Free The Hostage of Zir by L. Sprague de Camp

“The king won’t receive us?” “Why didn’t you figure this out, Fearless?” “What’s the matter with you?” “Damned if I won’t go ashore whenever I want to!” “This petty little king can’t bully me!” “It’s an outrage!” “I’ll demand my money back!”
    Pride said: “Hey, that means I can’t buy another pair of shoes to take the place of those I lost!”
    Only old Mrs. Scott and the Jussacs took Reith’s part, and the chorus of complaints drowned them out. Reith guessed that his people were irritable as a result of the long, fatiguing stand at the race track. At last, drunk enough to be reckless, he banged the deck with his scabbard and roared:
    “All right, shut up! I’ve got a thing to say. Twice, you’ve almost gotten me killed by your damn foolishness.
    “Now you’ll have to make up your minds, if ‘minds’ is the word I want. If you wish to quit now and go back to Novorecife, to wait there for the next ship out, that’s okay with me.”
    “How would you get us back?” said Considine. “They won’t let us off this tub, and she’s bound for Baianch.”
    “Never mind; I’ll make the arrangements. If you prefer to complete the tour, you’ll have to agree to obey my orders.”
    “Thinks he’s one of these Krishnan kings,” muttered Considine.
    Reith mastered an impulse to haul out his sword and give Considine the flat. “And furthermore, if you decide to continue the tour, and if you then cause any more riots, we’ll stop right there and start back to Novorecife. Do you all understand?”
    After more sullen mutterings, Reith polled his tourists. “Professor Mulroy, do you vote to go on or return?”
    All voted to go on despite grumblings about Reith’s “dictatorship.” Reith snapped: “If you don’t like it, anyone who wants to beat his way back to Novo on his own is welcome to try.”
    “That’s not fair,” said Turner. “You can talk to these gooks and we can’t.”
    “That’s your problem, laddie. Any takers? No? Okay, we go on. Meeting dismissed.”

V
    THE WRONG DOOR

    As the Sárbez was slowly warped against her pier in Baianch harbor, Reith and his dozen tourists lined the shoreward rail. They were a bedraggled, woebegone-looking lot. Several days of storm at sea had afflicted most of them with excruciating seasickness.
    With the nearing of solid ground, however, they began to revive. Some pointed to the cliff that rose above the lower town. Along the brow of this cliff, a massive gray fortification frowned down, with the onion-domed towers of a royal palace projecting above the curtain wall. Behind the fortress, the upper town stretched away towards the base of the promontory on which Baianch was built. Now, save for the tops of temple spires, the upper town was hidden by the loom of the cliff. To right and left of the cape, the darkly forested hills of Dur rolled away.
    “It reminds me of Quebec,” said Aimé Jussac.
    “Look at the soldiers!” said Pilar Guzmán-Vidal. “Are they going to arrest us, Fearless?”
    On the pier, a platoon of uniformed Duruma were drawn up in two ranks, one of crossbowmen and one of pikemen. They wore winged helms, and hauberks of black chain mail over scarlet tunics. Among them stood a group in Duro civilian costume. These folks wore real trousers instead of diapers, and their garments were trimmed with fur. Their complexions were lighter than those of Krishnans of the more southerly nations.
    “Don’t worry,” said Reith. “This looks like a fancy reception. The Regent wants to give us a good time, so more tourists will spend their money here.”
    As the gangplank slammed into place, a bugle sounded. The soldiers snapped to attention and presented their pikes and crossbows. Led by a very large Krishnan in black, the civilians marched briskly up the gangplank. The leader, who bore a heraldic yeki embroidered in scarlet on the breast of his tunic, strode to the group of tourists and said in Durou: “Which of