The Green Odyssey | Page 2

A demon will come, claiming to be an angel. No doubt about these two! Just to
show you their subtlety, they claim to be neither demon nor angels, but men! Now,
there's devilish clever thinking. Confusing to anybody but the most clearheaded. I'm glad
the King of Estorya wasn't taken in."
Eagerly Zuni leaned forward, her large brown eyes bright, and her red-painted mouth
open and wet. "Oh, has he burned them already? What a shame! I should think he'd at
least torture them for a while."
Miran, the merchant-captain, said, "Your pardon, gracious lady, but the King of Estorya
has done no such thing. The Estoryan law demands that all suspected demons should be

kept in prison for two years. Everybody knows that a devil can't keep his human disguise
more than two years. At the end of that time he reverts to his natural mesh and form, a
hideous sight to behold, blasphemous, repulsive, soul-shaking."
Miran rolled his one good eye so that only the white showed and made the sign to ward
off evil, the index anger held rigidly out from a clenched fist. Jugkaxtr, the household
priest, dived under the table, where he crouched praying, secure in the knowledge that
demons couldn't touch him while he knelt beneath the thrice-blessed wood. The Duke
swallowed a whole glass of wine, apparently to calm his nerves, and belched.
Miran wiped his face and said, "Of course, I wasn't able to find out much, because we
merchants are regarded with deep suspicion and scarcely dare to move outside the harbor
or the marketplace. The Estoryans worship a female deity-- ridiculous, isn't it?-- and eat
fish. They hate us Tropatians because we worship Zaxropatr, Male of Males, and because
they must depend on us to bring them fish. But they aren't close-mouthed. They babble
on and on to us, especially when one has given them wine for nothing."
Green finally released his breath in a sigh of relief. How glad he was that he had never
told these people his true origin! So far as they knew he was merely one of the many
slaves who came from a distant country in the North.
Miran cleared his throat, adjusted his violet turban and yellow robes, pulled gently at the
large gold ring that hung from his nose and said, "It took me a month to get back from
Estorya, and that is very good time indeed, but then I am noted for my good luck, though
I prefer to call it skill plus the favor given by the gods to the truly devout. I do not boast,
O gods, but merely give you tribute because you have smiled upon my ventures and have
found pleasing the scent of my many sacrifices in your nostrils!"
Green lowered his eyelids to conceal the expression of disgust which he felt must be
shining from them. At the same time, he saw Zuni's shoe tapping impatiently. Inwardly
he groaned, because he knew she would divert the conversation to something more
interesting to her, to her clothes and the state of her stomach and/or complexion. And
there would be nothing that anybody could do about it, because the custom was that the
woman of the house regulated the subject of talk during breakfast. If only this had been
lunch or dinner! Then the men would theoretically have had uncontested control.
"These two demons were very tall, like your slave Green, here," said Miran, "and they
could not speak a word of Estoryan. Or at least they claimed they couldn't. When King
Raussmig's soldiers tried to capture them they brought from the folds of their strange
clothes two pistols that only had to be pointed to send silent and awesome and sure death.
Everywhere men dropped dead. Panic overtook many, but there were brave soldiers who
kept on charging, and eventually the magical instruments became exhausted. The demons
were overpowered and put into the Tower of Grass Cats from which no man or demon
has yet escaped. And there they will be until the Festival of the Sun's Eye. Then they will
be burnt..."
From beneath the table rose the babble of the priest, Jugkaxtr, as he blessed everyone in

the house, down to the latest-born pup, and the fleas living thereoff, and cursed all those
who were possessed by even the tiniest demon. The Duke, growing impatient at the noise,
kicked under the table. Jugkaxtr yelped and presently crawled out. He sat down and
began gnawing the meat from a bone, a well-done-thou-good-and-faithful-servant
expression on his fat features. Green also felt like kicking him, just as he often felt like
kicking every single human being on this planet. It was hard to remember that he must
exercise compassion and understanding for them, and that his own remote