There weren't many people in the streets of the small town, although there seemed to be plenty of activity around the docks. Hale could see tilled fields to the west of the settlement, where there were people already at work.
A third man in a gray-brown robe met them in the middle of one of the cobblestone streets and asked something of Hale's guards. They stopped, and a long conversation followed. Hale strained his ears to catch the words.
At first, it was complete gibberish, but Hale knew what key words to listen for, and gradually he picked up more and more.
As on every inhabited planet of the galaxy, the language of Cardigan's Green was derived from Terran—basically English, with large additions of Russian, Chinese, and Spanish. Hale had traveled a great deal in his life—partly by choice and partly because often he had no choice. He had heard and spoken a hundred different dialects of Terran, and the assimilation of a new derivation was almost automatic.
The two guards were telling the new man that they had found a stranger on the beach, and describing in detail how it had come about. They were, it seemed, going to take him to the Village Officer—whoever that might be.
The third man told them that the Officer was away somewhere—Hale didn't catch it.
The guard who carried the gun said that Hale would be taken to "the brig" to await the Officer's pleasure.
The third man nodded and hurried off, while Hale was prodded onward.
"The brig" proved to be a small building with a heavy iron door and thick iron bars at the windows. Hale didn't like the looks of the place, but he didn't like the feel of the missile weapon at his back, either. In he went.