The Hidden City

your temper?’ Bevier asked Kalten. ‘You’ll be all alone there, you know.’
    ‘I’m all grown up now, Bevier,’ Kalten assured him. ‘I’m not going to do anything noisy until after things are back the way they should be. We may not get a chance like this again. Senga’s invited me to go along to help him sell beer. It’s the most natural thing in the world, and nobody’s going to recognize me. I can pick up some very valuable information in Natayos, and if I happen to see somebody I recognize standing in a window or something, we’ll know for sure exactly where those two friends of ours are located. Then the fellow with the broken nose can have a word with his blue friend and they can lift them out before anybody even has time to blink. Then we can all go down there and explain just how unhappy we are to certain people.’
    ‘I’m in favor of it, myself,’ Caalador said to Bevier.
    ‘It’s tactically sound,’ Bevier admitted, ‘but—uh—Col here doesn’t have any way to call for help if he gets in trouble.’
    ‘I won’t need any help, because I’m not going to do anything out of the ordinary. I’m going anyway, Shallag, so don’t waste your breath trying to talk me out of it.’
    Senga came across the littered camp. ‘The cart’s all loaded, Col,’ he called. ‘Are you about ready?’
    Kalten stood up. ‘Any time you are, Senga,’ he replied, pulling his half-cooked chicken off the spit and going to join his newfound friend. ‘I’m getting bored just sitting here counting trees.’
    It took the two of them about three hours to reach Natayos, since there is no real way to hurry an ox. The trail was fairly well traveled, and it wound around through the jungle, following the course of least resistance.
    ‘There it is,’ Senga said as the cart jolted through a ford that crossed a narrow stream. He pointed across the stump-dotted clearing at an ancient city, a ruin so old that the passage of centuries had rounded down the very stones. ‘Stay close to me when we get there, Col. There are a couple of places we have to keep away from. There’s one building right near the gate that they really don’t want anybody to go near.’
    ‘Oh?’ Kalten said, squinting at the mossy ruin ahead. ‘What’s inside that makes them so touchy?’
    ‘I haven’t the faintest idea, and I’m not curious enough to risk my health by asking.’
    ‘Maybe the building’s their treasure house,’ Kalten speculated. ‘If this army’s as big as you say, they’ve probably picked up quite a bit of loot.’
    Senga shrugged. ‘It could be, I suppose, but I’m not going to fight all those guards just to find out. We’re here to sell beer, Col. We’ll get a goodly share of their treasure that way, and it’s not as risky.’
    ‘But it’s so honest,’ Kalten objected, grinning. ‘Isn’t honest work immoral for people like us?’
    Senga laughed and tapped the ox’s rump with the long, slender stick he carried. The creaking cart jolted over the uneven ground toward the moldering walls.
    ‘Nor Senga!’ one of the slovenly guards at the gate greeted Kalten’s friend. ‘What kept you? It’s been as dry as a plate of sand since the last time you left.’
    ‘You fellows are overworking my brewer,’ Senga replied. ‘He canm’t keep up with the demand. We have to let the beer age a little while before you drink it. Green beer does funny things to a man’s guts.”
    ‘You haven’t raised your prices again, have you?’
    ‘No. Same price as before.’
    ‘Ten times what you paid for the beer in the first place, I’ll wager.’
    ‘Oh, not quite that much. Where do you want me to set up?’
    ‘Same place as last time. I’ll pass the word, and they’ll start lining up.’
    ‘I want some guards this time, Mondra,’ Senga told him. ‘I don’t want another riot when the last cask runs dry the way there was last week.’
    ‘I’ll see to it. Save some for me.’
    The ox-cart clattered through the gate and into a wide street where most of the moss had been worn off the coblestones. A great deal of work had clearly taken place here in Natayos in the past few years. The squared-off stones of the broken walls had been rather carelessly re-stacked and then shored up with peeled log braces. Long-vanished roofs had been replaced with crude thatching made of tree-limbs, providing nesting sites for raucous tropical birds, and here and there blackened piles of half-burned trees and bushes marked the