One of the musicians glowered first at the girl then at Etzwane, who decided to be discreet. He played tentative chords, and with increasing confidence joined the music. The theme was simple and played insistently again and again, but each time with a small alteration: the prolongation of a beat, a twanged note, a trifle of emphasis here or there. The musicians seemed to vie in producing the most subtle changes in the succession; and meanwhile the music became even more intense and compelling, and the dancers swirled, jerked arms, kicked, and stamped in the firelight… Etzwane began to wonder when the music would stop, and how. The others would know the signal; they would try to catch him napping, so that when he played on alone he would seem ridiculous: an ancient prank to work upon the stranger. All would know when the tune should end; there would be a side-glance, a raised elbow, a hiss, a shift of position… The signal came; Etzwane felt its presence. As he had expected, the music stopped short; he instantly broke into a variation in a different mode, a pulsing statement even more compelling than the first theme, and presently the musicians, some grinning, some with wry winces, again joined the music… Etzwane laughed and bent over the instrument, which now had become familiar, and began to produce runs and trills… The music at last halted. The girl came to sit beside Etzwane and proffered the flask of spirit. Etzwane drank and, putting' down the flask, asked, "What is your name?"

"I am Rune the Willow Wand, of the Pelican fetish. Who are you?"

"My name is Gastel Etzwane. In Shant we do not reckon our clans or fetishes, only our canton. And, as it used to be, the colors of our torc, which now we wear no more."

In different lands are different customs," agreed the girl. "Sometimes it is puzzling. Over the Orgai and along the Botgarsk River live the Shada, who cut off a girl's ears if she so much as speaks to a man. Is this the custom of Shant?"

"Not at all," said Etzwane. "Among the Alula are you allowed to speak to strangers?"

"Yes, indeed; we obey our own inclinations in such matters; and why should we not? " She tilted her head and gave Etzwane a candid inspection. "You are of a race thinner and keener than ours. You have what we call the aersk [8] look."

Etzwane was not displeased by the flattery. The girl apparently was somewhat wayward and wanted to enlarge her horizons by flirting with a strange young man. Etzwane, though of a wary disposition, was not unwilling to oblige her. He asked, "The musician yonder: he is not your betrothed?"

"Galgar the Wisk-weasel? Do I seem the sort who would consort with a man like Galgar?"

"Of course not. I notice also that he keeps poor time in his music, which indicates a deficient personality."

"You are amazingly perceptive," said Rune the Willow Wand. She moved closer; Etzwane smelled the tree-balsam she used as a scent. She spoke in a soft voice, "Do you like my cap?"

"Yes, of course," said Etzwane, puzzled by the lack of sequence in the girl's remarks. "Although it seems about to fall off your head."

Ifness had come to sit by the fire. He now raised an admonitory finger, and Etzwane went to learn his requirements. "A word of caution," said Ifness.

"Unnecessary. I am more than cautious; I look in all directions at once."

"Just so, just so. Remember that in the Alula camp we are subject to their laws. Fabrache tells me that the Alula women can assert a marital connection with some simplicity. Do you notice how certain of the maidens wear their caps askew? If a man removes the cap or so much as sets it straight, he is held to have disarranged her intimate apparel, and if she raises an outcry, the two must marry."

Etzwane looked through the dying firelight toward Rune the Willow Wand. "The caps are precariously placed… An interesting custom. " He slowly went to rejoin the girl. She asked, "What has that peculiar person been telling you?"

Etzwane cast about for a reply. "He noticed my interest in you; he warned me not to compromise myself or offend you by touching your garments. " Rune the Willow Wand smiled and cast a contemptuous glance toward Ifness. "What an old prig! But he need not fear! My three best friends have arranged to meet their lovers near the river and I agreed to walk with them, although I have no lover and will be wistful and lonely."

I advise you to walk some other night," said Etzwane. "Hozman Sore-throat prowls the vicinity; he is the arch-slaver of Caraz."

"Pff. Do you refer to the rogues who chased you hither? They rode north; they are gone. They would never dare molest the Alula."

Etzwane gave his head a skeptical shake. "If you are lonely, come talk to me yonder behind the wain where I have spread my blankets."

Rune the Willow Wand stood back, eyebrows arched in disdain. "I am not interested in such a graceless proceeding. To think that I considered you aersk. " She twitched her cap securely down on her head and sauntered away. Etzwane gave a rueful shrug and presently went to his blankets. For a period he watched the alien, who sat motionless in the shadows, showing only its outline and the soft glow of its single eye.

Etzwane felt somewhat reluctant to sleep with the alien so near at hand; after all, they knew nothing of its proclivities. But presently he drowsed… After a time he awoke uneasily, but the creature sat immobile, and Etzwane went back to sleep once more.

An hour before dawn a bellow of enormous rage jerked Etzwane from his slumber. He jumped to his feet to see a number of Alula warriors rushing forth from their wains. They spoke back and forth, then all dashed for their pacers, and presently Etzwane heard the thud of retreating hooves.

Fabrache had gone forth for information; he returned, dolefully wagging his head. "It's just as I warned them and they would not believe. Last night four maidens went to walk down by the river and never returned. Hozman Sore-throat is to blame. The Alula ride in vain, for once Hozman makes his pluck his victims are never seen again."

The riders returned disconsolate; they had cast about for tracks without success, and they had no ahulphs to follow the slave-taker's trail. The leader of the search party was the massive Karazan. He flung himself from the saddle and marched across the compound to confront Ifness. "Tell me where the slave-taker may be found, that we may either win back our flesh and blood or pull him apart with our bare hands."

Ifness indicated Fabrache. "My friend here, also a slaver, can provide information far more detailed and intimate than I."

Fabrache gave his beard a judicious tug. "I know nothing of Hozman Sore-throat, neither his race, nor his clan, nor his fetish. I can assure you of two facts only. First, he often visits Shagfe, to buy at the collecting station; and second, whoever Hozman takes is gone forever."

"That remains to be seen," said Karazan. "Where is Shagfer

"A day's journey to the east."

"We ride at once for Shagfe! Bring forth the pacers! "

"Our own destination is Shagfe," said Ifness. "We will ride in your company. " "Make haste," said the Alula. "Our mission will not be conducive to leisure or reverie."

Eighteen pacers loped across the Wild Waste, the riders slouched low, capes flapping over their shoulders. Shagfe appeared in the distance: a gray and black smudge upon the violet-gray background of hills and haze.

At sunset the riders pounded into Shagfe, to halt in a swirl of dust before the inn.

Baba looked through the door-hole, pale eyebrows in astounded arcs at the sight of the alien creature. The Alula descended and entered, with Ifness, Fabrache, Etzwane, and the silent black creature coming behind.

At the benches hunched the Kash Blue-worms, drunk and surly. At the sight of their tribal enemies, the Alula, they drew themselves up and muttered together. Fabrache spoke to Baba, "My friends here have, a bit of business with Hozman Sore-throat. Has he been seen today?"