WITH water and a handful of moss, Jerry cleansed the wound of Manith Zovil. Then he closed it with jembal. As it was only an inch in width and centrally located, the Prince of Nunt was able to hide it completely with the heavy medallion which hung on his chest.
Having cleansed his benefactor’s sword and returned it to his sheath, Jerry mopped up several drops of blood from the floor, then went out onto the balcony and flung the telltale moss over the railing, and far out to his left, so no one below could accurately judge from which balcony it had fallen.
This done, he returned to where Manith sat panting on a divan, and poured him a cup of pulcho.
“Drink this, and try to compose yourself, Highness. There is no cause for alarm, now. You and your weapons are free of blood, and your wound is dressed and concealed. Rather a bad one, too. A little more to the left, and you would not be alive.”
Manith tossed off the drink and put down the cup.
“You are right, my friend,” he said. “I met the drunken popinjay in the hallway. He was carrying his sword in his hand, and evidently bound for your apartment. As soon as I came near him, he lunged at me without a word of warning, and before I had a chance to so much as grasp my hilt.
“As you see, his design failed. Having dodged away that treacherous stroke, I drew my own sword and thrust him through the throat with as little compunction as if he had been a dalf.”
“And you are sure he is dead?”
“If not, he soon will be.”
“But why should any blame attach to you? You killed him in a fair fight, after an unprovoked assault.”
“Because there were no witnesses. A duel with witnesses is legal; without them, is it murder.”
“Did you meet anyone in the hallway before or after the duel?”
“No one.”
“Then you are safe. Only you and I know what occurred, and I pledge you my word that I will never tell.”
“I believe you, for though you wear the black of a commoner, you are a gentleman.”
“And now,” continued Jerry, “the best thing for you to do is to go on as if nothing had happened. You have taken your leave of the Vil, and were about to depart for your own country. I suggest that you go on, unhurriedly, as planned.”
“In that case there should be no suspicion . . . ”
He halted his speech suddenly, as the tramp of feet and the clank of weapons sounded without. Then rising, he seized the pulcho flask, and filling two cups, handed one to Manith and took up the other. Behind him, he heard the steps of men entering the chamber, but disregarding it, held the cup aloft, and said: “A safe and pleasant journey to you.”
A sword flashed out from behind him, striking the cup from his hand and spilling the contents on the legs of Manith Zovil. Turning, he looked into the glittering eyes of Thoor Movil. Behind the brown prince stood a dozen warriors, swords in their hands.
Jerry forced himself to smile at his enemy. “Rather a boisterous way to announce your visit, Highness,” he said, picking up the cup, “but you are welcome, nevertheless. Manith Zovil and I were just drinking to his safe and pleasant journey. Won’t you and your men join us?”
“It comports with your every action since you first came to Kalsivar, that you should choose to be facetious at a time like this.”
“Since Your Highness chose to be playful, I merely fell in with your mood,” Jerry replied, still smiling. “Courtesy to a guest, you know.”
“But I am not playful, as you will learn soon enough. I am in deadly earnest. Where are your guards?”
“How should I know?” Jerry replied. “They were set to guard me, not I, them.”
“What were you doing in the hallway a few moments ago?”
“Nothing. I have been in my apartment for some little time. Manith Zovil and I have been sitting here chatting. He is leaving for Nunt, you know, and dropped in to say farewell.”
Thoor turned to the visiting prince.
“Did you notice anything unusual in the hallway when you came here?”
“Nothing,” Manith replied. “Why?”
“Because Shiev Zovil has just been murdered there.”
“Why, that’s ghastly,” said Manith. “I must tender my condolences to the prince’s father and sister. Who do you think did it?”
“I believe,” said Thoor Movil, “that the spy who occupies this apartment is the one who committed the crime.”
“That would be impossible,” said Manith. “He could not commit a murder and sit here talking to me at the same time. And I believe you do him an injustice in calling him a spy.”
“How was the prince slain?” Jerry asked.
“Stabbed through the throat, as you well know,” replied Thoor Movil.
“Perhaps you have not noticed that I am without weapons.”
“True. But you may have a sword concealed about the apartment.”
“I invite you to search it.”
“We will do that without your invitation. Ho, men, see if you can find the weapon for me.”
The soldiers went to work peering behind all movable objects and ripping upholstery, but the search was futile.
“Just as a matter of form,” said Thoor Movil to Manith Zovil, “may I look at the blades of your sword and dagger? I do not suspect you, of course, but I must be thorough in the line of my duty.”
“I understand perfectly,” Manith replied, and tendered his weapons.
Thoor Movil examined the sword minutely, and returned it without comment, gave the dagger a cursory glance, and handed it back, also.
“They are clean, and Your Highness is absolved,” he said. “But there is something suspicious about your friend, here. I go now to make further search, but I will leave four men on guard. Would you care to go with me?”
“Of course,” Manith Zovil replied. “I must go back to his majesty the Vil, at once, to offer my sympathy before I leave.” He turned to Jerry. “Farewell, my friend. I am sure you are innocent, and that His Highness, here, is sure to find the guilty one and clear you.”
He departed with Thoor Movil, and Jerry heard the dark prince post guards outside. He sat down on the ripped and rumpled divan to think.
Unless he could find some way to escape from Kalsivar, Jerry reasoned that nothing could save him except the intervention of Nisha in his behalf. And he did not want to feel obligated to her.
There was one, however, in that vast nation, in whose good graces Jerry particularly wished to remain. He felt sure that, sooner or later, Thoor or his agents would go to Junia with insinuations regarding him. Best go to her himself, he thought, ahead of any one else.
Once more, Jerry went out on the balcony. It had become colder as it grew later. And the farther moon had risen in the east, while its nearer, swifter companion, hurtled forward from the west to meet it, the two making visibility much better than before.
He leaped up, caught the trailing vine, and pulled himself up to Nisha’s balcony. But scarcely had his feet touched the floor when a heavy cloak was thrown over his head, strong arms pinioned his arms to his sides, and he was half carried, half dragged through the window. He kicked and struggled in an effort to free himself from his unseen assailants, but in vain. His hands and feet were swiftly and skillfully bound, and with the cloak still over his head, he was deposited on a divan.
Then something sharp pricked his side, and a gruff voice said: “If you know what is good for you, you will remain quiet.”