We were right. We Zanis are always right."

"Yes," I agreed, "it is the indisputable privilege of all Zanis to be always right."

He took me next down a dark corridor to another room at the far side of the building. There was nothing here but an enormous furnace and a foul odor.

"Here is where we burn the bodies," Torko explained; then he pointed to a trap door in the floor. "Be careful not to step on that," he cautioned. "It is not very substantial. We dump the ashes down there into the bay. The chute is quite large. If the door gave way with you, you'd land in the bay."

I spent a week undergoing a sort of training in inhumanity; and then Torko obtained a leave of absence, and I was left in charge as acting governor of The Prison of Death. During the time that he was away I did what I could to alleviate the sufferings of the inmates of that hideous sink of misery and despair. I permitted them to clean up their foul cells and themselves, and I gave them quantities of good food. There were no "trials" while I was in charge and only one execution, but that was ordered by a higher authority--in fact, by Mephis himself. I received word about the 11th hour one day that Mephis would visit the prison at the 13th hour-- 2:00 P.M. E.T. As I had never met the great man and had no idea how to receive him or conduct myself, I was in something of a quandary; as I knew that a single error, however unintentional, would affront him and result in my execution. At last it occurred to me that my kordogan might help me out. He was more than anxious to display his knowledge; and so, as the 13th hour approached, I anticipated the coming event with considerable assurance. With a number of warriors as an escort, I waited at the quay with the prison launch; and when Mephis hove in sight with his retinue, I lined up my men and we saluted and Maltu Mephised him in orthodox style. He was quite affable as he greeted me with condescending cordiality.

"I have heard of you," he said. "If you are a protege of Toganja Zerka, you must be a good Zani."

"There is only one good Zani," I said.

He thought I meant him; and he was pleased. The kordogan had the remaining guardsmen lined up in the guard room; and as we passed through, every one saluted and shouted "Maltu Mephis!" at the top of his voice. I wondered at the time how Mephis could listen to such forced acclaim without feeling like the ass he was; but I suppose an ass doesn't mind being an ass, or doesn't realize it.

The great man asked to be taken into the basement, where his own particular prisoners were incarcerated. He took only me and two of his aides with him, one of the latter being his present favorite--an effeminate-looking man, bejeweled like a woman. When we reached the room where the prisoners' cells were located, Mephis directed me to show him the cell of Kord, the former jong of Korva.

"Torko has not told me the names of any of these prisoners," I explained. "He said it was your wish that they remain nameless."

Mephis nodded. "Quite right," he said, "but of course the acting governor of the prison should know who they are--and keep the knowledge to himself."

"You wish to speak to me, Mephis?" asked a voice from a nearby cell.

"That is he," said Mephis. "Unlock his cell."

I took the master key from my belt and did as Mephis bid me.

"Come out!" commanded he.

Kord was still a fine-looking man, though wasted by confinement and starvation. "What do you want of me?" he demanded. There was no "Maltu Mephis!" here, no cringing. Kord was still the jong, and Mephis shrunk in his presence to the insignificant scum he had been born. I think he felt it; for he commenced to bluster and talk loudly.

"Drag the prisoner to the courtroom!" he shouted to me, and turned back to that room himself, followed by his aides.

I took Kord gently by the arm.