The prince retired early so that he might arise before daybreak. He instructed a servant to remain outside his door all the following day and to refuse admission to any who sought it, saying that he was indisposed.
Before the first flowers had opened to the first insects of morning, he had gone from the hostel, only an ancient green parrot witnessing his departure. Not in silks sewn with pearls did he go, but in tatters, as was his custom on these occasions. Not preceded by conch and drum did he move, but by silence, as he passed along the dim streets of the city. These streets were deserted, save for an occasional doctor or prostitute returning from a late call. A stray dog followed him as he passed through the business district, heading in the direction of the harbor.
He seated himself upon a crate at the foot of a pier. The dawn came to lift the darkness from the world; and he watched the ships stirring with the tide, empty of sail, webbed with cables, prows carved with monster or maiden. His every visit to Mahartha brought him again to the harbor for a little while.
Morning's pink parasol opened above the tangled hair of the clouds, and cool breezes crossed the docks. Scavenger birds uttered hoarse cries as they darted about loop-windowed towers, then swooped across the waters of the bay.
He watched a ship put out to sea, tentlike vanes of canvas growing to high peaks and swelling in the salt air. Aboard other ships, secure in their anchorage, there was movement now, as crews made ready to load or unload cargoes of incense, coral, oil and all kinds of fabrics, as well as metals, cattle, hardwoods and spices. He smelled the smells of commerce and listened to the cursing of the sailors, both of which he admired: the former, as it reeked of wealth, and the latter because it combined his two other chief preoccupations, these being theology and anatomy.
After a time, he spoke with a foreign sea captain who had overseen the unloading of sacks of grain, and now took his rest in the shade of the crates.
"Good morning," he said. "May your passages be free of storm and shipwreck, and the gods grant you safe harbor and a good market for your cargoes."
The other nodded, seated himself upon a crate and proceeded to fill a small clay pipe.
"Thank you, old one," he said. "Though I do pray to the gods of the Temples of my own choosing, I accept the blessings of any and all. One can always use blessings, especially a seaman."
"Had you a difficult voyage?"
"Less difficult than it might have been," said the sea captain. "That smoldering sea mountain, the Cannon of Nirriti, discharges its bolts against heaven once again."
"Ah, you sailed from the southwest!"
"Yes. Chatisthan, from Ispar-by-the-Sea. The winds are good in this season of the year, but for this reason they also carried the ash of the Cannon much farther than any would think. For six days this black snow fell upon us, and the odors of the underworld pursued us, fouling food and water, making the eyes to weep and the throat to burn. We offered much thanksgiving when we finally outran it. See how the hull is smeared? You should have seen the sails - black as the hair of Ratri!"
The prince leaned forward to better regard the vessel. "But the waters were not especially troubled?" he asked.
The sailor shook his head. "We hailed a cruiser near the Isle of Salt, and we learned of it that we had missed by six days the worst dischargings of the Cannon. At that time, it burnt the clouds and raised great waves, sinking two ships the cruiser did know of, and possibly a third." The sailor leaned back, stoking his pipe. "So, as I say, a seaman can always use blessings."
"I seek a man of the sea," said the prince. "A captain. His name is Jan Olvegg, or perhaps he is now known as Olvagga. Do you know him?"
"I knew him," said the other, "but it has been long since he sailed."
"Oh? What has become of him?"
The sailor turned his head to better study him. "Who are you to ask?" he finally inquired.
"My name is Sam. Jan is a very old friend of mine."
"How old is 'very old'?"
"Many, many years ago, in another place, I knew him when he was captain of a ship which did not sail these oceans."
The sea captain leaned forward suddenly and picked up a piece of wood, which he hurled at the dog who had rounded a piling at the other side of the pier. It yelped once and dashed off toward the shelter of a warehouse. It was the same dog who had followed the prince from the hostel of Hawkana.
"Beware the hounds of hell," said the captain. "There are dogs and there are dogs-and there are dogs. Three different kinds, and in this port drive them all from your presence." Then he appraised the other once again. "Your hands," he said, gesturing with his pipe, "have recently worn many rings. Their impressions yet remain."
Sam glanced at his hands and smiled. "Your eyes miss nothing, sailor," he replied. "So I admit to the obvious. I have recently worn rings."
"So, like the dogs, you are not what you appear to be-and you come asking after Olvagga, by his most ancient name. Your name, you say, is Sam. Are you, perchance, one of the First?"
Sam did not reply immediately, but studied the other as though waiting for him to say more.
Perhaps realizing this, the captain continued: "Olvagga, I know, was numbered among the First, though he never spoke of it. Whether you are yourself among the First, or are one of the Masters, you are aware of this. So I do not betray him by so speaking. I do wish to know whether I speak to a friend or an enemy, however."
Sam frowned. "Jan was never known for the making of enemies," he said. "You speak as if he has them now, among those whom you call the Masters."
The seaman continued to stare at him. "You are not a Master," he finally said, "and you come from afar."
"You are correct," said Sam, "but tell me how you know these things."
"First," said the other, "you are an old man. A Master, too, could have upon him an old body, but he would not-any more than he would remain a dog for very long. His fear of dying the real death, suddenly, in the manner of the old, would be too great. So he would not remain so long as to leave the marks of rings deeply imprinted upon the fingers. The wealthy are never despoiled of their bodies. If they are refused rebirth, they live out the full span of their days. The Masters would fear a rising up in arms among the followers of such a one, were he to meet with other than a natural passing. So a body such as yours could not be obtained in this manner. A body from the life tanks would not have marked fingers either.
"Therefore," he concluded, "I take you to be a man of importance other than a Master. If you knew Olvagga of old, then you are also one of the Firstlings, such as he. Because of the sort of information which you seek, I take you to be one from afar. Were you a man of Mahartha you would know of the Masters, and knowing of the Masters you would know why Olvagga cannot sail."
"Your knowledge of matters in Mahartha seems greater than my own - oh, newly arrived sailor."
"I, too, come from a distant place," acknowledged the captain, smiling faintly, "but in the space of a dozen months I may visit twice as many ports. I hear news-news and gossip and tales from all over-from more than a double dozen ports. I hear of the intrigues of the palace and the affairs of the Temple. I hear the secrets whispered at night to the golden girls beneath the sugar-cane bow of Kama. I hear of the campaigns of the Khshatriya and the dealings of the great merchants in the futures of grains and spices, jewels and silk. I drink with the bards and the astrologers, with the actors and the servants, the coachmen and the tailors. Sometimes, perhaps, I may strike the port where freebooters have haven and learn there the faring of those they hold to ransom. So do not think it strange that I, who come from afar, may know more of Mahartha than you, who may dwell perhaps a week's faring hence. Occasionally, I may even hear of the doings of the gods."
"Then you can tell me of the Masters, and why they are to be numbered as enemies?" asked Sam.
"I can tell you something of them," replied the captain, "since you should not go unwarned. The body merchants are now the Masters of Karma. Their individual names are now kept secret, after the manner of the gods, so that they seem as impersonal as the Great Wheel, which they claim to represent. They are no longer merely body merchants, but are allied with the Temples. These, too, are changed, for your kinsmen of the First who are now gods do commune with them from Heaven. If you are indeed of the First, Sam, your way must lead you either to deification or extinction, when you face these new Masters of Karma."
"How?" asked Sam.
"Details you must seek elsewhere," said the other. "I do not know the processes whereby these things are achieved. Ask after Jannaveg the sailmaker on the Street of the Weavers."
"This is how Jan is now known?"
The other nodded. "And beware the dogs," he said, "or, for that matter, anything else which is alive and may harbor intelligence."
"What is your name, captain?" asked Sam.
"In this port, I have no name at all or a false one, and I see no reason for lying to you. Good day, Sam."
"Good day, captain. Thank you for your words."