The torch which had been in the room of the
sanctuary when first I entered was sputtering to the end as I woke.
What had the voice said? For the space of four torches I could
shelter there. I looked at the floor. There were three more torches
lying ready. Now I got up to force the dying one from its hold,
light another in its place.
But after four torches—what? Would I be thrust-out into the
streets of Koonga again? At intervals I questioned the walls of the
room, but no answer came. Twice I searched again, seeking some
cunningly hidden exit. There was a building frustration within me.
I had passed part of a night here, by my timekeeper, and some of
the day thereafter. The four torches, I calculated roughly, would
cover perhaps three days. But long before that the ship on which
Vondar and I had passage would lift. Nor would its Captain worry if
we did not claim those passages. Once planetside, passengers were
strictly on their own. A Captain would take steps to rescue a
member of his closely knit crew, for the ship unit became as
tightly welded as a family or clan, but strangers he would not
aid.
What chance had I left? Was I under observation? How would the
keepers of this place know when their torches were exhausted? Or
had they through the years fallen into such routine that they could
judge approximately? And what was their purpose? What did they get
out of this service? A temple would accept a gift for a god. And to
me this sanctuary continued to suggest a religious
establishment.
I lay down again on the bed, rolled so that I faced the wall and
that my breast was hidden from the room. My hands moved stealthily,
for I had to believe that there was a watcher. If I could not hold
to that hope, I had nothing left. Two pockets in my safe-belt.
Between thumb and forefinger rolled the sleekness of the gems I
carried. I palmed them and lay still, letting them believe I
slept.
Vondar had had the best of our stock already locked in the safe
of the ship. Eventually those should reach the storehouse of the
jeweler to whom they had been consigned, there to wait for one who
would never claim them.
What I carried were inferior stones, or so reckoned on inner
planets. Only here two of them might well present a temptation to
any watcher. Both were fruits of my own trading—one a carved
crystal in the form of a small demonic head, with rubies inset for
eyes, fang teeth of yellow sapphires, a weird, small curiosity. The
very force of the carving might make it attractive on this world.
The other was a thumb-sized “soothing stone” of red
jade, one of those pieces the men of Gambool carry to finger while
they talk business. There is a sensuous satisfaction in the
handling of such a piece, and perhaps they are wise in their choice
of this tension relaxer.
How much is a life worth? I could empty my safebelt—but I knew
I must reserve a second payment if my plan was to succeed. And I
had chosen as best I could. Now I rolled over and sat up. The light
of the new torch was brighter than the old.
The guesting table—I looked at it. Then I crossed the room to
sit on one of its flanking stools, lay the stones on its surface. I
did not raise my voice in any demand this time but tried to be as
one bargaining in the market place.
“It is said that for all things there is a price,” I
began as if I spoke to someone who sat on the other stool to my
right. “There are those who sell, and those who wish to buy.
I am a stranger in your land, upon your world of Tanth. By no fault
of my own I find myself a hunted man. My friend and master is dead,
slain also for no fault—for since when have the Green Robes ever
before chosen one not of their belief to satisfy their master? Is
it not said the unwilling sacrifice is the lesser one and not
pleasing to the power to which it is sped?
“It is true that I have killed, but only to defend myself.
I am willing to offer blood price if that is required of me. But
remember, I am from off-world, and so cannot be bound by the laws
of your land unless I willfully and willingly break them by intent—answering only to my own authority for all else.”
Did anyone hear me? Was Tanth so removed from the civilized
worlds that the Confederation’s authority could be flouted?
What would priests of a local god care for a rule based light-years
away? Nor could I flatter myself that Vondar’s death would
set any fleets in motion to demand answers from Tanth’s
inhabitants. Like the Free Traders, we accepted risks when we
traveled the far star lanes.
“Blood price will I pay,” I repeated, fighting my
mounting tension, willing my voice to remain even and low. I opened
my hand and allowed the fingering piece to lie in the open.
“This is a gem of virtue. He who holds it while thinking of
or speaking on matters of import will discover his temper remains
calm, his mind clear—” I wrapped my tongue in the rolling
formality of the native speech, using the wording common to men of
substance. In such little things sometimes there is great
influence.
“To this gem of power”—I allowed the carved crystal
to be seen now, the leering face uppermost—“I will add this
talisman. As one can see, it bears the face of Umphal—”
(Which it did not, having come from another world, where that
nightmare demon was unknown. But it was enough like the effigies of
Umphal I had seen here to pass.) “Set such on a frontlet and
what fear need a man longer have of the grimace of the red-eyed
power? For seeing his own face, Umphal will flee—is that not so?
Thus doubly do I pay blood price, with a stone which gives men
wisdom, and one which promises protection from that which rides the
night north winds.”
Trying to keep out of mind the thought that I might be speaking
only to unhearing walls, that there were no eyes which watched, I
spoke again:
“There is a Free Trader planeted at your port. For my
blood price I ask only speech with her Captain.”
Then I sat in silence, watching the two gems on the table,
straining to hear the slightest sound which might reveal I did have
a listener. I could not believe that after a period of time within
this room sanctuary ended and that the desperate souls who came
here had no other recourse.
I could not be sure—a click—had I heard a click? Dared I
believe that I had heard such a sound? It had come from behind me.
I waited a long moment and then arose and went to the niche, as if
to drink from the flagon there. In the small basket beside that lay
something which had not been there before—a flat cake. Once more
I picked up that tantalizing bell and was about to ring it when the
basket caught my attention. It had been shoved forward, leaving
marks in the dust. By the look of those the stone behind it had
slid out.
Certainly I had not been mistaken in my hearing of that click.
There was an opening in the wall and I had been observed through
it. They had furnished me with food. The cake was crumbly and
smelled of coarse cheese, as it had been split open and smeared
with that. To off-world taste it was unpleasant, but I ate it.
Hunger can conquer much.
Waiting is the hardest test to which one can be put and waiting
was now mine. The torch had burned down and I was about to set
another in its place when, without warning, a man appeared in the
doorway through which I had first come. Though I went for my laser,
he had me covered before my hand touched its butt.
“Steady on!” He spoke Basic, coming a step or two
farther into the room. I saw a ship’s tunic with the insignia
of Cargo Master on the collar. “Keep your hands in plain
sight.”
He was an off-worlder, and his uniform was that of a Free
Trader. I drew a deep breath. In so much had my plea carried.
“You have a proposition—”he eyed me narrowly, with little
cordiality. “Speak your piece.” There was a snap of
urgency to that as if he were there against his will with danger
breathing hot upon him.
“I want passage out.” I cut my answer to that bare
statement.
He had backed around so that his shoulders were at the wall and faced me warily. A Cargo Master of a Free Trader needs must be
more than a merchant. He does not grow fat and sleek, and slow of
reflex, no matter if he is not a fighting man—officially—but a
trader.
“With half the city to tear you down should you step upon
the street?” he countered. Still his laser was aimed at my
middle. There was no softening for my plight to be read on his
face. The Free Traders are clansmen, with their ship their home. I
was not of his brood.
“Tell me, Cargo Master”—I did not approach him, and
now I must be a master bargainer indeed if I was to win my life—“what have you heard of me?”
“That you spat upon one priest, slew another—”
“I am a gem trader, late apprentice to Vondar Ustle—you
have heard that name?”
“I have heard. He travels far. What of it? Does that make
your crime the less here in Koonga?”
“There was no crime.” How could I make the truth so
plain he would believe me? “Do you think a man thrusts a rod
into a yaeger-wasp nest and turns it deliberately, when he is in
his right mind? We were in a tavern—the Sign of the Mottled
Corby. Our business here was done, we had passage on the Voyringer.
Then the Green Robes came in and set up that infernal spinning
arrow of theirs. We thought we were in no danger, being
off-worlders. When it stopped I swear it pointed between the two of
us. Then the Robes moved in to take us—”
“Why?” I saw the disbelief in his eyes. “They
do not play such games with off-worlders.”
“As we thought also, Cargo Master. Yet they did. And
Vondar was knifed down when he tried to resist. I burned a priest
and was near enough to the door to get free. I had heard of this
sanctuary—so—”
“Tell me—what was Vondar Ustle’s hallmark? And it
I have seen, I warn you.” That shot from his lips as a ray
might have from his laser.
“A half-moon wrought in opal with the signet, between its
horns, a Gryphon’s head in firestones.” I made prompt
reply, though I wondered what this Free Trader would know of a
master gemologist’s mark, which he would display for
identification only to an equal in rank.
He nodded and slipped his laser into its holster. “What
enemy did Ustle make here?”
That thought had plagued me also since I had had the time within
this hole to think. For it was reasonable that, were a desire for
revenge strong enough, my master might have been set up for such a
kill. Though their demon was supposed to select his prey by chance
alone, without aid from his servant priests, rumor suggested that
he sometimes had assistance of mortal means, that a suitable gift
to his shrine could produce a sacrifice which would please more
than just the Green Robes and their lord. But there had been no
clash with any local power. We had visited Hamzar, inspected his
wares and purchased what Vondar thought good, exchanged trade
gossip with him. There had been one visit to the nomads’
market and some dickering for uncut crystals out of the salt
deserts, but both sides had been pleased with the deal. I could see
no local tie-up with any trouble. And now, though I would have
given much to be able to produce such a neat solution, I had to
admit the truth.
“It need not have been of Tanth at all,” the Cargo
Master replied. And he watched me as if I could then supply name
and reason. A moment later, he continued. “Some strokes are
aimed from longer distances. But—if you wish to take knife-oath
for your master later, that is your affair. Always supposing you do
come out alive. Now, what do you want of us? You say passage
off-world—how?”
“How would you do it?” I countered. “I will
pay well to lift in your ship, and for passage to the nearest
planet with a second-stage port. And do not tell me”—now I
dared push a little; I could lose nothing by it, for my whole
chance hung on the slenderest of threads—“that you cannot get
me forth if you wish. The will of the Free Traders is too well
known.”
“We care for our own. You are not one of us.”
“You care for your cargo also. Then accept me as cargo—a
profitable cargo.”
He suddenly smiled. “Cargo, is it?” Then his smile
vanished and his eyes narrowed as he regarded me, as if by that
gaze he could indeed transform me into a box or bale, to be stored
in the hold of his ship. “You talk of profit?” he
began, brisk again. “What sort of profit and how
much?”
I turned away and sought my safe-belt. Then I showed him what I
held and it took fire in the torchlight. Profit of a half
year’s careful trading on my own—two of them matched as
closely as anyone could hope to find—Eyes of Kelem. They were
gold, and scarlet, with flecks of green deep in them. And if you
looked upon them long, the color flowed. Not a fortune, no. But,
offered in the proper market, worth a whole voyage for a trader who
was only average lucky most of the time. They were my best and I
knew he guessed that.
He did not try to bargain, or belittle my offering. Whether he
did indeed have some half sympathy for my plight, I do not know.
But he looked at the stones and then to me, nodding, holding forth
his hand and closing it over them in a manner which showed that he
knew the rules of our trade also. Free Traders are alert to any
cargo and deal in many things.
“Come!”
I followed him out of that room, leaving my offering behind me
on the guesting table. For I was satisfied that they had kept their
part of the bargain. We were again in the hall where the torches
blazed behind the face, but these were now quenched and I saw
through the holes the light of day. The Cargo Master stooped and
picked up a bundle lying there, shaking it out to show me a worn
uniform tunic and the cap of a crewman.
“Put them on.”
I laughed, feeling a little lightheaded. “It would seem
you came prepared,” I said as I pulled the tunic over my head
and shoulders, sealed it at collar and belt. It was small for me,
but not too much so.
“I was—” He hesitated. “The news is loud.
Ustle was known to our Captain. When the message came through he
was enough interested to send me.”
The set of his jaw told me that that was all I would get out of
him on the subject. But I was the more heartened by this evidence
that he had come prepared to get me out—though I would still have
liked to go through the door weapon in hand.
We were not, however, to go that way, for the Free Trader walked
briskly to the wall on our left, slapped his hand against it.
Though that touch could not have moved the heavy stone, it swung
inward, disclosing another narrow way, and he stepped confidently
into that, leaving me to follow. When the stone swung back behind
us, we were left in a thick dark, reminding me unpleasantly of the
alleys through which I had earlier fled.
It was a very narrow passage, our shoulders brushing wall on
either side. I bumped into my guide, who had stopped short. There
was a click and then a blaze of bright light.
“Come!” He reached out a hand to pull me after him.
I blinked and screwed up my eyes against the assault of that
brilliant sun. We were in another alley, piled along the wall with
containers of refuse. Things scuttled in the slime under our boots
and my guide swore roundly as he kicked out at something which
hissed at him. Six strides, as long and fast as we could make them,
brought us into another and much cleaner byway. I had to fight my
desire to run, or to look about me for attackers. It was necessary
to put on the cloak of unconcern and match my pace to the Cargo
Master’s.
Then we were through the gates of the port. As I had thought,
the Voyringer had lifted and only the trader remained, fins down,
on the blast-scorched ground. The Cargo Master caught at my
sleeve.
“Trouble—maybe—”
But I had already sighted that blaze of bright robes around the
ship. There was a reception committee waiting. Perhaps just on the
general principle that a hunted off-worlder would make for the only
ship left.
“Drunk—you’re an off-ship drunk!” The Cargo
Master hissed at me in a sound much like that made by the alley
scavenger. “This ought to do it !” I saw the blow
coming, but I was totally unprepared to dodge it. A blast of pain
spread from my jaw, and I must have gone down and out in the same
moment, for there my memories of Tanth come to an abrupt stop.
There was a tap-tapping of jeweler’s hammers in my skull,
setting tighter and tighter a brazen band about my brain. I could
not lift a hand to stop that torment. Then liquid splashed over me
and I drew a choking gasp of air, which seemed to subdue for the
moment the worst of the hammering. I opened my eyes.
A face hung over me, two faces, one very close, the other blurry
and at a greater distance. The close one was furred, with pricked,
tassled ears, green-gold eyes. It opened a black-lipped mouth and I
looked into a wedge-shaped space set with fangs, and a curling,
rough-surfaced tongue. It was a small face—
Now the larger approached and I tried to focus on it.
Space-tanned, with close-cropped hair, for the rest the face of any
crewman, ageless and now expressionless.
I heard words—“Well, so you are back with us—”
Back? Back where? Memory stirred sluggishly—back in the cell
of the sanctuary? No! I tried to sit up and my head whirled so that
I was sick. But as ungentle hands thrust me flat again, I felt
something else which could never have vibrated through Koongan
walls—I was not only aboard a ship, but we were in flight. And
the vast flood of relief which followed that realization carried me
back into a limbo which was half unconsciousness, half sleep.
So I found myself aboard the Vestris, though the first days in
her were not the usual spent by a passenger. The Cargo Master had
indeed knocked me out to carry me aboard as his drunken assistant.
But it would seem I was of less hardy structure than those his
fists had dealt with heretofore, and I continued semiconscious for
a longer space than the medico liked. When I was again fully aware
of my surroundings, I lay in a cramped cubby off the medico’s
cabin, used by the seriously ill. It was some time before I had my
interview with Captain Isuran. Like all Free Traders, he was
ship-born, ship-bred, of a type growing more and more apart from
planet-orientated men. All the Free Traders I had known before had
been only casual acquaintances, and I found myself oddly ill at
ease with these in such close quarters. I told him my story and he
listened. And he asked who had wanted Vondar Ustle dead, but that I
could not tell him. That there had been some tie in the past
between my master and this Captain, I was sure. But Isuran did not
explain and I dared not ask questions. It was enough that he would
take me to another world, one on which I could contact sources who
had known me as Vondar’s assistant.
I had some time to meditate upon the future, for space travel is
sheer monotony once one is off-world. The crewmen develop hobbies
to occupy mind and hand. For me there was nothing but my thoughts.
And they were not so pleasant I cared to dwell long upon them.
Ustle had had contacts on many worlds, and I thought one or two
might be willing to give me a chance at a planetside job. But,
though I knew gems as a buyer, I was no designer, nor did I want a
settled existence. I had tasted too deeply of Vondar’s way of
life. My safe-belt was very light now. And I would have to reach a
second-stage port to tap past resources for expense money. Also—my savings were limited. I could not keep on as we had done alone.
And there were very few, if any, Vondar Ustles in search of
apprentices.
Also—what had been behind Vondar’s death? That it was
planned and not by the Green Robes alone, I had come to accept.
But, though I tried—sifting memories—I could not bring to mind
a single happening which would plant so deep a reason for someone
to wish him dead. And perhaps not only him, for the Green Robes had
moved in on both of us.
This was the second time death had abruptly come so close to me.
I thought again of my father, or of him I would always think of as
my father, for he had treated me as of his own flesh and blood and
had settled for me (knowing as he must have how matters would go
after his death) a future he thought would be the best. Who had
been his visitor that day? And the space ring—my hand sought the
last and deepest pocket of my safe-belt. I did not unseal it, only
felt through it the shape of the band and that lusterless stone.
Was I right that this was what my father’s killer had sought?
If so—could it also be—? I did not see how this could have
followed us to Tanth. All the property on the bodies of their
victims belonged to the Green Robes and were offered to their dead
demon. No one but their order would have had the ring had I fallen
prey to them.
I had a handful of facts and could go on endlessly building many
surmises, without ever being sure that any were close to the truth.
Although in the meanwhile I must seek some way of earning my
living, I would, in time, have to learn what lay behind
Vondar’s killing. For I had such ties with him as would
indeed demand the equivalent of the Free Traders’
knife-oath.
But I was still far from the solution of my twin problems when
the Vestris prepared for a landing, not on the planet at which I
aimed, but on a lesser world. Cargo Master Ostrend briefed me as to
their reasons for the landfall. It was a lushly overgrown land,
overwarm, too, to our tastes, with a nonhuman, batrachian-evolved
native race. What those had to barter was a substance strained and
fermented from certain plants, medicinal in nature. What the
Vestris gave in return was seed shellfish, to be loosed in beds,
considered a great delicacy.
“You might be interested in these.” Ostrend took
from his lockbox three objects and set them out on the top of his
swing desk.
They were a pinkish purple in shade, and each was a tiny figure.
I brought out my jeweler’s lens to study them closer. Figures
they were, as weirdly grotesque as any of the demons dreamed up by
the imaginations of the artists of Tanth. They seemed to be
fashioned of nacre, though not carved. I had not seen their like
before. They were oddities which might appeal to collectors of the
curious.
“There is a planter of shellfish beds—Salmscar. He has
been experimenting with some of the mutated crustaceans.
That’s what keeps our trade going here; the things mutate so
quickly that they cannot be bred true past about the second year.
He plants tiny metallic ‘seeds’ in the mutants and in
about three or four years gets these. Just a hobby with him. But
you might do a spot of trading if you are interested.”
I knew the Free Traders and their jealously guarded sources of
items. If the mutant pearls had any value, Ostrend would not have
made that suggestion. Unless, of course, he was either testing me
or setting a trap—now I saw dangers standing to right and left.
It was almost as if he were urging me to break their ship law. But
I would not tell him so. A very small third mystery to add to the
others. I expressed interest, which I did not have to feign, and
did wonder what I had that I could offer for some of the things—not that I could use my few assets on a gamble, nor would I attempt
any trade without full consent of my present shipmates.
The torch which had been in the room of the
sanctuary when first I entered was sputtering to the end as I woke.
What had the voice said? For the space of four torches I could
shelter there. I looked at the floor. There were three more torches
lying ready. Now I got up to force the dying one from its hold,
light another in its place.
But after four torches—what? Would I be thrust-out into the
streets of Koonga again? At intervals I questioned the walls of the
room, but no answer came. Twice I searched again, seeking some
cunningly hidden exit. There was a building frustration within me.
I had passed part of a night here, by my timekeeper, and some of
the day thereafter. The four torches, I calculated roughly, would
cover perhaps three days. But long before that the ship on which
Vondar and I had passage would lift. Nor would its Captain worry if
we did not claim those passages. Once planetside, passengers were
strictly on their own. A Captain would take steps to rescue a
member of his closely knit crew, for the ship unit became as
tightly welded as a family or clan, but strangers he would not
aid.
What chance had I left? Was I under observation? How would the
keepers of this place know when their torches were exhausted? Or
had they through the years fallen into such routine that they could
judge approximately? And what was their purpose? What did they get
out of this service? A temple would accept a gift for a god. And to
me this sanctuary continued to suggest a religious
establishment.
I lay down again on the bed, rolled so that I faced the wall and
that my breast was hidden from the room. My hands moved stealthily,
for I had to believe that there was a watcher. If I could not hold
to that hope, I had nothing left. Two pockets in my safe-belt.
Between thumb and forefinger rolled the sleekness of the gems I
carried. I palmed them and lay still, letting them believe I
slept.
Vondar had had the best of our stock already locked in the safe
of the ship. Eventually those should reach the storehouse of the
jeweler to whom they had been consigned, there to wait for one who
would never claim them.
What I carried were inferior stones, or so reckoned on inner
planets. Only here two of them might well present a temptation to
any watcher. Both were fruits of my own trading—one a carved
crystal in the form of a small demonic head, with rubies inset for
eyes, fang teeth of yellow sapphires, a weird, small curiosity. The
very force of the carving might make it attractive on this world.
The other was a thumb-sized “soothing stone” of red
jade, one of those pieces the men of Gambool carry to finger while
they talk business. There is a sensuous satisfaction in the
handling of such a piece, and perhaps they are wise in their choice
of this tension relaxer.
How much is a life worth? I could empty my safebelt—but I knew
I must reserve a second payment if my plan was to succeed. And I
had chosen as best I could. Now I rolled over and sat up. The light
of the new torch was brighter than the old.
The guesting table—I looked at it. Then I crossed the room to
sit on one of its flanking stools, lay the stones on its surface. I
did not raise my voice in any demand this time but tried to be as
one bargaining in the market place.
“It is said that for all things there is a price,” I
began as if I spoke to someone who sat on the other stool to my
right. “There are those who sell, and those who wish to buy.
I am a stranger in your land, upon your world of Tanth. By no fault
of my own I find myself a hunted man. My friend and master is dead,
slain also for no fault—for since when have the Green Robes ever
before chosen one not of their belief to satisfy their master? Is
it not said the unwilling sacrifice is the lesser one and not
pleasing to the power to which it is sped?
“It is true that I have killed, but only to defend myself.
I am willing to offer blood price if that is required of me. But
remember, I am from off-world, and so cannot be bound by the laws
of your land unless I willfully and willingly break them by intent—answering only to my own authority for all else.”
Did anyone hear me? Was Tanth so removed from the civilized
worlds that the Confederation’s authority could be flouted?
What would priests of a local god care for a rule based light-years
away? Nor could I flatter myself that Vondar’s death would
set any fleets in motion to demand answers from Tanth’s
inhabitants. Like the Free Traders, we accepted risks when we
traveled the far star lanes.
“Blood price will I pay,” I repeated, fighting my
mounting tension, willing my voice to remain even and low. I opened
my hand and allowed the fingering piece to lie in the open.
“This is a gem of virtue. He who holds it while thinking of
or speaking on matters of import will discover his temper remains
calm, his mind clear—” I wrapped my tongue in the rolling
formality of the native speech, using the wording common to men of
substance. In such little things sometimes there is great
influence.
“To this gem of power”—I allowed the carved crystal
to be seen now, the leering face uppermost—“I will add this
talisman. As one can see, it bears the face of Umphal—”
(Which it did not, having come from another world, where that
nightmare demon was unknown. But it was enough like the effigies of
Umphal I had seen here to pass.) “Set such on a frontlet and
what fear need a man longer have of the grimace of the red-eyed
power? For seeing his own face, Umphal will flee—is that not so?
Thus doubly do I pay blood price, with a stone which gives men
wisdom, and one which promises protection from that which rides the
night north winds.”
Trying to keep out of mind the thought that I might be speaking
only to unhearing walls, that there were no eyes which watched, I
spoke again:
“There is a Free Trader planeted at your port. For my
blood price I ask only speech with her Captain.”
Then I sat in silence, watching the two gems on the table,
straining to hear the slightest sound which might reveal I did have
a listener. I could not believe that after a period of time within
this room sanctuary ended and that the desperate souls who came
here had no other recourse.
I could not be sure—a click—had I heard a click? Dared I
believe that I had heard such a sound? It had come from behind me.
I waited a long moment and then arose and went to the niche, as if
to drink from the flagon there. In the small basket beside that lay
something which had not been there before—a flat cake. Once more
I picked up that tantalizing bell and was about to ring it when the
basket caught my attention. It had been shoved forward, leaving
marks in the dust. By the look of those the stone behind it had
slid out.
Certainly I had not been mistaken in my hearing of that click.
There was an opening in the wall and I had been observed through
it. They had furnished me with food. The cake was crumbly and
smelled of coarse cheese, as it had been split open and smeared
with that. To off-world taste it was unpleasant, but I ate it.
Hunger can conquer much.
Waiting is the hardest test to which one can be put and waiting
was now mine. The torch had burned down and I was about to set
another in its place when, without warning, a man appeared in the
doorway through which I had first come. Though I went for my laser,
he had me covered before my hand touched its butt.
“Steady on!” He spoke Basic, coming a step or two
farther into the room. I saw a ship’s tunic with the insignia
of Cargo Master on the collar. “Keep your hands in plain
sight.”
He was an off-worlder, and his uniform was that of a Free
Trader. I drew a deep breath. In so much had my plea carried.
“You have a proposition—”he eyed me narrowly, with little
cordiality. “Speak your piece.” There was a snap of
urgency to that as if he were there against his will with danger
breathing hot upon him.
“I want passage out.” I cut my answer to that bare
statement.
He had backed around so that his shoulders were at the wall and faced me warily. A Cargo Master of a Free Trader needs must be
more than a merchant. He does not grow fat and sleek, and slow of
reflex, no matter if he is not a fighting man—officially—but a
trader.
“With half the city to tear you down should you step upon
the street?” he countered. Still his laser was aimed at my
middle. There was no softening for my plight to be read on his
face. The Free Traders are clansmen, with their ship their home. I
was not of his brood.
“Tell me, Cargo Master”—I did not approach him, and
now I must be a master bargainer indeed if I was to win my life—“what have you heard of me?”
“That you spat upon one priest, slew another—”
“I am a gem trader, late apprentice to Vondar Ustle—you
have heard that name?”
“I have heard. He travels far. What of it? Does that make
your crime the less here in Koonga?”
“There was no crime.” How could I make the truth so
plain he would believe me? “Do you think a man thrusts a rod
into a yaeger-wasp nest and turns it deliberately, when he is in
his right mind? We were in a tavern—the Sign of the Mottled
Corby. Our business here was done, we had passage on the Voyringer.
Then the Green Robes came in and set up that infernal spinning
arrow of theirs. We thought we were in no danger, being
off-worlders. When it stopped I swear it pointed between the two of
us. Then the Robes moved in to take us—”
“Why?” I saw the disbelief in his eyes. “They
do not play such games with off-worlders.”
“As we thought also, Cargo Master. Yet they did. And
Vondar was knifed down when he tried to resist. I burned a priest
and was near enough to the door to get free. I had heard of this
sanctuary—so—”
“Tell me—what was Vondar Ustle’s hallmark? And it
I have seen, I warn you.” That shot from his lips as a ray
might have from his laser.
“A half-moon wrought in opal with the signet, between its
horns, a Gryphon’s head in firestones.” I made prompt
reply, though I wondered what this Free Trader would know of a
master gemologist’s mark, which he would display for
identification only to an equal in rank.
He nodded and slipped his laser into its holster. “What
enemy did Ustle make here?”
That thought had plagued me also since I had had the time within
this hole to think. For it was reasonable that, were a desire for
revenge strong enough, my master might have been set up for such a
kill. Though their demon was supposed to select his prey by chance
alone, without aid from his servant priests, rumor suggested that
he sometimes had assistance of mortal means, that a suitable gift
to his shrine could produce a sacrifice which would please more
than just the Green Robes and their lord. But there had been no
clash with any local power. We had visited Hamzar, inspected his
wares and purchased what Vondar thought good, exchanged trade
gossip with him. There had been one visit to the nomads’
market and some dickering for uncut crystals out of the salt
deserts, but both sides had been pleased with the deal. I could see
no local tie-up with any trouble. And now, though I would have
given much to be able to produce such a neat solution, I had to
admit the truth.
“It need not have been of Tanth at all,” the Cargo
Master replied. And he watched me as if I could then supply name
and reason. A moment later, he continued. “Some strokes are
aimed from longer distances. But—if you wish to take knife-oath
for your master later, that is your affair. Always supposing you do
come out alive. Now, what do you want of us? You say passage
off-world—how?”
“How would you do it?” I countered. “I will
pay well to lift in your ship, and for passage to the nearest
planet with a second-stage port. And do not tell me”—now I
dared push a little; I could lose nothing by it, for my whole
chance hung on the slenderest of threads—“that you cannot get
me forth if you wish. The will of the Free Traders is too well
known.”
“We care for our own. You are not one of us.”
“You care for your cargo also. Then accept me as cargo—a
profitable cargo.”
He suddenly smiled. “Cargo, is it?” Then his smile
vanished and his eyes narrowed as he regarded me, as if by that
gaze he could indeed transform me into a box or bale, to be stored
in the hold of his ship. “You talk of profit?” he
began, brisk again. “What sort of profit and how
much?”
I turned away and sought my safe-belt. Then I showed him what I
held and it took fire in the torchlight. Profit of a half
year’s careful trading on my own—two of them matched as
closely as anyone could hope to find—Eyes of Kelem. They were
gold, and scarlet, with flecks of green deep in them. And if you
looked upon them long, the color flowed. Not a fortune, no. But,
offered in the proper market, worth a whole voyage for a trader who
was only average lucky most of the time. They were my best and I
knew he guessed that.
He did not try to bargain, or belittle my offering. Whether he
did indeed have some half sympathy for my plight, I do not know.
But he looked at the stones and then to me, nodding, holding forth
his hand and closing it over them in a manner which showed that he
knew the rules of our trade also. Free Traders are alert to any
cargo and deal in many things.
“Come!”
I followed him out of that room, leaving my offering behind me
on the guesting table. For I was satisfied that they had kept their
part of the bargain. We were again in the hall where the torches
blazed behind the face, but these were now quenched and I saw
through the holes the light of day. The Cargo Master stooped and
picked up a bundle lying there, shaking it out to show me a worn
uniform tunic and the cap of a crewman.
“Put them on.”
I laughed, feeling a little lightheaded. “It would seem
you came prepared,” I said as I pulled the tunic over my head
and shoulders, sealed it at collar and belt. It was small for me,
but not too much so.
“I was—” He hesitated. “The news is loud.
Ustle was known to our Captain. When the message came through he
was enough interested to send me.”
The set of his jaw told me that that was all I would get out of
him on the subject. But I was the more heartened by this evidence
that he had come prepared to get me out—though I would still have
liked to go through the door weapon in hand.
We were not, however, to go that way, for the Free Trader walked
briskly to the wall on our left, slapped his hand against it.
Though that touch could not have moved the heavy stone, it swung
inward, disclosing another narrow way, and he stepped confidently
into that, leaving me to follow. When the stone swung back behind
us, we were left in a thick dark, reminding me unpleasantly of the
alleys through which I had earlier fled.
It was a very narrow passage, our shoulders brushing wall on
either side. I bumped into my guide, who had stopped short. There
was a click and then a blaze of bright light.
“Come!” He reached out a hand to pull me after him.
I blinked and screwed up my eyes against the assault of that
brilliant sun. We were in another alley, piled along the wall with
containers of refuse. Things scuttled in the slime under our boots
and my guide swore roundly as he kicked out at something which
hissed at him. Six strides, as long and fast as we could make them,
brought us into another and much cleaner byway. I had to fight my
desire to run, or to look about me for attackers. It was necessary
to put on the cloak of unconcern and match my pace to the Cargo
Master’s.
Then we were through the gates of the port. As I had thought,
the Voyringer had lifted and only the trader remained, fins down,
on the blast-scorched ground. The Cargo Master caught at my
sleeve.
“Trouble—maybe—”
But I had already sighted that blaze of bright robes around the
ship. There was a reception committee waiting. Perhaps just on the
general principle that a hunted off-worlder would make for the only
ship left.
“Drunk—you’re an off-ship drunk!” The Cargo
Master hissed at me in a sound much like that made by the alley
scavenger. “This ought to do it !” I saw the blow
coming, but I was totally unprepared to dodge it. A blast of pain
spread from my jaw, and I must have gone down and out in the same
moment, for there my memories of Tanth come to an abrupt stop.
There was a tap-tapping of jeweler’s hammers in my skull,
setting tighter and tighter a brazen band about my brain. I could
not lift a hand to stop that torment. Then liquid splashed over me
and I drew a choking gasp of air, which seemed to subdue for the
moment the worst of the hammering. I opened my eyes.
A face hung over me, two faces, one very close, the other blurry
and at a greater distance. The close one was furred, with pricked,
tassled ears, green-gold eyes. It opened a black-lipped mouth and I
looked into a wedge-shaped space set with fangs, and a curling,
rough-surfaced tongue. It was a small face—
Now the larger approached and I tried to focus on it.
Space-tanned, with close-cropped hair, for the rest the face of any
crewman, ageless and now expressionless.
I heard words—“Well, so you are back with us—”
Back? Back where? Memory stirred sluggishly—back in the cell
of the sanctuary? No! I tried to sit up and my head whirled so that
I was sick. But as ungentle hands thrust me flat again, I felt
something else which could never have vibrated through Koongan
walls—I was not only aboard a ship, but we were in flight. And
the vast flood of relief which followed that realization carried me
back into a limbo which was half unconsciousness, half sleep.
So I found myself aboard the Vestris, though the first days in
her were not the usual spent by a passenger. The Cargo Master had
indeed knocked me out to carry me aboard as his drunken assistant.
But it would seem I was of less hardy structure than those his
fists had dealt with heretofore, and I continued semiconscious for
a longer space than the medico liked. When I was again fully aware
of my surroundings, I lay in a cramped cubby off the medico’s
cabin, used by the seriously ill. It was some time before I had my
interview with Captain Isuran. Like all Free Traders, he was
ship-born, ship-bred, of a type growing more and more apart from
planet-orientated men. All the Free Traders I had known before had
been only casual acquaintances, and I found myself oddly ill at
ease with these in such close quarters. I told him my story and he
listened. And he asked who had wanted Vondar Ustle dead, but that I
could not tell him. That there had been some tie in the past
between my master and this Captain, I was sure. But Isuran did not
explain and I dared not ask questions. It was enough that he would
take me to another world, one on which I could contact sources who
had known me as Vondar’s assistant.
I had some time to meditate upon the future, for space travel is
sheer monotony once one is off-world. The crewmen develop hobbies
to occupy mind and hand. For me there was nothing but my thoughts.
And they were not so pleasant I cared to dwell long upon them.
Ustle had had contacts on many worlds, and I thought one or two
might be willing to give me a chance at a planetside job. But,
though I knew gems as a buyer, I was no designer, nor did I want a
settled existence. I had tasted too deeply of Vondar’s way of
life. My safe-belt was very light now. And I would have to reach a
second-stage port to tap past resources for expense money. Also—my savings were limited. I could not keep on as we had done alone.
And there were very few, if any, Vondar Ustles in search of
apprentices.
Also—what had been behind Vondar’s death? That it was
planned and not by the Green Robes alone, I had come to accept.
But, though I tried—sifting memories—I could not bring to mind
a single happening which would plant so deep a reason for someone
to wish him dead. And perhaps not only him, for the Green Robes had
moved in on both of us.
This was the second time death had abruptly come so close to me.
I thought again of my father, or of him I would always think of as
my father, for he had treated me as of his own flesh and blood and
had settled for me (knowing as he must have how matters would go
after his death) a future he thought would be the best. Who had
been his visitor that day? And the space ring—my hand sought the
last and deepest pocket of my safe-belt. I did not unseal it, only
felt through it the shape of the band and that lusterless stone.
Was I right that this was what my father’s killer had sought?
If so—could it also be—? I did not see how this could have
followed us to Tanth. All the property on the bodies of their
victims belonged to the Green Robes and were offered to their dead
demon. No one but their order would have had the ring had I fallen
prey to them.
I had a handful of facts and could go on endlessly building many
surmises, without ever being sure that any were close to the truth.
Although in the meanwhile I must seek some way of earning my
living, I would, in time, have to learn what lay behind
Vondar’s killing. For I had such ties with him as would
indeed demand the equivalent of the Free Traders’
knife-oath.
But I was still far from the solution of my twin problems when
the Vestris prepared for a landing, not on the planet at which I
aimed, but on a lesser world. Cargo Master Ostrend briefed me as to
their reasons for the landfall. It was a lushly overgrown land,
overwarm, too, to our tastes, with a nonhuman, batrachian-evolved
native race. What those had to barter was a substance strained and
fermented from certain plants, medicinal in nature. What the
Vestris gave in return was seed shellfish, to be loosed in beds,
considered a great delicacy.
“You might be interested in these.” Ostrend took
from his lockbox three objects and set them out on the top of his
swing desk.
They were a pinkish purple in shade, and each was a tiny figure.
I brought out my jeweler’s lens to study them closer. Figures
they were, as weirdly grotesque as any of the demons dreamed up by
the imaginations of the artists of Tanth. They seemed to be
fashioned of nacre, though not carved. I had not seen their like
before. They were oddities which might appeal to collectors of the
curious.
“There is a planter of shellfish beds—Salmscar. He has
been experimenting with some of the mutated crustaceans.
That’s what keeps our trade going here; the things mutate so
quickly that they cannot be bred true past about the second year.
He plants tiny metallic ‘seeds’ in the mutants and in
about three or four years gets these. Just a hobby with him. But
you might do a spot of trading if you are interested.”
I knew the Free Traders and their jealously guarded sources of
items. If the mutant pearls had any value, Ostrend would not have
made that suggestion. Unless, of course, he was either testing me
or setting a trap—now I saw dangers standing to right and left.
It was almost as if he were urging me to break their ship law. But
I would not tell him so. A very small third mystery to add to the
others. I expressed interest, which I did not have to feign, and
did wonder what I had that I could offer for some of the things—not that I could use my few assets on a gamble, nor would I attempt
any trade without full consent of my present shipmates.