He was surprised when George left the tent standing, but realized someone could come back for it after it had served as a decoy. They even left the packs, carrying only water and weapons. Remaining in close formation, they dodged through the trees, moving as quickly as they could without noise. Predators were quite unlikely this close to the city, but not impossible.
Still, it took quite a while to clear the forest. The trees gave way slowly to scrub, then tall grass as the slope rose ever so gently. George took the lead. It was nearly dawn when they reached a fenced animal yard. A few diminutive herd animals greeted them quietly near the fence, but not touching it. George said they called these things “goats” despite their stubby legs, rather like the coursers. They did have wicked twin horns, and Fortis wondered if they really needed the fence for protection.
George left him there to wonder about it, with the silent twins keeping watch. It was only a few minutes later he saw a slender figure darting across the crest of the hill. A bit later, he heard voices in jovial chatter, this time mostly Galactic. Around the corner of the fence came George with a fellow wearing a broad brimmed hat, an equally broad smile, and mostly green clothing. The usual bits of yellow and purple were there, of course.
George introduced Fortis, but ignored the twins. The man bowed low, calling himself simply Tom, making the usual offers. Fortis realized how very tired he was, and said so. “Now that you mention it, Tom, do you have a spare space under one of your awnings for a tired visitor from across the galaxy? I could use a nap myself.”
Turning to the twins, George said, “Boys, would you rather watch the fun?” They smilingly nodded. “Try the wind tower about a half-kilometer that way,” he pointed over the rolling grassy hills, splitting the difference between the direction they had come and where the girl had gone. They strode off, grinning.
Fortis remembered Tom and George continuing to chatter as they led toward the large tent, but little else. Once he dropped into the soft grassy pile under an awning, he was gone.
It was all too soon when he had to come back. There was a fresh lunch on a small folding table near him. He struggled to consciousness and didn’t even have to think about being hungry. The brightness of the sky told him it must be mid-day. George and Tom were laughing, and Fortis assumed it meant good news. Swallowing some cold fruity liquid, he waited for a break in the conversation. “How many were arrested?”
George guffawed, “The girl decided to stay and see the fireworks. Within just an hour, the Sheik’s bodyguard came back with a dozen. They added one more when someone on the chamberlain’s staff raised too much of fuss. They’ll sort it out eventually.” Then he got more serious. “Sadly, none of them match the description or our fake hunter.”
“Too smart to be caught?”
“Likely. Which means we have to promote him in our minds to ranger captain. Which would explain his slip, since that’s roughly equivalent to my rank, socially. It’s worth dispatching a few message birds to other parts of the island. Oh, how I wish I had had an excuse to capture his image.”
Fortis rather liked the rougher, darker bread, and guessed the farmer grew it himself. Fields nearby looked to him like grain stubble. It reminded him of George’s description of each city being confined to the size and population the land around it could carry. The mainstay of food, drink and waste removal had to be within a day’s walk. “Do you mean something like the proverbial carrier pigeons?”
George leaned back on a packed lump of dried grass. “A mechanical version of them, one of the results of our kite technology. Not quite so large as the bird you saw on your screen from space, but same idea, minus the radio. Computer navigation, tilting the wings to take advantage of the wind, carrying standard memory chips. It’s our primary means of communication here on Misty.”
George suddenly jumped to his feet and walked away. Fortis followed him with his eyes and caught a glimpse of the bright headbands worn by the twins. Then he saw they were lugging all the baggage, plus the cart, all smartly repacked. Impressive service, indeed! When they stopped near Tom and Fortis, George asked, “Ready to go? We have to go meet the Sheik.”
Fortis stood, then bowed in thanks to Tom. The farmer flushed red and got to his feet, bowing in return and to George. There was some cryptic exchange about meeting in the light, then George led the way on a path running over the crest of the nearest hill. Not far later, they came within sight of a tall structure of wood, with multiple windmills spinning next to a cluster of tents. Fortis could imagine the twins climbing this thing and sitting near the top. Apparently it offered good line of sight to where the old road they used came out of the forest.
George retold the story. “The local conspirators apparently met before dawn and broke into teams to search. When one bunch found the tent, they came back out and signaled with a lamp to whomever was directing the search. It took awhile to gather their whole force to attempt a capture. By the time they moved, it was daylight. The Bodyguard were alerted and simply went in after them.”
Fortis smiled tiredly. “So your skepticism about their ability to organize a response to surprises proved accurate. I’ll bet you knew the ranger would be able to follow us out of the village, too.”
“That merely confirmed the level of skills. Had we lost him, it would have been a wholly different situation. This confirms the two clans are in league with rogues, using them as proxies. We know what sorts of things they might be able and willing to do in the future. I’m glad you felt like playing along.”
Fortis thought for a second. “Your faith in God was infectious, and your faith in me was a further encouragement. So what does it mean to meet the Sheik? What do you suppose comes next?”
George hooked a thumb toward the twins walking easily behind them. “First order of business is to see these are properly rewarded. Perhaps full hunting licenses, fancier weapons they could never afford, other marks of favor. Certainly food for their return trip. Lord willing, we’ll see them again, and will surely need their help.”
“Good men, indeed,” Fortis agreed. “Tell me why you know Johnston is not part of the plot.”
George shook his head, laughing. “Sharp, my friend. First, they are an obvious target of suspicion, and someone has already tried to implicate them falsely. So the Sheik has been fastidiously transparent. Further, he has already promised severe and quick action against anyone found with sufficient evidence of involvement in the cabal. Those arrested today will be lucky to survive the night.”
Fortis’ eyes widened in surprise.
George went on. “Second, he’s a true mystic. We talk of sending missionaries, but the ostensible structure will be a foreign service academy. Where do you suppose it makes the most sense to build one?”
“Oh, I don’t know. How about Johnston Island?” Fortis tried out some sarcasm.
With even broader and more dramatic sarcasm, George responded. “Why, what a fine idea! But wait… we need someone to teach the fine cloistered Misty folks how to mingle as ambassadors with other cultures. Hmmm. I wonder if we know anyone familiar with the vast array of different cultures across the galaxy.”
Fortis turned bright red. “That would be me.”
“Glad you offered, Professor Plimick! You’ll make a great university founder.”
A few minutes later, as they began to see the tops of a huge number of tents over the tall grass, Fortis asked, “I suppose I may not see the rest of Misty, after all.”
George laughed heartily. “Don’t be silly! We will have to mount a very strong recruiting campaign. It means visiting every clan.” George looked about furtively, then with a dramatic stage whisper, “And maybe we can help discover who is doing all this sneaky stuff.”
Fortis took out his spooler and recorded some narrative.
