Malovel was old and wrinkled. His skin hung about his face in loose folds and his hands were the skinny claws of a bird. He slept, ate, and defecated in the big padded chair that was his throne. Under the bird-talon fingers a number of differently colored squares were set into the arms of the chair.
Officious priests in blue robes took Sanderson to him. L'Sor was not invited to accompany them and he did not request the privilege.
Malovel went straight to the heart of the matter. "There will be no more water for humans," he said. A slave standing beside his chair gave him a sip out of a small cup. His yellow eyes twinkled at the human.
"Eh? What?" Sanderson gasped. "Holy One! A bargain was made."
"What bargain?"
"That the humans would keep the peace and that the Holy One would see that we have adequate water for our fields. Other services of mutual advantage to both sides were included. Thus the humans taught the Martians how to raise grain from Earth, and supplied them—"
"Who made this bargain?" Malovel said.
"Does not the Holy One remember? He and I made it four years ago when the human settlement was started here."
A flicker of surprise passed through Malovel's eyes. The slave hastily placed the cup to his lips. He sipped the red liquid.