Jack of Swords dot-14

by E. C. Tubb

  Friends on the surface, competitors beneath, each jealous of the other's prosperity. Yet the facade had to be maintained, unity shown, and a common face presented to the outside. The monk, for example-he could learn more than he should. The Universal Church had friends in high places, and who could tell what gossip they carried? It had been a mistake to permit his presence. Pacula, at times, went too far.

  Later, when the assembly had departed, he spoke to her about it.

  "The monk, sister-is it wise to advertise your friendship?"

  "I look to him for help."

  "Which will be given at a price, naturally. More money wasted on a futile quest. The girl is dead-can't you accept that? Culpea is dead."

  "No!" He saw the sudden pallor of her face, the lines suddenly appearing and betraying her age, so that, for a moment, she looked haggard. Then, with an effort, she controlled herself, old defenses coming to the rescue. "You mustn't say that, Tien. There is no proof. No-" she swallowed and forced herself to continue. "No body was ever found."

  "The raft crashed. Her nurse was discovered in a crevass. The guards were scattered and none alive to tell what happened. But we can guess. Please, sister, accept the facts. It is better so."

  "She could have been found," she insisted. "Taken by some passing wanderer. Such things happen. I must continue the search, Tien. I must!"

  Years now and still she hoped and yet he hadn't the heart to be ruthless. Even so, there had to be an end to the money she squandered.

  "You have tried the monks before," he reminded. "Your donations were more than generous, but to no avail. Money is scarce, and with the bull dead, economies have to be made. I am sorry, Pacula, but my patience is exhausted. Search on if you must, but don't look to me for further help."

  "You deny me my right?"

  "You have had that and more. There must be an end." Pausing, he added more gently, "One thing more I will do. On Heidah are skilled physicians who can eliminate hurtful memories and replace them with comforting illusions. Go to them, Pacula, have them eradicate this torment. Forget the child and gain a measure of peace."

  "And you will pay for it?"

  Relief at her acquiescence made him overlook the calculation in her eyes. "Of course. Tell me how much and it will be yours. You have my word."

  "Which has never been broken." Her smile was a mask. "I will consider it, Tien."

  He did not see the hand she held at her side, the fingers clenched, the knuckles taut beneath the skin. Nor did he observe the muscles tense beneath the smile which accentuated the line of her jaw. To him her words were enough.

  "Have an early night," he urged. "You have been upset since the storm. And with reason," he added quickly. "That I do not deny. But you are fatigued. A good sleep and you will feel better."

  She said flatly, "Thank you, Tien, I will follow your advice. But later. Tonight I have promised to visit Sufan Noyoka."

  "That dreamer?" Tien made no effort to hide his contempt. "The man is mad."

  "But harmless."

  "Can madness ever be that?" He shrugged, expecting no answer and receiving none. "Well, do as you wish, but be careful. You promise?"

  "I promise."

  He left her at that, satisfied, his mind busy with other things. The pain of his recent loss was a nagging ache which left little concern for the lightness of a decision made. Let her visit Noyoka. Perhaps, in each other's company, they could find a common ease. Madness had an affinity to madness and, reluctant as he was to admit it, his sister was far from sane.

  * * *

  When a boy, Ibius Avorot had seen a man flayed and staked out in the sun as a punishment for the unlawful killing of a beast. His father had been at pains to point out the necessity for such harsh treatment, his hand gripping the thin shoulder, pain emphasizing the lesson.

  An animal killed, in itself nothing if it had not been for the value, but what next? Once allow a threat against the established order and there would be no end. Shops raided, men killed, a mass of starving wretches bursting from their confines and demanding food as a right instead of a reward. Give it to them and where would be the power held by the Owners? To be charitable was to invite destruction. To survive on Teralde a man had to be strong.

  Logic which had confounded the boy as he was forced to watch the man die. Surely a man was of greater value than a beast? And if hunger turned men savage, then why not feed them and eliminate the danger? Concepts which his father had done his best to beat from his son and, when learning, Ibius had confessed his errors, had been satisfied.

  A hard man who had died as he lived, one respected by the Owners, who had not hesitated to elect his son to the vacated position. And the years had brought a cynical contempt for those who begged for the food they could have taken by right. That lesson at least he had learned, only the strong could survive-but never again did he want to see a screaming creature wearing the shape of a man die in such a fashion.

  And yet, it seemed, soon he would have no choice.

  "Commissioner?" Usan Labria had entered his office and plumped herself down without invitation. Old, raddled, the gems on her fingers accentuating the sere and withered flesh. Paint made her face a grotesque mask in which her eyes, cold, shrewd, gleamed like splintered glass.

  "My lady, this is an honor."

  "An inconvenience, Commissioner. For once be honest."

  Once, perhaps, he would have accepted the invitation, now he was not so foolish. "The visit of an Owner could never be that, my lady. You have a problem?"

  "We all have a problem. This bull of Harada's-when are you going to find who killed it?"

  "Your interest?"

  "Don't be a fool, man." Her voice, like her face, was a distortion of what a woman's should be. Harsh, rough, strained as if with pain. "Harada suspects an Owner is responsible. Unless the culprits are found he will be tempted to take action and the last thing we want is an internecine war. The last time it happened a third of the breeding stock was destroyed and two Owners assassinated. That was before your time, but I remember it. I don't want it to happen again."

  "It won't, my lady."

  "Which means that you've discovered something." Her eyes narrowed a trifle. "Why haven't you made an arrest? How much longer will you keep us all in suspense? I insist you take action, Commissioner, and fast. If not, another will take your place."

  Another threat to add to the rest, but he could understand her concern. Her lands were arid, her herd small, a war could wipe her out and end her power. For such a woman that was unthinkable.

  He said quietly, "To take action isn't enough. There is the question of proof."

  "Surely that can be found?" She edged closer to the desk, her voice lowered. "Who was it? Eldaret? Jelkin? Repana? Who?"

  Owners all, and her suspicions were proof of how they regarded each other. The bull, used, would have put them all at a disadvantage.

  She frowned at his answer. "Not an Owner! Man, do you realize what you are saying? It would have taken a rifle to kill that beast, a laser even. Men would have needed a raft and lights to spot the target. Who but an Owner could have arranged it?"

  "Think of the facts, my lady."

  "I know them." She was curt. "A beast killed and butchered-obviously done to avoid suspicion. The fence cut and the animal removed so as to hide the real objective. Have you questioned the guards?"

  "I know my business, my lady."

  She ignored the reproof. "They must have been bribed. Question them again and this time be less gentle. It is something you should have done before."

  "And will the ravings and accusations of a man in torment provide satisfactory evidence?" With an effort he mastered himself. Never could he afford the luxury of betraying his true feelings. "The problem must be solved to the satisfaction of Tien Harada. Unless it is, his suspicions will remain as will the possibility of reprisal. I-" He broke off as his phone hummed its signal. To the face on the screen he snapped, "What is it?"

  "A report from
Officer Harm, sir. A man was reported for trying to sell meat."

  "Sun-dried?"

  "Yes."

  "And?" Avorot's voice reflected his impatience. "Speak up, man."

  "He was suspicious and tried to run. Officer Harm had to shoot. The man is now in hospital."

  "Dead?"

  "Wounded, but critical. I thought it best-"

  The screen died as Avorot broke the connection. To the woman he said, "My apologies, my lady, but this is urgent. I must speak to that man before he dies."

  * * *

  He lay on a cot in a room painted green and brown, the colors of earth and growth, but one hue was missing, the scarlet of blood. Avorot looked at the thin face, then at the doctor hovering close.

  "Can he talk?"

  "He is in terminal coma."

  "That isn't answering my question. Can you give him drugs in order to make him speak?"

  "He's dying, Commissioner. Your officer aimed too well, the bullet severed the spine and lacerated the lungs. The loss of blood was intense and that, coupled with shock-"

  "I am not interested in your diagnosis," snapped Avorot. "Nor in your implied criticism of my officer. The man is a criminal who refused to obey an order. He holds information I must have. It is your responsibility to see that I get it. Call me when the man can speak."

  Outside the room Officer Harm was waiting. A big, beefy man with little imagination who stared unflinchingly at his superior.

  "What happened?" demanded Avorot. "Go into detail."

  "I was on patrol close to the field, as you'd instructed, Commissioner. The news that a ship is expected had got around and there was the usual crowd waiting for it to land. Scum, mostly, those with nothing else to do. You know how it is."

  "Go on."

  "Gilus Scheem sent me word by a man working for him. Someone was trying to sell him unlicensed meat. He was gone when I arrived but I had his description and managed to spot him. I yelled at him to halt but he just kept going. So I shot him."

  And the fool had aimed to kill. A bullet in the air would have been enough, or a chase to run the man down, but Harm wouldn't have thought of that.

  "And the meat?"

  "Here, sir. I thought you'd want to see it."

  In that at least, he'd shown sense. Avorot took the package and ripped it open to reveal the strips of tissue inside. He rubbed his fingers over a piece and held them to his nostrils. No scent of smoke, but that was expected. The sun itself would have been good enough for a man who knew what he was doing. His tongue told him more; no spice, nothing but the flesh itself. No commercial house would have turned out such a product.

  "Let me taste that." Usan Labria had insisted on accompanying him. She grunted as she handed back the package. "Not stolen from a warehouse, that's for sure, nor from a shop. And no processing plant would turn out such rubbish. What is it, Commissioner?"

  "Owner Harada's bull."

  "What?" She was incredulous. "Are you telling me that animal was slaughtered simply for its meat? That men came in the storm and killed it and-no!" Firmly she shook her head. "It's impossible. It couldn't be done."

  For answer he held out the package.

  "Meat," she admitted. "Unlicensed and poorly cured, but still not proof that it came from Harada's bull."

  "From where, then? The slaughterhouses?" Avorot shook his head. "Every ounce is accounted for. I'll admit that there could be some leakage from culled beasts and at times the sporting hunters grow careless. But this is the wrong time of year for that. This meat has been recently cured. It is proof which could clear the Owners from blame."

  And lead him to those responsible if the dying man could talk. Back in the room Avorot stared down at him, at the pale face, blank now like a waxen mask, the eyes closed, only the slight lifting of his chest telling that he was still alive.

  "I've given him what I can," said the doctor quietly. "I guarantee nothing, but there could be a moment before he dies when he might regain consciousness. You can talk to him then, but you will have to be quick."

  "Any history?"

  "None. My guess he is a stranded traveler-we have a lot of those living in the Warren. His hands are abraded and his clothes were rags. I'd say he's been living in the wilderness for days at least." The doctor reached out and touched the flaccid throat. "A fool," he said dispassionately. "He should have eaten the meat, not tried to sell it."

  A medical judgment, but the man had wanted more than a full stomach. The meat would have fetched money, had the dealer been less scrupulous-not much but enough for a stake at a gaming table and the chance to build it into enough for a Low passage. A journey which would have killed him, but a desperate man would have been willing to take the chance.

  On the cot he stirred a little, a bubble of froth rising between his lips to break, to leave a ruby smear.

  "Listen to me." Avorot leaned close. "Who was with you when you killed the bull? Who?"

  "A ship… coming… a chance…" The words were faint, the rustle of dry leaves blown by the wind. "Move now before--God, the pain! The pain!"

  "It will pass. Talk now and I'll order you the best treatment available. Who arranged it? Who led you?"

  The lips parted to emit a thin stream of blood which traced a path over the pale cheek and stained the pillow. The eyes, open, grew suddenly clear, the moment of full consciousness the doctor had promised might occur.

  Quickly Avorot said, "I can help you, but you must help me. Who led you on your trip to kill the animal? What is his name?"

  "Help me?"

  "The best of care. Food. Money for a High passage. I swear it. But the name. You must give me the name."

  "I'm dying!" The man stared with glazing eyes. "Earl warned me, but I wouldn't listen. I was a fool."

  "Earl?"

  "Dumarest."

  "What about him?"

  "Fast!" The voice was slurring as the man slipped toward death. "The fastest thing I ever saw. Killed the beast with a knife. Cut its throat and drove steel into its heart. Earl, I…"

  "Who else?" Avorot was sharp. "Who else was with you?"

  It was too late, the man was dead, but he had heard enough. Avorot closed the staring eyes and straightened, conscious of the acrid odor of the woman, the stench of sickness.

  "You heard?"

  "A name," she admitted. "And an attribute."

  It was enough. When the ship landed he would have the man.

  Chapter Three

  It was a small vessel carrying a score of sightseers. They disembarked at noon and would stay a few days, watching the sunsets and hunting selected beasts, returning with trophies of ears and tails, later to leave.

  Dumarest watched them from the edge of the field, staying clear of the crowd, conscious of the attention the guards were paying to those pressing close. Only when the crew made an appearance did he move toward the gate.

  Casually he fell into step behind a uniformed figure following the man into a tavern. He was big, with a hard, craggy face. He looked up in annoyance as Dumarest dropped into the seat at his side.

  "Save your breath, the answer's no."

  "The answer to what?"

  "You asking for a free drink. You want charity, go to the monks."

  "You move too fast, friend," said Dumarest mildly. "All I want is to talk. You the handler?"

  "Yes."

  "Where are you headed next?"

  "Ephrine and then back to Homedale. I won't be sorry to get there." He glanced at the girl who had come to take his order, then at Dumarest. "You buying?"

  "I'm buying." As the girl set down the goblets and took the money. Dumarest said, "A bad trip?"

  "I've had better. The ship was chartered to the Manager of Ralech-that's on Homedale and he wants nothing but the best. Tourists are fine when it comes to tips but this bunch is something special. Complaints all the time and the stewards are run ragged trying to please them. You a traveler?"

  "Yes."

  "I thought so, you can always te
ll. And I'm betting you want passage, right?"

  "Can it be arranged?"

  "No." The man sipped at his wine. "I'm giving it to you straight. The caskets are full of trophies and other junk and we've no room for anyone traveling Low. Sorry, but there it is."

  "How about a berth? I've worked on ships and can handle the job. A table too if I have to."

  "We've got a gambler and he's good. You've money?" He emptied his goblet as Dumarest nodded. "Enough for a Low passage, right? Well, it's just possible I might be able to fix something. You any good with a knife?"

  "I can fight if I have to."

  "Some of the young sports have a yen for combat. On Homedale a few scars win a man respect and they like to think they're good. You'll have to use a practice blade, of course, and make sure you don't get yourself killed, but that's up to you. If you're good you can handle it. With luck you could win a little money as prizes and there's always the chance of tips. Some of the women could take a fancy to you." He looked at Dumarest's face. "In fact, I'd bet on it. Interested?"

  "Yes."

  The handler looked at his empty goblet and smiled as Dumarest ordered it to be refilled.

  "We could get along. Tell you what, I'll speak to the Old Man. If he agrees I'll let you know. Be at the gate an hour before sunset."

  A chance and he had to take it. As the sun lowered and the first traces of vibrant color began to tinge the sky Dumarest walked toward the field. The guards, he noticed, were behind the fence and the gate was closed. Before it stood a cluster of others, men who could have no hope of gaining a passage but who had been drawn by a hopeless longing. Cran Elem was among them.

  "Earl!" He came forward, smiling. "Do you think we've got a chance?"

  "At what?"

  "A passage, what else? They need stewards, no pay but a chance to get away from here. The officer-" He broke off, frowning at Dumarest's expression. "Something wrong?"

  "Who did you talk to?"

  "The second engineer. He came out with the passengers. I took a chance and spoke to him."