“Then why does he not rise and greet you according to Keemarnian custom? You have broken bread with him—”
“Please, Y-Kjesta, don’t say any more. I—I think I understand, and perhaps it’s my fault. Let it pass.”
“As you will, my Alan.” The Chlorie rose, soared gracefully over the marble buildings of Minniviar, then tilting her nose, climbed swiftly.
The Princess remained in her cabin, her doors were closed, and the balconies round her apartment shuttered.
“Ought I to pay my respects to the Ipso-Rorka?” asked Alan.
Waz-Y-Kjesta looked at him in horror. “Nay, my friend. It is not seemly to address our Ipso-Rorka unless she summons you first. She has given strict orders that she is not to be disturbed.”
So! Kulmervan had begun his work of revenge. Darkness fell, and Alan retired to his little cabin. There were few on board, ten souls in all, and the whole place was wrapped in stillness. All the same he felt very restless—the four moons of Jupiter were shining brightly; they were now passing over a sea, and the moonbeams were playing on the rippling waters. He rose, dressed himself, and was about to leave his cabin, when he heard a faint movement outside. His senses were quickened, he felt for the first time since his entrance into this new world, a feeling of impending danger.
In a second his mind was made up—quickly he placed a cushion on his couch and covered it over with rugs: in the semi-darkness it almost showed the curves of a living body. The door latch rattled softly, and Alan slipped behind the folds of a heavy silken curtain. Softly the door opened, until it was just wide enough to permit the passage of a man’s body. Alan peered through the curtain opening and saw that it was Kulmervan who had entered.
The Keemarnian stepped over to the couch and touched the coverlet. “He’s asleep,” he whispered in his own language, and Waiko entered softly. “Have you the spray?”
“Yes, my Kulmervan—but is it necessary? I’m afraid—”