The Pliable Animal
Harry Harrison


Man is a pliable animal,
a being who gets accustomed to everything.
—Feodor Dostoyevsky




Commander Rissby was squat and square, planted solidly behind the desk as if he had been grown there. He gave an impression of strength and determination—which was true—and of slowness and stupidity— which was completely false. He looked particularly bovine at this moment, scratching his close-cropped gray hair with one thick finger and blinking slowly while he talked.

“If I knew what you were looking for, Honorable Sir Petion, maybe then I could be of more help… ?”

The thin albino sitting opposite snapped his answer, cutting through the tentative advance of the Commander’s words. “What I’m doing here is my business—not yours. You will help me and you won’t ask questions. At the proper time you will be informed. Not before. In the meantime you will be able to assist me. First thing— can you get me into the palace without arousing any suspicion as to why I am here?”

The Honorable Sir Jorge Suvarov Petion didn’t really enjoy throwing his weight around. But it had to be done. It was one of the uncomfortable things that occurred in his line of duty—like looking at violently battered corpses. With other men he acted differently. He spoke to Commander Rissby in this manner not from malice but from previous knowledge. It was the only way one could get along with the stolid, unimaginative men of Tacora. They made the most loyal soldiers the Empire had—if you took into consideration their grim fixation with status. Speaking as he had, Petion established his superiority of person as well as of rank. His relationship with the Commander and his soldiers would now be a good one.

Truthfully, Commander Rissby was not insulted by the reprimand. He had questioned the other’s authority and now knew where they both stood. The white-haired man across from him was one of those who held the Empire together. It would be a pleasure to take orders from him. He wasn’t one of those pink-eyed social parasites who grew fat off the work of others. At the appropriate moment Sir Jorge would tell his reasons for being here. Meanwhile, the Commander could be patient.

Commander Rissby wasn’t mentioning it aloud, but he could make a good guess as to what Sir Petion was really after. The palace, that was the key. Turning his chair slightly, he could see it, just above the barracks roof, perched on top of the hill. An unusual structure completely covered with overlapping ceramic plates, all of them in soft pastel colors. Like a candy castle. As if one good kick would send it smashing into a thousand pieces.

“You will have no trouble getting into the palace, Honorable Sir,” the Commander said. “Not after your name and rank are known to the royal family. Very few of the nobility ever visit an off-the-track planet like this, and there is always an official invitation. Would you like me to… ?” He added the question carefully, more of a suggestion than an interrogation.

Sir Petion proved he was not vindictive by nodding at the idea. “Later. Not right now. I want to do a little looking around first. I’ll need your help, but we can’t be too obvious about it. Until the proper time you are the only person who is to know that I am an investigator.”

“As you say, so shall I act.” The Commander repeated the ritual words with sincerity, standing first and clashing the heels of his boots together as Sir Petion left.

Kai was waiting halfway across the barracks square, short and ugly as a tree stump. Even the squat Tacora soldiers towered over him, the one-and-a-half Earth gravities of their home world having had only a slight effect on their height. Kai thought that four gravities were normal, and ruthless genetic selection had compacted his people into almost solid lumps of bone and muscle. His strength was beyond imagining.

There was no hurry in Petion’s step, and apparently no direction. The boredom and dilettantism of the nobility was well known, and made a perfect cover for an investigator’s operation. As he strolled near Kai he snapped his fingers loudly. The short man trundled over with deceptive speed.

“What did you find out?” Sir Petion asked without bothering to look down.

“Everything, but everything, Georgie,” Kai rumbled. “I copied the entire file while the clerk was out.” Kai had worked with the Honorable Sir long before he had been called by that title. He enjoyed a friendship shared by very few others.

“You mean you know who did it?” Petion yawned as he said it. Their conversation couldn’t be overheard, and they kept up the appearance of master and servant to anyone watching from a distance. Kai gave a quick bow that seemed to break him in half and growled his answer.

“I’m good, old buddy, but I’m not that good. We’ve only been on this lightweight planet a couple of hours. But I have a complete transcript of the file, notes, observations—the works. It’s a first step.”

“Well let’s take a second one,” Petion said, starting off. “The palace gate will probably be as good a place to start as any.” Kai scuttled after him as he left.

A brief walk took them to the palace. The streets weren’t crowded, and the native Andriadans had a very low curiosity quotient. They made way for the white-haired Earthman, but did it in an automatic manner, their long legs working like stilts.

“Beanpoles!” Kai muttered, offended by the exaggerated length of their legs and thin forms. Any one of them could have stepped over him without breaking stride.

Kai had his notes concealed in an Andriadan guidebook. He apparently read from the book, nodding at the pink, scale-covered wall in front of them. “This is the main gate, the one the car came out of. At exactly 2135 hours according to the guard’s log. It turned down the street behind us.”

“And Prince Mello was alone in it?” Petion asked.

“The driver said he was, and so did the gate guard. One driver, one passenger.”

“All right. How far did they go?” He led the way down the street.

“Just as far as this corner here,” Kai said, seemingly pointing at a mobile of ceramic bells that hung from the building, tinkling in the wind. “The Prince shouted ‘Stop’ and the driver hit the brakes. Before the car had completely stopped moving the prince opened the right-hand door and jumped out, running down this passage.” They followed the route the unlucky Prince had taken a year earlier, Kai tracing the course with his notes.

“The Prince left no orders, nor did he return. After a few minutes the driver began to be worried. He followed the same way—as far as this little intersection—and found the Prince lying on the ground.”

“Dead from a stab wound in the heart, lying alone, soaked with his own blood,” Petion added. “And no one saw him, or heard him or had the slightest idea what had happened.”

He turned in a slow circle, looking at the intersection. Mostly blank walls broken by a few doors. There was no one in sight. Two other streets led away from the small square.

There was a thin creak of unoiled ceramic and Petion turned quickly. One of the doors had opened and a tall Andriadan stood looking at them, blinking. His eyes met the Earthman’s for a single instant. Then he stepped back and closed the door.

“I wonder if that door is locked?” Petion asked. Kai had missed none of the interchange. He moved swiftly up the two steps and leaned against the door. It groaned but did not move.

“A good lock,” Kai said. “You want I should push against it a little?”

“Not now. It’ll keep. The chances are it means nothing.”

They took a different route back to the Imperial compound, enjoying the warmth of the golden afternoon. Andriad’s primary glowed with a yellow brilliancy in the sky, coaxing pastel reflections from the sheen of the ceramic buildings. The air, the background murmur of the city, everything combined to produce a feeling of peace that the two men found alien after the mechanized roar of the central worlds.

“Last place you would expect to find bloody murder,” Kai said.

“My very thought. But are these people as relaxed as they look? They’re supposed to be, I know. Peaceful, law-abiding agrarians, leading lives of unparalleled sweetness and domesticity. All the time— or is there a hidden tendency towards violence?”

“Just like that nice little lady boardinghouse keeper on Westerix IV,” Kai reminisced. “The one who killed seventy-four lodgers before we caught up with her. What a collection of luggage she had in that storeroom… !”

“Don’t make the mistake of assuming similarity just because of superficial resemblance. Many planets—like Andriad here—were cut off from mainstream galactic culture for centuries. They developed trends, characteristics, personality quirks that we know nothing about. That we have to know about if we are working on a case.”

“How about some original research?” Kai asked. “In here.” He jerked his thumb at an outdoor restaurant, with shaded tables around a gently splashing fountain. “I’m dehydrated.”

The Andriad beer was chilled and excellent, served in cold ceramic mugs. Kai sat opposite Petion at the table—no need to keep up the master-and-servant pretense here where they were unknown—and drained his beer almost at a swallow. He banged for more and rumbled deep in his chest as the waiter shambled slowly to fetch it. Sipping slowly at the beer he looked around the garden.

“Have the place practically to ourselves,” he said. “The kitchen must be open, I can smell it. Let’s try the local food. That army chow we had for breakfast is still sitting in my stomach, unchanged and undigested.”

“Order if you like,” Petion said, looking through the carved wood screen at the slow traffic of the street outside. “I doubt if you will like it, though. In case you didn’t read all of the guidebook, the Andriadans are strict vegetarians.”

“No steaks!” Kai groaned. “If I wasn’t starving I wouldn’t consider touching their slop. Order up—I’m game if you are.”

Petion left the choice of food to the waiter, who brought them a large compartmented tray filled with oddly shaped bowls. Their contents differed in flavor and texture, but had an overall sameness.

“Tasteless,” Kai snorted and shook a coating of dried herbs over everything. He ate quickly, cleaning a number of bowls, hoping that quantity might make up for quality. Petion ate slowly, savoring the variety of flavours.

“The different dishes have their own charm,” he said. “But the flavors are very subtle never anything strong or overpowering like onion or garlic. If you make an effort to appreciate it, it’s not too bad.”

“It’s terrible!” Kai said, pushing away the empty plates and belching. A plate of exotic fruits occupied his attention next.

It wasn’t that the scream was particularly loud or terrifying. It was just unexpected and completely out of place. The peaceful murmur from the streets and the delicate music of the wind-stirred ceramic bells was rudely sliced into by the suddenness of the cry. Kai choked on a mouthful of fruit, his glass knife falling and shattering on the stone floor; an ugly little gun appeared in his hand. Petion did nothing, just sat absolutely still and observed.

Waiters and customers, moving with haste unusual for Andriadans, crowded to the screen facing the street. Outside there were suddenly more people, pressing back against the walls on both sides of the street. They were all looking expectantly, and a little fearfully, in the same direction.

“What’s the occasion?” Kai asked. The gun was gone now but he was still alert. The scream sounded again, closer and louder, and it was obvious now that it had been made by an animal of some kind.

“We’ll know in a moment,” Petion said. “Here they come.”

Men pulled on ropes attached to the large wooden cage, others pushed on bars fixed to the sides. The cage moved slowly, lurching and scratching along on wooden runners—even though wheels were used on all of the other Andriadan vehicles. This was something special. Everything about the cage and the fixed, half-horrified attention of the crowd spelled out the importance of the event. It was only the animal in the cage that seemed very unimpressive for the stir it caused. A mottle-furred, long-toothed and clawed carnivore, about the size of a terrestrial lion. It paced the cage, looking in bewilderment at the crowd. Again it opened its mouth and roared piercingly. A ripple of motion passed across the tall Andriadans.

“What is that beast?” Petion asked the customer nearest to him.

“Sinnd…” the man said and shuddered. “What are they going to do with it?”

This question was obviously the wrong one, because the man turned shocked eyes on the Earthman. When Petion returned his gaze the Andriadan blushed and murmured something and turned quickly away.

“Pay the bill,” Petion told Kai, “and let’s follow that cage. This is something that is definitely not mentioned in the guidebooks.” The Sinnd’s cry, muffled now by distance, echoed in the empty street.

By the time they had caught up with it the cage had almost reached its destination, an open field just below the palace. The cage had been pulled onto a raised platform and men with ropes gathered around it. Getting close enough to watch was no problem, since the native Andriadans seemed torn between horrified attraction and repugnance. There were large gaps in the crowd that stirred and shifted in an unceasing Brownian movement. An empty space surrounded the platform. Petion and Kai stood in the first rank and watched the strange ceremony approach its climax.

A webwork of ropes now held the Sinnd immobile. It mewled in terror as a noose pulled its head up, stretching its neck to the utmost. Thin white cloth was now wrapped firmly round and round its neck. The entire affair seemed meaningless.

“Look!” Kai hissed. “The man in the white nightshirt. Recognize him from the photographs?”

“The King,” Petion said. “This is getting more interesting all the time.”

Nothing was said from the platform and the affair proceeded at breakneck speed. It was over in less than thirty seconds. The King looked only once at the crowd and lowered his chin. A rustle swept the field as the gathered thousands bowed in answer. The King turned and took the sword from an attendant. With a single quick thrust he plunged it into the white wrappings, severing the bound beast’s throat.

A voiceless gasp swept the audience as they drew in their breaths, almost in unison. Struggling against its bindings, the Sinnd burbled a last horrible cry, then slumped down. The King withdrew the sword and the white bindings turned a brilliant scarlet. Next to Petion a man bent over and vomited on the ground.

He wasn’t the only one; the repugnance seemed universal. There were only a few women in the crowd, and all had apparently fainted at the moment of execution, as had a number of the men. Their friends were quickly carrying them off. The field cleared with suspicious speed; even the King and officials from the platform joined the exodus. Within a minute the two offworlders and the dead beast were alone.

“Well I’ll be damned!” Kai exploded. “It wasn’t that bad. Why, I’ve seen infinitely worse things than that. I can recall—”

“Save your sordid reminiscences,” Petion told him. “I’ve heard them all. In addition to which—you are correct. It wasn’t that bad, particularly with the bandage to cover the wound.” He walked over and looked pensively at the slain Sinnd, freed of life and bondage at last.

“What does it all mean?” Kai asked.

“We’re going to have to find out. The whole thing seems meaningless now, but it was obviously of great importance to the locals. Let’s get back to the base and talk to Rissby. He’s been stationed here nine years, and should know what it’s about.”





“So you’ve uncovered the local secret,” Commander Rissby said. “It’s hard to tell if they are ashamed or proud of it. Anyway they make no attempt to stop people from watching, though they do fight strongly against any kind of publicity or official attention. Our policy during ninety-six years of occupation has been simply hands off.”

“Is it a religious ceremony?” Petion asked.

“Might be, Honorable Sir. We had an anthropology team through here once, and they were getting interested until they were officially requested to leave. One of them told me that the ceremony has an historical necessity that developed into a public ritual of exorcism.”

“How?”

“I don’t know how much you know of this planet’s history, Honorable Petion… ?” He hesitated, afraid to presume too much.

“For Empress’s sake, tell us man!” Kai snapped. “If you think Sir Petion has the time to bone up on the history of every off-trail planet—you’re completely wrong. He knows what I tell him because I handle the mechanics of these investigations and keep the records. All he has to do is solve the problem. We know next to nothing about this rock; we came here direct from the last job and never got back to the archives.”

“Then you’ll forgive a short lecture,” Commander Rissby said placidly, still not knowing where he stood in the chain of command. “Early history is obscure, but it is obvious this planet passed through a simple agrarian economy after being settled. Almost Stone Age, at least as far as artifacts go, since Andriad has no heavy metals. If the Honorable Sir has deemed it necessary to make a study of anthropology he will know that one of the theories of the development of mankind on Earth concerned man’s using his long legs for running, to escape predators. This happened, in actuality, right here. With no real mountains or forests, Andriad is a perfect habitat for herbivores. You’ve seen the gigantic herds that still roam the grasslands. Of course, as part of the ecology, there were the carnivores. One species dominated almost completely, the Sinnd that you saw today.”

“Men are better carnivores,” Kai said. “So they knocked the Sinnd over the head and ate the ruminants themselves?”

“Quite the contrary. They ran away along with the other animals.” Kai snorted in contempt, but the other two ignored him. “They became pure vegetarians—as they still are today. This period of food gathering and flight must have lasted quite a number of years.”

“But not forever,” Petion said, “or this city wouldn’t be here. Sooner or later they had to stop running and find another way to deal with the carnivores.”

“Of course. They found that the Sinnd could be trapped in pits, captured alive. By this time they had developed such an aversion to taking life that they found it hard to kill. Rather they found it impossible. Yet a crime even worse than killing would be to let the animals starve to death. That was when Grom—ancestor of the present King—started the royal family. He killed a trapped Sinnd. That’s the way the myths have it and for a change they’re probably true. Of course the rest of the Andriadans were horrified that a man could do this—yet at the same time strangely attracted. Grom was obviously the strongest man and quickly gained the power passed on to the present King Grom. They have all had the same name.”

“And the same job,” Petion said. “Killing Sinnd. Does it happen often now?”

“Only a few times a year when a Sinnd will raid one of the towns. Most of them stay away, following the herds. Then the captured Sinnd is sent here to be dispatched in the proper manner. The professor who told me all this also claimed it was a ritual murder of evil. The king-protector destroys the symbolic and the real devil at the same time.”

“Probably true,” Petion considered. “It certainly explains what we saw today. Don’t think these questions foolish, Commander. Everything on this planet is relevant to the case under investigation. I imagine you know why I’m here?”

“One can only guess…” Commander Rissby murmured politely.

“The murder of Prince Mello.”

“The murder of course,” Rissby agreed with no surprise.

“Tell me about Prince Mello. What kind of reception did he have here?”

Commander Rissby was no longer at ease. He mumbled something and suddenly his collar was tight enough to need easing with his forefinger.

“Louder please, Commander,” Petion asked.

“Prince Mello… Why the Prince was of course a nobleman, a gentleman. All admired him and praised him…”

“Rubbish and nonsense!” Petion exploded, angry for the first time.

“This is an investigation, not an attempt to whitewash the already tarnished name of a wastrel and a dolt! Why do you think a prince of the House, eighty-second cousin of the Empress, should be pleasure-jaunting in an out-of-the-way spot like this? Because the departed Prince’s intelligence just cleared the moron borderline and he had trouble signing his own name. Through stupidity compounded by arrogance he caused more trouble for the Empire than an army of liberationists.”

Rissby’s face and neck were flushed bright red. He looked like a bomb ready to explode and Petion took pity on him. “You know all this—or suspected it,” he said gently. “You must realize if the Empire is to prosper—as we both want it to prosper—some of the evils of generations of inbreeding must be eliminated. Mello’s death was more of a blessing than a tragedy. Just the manner of his going reflects ill on the Empire and must be investigated. You are too long in the service not to know these things. Now tell me about the Prince’s activities here.”

Commander Rissby opened his mouth, but no words came out. Loyalty fought with honesty. Petion respected the combination— knowing how rare it was—and treated the old soldier gently.

“It is no crime to discuss the faults of members of the royal family, since there is no doubt of your loyalty. You may talk safely to me.” Petion put his hand to one eye and when he removed it the iris was brown, in striking contrast to the pink albinism of the other eye. Rissby gasped.

“It is an open secret,” Petion said, “that a reward of great service merits admission to the royal family. The Empress was good enough to reward my police work with a knighthood. With it goes the honor of royal albinism. I have had the operations to change my coloring; the manipulating techniques even changed my genes so the trait is hereditary in me now. I have not had the time for the eye operation— it means months in bed—so wear these contact lenses instead. So you see I am half of one world, half of the other. You can talk to me, Commander. You can tell me about Prince Mello.”

Rissby recovered quickly, with a trained soldier’s resiliency. “I thank you for taking me into your confidence, Sir Petion. You will understand then that I attempt no rumor or slander when I tell you that Prince Mello was—unpopular here…”

“That’s the strongest term you can use?”

“Perhaps—‘detested’ might be a better one. It hurts me to say it, but it was the truth. My own soldiers felt it and only strong discipline kept them in line. The Prince laughed at the native customs, paid no attention to the people’s sensitivities, blundered in where he had no business, in general he, you might say—”

“Made an ass of himself.”

“Precisely. He was tolerated by the Andriadans because of his nobility and his relationships with the royal family here. He was with them quite often. He favored King Grom’s daughter, Princess Melina, and I understand the attraction was mutual. She was so upset by his death that she was confined to her bed for weeks. I visited her myself, in the name of the Empress. Shock. Crying. Very unhappy case.”

“Then everything was peaceful inside the castle?” Petion asked.

“I would say so. King Grom is very reserved, so there is no way of telling his feelings at any time. But if he did not encourage, he certainly did nothing to hinder the romance of the royal youths.”

“What about in the city?” Kai broke in. “Mello make enemies there? Go to gambling joints? Have girls? Associate with toughs?”

“Never!” Rissby gasped, shocked in spite of himself. “The Prince may have had his failings, but he was still nobility! He rarely ventured into the city, and certainly had no acquaintances there.”

“Yet he did see someone in the city,” Petion said. “Someone he knew well enough to recognize from a moving car at night. Someone he rushed to meet, never considering it a risk. Someone who may have killed him. I’ll need more information on the Prince’s activities outside of the palace. He may have been visiting the city unknown to you. Have you any spies or paid informers? Reliable ones I can contact?”

“Intelligence Section can give you more detailed information on that, though I don’t think you will need it. We have one operative who has been consistently reliable, the only one I might say. His loyalty is to money and we see that he is well paid. He will tell you anything you need to know. Only you must go to him, he is never seen near the military compound.”

“The name?”

“One-finger. He has an unusual deformity of one hand. He keeps a low-class inn and drinking parlor in the Old Town. I will arrange for the proper clothes and someone to show you the way.”

No possible disguise could have made Kai resemble anything other than what he was. He grumbled at being left behind while Petion was slipping into the loose robes of a Turaccian trader. The Intelligence Officer, Captain Langrup, adjusted the outfit with professional skill.

“A number of traders come through here,” Langrup said, “so two more wouldn’t be noticed. A lot of them stay at One-finger’s so this is a natural cover.”

“Do you have the caller?” Kai asked, taking the small, high-frequency receiver out of his pocket. Petion nodded and held up his hand with the ornate ring. When he pressed on the stone and twisted a shrill squeal blasted from the receiver. It warbled up and down when Kai changed the angle of the directional aerial.

“I doubt if we’ll need to use it,” Petion said. “We’re just going there for information and there’s no danger involved.”

“That’s what you said on Cervi III,” Kai scoffed, “and you were four months in the hospital afterwards. I’ll be hanging around close, ready to bust in.”

As Petion and the intelligence captain strolled through the Old Town they were barely aware of the stocky shadow that followed them. Kai was a good policeman, and a good tail even in the twisted labyrinth of dark passageways. Petion had lost his direction completely by the time Langrup turned into a black entranceway. It was a side entrance to a tap room. A noisy, badly lit place, filled with the stink of the burning weed the Andriadans smoked and the sweet pungency of beer slops. Langrup ordered two mugs of the best and Petion took careful note of the man who banged them down on the bar. His skin was sallow and wrinkled; the way it hung on the thin Andriadan bones it made him look like a walking skeleton. An accident or deformity had left him with only the index finger of his left hand. It appeared to be quite strong and he used it skillfully.

“We have some samples to show you,” Captain Langrup said. “Shall we take them inside?”

One-finger only grunted, his eyes half-closed and flicking back and forth at both of them. “Are the prices right?” he asked finally, the single finger scratching towards them across the bar, an animal nosing about for money.

“Don’t worry,” Langrup said and pulled back the corner of his cloak so the full wallet could be seen hanging from his belt. One-finger grunted again and turned away.

“A repulsive type, but valuable,” Langrup said. “Finish the beer then follow me.” They left by the main entrance, but instead of going all the way out into the street they climbed quietly up the stairs in the entranceway. There was a small room in the back of the building and they only waited a few minutes before the informer came in.

“Information costs money,” he said, and the finger scratched towards them again from across the table.

Langrup clinked ten of the translucent glass coins on the table. “Tell us about Prince Mello,” he said. “Did he ever come here to the city?”

“Many times. In his car. On the way to the palace or the country…”

“Don’t be devious!” Langrup snapped. “We’re paying for facts. Did he ever come here? Did he go anywhere else in the city? Did he have any friends here he visited… or girls?”

One-finger laughed, a crackling unpleasant sound. “A girl! What girl could stand being near a Sinnd-smeller! He came here once and I had to fumigate the place afterwards. He told me that my place stank! He came here, went some other places, he never came back. There were no friends of his here”— his eyes half-closed again—“or enemies.”

“What’s this about being a ‘Sinnd-smeller’?” Petion asked the Captain.

Langrup answered him, ignoring the informer’s presence as though he were part of the furniture.

“It’s a local idea, I’m not sure if it is true or just a way to insult us. They say that all offworlders smell like Sinnd—that’s a local carnivore. Say they can’t stand to be near us too long. One-finger over there probably has plugs in his nose right now.”

“Is this true?” Petion asked him. One-finger didn’t answer but grinned and tilted his head back instead, while the long finger leapt up and tapped at the white base of a plug barely seen in one nostril.

“Interesting,” Petion mused.

“Damned insult,” Langrup snapped. “You’re going to have to tell us more than that if you want your money,” he said to the informer. “When I investigated a year ago you had no idea of who had killed Prince Mello. What do you know now? You’ve had plenty of time to hear rumors, find out things.”

One-finger was suffering. He writhed inside his skin and sweat stood out on his face. The questing finger ran out towards the money on the table, then retreated.

“You can get in bad trouble for withholding information,” Langrup said with angry intensity. “Arrest, jail… even transportation…” One-finger didn’t even hear the threats, he was frightened enough already.

“Try money,” Petion suggested. “I’ll supply whatever funds are needed.”

Langrup slowly stacked high-denomination coins on the table, and as the pile mounted One-finger began to shiver, pulling away. But his eyes never left the money.

“Here,” Langrup murmured, sliding the money slowly across the table, “look at this. There’s more here than you can make in a year of hard work. It’s yours. Just tell us…”

“I don’t know who did it!” One-finger shouted hoarsely, falling forward across the coins, clutching them with his arms. “I can’t tell you that. But I can tell you something…” He gasped for breath and squeezed the words out. “It was no one… from the city.”

“That’s not enough!” Langrup shouted, standing and shaking the man so that the tempered glass coins sprayed down and rattled in all directions. One-finger’s face was wide-eyed with fear, but he said no more.

“Leave him,” Petion said quietly. “You’re not going to get any more out of him. And he’s told us what we want to know.” Not satisfied, Langrup slowly let go of the man who dropped back into his chair as limply as if the bones had been dissolved from his body. They left him there and made their way back down the stairs.

“That’s an awful lot to pay for so little,” Langrup said, not trying to disguise his dissatisfaction.

“It’s enough,” Petion told him. “It is really more than I expected to find out here. I would appreciate it if you would go back now and tell the Commander that I would like to meet with both of you, in his office, in about two hours time.”

“But I can’t leave you alone here,” Captain Langrup said, shocked.

“I’m not alone as you see,” Petion told him. He had thumbed a message on his ring as soon as they had left the building, so he expected the squat figure that sidled up to them out of the darkness. Langrup gave a start. “I assure you that Kai and I will be able to take care of ourselves,” Petion said.

“Can you find the square where the murder took place?” Petion asked after the Intelligence officer had gone.

“With my eyes shut,” Kai scored, and led the way into an alley. “What did you find out?”

“A little—or a lot. I don’t know yet. The whole thing is still simmering in my head. There is just one more thing I would like to find out before reaching any conclusions.” They entered a square and he looked around. “This is it, isn’t it?”

“Crossroad of the Carved-up Corpse,” Kai agreed.

Petion looked around at the black doorways. He pointed. “There’s the one we saw open earlier. I don’t like to rely on coincidences, but they do occur. It also happens to be the one nearest the palace and we should look there first. Now’s your chance to lean on it—but quietly.”

There was just enough light in the square to catch the white shine of Kai’s grin. Climbing silently up to the door, he put one shoulder against it and his bar-like fingers clamped onto the carved stone jamb. A single contraction of his muscles pulled his weight forward a few centimeters. It was enough, a motion as sudden and powerful as a hydraulic ram. Something snapped sharply and the door swung open. They moved in quickly and closed it behind them. The building was silent.

“We’re looking for a door,” Petion said. “It may be in the wall or it may be in the floor. It will be concealed. I’ll work this side and you work the other.”

Their lights threw wandering circles of radiance as they searched. Only a few minutes passed before Kai called softly. “Nothing to it. A real amateur job.” His light outlined a flag in the stone floor. The gap between it and the other stones was narrow and deep, clear of dust.

It took even less time to find out how it opened. When the stone slid aside they shone their lights into the black opening. A tunnel vanished into the darkness.

“If I were to ask you to make a guess—where would you think that tunnel goes?” Petion asked.

Kai bent down and squinted along the length of the tunnel as far as his light could carry. “If it turns it could go anywhere. But if it goes on the way it starts it should end up bang in the center of the royal palace.”

“That’s what I would say myself,” Petion murmured.





“I should have made it clear earlier,” Petion told them. “I want no notes or records kept of this meeting or anything else to do with this investigation. The Empress will have my report—and that will be the only one.”

“Sorry,” Captain Langrup said, and turned the recorder off and returned it to his pocket. Commander Rissby looked on quietly without commenting. All of their eyes followed Petion as he paced back and forth the length of the room.

“Some very important facts have come to light,” he said. “One of the most interesting was supplied tonight by the informer. If he wasn’t lying he has narrowed down our search for us. Whoever killed Prince Mello must have been from one of four groups.” He counted them off on his fingers. “First—an Andriadan from the city or the country. Since the Prince had no contact with any of them, he certainly wouldn’t have recognized someone and stopped the car. Group two are offworlders.”

“You can rule them out too,” Captain Langrup said. “I worked on the original investigation. Every offworlder was grilled and cross-examined in detail. None of them could have possibly been the killer.”

“Then the third group is the military here—”

“Sir!” Commander Rissby gasped in a shocked voice. “You can’t be suggesting—”

“I’m not, Commander—so set your mind at ease. Your Tacora troops might be suspected of a lot of crimes, but killing a member of the royal house is too unthinkable. In addition, I imagine the whereabouts of all your men were checked at the time?”

“They were—and eliminated from all suspicion,” the Commander said, only slightly mollified.

Petion folded a fourth finger into his palm. “Then logic leads us to the conclusion that the murder was committed by a member of the final group. Someone from within the palace.” He smiled at their shocked expressions. “Before you tell me that is an impossibility, that no one left the palace before the Prince, I should inform you of a discovery we made tonight.”

“A tunnel,” Kai said. “Looks like it runs from the palace to the place where Mello got carved.”

“That could be it,” Captain Langrup shouted, jumping to his feet with excitement. “A difference of opinion, a fight in the palace— we know that Mello left early—and while he is leaving the killer goes ahead of him. Calls to him, entices him into the alley—and kills him!”

“A nice construction,” Petion agreed. “But there are some obvious holes in it that I won’t bother pointing out, Captain. It might have been that way, but I do not think it was. The truth is a little more complex. I’ll need a little more evidence before I will be able to state exactly. Could I talk to the driver of the car, the man who last saw the Prince alive?”

The Commander looked unhappy. “I’m afraid that will be impossible, Honorable Sir. He was rotated six months ago, shipped out with his troop when their term of duty was up.”

“It’s not important.” Petion waved the thought aside. “I was expecting only negative evidence from him anyway. There is one more fact missing, with that the picture will be clear. Tell me about Prince Mello’s eating habits.”

Only a shocked silence followed his words. The two army officers gaped and Kai grinned widely. He had little enough idea where the conversation was going, but was more used to Petion’s turn of mind than the others.

“Come, come—that’s a plain enough question.” Petion frowned. “Simply looking at the Prince’s photo and his height-weight index will show that he was overweight. Fat, if you are not afraid of the right word. Did this have an uncorrected glandular source—or did he overeat?”

“He overate,” Captain Langrup said as calmly as he could, trying not to smile. “If you want the truth this was about the only thing that endeared him to the troops. Tacorans enjoy their food, and they were always a little awed at the quantity the Prince could put away.”

“During meals or between meals?” Petion asked.

“Both. He didn’t talk much but I rarely saw him when his jaws weren’t working. There was almost a path worn from his quarters to the back door of the cookhouse. The head chef became a close friend of his.”

“Get the chef up here, he’s the man I want to talk to.” Petion turned to the Commander. “Could you arrange for me to be invited to the palace tomorrow?” he asked. “I would like to go to dinner there, the same place and the same hour as the Prince’s last meal.”

Commander Rissby nodded and reached for the phone.





“I feel like an idiot in this outfit!” Kai whispered fiercely in Petion’s ear, from where he stood behind him at the table. Dressed in colorful servant’s livery he looked like a garishly painted tree stump.

“If it’s any relief, you look like one too,” Petion answered imperturbably. “Now be quiet and keep your eyes open for trouble from any direction. As soon as we have finished eating I’m going to stir this crowd up and see what develops.”

The banquet board was a large U with the royal family at the base of the U. As guest of honor Petion sat between King Grom and Princess Melina. The Queen had died in childbirth and the young prince was still a child, too young to sit at the adults’ table. Since by Andriad custom only women of the royal family attended state banquets, the princess was the only female present. She was an attractive enough girl and Petion wondered idly what she had seen in that idiot Mello. Alien attraction and prestige seemed the only answer.

Both King and Princess were still unknown quantities. Frozen by protocol they could only discuss unimportant things in abstract terms. If anything, King Grom seemed a little wary and on his guard. Which was understandable. His last noble guest had been butchered soon after leaving this same table.

Petion ate of the numberless different dishes and found himself enjoying the food. If you didn’t mind not having meat with your meal this was good eating indeed. Herbs and spices in great variety, even hot little peppers that had scorched his mouth. He wasn’t surprised when he saw that the Princess had taken a large portion of the peppers and was eating them with pleasure. She also oversalted her food. This underlined something he had suspected when he first heard her nasal voice and noticed the way she breathed through her mouth. A final bit of evidence that pulled his entire bundle of conjecture into shape. He had no foolproof evidence yet—but the theory seemed watertight.

He knew now just how and why Prince Mello had died. After the final course the Princess excused herself and left. Which was just as well. What was going to happen next would not be pretty.

“Your Majesty,” Petion said, pushing his plate away from him. “I have dined with you and would like to feel that we are friends.” The king nodded gravely. “So you will pardon me if I sound unfriendly. I do so because I only wish to uncover the truth. The truth that has lain concealed too long.”

He had not spoken loudly, yet suddenly the table was quiet. Conversation dead in an instant, as though the talk had just been used to fill the time waiting for this moment. The dozen or more noblemen at the table all had their eyes fixed intensely on the tall albino next to the King. Behind him Petion heard Kai’s clothing rustle and knew that man and gun were ready for action.

“You are talking about Prince Mello’s death,” the King said. Not a question, but a statement. His Majesty was no coward when it came to facing things.

“Exactly,” Petion said. “I don’t wish to presume upon your hospitality, but this blot upon the relations of our peoples must be cleared up. If you will hear me out I will tell you what happened on that evening a little over a year ago. When I am finished we will decide what must be done.” He shifted position and took a sip of the royal beer. No one else moved and every eye was fixed unblinkingly on him. Petion felt grateful for Kai waiting alertly behind him. He turned to the King.

“You’ll pardon the indiscretion, Your Majesty, but there is a rather personal question I would like to ask you. Is it true that your daughter suffers from a minor physical disability?”

“SIR!”

“The question is important, or I wouldn’t ask it. Am I correct in saying that Princess Melina has little or no sense of smell? That this is the reason she could bear Prince Mello’s presence, even enjoy being with him—”

“Enough!” the King interrupted. “You are insulting the memory of a dead man and my daughter as well!”

“There is no insult intended,” Petion said, letting a cold touch of steel slip into the formal tones of his voice. “If we are discussing insults I might mention the fact that Your Majesty has filter plugs in his nose to enable him to bear my presence at his table. That could be called an insult…”

King Grom had the good grace to blush red and made no further interruptions when Petion continued.

“There should be neither shame nor blame attached to what is a simple physical fact. All meat-eating animals have a characteristically strong odor—particularly to non-meat eaters. To your people the men of other planets smell bad. That is a simple and undeniable fact. Princess Melina—lacking a refined sense of smell—was unaware of this difference. She befriended Prince Mello and enjoyed his presence. She even asked him to dine here and you all put up with his presence for her sake. Until that evening when he did… what he did. And was killed for the repulsiveness of his crime.”

Petion’s final words hung in a shocked silence. The unsayable had been said, the unspeakable spoken. Then a chair grated back and a young noble jumped to his feet, white-faced. Kai appeared at Petion’s shoulder, gun pointing.

“You will sit down,” Petion said, “and you and everyone else will be quiet until I have spoken. We are on very delicate ground here and I do not wish any mistakes to be made. You will hear me out.” He stared intensely until the man dropped back into his chair, then went on. “Prince Mello committed the crime and died for it. You all witnessed it and by law are equally guilty. That is why I am addressing you together like this. The Prince was killed and you conspired to remove his body and conceal your crime.”

Some of the men were not looking at him now, but staring wide-eyed into space. Reliving that night they had tried to conceal and forget. Petion’s voice flowed on as smoothly as the voice of memory.

“You stopped the flow of blood, but he was dead. You fought between yourselves as to what to do, but in the end all were convinced that dishonorable as it was, the crime must be concealed. The only other alternative would be the end of everything as you knew it. You thought your monarchy could not survive a blow like this. So you undressed the corpse and one of you put on the dead man’s clothes. In the darkness of the courtyard it was easy for him to get into the official car. Without being seen clearly. The driver said that no order was given, nor would one be necessary. There was only one place for him to drive to. The disguised man simply sat in the car until it passed the agreed-on spot, then shouted ‘Stop’ and leapt out. He ran to the square where his friends were waiting with the body, having brought it there through the underground passage. There was more than enough time to redress the corpse before the driver became suspicious. The deed was done. Mello had left the palace safely, and been killed by person or persons unknown. A tragedy, of course, but not a world-destroying one.”

“It is true,” King Grom said, rising slowly to his feet. “The truth has been concealed…”

“You can protect me no more, Your Majesty!” a shrill, almost screaming, voice cried. The same young man was on his feet again. “I did it and I must pay the penalty, you have all protected me too long…”

“KAI! STOP HIM!” Petion shouted.

With unbelievable speed the stocky body hurtled the table, crashing into the youth. But he was an instant too late. The man had his hand to his mouth, swallowing something.

He didn’t struggle when Kai pinioned his wrists.

“Majesty…” the man said and smiled. Then a shudder tore through his body, his figure arched back in sudden torture. Kai released his hands and the dead man fell to the floor.

“That was unnecessary,” Petion shouted, turning on the King, his face twisted with anger. “Horrible waste!”

“I didn’t know,” was all King Grom mumbled, sunk in his chair, older now.

“We could have arranged something… not this! That’s why I’m here.”

“I didn’t know,” was all the King could say, his face buried in his hands.

Petion dropped into his chair, suddenly exhausted. “Well then, that’s the way it will have to be,” he said. “This man killed Prince Mello, then committed suicide rather than be taken. A life for a life. The rest of you will receive a reprimand for concealing the fact, and there will be a two percent rise in the Empire duties on your planet for the next ten years. Agreed?”

From the shelter of his hands the King could only dumbly nod his head.

Commander Rissby was only confused after he read the report and the evening’s affair had been explained to him. Petion was tired to exhaustion but held his temper well.

“This killer—the young man,” Rissby said, “I don’t understand. Why didn’t they just turn him over to us for trial?”

“For the simple reason that he didn’t kill the Prince,” Petion said. “The King did. He was the only possible one. The insult was done to his daughter, directly in front of him. They all hate the taking of life, and would never consider it, even in anger. But the King is a killer—a ritual murderer perhaps—but the animals he kills are just as dead after the ritual. He kills with a knife and Mello was killed with a knife. The King must have been wild with anger and didn’t realize what he was doing until it was all over. I’m sure he wanted to surrender then, but they talked him out of it. It would have meant the end of the regency and probably the royal family. For the sake of his planet—not for his own sake—he allowed the crime to be concealed. When I appeared the nobles must have sensed something in the wind and arranged for a suicide. Drawn lots or some such without the King’s knowledge. A life for a life and the Empire still safe. The poison is a quick-acting one they used for euthanasia.”

“Then the King… ?” Rissby asked.

“Is the murderer. And he is undoubtedly punishing himself every hour of the day much more than we could ever do. I’m telling you this so you won’t start thinking after I have gone and figure it out for yourself. And send in a report. The King’s culpability will not appear in my final report. If it did he would have to be arrested. As it stands now the balance is straight and everyone is happy. At least on paper. I’ll tell the Empress the truth—off the record—just as I am telling you. I won’t need to swear her to secrecy as I am swearing you now. Raise your hand and touch the scroll.”

“I so swear…” Commander Rissby repeated numbly, still shocked. He finally stirred to life and tapped the report. “But this— the roast leg of beef Mello got from the kitchen—what was wrong with that?”

“Use your imagination, Commander,” Petion said with barely concealed disgust. “He brought this joint of meat, still steaming hot in insulating foil, unwrapped it and dropped it in front of the Princess, right there on the table. He was so stupid, he thought he was doing her a favor, letting her try some good food for a change.”

“Yes… I know what he did. But why should the King kill him for a harmless thing like that?”

“Harmless?” Petion sat back and laughed. “These people are strict vegetarians with an absolute horror of our eating habits. Just try to put yourself in the King’s position. Let’s say that you invited a cannibal home for dinner—he’s reformed, but still a cannibal. And he has never quite understood what all fuss was about. So he does you a favor, trying to introduce you to a whole new world of enjoyable eating.

“He drops a nice hot, steaming, crackling human arm on the table in front of you right in the middle of the meal!

“What would you do, Commander?”





The End