Free The Steel of Raithskar by Randall Garrett Page B

the garden and split. Half of it led to the back of the house on my left. Keeshah and I followed the other half, which took us to the end of the large enclosure. Here there were small storage buildings and a large stone structure that was Keeshah’s home. Double doors made of heavy wood stood open, braced against the outer walls on either side of the archway. Inside was a big square room with a roof twice as tall as a man.
    Against the rear wall, a broad ledge had been built of stone and laid over with grasses and leaves. In one corner, there was a wide pit filled with sand; in the opposite corner, a stone trough had been built against the wall and lined, as at Yafnaar, with tile. The walls had been built with a pattern of openings in lieu of windows; it was well ventilated, but it had the cool semi-gloom of a cave.
    Keeshah, glad to be home at last, went directly to a thick round post, in the center of the room, that I had taken to be a roof support. But Keeshah put first one front paw, then another against it and stretched upward, then back, clawing it joyfully with claws as long as my fingers. It was the trunk of a tree larger than any I had yet seen—and it had been hauled in and placed there as a scratching post for Keeshah.
    I unwrapped the meat, and Keeshah, his homecoming ritual complete, attacked it hungrily. I brought water for him from a cistern beside one of the storage buildings, moving automatically and not stopping to wonder how I knew where things were.
    Soon I was walking up the stone pathway to the rear of the house. There were lots of windows back here on both floors, letting plenty of light into the interior. They were made of lozenge-shaped panes only as large as my hand, joined together with thin strips of wood. Even the three doors had wood-latticed windows in them.
    I came to the central door and stopped, frozen. What was I doing?
    Up to this point, I had been merely following a logical line. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world to come here to “my” home, where “I” had always lived. I had begun to accept this world, to feel almost comfortable in it. But all familiarity vanished now in a wave of alienness.
    I was Ricardo Emilio Carillo, elderly American gentleman, walking around in what some might regard as a stolen body. I had been about to walk, without invitation or by-your-leave, into the house of a stranger, a man whom I had never seen before. This wasn’t
my
home at all. It was the home of a near-human,
not
-human being, a native of an alien world who spoke a language I had never heard before. The mores, laws, customs, and civilization of this world were unknown to me.
I
was the stranger here.
    What the hell had I been thinking of?
    I wanted desperately to turn and run—but there was no place to run to. Only danger waited beyond the walls which surrounded me. A man named Worfit who might slit my throat for welching on a debt. One Zaddorn who might throw me into prison, or worse, because of some sacred bauble I knew nothing about—or because of his jealousy over a woman. And the woman herself, a promised marriage to a girl who, though she seemed sincere enough, was hardly a rock of strength.
    No, I didn’t want to stay here, but where else could I go? What could I do? How could I live? Illia seemed to think I had a lot of money with me, but how long would that last, especially when I couldn’t tell if I was being cheated? I had strong doubts about the existence of unemployment offices, welfare checks, and food stamps in this world. How could I support myself and Keeshah?
    For I knew that I could not leave the great cat behind me if I fled. And the thought increased my despair. I would be instantly recognized anywhere with Keeshah in tow. And that would lead all the dangerous people directly to me.
    I had to stay here. I was safe here—for the moment. But I just
couldn’t
walk into this house and face a man who was supposed to be my father. What would I say to him? How