About a quarter of a daytenth later, the old man reined in his donkey and went behind another thornbush. “Sorry to hold everyone up,” he said when he returned. “My kidneys aren’t what they used to be.”

Eltsac vez Martois guffawed. “Don’t worry, Benter vez. A fellow like you knows you have to water the plants. Haw, haw!”

“You’re a bigger jackass than your donkey,” Benter snapped.

“Freemen, please!” Radnal got the two men calmed down and made sure they rode far from each other. He didn’t care if they went at each other three heartbeats after they left Trench Park, but they were his responsibility till then.

“You earn your silver here, I’ll say that for you,” Peggol observed. “I see fools in my line of work, but I’m not obliged to stay polite to them.” He lowered his voice. “When freeman vez Maprab went behind the bush now, he didn’t just relieve himself. He also bent down and pulled something out of the ground. I happened to be off to one side.”

“Did he? How interesting.” Radnal doubted Benter was involved in the killing of Dokhnor of Kellef. But absconding with plants from Trench Park was also a crime, one the tour guide was better equipped to deal with than murder. “We won’t do anything about it now. After we get back to the lodge, why don’t you have your men search Benter vez’s belongings again?”

Amusement glinted in Peggol’s eyes. “You’re looking forward to this.”

“Who, me? The only thing that could be better would be if it were Eltsac vez instead. But he hasn’t a brain in his head or anywhere else about his person.”

“Are you sure?” Peggol had been thinking along the same lines as Radnal. He’d probably started well before Radnal had, too. That was part of his job.

But Radnal came back strong: “If he had brains, would he have married Nocso zev?” That won a laugh which didn’t sound dusty. He added, “Besides, all he knows about thornbushes is not to ride into them, and he’s not certain of that.”

“Malice agrees with you, Radnal vez.”

By the time the lodge neared, Golobol was complaining along with Moblay. “Take away the Night Demons’ Retreat, oh yes, and take away the cave cat we saw there, and what have you? Take away those two things and it is a nothing of a day.”

“Freeman, if you insist on ignoring everything interesting that happens, you can turn any day dull,” Toglo observed.

“Well said!” Being a tour guide kept Radnal from speaking his mind to the people he led. This time, Toglo had done it for him.

She smiled. “Why come see what the Bottomlands are like if he isn’t happy with what he finds?”

“Toglo zev, some are like that in every group. It makes no sense to me, but there you are. If I had the money to see the Nine Iron Towers of Mashyak, I wouldn’t whine because they aren’t gold.”

“That is a practical attitude,” Toglo said. “We’d be better off if more people felt as you do.”

“We’d be better off if-” Radnal shut up. If we didn’t fear a starbomb was buried somewhere around here was how he’d been about to end the sentence. That wasn’t smart. Not only would it frighten Toglo (or worry her; she didn’t seem to frighten easily), but Peggol vez Menk would come down on him like he didn’t know what for breaching security.

All at once, he knew how Peggol would come down on him: like the Western Ocean, pouring into the Bottomlands over the broken mountains. He tried to laugh at himself; he didn’t usually come up with such literary comparisons. Laughter failed. The simile was literary, but it might be literal as well.

“We’d be better off if what, Radnal vez?” Toglo asked. “What did you start to say?”

He couldn’t tell her what he’d started to say. He wasn’t glib enough to invent something smooth. To his dismay, what came out of his mouth was, “We’d be better off if more people were like you, Toglo zev, and didn’t have fits at what they saw other people doing.”

“Oh, that. Radnal vez, I didn’t think anyone who was doing that was hurting anyone else. You all seemed to be enjoying yourselves. It’s not something I’d care to do where other people might see, but I don’t see I have any business getting upset about it.”

“Oh.” Radnal wasn’t sure how to take Toglo’s answer. He had, however, already pushed his luck past the point where it had any business going, so he kept quiet.

Something small skittered between spurges. Something larger bounded along in hot pursuit. The pursuit ended in a cloud of dust. Forestalling the inevitable chorus of What’s that?, Radnal said, “Looks like a bladetooth just made a kill.” The carnivorous rodent crouched over its prey; the tour guide pulled out a monocular for a closer look. “It’s caught a fat sand rat.”

“One of the animals you study?” Moblay said. “Are you going to blast it with your handcannon to take revenge?”

“I think you should,” Nocso zev Martois declared. “What a vicious brute, to harm a defenseless furry beast.” Radnal wondered if he should ask how she’d enjoyed her mutton last night, but doubted she would understand. He said, “Either carnivores eat meat or they starve. A bladetooth isn’t as cuddly as a fat sand rat, but it has its place in the web of life, too.”

The bladetooth was smaller than a fox, tan above and cream below. At first glance, it looked like any other jerboa, with hind legs adapted for jumping, big ears, and a long, tufted tail. But its muzzle was also long, and smeared with blood. The fat sand rat squirmed feebly. The bladetooth bit into its belly and started feeding nonetheless.

Nocso moaned. Radnal tried to figure out how her mind worked. She was eager to believe in night demons that worked all manner of evils, yet a little real predation turned her stomach. He gave up; some inconsistencies were too big for him to understand how anyone managed to hold both halves of them at once.

He said, “As I remarked a couple of days ago, the bladetooth does well in the Bottomlands because jerboas had already adapted to conditions close to these while this part of the world was still under water. Its herbivorous relatives extract the water they must have from leaves and seeds, while it uses the tissues of the animals it captures. Even during our rare rains, no bladetooth has ever been seen to drink.”

“Disgusting.” Nocso’s plump body shook as she shuddered. Radnal wondered how long her carcass would give a bladetooth the fluids it needed. A long time, he thought.

Moblay Sopsirk’s son whooped. “There’s the lodge! Cold water, cold ale, cold wine-”

As they had the evening before, the Eyes and Ears and the militiamen came out to await the tour group’s return. The closer the donkeys came, the better Radnal could see the faces of the men who had stayed behind. They all looked thoroughly grim.

This time, he did not intend to spend a couple of daytenths wondering what was going on. He called, “Fer vez, Zosel vez, take charge of the tourists. I want to catch up on what’s happened here.”

“All right, Radnal vez,” Fer answered. But his voice was no more cheerful than his expression.

Radnal dismounted and walked over to Liem vez Steries. He was not surprised when Peggol vez Menk fell into step with him. Their robes rustled as they came up to the militia subleader. Radnal asked, “What’s the word, Liem vez?”

Liem’s features might have been carved from stone. “The word is interrogation,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow.”

“By the gods.” Radnal stared. “They’re taking this seriously in Tarteshem.”

“You’d best believe it.” Liem wiped his sweaty face with his sleeve. “See those red cones past the cookpit? That’s the landing site we laid out for the helo that’s due in the morning.”

“But — interrogation.” Radnal shook his head. The Eyes and Ears’ methods were anything but gentle. “If we interrogate foreigners, we’re liable to touch off a war.”

“Tarteshem knows this, Radnal vez,” Liem said. “My objections are on the wire up there. I have been overruled.”