messenger had a blue caftan on instead of a yellow one and had a casket
entwined with bands instead of a basket.
"Let Mr. Bemish accept these trifles from Mr. Ranik and a portal to the
heaven open in his soul, " the messenger said.
Welsey put the casket on the bed and noticed something leaking from the
basket. He hurried to the basket. Right then, wet and sad from the hangover
Bemish looked out of the shower. The phone rang and somebody knocked in the
door the same moment.
"Come in," Bemish said and picked up the receiver.
"Yes."
"Mr. Bemish," a soft caressing voice said in the receiver, "it's
Shavash speaking, vice-minister of finance. I would be happy if you could
visit me at 2pm."
"Of course, " Bemish said and put the receiver down. The door slid
open.
"Let me introduce you, Welsey, " Bemish said, "to Kissur. Kissur, this
is Welsey. As I have told you before, he is represents LSV bank here."
Kissur and Welsey looked at each other. Kissur saw a skinny young
Earthman with a face white and round like a headache pill. Welsey saw a
blue-eyed rascal, a bit above thirty, with a real golden chain on his neck
descending all the way down to the belt on the narrow washed down jeans. In
the open shirt neck there was a tattoo - a bird of prey crossed by a pink
scar. Welsey learned later that this was a falcon and this way of tattooing
was an old custom of the barbarian aloms. If they cut a war chief head off
in a battle and undressed him, how else would it be possible to recognize
the body?
Kissur looked at Welsey and said,
"Listen, Terence, you want to buy the spaceport but what is this
whey-faced fish doing here?"
"I explained it to you," Bemish replied, "I don't have money. LSV gets
money for me."
"Will they loan it to you?"
"They will underwrite the bonds."
Kissur pondered it and asked then,
"What interest do these usurers charge you?"
"The interest on the bonds will be sixteen percent."
"Why is it so expensive?" Kissur was aggravated.
"Because there is no collateral," Welsey gave voice, "if the company
goes bankrupt, it won't have any property it could sell off to cover the
debts."
"Shut up, leech," Kissur recoiled, "nobody is asking you. By the
sovereign Irshakhchan laws, usurers were boiled in oil and the Golden
Sovereign forbade interest rates higher than 3%"
"What was the inflation rate at the Golden Sovereign?" Welsey inquired.
"I don't know what the heck the inflation is," Kissur declared, "but I
do know that the Golden Sovereign would hang the first official, who tried
to arrange it, so high that nobody would even dream of it afterwards."
Welsey kept a shocked silence.
"Well, let's go? Kissur told Bemish.
"Stephen?"
"I would rather take a nap," Welsey uttered nervously - he didn't want
to get himself deeper in a capital market discussion with Kissur.
In a moment, Kissur and Bemish were downstairs, missing another basket
of gifts on the way.
They got in a car and Kissur dished out a wad of money to Bemish.
Bemish was dumbfounded,
"What the heck?!"
"We, " Kissur said, "are going to Mr. Ireda. The man was nice to you -
you should express your gratitude."
"But..." Bemish started.
They arrived to Ireda's palace in half an hour and gave him money.
Ireda's palace was located right next to the sovereign's palace wall.
The wall was huge and thick; wooden silvered geese stood on the top lowering
their heads and looked down with disapproval. Coolness flowed from the
yawning gate in the middle of the wall oozed like from a well and all the
space in front of the gates was crammed with multi-hued cars.
"The Gate of the Barbarians," Kissur said.
"Eh?"
"In the ancient times, there were four gates facing four sides of the
world.the Gate of the Emperor's Paramount Appearance, the Gate of the
Officials, the Gate of the Commoners, and the Gate of the Barbarians. Dumb
illiterate chiefs in loincloths entered the palace through the Gate of the
Barbarians. I was ten year old when they brought me to the palace via the
Barbarians Gate and all my friends teased me and laughed at me."
Kissur was silent for a moment.
"Now, only Earthmen enter the palace through the Barbarian Gate."
Their car was slowly crawling by a colorful crowd of parked vehicles.
"What about the present sovereign? How did he feel when our presence
ended the war?"
"An insignificant Emperor's subject does not dare to consider his
sovereign's thoughts," Kissur answered. Bemish jerked.
"What about you?"
"I was quite impressed," Kissur answered after a pause.
Bemish couldn't help but smile - during the day that Kissur first met
the Earthmen, he called them vultures, hijacked a military plane and, having
massacred the rebel camp, finished the civil war.
"What impressed you? Our weapons?"
"No, your weapons didn't faze me. I thought that in six months our
sovereign would buy the same stuff, maybe slightly older and cheaper. Then,
I saw the houses your commoners reside in and the vehicles they drive and I
thought that there was no way our sovereign would buy our people the same
houses and cars either in six or in sixty months.
"Haven't anything shocked you?" Bemish asked, "our pop culture, our
commercials... A lot of people say that Earthmen have too much material life
and not enough existence. They use Weia as an example."
"If somebody is unhappy, they can visit us. I 'll send them to my Iniss
mines and they will have a lot of ... existence."
He grinned and added,"
"Good-bye for now, Terrence. I need to go to the palace and it's time
for your visit to Shavash."
Bemish appeared at Shavash's place right on time.
Mr. Shavash received the Earthman in the Red Office.
The host and the visitor bowed each other ceremoniously. A polite
servant poured tea in the porcelain cups and disappeared behind the
gold-gilded doors. Bemish noticed no paintings drawn and signed by the
Emperor hanging on the office walls, otherwise decorated with the utmost
grace. Bemish didn't know yet that a roll signed and bequested by the
Emperor costs more than a rank and a title, and that Shavash offered half a
million to the Emperor's suckling brother, Ishim, to persuade the sovereign
Varnazd to bequest him a gift. Ishim, however, had to return the money -
somehow, the sovereign did not like Shavash.
"I am very grateful to you," Bemish mentioned at the desert, "that you
signed all these papers yesterday and agreed to help me."
Shavash smiled gently,
"Verily, everybody at the court can only talk about your great success.
How can such an insignificant person as me, assist you with anything."
Bemish lowered his eyes.
"Are you and Kissur old friends?"
"We met just before the end of the civil war."
"Where?"
"In a duel," Shavash said calmly, "Kissur rushed at me with a sword and
I shot at him with a revolver."
Bemish thought for a moment and wondered
"What revolver? The Earthmen hadn't..."
"It's a long story," Shavash waved his hand, "and a revolver was
jury-rigged."
"What happened then?"
I almost missed and Kissur's friends charged at me and started to teach
me how to conduct duels. Then, they tied me to a rope and dragged me all the
way through the city. My back and ribs were broken... Then, the Earthmen
appeared and managed to heal me. I've been limping slightly since. And my
hand...
Bemish noticed a while ago that Shavash was holding the cup with the
left hand while his right palm was shriveled and the fingers were slightly
twisted.
"What were you fighting about?"
"A woman. Lady Idari, Kissur's main wife had been my fiancee before
Kissur became the first minister and I became a roadside pebble. Kissur
arrested a man that I owed my carreer to and obtained his position and my
fiancee."
Shavash suddenly followed Bemish's glance and hid the right hand under
the table, but Bemish managed to notice his twisted fingers shaking.
"Now we are married to two sisters. My wife is the Lady Idary's younger
sister."
"Why is he telling me this?" Bemish was horrified.
Shavash put a peach morsel, soaked in honey, in his mouth and said
after a brief hesitation,
"Mr. Bemish! I would like to warn you as a friend. Kissur is the
sovereign's favorite. He can obstruct you easily, but he can't really help
you. A lot of officials hate Kissur for being Kissur. For the disdain Kissur
has towards bribers and entrepreneurs, while he lives by the sovereign's
benefactions. For the Kissur's opinion that no fortune is more disgraceful
than a merchant's profit. For the feasts he throws for the people; for the
zealots and heretics calling him the sovereign Irshakhchan reborn... Mr.
Inada promised to roll Iniss carpet under your car's wheels when a friend of
Kissur visits his villa... Mr. Inada will roll Iniss carpet under your
wheels and he will plant a plastic bomb under the Iniss carpet. The
offiicials will be signing your papers and playing foul behind your back.
Kissur will praise you to the sovereign - they will prove to the sovereign
that Kissur is mistaken. My advice to you is to keep your distance from him.
Bemish chewed on his lip.
"Mr. Shavash," he said, "I would like to remind you that if LSV is
interested in acquiring your company, we will just buy it at an open-access
auction. I guarrantee you that we will offer higher price that IC will, and
that nobody will be able to kick us out of the auction due to some invented
technicalities. Regarding the access to the financial documentation, I am
sure that without Kissur I would have spend two more years obtaining it and
I know probably the reasons for it. Also, if I may advise you, when you fake
the reports, pay more attention to secondary indicators. You know, it's
impossible that the construction rate increased by 300% while the energy
consumption stayed the same.
The official was silent for a moment and he closed his eyes.
"Of course. Good-bye, Mr. Bemish, and I wish you the best luck."
Bemish has barely driven through the Shavash's mansion gates, when a
white limousine, long like a sturgeon, slid a millimeter away from him.
Kissur's stuck his head out of the window and waved a hand. Bemish will-less
swerved to the curb. They got out of the cars and embraced.
"Let's go drive," Kissur demanded.
Bemish glanced at his Urun indecisively.
Kissur clicked his tongue - a small servant in linen pants got out of
the back seat. Kissur pointed a finger at him.
"Give him the keys and he return the car." Bemish gave him the keys and
sat next to Kissur.
"There is a great pub nearby," Kissur said, "let's go there."
The pub was low and damp; a fountain splashed in the middle of a
octagonal yard. Next to the fountain, a flat dancing god stood, with an
colossal-sized penis and four breasts. The god was generally naked except
for a huge advertisement boards covering him on three sides. The ad called
to buy 3D-sets by the Corund company.
A nimble chief appeared next to Kissur and placed a great grilled
goose, sprinkled with lime juice and covered with a golden crust, and a palm
wine jar in front of the guests. Kissur noticed that Bemish was ogling the
god and asked the host,
"How much did they pay you for putting the boards up?"
"Two."
"Here is four. Go and scrape this offal away." Bemish lowered his eyes.
He felt crappy after the yesterday's binge, he didn't eat anything at
Shavash's place - he couldn't even look at the goose! What should he do now?
Bemish realized that, when Shavash mentioned the offiicials hating Kissur,
he meant himself first of all - that's why he told Bemish about his fiancee
and his shriveled hand... Should he tell Kissur that his brother-in-law
hates him? But they are friends. It would look like an Earthman dropped by,
did some fishing with Kissur and quickly contrived to sow a discord between
him and his brother-in-law. Should he not say anything? What if Kissur
considers Shavash his friend and will be snared sooner or later?
Though, Kissur is hardly all that innocent. Bemish remembered how,
despite being totally stoned, he was shocked by one of the Khanadar's songs
about a battle with Akol people. A local tribal king dispatched his brother
and other highly placed war chiefs to Kissur asking him not to attack the
tribe. Kissur said, "So it will be," and showered the envoys with the gifts
way more luxurous than customary. They couldn't refuse the gifts, of course,
without insulting the Empire's most powerful military commander. So, they
returned to the king and Kissur sent them letters in such a way that the
king intercepted them. Kissur reminded in the letters that he promised not
to touch their land in exchange for their king's head and he asked them when
they were going to fulfill their part of agreement. The rich gifts were
presented as a bribe for the king's head. The king, naturally, ordered the
butchering of his brother and war chiefs, beheading the army leadership and
arousing the tribe's discontent. After that, it took Kissur two days to
finish him off.
And even though everybody agreed that Kissur was not even close to
deceased Arfarra with the tricks of this sort - he still didn't resemble a
guileless lamb.
Kissur, meanwhile, poured wine in the cups, covered them with the
lacquered tops with straws going through, and offered Bemish a cup.
"You are driving," Bemish reminded him.
Kissur grasped the straw imperturably and, seemingly, gulped all the
wine in a minute. Anyway, he opened the cup immediately and started to pour
more wine.
"Why are you so sad?" Kissur asked, "was the bribe, Shavash demanded
from you, too large?"
"No. It's just that I've never found myself in such a position. I don't
know what to do."
"You are doing great," Kissur laughed, "you have already fleeced
Shavash for six million."
"What?" Bemish was astonished.
"Didn't you know? The IC company gave Shavash six million so that it
gets the spaceport. Shavash has to return money now as an honest briber."
"It's impossible," Bemish said, "the auction takes a precedence over
bribes."
"How do you know that it all depends on the auction?"
"I came here," Bemish said drily, "only after I had learned the
experts' names and met the other companies' representatives, for example,
Eseko. None of them had any difficulties obtaining a permission to
participate in the auction."
"What about you?"
Bemish got a bit embarrassed.
"Well... small officials wanted small gifts..."
"It has nothing to do with gifts," Kissur said, "IC paid Shavash six
million dollars so that not a single company, that could really compete with
it, took part in the auction. This Eseko of yours could get all the
permissions with no sweat, while you and some other folks were blacklisted."
"Shavash is really afraid this Trevis of yours. He is nervous that
Trevish will devour him whole."
"What's he raving about?" a thought passed Bemish's mind. "Where could
this IC, a small and practically unknown company, scrape up such a bribe?
And why? It's local mythology and tabloids."
"I am sure," Bemish said, "that's you are not correct."
Kissur burst out laughing and waved his hands.
"Yeah! Shavash has already started digesting these six millions and -
kabloom! You get the company!"
Kissur laughed, happy with Shavash's failure.
"Hold on," Bemish exclaimed, "firstly, I didn't get the company, I just
obtained a permission to take part in the auction. Secondly..."
Bemish wanted to say that, secondly, he wasn't all that hot about
quarrelling with Shavash...
"But you will win the auction!"
"If my offer is better than the others,"
Here, Kissur slid his hand in the pocket and pulled out, to Bemish's
astonishment, a small white box.
"What is it," Bemish asked.
"It's a plasma bomb," Kissur answered, taking it amiss that the
Earthman has never seen such a commonplace invention of his own culture."
"What?!! Why?!!!"
"Why what? We'll leave it under the IC representative's door and, if he
doesn't get out of the planet then, we'll stick it under his pillow."
Bemish was dumbfounded for a while and, then, he said drily,
"I will not do that."
"Why? Are you afraid to get bagged?"
"Kissur, listen," the Earthman asked, "is it true that you engaged in a
personal combat during your wars, with the enemy's commanders before the
battles."
"So?"
"Why wouldn't you, during the fight, order your archers to shoot your
opponent?
"Are you nuts?" Kissur was astounded, "all my troops would abandon me
after such a base trick."
"Was it the only reason?"
Kissur lowered his eyes. Of course, it was not the only reason.
Bemish sighed,
"You know, Kissur, we grew up in different worlds and, if I was a
military commander, I wouldn't engage in a personal combat before a battle.
But, when I participate in an investment auction, I will not slip a bomb to
my opponent. You should have some decency."
"I've always thought, " Kissur said, "that, when money comes into play,
there is no place for decency."
"It may be true on Weia," Bemish said, "but it's not true on Earth."
Kissur put the bomb back in his pocket as casually as a pack of
cigarettes.
The Third Chapter
Where Kissur opens the Emperor's eyes to a foreign briber while Terence
Bemish received a gift of a luxury villa.
The next morning, Kissur was desperately bored. He called Bemish but
Bemish was running around somewhere like a chicken with his head cut off.
Kissur could find him but what was the point? The man is rushing from one
office to another - you can screw a slut together - but bribing an official
is a private matter; why would Bemish need Kissur as a witness? The other
guy, Welsey, said that tomorrow they would go to the spaceport.
Kissur beat a servant with no reason - Kissur didn't beat him really,
he just pushed him a bit, but the servant slammed into a bronze vase and
hurt himself badly with the vase. Kissur ate goose and marinated liver
pirogi for breakfast and went to a pub and, after that, to the
fortune-tellers. All the damned fortune-tellers were familiar, however, with
the sovereign favorite's mug and Kissur didn't learn anything interesting.
Finally, Kissur returned home, undressed and dived in a huge pond,
inlaid with heavily veined Chakhar marble and surrounded by blooming trees,
with an altar in the Western Gazebo hanging over the water.
Kissur was leisurely swimming in the pond, when a faraway car rustled
behind the carved lattice. A door banged, voices clamored excitedly, a man
from the car evidently shook the servants off and stomped down the garden
path.
Kissur dived. When he got to the surface, shining leather shoes stood
on the pond's marble edge. Excellent quality grey pants ascended above the
shoes.
"Ok, how much do you want?"
Kissur raised his head - an unfamiliar Earthman, with a red and round,
like a street light, face stood in front of him. The Earthman's eyes were
crazed and his chin stuck out aggressively.
"How much do you need?" the Earthman repeated. Kissur got out of water
unhurriedly and shook himself like a dog. The water drops from his blond
hair splashed the Earthman's expensive suit. The Earthman was clearly
uncomfortable - Kissur bathed naked, out of an old Alom habit, and he didn't
even try to cover himself with a towel, demonstrating his contempt for the
visitor.
"Who are you?" Kissur asked, "And what has happened to you?"
"You know perfectly well who I am!"
Having planted his feet against the pond's marble edge, Kissur moved
his bare toes. Reddish Weian sun danced on Kissur's wet hair and on the
water drops stuck in the cracks between his powerful muscles.
"Ok. My name is Kaminsky. Five months ago, I bought the land and they
promised me to classify it as industrial zoning. I started to build a
garbage processing plant. Now, thanks to the complaint you filed to the
sovereign, it is classified as business zoning. If I want to keep this land,
I have to pay the difference in price - two hundred million. If I don't want
to pay the difference, I can get my money back and the land will be resold."
"What's my part here?"
"Khanida demanded one million and three hundred thousand more; how much
do you need?"
"I don't sell my country."
Kaminsky burst out laughing. His stout face shook - he was probably
starting to get hysterical. He stuck his fat finger at Kissur.
"All Weian officials can be bought and they can be bought at a
clearance price. I have never seen people who want to sell so much of their
motherland at such a low price."
Kissur paled and his eyes narrowed a bit.
"These words," Kissur said, "are not like the land in Godfather's Dale.
You will pay full price for these words."
Kaminsky burst out laughing and he suddenly pulled out a large
crocodile skin wallet.
"Of course," he said. "I'll pay. How much should it be per word? Will
ten thousand be enough? Just don't tell anybody, please, that I pay money
for every spit or people will be waiting in line to spit at me..."
Kissur grabbed the Earthman by his broad tie with one hand and twisted
his arm and pulled him towards himself with the other. The Earthman flipped
over in the air, drew an arc and, with a thundering splash, landed in the
pond. Kissur wrapped a towel around himself and, not interested in the
least, whether or not his pestering visitor drowned, walked to the house.
Bemish spent all night studying the company reports (clearly
fabricated) and he spent all day dashing around the precincts.
He spoke to Earth three times. They told him that Werner McCormick, the
LSV expert on industrial construction, would arrive at the spaceport, next
to the capital, in the evening.
At three o'clock, Bemish drove to DJ Securities. One of the best broker
firms in the Empire resided in a tiny place in a distinguished neighborhood.
It was located in the palace pavilion's western wing - previously the
building had housed the Cheese Bureau. All these bureaus were dissolved,
along with the palace administration that used to duplicate the state
apparatus. The Earthmen moved in the former palace officials' pavilions. The
small building, crammed with super modern hardware, greeted Bemish with
wondrous flower smells and a silver fox snout jutting out of the bushes.
The broker, he came to talk to, was a fat young man with eyes, merrily
jumping, like the numbers on a money counter display, and smooth golden
skin. His name was Alexander Krasnov.
Krasnov led Bemish to an office, closed the window facing the garden,
turned the air conditioning on, and they started to talk about Assalah. The
approaching investment auction rumors slightly raised the Assalah shares'
prices. Almost nobody was, however, willing to sell them. The Assalah stocks
could still be considered non-liquid assets - the difference between the
buying and selling price had reached 20%.
Bemish was greatly impressed with the fine emanations of success,
coming from the small office, excellent employees' cars and cute long-legged
secretaries.
Before coming to Weia, Bemish had carefully studied various Weian
companies' conditions and prospects; he had chosen Assalah and acquired in
advance quite a significant block of shares- more than 80% of the stocks had
been acquired through Krasnov. These were bearer stocks, but an owner of a
block of shares larger than 5% was supposed to register. Bemish currently
owned 6% of the Assalah shares but he had not intention of declaring it.
Bemish and Krasnov discussed their financial dealings and, then, the
young broker plunged into his reminiscences of the Weian securities'
fabulous cheapness. The brokers had literally paid cents buying securities
but it would not happen again unless the "Followers of the Path" gained
power.
"It was such a margin," Krasnov described. "Imagine, they sold stocks
for a rice vodka crock. Do you know how much I paid for twenty seven
thousand shares of Ossoriy nickel concession? A vodka barrel for the village
and a Hershey chocolate bar! Do you know how much I sold them for? I sold
them for four hundred thousand dinars!"
Bemish grinned, "How much did you pay the peasants for the Assalah
shares?"
The broker was silent, pondering. Then he did something unexpected. He
started to undress. He took off his jacket and wide wine colored tie; then,
he took off a fashionable shirt with a vertical collar and turned his back
towards Bemish. Horrified Bemish loudly exhaled. The Krasnov's back was
covered with pale, but still noticeable pink welts, from the neck to the
tailbone.
Krasnov put the shirt on and coolly explained.
"When I arrived in Assalah, a local official met me. "Broker?" -
"Broker." - "Buying stocks?" - "Yes." - "Let's get to the precinct, I'll
weigh you the goods." We came to the precinct, and he put me in a manure pit
overnight, gave orders to whip me with a whip soaked in brine, and told me,
"I wouldn't like to see you in Assalah again."
"Oh, my God!"
"By the way, he kindly explained his actions to me. He claimed that the
people are like children, selling stocks for a vodka crock, and the
officials should take care of the people's welfare. While he is alive, not a
single foreign hyena will dare show its face in Assalah. Not that I couldn't
appreciate his welcome, really. You know, I hadn't been whipped with a
brined whip before."
"Haven't you sued him for the whipping?" Bemish wondered.
But Krasnov just looked at him in such a way that Bemish realized what
a stupid thing he just blurted out.
Having returned to the hotel, Bemish felt hungry and ambled to the
restaurant. Galactic dinar prices were the only civilized part of the
restaurant. Bemish randomly tapped couple of entries. In a moment, the
waiter brought him a full bowl of steaming soup with dumplings, several
small plates with appetizers and an object that reminded belatedly to Bemish
about the locals' favorite - dog meat burgers.
Bemish had just finished the appetizers, when a guy took a sit next to
him. Bemish raised his eyes - it was a middling tall man with stern eyes,
transparent like gasoline, and with a body that local peasants described as
"a really inept god hewed him out." However, upon more careful inspection,
the guy's face didn't go together with the overall crude image - it was
hard, as if made from the twisted together wires.
"Good day, Mr. Bemish," the man said, "My name is Robert Giles. I
represent IC company - you know, we are participating in the Assalah
spaceport investment auction.
"What a coincidence," Bemish said, "I am participating also in it."
"But you are not in good standing with Mr. Shavash."
"It's not a reason for disappointment."
"I recommend you, Mr. Bemish, to leave this planet before they kick you
out of here."
"And I recommend you to get out of this table before I bathe you in my
soup."
"Believe me, Mr. Bemish. A company's hostile takeover is intended for a
civilized country. While, if you try to buy a local company, when its
director doesn't want it... do you know that this director has his own
jail?"
"I know," Bemish said, "that this director can be dismissed by the
sovereign if somebody close to the sovereign proves that this director
doesn't act in the company's best interest. Have you heard what happened to
Joseph Kaminsky thanks to Kissur? Have I made myself clear?"
"Quite. So, Kissur stands behind you and Shavash stands behind me. Who
will flatten whom into the ground?"
Here, the waiter brought Bemish the dessert and, elongating his neck,
inquired Giles if he liked to order anything.
"No," Giles said, "I am leaving. And if you, Mr. Bemish, knew the local
cuisine well, you wouldn't have ordered a guinea pig burger."
Kissur spent the rest of the day with Khanadar, the Dried Date, and a
couple of close friends in the pubs. Kissur lost twenty thousand in dice and
he didn't really drink much, though he did thwack somebody's mug. In the
evening, Kissur got in his car and drove to Shavash.
Shavash was in the Cloud Gazebo and he had an Earthman as a visitor.
The Earthman had to be a close enough associate because, firstly,
Shavash received him in the gazebo for the Weian guests and, secondly, two
beautiful girls were also there. They were more undressed than dressed; one
girl sat on the Earthman's knees and another one, breathing zestfully,
licked that particular object sticking its bloated head out of Shavash's
unzipped pants. Shavash reclined, leaning backward, on the carpet and his
jacket and shirt sprawled nearby. The table was filled with appetizers and
fruits - the friends had finished the business part were starting to relax.
The Earthman shook the wench off and got up.
"Robert Giles," Shavash said, "the IC representative."
Kissur silently took the Earthman's chair and sat astride it.
"I guess, I should go," the Earthman said, glancing at the girl
regretfully."
"Go," Kissur said, "these girls cost five isheviks per pair next to
Trans-Gal, don't be greedy."
The Earthman left. Shavash pulled the girl on himself, half closing his
eyes, and the girl mounted him. Shavash breathed heavily and greedily.
"Lie on your back," he told the girl. She followed the command
obediently.
Kissur waited till Shavash came.
"Why don't you go, bring a jar of Inissa wine," Kissur told the girls.
"Both of you."
The girls left the gazebo. Shavash lay on the carpet groping for the
shirt with his hand.
"Everybody, like, is running around with this spaceport," Kissur said,
"and they all run to you."
"I am the company director."
"Who was the director before you?"
"A man named Rashar."
"Hey, wasn't he your secretary? So, at first you sent him to the
director's chair, and then to jail."
"You shouldn't steal," Shavash replied, "in busloads."
"Come on. He would give you away half a busload and you wanted three
quarters. You will waste the country, scoundrels."
Shavash finally buttoned up the shirt and pants, propped himself up and
poured a cup of wine.
"Kissur, one little tank trip of yours over the Coke plant cost more to
the country than everything I have ever stolen and I will ever steal."
"Why do you all fret so much about this stupid factory?" Kissur
exclaimed. "And Terence was just yakking about the same thing." Shavash
silently sucked on a straw.
"Whatever. Bemish will buy your company and make you all sweat."
"He will hardly buy the company," Shavash said. "Mr. Bemish often
acquires companies but I haven't heard him actually buying a single one."
"What do you mean?"
"Mr. Bemish is quite a good financier but he made his money the
following way. He would buy a company stocks threatening it by a takeover,
and then sell the shares back to the company at higher than market price.
It's called greenmail. He worked with very small companies in the beginning,
then, he switched to the larger ones but, then, they asked him to get out of
the civilized countries. He hasn't really broken any laws but they made it
clear for him and his boss that they should go out and have fun someplace
else."
"His boss?"
"His LSV boss. Ronald Trevis. Where do you think he got the greenmail
money? Trevis raised money for him and Bemish was just a cudgel. Did you see
a gentleman named Welsey, next to Bemish? This is Trevis - a morsel of
Trevis."
"I see," Kissur said.
"LSV is a cool company," Shavash continued, "They find people, ready to
get out of their own skins and skin the others to scrape together a dinar, a
crown and a dollar, and they set them at large companies. They are not
financiers - they are gangsters. They would be shot dead on our planet. They
were reproached elsewhere and they decided to move to the places with no
strict financial laws and a lot of under priced property."
Shavash was silent and, then, added,
"This rascal bought 7% of the Assalah shares through the dummy agents
and he has been buying them in small blocks for many months to not disturb
the market."
The girls came back with wine and one of them sat on Kissur's knees and
other one crawled to Shavash and started to touch him with her hands under
the shirt and Shavash laughed and put the wine glass on the table and
reclined on his back again.
The next day, the first vice-minister of finance Shavash stood in front
of the head of the government, old Mr. Yanik.
Mr. Yanik became first minister a year and a half ago after the death
of his predecessor's, a certain Mr. Arfarra. Everybody unanimously
considered Yanik to be a nonentity and a temporary replacement. Who cares
how to plug a hole as long as it doesn't leak? However, the nonentity clung
to his position way longer than many people who thought him to be a
temporary incident.
Yanik and Shavash belonged to different generations, and more
importantly, to different parties. Shavash occasionally expressed quite
loudly his opinion about Yanik while the latter occasionally and quite
loudly used the former, as an example to express his regret about the old
times when the overly rapacious officials would find themselves hanging on
all four palace gates - a quarter per gate.
"Make yourself familiar," Yanik said, handing Shavash a white plastic
folder.
Shavash opened the folder and concentrated on reading.
It was a construction project of a humongous aluminum complex in the
east of the Empire, in Tar'Salim, rich in alumina but poor in energy
resources. The construction consisted of the aluminum extraction and
processing facilities, two power plants - fission and magneto-hydrodynamic
ones, and a small plant making composite alloys for gravitonic engines.
The total construction estimated expenditure was two hundred million
galactic dinars. The company was naturally state-owned.
Shavash turned the last page and found what he was looking for - the
person nominated for the company general director position was Chanakka -
the first minister's twice removed grandson, an empty-headed and debased man
who had already failed at at least three projects. Cosmopolitan Shavash,
with his impeccable knowledge of the major Galactic languages and stylish
suits, especially loathed Chanakka's fanatical nationalism.
"This," the first minister said, "is an unquestionably important
project. No longer will we drag behind the Civilized Worlds. No other planet
has such a facility!"
Shavash thought that both Tranar and Dakia had the same facilities.
They, however, were not state-owned.
"In two year," the first minister said, "we will control the space
engines market! Your department has a week to budget seventy million dinars
for the primary equipment."
"We can't do that," Shavash said coolly.
"Why?"
"We don't have money. The officials in Chakhar haven't been paid since
last year."
Yanik looked at the finance vice-minister disapprovingly. Shavash was
too young. Yanik still remembered times when the words "We don't have money"
just didn't carry any meaning in Weian Empire. If money ran out, more of it
could always be printed. None of it influenced the prices, since the
merchandise prices were determined not by the amount of money in circulation
but by the Bill of Prices for goods and services.
"Mr. Shavash," Yanik asked, "what is your monthly salary?"
"It is three hundred isheviks," Your Eminence.
Is it true that your last toy, a private space yacht of the Emerald
class cost four hundred fifty thousand isheviks?"
"It was a friends' gift," the official smiled.
"Mr. Shavash," Yanik said, "Tas'Salim is the our country's most
important construction. We must find money for it. Otherwise, we will take
care of your yacht. Do you understand me?"
"Quite."
Shavash returned to his luxurious office sincerely upset. He snapped at
the secretary, flung a fashionable jacket on the chair's back, threw himself
in the armchair, and sat immobile for a while. Those, who knew Shavash
superficially, would be certain that he was upset by the first minister's
open threat - the beautiful yacht clearly aggravated some people. However
strange it may sound, Shavash was upset due to totally different reasons. In
any case, in the absolute quietude of his office equipped with a dozen
counter-tapping devices, he allowed himself to wrap his hands around his
head and quietly utter,
"What are they doing? Do these fuckers understand what they are doing?"
He turned the office speaker on and ordered. "Daren! Could you find
Stephen Sigel for me, quickly?"
Stephen Sigel was a representative of Naren and Lissa Joint Bank, the
twelfth largest bank in this Galaxy sector; he had showed up on Weia a week
ago hoping to start joint projects.
Stephen Sigel appeared in the first finance vice-minister's office in
two hours.
"Mr. Sigel," Shavash rushed head-on, "the Weian government would like
to obtain a seventy million galactic dinar loan immediately from the Naren
and Lissa Joint Bank for six months at a nineteen percent interest. Could we
do it?"
Stephen Sigel swallowed. 19% interest was a very sweat deal. The
Federation bonds had 7% interest rate, the Earth Bonds - 7.5%. Though, the
Weian Empire finances were, no doubt, in a way worse state than the Earth's
finances, the bank would've considered 16% to be quite a decent number.
"Yes," Stephen Sigel said.
"Great," the official replied, "the credit agreement will be signed one
hour after one half of a percent from the loan appears on my table, in an
envelope."
Next morning, one hour before the government meeting, the first
vice-minister of finance Shavash put on the first minister Yanik's table the
credit agreement with the Naren and Lissa Joint Bank.
"Here is your seventy million," he said, "I assume there is no point
including it in the budget revenue. The money is allocated as an
out-of-budget industry support fund.
He turned away and left the office.
"He is such an incredibly deft man," the touched first minister
thought, "How has he managed to procure money so quickly?"
Of course, the first minister understood vaguely that there was some
connection between Shavash's ability to obtain galactic credits quickly and
his buying trinkets like a private space yacht. On the other hand, the first
minister enjoyed the thought that the money Shavash grabbed on this deal,
paled next to the rake-off his twice removed grandson would make buying the
galactic equipment for his company from the front intermediaries at doubled
prices.
The same day, when the budget problems for the Galaxy's fourth largest
aluminum facility were happily solved, McCormick, Welsey, and Bemish drove
to another construction - also state-owned and also humongous.
Halfway to their destination, they almost drowned in a huge pothole -
the road started again in seven meters after the rut. An oldster, living
nearby, gathered the people and they dragged the jeep across the pothole on
a sledge. They charged so little that Bemish even relinquished his
suspicions about the old guy digging the hole himself to make money on it.
Later Bemish learned that two districts joined at that point and their heads
could not agree on who would fix the pothole.
At the ruins, Bemish felt such sadness as he had never felt in his life
before - from the inconceivable waste of nature and construction equipment.
The black gate on the landing field lonely stuck out on the blue sky
background like a victory arch, it was decorated by various appeals to gods
and demons. Ponds, yellow and round like owl eyes, bloomed in the landing
chutes. The giant overpass had fallen apart, grass and flowers grew on the
poles and the blocks, ants dashed back and forth on the road designed for
multi-ton trucks.
An even and incredibly thorny hedge with little blue flowers and half
inch barbs covered exactly half the space field making it look like a forest
surrounding the Sleeping Beauty's castle. Alas, the thorns didn't disappear
with Bemish's arrival.
The spaceport administration wing was cleaved at the first floor level
and an elevator chute pointed right in the sky. There was no way, somebody
could work here but Bemish remembered clearly an office expenditures entree
in a company report and it was about this building. There was something
horrifying in this place that ceased to be a part of nature but didn't
become a part of the industrial world.
"However, the construction' expenses will be twice lower here," Bemish
noted.
The sun was hurrying up to noon, when Bemish and McCormick left the
building for a small bamboo grove rattling in the background of the bright
stainless steel hangar. Bemish saw that they were not the only ones here - a
helicopter stood on the fanned out paws behind the bamboo grove and the
wind, raised by its wings, entangled gentle green grass stuck to the landing
field. Bemish walked down to the helicopter. Under its belly, a man, in
washed out jeans, laid out a napkin and was eating a ham sandwich. Having
recognized Giles from IC, Bemish smirked. Another man stood nearby, petting
on the back a red horse with white stockings - Kissur.
"Good day," Bemish said, approaching. "Did you fly in together?"
"No," Kissur said, "I am riding."
And he pointed to the side, where two more riders were circling -
Khanadar the Dried Date and a servant.
"Did you ride here from the capital?" Welsey was shocked.
"I have friends nearby, and they have a private airport," Kissur
explained.
"Yeah, they know how to build here," Welsey said, "they juiced five
billions in and nobody even mows the hay down. Why don't they, do you have
any idea?"
"They are afraid of ghosts," Bemish supposed.
"Exactly right," Kissur said, "Do you know how a witch gets born?"
None of the Earthmen was a witch genesis specialist and Kissur
explained.
Sometimes, a temple or even a simple house is built at a road
intersection and then the world changes its masters, the temple gets
forgotten or a house owner moves away, God knows where to. The house cries,
grows older, grass grows on the roof and a hat of moss covers the gate
poles. Water starts to cut doodles and lines on the pole and a crow builds a
nest there. In the evening, the locals get frightened passing by the pole -
they think, somebody is standing guard in the dark. The fear grows into the
pole, covers its features and seeps in its soul. The pole's soul gets born
of fear and wind, it starts to watch the moon and walk in the rain and slush
- that's how a pole witch appears.
Kissur pointed at the wide open gate on the summer field and added.
"Who knows, maybe these poles also stroll around at night?"
Giles chortled. Kissur turned to Bemish and asked.
"So, does it cost a lot?"
"You should ask McCormick," Bemish replied. "I am not a specialist
here. My field is finance."
"They abandoned the construction to sell it cheaper afterwards,"
McCormick said. "They built it for a while and abandoned in three years."
"Why was it exactly three years?" Kissur wondered.
"Because, accordingly to your laws, a start-up company is salary
tax-exempt and can import equipment with half the custom tariffs for three
years," Bemish replied.
"Ahh," ex-minister drawled, "and whom are they going to sell it to?"
"Not to me," Bemish noted.
Kissur turned around and stared at Giles. The IC representative feigned
a yawn.
"It's time to go," Giles claimed. "I can give a ride to the capital to
anybody except the jeep."
"Terence will stay here," Kissur said. "We will ride horses together."
Kissur nodded to one of his companions and he jumped of the horse. They
walked the horse closer to Bemish and he stared in a large brown eye. The
horse chewed on its mouthpiece and her sides rose and lowered. The horse
entwined with bands instead of a basket.
"Let Mr. Bemish accept these trifles from Mr. Ranik and a portal to the
heaven open in his soul, " the messenger said.
Welsey put the casket on the bed and noticed something leaking from the
basket. He hurried to the basket. Right then, wet and sad from the hangover
Bemish looked out of the shower. The phone rang and somebody knocked in the
door the same moment.
"Come in," Bemish said and picked up the receiver.
"Yes."
"Mr. Bemish," a soft caressing voice said in the receiver, "it's
Shavash speaking, vice-minister of finance. I would be happy if you could
visit me at 2pm."
"Of course, " Bemish said and put the receiver down. The door slid
open.
"Let me introduce you, Welsey, " Bemish said, "to Kissur. Kissur, this
is Welsey. As I have told you before, he is represents LSV bank here."
Kissur and Welsey looked at each other. Kissur saw a skinny young
Earthman with a face white and round like a headache pill. Welsey saw a
blue-eyed rascal, a bit above thirty, with a real golden chain on his neck
descending all the way down to the belt on the narrow washed down jeans. In
the open shirt neck there was a tattoo - a bird of prey crossed by a pink
scar. Welsey learned later that this was a falcon and this way of tattooing
was an old custom of the barbarian aloms. If they cut a war chief head off
in a battle and undressed him, how else would it be possible to recognize
the body?
Kissur looked at Welsey and said,
"Listen, Terence, you want to buy the spaceport but what is this
whey-faced fish doing here?"
"I explained it to you," Bemish replied, "I don't have money. LSV gets
money for me."
"Will they loan it to you?"
"They will underwrite the bonds."
Kissur pondered it and asked then,
"What interest do these usurers charge you?"
"The interest on the bonds will be sixteen percent."
"Why is it so expensive?" Kissur was aggravated.
"Because there is no collateral," Welsey gave voice, "if the company
goes bankrupt, it won't have any property it could sell off to cover the
debts."
"Shut up, leech," Kissur recoiled, "nobody is asking you. By the
sovereign Irshakhchan laws, usurers were boiled in oil and the Golden
Sovereign forbade interest rates higher than 3%"
"What was the inflation rate at the Golden Sovereign?" Welsey inquired.
"I don't know what the heck the inflation is," Kissur declared, "but I
do know that the Golden Sovereign would hang the first official, who tried
to arrange it, so high that nobody would even dream of it afterwards."
Welsey kept a shocked silence.
"Well, let's go? Kissur told Bemish.
"Stephen?"
"I would rather take a nap," Welsey uttered nervously - he didn't want
to get himself deeper in a capital market discussion with Kissur.
In a moment, Kissur and Bemish were downstairs, missing another basket
of gifts on the way.
They got in a car and Kissur dished out a wad of money to Bemish.
Bemish was dumbfounded,
"What the heck?!"
"We, " Kissur said, "are going to Mr. Ireda. The man was nice to you -
you should express your gratitude."
"But..." Bemish started.
They arrived to Ireda's palace in half an hour and gave him money.
Ireda's palace was located right next to the sovereign's palace wall.
The wall was huge and thick; wooden silvered geese stood on the top lowering
their heads and looked down with disapproval. Coolness flowed from the
yawning gate in the middle of the wall oozed like from a well and all the
space in front of the gates was crammed with multi-hued cars.
"The Gate of the Barbarians," Kissur said.
"Eh?"
"In the ancient times, there were four gates facing four sides of the
world.the Gate of the Emperor's Paramount Appearance, the Gate of the
Officials, the Gate of the Commoners, and the Gate of the Barbarians. Dumb
illiterate chiefs in loincloths entered the palace through the Gate of the
Barbarians. I was ten year old when they brought me to the palace via the
Barbarians Gate and all my friends teased me and laughed at me."
Kissur was silent for a moment.
"Now, only Earthmen enter the palace through the Barbarian Gate."
Their car was slowly crawling by a colorful crowd of parked vehicles.
"What about the present sovereign? How did he feel when our presence
ended the war?"
"An insignificant Emperor's subject does not dare to consider his
sovereign's thoughts," Kissur answered. Bemish jerked.
"What about you?"
"I was quite impressed," Kissur answered after a pause.
Bemish couldn't help but smile - during the day that Kissur first met
the Earthmen, he called them vultures, hijacked a military plane and, having
massacred the rebel camp, finished the civil war.
"What impressed you? Our weapons?"
"No, your weapons didn't faze me. I thought that in six months our
sovereign would buy the same stuff, maybe slightly older and cheaper. Then,
I saw the houses your commoners reside in and the vehicles they drive and I
thought that there was no way our sovereign would buy our people the same
houses and cars either in six or in sixty months.
"Haven't anything shocked you?" Bemish asked, "our pop culture, our
commercials... A lot of people say that Earthmen have too much material life
and not enough existence. They use Weia as an example."
"If somebody is unhappy, they can visit us. I 'll send them to my Iniss
mines and they will have a lot of ... existence."
He grinned and added,"
"Good-bye for now, Terrence. I need to go to the palace and it's time
for your visit to Shavash."
Bemish appeared at Shavash's place right on time.
Mr. Shavash received the Earthman in the Red Office.
The host and the visitor bowed each other ceremoniously. A polite
servant poured tea in the porcelain cups and disappeared behind the
gold-gilded doors. Bemish noticed no paintings drawn and signed by the
Emperor hanging on the office walls, otherwise decorated with the utmost
grace. Bemish didn't know yet that a roll signed and bequested by the
Emperor costs more than a rank and a title, and that Shavash offered half a
million to the Emperor's suckling brother, Ishim, to persuade the sovereign
Varnazd to bequest him a gift. Ishim, however, had to return the money -
somehow, the sovereign did not like Shavash.
"I am very grateful to you," Bemish mentioned at the desert, "that you
signed all these papers yesterday and agreed to help me."
Shavash smiled gently,
"Verily, everybody at the court can only talk about your great success.
How can such an insignificant person as me, assist you with anything."
Bemish lowered his eyes.
"Are you and Kissur old friends?"
"We met just before the end of the civil war."
"Where?"
"In a duel," Shavash said calmly, "Kissur rushed at me with a sword and
I shot at him with a revolver."
Bemish thought for a moment and wondered
"What revolver? The Earthmen hadn't..."
"It's a long story," Shavash waved his hand, "and a revolver was
jury-rigged."
"What happened then?"
I almost missed and Kissur's friends charged at me and started to teach
me how to conduct duels. Then, they tied me to a rope and dragged me all the
way through the city. My back and ribs were broken... Then, the Earthmen
appeared and managed to heal me. I've been limping slightly since. And my
hand...
Bemish noticed a while ago that Shavash was holding the cup with the
left hand while his right palm was shriveled and the fingers were slightly
twisted.
"What were you fighting about?"
"A woman. Lady Idari, Kissur's main wife had been my fiancee before
Kissur became the first minister and I became a roadside pebble. Kissur
arrested a man that I owed my carreer to and obtained his position and my
fiancee."
Shavash suddenly followed Bemish's glance and hid the right hand under
the table, but Bemish managed to notice his twisted fingers shaking.
"Now we are married to two sisters. My wife is the Lady Idary's younger
sister."
"Why is he telling me this?" Bemish was horrified.
Shavash put a peach morsel, soaked in honey, in his mouth and said
after a brief hesitation,
"Mr. Bemish! I would like to warn you as a friend. Kissur is the
sovereign's favorite. He can obstruct you easily, but he can't really help
you. A lot of officials hate Kissur for being Kissur. For the disdain Kissur
has towards bribers and entrepreneurs, while he lives by the sovereign's
benefactions. For the Kissur's opinion that no fortune is more disgraceful
than a merchant's profit. For the feasts he throws for the people; for the
zealots and heretics calling him the sovereign Irshakhchan reborn... Mr.
Inada promised to roll Iniss carpet under your car's wheels when a friend of
Kissur visits his villa... Mr. Inada will roll Iniss carpet under your
wheels and he will plant a plastic bomb under the Iniss carpet. The
offiicials will be signing your papers and playing foul behind your back.
Kissur will praise you to the sovereign - they will prove to the sovereign
that Kissur is mistaken. My advice to you is to keep your distance from him.
Bemish chewed on his lip.
"Mr. Shavash," he said, "I would like to remind you that if LSV is
interested in acquiring your company, we will just buy it at an open-access
auction. I guarrantee you that we will offer higher price that IC will, and
that nobody will be able to kick us out of the auction due to some invented
technicalities. Regarding the access to the financial documentation, I am
sure that without Kissur I would have spend two more years obtaining it and
I know probably the reasons for it. Also, if I may advise you, when you fake
the reports, pay more attention to secondary indicators. You know, it's
impossible that the construction rate increased by 300% while the energy
consumption stayed the same.
The official was silent for a moment and he closed his eyes.
"Of course. Good-bye, Mr. Bemish, and I wish you the best luck."
Bemish has barely driven through the Shavash's mansion gates, when a
white limousine, long like a sturgeon, slid a millimeter away from him.
Kissur's stuck his head out of the window and waved a hand. Bemish will-less
swerved to the curb. They got out of the cars and embraced.
"Let's go drive," Kissur demanded.
Bemish glanced at his Urun indecisively.
Kissur clicked his tongue - a small servant in linen pants got out of
the back seat. Kissur pointed a finger at him.
"Give him the keys and he return the car." Bemish gave him the keys and
sat next to Kissur.
"There is a great pub nearby," Kissur said, "let's go there."
The pub was low and damp; a fountain splashed in the middle of a
octagonal yard. Next to the fountain, a flat dancing god stood, with an
colossal-sized penis and four breasts. The god was generally naked except
for a huge advertisement boards covering him on three sides. The ad called
to buy 3D-sets by the Corund company.
A nimble chief appeared next to Kissur and placed a great grilled
goose, sprinkled with lime juice and covered with a golden crust, and a palm
wine jar in front of the guests. Kissur noticed that Bemish was ogling the
god and asked the host,
"How much did they pay you for putting the boards up?"
"Two."
"Here is four. Go and scrape this offal away." Bemish lowered his eyes.
He felt crappy after the yesterday's binge, he didn't eat anything at
Shavash's place - he couldn't even look at the goose! What should he do now?
Bemish realized that, when Shavash mentioned the offiicials hating Kissur,
he meant himself first of all - that's why he told Bemish about his fiancee
and his shriveled hand... Should he tell Kissur that his brother-in-law
hates him? But they are friends. It would look like an Earthman dropped by,
did some fishing with Kissur and quickly contrived to sow a discord between
him and his brother-in-law. Should he not say anything? What if Kissur
considers Shavash his friend and will be snared sooner or later?
Though, Kissur is hardly all that innocent. Bemish remembered how,
despite being totally stoned, he was shocked by one of the Khanadar's songs
about a battle with Akol people. A local tribal king dispatched his brother
and other highly placed war chiefs to Kissur asking him not to attack the
tribe. Kissur said, "So it will be," and showered the envoys with the gifts
way more luxurous than customary. They couldn't refuse the gifts, of course,
without insulting the Empire's most powerful military commander. So, they
returned to the king and Kissur sent them letters in such a way that the
king intercepted them. Kissur reminded in the letters that he promised not
to touch their land in exchange for their king's head and he asked them when
they were going to fulfill their part of agreement. The rich gifts were
presented as a bribe for the king's head. The king, naturally, ordered the
butchering of his brother and war chiefs, beheading the army leadership and
arousing the tribe's discontent. After that, it took Kissur two days to
finish him off.
And even though everybody agreed that Kissur was not even close to
deceased Arfarra with the tricks of this sort - he still didn't resemble a
guileless lamb.
Kissur, meanwhile, poured wine in the cups, covered them with the
lacquered tops with straws going through, and offered Bemish a cup.
"You are driving," Bemish reminded him.
Kissur grasped the straw imperturably and, seemingly, gulped all the
wine in a minute. Anyway, he opened the cup immediately and started to pour
more wine.
"Why are you so sad?" Kissur asked, "was the bribe, Shavash demanded
from you, too large?"
"No. It's just that I've never found myself in such a position. I don't
know what to do."
"You are doing great," Kissur laughed, "you have already fleeced
Shavash for six million."
"What?" Bemish was astonished.
"Didn't you know? The IC company gave Shavash six million so that it
gets the spaceport. Shavash has to return money now as an honest briber."
"It's impossible," Bemish said, "the auction takes a precedence over
bribes."
"How do you know that it all depends on the auction?"
"I came here," Bemish said drily, "only after I had learned the
experts' names and met the other companies' representatives, for example,
Eseko. None of them had any difficulties obtaining a permission to
participate in the auction."
"What about you?"
Bemish got a bit embarrassed.
"Well... small officials wanted small gifts..."
"It has nothing to do with gifts," Kissur said, "IC paid Shavash six
million dollars so that not a single company, that could really compete with
it, took part in the auction. This Eseko of yours could get all the
permissions with no sweat, while you and some other folks were blacklisted."
"Shavash is really afraid this Trevis of yours. He is nervous that
Trevish will devour him whole."
"What's he raving about?" a thought passed Bemish's mind. "Where could
this IC, a small and practically unknown company, scrape up such a bribe?
And why? It's local mythology and tabloids."
"I am sure," Bemish said, "that's you are not correct."
Kissur burst out laughing and waved his hands.
"Yeah! Shavash has already started digesting these six millions and -
kabloom! You get the company!"
Kissur laughed, happy with Shavash's failure.
"Hold on," Bemish exclaimed, "firstly, I didn't get the company, I just
obtained a permission to take part in the auction. Secondly..."
Bemish wanted to say that, secondly, he wasn't all that hot about
quarrelling with Shavash...
"But you will win the auction!"
"If my offer is better than the others,"
Here, Kissur slid his hand in the pocket and pulled out, to Bemish's
astonishment, a small white box.
"What is it," Bemish asked.
"It's a plasma bomb," Kissur answered, taking it amiss that the
Earthman has never seen such a commonplace invention of his own culture."
"What?!! Why?!!!"
"Why what? We'll leave it under the IC representative's door and, if he
doesn't get out of the planet then, we'll stick it under his pillow."
Bemish was dumbfounded for a while and, then, he said drily,
"I will not do that."
"Why? Are you afraid to get bagged?"
"Kissur, listen," the Earthman asked, "is it true that you engaged in a
personal combat during your wars, with the enemy's commanders before the
battles."
"So?"
"Why wouldn't you, during the fight, order your archers to shoot your
opponent?
"Are you nuts?" Kissur was astounded, "all my troops would abandon me
after such a base trick."
"Was it the only reason?"
Kissur lowered his eyes. Of course, it was not the only reason.
Bemish sighed,
"You know, Kissur, we grew up in different worlds and, if I was a
military commander, I wouldn't engage in a personal combat before a battle.
But, when I participate in an investment auction, I will not slip a bomb to
my opponent. You should have some decency."
"I've always thought, " Kissur said, "that, when money comes into play,
there is no place for decency."
"It may be true on Weia," Bemish said, "but it's not true on Earth."
Kissur put the bomb back in his pocket as casually as a pack of
cigarettes.
The Third Chapter
Where Kissur opens the Emperor's eyes to a foreign briber while Terence
Bemish received a gift of a luxury villa.
The next morning, Kissur was desperately bored. He called Bemish but
Bemish was running around somewhere like a chicken with his head cut off.
Kissur could find him but what was the point? The man is rushing from one
office to another - you can screw a slut together - but bribing an official
is a private matter; why would Bemish need Kissur as a witness? The other
guy, Welsey, said that tomorrow they would go to the spaceport.
Kissur beat a servant with no reason - Kissur didn't beat him really,
he just pushed him a bit, but the servant slammed into a bronze vase and
hurt himself badly with the vase. Kissur ate goose and marinated liver
pirogi for breakfast and went to a pub and, after that, to the
fortune-tellers. All the damned fortune-tellers were familiar, however, with
the sovereign favorite's mug and Kissur didn't learn anything interesting.
Finally, Kissur returned home, undressed and dived in a huge pond,
inlaid with heavily veined Chakhar marble and surrounded by blooming trees,
with an altar in the Western Gazebo hanging over the water.
Kissur was leisurely swimming in the pond, when a faraway car rustled
behind the carved lattice. A door banged, voices clamored excitedly, a man
from the car evidently shook the servants off and stomped down the garden
path.
Kissur dived. When he got to the surface, shining leather shoes stood
on the pond's marble edge. Excellent quality grey pants ascended above the
shoes.
"Ok, how much do you want?"
Kissur raised his head - an unfamiliar Earthman, with a red and round,
like a street light, face stood in front of him. The Earthman's eyes were
crazed and his chin stuck out aggressively.
"How much do you need?" the Earthman repeated. Kissur got out of water
unhurriedly and shook himself like a dog. The water drops from his blond
hair splashed the Earthman's expensive suit. The Earthman was clearly
uncomfortable - Kissur bathed naked, out of an old Alom habit, and he didn't
even try to cover himself with a towel, demonstrating his contempt for the
visitor.
"Who are you?" Kissur asked, "And what has happened to you?"
"You know perfectly well who I am!"
Having planted his feet against the pond's marble edge, Kissur moved
his bare toes. Reddish Weian sun danced on Kissur's wet hair and on the
water drops stuck in the cracks between his powerful muscles.
"Ok. My name is Kaminsky. Five months ago, I bought the land and they
promised me to classify it as industrial zoning. I started to build a
garbage processing plant. Now, thanks to the complaint you filed to the
sovereign, it is classified as business zoning. If I want to keep this land,
I have to pay the difference in price - two hundred million. If I don't want
to pay the difference, I can get my money back and the land will be resold."
"What's my part here?"
"Khanida demanded one million and three hundred thousand more; how much
do you need?"
"I don't sell my country."
Kaminsky burst out laughing. His stout face shook - he was probably
starting to get hysterical. He stuck his fat finger at Kissur.
"All Weian officials can be bought and they can be bought at a
clearance price. I have never seen people who want to sell so much of their
motherland at such a low price."
Kissur paled and his eyes narrowed a bit.
"These words," Kissur said, "are not like the land in Godfather's Dale.
You will pay full price for these words."
Kaminsky burst out laughing and he suddenly pulled out a large
crocodile skin wallet.
"Of course," he said. "I'll pay. How much should it be per word? Will
ten thousand be enough? Just don't tell anybody, please, that I pay money
for every spit or people will be waiting in line to spit at me..."
Kissur grabbed the Earthman by his broad tie with one hand and twisted
his arm and pulled him towards himself with the other. The Earthman flipped
over in the air, drew an arc and, with a thundering splash, landed in the
pond. Kissur wrapped a towel around himself and, not interested in the
least, whether or not his pestering visitor drowned, walked to the house.
Bemish spent all night studying the company reports (clearly
fabricated) and he spent all day dashing around the precincts.
He spoke to Earth three times. They told him that Werner McCormick, the
LSV expert on industrial construction, would arrive at the spaceport, next
to the capital, in the evening.
At three o'clock, Bemish drove to DJ Securities. One of the best broker
firms in the Empire resided in a tiny place in a distinguished neighborhood.
It was located in the palace pavilion's western wing - previously the
building had housed the Cheese Bureau. All these bureaus were dissolved,
along with the palace administration that used to duplicate the state
apparatus. The Earthmen moved in the former palace officials' pavilions. The
small building, crammed with super modern hardware, greeted Bemish with
wondrous flower smells and a silver fox snout jutting out of the bushes.
The broker, he came to talk to, was a fat young man with eyes, merrily
jumping, like the numbers on a money counter display, and smooth golden
skin. His name was Alexander Krasnov.
Krasnov led Bemish to an office, closed the window facing the garden,
turned the air conditioning on, and they started to talk about Assalah. The
approaching investment auction rumors slightly raised the Assalah shares'
prices. Almost nobody was, however, willing to sell them. The Assalah stocks
could still be considered non-liquid assets - the difference between the
buying and selling price had reached 20%.
Bemish was greatly impressed with the fine emanations of success,
coming from the small office, excellent employees' cars and cute long-legged
secretaries.
Before coming to Weia, Bemish had carefully studied various Weian
companies' conditions and prospects; he had chosen Assalah and acquired in
advance quite a significant block of shares- more than 80% of the stocks had
been acquired through Krasnov. These were bearer stocks, but an owner of a
block of shares larger than 5% was supposed to register. Bemish currently
owned 6% of the Assalah shares but he had not intention of declaring it.
Bemish and Krasnov discussed their financial dealings and, then, the
young broker plunged into his reminiscences of the Weian securities'
fabulous cheapness. The brokers had literally paid cents buying securities
but it would not happen again unless the "Followers of the Path" gained
power.
"It was such a margin," Krasnov described. "Imagine, they sold stocks
for a rice vodka crock. Do you know how much I paid for twenty seven
thousand shares of Ossoriy nickel concession? A vodka barrel for the village
and a Hershey chocolate bar! Do you know how much I sold them for? I sold
them for four hundred thousand dinars!"
Bemish grinned, "How much did you pay the peasants for the Assalah
shares?"
The broker was silent, pondering. Then he did something unexpected. He
started to undress. He took off his jacket and wide wine colored tie; then,
he took off a fashionable shirt with a vertical collar and turned his back
towards Bemish. Horrified Bemish loudly exhaled. The Krasnov's back was
covered with pale, but still noticeable pink welts, from the neck to the
tailbone.
Krasnov put the shirt on and coolly explained.
"When I arrived in Assalah, a local official met me. "Broker?" -
"Broker." - "Buying stocks?" - "Yes." - "Let's get to the precinct, I'll
weigh you the goods." We came to the precinct, and he put me in a manure pit
overnight, gave orders to whip me with a whip soaked in brine, and told me,
"I wouldn't like to see you in Assalah again."
"Oh, my God!"
"By the way, he kindly explained his actions to me. He claimed that the
people are like children, selling stocks for a vodka crock, and the
officials should take care of the people's welfare. While he is alive, not a
single foreign hyena will dare show its face in Assalah. Not that I couldn't
appreciate his welcome, really. You know, I hadn't been whipped with a
brined whip before."
"Haven't you sued him for the whipping?" Bemish wondered.
But Krasnov just looked at him in such a way that Bemish realized what
a stupid thing he just blurted out.
Having returned to the hotel, Bemish felt hungry and ambled to the
restaurant. Galactic dinar prices were the only civilized part of the
restaurant. Bemish randomly tapped couple of entries. In a moment, the
waiter brought him a full bowl of steaming soup with dumplings, several
small plates with appetizers and an object that reminded belatedly to Bemish
about the locals' favorite - dog meat burgers.
Bemish had just finished the appetizers, when a guy took a sit next to
him. Bemish raised his eyes - it was a middling tall man with stern eyes,
transparent like gasoline, and with a body that local peasants described as
"a really inept god hewed him out." However, upon more careful inspection,
the guy's face didn't go together with the overall crude image - it was
hard, as if made from the twisted together wires.
"Good day, Mr. Bemish," the man said, "My name is Robert Giles. I
represent IC company - you know, we are participating in the Assalah
spaceport investment auction.
"What a coincidence," Bemish said, "I am participating also in it."
"But you are not in good standing with Mr. Shavash."
"It's not a reason for disappointment."
"I recommend you, Mr. Bemish, to leave this planet before they kick you
out of here."
"And I recommend you to get out of this table before I bathe you in my
soup."
"Believe me, Mr. Bemish. A company's hostile takeover is intended for a
civilized country. While, if you try to buy a local company, when its
director doesn't want it... do you know that this director has his own
jail?"
"I know," Bemish said, "that this director can be dismissed by the
sovereign if somebody close to the sovereign proves that this director
doesn't act in the company's best interest. Have you heard what happened to
Joseph Kaminsky thanks to Kissur? Have I made myself clear?"
"Quite. So, Kissur stands behind you and Shavash stands behind me. Who
will flatten whom into the ground?"
Here, the waiter brought Bemish the dessert and, elongating his neck,
inquired Giles if he liked to order anything.
"No," Giles said, "I am leaving. And if you, Mr. Bemish, knew the local
cuisine well, you wouldn't have ordered a guinea pig burger."
Kissur spent the rest of the day with Khanadar, the Dried Date, and a
couple of close friends in the pubs. Kissur lost twenty thousand in dice and
he didn't really drink much, though he did thwack somebody's mug. In the
evening, Kissur got in his car and drove to Shavash.
Shavash was in the Cloud Gazebo and he had an Earthman as a visitor.
The Earthman had to be a close enough associate because, firstly,
Shavash received him in the gazebo for the Weian guests and, secondly, two
beautiful girls were also there. They were more undressed than dressed; one
girl sat on the Earthman's knees and another one, breathing zestfully,
licked that particular object sticking its bloated head out of Shavash's
unzipped pants. Shavash reclined, leaning backward, on the carpet and his
jacket and shirt sprawled nearby. The table was filled with appetizers and
fruits - the friends had finished the business part were starting to relax.
The Earthman shook the wench off and got up.
"Robert Giles," Shavash said, "the IC representative."
Kissur silently took the Earthman's chair and sat astride it.
"I guess, I should go," the Earthman said, glancing at the girl
regretfully."
"Go," Kissur said, "these girls cost five isheviks per pair next to
Trans-Gal, don't be greedy."
The Earthman left. Shavash pulled the girl on himself, half closing his
eyes, and the girl mounted him. Shavash breathed heavily and greedily.
"Lie on your back," he told the girl. She followed the command
obediently.
Kissur waited till Shavash came.
"Why don't you go, bring a jar of Inissa wine," Kissur told the girls.
"Both of you."
The girls left the gazebo. Shavash lay on the carpet groping for the
shirt with his hand.
"Everybody, like, is running around with this spaceport," Kissur said,
"and they all run to you."
"I am the company director."
"Who was the director before you?"
"A man named Rashar."
"Hey, wasn't he your secretary? So, at first you sent him to the
director's chair, and then to jail."
"You shouldn't steal," Shavash replied, "in busloads."
"Come on. He would give you away half a busload and you wanted three
quarters. You will waste the country, scoundrels."
Shavash finally buttoned up the shirt and pants, propped himself up and
poured a cup of wine.
"Kissur, one little tank trip of yours over the Coke plant cost more to
the country than everything I have ever stolen and I will ever steal."
"Why do you all fret so much about this stupid factory?" Kissur
exclaimed. "And Terence was just yakking about the same thing." Shavash
silently sucked on a straw.
"Whatever. Bemish will buy your company and make you all sweat."
"He will hardly buy the company," Shavash said. "Mr. Bemish often
acquires companies but I haven't heard him actually buying a single one."
"What do you mean?"
"Mr. Bemish is quite a good financier but he made his money the
following way. He would buy a company stocks threatening it by a takeover,
and then sell the shares back to the company at higher than market price.
It's called greenmail. He worked with very small companies in the beginning,
then, he switched to the larger ones but, then, they asked him to get out of
the civilized countries. He hasn't really broken any laws but they made it
clear for him and his boss that they should go out and have fun someplace
else."
"His boss?"
"His LSV boss. Ronald Trevis. Where do you think he got the greenmail
money? Trevis raised money for him and Bemish was just a cudgel. Did you see
a gentleman named Welsey, next to Bemish? This is Trevis - a morsel of
Trevis."
"I see," Kissur said.
"LSV is a cool company," Shavash continued, "They find people, ready to
get out of their own skins and skin the others to scrape together a dinar, a
crown and a dollar, and they set them at large companies. They are not
financiers - they are gangsters. They would be shot dead on our planet. They
were reproached elsewhere and they decided to move to the places with no
strict financial laws and a lot of under priced property."
Shavash was silent and, then, added,
"This rascal bought 7% of the Assalah shares through the dummy agents
and he has been buying them in small blocks for many months to not disturb
the market."
The girls came back with wine and one of them sat on Kissur's knees and
other one crawled to Shavash and started to touch him with her hands under
the shirt and Shavash laughed and put the wine glass on the table and
reclined on his back again.
The next day, the first vice-minister of finance Shavash stood in front
of the head of the government, old Mr. Yanik.
Mr. Yanik became first minister a year and a half ago after the death
of his predecessor's, a certain Mr. Arfarra. Everybody unanimously
considered Yanik to be a nonentity and a temporary replacement. Who cares
how to plug a hole as long as it doesn't leak? However, the nonentity clung
to his position way longer than many people who thought him to be a
temporary incident.
Yanik and Shavash belonged to different generations, and more
importantly, to different parties. Shavash occasionally expressed quite
loudly his opinion about Yanik while the latter occasionally and quite
loudly used the former, as an example to express his regret about the old
times when the overly rapacious officials would find themselves hanging on
all four palace gates - a quarter per gate.
"Make yourself familiar," Yanik said, handing Shavash a white plastic
folder.
Shavash opened the folder and concentrated on reading.
It was a construction project of a humongous aluminum complex in the
east of the Empire, in Tar'Salim, rich in alumina but poor in energy
resources. The construction consisted of the aluminum extraction and
processing facilities, two power plants - fission and magneto-hydrodynamic
ones, and a small plant making composite alloys for gravitonic engines.
The total construction estimated expenditure was two hundred million
galactic dinars. The company was naturally state-owned.
Shavash turned the last page and found what he was looking for - the
person nominated for the company general director position was Chanakka -
the first minister's twice removed grandson, an empty-headed and debased man
who had already failed at at least three projects. Cosmopolitan Shavash,
with his impeccable knowledge of the major Galactic languages and stylish
suits, especially loathed Chanakka's fanatical nationalism.
"This," the first minister said, "is an unquestionably important
project. No longer will we drag behind the Civilized Worlds. No other planet
has such a facility!"
Shavash thought that both Tranar and Dakia had the same facilities.
They, however, were not state-owned.
"In two year," the first minister said, "we will control the space
engines market! Your department has a week to budget seventy million dinars
for the primary equipment."
"We can't do that," Shavash said coolly.
"Why?"
"We don't have money. The officials in Chakhar haven't been paid since
last year."
Yanik looked at the finance vice-minister disapprovingly. Shavash was
too young. Yanik still remembered times when the words "We don't have money"
just didn't carry any meaning in Weian Empire. If money ran out, more of it
could always be printed. None of it influenced the prices, since the
merchandise prices were determined not by the amount of money in circulation
but by the Bill of Prices for goods and services.
"Mr. Shavash," Yanik asked, "what is your monthly salary?"
"It is three hundred isheviks," Your Eminence.
Is it true that your last toy, a private space yacht of the Emerald
class cost four hundred fifty thousand isheviks?"
"It was a friends' gift," the official smiled.
"Mr. Shavash," Yanik said, "Tas'Salim is the our country's most
important construction. We must find money for it. Otherwise, we will take
care of your yacht. Do you understand me?"
"Quite."
Shavash returned to his luxurious office sincerely upset. He snapped at
the secretary, flung a fashionable jacket on the chair's back, threw himself
in the armchair, and sat immobile for a while. Those, who knew Shavash
superficially, would be certain that he was upset by the first minister's
open threat - the beautiful yacht clearly aggravated some people. However
strange it may sound, Shavash was upset due to totally different reasons. In
any case, in the absolute quietude of his office equipped with a dozen
counter-tapping devices, he allowed himself to wrap his hands around his
head and quietly utter,
"What are they doing? Do these fuckers understand what they are doing?"
He turned the office speaker on and ordered. "Daren! Could you find
Stephen Sigel for me, quickly?"
Stephen Sigel was a representative of Naren and Lissa Joint Bank, the
twelfth largest bank in this Galaxy sector; he had showed up on Weia a week
ago hoping to start joint projects.
Stephen Sigel appeared in the first finance vice-minister's office in
two hours.
"Mr. Sigel," Shavash rushed head-on, "the Weian government would like
to obtain a seventy million galactic dinar loan immediately from the Naren
and Lissa Joint Bank for six months at a nineteen percent interest. Could we
do it?"
Stephen Sigel swallowed. 19% interest was a very sweat deal. The
Federation bonds had 7% interest rate, the Earth Bonds - 7.5%. Though, the
Weian Empire finances were, no doubt, in a way worse state than the Earth's
finances, the bank would've considered 16% to be quite a decent number.
"Yes," Stephen Sigel said.
"Great," the official replied, "the credit agreement will be signed one
hour after one half of a percent from the loan appears on my table, in an
envelope."
Next morning, one hour before the government meeting, the first
vice-minister of finance Shavash put on the first minister Yanik's table the
credit agreement with the Naren and Lissa Joint Bank.
"Here is your seventy million," he said, "I assume there is no point
including it in the budget revenue. The money is allocated as an
out-of-budget industry support fund.
He turned away and left the office.
"He is such an incredibly deft man," the touched first minister
thought, "How has he managed to procure money so quickly?"
Of course, the first minister understood vaguely that there was some
connection between Shavash's ability to obtain galactic credits quickly and
his buying trinkets like a private space yacht. On the other hand, the first
minister enjoyed the thought that the money Shavash grabbed on this deal,
paled next to the rake-off his twice removed grandson would make buying the
galactic equipment for his company from the front intermediaries at doubled
prices.
The same day, when the budget problems for the Galaxy's fourth largest
aluminum facility were happily solved, McCormick, Welsey, and Bemish drove
to another construction - also state-owned and also humongous.
Halfway to their destination, they almost drowned in a huge pothole -
the road started again in seven meters after the rut. An oldster, living
nearby, gathered the people and they dragged the jeep across the pothole on
a sledge. They charged so little that Bemish even relinquished his
suspicions about the old guy digging the hole himself to make money on it.
Later Bemish learned that two districts joined at that point and their heads
could not agree on who would fix the pothole.
At the ruins, Bemish felt such sadness as he had never felt in his life
before - from the inconceivable waste of nature and construction equipment.
The black gate on the landing field lonely stuck out on the blue sky
background like a victory arch, it was decorated by various appeals to gods
and demons. Ponds, yellow and round like owl eyes, bloomed in the landing
chutes. The giant overpass had fallen apart, grass and flowers grew on the
poles and the blocks, ants dashed back and forth on the road designed for
multi-ton trucks.
An even and incredibly thorny hedge with little blue flowers and half
inch barbs covered exactly half the space field making it look like a forest
surrounding the Sleeping Beauty's castle. Alas, the thorns didn't disappear
with Bemish's arrival.
The spaceport administration wing was cleaved at the first floor level
and an elevator chute pointed right in the sky. There was no way, somebody
could work here but Bemish remembered clearly an office expenditures entree
in a company report and it was about this building. There was something
horrifying in this place that ceased to be a part of nature but didn't
become a part of the industrial world.
"However, the construction' expenses will be twice lower here," Bemish
noted.
The sun was hurrying up to noon, when Bemish and McCormick left the
building for a small bamboo grove rattling in the background of the bright
stainless steel hangar. Bemish saw that they were not the only ones here - a
helicopter stood on the fanned out paws behind the bamboo grove and the
wind, raised by its wings, entangled gentle green grass stuck to the landing
field. Bemish walked down to the helicopter. Under its belly, a man, in
washed out jeans, laid out a napkin and was eating a ham sandwich. Having
recognized Giles from IC, Bemish smirked. Another man stood nearby, petting
on the back a red horse with white stockings - Kissur.
"Good day," Bemish said, approaching. "Did you fly in together?"
"No," Kissur said, "I am riding."
And he pointed to the side, where two more riders were circling -
Khanadar the Dried Date and a servant.
"Did you ride here from the capital?" Welsey was shocked.
"I have friends nearby, and they have a private airport," Kissur
explained.
"Yeah, they know how to build here," Welsey said, "they juiced five
billions in and nobody even mows the hay down. Why don't they, do you have
any idea?"
"They are afraid of ghosts," Bemish supposed.
"Exactly right," Kissur said, "Do you know how a witch gets born?"
None of the Earthmen was a witch genesis specialist and Kissur
explained.
Sometimes, a temple or even a simple house is built at a road
intersection and then the world changes its masters, the temple gets
forgotten or a house owner moves away, God knows where to. The house cries,
grows older, grass grows on the roof and a hat of moss covers the gate
poles. Water starts to cut doodles and lines on the pole and a crow builds a
nest there. In the evening, the locals get frightened passing by the pole -
they think, somebody is standing guard in the dark. The fear grows into the
pole, covers its features and seeps in its soul. The pole's soul gets born
of fear and wind, it starts to watch the moon and walk in the rain and slush
- that's how a pole witch appears.
Kissur pointed at the wide open gate on the summer field and added.
"Who knows, maybe these poles also stroll around at night?"
Giles chortled. Kissur turned to Bemish and asked.
"So, does it cost a lot?"
"You should ask McCormick," Bemish replied. "I am not a specialist
here. My field is finance."
"They abandoned the construction to sell it cheaper afterwards,"
McCormick said. "They built it for a while and abandoned in three years."
"Why was it exactly three years?" Kissur wondered.
"Because, accordingly to your laws, a start-up company is salary
tax-exempt and can import equipment with half the custom tariffs for three
years," Bemish replied.
"Ahh," ex-minister drawled, "and whom are they going to sell it to?"
"Not to me," Bemish noted.
Kissur turned around and stared at Giles. The IC representative feigned
a yawn.
"It's time to go," Giles claimed. "I can give a ride to the capital to
anybody except the jeep."
"Terence will stay here," Kissur said. "We will ride horses together."
Kissur nodded to one of his companions and he jumped of the horse. They
walked the horse closer to Bemish and he stared in a large brown eye. The
horse chewed on its mouthpiece and her sides rose and lowered. The horse