Why had the gods (though he didn’t believe in six million of them) let someone from his tour group get murdered? And why, by all the gods he did believe in, did it have to be the Morgaffo? Morgaf would be suspicious — if not hostile — if any of its people met foul play in Tartesh. And if Dokhnor of Kellef really was a spy, Morgaf would be more than suspicious. Morgaf would be furious.

Radnal walked over to the radiophone. “Whom will you call?” Fer asked.

“First, the park militia. They’d have to be notified in any case. And then-” Radnal took a deep breath. “Then I think I’d best call the Hereditary Tyrant’s Eyes and Ears in Tarteshem. Murder of a Morgaffo sworn to the Goddess is a deeper matter than the militia can handle alone. Besides, I’d sooner have an Eye and Ear notify the Morgaffo plenipo than try doing it myself.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Fer said. “Wouldn’t want Morgaffo gunboats running across the Sleeve to raid our coasts because you said something wrong. Or-” The lodge attendant shook his head. “No, not even the island king would be crazy enough to start tossing starbombs over something this small.” Fer’s voice turned anxious. “Would he?”

“I don’t think so.” But Radnal sounded anxious, too. Politics hadn’t been the same since starbombs came along fifty years before. Neither Tartesh nor Morgaf had used them, even in war against each other, but both countries kept building them. So did eight or ten other nations, scattered across the globe. If another big war started, it could easily become The Big War, the one everybody was afraid of.

Radnal punched buttons on the radiophone. After a couple of static bursts, a voice answered: “Trench Park militia, Subleader vez Steries speaking.”

“Gods bless you, Liem vez,” Radnal said; this was a man he knew and liked. “Vez Krobir here, over at the tourist lodge. I’m sorry to have to tell you we’ve had a death. I’m even sorrier to have to tell you it looks like murder.” Radnal explained what had happened to Dokhnor of Kellef.