The officers all agreed that they had heard many wonderful stories from sailors but never anything to match this. They insisted upon giving a banquet for Miran and Green. The result was that Green got a much-needed and desired bath, hair cut and shave. But he also had to endure a long feast in which he had to stuff himself to keep from offending his hosts and also was forced to enter a drinking contest with some of the younger blades of the post. His Vigilante could handle enormous amounts of food and alcohol, so that Green appeared to the soldiers to be something of a superman. At midnight the last officer had dropped his head upon the table, dead drunk, and Green was able to get up and go to his yacht.
Unfortunately he had to carry the fat merchant out on his shoulders. Outside the banquet room he found a few rickshaw boys standing around a fire, huddled together, waiting for a customer so drunk he wouldn't fear thieves or ghosts. He gave one of them a coin and told him to deliver Miran to the yacht.
"What about yourself, honored sir? Don't you wish to ride home, too?"
"Later," said Green, looking up past the fort and at the hills behind it. "I intend to take a walk to clear my head."
Before the rickshaw men could question him further he plunged into the darkness and began striding swiftly toward the highest peak upon the island.
Two hours later he suddenly appeared in the moonlight-drenched windbreak, walked past the many vessels tied down for the night and crawled aboard his own yacht. A glance around the deck convinced him that everybody was sleeping. He stepped softly past the prostrate forms and lay down by Amra. Face up, his hands behind his head, he stared at the moon, a thoughtful expression upon his face.
Amra whispered, "Alan, I thought you were going to talk to me tonight."
He stiffened but did not turn his head to look at her.
"I was, but the officers kept us up late. Didn't Miran get here?"
"Yes, about five minutes before you did."