether the
young man had fallen victim to an accident, or to foul play, or whether he had
deliberately abandoned his companion.

[orian would have liked to stroll about the neighborhood, to learn the layout
of the nearby streets. On the other hand, be durst not leave his gear
unguarded aboard the Flying Fish. Although the cabin door had a lock, it was
of the sort that any enterprising thief could pick with a bent pin. To prove
that this was the case, Jorian took out of a leathern inside pocket in his
hose one of several pieces of bent wire and opened the locked door with ease.
He had learnt to pick locks in preparing for his flight from Xylar.

To find a man in a strange city, without guide or map, where one did not speak
the language, was a formidable task. (If he had known about street signs and
house numbers, he would have added their lack to the hazards facing him. Never
having heard of them, he did not miss them.) The task was perhaps not quite so
haz-

46

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

ardous as slaying a dragon or competing in spells with a first-class wizard,
but it was still one to daunt all but the boldest.

When a merchantman pulled into a neighboring berth and several travelers
stepped ashore, a tout hurried up to offer his services. Jonan, however, had a
profound distrust of such gentry. The more eager one of them seemed to take
the stranger in tow, the more likely he was to be planning robbery or murder.

The Hour of the Hare came, and Jorian still turned over plans. For instance,
if he could accost a port official with whom he had some speech in common, he
could then ask advice about trustworthy guides. Of course the fellow might
hand him over to some cutthroat with whom he had an arrangement for sharing
the loot...

As Jorian, seated in the cockpit of the Flying Fish, thought about these
matters, a familiar figure appeared in the distance, ambling towards the
Flying Fish on the back of an ass. It was a thin, dark-skinned old man with
long white hair and beard, clad in a coarse brown robe and a bulbous white
turban. He was followed by a youth mounted on another ass and leading a third.

Jorian bounded out of his ship. " Karadur!" he shouted.

The oldster drew rein and stiffly dismounted. Jorian folded him in a bearlike
hug. Then they held each other out by the arms.

"By Imbal's brazen balls!" cried Jorian. "It's been over a year!"

"You look well, my son," said Karadur, on the middle finger of whose left hand
shone a golden ring with a large, round, blue stone. "The sun has burnt you as
dark as a black from the jungles of Beraoti."

"I've been conning this little tub for ten days, with-out a hat. And by the
way, Holy Father, she's yours."

"What mean you, O Jorian?"

"The Flying Fish belongs to you. You furnished the wherewithal to buy her in
Chemnis."

"Now, really, my son, what should 1 ever do with a ship like that? 1 am too
old to take up fishing as a means of livelihood. So keep the ship; I
relinquish her to you."

Jorian chuckled. "The same impractical old Karadur!

47

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

Well, I'm no fisherman, either, so perhaps your feelings won't be hurt if I
sell her... On second thought, perhaps 1 had better keep her. When one becomes
involved in one of your enterprises, one never knows when a speedy scape will
be needed. But tell me: Where in the forty-nine Mulvanian hells is that ninny
Zerlik? He was supposed to fetch me away yesterday."

Karadur shook his head. "A light-minded wight, I fear. I encountered him by
happenstance this morn at the palace, whither he had come to deliver his
report to the king. When he saw me, he clapped a hand to his forehead and
cried: 'Oh, rny gods, I forgot all about your friend )orian! 1 left him
awaiting me on the waterfront!' And then the taie came out."

"What had he been doing?"

"When he left you, he hastened home to greet his household and to see whether
his charioteer had yet returned with his car and team. As it fell out, they
had come in the day before; and so excited was Zerlik by the reunion with his
beloved horses that he forgot about you."

"And also, I daresay, by the pleasant prospect of fut-tering his wives all
night," said Jorian. "If I never see that young ass again, 'twill be too
soon."

"Oh, but he greatly   admires you! He talked me deaf about what a splendid
comrade you were in   a tight place: so masterful and omnicompetent. When you
have completed your   work here, if you embark upon another journey, he would
fain accompany you,   to play squire to your knight."

" Tis good to know that someone esteems me, but he'd only be in the way. 1
suppose he is not a bad lad; just a damned fool. But then, I doubtless
committed equal follies at his age. Now whither away- 1 need a bath."

"To my quarters, where you shall lodge. Put your bags on the spare ass, and we
wil! deliver Zerlik's at his house on the way."

Over lunch at Karadur's apartment, in a rooming house near the palace, Jorian
said: "As I understand it,

48

THE CLOCKS OF !RAZ

you wish me to fix the clocks in the Tower of Kuma-shar, and this will somehow
free Estrildis from Xylar. What's the connection?"

"My son, I have no instant method of recovering your spouse—"

"Then why haul me a hundred leagues down the coast? Of course, if the job pay
well—"

"But I confidently expect to obtain such a method as a result of your success
with the clocks. The little lady has not become some other's wife, has she?"

"I'm sure not. I got word to her by one of my brothers, who traveled through
Xylar, selling and repairing clocks, and smuggled a note in to her. The note
urged her, if she still loved me, to hold out,- that I should find a way to
bring her forth. But how will my repairing Irazi clocks do that?"

"It is thus. The high priest of Ughroluk once uttered a prophecy, that these
clocks should save the city from destruction, provided that they were kept
running on time. Last year the clocks stopped; nor could Clock-master Yiyim
prevail upon them to function again. This is not surprising, since Yiyim was
an impoverished cousin of the king, who had been appointed to this post
because he was in penury and not because he knew aught about clocks."

"What's the state of the horological art in Iraz?"

"None exists, beyond a few water clocks imported from Novaria and the grand
one that your father installed in the tower. In the House of Learning, several
savants strive to master the art. They have attained to the point where one of
their clocks loses or gains no more than a quarter-hour a day. In a few years,
me-thinks, Iraz will make clocks as good as any. Till then, the Irazis must
make do with sundials, hourglasses, and time candles."

"What's this House of Learning?" asked Jorian.

"It is a great institution, set up over a century ago under—ah—who was that
king?" Karadur snapped his fingers. "Drat it! My memory worsens every day. Ah!
I remember: King Hoshcha. It has two divisions: the School of Spirit and the
School of Matter. The former

49

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

deals with the magical arts; the latter, with the mechanical arts. Each school
includes libraries, laboratories, and classrooms wherein the savants impart
their principles to students."

"Like the Academy at Othomae, but on a grander scale," said )orian.

"Exactly, my son, exactly; save that the Academy— ah—devotes itself mainly to
literary and theological studies, whereas the House of Learning deals with
more utilitarian matters. I have a post in the School of Spirit."

"Come to think, I heard of this House when I was studying poetry at the
Academy. Wasn't it they who developed the modern windmill?"

"Aye, it was. But the House of Learning is not what it was erstwhiles."

"How so?" asked lorian.

"Hoshcha and his immediate successors were enthusiasts for the sciences, both
material and spiritual. Under them, the House received lavish subsidies and
achieved great advances. But later kings discovered that, for all the
achievements of their laboratories, they were still bound by mortal
limitations. A more efficient draft harness did not keep the king's officals
from grafting and peculating and oppressing the people. A spell against
smallpox did not cure the king of lusts, follies, and errors of judgment. An
improved water wheel did not stop his kinsmen from trying to poison him to
usurp the throne."

"If you fellows are given your heads, you'll have this world as mechanized as
that afterworld, whither our souls go after death and where all tasks are done
by machinery. You'll remember that I glimpsed it in my flight from Xylar."

Karadur shrugged and continued: "Discovering that life, even though materially
better in some ways, was not really happier, the kings began to lose interest
in the House of Learning. During the last half-century, appropriations have
been steadily lessened. There have been no great advances since the invention
of the telescope, thirty-odd years ago.

"The present head of the House of Learning is one

50

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

Borai—another sinecurist, unqualified for his task. Because of the prophecy
concerning the clocks, the king and his advisers have been greatly exercised
over their malfunction. The king has brought pressure to bear upon Borai, who
in turn has brought it upon the dean of the School of Matter, who in his turn
has applied it to Yiyim the Clockmaster—all to no avail.

"None of these gentlemen can admit the principle that appointments to the
House of Learning ought to be on a basis of merit and knowledge, for then
their own posts would be endangered. The expert, they assert, is too full of
prejudices and convictions that this or that is impossible. Only the
gentlemanly amateur can view these arcane arts in a judgmatical spirit. And so
things have buzzed along for months, with much loquacity but no action.

"Last month, His Majesty gave a banquet to the professors of the School of
Spirit. The king entertained us with such gustatory rarities as the tongues of
the fatu-liva bird of distant Burang—gods of Mulvan, how that man eats! Being
myself a man of very simple tastes, I paid little heed to these exotic
delicacies but seized the opportunity to broach some of my own ideas to His
Majesty. I implied that, had I Borai's authority, 1 could eftsoons have his
tower clocks put in order.

"We beat around the bush somewhat, since prudent commoners utter not blunt
truths to kings, nor do wise kings reveal their full minds to commoners. King
Ish-bahar, howsomever, is not an unreasonable individual when one can get his
mind off his stomach. He conceded that something must be done about his non-
timekeeping timepieces. On the other hand, he could not simply dismiss Borai,
who has powerful friends among the nobility, on the mere say-so of a junior
professor and a foreigner at that.

"At last we reached a compromise. Ishbahar would grant me a special   commission
as Friend of the King, which in practice means king's errand boy. I   might then
make my own arrangements for fixing the clocks, if they worked, the   king would
pension off Borai and appoint me in his room. On the strength of my   commis-
51

THE CLOCKS OF 1RAZ

sion, I sent Zerlik to find you, having approximately located you by
divination."

"But how does this get my little darling out of that gilded gaol in Xylar?"

"See you not, my son? As director of the House of Learning, I can direct the
efforts of the scientists and magicians under my command in such directions as
would prove most efficacious in abducting your wife. With all that
intellectual power—"

"I wonder that you haven't figured out some magical method of your own."

"That is not possible in my present situation. The dean of the School of
Spirit, Fahramak, is of the same kidney as Borai and Yiyim. To make sure that
I did not—ah—'show him up,' as the vulgar put it, he assigned me to one of the
most useless tasks he could find: compiling a dictionary of the language of
the demons of the Fifth Plane. He visits me betimes to make certain that I
waste not my time on other researches."

"What had you in mind as a method of rescue?"

"A magical flying vehicle seems the most promising. You have certainly heard
of flying brooms and carpets. We have investigated these and found that, while
it is possible to imprison a demon in one of these objects and compel him to
bear it aloft, they leave much to be desired as aerial vehicles."

"What do they do?"

"They wobble, overturn, go into a spin like that of a falling leaf, and
otherwise misbehave, with usually fatal results for the would-be flier. Some
of Fahramak's savants are working on the problem now. If you will repair the
clocks, I shall be in a position to assign more of my colleagues to the
problem, and I doubt not that we shall soon achieve our goal."

"Who will pay me," asked lorian, "and how much?"

"I shall pay you from the fund set aside for my use as King's Friend. Would
half a Penembic royal a day suit you?"

"How much is that in Novarian?"

"A Penembic royal is worth about two and a half Irian marks, or a sixth of a
Xylarian lion."

52

THE CLOCKS OF [RAZ

"Half a royal a day will do nicely, then."

"It is not so much as it seems at first blink, for these great cities are
costly to dwell in. If you find yourself running short, confer with me."
"Meseems I shall do well to invest my first pay in some local garb, to be less
conspicuous."

Karadur looked sharply. "That brings up a question. Dress has political
significance here."

"OH How's that?"

. "There are two racing factions, the Pants and the Kilts—"

"I beg your pardon. Said you racing factions?"

"Aye. Belike I had best begin at the beginning. Know that of all mankind, the
folk of Iraz are the greatest sport fanatics, and their favorite sport is
racing. They race beasts of divers kinds—even tortoises."

"What? Were a snail race not more thrilling?"

"Spare me your jests, my son. These are giant tortoises, from distant isles.
Men ride them around the Hippodrome. Now there are two factions, distinguished
by their garb. One faction wears kilts, like that which you saw on Master
Zerlik; the other, trousers. It is a rare race that is not followed by a riot
betwixt the factions, with knifings and other outrages; and there are affrays
between factionists apart from the races."

"What's the political angle?"

"With so much rabid partisanship afloat, the factions have acquired political
colorings. One might call the Pants the liberals and the Kilts the
conservatives, since the kilt is the more traditional garment. Trews have come
into fashion only in the last century, being copied from those worn in
northern Mulvan."

"Then I shall perforce have to be enrolled as a liberal," said Jorian, "for I
prefer trousers. Where stands the king in this?"

"He is supposed to be neutral, since the factions have public status and
furnish companies of the Civic Guard. In fact, he leans to the Kilts, who are
vociferous supporters of absolute monarchy, whereas the Pants would fain limit
the king's power by an elective council. The Pants are in bad odor just now,
for a dissident faction

53

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

of them has fled Iraz, it is feared to foment revolt in the countryside, ft
were wiser for you, therefore, to dress as a Kilt."

jorian stubbornly shook his head. "I shall wear trousers, for I should never
feel comfortable in a skirt. Too drafty. You will have to explain that, as a
foreigner, the garment has no political significance for me." , Karadur
sighed. "I will try. As I said, King Ishbahar is not an unreasonable wight, if
one interfere not with his gustatory pleasures."

54
IV

c

LAD IN HIS BAGGY NEW IRAZI TROUSERS, JORJAN STOOD

in the courtyard of the Tower of Kumashar and tipped his head back, squinting
against the brightness of the sky.

"By Vaisus' brazen arse!" he said. "Those clocks must be thirty stories above
us. Am I doomed to run up and down thirty flights of steps every day?"

"Nay, my son," said Karadur. "As the tower was originally built in the days of
Shashtai the Third, men had to toil up all seventy-odd stories to bear fuel
for the beacon. But so many workmen perished of heart failure that, when
Joshcha established the House of Learning, he commanded the savants to devise
a method of hoisting men and materials up and down the tower. Come with me,
and you shall see."

The twain approached the vast entrance on the north side, where the huge
teakwood doors were flanked and surmounted by sculptured lions, dragons, and
gryphons. The soldier leaning against the stone of the door frame straightened
up, stepped in front of the door, and clicked his greaves together as he came
to attention. He barked a challenge in Penembic.

Karadur peered nearsightedly. "Oh," he said, and replied in the same tongue.
"Here!"

The old Mulvanian produced a scroll of parchment, which he handed to the
soldier. The latter, needing both hands to unroll the stiff sheet, had to
balance his halberd awkwardly in the crook of his arm as he read. He

55

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

let the parchment roll up again with a snap and handed it back.

"Pass, sirs!" he said, bringing his fist up to his bron-zen breastplate in
salute. He turned the big brass door handle with a clank and pushed open one
of the teak-wood valves. The hinges squealed.

The interior was cavernous and dusty. After the brilliance of the sun outside,
it seemed dark, although windows at every story let in light. The light was
dimmed, however, by the dirt on the windowpanes.

To the right, the mam staircase rose from the floor. It circled round and
round the tower as it rose, with landings at every story to give access to the
many small chambers built into the structure. The hollow shaft of the interior
rose into dimness far above.

On the ground floor were pieces of apparatus: chains and ropes hanging down
from above and, to one side, a horse mill. This comprised a vertical shaft
with a horizontal crosspiece on top. From each end of the crosspiece dangled a
set of straps and a horse collar. No animals now occupied the harness.

"What's that?" asked Jorian.
"When the clocks are running, the water that drives them must needs be daily
pumped from the sump back up into the reservoir. A pair of mules, attached to
yon mill, turns the shaft, which drives the pump by means of those chains and
sprockets and things. You would understand them better than I. Since the
clocks have stopped, howsomever, the mules have been put to other tasks. Hola,
Saghol!"

A bundle of rags in a corner stirred and resolved itself into a sleeping
workman. As the man rose, a grin split the brown face and showed an irregular
row of yellow teeth.

"Ah, Doctor Karadur!" said the man and went on in Penembic. Jorian thought he
said: "Do you wish to go up?"

"Aye," said Karadur and turned to (orian. "How much do you weigh, my son?"

"A hundred and ninety the last time I weighed. When I get over two hundred, I
begin to worry. Why?"

56

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"Your weight must be counterbalanced." Karadur turned to the lift attendant.
"Allow us three hundred and a quarter."

Saghol pulled one of the cords that hung from above, whence a bell tinkled
faintly.

"Stand in this thing with me," said Karadur. The wizard stepped into a large,
open-topped wooden box or tray, six feet on a side, with a handrail around it
and a gantrylike structure arching over their heads. Attached to this
structure was a chain, which extended upward out of sight.

Saghol grasped another cord and jerked it thirteen times, with a pause between
jerks. Then he pulled the first cord again, twice. The bell tinkled.

"Whatever is he doing?" asked Jorian.

"He is signaling his colleagues above to set counterweights weighing three
hundred and twenty-five pounds in the other car, to balance our weight. Hold
tight!"

Jorian gripped the stanchion on his side of the box, which trembled and rose.
"By Zevatas' golden whiskers!" he exclaimed as he peered over the edge.

"Make no sharp movements," said Karadur, "lest you set this car to swinging
like a pendulum."

The stairs and chambers of the tower sank past as the lift rose. The walls
carne slowly closer, since the tower tapered upward. At the sixteenth story,
the other car, laden with cast-iron weights, sank past them. The sounds of
gearwheels and ratchets from above waxed louder.

The car stopped, and Karadur stepped briskly out. Jorian followed. A pair of
brawny, sweating Irazis rested from turning a pair of large flywheels by means
of crank handles.

The shaft bearing these wheels was united by gearing with a huge sprocket
wheel mounted over the center of the hollow shaft of the tower. The lift car
that had carried Jorian up hung from one end of the chain that passed over the
sprocket, while the weighted car that had passed them hung from the other. A
dog locked the ' gearing in place.

57

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

" Whew!" said forian, peering uneasily down the shaft. "That scared me worse
than when the princess Yargali turned into a monster serpent whilst I was in
bed with her."

"Now, now, my son!" said Karadur. "Do you still practise your old vice of
self-deprecation?"

Jorian grinned weakly. "Not very often, Holy Father. Anyway, I misdoubt these
fellows understand Novar-ian." He stepped to one of the windows. Beneath him,
vast Iraz lay spread out, with broad, straight processional avenues cutting at
various angles through the tangle of lesser streets and alleys. Amid the sea
of red-tiled roofs, the metallic roof-plates of temples and other public
buildings flashed blindingly in the sunlight, like gems scattered about a red-
patterned counterpane.

"Oi!" said lorian. "Karadur, tell me: is that the palace? And that the temple
of Ughroluk? And that the House of Learning? Where lies our tenement:"

Karadur pointed out landmarks, (orian said: "1 wonder the king add not a few
coppers to his treasury by letting the vulgus up the tower for a small fee, to
enjoy the view."

"One of Ishbahar's predecessors did that; but so many young people,
disappointed in love, ascended the tower to jump from the top that the
privilege was rescinded. If you have seen enough, follow me."

The old man led lorian up a narrow stair to the next level, cluttered by a
mass of machinery. To one side rose another lift, like the one that had
brought them halfway up the tower but smaller.

"That takes fuel up to the beacon," said Karadur. "There is Yiyim now."

A metallic tapping came from the clockwork. Then a small, gnomish man with a
graying beard popped out of the gearing. In one hand he gripped a hammer, with
which he had been tapping one of the huge brass gearwheels.

"O Yiyim," said Karadur, "this is lorian the Korto-lian, whom the king has
commanded to repair the clocks. Jorian, I present Clockmaster Yiyim."

Yiyim stood glaring with fists on hips, silent but for

58

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ
the hiss of breath in his nostrils. Then he hurled his hammer to the floor
with a clang.

"You cursed old pickthank!" he screeched. "Offspring of a demon and a sow!
Incondite meddler!" He added several more epithets, for which Jorian's limited
Penembic was inadequate. "So your plot finally came to a boil, eh? And you
think I'll show this young mountebank how these clocks work, so that he can
steal the credit for starting them and cozen me out of my post, eh? Well, not
one word of help shall you have from me! If the twain of you get caught in the
gears and ground to sausage, so much the better. May the gods piss on you!"

Yiyim vanished down the stairs. The sounds of the lift told of his departure.

"Something tells me I had better not stand at the base of the tower whilst
that fellow's at the top," said (orian, "where he could drop something on me."

"Oh, he is harmless. If you succeed, Ishbahar will pension him off; and he
surely would not risk loss of his pension by fomenting trouble."

"Yes? Umm. I've seen what happened before when you trusted somebody to be
upright and reasonable." Joriari picked up the hammer. "Here's one tool,
anyway. There's a tool rack on yonder wall, but with nary a tool in it."

"They have all been mislaid or purloined over the years," said Karadur. "You
needs must furnish your own."

"I shall, when I've looked over the works..."

For an hour, Karadur sat cross-legged on the floor, absorbed in meditation,
while Jorian tapped and pried and fingered the clockwork. At last he said:

"1 haven't worked on clocks for years, but it is plain as your .whiskers why
this machine won't run."

"What is the cause, my son?"

"Causes, you mean. For one thing, one of the pallets of the escapement is
bent. For another, somebody must have struck this gear in the train a heavy
blow and marred one of the teeth. For three, the oil in the bearings

59

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

has been allowed to dry and get sticky, so the wheels wouldn't turn even if
all the other faults were righted."

"Can you rectify these deficiencies?"

"I think so. But first 1 must order tools. Who would be the best man in Iraz
for that?"

On the twenty-third of the Month of the Stag, a procession arrived at the
courtyard of the Tower of Ku-mashar. First marched a musical band. Then came a
company of the royal guard, consisting of one platoon each of pikemen,
swordsmen, and arbalesters. Then came the royal litter, borne on the
shoulders, not of slaves, but of the leading gentlemen of the court, half of
them in kilts and half in trousers. A squadron of cavalry brought up the rear.

The courtiers set down the litter in front of the main entrance. As the
curtains of the litter parted, the soldiers clanged to salute, while the
civilians dropped to one knee.

An enormously fat man in a gold-embroidered white robe, with a curly wig on
his head and a serpent crown on top of that, emerged slowly from the litter.
The effort made him puff and wheeze.

When King Ishbahar had caught his breath, he made an upward gesture, so that
the sun flashed on the huge ruby seal stone on the middle finger of his left
hand. In a high, wheezy voice he said:

"Rise, good people! Ah, Doctor Karadur!"

The king waddled forward. In his path lay a puddle from yesterday's rain, but
one of the gentlemen quickly threw his mantle over it.

Karadur bowed. The king said: "And is this your young—ah—Master—ah—"

"Jorian, Your Majesty," said Karadur.

"Master Jorian? A pleasure to know you, young sir, heh heh. Are the clocks
running?"

"Aye, O King," said Jorian. "Would you fain see the works?"

"Indeed we would. Is the lift working?"

"Aye, sire."

60

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"We trust all its parts are sound and solid, for we are not exactly a sylph,
heh heh! Let us go; let us go."

The king puffed his way through the portal. Inside, the ground floor of the
tower had received a hasty sweeping and cleaning. A pair of mules walked the
boom of the mill around, while a muleteer from time to time cut at one or the
other with his whip. The gears and shafting grumbled. The king stepped aboard
the lift.

"Doctor Karadur!" he said. "It were inconsiderate to ask one of your years to
climb thirty flights, so you shall ride with us. You, too, Master Jorian, to
answer technical questions."

"Your Majesty!" said one of the gentlemen—a tall, thin man with a pointed gray
beard. "No offense to Messires Karadur and Jorian, but it were risky to
entrust yourself to the car without a bodyguard."

"Well, heh heh, one stalwart soldier ought to suffice."

"If lift will bear weight, sire," said Jorian.
"What is its limit?"

"I know not for sure, but methinks we press it."

"Ah, well, we cannot diet down in time for this ride. Colonel Chuivir!"

"Aye, sire?" replied the most glittering soldier of all, a strikingly handsome
man as tall as Jorian.

"Detail a squad of the guard to ascend the tower by the stairs, keeping on a
level with us as the lift bears us aloft. Pick strong men with sound hearts!
We would not have them collapse halfway up, heh heh."

Like the tower, Saghol, the ground-floor lift attendant, had been cleaned up
for the occasion. He jerked his cords, and the lift rose, groaning. The squad
of guardsmen clattered up the stairs, keeping pace with the lift.

At the top, the king got off the lift, which wobbled as his weight left it,
and wheezed his way up to the clockwork floor. Jorian followed. The soldiers,
red-faced, sweating, and gasping, filed into the clockwork chamber after him.

On the clockwork floor, the machinery was in full noisy operation. The shaft
driven by the horse mill on

61

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

the ground floor rotated, driving the pump that raised water from the sump to
the reservoir above. Water ran from this reservoir through a pipe to a large
wheel bearing a circle of buckets. As each bucket filled, the escapement
released the wheel, allowing it to rotate just far enough to bring an empty
bucket under the spout. At the bottom of their travel, the buckets tipped,
spilling their water into the trough, whence it ran to the sump. The bucket
wheel drove a gear train connected to the shafts of the four clocks on the
four sides of the tower. Another mechanism struck a gong on the hour.

"We have not been up here in years, heh, heh," said King Ishbahar, raising his
voice to be heard above the clatter and splashing. "Pray explain this to me,
good Master Jorian."

Jorian's Penembic was now fairly fluent if ungram-matical. With Karadur
helping to translate when he got stuck, Jorian told the king about clockwork.
While for-ian spoke, several gentlemen, having come up on the second trip of
the lift, filed into the chamber.

"You should know Doctor Borai, O forian," said the King. "He is director of
our House of Learning—at least for now."

Borai, potbellied, gray-bearded, and kilted, bowed to Jorian, mumbled
something that Jorian could not hear, and shot a slit-eyed glare at Karadur.

"Pardon us a moment," said the king. "We would speak to him of plans for the
city, and where better to discuss such things than this lofty eyrie, whence it
is spread out below us like a map?"

The king waddled over to a window, where to Borai he pointed out various
things below, talking animatedly. A plump, trousered man a little older than
Jorian addressed him.

"Permit me, Master Jorian. I am Lord Vegh, stasiarch of the Pants. I see by
your garb that you are a person of progressive ideas, like those of my
honorable association. When you take out Penembic citizenship, perhaps you
would care—"

"Soliciting a new member already, eh, Vegh?" said

62

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

the tall, thin grandee with the pointed gray beard. "Not sporting, you know."

"First come, first served," said Vegh.

"Excuse me, my lords," said Jorian. "I he not up on Irazi politics. Explain,
pray."

Vegh smiled. "This is Lord Amazluek, stasiarch of the Kilts. Naturally, he
would prefer to enlist you in his—"

"Bah!" said Amazluek. "The poor fellow has but lately   arrived in Iraz. How
should he know the glories of our ancient traditions,   which my association
cherishes and upholds? Be advised, young sir, that if   you would fain make your
way amongst people of the better sort here, you ought   to abandon those
barbarous nether garments—"

"I believe I was conversing with Master Jorian, when you cut in, Amazluek,"
said Vegh. "Will you kindly mind your business, whilst I—"

"It is my business!" cried Amazluek. "When I see three cozening an innocent
young foreigner—"

"Cozening!" shouted Vegh. "Why, thou—"

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" said several courtiers, thrusting themselves between
the angry stasiarchs.

"Anyway," said Amazluek, "none of my association has turned traitor and fled
to the provinces to raise a rebellion!" He turned his back and stalked off.

"What he talk about?" said Jorian, looking innocent.

Vegh: "Oh, he alludes to that rascal Mazsan, leader of a dissident faction. He
was a member of my honorable association ere we expelled him. There are always
bloodthirsty extremists, and Mazsan is ours."

"Yes?"

"You see, Master Jorian, we—the Pants, that is— are the moderates of Iraz. We
follow the middle way, in .urging that the Royal Council be elected and given

• legislative powers. On one hand we have mossbacked
': conservatives, like Amazluek, who would hold back all

'; progress. On the other, we have fanatics like Mazsan,

. who would abolish the monarchy altogether. We are

the only sensible folk."

-,     "What this about Mazsan disappearing?"

i     63

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"He and some followers have dropped out of sight, and rumor says they fled the
city when their attempt to unseat me failed. But none has seen them since. I
suspect that some of Amazluek's rich young thugs caught the lot at a
conspiratorial meeting, murdered them, and concocted the tale of their flight
to discredit all the Pants. When—"

"Gentlemen!" wheezed the king. "We do believe we have seen enough for the
nonce. Let us all return to the courtyard, where we shall have somewhat to
say."

When they were drawn up in the courtyard in the middle of a hollow square of
the Royal Guard, King

Ishbahar said:

"It is our pleasure to announce that, in recognition of their services to our
crown and state in repairing the clocks of the Tower of Kumashar, we hereby
appoint Doctor Karadur of Mulvan director of the House of Learning, and Master
Jorian of Kortoli our new clock-master. In recognition of their many years of
faithful service, Doctor Borai and Clockmaster Yiyim are retired on pension.
Doctor Borai is hereby made honorary commissioner of city planning."

"Oi! Who said I wanted to be clockmaster?" Jorian whispered to Karadur.

"Do be quiet, my son. You needs must do something whilst I grapple with the
problem of your wife, and the

pay is fair."

"Oh, well. Borai doesn't seem to like being pensioned."

"That is not surprising, seeing that his income will be halved. The city-
planning thing carries no salary."

"Then we have another enemy to watch out for."

"You are too suspicious—"

"And now, gentlemen," said the king, "we shall return to our humble home.
Doctor Karadur and Master ]orian, it is our pleasure that you take lunch with
us this noon."

On the way from the tower to the palace, Jorian and Karadur passed through a
huge gate in the wall sur-

64

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

rounding the palace grounds. From the top of the gate rose a row of iron
spikes, one of which bore a human head.

"The Gate of Happiness," said Karadur.

"That wight up yonder doesn't look very happy," said Jorian, indicating the
head.

"Oh, this is the traditional place where heads of malefactors are exhibited."

"A curious conceit, to attach such a name to such a place."

"You utter verities, my son. The present monarch, howsomever, is mild and
merciful, so that there is seldom more than one head on exhibition at a time.
The conservatives grumble that such lenity encourages evildoers. "

In the palace, the gentleman litter-bearers were dismissed by the king. Jorian
and Karadur were conducted to a private dining room, where they ate with the
king, alone but for a pair of guardsmen standing in the corners, a secretary
who scribbled notes, and the king's food taster.

-After amenities, forian brought up his brush with the pirates of Algarth on
his voyage south. "From what I hear," he said, "they wax ever more aggressive
along these coasts. I daresay Your Majesty knows what actions to take against
them."

Looking unhappy, King Ishbahar spoke to the secretary: "Remind me to pass the
word to Admiral Kyar, O Herekit." Then to Jorian: "Ah, that we could persuade
these rogues to earn honest livings, like other men! Do you know that the
ungrateful knaves have had the insolence to demand an increase in our annual
largesse?"

"Means Your Majesty that you pay them trib—unh\" Jorian broke off as Karadur
kicked his shin beneath the table. "I mean—ah—that your government subsidizes
these gentry?"

"One might put it thus. One might. I know there is an argument for a hard
policy; we have gone over it many a time and oft in council meetings. But our
great philosopher Rebbim held that such men. should not be

65

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

blamed for their acts. The Algarthian Archipelago is a congeries of barren,
sea-beaten rocks, where little food can DC raised. The folk of that grim land
must, therefore, resort to piracy or face starvation. So a subsidy, in return
for immunity to our ships, seemed but a humane and

benevolent act.
"Besides which, the subsidy was at first but a fraction of the cost of putting
our navy on a war footing. Know you that the stroke man of a bench of rowers
now gets three coppers a day? Some people are never satisfied." The king shook
his head, his jowls wobbling. "But let us to a pleasanter subject. Do try this
rhinoceros liver with sauce of lamprey's brains. You will swear that you have
tasted nought like it, heh heh."

Jorian tried it. "Your Majesty is right," he said, swallowing manfully. "Your
servant has never tasted aught like it. But, whilst Your Majesty's wish is my
command, I have come to point where I can still chew but not swallow. I am
full."

"Oh, come! A big, lusty swain like you? What you have eaten would not keep a
bird alive. Not a bird."

"That depends upon the kind of bird, sire. I have already eaten thrice my
usual lunch. Is like story of King Fusinian and the Teeth of Grimnor, which I
told you."

The king's jowls quivered with laughter. "Ah, Master Jorian! Would that, had
the gods permitted us children, we had a son like you!"

Startled, Jorian looked up. "Your Majesty's flattery overwhelms me. But..." he
raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Karadur said: "Master Jorian is new to Iraz, sire, and he has been working
night and day on the clocks. He is therefore unfamiliar with your dynastic
situation." "Our dynastic situation, as the learned doctor delicately puts it,
is simple. We have had several wives, of whom two survive; but with all of
these available females, we have begotten but one child, who died in infancy.
So now we face the prospect of passing our crown on to one of a pair of
worthless nephews.

"But let us speak of more cheerful things. In three

66

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

days comes the feast of Ughroluk, with the major races of the year. You two
learned gentlemen shall occupy reserved seats in the Hippodrome, directly
below the royal box. You will be safer there in case the factionists make a
disturbance."

The king sighed as he looked at the still heaped plates before him. "Would we
could spend the afternoon enjoying the harmless delights of the palate and
interfering with none. But, alas, we must depart for our nap, after which we
have a tedious matter of a lawsuit to decide. Ah, the rues of royalty!

"Know, Master Jorian, that in our youth we were deemed a bit of a scholar. In
the libraries, you will still find our treatise on the pronunciation of
Penembic in the days of Juktar the Great. But all that, alas, is far behind
us. For the past year, we have endeavored to write our memoirs, but so
implacably does public business nibble at our time that we have not yet
reached the third chapter."

"I can sympathize," said Jorian. "I, too, have sometimes wished that I could
have been a scholar, as Doctor Karadur is, in sooth. I did once study briefly
at the Academy of Othomas; but the exigencies and contingencies of life have
never let me abide in any one place long enough to get my teeth into a program
of serious study."

"Now that you are living amongst us," said the king, "we are sure that this
difficulty can be overcome. And now we must away once more. Fare you well, our
friends."

Later, Jorian said: "He seems like an amiable old duck."

"Amiable, yes," said Karadur. "But he neglects public business to pamper his
stomach, and he has no more spine than a bowlful of jelly. From a strictly
moral point of view, I applaud his pacific outlook; but I fear it is
impractical in this wicked world."

forian grinned. "You're the one who was always twit-ting me on my juvenile
cynicism, as you called it, and now 'tis you who voice acerb views."

67

THE CLOCKS OF 1RAZ

"1 have probably caught some of your acrimonious outlook, like a contagious
tisic. So long as the kingdom ride on an even keel, King Ishbahar may do well
enough. But if a crisis arise—well, we shall see."

"Is this fellow Mazsan likely to overthrow him? So feeble a rule impresses me
not as perdurable."

"Mazsan has dwelt in Novaria and returned full of lofty ideas for setting up a
republic on the lines of Vin-dium. His following is formidable, since
oppression and corruption are rife amongst Ishbahar's officials. Let us hope
Mazsan never succeeds."

"Why so? The Vindines seem to do as well as the folk of any of the Twelve
Cities, and things do not look good to me here."

"It is not Mazsan's ideas, which are not bad as such things go; it is the man
himself. I know him. He is brilliant, energetic, and idealistic—but a hater,
boiling with rancor and ferity. He has boasted that, when he attains power,
there shall be displayed at the Gate of Happiness not one head but a thousand.
There is a tale that he would even summon the wild nomads of Fe-dirun to help
him to his goal."

" 'Tis too bad that we cannot somehow sunder the man from his ideas," said
Jorian.

"Aye; but that is the rock whereon many noble political schemes have gone to
wrack. Mazsan could proclaim the world's most enlightened constitution, but
that would do the Irazis no good when he began decapitating them by the
hundred, as he would the instant he had power."

"So then," said Jorian, "the choice between that kindly mass of wobbling royal
jelly and the gifted but bloodthirsty Master Mazsan is like the choice between
being hanged and beheaded."
"True, but that is the way of the world."

68

HE MORNING OF THE TWENTY-SIXTH WAS OVERCAST,

presaging another autumnal rain. The mouth of the Lyap was covered with small
craft, plying back and forth like a swarm of water insects as they conveyed
thousands of Irazis across the river to Zaktan.

Jorian and Karadur strolled up the street that led from the Zaktanian
waterfront. The street ended at the edge of the temenos of the temple of
Nubalyaga. Following the flow of the crowd, Jorian and Karadur proceeded
around the temple grounds to the right. This brought them to the temple
entrance at the eastern end of the temenos.

The temple was a huge structure of domes and spires.   The silver plating of its
tiles glowed softly under the gray sky. Flanking the   entrance were two thirty-
foot statues of Nubalyaga in the form of a beautiful   naked woman. One statue
showed her as bending a huge bow; the other, pouring   water from a jar.

"The one on the left is chasing away the eclipse," said Karadur, "whilst the
other controls the tides."

Jorian stopped to look. "That's funny," he said. "Last night I dreamt that a
woman just like that sculptor's model appeared unto me."

"Oh? What did she?"

"She said something like: 'Beware the second crown, my son.' Since the dame
was clad as you see those statues, and since I have been unwontedly virtuous
since you and I parted in Metouro, I sought to make love to her; but she
turned to smoke and vanished. Since I

69

THE CLOCKS OF IH.AZ

thought the dream but a manifestation of my bridled lusts, and since the words
did not seem to make sense, I paid no special heed and have now forgotten the
rest

of the vision."

"Hm. One needs must be alert to such things, because the gods—ah — really do
appear to mortals thus, as you well know."

"If the advice of this goddess be no better than that of that little green
god, Tvasha, who advised us in Shven, I can do without it."

Since the temple stood on an elevation, the street leading eastwards from it
sloped downwards. Down this street flowed a river of folk: Irazis, the men in
kilts or trousers and their women in enveloping robes; foreigners from Fedirun
and Novaria and even—sweating in their furs and heavy woolens—blond barbarians
from distant Shven. Among the Irazi men, kilt-wearing partisans sported the
red and white colors of their faction, while adherents of the Pants wore blue
and gold.
"It gratifies me to hear that you are subduing the lusts of the flesh," said
Karadur. "It is the requisite preliminary step towards moral perfection and
spiritual enlightenment. Have you, then, adhered to some ascetic philosophy or
culms?"

"Nay; I merely felt that Estrildis would mislike it if she knew I'd been
dipping my wick. That's love for you. If I ever get her back, I'll make up for
lost time."

They came to the outer wall of the Hippodrome, where rows of stone arches, one
atop another, supported the tiers of seats. The crowd divided and flowed
around the structure to the entrances. Jorian said:

"Our passes admit us through Entrance Four. Which

is that?"

"To the right," replied Karadur.

Hawkers of flags, toy chariots, handwritten programs, and food and drink
mingled with the crowd, crying their wares, (orian and Karadur found Entrance
Four and were swept in with the tide. An usher saluted as he saw the royal
passes and directed their holders to seats below the royal box, at the halfway
mark on one side of the long, elliptical course.

70

THE CLOCKS OF [RAZ

Jorian and Karadur settled in their seats and opened /• their lunch. On their
left, where seats were reserved for active members of the Pants, the stands
were a mass of blue and gold. On their right, red and white likewise filled
the stands in the bloc composed of Kilts. Members of the two blocs scowled at
each other across the intervening strip reserved for noblemen and officials,
where sat Jorian and Karadur. Now and then, an epithet , was shouted above the
general dm.

Jorian was finishing his beer when a fanfare announced the king. All in the
stands arose as Ishbahar waddled into his box and lowered himself into the
gilded ' throne. When the audience had sat again, the king motioned to his
cner, who produced a speaking trumpet. The king held up a sheet of reed paper
and a reading glass. He began to read in his wheezy squeak, pausing between
sentences so that the crier could bellow his words.

It was a dull little speech, what Jorian could understand of it:
"...auspicious occasion., .glorious nation ... gallant contestants... good
sportsmanship... may the best team win..."

As the king finished, a man arose from among the Pants and shouted: "When will
Your Majesty bring the slayers of Sefer to book?"

The king replied through his crier: "Pray, good sir, do not bring up this
question now. The time is inappropriate. We are pursuing the matter..." But
the voice even of the leather-lunged crier was lost in the chant of "Justice!
Justice!" that rose from the massed Pants. In their turn, the Kilts began
shouting in rhythm: "Down! Quiet! Down! Quiet!"
"Who's Sefer?" asked Jorian.

"An official of the Pants, who was found slain. The Pants swear he was killed
by a gang of Kilts; the Kilts deny all knowledge of it."

The shouts of the crier, together with a threatening move on the part of the
squads of gleaming guardsmen in bronzen cuirasses and crested steel helmets,
at length : abated the shouts of the rival factionists.

"/:"   71

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"They are putting the tortoise race first," said Karadur, "to amuse the mob
and take the factiomsts' minds—if that be the word I wish—off their feud."

At the starting post at one end of the course, Jorian sighted through his
spyglass-four huge tortoises. When they stood up on their thick, bowed legs,
the tops of their shells were the height of a tall man from the ground. On the
back of each tortoise was strapped a saddle, similar to a camel saddle. On
each saddle sat a man in motley clown's costume.

At the blast of a trumpet, the four tortoises ambled forward. It took them a
long time to reach the part of the track directly before lorian. In the
meantime, bets flew thick and fast.

As the tortoises plodded past at a slow walk,   the crowd roared at the antics
of the riders, of whom two wore the colors of   the Kilts and two, those of the
Pants. They reached out to thwack one another   with slapsticks, turned
somersaults off their mounts and bounded back   on, and indulged in a hundred
zany gambols.

Jorian: "I feel a certain kinship for the Kilts, even though I wear trews."

"How so, my son? Are you becoming aristocratical-minded?"

"Not at all. Their colors, red and white, are those of the flag of Xylar. The
Xylarian war cry, in fact, was 'red and white!'" Jonan sighed. "Betimes 1
regret that those lackwits wouldn't let me show what a good king I could be."

The tortoises passed on around to the other side of the course. A single
circuit constituted their race. The good humor of the crowd seemed to have
been restored. Next came a race between two teams of zebras. Then a detachment
of the Royal Guard, their metal polished to mirrorlike surfaces, marched
around the course to the tune of a military band, stopping from time to time
to perform a brief precision drill with their spears.

Six camels, ridden by brown-robed Fediruni desert men, raced four laps around
the course. Then a float bearing a gilded image of the god Ughroluk, drawn by
white oxen and preceded by a hundred priests singing

72

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

a mighty hymn, passed slowly around the course. Many in the crowd joined the
priests in singing. The god, crowned with ostrich plumes dyed scarlet and gold
and emerald, bore a silver thunderbolt in one hand and a golden sunbeam in the
other.

A pair of King Ishbahar's elephants, draped in purple and gold, lumbered
around the track, not seeming to hurry much despite the yells of their mahouts
and the whacks of their goads. Then two teams of unicorns raced.

"Now come the horses," said Karadur. "Being the fleetest draft animals, their
race will decide the day as between the Pants and the Kilts."

Tension grew. A trumpet peal sent the four teams off. As the four chariots—two
blue and gold, two crimson and silver—thundered past, the roar from the blocks
of factionists drowned out all other sounds.

There were seven laps to the race. With each lap, the excitement waxed. As the
chariots whirled past, men stood up, shaking fists, sobbing, frothing, and
screaming.

When the cluster of vehicles rounded the first turn on the fourth lap, there
was a crash and a glimpse of pieces of chariot flying. Two cars had collided.
A detached wheel continued along the course on its own for half a bowshot
before toppling over. When the dust had blown away enough for Jorian to see,
he glimpsed a pair of stretcher-bearers trotting across the sand to pick up a
victim. There was also a glimpse of an injured horse struggling to rise.

By the time the two surviving cars approached on their next lap, the service
crew had largely cleared away the wreckage. The two survivors passed and
repassed on the straightaway, neither able to gain a definitive advantage. On
the last lap, they whirled to the finish line abreast. As they sped past the
royal box, forian could not see that either had the advantage.

Officials huddled in consultation at the edge of the track. Then a pair of
them hastened up the steps to the royal box. More consultation, and the crier
shouted:

"Driver Paltoi, of the Pants, wins!"

73

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

The Pants applauded. Jorian noted that the Penem-bians applauded like
Novarians, by clapping their hands, not by snapping their fingers like
Mulvanians.

A growl arose from the Kilts. It grew, mingled with cries of "Foul! Foul!" The
Pants shouted back. "Was there a foul?" asked forian. Karadur shrugged. "Alas,
I am no expert on sports; nor are my old eyes up to detecting such
irregularities. Natheless, methinks we had better make ourselves scarce."
"Why?"

"The races are over, all but the awards to the winners; but my spiritual
senses tell me a riot is brewing. Besides, it looks like rain."

"All right/' said Jorian, rising.
As he did so, a large beer mug, turning over and over in the air, flew from
the bloc of Kilts towards the Pants. It struck Jonan's head with a crash and
shattered. Jorian slumped back into his seat.

"My boy!" cried Karadur. "Are you injured?" Jorian shook his head. "That does
not seem to have split what few brains I have left. Let's go."

He rose again, staggering a little, and started for the exit. A trickle of
blood ran down one side of his face. More missiles flew over the central strip
between the two blocs of factionists. As the gentry in this strip left their
seats to run for cover, the two blocs rose and rushed at each other, drawing
hitherto hidden daggers and short swords. Trumpets blew. The crier screamed.
Whistles sounded.

Squads of glittering guardsmen clattered hither and yon, striving to beat the
combatants apart with spear shafts. Others fought their way to the royal box
to protect the king, who sat quivering and helplessly waving his fat hands.
Fighting spread all over the Hippodrome, while the more peaceable members of
the audience ran for the exits. The noise grew deafening.

Pulling Karadur by one bony wrist, Jorian forced his way through the crush at
Entrance Four. In the concourse outside, knots of factionists were already

74

|     THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

£   hurling missiles, brandishing improvised clubs, kick-r    ing, punching,
and stabbing.

Jorian tried to thread his way among the combatants to the main entrance
without becoming embroiled. As he reached the gate, a fierce yell from behind
made him turn.

"Kill the dirty foreigners!" shrieked a man. A flash of lightning revealed the
man as Borai, the former director of the House of Learning. He was haranguing
a group of armed Kilts. Beside him stood Yiyim, the former clockmaster.
Thunder growled.

"The old witch cast a spell on our team!" screamed Borai. "That cost us our
victory!"

"And the young one is his apprentice!" added Yiyim. "Slay them both! Tear them
to pieces!"

The well-gnawed carcass of a chicken whirled through the air and missed
Jorian; so did a horse turd. A paving stone, however, grazed Jorian's already
bloody scalp and staggered him.

"Run, my son!" gasped Karadur. "Whither?" shouted Jorian.

"The temple! To the temple of Nubalyaga! Demand sanctuary!"

The pair trotted across the street, just as rain began to fall. The gang of
Kilts broke into a run behind them. As they reached the slope leading up to
the temple, Karadur said:
"Go on, my son. I cannot run up yon hill." "I won't leave you—" :      "Go
on, I say! I am old; you have many years—"

Without further words, Jorian gathered up the ancient bag of bones in his arms
and ran up the hill car-; rying Karadur, despite the Mulvanian's pleas. Jorian
, slipped on the rain-wet cobblestones and fell; Karadur's $• bulbous turban
came off and rolled away. Jorian scram-S bled up again with his burden and ran
on. The mob vj. behind them gained.

|: At the entrance to the temple, a pair of eunuch guards, -| standing inside
the gate, crossed their spears to bar the |- way. Jorian, his red face
streaked with mingled rain,

75

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

sweat, mud, and blood, was too winded to speak. Karadur

cried:

"Admit us in the name of the lady Sahmet, sirs! I am Doctor Karadur of the
House of Learning!"

The eunuchs lowered their spears. As soon as Jorian and Karadur were inside,
the eunuchs clanged the bron-zen gate valves shut. Other guards hastened from
other parts of the temenos. In a trice, a dozen eunuchs, with cocked
crossbows, stood in a line behind the gate.

"Begone, or we will shoot through the bars!" they

shouted.

The mob milled and screamed but made no effort to assault the gate. Jorian and
Karadur hastened towards the main temple building.

"I owe you my life," said Karadur.

"Oh, nonsense! Had 1 thought the matter out, I should probably have left you.
You almost deserve it for assuring me that Borai and Yiyim were harmless.
Where's this Lady Sahmet?"

"I will send in our names. If she be not engaged in ritual, methinks she will
see us."

Despite the drizzle, the mob of Kilts, under the leadership of Borai and
Yiyim, had spread out into a cordon, which seemed to be extending itself clear
around the

temenos.

"They're laying siege to the place," said Jorian.

"I am sure the king's men will clear them away. If not, belike Sahmet can
solve our difficulty."

"If we had one of those flying things you have spoken of, we could flit over
their heads. But then, if we had a carriage, we should have a horse and
carriage, if we had a horse. Isn't that a fire?" Jorian pointed to a column of
smoke and sparks, which rose above the nearby roofs.

"Aye; the fools will burn down the city if given a free hand."

High Priestess Sahmet received Jorian and Karadur in her chamber of audience.
She was a tall, large-boned woman in her forties, handsome but too massive of
jaw and beaklike of nose to be called beautiful. Clad in a gauzy robe of pale
gray embroidered with symbols in

76

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

silver thread, she sat in a chair of pretence and stared with large, dark eyes
at the disheveled fugitives. A couple of lesser priestesses glided about.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, good Doctor Karadur," she said in a deep,
resonant voice, "albeit one could wish the circumstances less frantic. And who
is the young man?"

"I am Jorian the Kortolian," said Jorian, "presently clockmaster to His
Majesty. I am honored to meet Your Sanctity."

The woman gave Jorian a penetrating stare. She snapped her fingers. "Inkyara!
More light, if you please." When a branched candlestick had been set on a
taboret and lit, Sahmet said:

"Master Jorian, methought I knew you."

"Madam! I misdoubt I have had the pleasure—"

"I mean not in the sense of knowing you on this material plane. But ! have
seen you in visions."

"Yes, madam?"

"You are the barbarian savior!"

"Eh? Oh, come now, Madam Sahmet. I am no barbarian! I learnt my letters when I
was but five, in school in Ardamai; and I have studied at the Academy at Oth-
omae. My table manners may not be up to courtly standards, but I do not make a
pig of myself. I am only an honest craftsman, and in any case I am unqualified
to s,ave Iraz from any doom. But what mean you to do with us?"

"Not cast you to that slavering mob, certes." She spoke in an undertone to one
of the lesser priestesses, who glided out and presently returned. After a
whispered colloquy, Sahmet said:

"Fires have sprung up in several parts of Iraz as well as Zaktan, and the
soldiers are too busy fighting them to control the mobs of factionists. The
crowd of Kilts surrounding this temple has been reinforced, so you cannot
leave by the streets."

"Neither have we magical power to fly over their heads," said Jorian.
"Let me think," said Sahmet. "I am loath to harbor you overnight, since for
entire males to pass the night

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here, other than on the occasion of the Divine Marriage, would offend the
goddess. Happily, there is another course. Ere I reveal it to you, howsomever,
I must have your promise to do me a small favor in return."

Jorian's eyes narrowed. "Madam, I have been in and out of not a few tight
places in my short life, and buying pigs in pokes is one thing I have learnt
to avoid. If I can, I shall be glad to help you—but I must needs know about
this favor."

"It amounts to little. I do but ask that you play a small part in one of our
forthcoming observances."

"If you mean to make a eunuch of me, madam—"

"Bountiful heavens, nothing like that! I solemnly promise that it shall cost
you not the least scrap of your splendid physique. More I cannot say now."

"Nor senses, faculties, and abilities?"

"Nor those, either. Well, sir?"

Jorian argued a little more, but no further details could he elicit from
Sahmet. He exchanged glances with Karadur, but the old wizard was not helpful,
lorian did not like to promise anything under such vague conditions, but he
saw no alternative;

"Very well, Madam Sahmet," he said, "I agree."

"Good! You shall not rue your choice. Now come with me."

An assistant priestess hurried up with a small lan-thorn, which she handed to
Sahmet. The high priestess led them out. They passed through halls ana rooms
and down steps until Jorian was lost. In an underground passage, dimly lit by
a single sconce, Sahmet halted at a massive, bolted, wooden door.

"Master Jorian," she said, "I would not do this for any wight, even to save
life. But, since this peril involves the barbarian savior, I have no choice."
She slipped a massive ring off one finger. "Take this. When you come to the
door at the far end of the tunnel, knock four times, thus." She tapped twice
with a knuckle, paused, and tapped twice more. "When the peephole opens, show
this ring—which, may I add, I wish returned when this peril has passed."

She drew back the bolt and opened the door. Then

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she held out a hand. "Fare you well, gentlemen." She gripped Jorian's hand
longer and more forcibly than he expected. "I may see you again, Master
Jorian—and sooner than you think."

She handed forian the lanthorn, whose single candle stub sent feeble rays
through its windows of glass. The heavy door boomed shut behind Jorian and
Karadur.

The passageway sloped down and down and down. The stones lining the tunnel
became wet and slimy. Jorian said:

"This must be that tunnel under the Lyap I've heard of. I am sure we're below
the water table."

"The what, my son?"

"The water table. Know you not how, a certain distance below the, surface,
water ftlls up all the pores betwixt the grains of soil? Hence, if one digs
below that level, one gets a well."

"Nay, I did not know, having devoted my life to the spiritual as opposed to
the material sciences. How learnt you such things?"

"I picked them up when I was surveying for the Syndicate of Ir."

"You are assuredly a versatile fellow."

Jorian grinned in the gloom. "I suppose I am." He recited:

"Oh, Jorian was a man of many parts;

He'd gallop on a fiery steed of war,

Cross swords with desperados, or Purloin from maidens fair their gentle
hearts; Whip up a sonnet, rondeau, or sestine,

Discharge a deadly shaft, repair a clock,

Administer a kingdom, pick a lock, Survey a road, or sail a barquentine.

"For all his many skills, this artful man Could never reach the goal for which
he played,

Which was to settle with a loving wife, Become a quiet, bourgeois artisan,

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And prosecute some worthy, peaceful trade Throughout a long and uneventful
life."

Jorian hastened to add: "I'm really not so self-conceited as all that. Tis
just that the rhyme amused me."

Karadur chuckled. "My boy, you are all that you say; albeit I doubt that you
are really so determined upon a quiet life as you proclaim. Otherwise you
would not—"
"Oh, yes? And who dragged me from my quiet, peaceful surveying job to this
hotbed of intrigue and insurrection?"

"Ah, but in your last letter you said you would do aught to recover your
Estrildis."

"Oh, well, so I did. But now I'm sure we are below the Lyap. What keeps the
water out? I see no pumps."

"The water is kept from Hoshcha's Tunnel by a trio of wizards, spell-casting
night and day. They are Goel-nush, Luekuz, and Firaven, in my Department of
Applied Thaumaturgy. Just now the House of Learning is embroiled in a furious
feud, which I am supposed to resolve and compose. So high has partisan feeling
run that the deans of my two schools will not speak to each other."

"What's this?"

"Goelnush, Luekuz, and Firaven form part of the School of Spirit. Now,
engineers in the School of Matter claim that with pumps of the latest design,
they can keep the tunnel as dry as my three wonder-workers, at less cost and
with less chance of failure. The dean of the School of Spirit retorts that
pumps are quite as likely to break down as a group of well-trained
thaumaturges; that besides labor to furnish power for the pumps, we should
require plumbers to keep the pumps and pipes in order; and that the pumping
apparatus with its pipes would occupy so much of the tunnel that it would
impede the king's monthly journeys through it."

"Is this the Divine Marriage whereof Zerlik told me?"

"Aye. You know of that, then?"

"I know what Zerlik told me. Is this ritual marriage consummated?"

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"Well—ah—yes, it is. In sooth, when the king can no longer play his manful
part, he is disposed of."

"Good gods, this is as bad as Xylar! How is it done?"

"When the king can no longer—ah—carnally penetrate the high priestess, she
reports the fact to her nominal husband, the high priest of Ughroluk. Then the
high priest, with a delegation of lesser priests, waits upon the king and
presents him with the sacred rope, wherewith to hang himself."

"And the silly ass does it?"

"Aye; although this suicide has taken place but once in the last century. All
the other kings have perished in war, or by assassination, or from some common
ill, ere the rope came into piay."

Holding his lanthorn up, Jorian walked a few steps along the dark tunnel in
silence. Then he said:

"By Thio's horns, you don't suppose that promise Sahmet exacted from me was to
take the king's place in this ceremony?"

"I know not, my son, but I fear she had some such scheme in mind."

"There you are! I listen to your moral preachments on the virtues of
continence and try to practise them; but the very gods conspire against my
new-found virtue."

"True, O Jorian. Little though I esteem fornication, I fear I must condone it
this once."

"Well, that's something. At least, I don't suppose Sahmet will turn into a
gigantic serpent, as did the princess Yargali. Now, I can see why Sahmet might
not find Ishbahar to her taste as a bedfellow. But why pick on me?"

"You were to hand; she has seen you—or claims she has seen you—in her visions;
and perhaps she finds you attractive."

"If I'm attractive to her looking like this, she'll find me utterly ravishing
when cleaned up. Well, I daresay I can hold up my end, in all senses of the
phrase. We won't tell Estrildis about it and hope that, if she find out,
she'll forgive me natheless."

"Your secret is safe with me, my son."

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"Good. But why need the king anything so costly as this tunnel for his
connubial visits? Why cannot he cross the Lyap in a boat, like everyone else?"

Karadur shrugged. "Some say that King Hoshcha— who was not of the line of
Juktar the Great and whose right to the throne was therefore questioned—was
full of fancies about being assassinated as he rode through the streets.
Others aver that he wished the tunnel as a means of escape from his palace in
the event of revolution. In any case, he began the use of the tunnel for the
Divine Marriage, and his successors have imitated him."

"What finally happened to Hoshcha?"

"After all his precautions—which included wearing a steel breastplate under
his robes—he slipped in getting out of his bath and fractured his skull."

At the head of the long, narrow flight of steps that ended Hoshcha's Tunnel,
(orian rapped four times on the heavy door. When the peephole opened, he held
up Sahmet's ring.

A bolt clanked and the door groaned open. There stood King Ishbahar in a
dressing gown, without his wig. The lamplight shone on his egg-bald pate. A
pair of guardsmen stood behind him; beyond these, servants hovered.

"By Nubalyaga's cleft!" cried the king, "forian! Whatever befell you, my boy?
Come in, come in! You, too, Doctor."

They stepped into the king's dressing room, and Jor-ian told briefly what had
happened to him and his companion since the start of the riot. A guardsman
closed the door, which became merely one more panel in the wall. The handle of
the bolt that secured it looked like a piece of gilded ornamentation.

"You did the proper thing," said the king. "We shall order the arrest of those
villains Borai and Yiyim. You two shall sup with us this even. But first, my
dear Jor-ian, you must clean up. You look as if you had been fighting a dragon
and getting the worst of it, heh heh. You shall have the use of our royal
bathtub, no less!"

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"Your Majesty's consideration overwhelms me," said (orian.

"Stuff and nonsense, my boy! We are friends, not merely sovran and subject.
Evvelik! Conduct these gentlemen to the bathroom and furnish them with the
needfuls."

The royal bathtub was a huge affair of burnished copper. As Jorian soaked and
soaped, he murmured to Karadur, who was washing his face and hands:

"O Karadur, is this king deemed a little queer?"

"Nay; barring his fondness for the table—"

"I mean, with a lust for boys or men in lieu of women."

"Oh, ah I see. Nay again. Whereas that aberration is rife in Irazi, 1 think
not that the charge has ever been laid against Ishbahar. When young, he had
several wives, of whom all but two have died or been cast off; but I know of
no other outlet for his lusts. Forsooth, me-thinks his only present passion is
for rare victuals. Why?"

"Why else should he seek to make a bosom friend and confidant of a nobody—a
mere foreign artisan— like me? It makes no sense."

"Perchance he simply likes you, my son. Or again, perchance it is concerned
with Sahmet's plans for you."

"Oh. We must look further into this matter. And by the bye, meseems this tub
were an admirable flying vehicle for our foray into Xylar. If we kept the
weight well down in it, 'twere stabler than the common flying carpet or
broomstick."

Karadur shook his head dubiously. "It would take a mighty demon to loft such a
weight, and demons resist being imprisoned in copper or silver, since they
know it is difficult for them to escape therefrom."

"Why not try Gorax, whom you keep mewed up in that ring? He's the strongest
demon I know of."

"Alas, Gorax owes me but one more labor. Then he will be free to return to his
own plane. Hence I dare not release him save for the direst need."

"I should have thought that being chased by that mob this afternoon were a
case of direst need."
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"True; but so scattered were my old wits that 1 never thought of Gorax at
all."

Over one of King Ishbahar's colassal repasts, jorian asked: "How went the
riots, Your Majesty?"

"Luckily for Iraz, the rain waxed so heavy that it dispersed the factionists.
Hence only a few score were slain and a few houses looted and burnt. This
factiousness is a dreadful thing, but we know not how to end it. Have some of
these oysters, which have come all the way from the coast of Shven, packed in
ice."

"Why not simply stop the races, sire?"

"Ah, one of" our predecessors—Huirpalam the Second, as we recall—tried that.
Then the two factions united to revolt, drag poor Huirpalam to the Hippodrome,
and tear him to pieces—a small piece at a time. We would not invite a similar
fate, heh heh."

"If you will pardon your servant's saying so, me-thinks Your Majesty will have
to face these factions down, soon or late. But that is Your Majesty's concern.
Tell me, sire, what is this about Madam Sahmet's wishing me to take part in a
service to the moon goddess?"

The king looked startled. "She has told you already? One moment." He sighed to
everybody present save Jorian and Karadur—even the bodyguards and the food
taster—to leave the chamber. Then he said, barely above a whisper: "Know you
the fate of a futterless king in Penembei ?"

"I have been told of it, sire."

"It is true." The king pointed to a massive bracket overhead, whence hung a
lamp. "All too true. They take away that lamp, and we are supposed to toss the
rope over yon gallows. We stand on a table, make fast the knot, and overset
the table—ugh! Thus they get rid of an unwanted monarch without laying impious
hands on his sacred person."

"Is Your Majesty finding his sacerdotal duties— ah—"

"Arduous? Have we your solemn oath of secrecy?"

Jorian and Karadur both swore. Ishbahar went on: "Our life is in your hands.
We would not entrust it to

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you gentlemen, save that desperate conditions demand desperate remedies. For
several months, now, our lady Sahmet has been dissatisfied with our
performance; and forsooth, we had as lief abandon such games, since our girth
imposes mechanical difficulties upon the coital process, and the fires of
youth have long since burnt low.

"So, you see, our life is already in the hands of Madam Sahmet. She has but to
tell her nominal husband, High Priest Chaluish, and he will pay us a visit
with the sacred rope. She refrains for two reasons: Imprimus, that she hates
High Priest Chaluish and would do nought to favor him; secundus, that I have
promised her a lusty springald with an iron yard as my surrogate, an she will
keep tacit about my limitations. And you shall be he."

jorian: "I trust I shall prove worthy of the honor. But we once had a king in
Kortoli who faced a similar predicament."

"Tell us, dear boy."

"This was King Finjanius, who reigned just after the Dark Age following the
fall of Old Novaria to nomadic invaders from Shven. The Kortolian rule was
that, when the king was no longer for any reason deemed worthy to rule, the
chief priests of the kingdom called upon him to present him with a goblet of
poison to drink. If he drank not, they said, the magical nexus betwixt him and
his land would be broken, and the crops would wither and the people starve.

•     "Now, Finjanius was sent to the Academy at Oth-omae for his higher
education. The Academy was then a. new institution with but a handful of
professors—

•none of the ivy-clad buildings it now boasts. In the Academy, Finjanius
absorbed what were then deemed heretical 'modern' ideas. Shortly after his
return from Othomae, he succeeded to the throne when his uncle, the old king,
died.

"For a year or so, Finjanius ran the affairs of Kortoli ^according to his best
lights. Being young, he had little ^reverence for tradition and introduced
many novelties, h as no longer requiring subjects to knock their heads )n the
ground nine times in approaching him, or no

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longer forbidding them to speak to him unless he spoke first. This last rule
had nearly lost him a military campaign against Aussar, when none of his
officers durst warn him of an ambush.

"Finjanius it was who introduced the public bath to Kortoli and encouraged all
the people, regardless of age, sex, or rank, to mingle freely in these
establishments. Moreover, he patronized them himself and did not scruple to
indulge in vulgar horseplay with his subjects, splashing and ducking them and
being splashed and ducked in turn.

"Such conduct made him popular with the commons but gravely offended the more
conservative elements. These at length determined that Finjanius needs must
go. Since the chief priests also belonged to the leading and most tradition-
bound families, a concensus was soon obtained. Presently, a delegation of
priests waited upon the king with the fatal draft.

"'Oho!' quotha, 'what is this?'
"'The gods/ said the high priest of Zevatas, 'have decided that Your Majesty
is no longer worthy to rule.'

"'How know you that, sirrah?' said Finjanius.

" 'They have informed us in visions and dreams, sire,' replied the priest.
'They demand the life of the chiefest man of the kingdom, lest they loose
their wrath upon the land.'

"'So they crave the chiefest life, eh?' said the king. He counted the priests
and found that there were eight in the party. 'Now, whereas I am doubtless the
chief man in Kortoli, you holy fathers are also not without standing. Would
you not agree, messires?'

" 'Aye, sire,- else we were not qualified to pass the gods' commands on to
you.'

" 'In sooth, let us suppose that the life of one of you is worth—ah—let us
say, one eighth of mine. That were plausible, were it not?'

"'Aye, milord king,' said the priest.

" 'Then,' said Finjanius, 'an the gods desire the chiefest life, they should
be just as well satisfied with eight lives, each worth one eighth of mine. Ho,
guards! Seize me these eight gentlemen and hang them forthwith!'

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"And so it was done. Thereafter none durst broach such a proposal to the king
again, and hence the custom fell into abeyance."

King Ishbahar said: "Do you propose, dear Jorian, that we adopt a course like
unto your king's?"

"That is up to Your Majesty. It has been done; and what men have done, men can
do again." Jorian turned to Karadur. "Is that not one of the proverbs of your
Mulvanian sage, what is his name?"

"Cidam," said Karadur.

The king shuddered, his chins quivering. "Alas! Would—would that we had the
hardihood to essay such an enterprise." A pair of tears trickled down his fat
cheeks. "But we could not defy tradition. We fear we are not of the stuff of
your Finjanius." The king burst into sobs and covered his face with his hands.

"Your Majesty!" said Karadur. "An your servitors and guardsmen return and find
you weeping, they will think we have entreated you ill and slay us."

The king wiped his face with his napkin and smiled through his tears. "Let us
forget our griefs, then. Have some more of this Vindine wine! Master Jorian,
we trust you are an entire man, with the usual lusts and faculties?"

"Aye, sire."

"Then you should not find the task confronting you arduous or disagreeable.
Whilst a trifle older than you, Sahmet is neither unattractive nor cold.
Neither. Remember, it is not just your prick that you pleasure, but our royal
neck, as well, that you save. We will have Herekit make you out a commission
as Friend of the King forthwith, for such you will be in a most literal

way."

"I thank Your Majesty," said lorian. "When does this sacred orgy take place?"

"At the next full moon, eleven nights hence. Let us drink to your success. May
you give Her Sanctity a night she shall remember to her grave!"

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VI

lEXT MORNING, fORIAN WENT TO THE TOWER OF KU-

mashar to inspect his clocks. He was pleased to find that yesterday's
disturbances had not reached the tower. Then he made his way through the
bustling crowds to the House of Learning.

Knowing him by now, the sentries admitted him without question. As he walked
through the halls, he lingered at the doors of several laboratories where
experiments were in progress. In one, engineers of the School of Matter
tinkered with a machine designed to run on the power from boiling water. The
project was old, but none had yet succeeded in making the contraption do any
useful work. In another, technicians worked on a telescope, like the ordinary
spyglass but much larger, wherewith they hoped to investigate the heavenly
bodies.

Other chambers were in use by wizards of the School of Spirit. In one, three
such sages sought to train a demon from the tenth plane, a creature of low
intelligence, to obey simple commands. In another, a wizard-physician
experimented with a spell to cure plague; his subjects were condemned
criminals who had volunteered for the task on the promise of freedom if they
survived.

Besides these activities, many rooms stood empty. As a result of the decline
of the kings' financial support of the House of Learning, the size of its
personnel and the scale of its projects had greatly shrunk in recent decades.

"At least," said forian, seated in the director's office, "yesterday's
misadventures finally led you to get a new turban. That old one was getting so
decrepit that I expected to find mice nesting in it." He had had his own hair
cut short to bandage the wounds on his scalp.

"Contemn not such old things, my son," said Kar-adur. "That turban had
acquired some small magical potential, merely by being in the vicinity when so
many fell incantations were uttered and spells were cast. Do your clocks run
harmoniously?"

"As regularly as the heavenly bodies. I've just come from the Tower. There was
never any real problem, had your predecessor hired a competent mechanic
instead of a fumbler. My father did a good, workmanlike job, as anyone who
knew him could have told you.

"What I've come for, howsomever, is not the state of the clocks but the state
of Jorian of Ardamai. Have you a means for our raid into Xylar?"

"Gods of Mulvan, (orian, be not so hasty! Here we have barely escaped with our
lives from riot and insurrection; we have traversed the most secret passageway
in the kingdom; we have become embroiled in the conflict amongst the king,
Madam Sahmet, and High Priest Chaluish—"

"All the more reason for pressing on. What's Chaluish like?"

"A little gray-haired man—nobody whom one would look at twice. He was in that
parade of priests yesterday, and I have encountered him at courtly functions.
But—"

"I have the Flying Fish tied up in a private dock for a small monthly rental,
but I fear she'd prove too slow if we really had to run for it. So we had
better prepare some swifter magical vehicle—"

"My son, I have never said that I would accompany you on your mission of
abduction. Much though I esteem the lady Estrildis, I cannot desert a
responsible post for petty personal—"

"Petty!" barked Jorian. "I'll have you know—"

"Now, now, my son, I meant no offense. But you

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have seen how this kingdom totters along, and I—unworthy though I be—am in a
position to lend it a little stability and rationality. It were irresponsible—
"

"i quote," growled Jorian: '"So convenient a thing it is to be a reasoning
being, for it enables one to think up a plausible reason for whatever one
wishes to do.'

"The wise Cidam?"

"Nay; our home-grown Novarian philosopher Achaemo. But, my reverend old
spooker, my task needs at least two persons."

"Take Zerlik," said Karadur. "The lad will be delighted."

"What, and have to wipe that idiot's nose at every step? No, thank you! He'd
do something silly at the critical moment, such as challenging the captain of
the guard to a duel just when I was trying to hoist Estrildis out undetected."

"At least, he is reasonably strong and agile. I am neither, nor am I any
longer up to such desperate adventures. Another journey like ours around the
Inner Sea would terminate this incarnation for me."

"You can still cast a dire spell, which Zerlik cannot. But let's leave the
question of personnel for the nonce to discuss the vehicle. How about that
royal copper bathtub?"

Karadur wagged his head- "Alas, I see no prospect of obtaining it for your
purpose. Even supposing that 1 could persuade the king to lend it—"

"Build another like it, then."

"That were too costly. It would come to hundreds of royals, and I have no
funds in this year's appropriation to cover it.

"Furthermore, you appear not to realize the practical difficulties. It would
require months of the most puissant sorcery to entrap our demon and compel him
to our will. For such an enterprise, my best men were Goelnush, Luekuz, and
Firaven, but they are fully occupied with keeping Hoshcha's Tunnel dry. The
other sorcerers at my command are all less competent. Old Oinash, for
ensample, is but a doddery old timeserver awaiting his pension. Barch, a
younger man, is gifted

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but careless. Twice he has barely escaped sudden death at the claws of a
hostile demon he had evoked, through some silly error in his pentacle; but he
never seems to learn. As for Yanmik—"

"Why not put these dimmer flames on the tunnel— which must now be mere
routine—to release your best men for my spell?"

"The king has forbidden it. He is tain not to have the wizard on duty sneeze
and let in the floods just as he is traversing the tunnel on his tryst with
Sahmet. Therefore he insists that my best men be kept at this task. And
speaking of the king, there is—ah—umm— another complication."

"What's this? Out with it!"

"The—ah—His Majesty but this morn forbade me to assist you in any way in
leaving Iraz. He must be apprehensive as to what might befall him if you were
not present at the next full moon to pleasure the priestess."

Jorian glowered. "Curse it, you hauled me away from a good, respectable job,
where I was at least geographically near to my darling, to this distant and
turbulent city, on the promise of getting me means to rescue her. All you
needed, you said, was to become director of the House of Learning, and the
fish was in the creel. Well, thanks to my clockery, you're now director—and
what happens? You can't do this for this reason, and you can't do that for
that, and so on. I can make things hot for people who betray me—"

"My son, my son! Pray, take not that harsh and hostile tone. At the moment, I
admit I envisage no easy thoroughfare to your noble goal. Only have patience,
and the gods will open the way for us. They have never met—yes, Nedef ?"
Karadur changed from Novarian to Penembic. "O Jorian, this is our official
scryer; Master Nedef, I present Jorian the Kortolian, our new clock-master.
You were saying?"

"Doctor Karadur," said the scryer, "I fear I have portentous news."
"You may speak before Master Jorian."

"Iraz is threatened by a host of assailants."

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"Eh? Vurnu, Kradha, and Ashaka! What assailants? We are at war with none."

"May I sit, sir? I am weak with what I have seen."

"By all means, sit. Now tell us forthwith."

The scryer drew a long breath, "North, east, south, and west—they converge
upon us from all sides. From the west comes a fleet of Algarthian pirates;
from the south, a rabble of armed peasants under Mazsan and his faction; from
the east, a swarm of Fediruni nomads on camels; and from the north, a Free
Company of mercenaries from Novaria."

"How nigh are they?"

"Some are nigher than others; they may reach us on the morrow."

"How got the Fedirunis past the army along our eastern borders? Have they
defeated the frontier force?"

"I know not, Doctor. They were already well inside the border when I
discovered them."

"We must notify the king instanter," said Karadur.

They found King Ishbahar at his afternoon repast, which he called "tea." "Sit
down, sit down, our dear fellows!" he cried. "Have a cup of genuine tea,
brought at vast expense from Kuramon in the Far East. Have some of these honey
biscuits to go with it. Try some of these sardines. Have you tea in Novaria
nowadays?"

"It can be obtained, Your Majesty," said Jorian, "but it has never really
taken hold. Perhaps the fact that the upheavals in Salimor cut off the supply
from time to time have discouraged its use. Howsomever—"

"The Novarians ought to take it up," said Ishbahar. "They are too much given
to drunkenness, we hear. A pleasant but nonintoxicating drink were better for
their health." The king bit off the end of a huge plantain from Beraoti.
"Moderation in all things is our guiding principle. Temperance." The plantain
rapidly diminished.

"No doubt, sire. But we have something important

to—"

"In fact, dear boy, how would you like a royal conces-92

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

sion, to freight tea up the coast to Xylar? You could build up a profitable
trade—"

"Sire," said Jorian, "Iraz is about to be attacked. Had we not better break
the impending siege ere discussing trade routes?"

"Iraz? Besieged?" said the king, holding an dive in front of his open mouth.
"Nubalyaga save us, but what is this?"

Karadur explained the visions that the scryer had seen in his crystal ball.

"Oh, dear!" said the king, looking sadly at the piles of uneaten food. "To
have to break off such a splendid tea in the middle! The sufferings we kings
endure for the welfare of our people! Ho, Ebeji! Summon Colonel Chuivir!"

When the glittering commander of the Royal Guard had clanked in and saluted,
Ishbahar asked Karadur to repeat his tale. Then he asked Chuivir:

"However did those barbarians get past the frontier undetected?"

"You forget, sire, that General Tereyai has assembled the frontier army for
maneuvers in the foothills of the Lograms, leaving the border covered by only
a skeleton force. The Fedirunis must have surprised one of the frontier
fortresses and poured through ere the alarm could be spread."

"Where is Admiral Kyar?"

"I believe he has put to sea in his flagship, to exercise his rowers."

"Then, Colonel, you would seem to be the ranking officer in Iraz. Kindly get
word to General Tereyai and Admiral Kyar as soon as you can. Meanwhile, you
shall mobilize the Royal Guard and call up the companies of the factions."

"But, Your Majesty, how shall I—how do you wish me to carry out your commands?
Shall I send a barge out to seek the admiral—"

Ishbahar slapped the table, making the cups and dishes dance. "Colonel
Chuivir! Bother us not with those details; just carry out our orders! Now go
and get to work!" When the crestfallen colonel had clanked out,

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the king shook his head. "Woe is us! We do believe we committed an error in
appointing Chuivir to that command. He looked so magnificent on parade, but he
has never fought a battle in his life."

"Then how did it happen, sire?" asked forian.

"He was a cousin of our third wife and well-liked in society. Since we relied
upon the frontier force to keep the foe a decent distance from Iraz, we never
expected that the actual defense of the city would devolve upon this amiable
popinjay. Herekit!"

"Aye, sire?" said the secretary.

"Draft me a letter to Daunas, Grand Bastard of Oth-omae, inquiring whether he
would hire out to us a few squadrons of his lobster-plated heavy cavalry, and
on what terms. And command two of our swiftest couriers to stand by, booted
and saddled. Draft another to Shaiu, king of kings of Mulvan, urging him to
invade the deserts of Fedirun from the east, since this land will be partly
stripped of warriors. Suggest that he loot their sacred city of Ubar." The
king turned back to his guests with a sigh. "Ah, well, we have done what we
can. Now the fate of the city rests upon our gallant subjects."

"Does Your Majesty plan to take an active part in the defense?" asked Jorian.

"Bountiful heavens, dear boy, nay! Can you imagine us, with our girth, trading
spear-thrusts on the battlements? Besides, we have always been a man of peace,
with little use for fire-eating sword-rattlers. And now, meseems, our city and
our life must needs depend upon these same swashbucklers. Doctor Karadur, you
should muster your scientists and wizards to the work of defense. Have you,
perchance, a spell to summon some unhuman race—say, the silvans of the
Lograms—to our aid?"

"I will see what the House of Learning can do," said Karadur. "But let Your
Majesty not count upon any such assistance. The unhumans have little love for
mankind, having been harshly entreated by them. To seek to compel aid from
them is like holding a sword

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by the wrong end, so that it wounds the hand of the wielder. But I go—"

"Stay, stay. Now that we have given the essential commands, there is no reason
why we should not finish our tea."

"But, sire, I—"

"Nay, relax. A quarter-hour more or less will not decide the fate of the city.
Do have some of these mushrooms, gathered in the jungles of Baraoti."

"If Your Majesty thinks them safe..." said forian, staring uneasily at a
yellow-spotted purple fungoid growth of singularly repulsive appearance.

"Nonsense! We have been eating these for years, and we have not lost a royal
taster yet, heh heh."

Jorian manfully swallowed a mouthful of fungus. To give himself a pretext for
not eating another, he said:

"Your Colonel Chuivir reminds your servant of the tale of King Filoman and the
golem general."

"Go ahead, dear boy," said the king. "You will not mind if we steal a bit of
your mushroom, will you?"

"Feel free, sire."

"This king," began Jorian, "otherwise called Filoman the Well-Meaning, was the
father of the celebrated Fu-sinian the Fox. King Filoman was also an
outstanding ruler in his way. He had the noblest emotions and the best
intentions of any Kortolian monarch. He was intelligent, courageous, honest,
hard-working, moral, kind, and generous. His only fault was that he had no
common sense, and in practice this fault often cancelled all his other virtues
put together.

"One legend says that this fault was caused by an astrological conjunction at
his birth. Another avers that, when the fairies gathered for his naming
ceremony, the fairy who was supposed to confer common sense lost her temper
when she beheld another fairy wearing a gauzy gown just like hers and flounced
out in a rage without bestowing her gift.

"Early in his reign, King Filoman confronted the problem of the defense of his
realm. Being a peace-loving man, he supposed that others fett likewise. In

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this opinion he was encouraged by his minister, an oldster named Periax whom
he had inherited from the previous reign.

"Periax urged Filoman to reduce the army to a mere royal guard. 'Wars/ quotha,
'are caused by mutual fears and suspicions, which in turn are caused by
armaments. Get rid of the armaments and you will abolish war. When our
neighbors see us disarming, they will know that we have no aggressive
intentions towards them and lose their fear of us. Then they will follow our
example, and peace and brotherhood shall reign forev-ermore.'

"Periax did not enlarge upon the real reason for his advice. This was that he
was himself too old and creaky to sit a horse, brandish a sword, and perform
other warlike acts. In these early limes, the king and his ministers were
expected to lead charges in person. Periax reckoned that, as a result of his
pacific policy, war would at least be deferred until after his natural death,
and he cared not for what befell the kingdom thereafter.

"Periax's argument seemed to Filoman like sound sense, so he virtually
disbanded his army. Now, at this time, Kortoli's southern neighbor, Vindium,
was under the rule of Nevors the Daft, whose character is implied by his
sobriquet. I need not detail the enormities of his reign: wasting his treasury
on solid gold statues of himself; slaying ministers, kinsmen, and associates
on the slightest pretext; whimseys like making his army dress up as frogs and
go hopping about the parade ground on all fours, shouting 'Diddit! Diddit!'
while King Nevors rolled on the ground screaming with laughter.

"In time, a cabal of noblemen and officials got the king apart from his
bodyguard, hacked him to pieces, and threw the pieces into the Inner Sea. Then
the problem arose, who should take the unlamented Nevors' place? For he had
slain all his near kin.

"As it happened, an astute and ambitious lawyer, Doctor Truentius, had
foreseen these events and gathered a powerful following among the commons.
When King Nevors was slain, Truentius marched to the palace at the head of
thousands of his partisans, chased out

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the relicts of the old reign, and proclaimed a republic

•;!    with himself as First Consul.

V        "Truentius was the most brilliant man in Vindium.

.    He had read all the historians and philosophers and p'rophets and had
thought deeply on questions of gov-

.    ernment. He it was who, more or less singlehanded, invented republican
government in Novaria. He drew up a constitution for Vindium which,
considering its early date, is still acclaimed as a marvel of profound and
original thought.

"Knowing himself the ablest man around, Truentius

. . inferred that his decisions as to what was best for the

..,.   Vindines were necessarily right. Therefore, anyone who

';     opposed them was by definition an enemy of the people

:     and hence a scoundrel for whom the direst punishment

were too lenient. Soon Vindium City saw in its main

,;;   square a large wooden block, served by a man with a black hood over his
head and a large ax in his hands,

;':   wherewith to smite off the head of anyone so malign and perverse as to
dispute the infallible reasoning of

;     Doctor Truentius.

"After a couple of years of this, Truentius, finding that such domestic
problems as the production and distribution of wealth and the reconciliation
of order with

•'•'    liberty stubbornly resisted the best efforts of himself

and his headsman, bethought him of spreading the

:,     blessings of popular government to the rest of Twelve

,      Cities. Besides the benefits that such a program would

•,;    confer upon the other Novarians, it would rally the

•>;\ Vindines, who were beginning to fall into seditious fac-|> tions, behind
their First Consul and furnish him with 4 a pretext for making his rule even
more absolute. He £. therefore sent an ultimatum to King Filoman of Kortoli,
;< demanding that Filoman abdicate in favor of a popularly ', elected consul.
4k "Naturally perturbed, King Filoman sought advice.

The advice he got from his councillors, however, was j'      so contradictory
that Filoman could make nought of it.
Some were for arming every man in the kingdom and

resisting to the last; but others pointed out that no such

stock of arms existed.

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THE CLOCKS OF 1RAZ

"Some said to reactivate the old army and recall the retired officers to the
colors. But it transpired that most of these officers had gone abroad to seek
service as mercenaries. The former general of the Kortolian army, for
instance, was now serving as a captain in the forces of the Grand Bastard of
Othomae. It would take too long to recall them, even if they were willing to
come.

"Old Periax urged Filoman to   yield to Truentius' overwhelming force. But
others said that, judging by   his master's conduct, the new First Consul's
first act would be to set up   a chopping block in Kortoli City to shorten
everybody who might possibly   be a threat to him, which included all those
present.

"At last it was decided to make some arms, and buy some, and call up the
lustier young men, and hire such former officers as could be found to train
them to use them.

"The only thing that saved Kortoli from conquest during this parlous time was
the fact that Truentius, too, had his military troubles. For most of the
officers of the Vindine army, as members of the old regime, either had been
executed or had fled. Truentius knew that the mob of mechanics and merchants,
with whose help he had seized power, would not be up to a real campaign
without much organization and training.

"To gain time, Filoman was urged to seek a parley with Consul Truentius. To
strengthen Filoman's hand, it was decided to hold a plebiscite of all adult
male Kortolians, as to whether they wished to continue under the rule of King
Filoman or to change to a republican system like that of Vindium. When the
plebiscite was held, the Kortolians gave Filoman ninety-seven out of every
hundred votes. This may have been the voters' honest opinion, since Filoman
was then greatly beloved for his modesty, kindliness, and other virtues.
Besides, Truentius' republican doctrines had been somewhat discredited by
tales of his unbridled use of the ax.

"The question also arose, who should command the new Kortolian army? Several
councillors put themselves forward for the post. But, whenever one proposed
himself, the others shouted him down, crying that he

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was an ambitious schemer who sought to use his power to usurp the throne. So
vehement was the opposition to any name proposed that Filoman felt he needs
must leave his choice in abeyance for the time being.
"The parley with Truentius was duly arranged. It took place on an islet in the
river Posaurus, which divided Vindium from Kortoli. Each was to bring no more
than three armed men with him. In due course, the two met, ate lunch, and got
down to business. Truentius said:

" 'My good Filoman, love you your people?'

"'Certes!' replied the king. 'Have I not proven it an hundred times over?'

" 'Then, an you truly love them, you must yield your throne as I have
demanded. Otherwise you will bring down upon them a brutal, sanguinary war.
The choice is yours, and so is the responsibility.'

"'And wherefore should I do that?'

"'First, because I demand it and have the force to compel your compliance;
second, because it is the good and righteous thing to do. Monarchy is an
ancient superstition, an outmoded charade, an obsolete form of injustice and
oppression.' And Truentius lectured Filoman on the reasons for a popular
republic.

"'But,' said Filoman, 'we have just polled the Kortolians, and they voted
overwhelmingly to keep the monarchy.'

"Truentius laughed. 'My dear Filoman, do you expect me to take your vote
seriously, when you held the plebiscite and counted the votes?'

" 'Do you insinuate that 1 cheated?' cried Filoman in wrath. 'Never has anyone
so impugned my honesty in the five years of my reign!'

"Truentius merely laughed some more. 'Well, let us suppose that you did report
the votes truthfully. You are a naive enough young fool to have done just
that. It still makes no difference, since the people natheless voted for a
republic.'

"'How do you make that?'

"'Why, it is simple. Any population is divided into two factions: the people,
and the enemies of the people.

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Since my program is the best one for the people, anybody who opposes it must
logically be an enemy of the people.'

"'Mean you/ said Filoman, 'that if ninety-seven out of every hundred vote for
me and three for you, the three are the people and the other ninety-seven the
enemies thereof?'

"'Certes, my lad. Right glad am I to see that you learn the facts of politics
so quickly.'

'"But that is absurd!' cried Filoman. 'It is merely a pretext for the infinite
expansion of your own power!' "Truentius sighed. 'I will try once more to
explain, albeit I fear your grasp of logic is inadequate. My guiding principle
is: all power to the people. The people, I assume, are always right. Do you
follow me so far?' "'Aye.'

" 'Tnen, if certain malevolent or misguided persons make a decision that is
obviously wrong, it follows that they cannot belong to the people. Therefore
they must be enemies of the people.'

"'But who decides which decision is right?' " 'No mere mortal mind decides
that, but the iron laws of logic. For ensample, I have explained to you why a
republican government is preferable to a monarchy. This is an objective fact,
which no personal whim, error, or bias can alter, any more than they can
change the sum of two and two. Therefore—'

"But Filoman interrupted: 'Never! 1 will die fighting ere I suffer you to put
this monstrous doctrine into effect!"

" 'Oh, come, my dear King! That is quite unnecessary. You can abdicate and
flee abroad with as much of the royal treasury as you can bear with you. In
fact, I have your successor, the First Consul of Kortoli, already chosen. He
is a muleteer named Knops: a good man who will promote your former people's
welfare.'

"'The people would never vote your puppet Knops into office!'

"'Oh, yes they would, because he would have no opposition. Since I have chosen
him, and since my logic is irrefutable, it follows that Master Knops is the
best

100

i     *.

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

man for the magistracy. Anybody opposing him would be an enemy of the people,
to be slain out of hand.'

"'But Knops is not even a Kortolian!'

"'Not now; but as your last official act, you can confer citzenship upon him.
I like to keep things orderly—'

"Just then, a powerful sneeze came from a clump of alders on the Vindine side
of the Posaurus. Filoman looked up, startled, and his eyes caught the glint of
the sun on steel. For once he acted with admirable promptitude. He shouted to
his men-at-arms: 'Treason! Let us fly!' And he and his men sprang to their
feet and ran through the shallows to the Kortolian side of the river, where a
groom held their horses.

"Truentius' guards and the men he had hidden rushed after them and brought
down one of Filoman's men with an arrow; but the king and the others got away.
It had not occurred to Filoman to have more armed men waiting over the nearest
hill to come to his aid, so there was nought to do but ride hell-for-leather.
They galloped off into the hills of southern Kortoli and lost their pursuers.

"They lost themselves, also. They were wandering around, suffering hunger and
thirst, when a woman of early middle years called to them from a hillside.
" 'Hail, Your Majesty!' she cried. 'Can a loyal subject be of service to you?'

" 'Methinks you can, good lady,' quoth Filoman. 'But how know you me?'

"'I have powers not of this mundane sphere,' she said. 'But come on into my
cave and refresh yourselves.'

"'Mean you that you are a witch?'

" 'Nay, sire; a proper wizardess, hight Gloe. At least, I should be but for a
trifle of difficulty about my license, which I am sure Your Majesty can put
straight with a snap of his finger.'

"When Filoman, his two surviving men-at-arms, and

the groom had refreshed themselves, Fifoman said: 'I

am sure the difficulty whereof you speak can be ironed

i- out. But if you have in sooth magical powers, mayhap

you can tell me how to find a Commander-in-chief for

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THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

my new army, which is even now drilling against the expected onslaught from
Vindium.'

"Then he told her how, amongst his councillors, all those with warlike
experience—and some without— coveted the post, but none wished for anyone else
to have it. In sooth, King Filoman himself worried over the prospect that a
successful general might oust him from his throne.

'"Why not lead your army yourself?' asked Gloe.

" 'I am not qualified. Being a lover of peace and of my fellow men, I have not
sought experience with the bloody art of war.'

'"Well, then,' said Gloe, 'I needs must make you a golem general.'

"'A what?'

" 'A golem is a manlike image of clay, animated by a demon from the Fifth
Plane. I shall set this demon the task of defeating the Vindines. I shall
promise him that, once that is done, he may return to his own plane, leaving
the image lifeless and no threat to Your Majesty. If you would fain preserve
the image, you can bake it to brick and stand it on a pedestal.'

'"But/ said Filoman, 'will this demon of yours possess the needful military
skill?'

"'He will be adequate, sire. After all, the Vindine army is itself but a
rabble of shopkeepers and artisans, since most of the Vindine knightly class
who have not lost their heads have fled abroad. Moreover, Truentius, for all
his bloodthirsty talk, is an arrant coward who cannot bear the sight of blood.
He never attends those executions he orders so lavishly.'

"This seemed like a sound proposal, so Filoman assented. A sennight later,
Gloe arrived in Kortoh City driving an oxcart wherein, padded by straw against
damage, lay the image of a man seven feet tall. When the cart drew up in front
of the palace, Gloe uttered a spell. Then the image threw off its straw and
climbed creakily to its feet.

"It was the image of a mighty warrior in armor, wearing the insignia of a
Kortolian general. Gloe had not stinted her preparations, for the clay that
composed the

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armor and costume of the image was painted to resemble the real thing. In
fact, one had to look closely to perceive that it was not in sooth a normal
man of commanding aspect.

"In a hoarse, growling voice, the image said: 'General Golemius reporting for
duty, Your Majesty.'

"And indeed, General Golemius proved a competent commander, even if the
yellow-gray complexion of his face and hands made the soldiers uneasy.

"Another sennight passed, and word came that the Vindines had crossed the
Posaurus into southern Kor-toli. Filoman and his new army marched out to meet
them. Filoman kept in the background and left the active commanding to General
Golemius, who seemed to manage well enough.

"At length the two armies sighted each other, on a dank day of lowering
clouds. General Golemius drew up his army. Filoman, mounted and attended by a
small personal guard, watched admiringly from a nearby hilltop.

"When the golem general had gotten all his men in place, he stepped to the
fore, waved his sword, and growled: 'Forward!' So the army clattered after
their general, who tramped stolidly in the lead.

"Filoman walked his horse down the hill and followed the army at a leisurely
pace. The force marched across the plain, which was broken here and there by a
few small clumps of trees. As the two armies approached, Filoman saw that
which startled him. Leading the Vindine army was, not First Consul Doctor
Truentius, but another golem general. For Truentius, being as Gloe had said a
physical coward, had had recourse to his own sorcerer. This thaumaturge had
summoned another demon from the Fifth Plane to animate a general of clay.

"The armies moved slowly, because both were composed largely of green troops,
whose alignment was often disordered by the trees that dotted the plain. When
this happened, the two clay generals had to halt their forces and straighten
them out again. And then it began to

ram.

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THE CLOCKS OF 1RAZ

"As the armies came closer, the rain came down harder. It rang on helmets with
a metallic sound; it trickled down inside hauberk and greave. And, just as the
armies came within bowshot, they slowed and stopped.

"King Filoman pushed his horse forward through the rear ranks to see what had
halted his host. Soon he observed that General Golemius was standing still in
front of his army. Moreover, the general seemed to have lost in stature and
gamed in girth. As Filoman watched, the general dissolved into a mound of mud,
as did the other general.

"That left both armies without commanders. Over against the Kortolians stood
the Vindmes, whose army was much larger. Behind the Vindine army, First Consul
Truentius sat in his carriage, watching, for he had never learnt to ride a
horse. When his army halted, he clambered up on the roof of his carriage to
see what betid. Discovering that his general, like the other, had reverted to
clay, he began to shout: 'Forward, my brave men! At them! Charge!'

"At first, his army milled and shuffled uncertainly. But then some officers,
by blows and exhortations, got their units moving again.

"Meanwhile the Kortolian army, seeing a force of nearly twice their own
strength bearing down upon them, began to edge backwards. Here and there a man
broke from the ranks and ran. Vindine arrows began to fall amongst the
Kortolians.

"King Filoman had drawn up his horse beneath a tree, to keep out of the rain.
And in this tree was a hornets' nest. Because of the rain, the hornets were
all huddled inside their nest and minding their own affairs, when an arrow
aimed at the king flew high and skewered their nest. I know not if Penembei
have insects like these, but our Novarian hornets most fiercely resent any
tampering with their nests and take stern measures against the tamperer.

"As the hornets swarmed out, the first animate thing they beheld was King
Filoman. He was sitting his horse right under their bough, waving his sword
and trying

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by cnes and appeals to stem the   rout of his army, in much the same vein as
Truentius on the other side was   barkening on his host. Presently Filoman gave
an even louder yell as a hornet   stung him on the wrist and another on the
cheek. Then his horse whinnied,   as another stung it on the arse, and bounded
forward.

"Filoman's guard put spurs to their steeds to keep up with the king. The
soldiers saw their king galloping straight at the foe, brandishing his sword
and followed by a handful of bodyguards. Someone set up a cry of: 'Save the
king!' and started running after Filoman. When some did, all did, so that what
had been a rout of the Kortolians was changed in a trice into a rout of the
Vindines.

"Truentius commanded his coachman to turn the carriage around,- but, finding
this difficult in the press, the coachman lighted down from his seat and fled
on foot. Truentius then climbed into the driver's seat and tried to take the
reins himself. Having no knowledge of chariotry, however, he was unable to
bring the frightened horses under control. Then he got down, too, but was
overborne in the rout and trampled to death.

"The Vindines fled in disorder from Kortoli. When the survivors got home, they
changed their constitution to allow for two elected consuls, in the hope that
the twain would watch each other and keep each other from seizing unlawful
power. And, despite interludes of turbulence and usurpation, they have kept to
that scheme ever since.

"Filoman rode home in triumph, notwithstanding that his face was grotesquely
swollen from the sting. He was hailed as the savior of Kortoli for his
desperate charge into the heart of the foe. He disclaimed credit, saying that
the victor was neither himself nor his golem general, but the hornet that had
stung his horse's rump. But so great was the love for Filoman that people
said, ah, that is just our hero-king being modest.

"In any case, Filoman decided to stick to flesh-and-blood generals thereafter.
They might have their faults but at least would not dissolve into mud at the
first wetting.

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"Later, Filoman's reign became more and more eccentric. He retained a ghost as
his minister; he tried to abolish crime by pensioning all criminals; and he
fell under the influence of a Mulvanian ascetic, Ajimbalin. This man persuaded
him to lead a life of utter self-denial and mortification of the flesh, to the
neglect of his kingdom and of his queen, who eloped with a pirate captain.

"The Kortolians sometimes wondered if they had not been wiser to toss Filoman
out and adopt a republican scheme like that urged upon them by Truentius. In
fact, they might well have done so; but, ere matters could come to a head,
Filoman lost his life in a riding accident and was succeeded by his much abler
son Fusinian. King Fusinian restored the popularity of the monarchy, and it
has persisted down to the present day."

The king laughed heartily until he got into a fit of coughing and wheezing and
had to be slapped on the back by his taster and his secretary.

"At least," he said, "we have never appointed a general of clockwork or of
clay, heh heh. Chuivir may not be any Juktar the Great, but at least he bleeds
if one pricks him." The king's little black eyes stared sharply at forian out
of his puffy, round face. "That brings up a problem. Yes, sir, a problem. Two
days ago, our spies brought us a rumor that you, dear boy, were not quite what
you seemed—that, in sooth, you were no mere mechanic but a former ruler of
some Novarian city-state. Is that true?"

[orian and Karadur exchanged glances. Jorian muttered: "Zerlik must have been
flapping that long tongue of his." He turned to the king. "It is true, Your
Majesty. Your servant was king of Xylar for five years. Know you their method
of succession?"

"We once knew but have forgotten. Tell us."
"Every five years, they come together in a grand assembly, cut off the old
king's head, and throw it up for grabs. I became king by catching my
predecessor's head when I saw it flying towards me, not then realizing what
the object was and what catching it implied. When

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my five years neared their end, Doctor Karadur devised a method for me to
escape this drastic ritual."

"Bountiful heavens!" exclaimed the king. "Here, the ruler is at least granted
more than five years of tenure; albeit the principle is not wholly different.
How did the Xylarians take the escape of their human toss-ball:"

"They have been after me ever since, to drag me back and complete their
interrupted ceremony. Therefore I beg Your Majesty not to reveal my former
status, lest the Xylarians get wind of my whereabouts and kidnap me. I barely
escaped one such attempt on my way hither."

The king clucked. "Too bad, too bad. An we could publicly proclaim that you
were a former king, we could do fine things for you. What was the date of your
birth?"

[orian raised his bushy black eyebrows, but replied: "I was born in the
twelfth year of King Fealin the Second of Kortoli, on the fifteenth of the
Month of the Lion. Why, sire?"

"Have you taken that down, Herekit?" the king asked his secretary; then to
(orian: "We asked it so that our wise men can calculate what the fates have in
store for you. Tell me: had you warlike experience during your kingship?"

"Aye, sire; quite a lot. I led Xylar's army in two pitched battles, at Dol and
at Larunum, with brigands calling themselves free companies, as well as
several skirmishes. I admiraled the Xylarian fleet in driving the Algarthian
pirates away from our shores. Besides, I had already seen battle whilst
serving a hitch in the Foot Guards of the Grand Bastard of Qthomae."

"Then, my dear |orian, you would seem to be the answer to a fat old man's
prayer."

"How so, sire?"

"Look you. We know nought of warfare and make no pretense of doing so. Our
senior officer, Colonel Chuivir, is, for practical purposes, as ignorant as
we. He, howsomever, is not fain to admit it. For that matter, it would do the
spirits of the defenders no good for their commander to avouch himself a
military ninny.

"We lack time to find a replacement for Chuivir.

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Most of the officers in his command are, we suspect, as innocent of war as he.
Our seasoned commanders are all with the frontier army. Nor can we appoint you
in Chuivir's place. You are a foreigner and a commoner, whom the militia would
not obey with any zeal. Moreover, Chuivir has influential friends among the
nobility and officials, who would be affronted by our abruptly dismissing him
ere he has had time to commit any gross blunder. Even a king with
theoretically unlimited power, you know, must constantly make sure of his
political support, heb heh."

"Well, sire?" said Jorian as Ishbahar hesitated.

"So we — ah—the thought has come to us: How would you like to be our military
aide?"

"What would that entail?"

"Oh, you would wear a fancy uniform. In theory, you would be merely our
messenger boy, to carry our commands to the forces and bring us reports of the
fighting. In practice, we shall ask you to look over the military situation
every day, decide what needs to be done, and advise us accordingly. We shall
put your recommendations in the form of royal commands, which you shall convey
to Chuivir or whomever else we designate. You will not seem to have any power
over the defense but in fact will be in full command thereof. How does that
strike you?"

"All I can say, sire, is that I will try my best."

"Good." Ishbahar spoke to the secretary: "Herekit! Draw up a commission for
Master Jorian—yes, Ebeji-"

"Sire," said the attendant, who had just come in, "a ship's officer would
speak with you on urgent business."

"Oh, curse this churlish world, that will not let a man eat a simple snack in
peace! Send him in."

The visitor was a young naval officer with a drawn, ghastly look, who dropped
to one knee. "Sire!"

"Well, sir?"

"Admiral Kyar is lost, and the pirates of Algarth are upon us!"

"Eh- Eh? Oh, good gods! How did this happen-"

"The—the admiral took the flagship Ressam out

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this morn for exercises, accompanied by two small dispatch galleys, the Onuech
and the By an. At sea, we encountered a .patch of fog, which some said had the
look of sorcerous fog. Then, of a sudden, a swarm of Algarthian craft sped out
of the fog and surrounded the Ressam. Being undermanned, she could not work up
enough speed to fight clear. The freebooters also took the Onuech; but the By
an, by putting the marines on the oars, won free."
"Were you in command of the Byari2." asked the king.

"Aye, sire. If Your Majesty thinks I ought to have stayed and perished with
the admiral—"

"Nay, nay, you did right. Someone had to bring us word. In fact, you are
hereby promoted to admiral in place of Kyar. Prepare the rest of our navy for
battle." To the secretary, the king said: "Draw up a royal commission for this
officer and bring it to us to sign. Now, Admiral, do sit down and try some of
this—by Ugh-roluk's toenails, the young man has fainted! Pour water on him,
somebody!"

That evening, forian and Karadur stood on the floor of the Tower of Kumashar
that housed the clockwork. They looked towards the sea, where the Penembic
navy was locked in battle with a fleet of Algarthian pirates. The largest
Penembic ships, the huge catamarans, were not even sent into action for want
of rowers to man them. The ships that did take part in the battle moved
sluggishly for lack of oar power.

"There goes another one," said Jorian as ruddy flames enveloped a ship.

"One of ours or theirs?" said Karadur.

"One of ours, 1 fear; but 'tis hard to be sure in this failing light."

"How did that young fellow—what's his name—the officer whom the king of a
sudden promoted to admiral, how effective has he proven?"

lorian shrugged. "Considering the generally unprepared state of the fleet and
the lack of time, there's no |; 'way to tell. Not even Diodis of Zolon, the
greatest No-109

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

vanan sea commander, could have done much in this man's room."

"How do you with Colonel Chuivir?"

"Methinks he suspects the true state of affairs. He seems to take the king's
commands with ill grace, even if he had not yet flouted any of them. What
worries me is that, if he learn that the Xylarians are after me, he may get
word to them to come and take me."

"They could hardly do that, with the city surrounded and under siege."

"True, Doctor. So I'm in a pretty pass, am I not? I'm safe whilst the siege
lasts. My duty, howsomever, is to defeat and break it, which will place me
again in jeopardy. If on the other hand the besiegers take the city, I shall
probably lose my head in that case, too." He reached up and tugged at his
head. "lust making sure 'tis firmly fixed in place."

"An we win here, I am sure the king could protect you."

"Perhaps, perhaps. But suppose he find himself straightened for money to pay
the cost of the war and hear of the price the Xylarians have placed on my
head?"
"Oh, he is a kindly man—"

"For the present; but the day may come when he loves his little Jorian less
than the cash I could bring. My taste of kingship has taught me never to trust
any ruler. They can always justify any perfidy by saying, 'It's for the
people's good.'"

The battle continued for hours in ever-deepening darkness and confusion. Then
the surviving Penembic ships broke off and fled up the Lyap. The pirates swept
the decks of the anchored ships, both naval and merchant, and invested the
shoreline outside the wall of the city.

Next day, a Free Company in flashing armor marched down the Novarian Road from
the north; Mazsan's peasant army straggled up from the south; and a swarm of
robed, camel-riding nomads from Fedirun approached from the east. The siege
had begun.

110

VII

HE BESIEGERS SPREAD AROUND IRAZ, OUT OF CATAPULT

range, and set up their camps. That of the Free Com-

ipany was an    orderly fortified square of tents,   sur-

, rounded by a ditch and an embankment. It stood in the

fields northeast of the city, where a bend in the Lyap

gave the mercenaries room to camp between the river

and the wall.

The camp of the Fedirunis was a sprawling city of r brown camel's hair tents
set every which way, whence sounds of drums and wailing music arose at night.
From eastward, a stream of Fedirunis rode camels, horses, mules, and asses
down the East Road to join the besiegers. The news that Iraz might be sacked
had spread over the eastern deserts and had drawn all the sand .thieves of
Fedirun like flies to honey. The city of cam-f el's-hair tents grew and spread
like a fungus.

Mazasan's peasants had not brought tents. Instead, they built rude huts of
fieldstone and brushwood or else ['slept, bundled in sheepskins, in the open.
The Algar--thian pirates slept aboard their ships.

The suburb of Zaktan across the Lyap, whose people

, had all fled to Iraz proper, was plundered and some of

;the houses were burnt; but a rainy spell prevented a

|! general conflagration. The beacon atop the Tower of

Kumashar was dark, for the only incoming ships were
additions to the pirate fleet.

The besiegers assembled mantlets, which they ex-i'ftended in lines towards the
city. From behind these ^'defenses, their archers sniped at Irazis on the
walls.

Ill

THE CLOCKS OF 1RAZ

Since this part of Penembei had few trees, the besiegers' engineers broke up
some of King Ishbahar's biggest war galleys for timber to build their engines.

Beyond the lines of mantlets, siege engines—catapults, tortoises (wheeled
sheds), and belfries (movable siege towers)—began to take shape. The sounds of
sawing and hammering continued day and night.

Meanwhile, the wizards on both sides tried out their arts. The besiegers'
magicians conjured up illusions of vast, winged monsters, which swooped with
bared fangs and fiery breath at the battlements. At first, the defenders
scattered with cries of alarm. But Karadur and his assistant wizards quickly
identified these monsters as mere harmless phantasms and dispersed them with
counter-spells.

The besiegers' sorcerers then cast a mighty spell, which evoked a horde of
bat-winged, scaly demons from the Sixth Plane, to assail the defenders with
fangs and talons. But the defending thaumaturgists cast a counter-spell. This
spell caused all the bees, wasps, and hornets within ten leagues of Iraz to
swarm to the city and attack the demons. With shrieks of pain and croaks of
outrage, the demons fled and vanished back to their own plane.

The men of the Free Company, as the best-disciplined soldiers among the
attackers, were the first to complete a catapult. The skeins, slings, and
fittings they had brought along in their baggage wagons, and for timbers they
used wood from the dismantled battleships.

This catapult was of the two-armed, dart-throwing type. They levered it
forward on its ponderous wheels. A big wooden shield, hung with green hides,
was fastened in front of it to protect it against counter-bombardment.
Karadur's wizards, collected on the wall, sweated and mumbled and gesticulated
in attempts to cast a spell upon the device.

Early one morning, under an overcast sky, Karadur stood watching from the
wall. He said to fonan: "I fear me, alas, that they have already placed a
protective spell

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THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"over yonder engine, so that all my wizards' efforts will go for nought. The
advances in magic of recent centuries have given the defense great advantages
in wiz-ardly conflict."

Jorian, in silvered scale mail, peered through his spyglass. "Methinks they're
ready to shoot," he said. "Take a look."
"Ah, me! You are right."

"Get ready to duck. One of those darts would skewer you like an olive on a
toothpick... Here it comes!"

The Free Company's catapult discharged with a crash. The missile—a three-foot
bolt of wood and iron, with wooden vanes—whistled over their heads, to curve
down and fall inside the city.

"If that be the best they can do," said Karadur, "I doubt that they will soon
beat us down by hurling darts at random into this vast city."

"You don't understand," said Jorian. "That was a mere ranging shot. When they
get the elevation right, they'll use that engine to scatter defenders on the
wall and thus hinder the servicing of our engines. Now, do you see that other
catapult a-building, back of the first one?"

"Aye."

"That one will be twice as big and will throw balls of stone or brick instead
of darts. They'll wheel it forward and set it to battering a breach in our
wall, whilst the dart-thrower protects it 'gainst our counter-measures by a
covering bombardment. It may take a fortnight; but soon or late, the wall will
crumble and fall at that point."

"What can we do?"

"I've already told Colonel Chuivir to start his masons building a lune behind
the threatened point. Whether he'll do it is another thing. He suspects that,
when I tell him 'tis the king's will that he do thus-and-so, it is really my
idea, and he bubbles with resentment."

"How is our defending army coming?"

Jorian spat. "Lousy! The Royal Guard have had at least formal training, but
they're a mere handful. The

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THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

militia companies are drilling; but the two stasiarchs are more interested in
blackguarding and plotting against each other than they are in winning the
war- There have been many affrays betwixt Pants and Kilts, with several
wounded and a couple slam.

"They're just urban rabble anyway: splendid at rioting, looting, and arson,
but as soldiers worth no more than so many rabbits. They argue every command
and take a perverse pride in slovenliness and indiscipline-Had f but a few
thousand of my sturdy Kortolian peasants..." Jorian laughed shortly. "Perdy,
kimmer," he said, falling into his rustic Kortolian dialect, "a grew up in
little Ardamai and kenned the farm folk well. Then a thought them the crassest
clods, dullards, and skinflints on earth. When a first saw Kortoli City, a
said, aha! City life be the life for me! And indeed, a still find city folk
better company. But, when it come to the push of the pike, gie me yeomen wi'
dung on their boots and na thought but the next harvest in their heads!
"Now, take those houses built against the West Wall, along the waterfront
street. That was strictly illegal, since such dwellings provide cover for
attackers; but Ishbahar's inspectors doubtless pocketed bribes to overlook..."

|orian fell silent for a moment while he swept the besiegers' lines with his
telescope. Then he said: "Were I boss of yon besiegers, 'stead of wasting time
in building catapults and belfries, I'd make hundreds of scaling ladders and
send the whole force against our walls at once."

"Why, my son? Such ladders are easily overthrown, to the scathe of the men
clinging to them. I have never understood how any number of men could take a
defended wall. Why cannot the defenders simply push over the ladders as fast
as they are erected?"

"Were numbers anywhere near even, they could. Stout-hearted defenders can beat
off several times their number of attackers. But the foe now outnumber us
fifteen or twenty to one—at least as far as real soldiers are concerned,- I
count not Vegh's and Amazluek's rabble. With the defenders so few, they could
not man alt

114

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

parts of the wall at once. By throwing up ladders against parts of the wall
that are bare for the nonce, the assailants can get a lodgment on the top.
Once a few sections are taken, the attackers can stream down into the city and
make their numbers felt.

"If the foe strike now, he'll have an excellent chance of overrunning the
city; whereas, an he fool around with all these beautiful engines, he may find
his advantage lost by Tereyai's arrival,.. Speaking of whom, has your scryer,
what's his name, found out whether our messengers have yet reached General
Tereyai?"

"Nedef has been at his crystal from dawn to sunset, but the   scrying has been
poor. 1 daresay the foe's wizards have cast spells to block   it. Now and then
Nedef gets a fix on some spot in northern Penembei, but all   he sees are bare
brown hills, with no sign either of our frontier army or of   the messengers."

"Hmm." Jorian stared so long through his spyglass that Karadur said:

"What is it, O forian?"

"See you that thing between the camps of the Free Company and that of the
Fedirums?"

"It looks like another line of mantlets, does it not? My dim old eyes—"

"Aye, but what are mantlets doing so far back- Even a catapult couldn't reach
'em. They seem inordinately high, and methinks I detect activity behind them."
Jorian turned on Karadur. "Could your scryer get a glimpse behind that fence?"

"He can try, whilst I essay to counter the interference of the foe's
magicians."

An hour later, Jorian and Karadur sat in Nedef's chamber in the House of
Learning. The scryer sat cross-legged on a bench, hunched over his crystal-
sphere, which rested upon a small stand of ebony carved into coiling dragons.
Karadur sat, also cross-legged, on a cushion on the floor, leaning back with
his eyes closed and moving his lips. Jorian sat in a chair, holding a stylus
and a waxed wooden tablet. He leaned forward tensely, holding the stylus
poised.

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THE CLOCKS OF 1RAZ

The scryer spoke just above a whisper: "The scene ripples and shifts, although
it is not so confused as yesterday's. ..Methinks their wizards who cast
interference upon me have been recalled to other tasks... Ah, now I see
Iraz...The scene pitches and tosses, as if 1 were an insect riding an autumnal
leaf borne along on the wind... Steady, steady... Nay, that is the wrong side
of the besiegers' ring... Now I have the nomads' tents in view .. - More to
the left! The left! Ah, here we are. Here is your fence, whereon I look
down...Curse this interference; it is like trying to see the bottom of a river
through the waters of a rapid. I see a great pile of long things; long things
withcrosspieces.. .Ah... Now I see men working on these objects... From my
height, they look like ants; but... They hammer and saw..."

"Ladders?" said forian.

"Ah, that is it! Ladders! I could not be sure, because of bad scrying, but
ladders they are."

"Can you estimate their number?" said Jorian.

"Nay; but there must be hundreds..."

Jorian looked at Karadur. "They're doing just what I said 1 should do in their
place. The siege engines are a diversion, to make us think we have plenty of
time to ready our defenses. Instead, they'll rush us early some morn with all
those ladders and scramble over our walls ere we've rubbed the sleep out of
our eyes. Once inside, they could stand off Tereyai for ay. With command of
the sea, they could not be starved out.

"Keep Nedef at his crystal and command him to try to learn the foe's precise
plans. If he could eavesdrop on a conference amongst the leaders, that might
be helpful. Meanwhile, 1 must forth to tell Chuivir to build crutches."

"Crutches?"

"That's what we call those poles with a curved or forked crosspiece at the
end, for pushing over ladders."

"Beware of arousing Chuivir's jealousy!"

lorian had thitherto been careful to report back to the palace before issuing
royal commands to Colonel Chuivir. But, as he strode through the streets
between

116

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ
the House of Learning and the palace, an uproar drew his attention. A group of
armed Kilts was chasing three Pants along the avenue, waving swords and
shouting vengeance.

"Heryx blast them!" snarled Jorian to himself, stepping out into the street.
As the Pants ran past him, he threw out his arms in a commanding gesture and
roared: "Halt, in the king's name!"

At least, he thought, his glittering parade armor did have its uses. At the
sight of his regalia, the pursuing Kilts halted. The three Pants clustered
behind him, panting:

"They.. .would.. .slay us... good sir! And... for nought!"

"What is all this?" barked Jorian.

"Thieves!" screamed the leading Kilt. "We found them sneaking and snooping
around our armory, to steal our weapons!"

"They lie!" cried a new voice. Jorian turned, and there was the plump Lord
Vegh, stasiarch of the Pants. "I sent my trusty lads thither to ask a few
civil questions of the other faction, as to what armament they thought most
suitable—"

"Now it is ye who lie!" cried the gaunt, goateed Amazluek, pushing through the
gathering crowd. "Civil questions, forsooth! Mere questioners need not try to
pick the lock on the armory door—"

"There was no one on guard," shouted a Pant. "None to answer our questions, so
we sought to—"

Amazluek: "Liar again! There is always a man—"

"Thou callest me liar?" yelled Vegh, drawing his sword.

"Liar, thief, and coward!" screamed Amazluek, drawing likewise.

"Stop it! Stop it!" shouted Jorian over the rising din. "Put up your blades,
in the king's name!"

The clash and ring of sword against sword answered him. Spectators began to
shout and to cheer on the combatants according to which faction they
supported. They also began to bark threats and insults at each

117

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

other. Jorian saw one man kick another's shins, another tweak another's nose,
and a third seize another's hair and pull it. A full street battle was in the
making. In desperation, Jorian drew his sword and knocked up the crossed
blades of the stasiarchs.

"Keep out of this, dirty foreigner!" snarled Amaz-luek, making a thrust at
Jorian's chest. Not expecting the attack, Jorian was slow in parrying. But his
corselet saved his life as the stasiarch's point skittered off its scales and
tore the sleeve of Jorian's jacket.

Vegh lunged at Amazluek, who had to leap back and make a hasty parry to save
his own gore. Jorian unhooked his lead-pommeled dagger. Holding it by the
sheath, he stopped behind Amazluek and brought the pommel down on the
stasiarch's head.

Amazluek wilted to the cobblestones. When Vegh made to run the prostrate man
through, Jorian knocked his blade aside and thrust his own point into Vegh's
face.

"Get back, or I will give you some of the same!" he said.

"Who are you to order us about—" sputtered Vegh.

"I am who 1 am. You five Kilts, carry Lord Amazluek back to your headquarters.
If water in the face fail to revive him, fetch a chirurgeon to tend him. Lord
Vegh, will you be so good as to send your men back to their barracks? Meseems
they need every waking hour for drill, if they are to withstand the foe."

The Kilts, cowed by Jorian's size and air of command, silently picked up their
fallen leader and disappeared. Vegh grumbled some threat or curse under his
breath. Being a full head shorter than Jorian, he seemed indisposed to carry
the argument further. He and his trio also departed, and the crowd broke up.

Jorian hurried on to the palace. The sun had passed the meridian, and Jorian
felt oppressed by the need for haste. The attack with scaling ladders might
come at any time, and the disparity in numbers of hardened fighters grew with
every additional Fediruni who halted his camel in the growing tent city east
of Iraz.

It was urgent that the crutches be prepared forth-

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THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

with. It was also urgent that something drastic be done about the command of
the militia, before the factions began a civil war.

At the palace, Jorian was told that King Ishbahar was taking his nap after
lunch and could not be disturbed. Jorian chewed his mustache in frustration.
He considered forcing an entrance to the king's private chambers on grounds of
emergency, waiting until the king awoke, or going directly to Chuivir without
clearing his intentions with the king first. The dangers of the last course
seemed to him the least.

He found the handsome colonel in his chamber in the topmost level of the huge,
cylindrical keep built against the wall on the eastern side of the city.
Thence Chuivir could watch the entire length of the East Wall, including the
East Gate. Chuivir, wearing gilded lizard mail even more gorgeous than
Jorian's, was checking payrolls.

(orian saluted by bringing his fist to his chest. "Colonel," he said, "it is
the king's pleasure that his forces prepare for an imminent assault on the
walls by scaling ladders. In particular, he desires that hundreds of crutches
be prepared and placed on the walls to overthrow these ladders."
Chuivir frowned. "Where got he any such idea, Captain Jorian? Any fool can see
that they are readying a prolonged attack on the walls themselves, by
catapults and ram tortoises, in order to make a breach before mounting his
assault."

Jorian told of the scryer's discovery of the ladder work going on behind the
fence to the northeast. Colonel Chuivir picked up his own spyglass and leaned
out the window on that side of the tower. After a while, he said:

"Nay, your seer must have been mistaken. Even if they be preparing ladders, it
were incredible that they should essay to use them so early upon our walls."

"His Majesty," said Jorian, "thinks they are fain to make a sudden assault in
hope of carrying the city ere General Tereyai arrive with his army."

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THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

Chuivir stubbornly stuck to his point. "My good Captain, it says right here in
Zayuit's Military Manual"— he waved a copy—"that the chances of carrying a
wall over forty feet high with ladders alone were negligible. And our walls
measure forty-five feet."

"A city this size should have at least sixty-foot walls," said Jorian.

"Perhaps; but that is beside the point."

"Well, are you going to set men to making crutches?"

"No. 1 need all the manpower I can get for practise at conventional drill, for
arms making, and for strengthening the masonry."

"But, sir, His Majesty was quite positive—"

The colonel gave Jorian a sharp look. "Meseems that, to listen to you, His
Majesty has been taking an entirely unwonted interest in the details of the
defense—something he has never done hitherto. Did he give you such a message
just now, from his own mouth?"

"Certes. You do not think 1 would give you orders on my own responsibility, do
you?"

"On the contrary, that is just what I think. Know, good my sir, that I command
the defense and none other—let alone foreign interlopers, if you would
convince me that His Majesty has in sooth issued this silly command, you must
bring me a written order in his own hand, or else persuade him to issue his
dicta to me in person."

"Would you rather let the enemy in than yield on a bit of protocol?" said
Jorian angrily. "If I must needs run back and forth all day bearing bits of
paper—"

"Get out of here!" shouted Chuivir. "Any royal commands hereafter shall be in
writing, or I will ignore them. Now off with you and stop pestering me, or I
will have you arrested!"
"We shall see," growled Jorian. He left the tower fuming.

That evening over supper, he told Karadur of the day's events.

"When I got back to the palace," he said, "1 found the King just waking up. I
told him about the quarreling

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THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

between the factions and about my troubles with Chuivir. I said I feared my
supervision would come to nought unless I had direct and acknowledged command
of the whole defense, with none to gainsay me. Even then, 'twould be a chancy
thing.

"I told Ishbahar I wanted nothing less than commanding the defense of Iraz,
which was not my city; but 1 was caught therein and stood to fall therewith.
Hence, to save my own hide, I needs must do what I could to save it."

"Did he believe your—ah—protestations of virtue?"

"I know not, albeit they expressed my true sentiments. He flat refused,
howsomever, to oust Chuivir and the stasiarchs and appoint me in their room,
saying 'twere politically impossible.

"At length he summoned the three and me to tea this afternoon- Another gorge,
naturally. If His Majesty keep on stuffing me like a sausage skin, I shall
have to go on a fast; I've already gained ten pounds in Iraz.

"Well, at table, Amazluek, with a bandage round his head, glared daggers at
Vegh and me. But I will say old Fatty did his best. He homilized us on the
need for cooperation whilst the siege lasted. An we failed to work together,
he reminded us, we should be tied to posts, tarred, and kindled to illumine
the Fedirunis' victory feast. The desert dwellers have quaint notions of
entreating their captives. At the end, he was blubbering great tears of self-
pity and had even my three recalcitrant commanders looking solemn and wiping
their eyes."

"Did he confirm your tale of having obtained the order about the crutches from
him?"

"Aye; luckily, I had thought to prime him on this little white lie. So we all
parted with expressions, if not of good will, at least of promises to work for
the common goal. But nought has really been changed, and the morrow will
doubtless see us at one another's throats again."

"How about those crutches?"

"Seeing a chance to score off his rival, Amazluek

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THE CLOCKS OF 1RAZ

said he'd be responsible for them. His faction, he said, had many competent
woodworkers, and he would set them to sawing and nailing night and day. Then
Vegh said his Pants could make two crutches for every one turned out by the
Kilts. The king said to go to it."

Karadur: "My son, I promised Nedef to look in at his sanctum this even. He is
attempting to spy on a meeting of the hostile commanders, to learn what he can
of their plans. Wilt—ah—accompany me? With all in confusion and arms handed
out broadcast, the streets are none too safe o' nights."

"Surely, old man. Have you a lanthorn?"

Nedef murmured: "Nay, I see no gathering around the tent of the Fediruni
chieftain.. .That leaves the Al-garthians..."

For some minutes, the scryer sat silently with an intense expression, as he
strove to guide the vision in the crystal seaward.

"It is easier this even," he said. "Belike all the wizards are at meat. Ah,
here is the pirates' flagship, with longboats clustering about her. The
council of war must be aboard..." Then more silence. Nedef gasped: "Aid me,
Doctor Karadur! The wizards have cast a protective spell about the admiral's
cabin, so I cannot enter it."

Karadur mumbled and made passes. At last Nedef exclaimed: "Ah, now 1 am in!
But it takes all my strength to remain..."

"What see you?" asked Jorian.

"In sooth, it is a veritable council of war. I see Maz-san the factionist, and
the pirate admiral—I think his name is Hrundikar, a great huge wight with a
long red beard. I also see the leaders of the Free Company and of the nomads,
whose names I know not."

"What do they?"

"They talk, with much gesticulation and pauses for the interpreters... Mazsan
says something about making an attack from all four sides at once, to stretch
the defense thin..."

Silence, then: "They argue the question of timing their attack. The Fediruni
points heavenward,- he—I

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cannot read his lips, for he speaks his native tongue. Ah, the interpreter
asks how they can time their attacks with the sun hidden by clouds...

"Now Mazsan speaks. He says something about the Tower of Kumashar... He holds
a spyglass to his eye. The Fediruni asks a question, but I cannot catch it...
Mazsan demands something of Admiral Hrundikar. Everybody takes a drink... Now
a sailor brings in a sheet of something—parchment or paper. They spike it to
the bulkhead; each of the four chieftains drives his dagger through one comer
of the sheet. With a piece of charcoal, Mazsan draws a two-foot circle on the
sheet. He marks a spot in the enter. He makes a set of marks around the edge
of the circle. He draws an arrow, starting at the center and pointing to one
of the marks..."

"Which mark? Which mark?" demanded lorian.

"It is on the right-hand side of the circle... My vision is blurred..."

"If it were a clock, what time would it tell?"

"Ah, I see! The clock hand points to the third hour. Now the scene grows
wavery, as if their wizards had returned to their task..."

Nedef's voice trailed off. The scryer slumped in a faint and rolled off his
bench to the floor.

"Dear me, I hope he have not damaged his brain," said Karadur. "That is a
hazard of his profession."

"His pulse seems normal," said lorian, bending over the fallen man. "So now we
know: the foe will attack at the third hour of the morning—or the Hour of the
Otter, as we say in Novaria. They will time their assault by watching the
Tower of Kumashar through telescopes."

"We know not the day of the attack," said Karadur.

"True, but we had better assume it to be tomorrow. I must get word to the king
and the commanders."

"I cannot leave poor Nedef in a swoon..."

"Take care of him, then, whilst I go about my business, which brooks no
delay."

"Go you first to the king?"

"Nay, I think I'll drop in first on Chuivir to pass the news."

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"What chance have we, with a few hundred guardsmen against their tens of
thousands?"

"The chance of a pollywog in a pond full of pike. But the militia can push
over ladders if nought else. Still, 'tis a muchel of city wall to cover with a
small force. All they need is one good foothold..."

"I suppose we could stop the clocks in the Tower of Kumashar. Then they would
lack means of coordinating their attack."

Jorian stared. "You're right, old man. But, by Heryx's iron yard, you've given
me an even better idea! Each of the four parties plans to attack a different
side and use a different one of the four clocks, does it not?"

"I suppose so."

"All right, you succor Master Nedef; I'm off."
When he had reported to the king, who was eating a late evening snack,
Ishbahar asked the same question that Karadur had already posed: "What chance
have we, lad, with their twenty or thirty thousand against our four hundred-
odd guardsmen and a few thousand militiamen?"

"Not much, Your Majesty," said Jorian. "I do, how-somever, have an idea that
may well throw their attack into confusion."

"What is it?"

"Ere I tell Your Majesty, your servant would like to beg a boon, in case my
scheme work."

"Anything, my boy, anything! If it work not, none of us will have further use
for material possessions anyway. An we defeat this siege, we have plans for
you."

"All I ask, sire, is your copper bathtub."

"The gods bless our soul, what an extraordinary request! No cartload of gold?
No high office? No noble maiden for your harem?"

"Nay, sire; i meant just what I said."

"Of course you shall have it, win or lose. But what is your scheme?"

Jorian told him.

124

VIII

.S THE OVERCAST SKY PALED TO PEARLY GRAY, 1ORIAN

told Colonel Chuivir: "The Fedirunis will attack the East Wall first, in about
half an hour."

"How in the name of Ughroluk do you know?"

"Because at that time, the east clock will show the third hour."

"But will not the other clocks show the same—oh!" Chuivir stared round-eyed at
Jorian. "You mean you have set them all to show different times!"

Jorian nodded, and Chuivir gave a command. Messengers departed on a run. Soon,
nearly all the Royal Guard was assembled along the East Wall, with their armor
gleaming dully in the gray light. Mingled with them were several companies of
militia. Most of the militiamen bore either crutches or spears to whose butt-
ends short crosspieces had been affixed. When all were in place, there was a
man for every six feet of wall. A skeleton guard of militia was left on the
other walls.

From the swarming, dun-colored camp of the Fedirunis, ram's horns gave their
soft bleat. A flood of figures, robed in brown, sand color, and dirty white,
poured out from the tent city and streamed towards the East Wall. They covered
the earth like a swarm of ants. Foremost among them came hundreds of pairs of
men, each pair carrying a ladder. Others gathered in knots and unlimbered the
powerful, double-curved compound horn bows of Fedirun.

"Keep your heads down!" shouted Chuivir. The command was passed down the line.

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THE CLOCKS OF 1RAZ

The Fediruni bows twanged, and sheets of arrows shrieked up from their line.
Some shafts soared over the battlements; others struck the stones and
rebounded. A few struck home. Cries arose along the line of the defenders, and
the physicians of Iraz ran up and down with their gowns flapping, seeking the
wounded.

The swarm of foes flowed up to the wall. All along the line, hundreds of
ladders were planted in the ground. Their other ends rose like the booms of
cranes as the attackers pushed on them from behind with hands and spear
points.

"Loose!" cried Chuivir.

All along the wall, arbalesters of the Royal Guard stepped out from behind
their merlons to discharge their crossbows into the crowd below. Then they
ducked back again to reload. Elsewhere, squads of militiamen placed boxes of
heavy stones and cauldrons of boiling oil, molten lead, and red-hot sand in
the embrasures and tipped them until the contents poured down on the heads
beneath. Screams resounded.

Still the ladders rose until their upper ends, even with the top of the wall,
came to rest.

"Wait until they are loaded, Colonel," said Jorian.

"Curse it, stop telling me how to run my business!" snapped Chuivir. "I was
going to do just that." He raised his voice: "Crutch men, wait for the signal!
How far up are they, Captain Jorian?"

Jorian risked a peek out an embrasure. "Three man-heights. Give them a little
more...Now!"

As the heads of the most active climbers approached the top of the wall, the
Fediruni archers ceased shooting for fear of hitting their own. Chuivir
shouted; "O-o-over!"

All along the wall, militiamen hooked their crutches into the tops of the
ladders and pushed. Here and there a man fell to a Fediruni arrow, but another
took his place. The ladders swayed outward and fell, dropping their shrieking
burdens into the crowd.

The Fediruni leaders dashed up and down, screaming commands and exhortations.
Up went the ladders again,

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THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ
' Again, swarms of brown-robed figures scrambled up them.

Jorian found himself next to an embrasure in front of which an Irazi
militiaman had fallen with an arrow through his throat. The top of a ladder
showed in the gap between the merlons. Before Jorian could gather his •wits, a
black-bearded brown face, surmounted by a white head cloth held in place by a
camel's-hair rope, popped into the embrasure. Golden hoops hung gleaming and
swaying from the man's ear lobes.

Jorian snatched up the crutch that the fallen Irazi had dropped. His first
attempt to place it against one of the uprights of the ladder miscarried; he
missed and .almost hurled himself through the embrasure. Before he could
recover and replace the implement, the Fediruni leaped like a cat through the
embrasure and had at him with a scimitar.

Jorian threw up the crutch to parry a whistling cut, which drove into the wood
and nearly severed the crutch. He struck at the man, but the crutch broke at
its weakened point. The man slashed again; his blade clashed against Jorian's
mail as Jorian leaped back.

By the time the man drew back his arm for a third blow, forian had his sword
out. A straight thrust took the unarmored man in the ribs. The Fediruni still
had the strength to complete his cut, which clanged on Jorian's helmet,
knocking it down over his eyes and filling his head with stars.

Jorian pushed his helmet back into place, to see the Fediruni leaning against
the merlon. The scimitar dropped from his lax fingers as the man slowly sagged
to the pavement.

Meanwhile, another Fediruni had hoisted himself through the embrasure. This
man carried both a scimitar and a leathern buckler in his right hand. Over his
brown robe he wore a crude cuirass of boiled leather, painted red and blue,
and on his head a light steel cap with a slender spike on top. As he came, he
shifted the buckler to his left hand and engaged Jorian. There was 'a quick
exchange of cuts and thrusts,- the man was a skilled fighter.

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THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

Out of the corner of his eye, Jorian saw a third Fe-diruni, with his shaven
skull bare, climbing through. If the third man gained the wall and assailed
him from behind, Jorian knew he would have little chance. Despite the hero
tales, it was rare indeed that a single swordsman could defeat two competent
foes at once. If [orian took his attention for a heartbeat off the man he was
fighting, the fellow would instantly have him. He tried to speed up his cuts
and lunges to kill the man before the other came. But the man caught the blows
on his buckler and sent back one whistling counter-cut after another...

The third man had reached the wall and slithered around behind }orian, who
knew what was happening but could do nothing to stop it. Then a shriek arose
behind him, and the sound of a falling body. The eyes of the man he was
fighting shifted past him, and in an instant Jorian ran him through the
throat.

"Here is another!" cried Chuivir, drawing a bloody sword from the Fediruni
behind forian. "Help me!"
The colonel referred to a fourth Fediruni, now poised on the topmost rung of
the leadder with a scimitar in his teeth. Jorian and Chuivir each drove the
point of his sword into one of the two uprights. "Over!" said Chuivir.

They shoved. The ladder swayed out. It seemed to stand balanced for an
incredible time, while the topmost Fediruni looked down with eyes that widened
with terror in his swarthy face. The last sight that Jorian had of him, as the
ladder toppled, was of the man's opening his mouth to scream and dropping the
sword he had held in his teeth.

"That was close," said Chuivir, "They have gained another foothold yonder,-
come along!"

The two rushed along the wall to where several Fe-dirunis had formed a solid
knot with their backs to an embrasure, while others, climbing up the ladder
from behind, tried to push in. "Watch!" said lorian.

He put a foot on the adjacent embrasure and hurled himself up on top of the
merlon. A small, slender Fe-

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diruni was just pushing through the embrasure behind the knot of battlers. At
the moment, he was on hands and knees in the embrasure.

Jorian swung up his arm and brought his sword down in a long, full-armed cut.
He had the satisfaction of seeing the man's head fly off, to roll among the
trampling feet of the fighters. The blood-spouting body collapsed in the
embrasure, and through Jonan's mind flitted a fleeting thought of wonder that
so small a man should contain so much blood. A scarlet pool spread out on the
flagstones, so that the fighters slipped and staggered in it.

The body hindered the next climber, who pushed and tugged at it to clear it
out of the way. While he was so engaged, Jorian caught him in the face with a
backhand cut. The man fell off the iadder, carrying away those below him in a
whole concatenation of screams and crashes.

"Hand me a crutch!" Jorian shouted.

A spear was at length passed up to him. With this he pried one of the uprights
of the ladder away from the stone and sent it toppling. The Fedirunis on the
wall, cut off from support and slipping and falling in the puddles of blood,
were soon beaten down and hacked to pieces.

Panting, Jorian, in dented helm and rent hauberk, confronted Colonel Chuivir,
around whose left arm a physician was tying a bandage. Below, the Fedirunis
sullenly flowed back towards their tent city. They carried many of their
wounded; but many more were left behind, along with hundreds of corpses.

"Bad?" said Jorian.

"Scratch. You?"

"Never touched me. Thank you for your help."
"No trouble. When and whence is the next attack?" asked Chuivir.

"Soon, north. The north clock is set an hour after the east."

"The Free Company, eh?"

"Aye. Not many, but fell fighters."

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"With that armor, they will not be able to climb so monkeylike. Adjutant,
everybody but the skeleton guard to the North Wall!"

An hour later, the Free Company withdrew from the North Wall, leaving scores
of armored figures lying like smashed beetles at its base. Jorian, bleeding
from a cut on the side of his law, told Chuivir: "The pirates next."

The houses that had been illegally built against the West Wall, facing the
waterfront, furnished the pirates with an easy means of getting halfway up the
wall. They made several lodgments on the top of the wall and clung to them
despite the hardest fighting, Jorian took another light wound, on his right
arm. But the houses, being inflammable, soon blazed up under a shower of
incendiary missiles from the wall. Pirates struggling to emplace short ladders
on the roofs of the houses were engulfed in flames and died screaming.

By the time the clock on the south side of the Tower of Kumashar showed the
third hour, Mazsan's peasant army had heard about the defeats of the other
three forces. There was talk of a mysterious mixup in timing, and of the
unexpected strength of the defenders. The yells of Mazsan's officers and even
blows with the flats of swords failed to get the peasants to rush the wall.
They stood sullenly muttering; some began to trickle away.

Trumpets blared in the hills. Little black specks grew to squadrons of the
regular Penembic cavalry, riding down the East Road and deploying.

"Tereyai!" shouted voices along the wall, as the frontier army rolled into
view.

As the word went round, Mazsan's peasants dissolved in mad flight. The
Fedirunis, fearful of being cut off from their homeland, abandoned their camp,
swarmed on their camels and horses, and scattered. The Algarthian pirates
scrambled aboard their ships, cast off, and hoisted sail.

The Free Company struck its camp in orderly fashion. It formed three hollow
squares, with pikes leveled outwards in all directions and crossbowmen inside
the

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squares. The mercenaries marched leisurely away on the North Road, as if
daring anybody to try to stop them. No one did.
"My boy!" cried the king. "You have saved Iraz! Nothing were too good for you!
Nothing!"

"Oh, come, sire," said the bandaged Jorian, affecting more modesty than he
really felt. "All your servant did was to sit up half the night tinkering with
the clocks, to make the four dials register different hours."

"But that proves the prophecy. Or rather, both prophecies. You are the
barbarian savior, and the salvation of the city depended upon the clocks'
functioning— albeit not quite in the sense that one would expect, hen heh.
Name your reward!"

"All I want, Your Majesty, is that copper bathtub."

"Forsooth? Well, it is a queer sort of reward; but if that is your desire, you
shall have it. Shall we have it delivered to Doctor Karadur's quarters?"

"Nay, sire. Leave it where it is for the time being. But one of these days I
shall want it. And one other thing!"

"Yes? Yes?"

"Pray stop calling me a barbarian! I am only an honest craftsman, as civilized
as the next wight."

"Oh," said the king. "We see the difficulty. You think of a 'barbarian' as a
rude, uncouth, illiterate oaf from some backward land where they know not
letters and cities. But in the prophecy, methinks, the word was used in its
older sense, to mean any non-Penembian. The change in meaning took place
during the century preceding this one; we told you we used to be a bit of a
scholar.

"So, you see, in that sense you are a barbarian, however refined your manners
and vast your erudition. And the prophecies are proven after all. By the way,
it is fortunate that our victory took place when it did, and that you
sustained no grievous wounds. In three nights, we shall have a full moon
again."

Jorian wrinkled his forehead. "So, Your Majesty?"

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THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"Have you forgotten? That is the monthly Divine Marriage of Nubalyaga!" "Oh,"
said [orian.

Three nights later, at the full of the moon, [onan gave the ritual knock on
the massive door at the north end of Hoshcha's tunnel. The door swung open,
and in it stood two minor priestesses in gauzy gowns. They bowed low, saying:

"All hail, Your Majesty, soon to be divine!"

Jorian nodded affably. "Whither away, lassies?"

"Follow us."
[orian followed them through winding corridors, up stairs, and through
portals. Once he passed the main chamber of the temple. Through an open door,
he glimpsed scaffolding and saw men moving about. He heard the sounds of
sawing and hammering and the clink of masons' chisels.

The Free Company and the Algarthians had looted the temple of all the gold and
precious stones they could pry off the decorations. They might have destroyed
the whole structure had not Mazsan's influence restrained them. Now craftsmen
were working overtime to refurbish the fane.

"Priestesses!" said lorian, "Where — ah—I mean when do I—ah—"

"Oh, sire!" murmured one. "You needs must be suitably clad ere the god
incarnate himself in you!"

They led him at last into a smaller chamber, where garments were laid out on a
divan.

"Now, sire," they said, "if Your Majesty will graciously sit..."

[orian sat on the end of the divan while they pulled off his shoes and
buskins.

"Now arise, sire, and stand still whilst we prepare you."

)orian stood up, and they began to undress him. They took off his Irazi cap,
unbuttoned his vest and shirt, and untied the draw string of his trousers,
lorian soon stood in his breechclout, which one of the girls began to
unfasten.

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THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"Eek!" said [orian. "Ladies, please!"

"Oh, but this, too, must come off!" said a priestess with a giggle. "Surely a
man of Your Majesty's age and experience..."

"Oh, very well," grumbled [orian. "I am an old mar-ried man, and in my native
land we all bathe together. It just seemed odd."

Off came the breechclout. The appraising stares of the priestesses made Jorian
wince. One said:

"Think you he will do, Gezma?"

The other priestess cocked her head thoughtfully. "He may. The gods have
endowed him with length, but as for strength —well, the proof of the pudding
is in the eating, they say, whilst the proof of the—"

"Ahem!" said forian. "If you must discuss me as if I were a prize bull, I had
rather you did it out of my hearing. Besides, it is cool for standing in one's
skin."

With squeals of suppressed laughter, the priestesses draped Jorian in flame-
colored gauzy robes, which they bound with a scarlet sash. They completed his
raiment with a golden wreath on his head and pearl-sewn sandals on his feet.

"Oh, my, does he not look the very god?" said one.

"He i,s!" cried the other, sinking to her knees and touching her forehead to
the floor. "Great Ughroluk!" she prayed. "Deign to look with favor upon thine
humble subjects!"

"Deliver us from sin and evil!" said the other, prostrating herself likewise.

"Stretch forth thy divine hand over the pious priesthood of thine eternal
consort!"

lorian fidgeted while the two young women poured out their pleas. He did feel
godlike. He certainly did not feel as if he could pass miracles to save
anybody from sin and evil.

"Yes, yes, 1 will do my divine best," he said at last. "Now where do we... ?"

The priestesses scrambled up. "Will Your Divine .. Majesty follow us?" ;'•
More corridors, and then he came to a chapel. One

fe    133

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

of the priestesses whispered: "Usually the rite is held in the main sanctum,
but that is full of craftsmen."

As (orian entered, a small orchestra of lyres and pipes played a delicate,
tingling melody. In the center of the room stood a huge bed. The air was heavy
with incense and perfume.

Before the altar at one side stood High Priestess Sah-met. Like (orian, she
was enveloped in gauze. On her noble brow, a silver tiara flashed with white
gems. In the dim light of the little oil lamps hung from the ceiling, she
looked almost beautiful. As Jonan approached, she bowed low, murmuring:

"All hail, divine consort! All hail, king of the gods!"

"All hail, Your Sanctity," said Jorian. "Here is your ring, madam."

The following morning, Jorian met Karadur in King Ishbahar's palace, whither
the wizard had gone to report to his royal employer. The two set out afoot for
Kar-adur's quarters. As they passed through the Gate of Happiness, {orian
squinted up at Mazsan's head, which occupied one of the spikes atop the gate.
He said:

"Some of his ideas seemed sound to me. Too bad they couldn't have been tried
out. If someone could persuade the king to command them..."

"That has been tried," said Karadur. "Mazsan himself once urged Ishbahar to
redistribute the lands of the great magnates amongst the peasants. But these
lords are powerful men, with their own armed followings, and they would not
without demur accede to the loss of their power and pelf. A hero-king might
undertake it, were he willing to risk an uprising led by the magnates; but
poor old Ishbahar..." The Mulvanian shrugged. "How went things last night?"
Jorian laughed. "Damndest experience of my life, and I've had some beauties."
He told of his robing and his being conducted to the wedding chapel. He
continued: "They made me stand for hours, clad in those gauzy things like one
of the he-whores you see mincing up and down Shashtai II Street, whilst they
went through an eternity of ritual. They sang hymns and intoned

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THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

prayers, whereof I could understand nought, since they were in an old form of
the language. They handed me a silver thunderbolt and a golden sunbeam and
bade me wave them about in prescribed motions.

"Well, I am not exactly decrepit, but 'tis hard to keep up one's interest for
hours—if 'interest' be the word I seek. At last the mummery was over, and
Sahmet and I were hailed as the lawfully wedded god and goddess. These deities
had supposedly taken up their temporary abodes within our mortal frames."

"Felt you any divine possession?" asked Karadur.

"Nary a bit. Belike the true Ughroluk and Nubalyaga were otherwise occupied.
Or, belike, when they feel like a bit of amorous libration, they can do it
perfectly well in their own persons without employing mortals as surrogates.

"Anyway, Sahmet led me to the bed. I was taken aback by the thought of
futtering the dame with all the company looking on bug-eyed. I wondered if I
could— ah—rise to the occasion under those circumstances. But the priestesses
hauled out screens, which they set up around the bed, and snuffed all but one
of the lamps. I heard them swishing out of the chamber, and then the only
sound was that of that damned orchestra, twee-tling and plunking away in the
corner.

"Well, even when I had a harem in Xylar, I never invited in the Royal Band to
play whilst I plumbed the depths. I may be old-fashioned, but for some things
I like privacy. Howsomever, necessity is a stern schoolmaster and Sahmet, a
handsome woman. So I set about my business, with the usual kissing and
fondling and disrobing. Presently we were one flesh, as say the preachers."

"How fared you?"

"Wherefore would you know, old ascetic? The details would shock your pure
soul."

"Indulge my curiosity, my son. All human affairs are of moment to me, even
though my spiritual profession limits my participation in worldly activities.
Of course, such things are of but abstract concern to me, who must needs
conserve his chastity to attain the highest levels

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THE CLOCKS OF 1RAZ

of magical practise. But my knowledge of amatory matters is all gained at
second hand, from hooks, and you can furnish knowledge the books overlook."
"Very well. The first try was not very successful. As a result of my year of
virtuous conduct, I was like a crosshow on a hair trigger. Sahmet was
disappointed, hut 1 told her not to worry; that with a respite I should be
ahle to repeat my performance.

"So, for the next half-hour, we ate and drank and talked of this and that. I
told her of some of the deeds of King Fusinian. Then 1 was ready again, and
this time I did a proper fifty-stroke job. The lady flopped beneath me like a
fish on a hook. She said it was the first time in years that she had really
enjoyed a man,- in fact, ever since she had quarreled with Chaluish.

"But think you she was then ready to drop off to sleep? By Vaisus' brazen
arse, nay! She lusted for more. After another half-hour, I managed to work up
another stand and gave her a proper frigging.

"But then she wanted still more. Becoming weary, I pretended to go to sleep,
which in sooth soon became the real thing. But this morn, at the dawn's first
light, I was aroused by my holy bedmate, diddling with me in hopes of raising
my temple column."

"Did she succeed?"

"Oh, aye, it worked; if anything, too well." Jorian yawned. "I could sleep the
clock around. Afterwards she crushed me to her ample bosom with hot words of
love. She swore I should never leave Iraz but remain here for ay, to riddle
her night and day."

"You could fare further and do worse," said Karadur.

"What? Become a male concubine? And give up my little Estrildis? You must
think me a mere tomcat, fornicating about the world as opportunity offers."

"Nay, my son. This is, after all, the lawful consummation of a sacerdotal rite
and hence no—ah—fornication."

"Not so lawful. The ram in this holy tupping is supposed to be the king, and
I'm not the king. If High Priest Chaluish find out and have a mind to make
trou-

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THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

ble... No, thank you! These high intrigues are too chancy for a simple fellow
like me.

"Besides, who knows what'Il happen when Ishbahar dies? With all that fat, he
looks not like a good risk. Then the new king and the priestess might decide
to have me quietly murdered—they're skillful with poison here—to rid
themselves of my awkward presence.

"In any case, whilst I may not be of the stuff of heroes, I care not to be any
lady's fancy man. Puttering is good healthy fun, but I'd rather earn my bread
with my hands and head than with my prick. Besides, I like it better with my
own dear little wife, with whom 'tis an act of love and not of mere lust. Now
I have the king's promise of the copper bathtub, all I need is a proper spell
from you to make it fly. Then ho for Xylar!"
"The speli is still incomplete," said Karadur.

"Well, hurry it up! Put more men on the job!"

"When I can, I will. But just now we at the House of Learning are occupied
with preparations for the grand festival that the king has commanded for five
days hence, to celebrate the salvation of Iraz. If you be not too busy with
your clocks, I could employ your engineering skills at the House, in the
designs of some of our stage effects."

"Glad to help," said forian.

137

IX

THE "WAXEN WIFE

A

__     GUESTS OF THE   KING,     IOK1AN   AND   KARAUUR   FOL-

lowed Ishbahar's litter up the ramp to the royal box. At the top of the rampr
the litter bearers set the litter down. This time, the bearers were slaves—
hairy ape-men from the jungles of Komilakh —not aristocrats. King Ishbahar did
not trust his poundage to amateurs on such slopes.

The king wriggled out of the litter like a broaching whale. He waved to the
crowd and puffed through the entrance to his box, around which guardsmen were
drawn up. Jorian and Karadur followed.

"Sit anywhere you like, our dear fellows, anywhere you like!" said the king.
"We needs must occupy this cursed throne, albeit it is far from comfortable.
Now, where is lunch- Ah, steward, here you are! Doctor Karadur, will you move
your chair, pray, to let the table be set up? Master )orian, we have a real
treat for you: minced scarlet monkey from Beraoti, fried in the fat of the
giant tortoise of Burang. And wine made from the chokeberry of Salimor. Try
it!"

)orian thought that chokeberry wine was an excellent name for the fluid, but
he drowned his potion. The king leaned confidentially towards him. "Are you in
fine fettle today, dear boy?"

"As far as 1 know, sire. Why'"

"We have a little surprise for you later. We are sure that so stalwart a youth
as yourself would hardly shriek and swoon with shock; but we thought it well
to warn

you.

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"May 1 ask the nature of this—"
"Nay, you may not!" The king gave Jorian a heavy wink. "To tell you now were
to spoil the fun, hen heh. You shall see in good time—in good time. Do you
dance?"

"I dance some Novarian dances, like the volka and the whirligig. Why, sire?"

"We are planning a grand ball. You can doubtless learn the Penembic steps. It
has been years since we gave one; as you can see, dancing is not exactly our
forte."

While the king shoveled in the food, and lorian and Karadur ate modest
portions, the stands below them filled. As before, the Pants sat on their left
in blue and gold, while the Kilts, in red and white, sat on their right.
Nobles and officials occupied the intermediate strip.

"Let us hope that we have not another factional disturbance," said Karadur.

The king swallowed a huge mouthful. "We had the stasiarchs before us just this
morning, Doctor. We laid down the law to them, we assure you! They promised to
love each other like brothers. Like brothers, they said."

"Brotherly love, sire, cannot always be counted upon," said )onan, "as in the
case of the kings Forimar and Fusonio of my native Kortoh."

"What is this tale, Master Jorian?" asked the king.

"It is called the Tale of the Waxen Wife. King Forimar was a collateral
ancestor of the better-known King Fi-loman the Well-Meaning, who was the
father of King Fusinian the Fox. This king was known as Forimar the Esthete.
He was noted for his indifference to public affairs and for his passion for
the arts, at which he was himself no mean performer. He was a fair architect,
an accomplished musician, a worthy composer, a fine singer, and an excellent
painter. Some of his poems are the glories of Kortolian literature to this
day. He could not, alas, do all these things and at the same time run the
kingdom.

"As a result of Forimar's neglect, public affairs in

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Kortoli got into a frightful mess. The army was a cowardly rabble, crime and
corruption prevailed in the city, and the people were on the verge of revolt.
Then the army of neighboring Aussar marched into Kortoli. The city was saved
by a ruse devised by Forimar's brother Fusonio, who returned in the nick of
time from a mission abroad.

"In saving the city, however, Fusonio demanded as his price that Forimar
abdicate in his favor. This Fori-mar did with ill grace; but 1 will tell Your
Majesty that story some other time.

"Anyway, the king was now Fusonio, who was of a very different character.
Fusonio had none of his brother's esthetic sensitivities. He was a bluff,
hearty, sensual type, whose idea of a large evening was to spend it incognito
in some low tavern frequented by the rougher element, swilling ale and roaring
ribald songs with unwashed peasants and ruffianly muleteers.

"Whereas Forimar was unwedded, Fusonio had a plump, peasantly, and not at all
beautiful wife, named Ivrea, who had borne him five children. The twain would
oft argue familial matters at the tops of their voices until the windows
rattled; but woe betide the man who thought they were really quarreling and
sought to take advantage of the fact! Both would turn upon him like tigers,
and the children like tiger cubs.

"After his abdication, Forimar at first found it a relief not to be pestered
by his ministers for decisions about public works, and hiring and firing, and
foreign affairs, and law and order, and all those other tedious matters that
take up a ruler's time."

"We know whereof you speak," said King Ishbahar.

"After a while, however, Forimar began to regret his lost kingship. Whilst his
brother granted him an ample stipend, it was no longer enough to enable him to
gratify his artistic whims. For ensample, he had an idea for an all-Novarian
poetry contest, which he hoped to make into an annual affair and thus to place
Kortoli in the front rank as a cultural center. As usual, he entertained
grandiose ideas for the prizes. He had already spent his allowance on
paintings, sculptures, and the like and

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had borrowed against it until his credit was exhausted. When he besought of
his brother ten thousand golden marks for poetry prizes, Fusonio told him he
was out of his mind.

"'I have enough trouble rounding up tax money to repair the damages of your
reign, dear brother,' quoth he. 'Get you gone and contemplate the beauty of a
daisy in the field, or something equally cheap and harmless. You shall get no
money for your schemes here, unless you save up your emolument.'

"It happened that a man named Zevager had lately, set up an exhibition of
waxworks in Kortoli City, showing such historical tableaux as King Finianius
defying the priests, the crowning of Ardyman the Terrible as emperor of
Novaria, and the beheading of the rebel Ros-kianus. Zevager, who prided
himself on the meticulous realism and authenticity of his exhibits, besought
the former king to allow such an effigy to be made of His Highness and
displayed. Forimar, who had never shown any sense about money but was now
straitened by its lack, demanded a fee, which Zevager paid.

"Forimar took an interest in making the image, as he did in all the arts. Thus
he discovered that Zevager, besides the usual techniques of making waxen
effigies, knew something of magic. He cast a glamor spell upon the image, so
that it looked even more like its living model then it otherwise would have.
Forimar went to the Bureau of Commerce and Licenses and learnt that Zevager
had no license to practise magic in Kortoli. This gave him a handle to use in
dealing with the man.

"When the exhibit of the waxen Forimar proved popular, Forimar subtly
insinuated into Zevager's mind the thought of making images of King Fusonio
and Queen Ivrea. For a larger bribe, Forimar undertook to gam the permission
of the royal couple to having their images put on display. He said it would
cost him vast sums in bribes and contributions to worthy causes favored by his
brother; but in fact it cost him nought. He simply asked his brother and
sister-in-law at breakfast whether they would mind if he told his old friend
Zevager that he might reproduce them in wax.

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," 'Not at all,' said Fusonio, 'so long as his images do not make monsters of
us. It will be good public relations.'

"Thus Forimar kept all the money that Zevager paid him, but he was still far
short of the ten thousand marks needed for his poetry contest. So he became
more and more intimate with Zevager. Soon he enticed the showman into a
conspiracy against the throne. He inveigled the magician into his plot by, on
one hand, dangling before him the post of Minister of Fine Arts when Forimar
should become king, and on the other hinting that, if Zevager resisted his
lure, he would denounce the showman for witchcraft or unlawful magic.

"In his magical arsenal, Zevager had a spell of immobility. To effect this
spell, he had to get samples of Fusonio's hair and finger-nail parings.
Forimar got these for him.

"One night, when Fusonio was out on one of his pub-crawls, Zevager cast the
spell upon him as he was passing near the waxwork museum. Zevager and Forimar
dragged the statuesque Fusonio within, exchanged his garments with those on
the waxwork, and set him up in place of the image. The effigy they hid in a
lumber room.

"Then Forimar hastened to the palace, awoke his sister-in-law, and gave her a
document in his brother's writing. The document stated:

"My darling Ivrea:

I have departed the kingdom for a secret meeting of all the heads of Novarian
city-states in Xylar City, about threatening moves by the nomads of Shven. My
absence should be kept quiet as long as possible. Meanwhile, my brother
Forimar is named regent. Convey my love to the children and promise them that
1 shall be back in a fortnight or two.

Fusonio Rex

"Actually, the document was a clever forgery. Being an artist, Forimar could
feign the calligraphy of anyone

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he chose. Ivrea was startled; but the tale sounded plausible, since there had
been rumors of an invasion from Shven.

"So Forimar ascended the throne as regent. His first act was to announce his
poetry contest and appoint a committee of judges. He entered no poems of his
own, knowing that he would have an unfair advantage in such a contest. This
would militate against making the contest a respected annual event. He was
sincere in his desire to advance the art of poetry and to promote Kor-toli as
a center of culture.

"Forimar's next act was to begin a purge of his brother's adherents. He
retired some, sent others to far places, and demoted still others. The posts
thus vacated he filled with his own supporters. He moved cautiously, not
wishing to arouse suspicion. He calculated that in a month, when Fusonio was
due to return, he would have the machinery of state firmly in his grip and
could declare himself king.

"As for Fusonio, now standing regally in Zevager's waxworks, Forimar would
decide what to do with him later. He hesitated to slay his brother, since the
family had an old tradition of presenting a united front to the world despite
their internal differences. On the other hand, he knew his brother for a much
abler man than he, who if left alive would surely devise means to usurp the
throne from the usurper.

"He reckoned, however, without Queen Ivrea. When a fortnight had passed with
no word of Fusonio, she became suspicious. She besought the aid of a scryer,
who sent his mystic vision to Xylar and reported that there was no sign of an
international conference in that city.

"Ivrea mourned, sure that foul play had befallen her man but uncertain what to
do next. One day, missing him, she stopped at Zevager's museum to look at his
waxworks. Fusonio's effigy, she thought, were better than no husband at all.
Zevager was delighted that the queen and several of her ladies should
patronize his establishment. He showed them about with much bowing and
scraping.

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"When Ivrea sighted the ostensible effigy of Fusonio, she exclaimed   at its
verisimilitude. In fact, she said, she could scarce believe that it   was not
her man in the flesh. When Zevager was talking to some of the other   women at
the other end of the chamber, she touched the hand of the image and   found that
it did not feel like wax.

"Then she conceived a daring plan. She made careful note of the costume on her
own effigy.

"Back in the palace, she supped that even with her brother-in-law. 'I met your
friend Master Zevager today,' she said, and artlessly told of her visit. 'He
said something about seeing you there tomorrow.'

"'Oh?' said Forimar. 'Methought it was the day after tomorrow—but then, I
always get dates mixed up.'

"That night, Ivrea sallied forth with a single guardsman whom she trusted and
another fellow lately released from gaol for burglary. For a suitable reward,
the burglar picked the lock on the door of Zevager's museum, admitted her, and
locked the door behind her. Ivrea climbed the stair to the loft where the
images stood. Clad almost exactly like the waxwork, she hid the effigy of
herself behind a curtain and took its place.
"When sounds announced the approach of Zevager and his first customers, she
stiffened to immobility. One of the viewers said that the image of the queen
was so lifelike that she could swear she saw it breathe. Luckily, Zevager took
this as a compliment to his glamor spell.

"Later, when there were no regular customers in the museum, Regent Forimar
arrived. Standing before the royal trio of images, he nervously asked Zevager
what was up. 'Are our plans discovered?' he panted.

'"Nay, my lord, not to my knowledge,' said the showman. True, there have been
rumors that King Fusonio set out on some mysterious quest but never reached
his destination. He vanished off the earth, they say.' Zevager glanced at the
effigy of the king and chuckled. 'Of course, my lord, you and 1 know that he
is in plain sight still—if one know where to look.'

"'Hush up, you fool!' said Forimar. 'Even walls have

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ears. I may have to strike sooner than I expected. Therefore we may have to
scrap one of your waxen images.' He in his turn looked at Fusonio. 'A pity,
but we cannot risk having him turn up alive and vigorous.'

"The twain walked slowly down the loft, talking in low voices, so that Queen
Ivrea could no longer hear them. But she knew enough. Zevager saw his royal
guest out and came back up the stairs.

"As he stepped out on the floor of the loft, a movement made him turn. He had
just time to glimpse the queen's effigy, as he thought, swinging the ax from
the tableau of the execution of Roskianus the rebel. He gave one horrified
shriek ere the blade split his skull. Luckily for Ivrea, who was a strapping
wench, the ax in the tableau was real and not an imitation of painted wood.
Zevager had prided himself on authenticity.

"The showman's apprentice was at the door below to collect admission fees.
When he heard the disturbance, he hurried up the stairs. When he saw Ivrea
with a bloody ax in her hand and Zevager lying dead, he gave an even louder
shriek and took to his heels.

"With the death of Zevager, the spell he had cast upon Fusonio quickly wore
off. The king blinked and rubbed his eyes and began to breathe normally.

" 'Where am I ?' he said. 'What in the forty-nine Mul-vanian hells is going
on?'

"When things had been explained, he said 'Hand me the ax, my dear. My reach is
longer than yours.' And the pair marched post-haste back to the palace. The
guards gaped at the sight of their king and queen approaching the palace
unescorted, the king with a bloody ax on his shoulder; but none barred their
way.

"Presently Fusonio came upon his brother, practising a flute solo in his
study. Seeing what was toward, Forimar fell to his knees and begged for his
life.
"'Well,' said Fusonio, swinging the bloody ax about his head, 'I ought to give
you what our ancestor gave Roskianus. No headless man has ever yet caused his
sovran trouble.

" 'But then, we have our tradition of keeping a united front to the world,
which I am loath to breach. So you

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shall depart forthwith as my ambassador to Saiirnor in the Far East. And 1
shall send a message to my old friend the Sophi of Salimor, that if he is fain
to keep our profitable trade, he must hold you there for the rest of your
days.'

"And so it was done. Face was saved by the appointment of Fonmar as
ambassador, none but a very few knowing that he was going into exile and
genteel captivity. It is said that he wrought revolutions in several of the
native arts of Salimor, hut that 1 cannot vouch for."

"What of Forimar's poetry contest;"' asked the king.

"Since the judges had been chosen, the announcements had been made, and the
submissions were already pouring in, Fusonio forbore to cancel the event, lest
in so doing he dishonor the government of Kortoli and bring to light the
discord betwixt him and his brother. A few sennights later, after Forimar's
departure, the judges announced their awards. First prize, they said, should
go to Vatreno of Govannian for his poem, Demonic Downfall. This verse began:

"Temper the bejeweled interpleading, Monotheistic, fair, letter-perfect;
Counterchange an alien thither. We prevaricate, iunket despumate, And traverse
plumate lanes. Intercommunication is pixilated. Explanation: liquoricity
incorrigible...

"The ludges brought the manuscripts of all the prize-winning poems to King
Fusonio for his approval. He was supposed to bestow the prizes the following
day. Fusonio read Vatreno's poem and said:

"'What is this? Some kind of joke?'

" 'Oh, no, Your Majesty,' quoth the chief judge. 'It is a serious poem, very
soul-revealing.'

"'But,' said Fusonio, 'the thing has neither rhyme nor rhythm. Moreover,
meseems it makes no sense. It is not my idea of a poem at all.'

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'"Oh, that!' said the judge. 'One can see that Your Majesty, with all due
respect, has not kept up with late developments in the art of poesy. Rhyme and
rhythm have been abandoned as archaic, artificial fetters on the artist's
creativity.'

"'But still, one expects a poem to make sense!'
"'Not today, sire; one does not. We live in chaotic times, so poetry should
reflect the chaos of the times. If the world fail to make sense, one cannot
expect a poem to do so.'

'"Perhaps you feel chaotic, messires,' said the king, 'but I do not. In fact,
to me the world makes very good sense indeed.'

'"Would that your humble servants had Your Majesty's divine omniscience!' said
the chief judge with sarcasm.

"'I claim no omniscience,' said Fusonio with ominous calm. 'The world is far
too complicated for any one mortal mind to encompass in its entirety. The few
things I do claim to understand seem to follow orderly natural laws—including
the follies of my fellow men.' He flicked the paper with a finger. 'If you ask
me, Master Vatreno composed this thing by opening a dictionary at random and
pointing to words with his eyes closed.'

"'Well, ah,' said the judge, 'as a matter of fact, sire, that is just what he
did. Afterwards he added a few auxiliary words like "the" to give it
grammatical form. We thought it a brilliant poetical innovation. It is the
coming thing.'

"Fusonio glanced through the poems to which the judges had awarded the lesser
prizes, but they pleased him no more than did Demonic Downfall. At last he
said:

" 'And I am supposed to pay ten thousand good marks out of my straitened
treasury for this garbage! Well, when I order beer in a tavern, 1 at least
expect beer for my coin and not horsepiss.' With that, he tore the manuscripts
across with one wrench and roared: 'Get out, you dolts! Asses! Noodieheads!'

"The judges ran from the chamber with their robes flying and King Fusonio
after them, thwacking their

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rumps with his scepter. The poetry contest was called off on the ground that
nought worthy of award had been submitted. This act caused much discontent
among the artists and the advanced thinkers, who called Fusonio a low-browed
tyrant and a crass vulgarian. But Fusonio paid no heed and had, in fact, a
long and successful reign."

King Ishbahar laughed heartily. "Luckily for us, perhaps, we have no
brothers,- nor has poetry in Penembei ever reached such a pitch of refinement
that none but the poet can ever understand one of his own compositions. But
now the program is due to begin*' To his secretary he said: "Herekit, hand us
our reading glass and the proclamation."

Ishbahar stood up and read, while the crier bellowed his words through the
speaking trumpet. The speech was the usual amass of cliches, and then the
parades and clownings and races began.

148
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TH

T

i HE WESTERN HALF OF THE HIPPODROME WAS IN SHADOW

when the last race had been run. King Ishbahar stood up to announce the
winners. As before, the crier relayed his words.

"Leave not early, good people," said the king. "When the formalities are over,
we shall have somewhat to say that will interest you."

The king went down the list of winners. As the crier called each name, the
winner marched up the steps to the royal box, bent the knee, and, to general
applause, received his prize from the king. For once, the rivalry of the Pants
and the Kilts seemed in abeyance.

Then King Ishbahar cleared his throat. "Loyal subjects of the Penembic crown!"
he said. "Amidst the turmoils of the last month, we have been delayed in
bringing up a matter of moment to all of you: to wit, the succession.

"You are all aware that we have no heirs of our body, legitimate or otherwise,
living. Therefore, as our reign nears its destined end, it behooves us, to
assure an orderly succession, either to search amongst our more distant
kinsmen for a suitable candidate or to resort to the extreme measure of
adoption.

"Be not astonished at the mention of adoption, our friends. True, the
succession has not passed by adoption for over a century. But some may have
forgotten that the great King Hoshcha was an adopted son of his predecessor,
Shashtai the Third. Hoshcha had not a drop of the blood of (uktar the Great in
his veins. To retain

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the crown within our divine family, he wedded both of his predecessor's
daughters, and the first of their sons to reach maturity was his successor.

"Now we are confronted by a similar situation. True, we have living male
relatives, but amongst them we have failed to find any who qualify for the
duties of king.

"The gods, however, have sent us a true hero—a man young enough to give the
throne many years of vigorous occupancy, yet old enough to be past his
youthful follies; a man of mighty thews, active mind, and solid character. He
has already saved holy Iraz from the horde of miscreants who lately assailed
her. Moreover, the fatidical and astrological indications agree that he was
born on a lucky day.

"We have, therefore, this day signed and sealed the documents adopting this
hero as our son and designating him as our lawful successor. Anon, we shall
arrange for his marriage to one or more of our kinswomen, amongst whom are
several of nubile age and winsome-ness.
"This done, we shall abdicate the throne in favor of our adopted son, ere the
holy father Chaluish find it needful to wait upon us with the sacred rope."

Sounds of disturbance began to swell from the throng. "Nay, nay, good people,"
said the king, "be not surprised at talk of abdication! lukar II did it, as
historical records attest. Quiet, please! Quiet! We have not yet told you the
name of our chosen successor."

Jorian, having inferred what was coming next, gave Karadur a desperate glare.
The old Mulvanian only spread his hands helplessly.

"The hero in question," continued Ishbahar, "my adopted son and your next
king, is forian the son of Evor! Rise, my son!"

Leaning towards Karadur, ]orian hissed: "Oil Get me out of this, curse it!"

"1 cannot," murmured Karadur. "I was surprised, also. Stand up as the king
commands!" "But 1 don't wish to be king—" "Later, later. Stand up now!"

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(orian stood up. A slight pattering of applause was quickly drowned in a storm
of boos and catcalls. From the benches occupied by the Pants arose a chant,
growing louder with each repetition: "Dirty foreigner! Dirty foreigner! Dirty
foreigner'. DIRTY FOREIGNER!"

On the other side, the Kilts took up the cry until the Hippodrome rocked with
it. The stasiarchs, Vegh and Amazluek, could be seen standing amid their
factions, beating time like orchestra conductors. The chant spread to the rest
of the audience until it became deafening.

King Ishbahar stood beside Jorian with tears running down his fat cheeks. "P-
pray, good subjects—" he stammered. The crier shouted his words but was
unheard in the din of "Dirty foreigner."

Missiles began to fly. Royal guardsmen rushed towards the royal box to protect
the king. Colonel Chuivir appeared at the rear of the box.

"Your Majesty!" he shouted. "Come quickly, or all is lost! The factions have
united in sedition against your throne. You must get back to your palace!"

"Come, our friends," said Ishbahar to forian and Karadur. The king waddled out
of the box to the top of the ramp. His gilded litter lay, smashed, on one
side.

"How shall we return to the palace without a conveyance?" he quavered.

"Walk!" said Chuivir.

Another guardsman rushed up clanking and spoke into the colonel's ear. Beyond
the crowd of gleaming guardsmen, lorian glimpsed a scud of mob, missiles
flying, and weapons whirling. Chuivir said:

"The insurgents have seized the waterfront of Zak-tan. Your Majesty will have
to use Hoshcha's Tunnel."

"Must we climb that dreadful hill afoot?"

"It is that, or else," said the colonel with visible impatience.

"Ah, us! Let us hasten, then."

Followed by Jorian and Karadur and protected by a mass of guardsmen, the king
puffed his way down the ramp. In the concourse, screams of rage and defiance
and a rain of cobblestones, bricks, potsherds, and other missiles assailed the
guardsmen. A knot of citizens

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rushed at the guards with clubs and knives. The guards easily beat off the
attack, leaving a wrack of tumbled bodies. A few guards who bore crossbows
began methodically shooting into the swirling, screaming crowds. "This way!"
yelled Chuivir.

Stumbling over corpses, they pushed across the street surrounding the
Hippodrome and started up the slope to the Temple of Nubalyaga. After a few
steps, the king halted, panting.

"We can no more," he moaned. "Help me with him, Master )orian," said the
colonel. Each of them draped one of the king's fat arms around his neck. With
help on either side, the king dragged his monstrous weight slowly up the hill.

At the top, the eunuch guard was already drawn up behind their gate with
crossbows ready. They opened the gate to admit the king and his escort.

At the temple, High Priestess Sahmet came running out. After a quick
explanation, she said: "Follow me, sire!" and led the way towards the Tunnel
of Hoshcha. "Hold!" cried Colonel Chuivir. "I shall come with you as soon as I
appoint a commander of the local detachment."

"Why?" asked the king.

"If I can regain the palace and take command of the main body of the Guard,
belike I can keep the sedition from spreading across the river. Captain
Saloi!" "Aye, sir?"

"Take command of the guardsmen in Zaktan. Try to guard the main points, like
this temple. If you have enough men, send a flying squad to patrol and break
up gatherings of rebels." He turned to the king. "If it please Your Majesty,
we are ready to go now."

Sahmet clutched (orian's arm and whispered: "You shall see me again at the
next full moon!"

Four men moved through the Tunnel of Hoshcha: lorian in front, bearing a
lanthorn; then King Ishbahar, puffing and panting; then Karadur; and lastly
Colonel Chuivir, with another lanthorn. To (orian it seemed an

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eternity, for the king toddled along with tiny steps at a snail's pace.

They had come, he supposed, halfway across and were under the deepest part of
the Lyap, when he saw something that made his hair rise. From the side of the
tunnel, a tiny jet of water sprayed out, shooting halfway across at waist
height before breaking up into discrete drops.

"Gods and goddesses!" he exclaimed. "Look at that, Karadur!"

"Here is another," said the wizard, pointing to the overhead, whence another
trickle of water descended.

Everywhere they looked, forward and back, water appeared in drips and leaks
and spurts. The floor of the tunnel became wet and slippery.

"What befalls, Doctor Karadur?" wheezed the king. "Have your hydrophobic
spells failed? Should we have ordered pumps installed after all?"

"It must be," said Karadur, "that a mob has invaded the House of Learning and
snatched my wizards Goel-nush, Luekuz, and Firaven from their task. I hope
they have not done the poor fellows to death."

"Yes, yes," said forian. "But hadn't we better hurry, ere this burrow fill
with water?"

"Aye, my son, that we must." Karadur turned back. "Your Majesty—"

"We—are going {puff}—as fast—as we can," said the king. "If you fear drowning—
go on—without us."

"Oh, come on, sire!" said Chuivir heartily. "Lengthen those royal strides!"

With every step, the leakage of water increased. Soon the four were splashing
along ankle-deep. Groaning and gasping, the king made a desperate effort to
speed up his uncouth waddle. Then he slipped and fell with a great splash.

"Your Majesty!" cried the three others at once.

)orian and Karadur handed Chuivir their lanthorns. Grunting with effort, they
got Ishbahar into a sitting position. The king's eyes were half closed, and
his breath came in rattling snores. He did not answer at first. They

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pushed him so that his back rested against the side wall of the tunnel. The
water was calf-deep.

At last the king opened his eyes. "Master lorian!" he whispered.

"Aye, sire?"

"Lean over. Close."
Jorian leaned. With a last effort, the king reached up, plucked the serpent
crown from his bewigged pate, and clapped it on [orian's head.

"Now—my hoy—you are king. These witnesses..."

The king's voice trailed off to a mumble and ceased. Karadur tried to feel his
pulse.

"1 cannot locate the blood vessel through all that fat," he grumbled. He
thrust a hand inside the king's robe and then laid his ear against the king's
breast.

"He is dead," said Karadur. "Methinks his heart succumbed."

"Not surprising, with all that blubber," said (orian.

"Let us be off, Captain—ah—sire," said Chuivir, "ere we drown like rats."

"What of the king?" said Jorian. "It would look odd for him to have entered
the tunnel with us but not to emerge. An we cannot show his unmarked body, men
will say we slew him."

"You are right, my son," said Karadur. "Help lorian to bear the body,
Colonel."

Chuivir took an arm. "Take the other, Master—ah — King forian."

The two struggled and heaved. Between them, they got the body up. Grunting,
they staggered a few steps. Then lorian slipped. The two men and the corpse
fell with a mighty splash. Karadur said:

"If the water become any deeper, the body will float. You two can haul it by
the feet."

"O wise old man!" said Jorian. "Take his other ankle, Chuivir."

The water was soon knee-deep. Karadur, with his robe hiked up to his bony
brown knees, went ahead. He held the two lanthoms, which gave off feeble
yellow glows. Behind him waded [orian and Chuivir, hauling on the body's
ankles. The corpse still scraped along the

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floor of the tunnel, but with each rise m the water level the body lightened.

"Are you sure we have the right tunnel?" said Chuivir. "We must have walked
halfway to the Fedirum border."

"This is the tunnel, certes," said Jorian. "It is now sloping up. If we can
keep ahead of the rise in the water level, we shall escape."

"The water gains," said Chuivir. "It is up to my waist. Would I had doffed
this damned armor in the temple."
The deepening water floated the king's body off the floor and made it easy to
tow. On the other hand, it impeded the movements of the three living men. They
could only plod, plod under a continuous shower of jets and leaks and trickles
from the parts of the tunnel not yet submerged.

"That is the trouble with magic," growled forian. "When folks think they can
count on it, they skimp on proper engineering and maintenance."

The water continued to rise; it was now breast-high. Jorian and Chuivir tried
to speed their progress by making swimming motions with their free arms.
Karadur, being smaller, was forced to hold the lanthorns over his head to keep
them from being drowned. His white beard trailed in the water.

A spurt of water from the overhead struck one of the lanthorns, which went out
with a faint hiss. On they plodded through the gloom. Jorian mutered:

"Any higher, and the cursed corpse will scrape the roof."

"If the remaining light go, at least we can feel our way," panted Chuivir.
"There are no forks or branches in this tunnel, are there?"

"Nay," said Karadur. "It runs straight to—glubl" The water had been up to his
chin, and a ripple filled his mouth. He coughed and sputtered, shaking the
remaining lanthorn.

"Ho, don't put out our last light!" said forian. "Drowning is bad enough, but
drowning in the dark..."

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THE CLOCKS OF IKAZ

"Save your breath, King" said Chuivir.

Karadur, who had gained a little on the other two, turned back long enough to
say: "When my boy Jorian ceases conversing, you will know he has terminated
his present incarnation."

"Can you talk without getting a mouthful of water?" said fordan.

"Now that you mention it, the water has not deepened recently."

The water level remained constant for a time, while the only sounds in the
tunnel were the heavy breathing of the three men and the splashing of their
slow progress. At last the water began to recede. Soon the king's body was
again scraping the bottom.

"At least, we are now above the river level," said fonan. "Now all we need
worry about is being slaughtered by rebels at the far end."

"I could not fight a mouse," groaned Chuivir.

Karadur knocked on the secret door to the king's bedchamber. When he had
explained, the door opened. After some delay, several guards and palace
servants came down the stair with a stretcher.

They found forian and Chuivir a furlong down the tunnel, sitting in half a
foot of water with their backs to the wall, breathing heavily in a state of
utter exhaustion. The monstrous corpse lay in the water near them.

When the people from the palace had rolled the body on the stretcher, tied it
fast with straps, and borne it back up the tunnel, Jorian got to his feet with
a groan. Chuivir, weighed down by his armor, had to be helped up. After
another struggle, the two crept on hands and knees up the stair and entered
the royal hedchamber. They collapsed into chairs and lay back, dripping
puddles on the floor. Karadur already occupied another chair, with his turban
on the floor beside him. The wizard's eyes were closed.

"Wine!" croaked Jorian. Servants scurried.

Jorian looked up from his goblet to see an officer of

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THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

the Guard. "Sir!" said this man. "What means this? King Ishhahar is dead, and
you wear his crown!"

"Do I, forsooth?" said Jorian. He pulled off the serpent crown and stared at
it absently, as if he had never seen it before.

"Is it true what they say, that His late Majesty named you his sucessor?"

"It is," said Chuivir behind the officer. "His Majesty died of natural causes
in the tunnel whilst fleeing the insurrection in Zaktan. Have the rebels
attacked the palace yet?"

"Nay, Colonel. But some have crossed the river, and there is fighting and
looting and arson along the waterfront. What are my orders?"

"Secure the palace against attack, first of all. I shall be with you presently
to take active command. Now leave us. You servants, also." When the chamber
had been cleared of all save Karadur, Jorian, and Chuivir, the last set down
his goblet.

"Excellent wine," he said. "Vindine, methinks. I he-gin to feel like a human
being again. Now, sir, you and I have some matters to straighten out."

"At your service, Colonel," said Jorian, also putting down his goblet.

He looked speculatively at Chuivir, wondering what chance he would have
against the colonel in a fight. Chuivir wore armor and a sword against
Jorian's mere dagger; but Chuivir had been much more exhausted by the ordeal
in the tunnel.

Chuivir: "Do you really intend to exercise your kingship, in view of the
general revolt against you?"

"No longer than I must," said Jorian. "I wanted no crown. Ishbahar was a fool
to name me without first making sure of political support for the move."

"A well-intentioned wight, but no monarch," said Chuivir. "Well, that relieves
my mind. You may be the lawful sovran,- but as a foreigner you are unpopular.
Even if 1 threw my full weight behind you, I know not if I could keep you on
your throne. How long is no longer than you must?"

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THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

"As long as it takes Doctor Karadur and me to take off in our flying bathtub."

"Eh? What is this?"

"Ishbahar promised me that great copper tub of his as an aerial vehicle."

"How will you make it fly?"

Jorian nodded towards Karadur, who was rewinding his turban. "The good doctor
has in his ring a demon, who will bear us aloft."

"But, lorian!" protested Karadur. "I told you I did not wish to liberate Gorax
save in direst emergency, since this will be his last labor—"

Jorian snorted. "If this be not a dire emergency, with the whole city buzzing
about our ears, then 1 know not an emergency when I see it. Wouldst rather be
torn to bits by a mob whipped up to hatred of foreigners?"

"Oh. But, my son, think of all the good you could effect if you retained the
crown! You could introduce those reforms that Mazsan preached. You could
provide the House of Learning with adequate financial support—"

"Not when half the people 1 saw would wish to shoot, stab, or poison me.
They've made it plain that they want no foreigner for king. This must be that
'second crown' whereof Nubalyaga warned me in the dream. The first was the
crown of Xylar, which you and I buried near the Marshes of Mom."

"The Irazis would soon forget their xenophobia," persisted Karadur, "one you
were firmly ensconced in power and demonstrated what a good king you could be
and how well you adapted to their ways. You already speak better Penembic than
I do. After all, Juktar the Great was not only a foreigner but also a
barbarian, and this is a cosmopolitan city."

Jorian shook his head. "1 tried to show the Xylarians what a good king I could
be, too, but that didn't stop them from trying to cut off my head. Besides,
how should I ever get firmly esconced in power, without some foreign mercenary
army at my back?"

"Surely there are loyal elements in the Guard and

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THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

in the Frontier Army on whom you could rely. Once you dompted the factions—"

"And suppose 1 did, then what? Spend my life humping Her Sanctity Sahmet until
the priests arrived with the sacred rope? No, thank you!"

"You could abolish that custom, as did that Korto-lian king."
"Doubtless. But 'tis useless to try to argue me round, old man. I've had my
taste of kinging it. Whilst 'twas fun in a way, I have no wish to go back to
it. Many lust for the wealth, power, and glory that kingship entails, but 1
harbor no such lordly ambitions. A simple life, with a respectable trade, a
snug house, plenty to eat and drink, a loving family, and congenial cronies
will suffice me.

"Nor do I covet an Irazi wife. I already have one spouse, and that's a plenty.
Besides, the more ! travel, the better I appreciate my native land.

"Oh, some like the mountains, rugged and grim, Where the sleet storms howl and
the low clouds

skim,

And you hang by your toes from a ledge's rim, But I'll warble a rondeau and
carol a hymn To Novaria, dear Novaria.

"And some seek the desert, barren and dry, Where the hot sun hangs in a
cloudless sky And your camel sways and your eyeballs fry, But I to the land of
my birth will hie: To Novaria, my Novaria.

"While some love the spires of vast Iraz And admire its domes with oh's and
ah's And go to the races to shout hurrahs, But the bonniest land that ever
there was Is Novaria, fair Novaria.

"So let the factions fight it out; 'tis no affair of mine. To the forty-nine
Mulvanian hells with the Penembic crown! I'm for Xylar to rescue my little
darling, and that's that."

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THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

Looking worried, Chuivir passed a hand across his forehead. "Well then, sire,
I wonder—ah—perhaps you can advise me. With you gone, the leading contenders
for the crown will be the stasiarchs. But I deem neither Vegh nor Amazluek a
man of kingly quality; whiles, of the late king's sister's sons, one is a
wastrel and the other a halfwit. General Tereyai, to whom I have sent
messengers, is old and soon to retire. Admiral Kyar is dead. Have you any
thought as to whom I should back?"

lorian stared at Chuivir. "Why not be king yourself ? Methinks you would make
not a bad one."

Chuivir's mouth fell open. "Really? You offer me the crown?"

"Why not? I thought you a harmless, feckless fop, but since the rebel assault
you have learnt fast."

Chuivir shrugged. "I do my poor best."

"To make it legitimate, fetch writing materials, and I will sign over the
sovranty, to take effect when we leave in our flying tub. Whether you can make
it good is your problem."
Chuivir rose. "I thank you, sire, and will try to deserve your trust. Now I
must go to command my men; but I shall soon return to see you off."

As Chuivir clanked out, lorian raised his voice: "Servants! Hither, pray. I
want a change of clothing— warm woolens, suitable for roughing it; not these
pretty silky things. Arid fetch a dry robe for Doctor Karadur."

"Oh, my son, I need no—"

" Tis cold aloft, and 1 can't have you catching a tisic. You there, find the
chief armorer and tell him to fetch me some weapons and armor to make a choice
from. And where did King Ishbahar keep his privy purse? You! Tell the cook to
whip up a dinner for the doctor and me. Not fancy, but substantial, and tell
him to waste no time about it."

While the servants scurried, a guardsman entered, saying; "A courier named
Zerlik would fain see Your Majesty."

"Send him in," said Jorian.

The young man entered and dramatically dropped to one knee. "Your Majesty!" he
cried. "I have just re-

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THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

turned from bearing the king's letter to Othomae Nominating you was the best
thing King Ishbahar ever did. My sword is at your service; your every wish is
my command!"

"That is fine, but I fear I shan't be here long enough to profit from your
loyalty."

"You are leaving? Take me with you as your s-squire!" "Alas, our vehicle
cannot carry three. Colonel Chuivir is my deputy and chosen successor, so
transfer your loyalty to him."

"But there must be something, sire—" "I will tell you. You have a big house.
Set aside one small room as a refuge for me, should I ever have to flee Novana
and go into hiding here."

"It shall be done! May the gods bless Your Majesty!" "Better ask them to bless
Chuivir; he will need it. Farewell!"

An hour later, the streets of Iraz resounded to the tramp of feet, the roar of
mobs, the clash of arms, and the screams of the stricken. Chuivir and several
of his guardsmen stood on the roof of the palace, watching the bathtub
carrying Jorian and Karadur wobble off into the heavens. The rays of the
setting sun gleamed redly on the copper of the tub. The vehicle shrank until
it became a mere crimson spark in the deepening blue of the heavens.

Chuivir, wearing the serpent crown of Penembei instead of his helmet, sighed
and murmured: "There goes the man who should really have been king, were he
not debarred by popular prejudice. Ah, well." He turned to the officers around
him and began to receive reports and issue commands.
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WW

About the Author

L. Sprague de Camp, who has over ninety-five books to his credit, writes in
several fields: historical, SF, fantasy, biography, and popularizations of
science. But his favorite genre of literature is fantasy.

De Camp is a master of that rare animal humorous fantasy. As a young writer
collaborating with the late Fletcher Pratt. he set forth the world-hopping
adventures of Harold Shea. These are available today in two books: The
Compleat Enchanter and Wall of Serpents. Together. Pratt and de Camp also
wrote the delightfully zany Tales from Gavagaris Bar, a book which has
remained in print for forty years.

In 1976, at the 34th World Science Fiction Convention, he recei ved The
Gandalf—Grand Master A ward for Lifetime Achievement in the Field of Fantasy.
The Science Fiction Writers of America presented him with their Grand Master
Nebula Award of 1978. Alone, and with his wife and sometime collaborator
Catherine, de Camp has been a welcome guest of honor at fan conventions
throughout the United States.

The de Camps live in Villanova, Pennsylvania. They have two sons: Lyman
Sprague. and Gcrard Beekman. both of whom are distinguished engineers.