"But we planned it. The whole thing. A fake ceremony, to impress the Zarno and give us a chance to escape. They thought we might be messengers from their gods—the Ancients—and we told 'em so, after we'd learned their language. The sacrifice—it was a fake, that's all. And it went through as we planned. You pretended to stab me, and while the Zarno were bowing and genuflecting, we got away. At least you did. They recaptured me."
Garth shook his head. "Tell me. I don't know, really."
Willard glanced at the Earthmen, curiosity in his eyes. "You've a bit of explaining to do yourself, Ed. Are they—Noctoli?"
"Yeah. I worked out an antitoxin, but it was stale." Quickly Garth explained what had happened.
"I see. Well—got a cigaret?" Willard sucked the smoke luxuriously into his lungs. "That's good. Five years since I had one of these. Sit down and let's talk. No chairs, but try the floor."
"Okay. What happened to you?"
"Nothing much. When we staged our fake ceremony—the Zarno are plenty religious—I headed for that little black temple in the forest. Know the place?"
"Yeah. That's where they caught us."
"Well, it leads to freedom. There's an underground tunnel that takes you out in a camouflaged hangar. The Ancients had antigravity. I found out later, and their flying-boats were hidden there. They're still good, Ed. They still work. I'd have got away if the Zarno hadn't been right on my heels."
"So?"