Chapter III

At his room, Jaro locked the door under the girl's suspicious eyes.

"If I were to listen to my better judgment," she remarked dryly, "I would leap out the window right now."

"And probably get sunstroke before you hit the street," he supplemented. "I'm hungry enough to eat a cow, hoofs, horns, and tail." He went to the telescreen and ordered dinners to be brought to the room.

"Am I going to spend the rest of my life here?" she asked.

"Heaven forbid."

Joan stood in the middle of the floor like a skater on thin ice. Jaro went over to the bed, sat down, lit a cigarette. He flipped the match out the window.

"Sit down," he said abruptly. "Unless, of course, you can rest on your feet like a horse."

Joan sank primly into a chair across from the bed. "What are we going to do?"

He shrugged. "We're in a spot. Albert Peet probably has another gunman after us by this time. We might have lost his men when we ducked out the back of that bar, but I doubt it. He has a very efficient spy system. Karfial Hodes' men have been tailing me since last night. Actually Miss Webb--uh--Joan--we're in a state of siege. There's something big afoot. So big they can't afford to let us escape."

Joan gulped, her eyes big as saucers. "But what do we know?"

"Well," he replied seriously; "we know first that Peet is hiring a bunch of gunmen to rub out Karfial Hodes--and incidentally, us."

"Us? What's incidental about that?" Joan interrupted vigorously. "Maybe you consider having gunmen take a pot shot at you incidental, but as far as I'm concerned it's the nub of the whole nasty business."

Jaro ignored the interruption. "Furthermore, we know that the Latonka Trust is almost on the rocks because the Earth Congress is about to grant the Mercurians their freedom. And this time Albert Peet and his combine haven't been able to block it. Not yet anyway."

"Don't forget the revolution," said Joan.

"I'm not. A revolution would burst open the Latonka Trust like a ripe watermelon. Peet would be lucky if he got away with his pants. But...."

A discreet knocking at the door interrupted him. Miss Webb clapped her hand to her mouth as if to stifle a scream.

"Don't open it," she hissed loud enough to be heard on the next floor.

Jaro drew his slug gun, threw off the latch, then with a swift cat-like movement yanked open the door.

Just outside stood a serving wagon loaded with food. The native waiter looked up, startled at the sudden opening of the door, and found himself staring down the barrel of Jaro's slug gun. His yellow eyes popped out like agates and he almost completed a back somersault.

"Bring it in," said Jaro sheathing the gun.

With a reproachful glance the waiter set the dishes on the table and retreated hastily. The serving wagon took the curve into the hall on two wheels.

Suppressed giggles rocked Joan's body. "Oh, if you could have seen yourself." She burst out laughing. "The mother bird defending its young." She rocked back and forth in the chair.

"You'd better come eat," said Jaro stiffly, "before the food gets cold."

Joan stifled her laughter, wiped the tears out of her eyes, pulled up a chair.

* * * * *

"I'm not a bit hungry," she protested; "but what a lovely steak." She attacked it with vigor. "Um, um," she said between mouthfuls. "Delicious." There were half a dozen other dishes. Her strong white teeth wrought havoc with their contents. Jaro, a light eater, picked at a salad, but for the most part he watched the girl with growing interest. From time to time she cast covetous glances at his steak which he had pushed aside.

"If you're not going to eat your steak," she ventured hesitantly.

Jaro pushed it across the table. "For a girl who wasn't a bit hungry," he said; "you've shown remarkable staying powers. What do you do? Store it up in case of famine?"

"Really," said Joan polishing off Jaro's steak; "you embarrass me."

Just then a loud knock at the door caused her to gulp the last of it unchewed.

"What is this?" she asked, "the crossroads of Mercury? You certainly entertain a lot."

Jaro drew his slug gun again, tiptoed to the door, pulled it open. A big blond young man was leaning against the door frame. He was a good six feet, three inches tall and his shoulders almost filled the entrance. He had light blue eyes, a short straight nose. The rest of his face wore a broad grin.

"Hello, Jaro, you old butcher," said the big young man. "Quit tickling my nose with that slug gun and invite me in."

Joan tittered as Jaro holstered the gun. The big young man caught sight of her for the first time. He looked quickly away.

"Sorry, old man," he said in a low voice, "didn't know you had company. No end sorry. Meet me tonight at _Mercury Sam's Garden_."

Jaro's face broke into a grin.

"Come in," he said. "It's much worse than it looks." He turned to Joan. "Miss Webb, this is Irving Landovitch. He's with the Terrestrial Intelligence Service; so naturally he has a suspicious mind."

Joan blushed hotly. "Oh," she said. "How do you do?"

The T.I.S. agent acknowledged the introduction, sat down on the bed.

"What are you doing here, Irving?" asked Jaro. "The last time I saw you, you were working on a smuggling case back on Earth."

"That's what I should ask you," replied the big young man, "but I don't mind telling you Jaro, I'm investigating a report that a revolution is about to break here on Mercury. Frankly, we didn't put much credence in it until we learned that you'd landed."

"How did you find me?"

"Oh that," chuckled the T.I.S. agent. "We've had a man shadowing you ever since you hit the space port."

For the first time Jaro exhibited annoyance. "First Hodes' men, then Albert Peet's men and now the T.I.S. I knew was being tailed, but I didn't realize I was leading a parade."

The T.I.S. agent glanced at Joan. "No offense, Miss Webb, but could I see Mr. Moynahan alone? It won't take but a moment."

She glanced helplessly at Jaro. "Where shall I go?"

* * * * *

Jaro grinned. "You might step in the shower, pull the curtain around you and turn on the water."

The big young man looked perplexed. "Couldn't we join her in the dining room in a few moments?"

"No," expostulated Jaro. "I should say not. She just ate enough to last a Mercurian family a week. If I turned her loose down with all that food she'd probably flounder herself. Besides Albert Peet's gunmen would like nothing better than to catch her alone. No, Irving, you'll have to talk in front of her."

"I don't like it," replied Landovitch. He shook his head full-like from side to side. "But, well Jaro, how are you mixed up in this?"

Jaro hitched his chair closer. "Listen, I was at Valego, organizing the Martian army. The prince had commissioned me."

"We know all about your disreputable past," Landovitch interrupted blandly.

"Quit heckling him," said Joan. "For all I've been able to gather he was born yesterday. He's the most uncommunicative man ever."

Irving Landovitch clucked sympathetically. "Jaro, how did you impose on this poor innocent child. If you'd let me know, maybe I could, too."

"I was on Mars," Jaro continued patiently, "when I got a flash from the Red Witch--she's using the name of Mikail--to grab the first spaceship for Mercury. She said she was singing at _Mercury Sam's Garden_." In as few words as possible he sketched his adventures since arriving. Landovitch whistled.

"The Rains are three days overdue," he said.

"What is the Festival like?" asked Jaro. "I've heard something about it, but I've never been here during the Rains."

The T.I.S. agent rolled his eyes. "It would make a Roman orgy look like a Sunday School picnic. Ordinarily the Mercurians are the meekest people in the Universe, but during the Rains, they go a little crazy."

"A little?" said Joan. "They're mad as hatters." She paused, her expression undergoing an abrupt change. "Listen!"

At first they could distinguish nothing, then from outside the window came a persistent sigh which gradually deepened into a full-throated roar.

"The Rains," breathed Joan with a catch in her throat. "In a moment we will hear the flutes."

* * * * *

Out in the hall someone knocked on the door.

"Third time's the charm," said Jaro, and drew the slug gun.

Landovitch said: "He won't be expecting me. When he shoots you I ought to be able to catch him by surprise."

"Maybe I should allow you to answer the door."

"Go on." Landovitch waved his gun. "I'm right behind you, but out of the line of fire, of course."

Jaro threw open the door. Both men thrust their guns in the face of the little Mercurian waiter who had served the food.

"I'm growing accustomed," the waiter said; "to your peculiar sense of humor." He marched between the two big men, closed and locked the heavy storm shutters, marched back out. Joan burst into peals of laughter. Jaro and Landovitch sheepishly returned their guns to their holsters.

"Will you quit laughing like a hyena," said Jaro, "I think I hear something."

Joan subsided into giggles. From beneath their feet came a thin minor melody. It possessed a maddening undercurrent indescribable in its effect. Other instruments joined the first until the sound was like a field of katydids.

"The flutes," said Joan. "It's the flutes."

Jaro, listening to their reedy melody, thought of the pipes of Pan. He allowed his pale blue eyes to examine Joan Webb. She had long legs, hips that were full, rounded, but not too broad, a slim waist, high breasts. He took a long drink of Latonka. He said, "I want to revel."

Landovitch said with admiration in his voice, "You sure can pick 'em, Jaro."

She glanced in alarm from Jaro to Landovitch. "Don't get any ideas, you two predatory wolves, you. I absolutely refuse to be a party to any orgies."

"Tell me," said Jaro, "what is this Festival of the Rains? What does it symbolize?"

Joan explained: "It celebrates the marriage of Nemi, the god of the rain, with the soil. Each year Nemi takes a new bride. She's chosen from the prettiest girls of Acecia. She symbolizes the earth. The last night of the festival, she is led into a beautiful chamber deep in the lower levels of the rain god's temple and placed in bed and left. Nemi, himself, is--ah--er, supposed to visit her during the night. For a whole year she must remain faithful to Nemi. The people actually believe her a goddess. But at the end of that time Nemi divorces her, and she is relegated to the Temple Priestesses. The Temple Priestesses," she added dryly, "aren't noted for their rigidity of morals."

They all took a drink of Latonka. The flutes were louder, more insistent in their suggestion. Landovitch twitched his blond scalp pensively. He did it like a horse twitches a patch of hide. Joan stared at him fascinated. She said, "How did you do that?" She wrinkled her nose, frowned, trying to imitate his feat.

"Gimme that jug," said Jaro. He turned to Joan. "We," he said impressively, "are the revolution." Joan realized that the two men had consumed considerable wine. Landovitch threw wide his arms. "Camarade!" he shouted. There were tears in his eyes.

Jaro put down the jug empty. "Camarade!" he cried. They embraced.

Joan watched them, her brown eyes round as saucers. Jaro turned to Joan. "Camarade!" he said. He embraced her. She said, "Camarade" in a weak voice. He continued to embrace her. Landovitch lost interest in the revolution. He was searching for another jug. With a chortle, he dragged one forth from beneath the bed.

He observed Jaro and Joan with a lifted eyebrow. "Such brazenness," he said in a reproving voice; "and right before my eyes, too."

"Oh!" exploded Joan angrily. She pushed Jaro away. "Of all the disgusting tricks!" she said. "This isn't any time for clowning."

"I think," said Jaro Moynahan, "our best plan is to locate Karfial Hodes. I have an idea that he is the key to this mess."

Landovitch said, "Lead on, Moynahan. Your faithful friend, Last Ditch Landovitch, is with you." He waved the jug. "Camarade," he said.

"Camarade," said Jaro. They opened their arms. They embraced like two football tackles. Jaro turned to Joan, "Camarade," he said.

"No you don't!" said Joan grimly. "I've been 'cameraded' the last time." Jaro's arms encircled her like bands of steel. She had never imagined such strength. "Oh well," she said, "camarade."

Landovitch opened the door. The music of the flutes swept into the room. Jaro and Landovitch linked their arms in Joan's. She was not a small girl, but she appeared fragile and doll-like between the two big men. The T.I.S. agent twirled the two gallon jug of Latonka on his finger. They paraded into the hall, down the stairs, three abreast.

Jaro saw with surprise that the lobby was deserted. The clerk seemed nervous, irritable, anxious to join the revelry which assailed their ears from the runs.

Joan suddenly went, "_Awk_."

Landovitch, under the impression that she was choking, thumped her on the back.

"For God's sake!" said Joan. "Stop it before you jar my teeth loose."

"Yeah! Stop it," Jaro said.

Landovitch desisted.

"I thought," said Joan; "that Albert Peet's men were trying to kill us?"

"They are," said Jaro.

Joan started back toward the steps. "Then I'm going to lock myself in your room," she said.

Jaro grabbed her arm.

Landovitch said, "Well take care of Peet's men."

"Give me a drink of that dutch courage," said Joan, taking the Latonka jug. She took a long drink. They all took a long drink. They descended into the runs.