by Andre Norton
"I don't think your untidy friend will be back," Che'in remarked. "Have you any idea of what he was hunting for?"
To answer that meant danger of another kind. Again Kade stared at his boots. No one could possibly guess what had been cached in their concealed top pockets. And his head hurt so that his thinking was fuzzy.
"Wait!" Che'in edged Kade's head forward delicately, gently, making an examination, not of the welt left by the blow, but of the other's scalp lock. "So. When your visitor did not find what he wanted—" the Trader's breath came out as a hiss and again all lazy good humor was wiped from his features.
"What's the matter?" Kade put up his own hand, felt for the customary short braid. But his fingers discovered only a ragged tuft left. He had been hastily shorn by the thief.
"Why?" Groggily he looked to Che'in for an answer.
Kade could understand the search for the remnants of the control which was still crumbling to smaller pieces in spite of his careful wrapping of the bits. And he could have understood the disappearance of the stunner. But why had the thief overlooked the weapon to take a few inches of human hair? The motive for that baffled him completely though he guessed it was clear to Che'in.
"The ordeal of the knots," the other spoke as if thinking aloud. "He did not find what he sought, so he would practice the ordeal of knots. But why? What did he seek here? This is important, Whitehawk. It may be deadly. Something Steel or you had?"
Kade took refuge in a collapse which was not more than a quarter acted, heard Che'in call out, and lying limp with closed eyes, heard the answering pound of feet. From his feigned faint he must have slipped into real sleep, for when he awoke again he was in the small post infirmary with the bright sheen of sunlight across the foot of his cot. They had probably drugged him for he discovered that thinking was a foggy process when he tried to put together into some sensible pattern the events he could remember.
What connection did those events have? He was almost certain Dokital had been his attacker. Since Kade's return from Cor he had seen almost nothing of the young Ikkinni, and a few offhand questions had told him that the native had been on a second hunting trip as Santoz's attendant. Kade's conscience had been none too easy. Out in the hills Dokital could put his dangerous knowledge to the rescue of another party of slaves. So the Terran had been relieved when the party had returned the day before, intact, and with an unusually good catch of musti in the bargain. If the Ikkinni had passed on his information, the natives had had no chance to steal a stunner and act upon it.
Unfortunately Kade was no nearer his own solution of how to have the broken control box investigated. The technical knowledge such an examination would require was completely out of his field and he had no contact at the nearest Trade Base who could make such a study and subsequently keep his mouth shut. To approach the Commander here was simply asking for his own dismissal. And with his plan beginning to work Kade could and would not jeopardize his service on Klor. The order for horses had gone through to Qwang-Khan and been approved. Horses were on their way to Klor. And he had already made a start with his project of introducing the Ikkinni to what might be their future secret weapon of liberation.
On the very plausible argument that horses could not be transported to their final destination by Styor planetary freighters, but would have to be driven or ridden overland, Kade was conducting a lecture course for the post Ikkinni in the care, feeding and nature of the new arrivals-to-be. Tri-dees blown up to almost life size served to make familiar the general appearance of the off-world beasts. And, with the aid of an improvised structure of wood and tubing, Kade had demonstrated some of the points of riding, the nature of a saddle pad, and the use of reins in governing the mount. The imported mounts would naturally be already well trained and docile, at least considered so by their Terran breeders. But Kade still had no way of telling whether horse and Ikkinni could and would learn to live together.
To his disappointment so far he had awakened no visible reaction in the natives. Herded to the place of instruction by Buk, who watched and listened himself with close attention, none of the slave laborers appeared to consider lesson time more than an interlude of rest, enduring the Terran's efforts at teaching as the price which must be paid for such a breathing spell. With Buk there Kade had to keep closely to the text concerning the welfare of the off-world animals, imported directly for the pleasure and benefit of the Styor which the Ikkinni so hopelessly hated.
He had been pleased to see Dokital in his audience at the last class meeting. Somehow Kade had expected a more alert response from the native who had been attracted by the bear. But the young Ikkinni had proved as stolidly unresponsive as his fellows.
And now, with a faint ache still behind his eyeballs when he tried to focus upon the band of sunlight, Kade was discouraged enough to admit that Dokital wanted just one thing, release from bondage. Undoubtedly he believed the Terran had that in his power to grant but would not.
He had not found and plundered the hidden pockets in Kade's boots, nor taken the stunner. Why had he taken most of the off-worlders short braid? As far as Kade knew there was no Ikkinni custom demanding that to disgrace an enemy. And what possible use could Dokital find for about three inches of alien hair?
What had Che'in said? "Ordeal of the knots." Kade repeated that aloud now, but the words meant nothing.
"Yes."
Kade turned his head on the foam support. Che'in was well within the door, walking with a cat's silence in spite of his boots. There had been a subtle alteration in this Teammate, no direct change of feature, or real disappearance of the basic placidity Kade had always seen the other display. Only now the Terran knew that serene expanse as a mask, under which a new pattern was coming to life.
The other stood looking down at Kade thoughtfully.
"Why do they hate you, Whitehawk?" He might have been inquiring about the other's health, only he was not.
"Who?"
"The Ikkinni," Che'in paused, and then there was a slight difference in his tone. "So you don't really understand after all! But then what a disappointment, what a grievous disappointment." He shook his head slowly.
"For whom?" Kade bottled his irritation. Trying to get any concrete information out of Che'in would seem to be a project in itself.
"The Ikkinni. And, of course, the Three Times Netter they employed to work on you. Or perhaps they have even hired a four knot man. From the disaster area they—or he—made of your quarters, I am inclined to believe your visitor was angry enough to go to a Four Netter—"
"Make sense," Kade's headache was returning. He was not amused by Che'in's riddle within riddle conversation.
"Magic," Che'in leaned back against the wall as if his usual indolence had caught up with him. "Take a tuft of an enemy's hair, knot it—with all the proper incantations and sacrifices—then each day draw those knots a little tighter—to be followed by subsequent bodily discomfort on the part of him whose personality is safely netted in your string of knots. If he agrees to your proposition, or you change your mind, certain of those knots can be untied again and his 'other self' released. If you get really thirsty for his blood, you tie your last knot firmly in a tangle and throw your net into a fire, or bury it in the earth, or dispose of it in some other final fashion which would provide a suitably unhappy end for your victim. Knotting is a local science of sorts I have been told."
Kade summoned up a grin. "And they expect this local magic to work on an off-worlder?"
Everyone knew that no one could be trapped by hallucination magic in which he was not conditioned from his birth. Yet the thought that somewhere a section of hairs, clipped in anger from his skull, was being skillfully and prayerfully knotted for the purpose of pain and revenge was not a pleasant one. Nor did it grow any less ominous the longer Kade considered it. Also there was always the chance that the hidden enemy, impatient at the ill success of his chosen scheme, might attack in a more forthright manner.
"If they discover their mi
stake," Che'in echoed Kade's last thought, "they may take more drastic, and quicker, steps. Why do they hate you, Whitehawk? What really happened during that mountain trip of yours?"
Kade was being forced into the position where he had to take someone into his confidence. If he went to Abu he believed he would be summarily shipped off planet. The Team Commander could not possibly overlook his subordinate's flagrant violation of Service orders. But Che'in—could Kade trust him? They had nothing in common, save their employment at the same post, and the younger man knew very little of the other. In the end it was Che'in who made his decision for him.
"Lik was not killed by a kwitu."
Kade stubbornly held silent, setting his will against the silent and invisible pressure the other was somehow exerting.
"Lik came to a doubtlessly well-deserved end by violence, maybe a spear."
Kade was quiet as Che'in in his careless voice picked for the truth.
"Somehow, somebody discovered that a belt control is not entirely infallible."
Kade had schooled himself to meet such a guess. He was sure he made no move, not so much as a flicker of the eyelid, to reveal how close that hit. Yet Che'in was on it instantly. The difference which the younger Trader had noted in the other at his entrance was nakedly eager, breaking through the mask. Che'in looked alive as Kade had never seen him. The face was not that of a Trader, a man who lived by the Policy, but that of a warrior being offered a weapon which would make all the difference in some decisive meeting with an old enemy.
"That is the truth! Say it, Whitehawk! That is the truth!"
And Kade's will broke down under that flash of real emotion.
"Yes."
"No wonder they're after you!" Che'in's head was up, that avid eagerness still in his features. "If there is an answer to the collar control every Ikkinni on this planet will want it." He took a step forward, his hands closed firmly on the foot of the infirmary cot. "What sort of a game have you been playing, Whitehawk?"
"None." Kade hastened to deny what might be termed trickiness. "Everything was an accident. Lik was trampled, gored by that bull just as I said. What happened afterwards was pure accident." He retold the scene with the terseness of an official report.
"A stunner?" Che'in repeated wonderingly, drawing his own weapon from its holster. Then he added a sharp-toned demand. "What was your beam quota at the time?"
Kade searched memory. "Must have been on full. I hadn't thumbed down since I shot the kwitu."
"Full! And it blasted the control and scrapped the collars!"
"And killed two Ikkinni," Kade reminded him.
"Suppose the quota had been on lower voltage?"
"Well," Kade began and then stared warily at Che'in, suspicious of being led into some statement which would damn him irrevocably. "There is no way of experimenting on that score. The Styor certainly are not going to let off-worlders play about with a slave control box for the purpose of discovering how such can be made harmless."
"Correct." Che'in was masked again. He stood weighing his stunner in his hand as if he would like to try such an experiment. "However, there is this also, Whitehawk. That sonic was tampered with and you were meant to be the victim, just as Steel was written off the rolls earlier. It is good for us here at the post to know a few things, to prevent other bright ideas from overwhelming the ones who dreamed that one out of hyperspace—"
"Why do they—whoever they may be—want me—us—dead?"
Che'in smiled. "An excellent question and one to which there could be several answers. First, a great many of these petty lordlings dislike Terrans merely for being Terrans. We are the first threat to their status which has risen in the long, comfortable centuries during which they have had the large part of the habitable galaxy in their own tight pocket. Just to eliminate some Terrans under a safe and innocent cover would be sport enough to appeal to certain of our unfriendly acquaintances. Then there is the rivalry between the lords here on Klor. A few judicious 'accidents,' the cause of which might be attributable to the negligence of the slaves of one Styor by his jealous neighbor, would make a difference when the next season's hunting rights were allotted. A dangerous game, to be sure, but greed often spurs one into taking bigger risks than the prize warrants."
"But," Kade said slowly, "there could be a third possibility?"
"Politics," Che'in reholstered his stunner, leaned once more against the wall. "The game of Styor against Styor on Klor is also carried on at higher levels. It could be planet Viceroy against planet Viceroy, jockeying for power within their empire. This is an outpost and the officials here are in two categories, the exiles with a black mark against them on the roles back home, and those who are ambitious but without power or backers. The first group want a coup to redeem their careers, the latter a chance to push their names. And use of carefully manufactured 'incidents' can help either."
"But too many Terran deaths—"
"Yes, if anyone is setting up that particular orbit he is locking his jets on danger, two strikes against his three-fin landing again. But some men are desperate enough for a tricky gamble. Someone, say, trying to unset the High-Lord-Pac."
"What are you going to do?" Kade came bluntly to the point.
"About this stunner business? Nothing just now. We need the raw material for an experiment. You still have the remains of the blasted control box?"
Kade nodded.
"That goes off the planet today, the supply ship is due in. That fact, by the way, is what brought me here, Whitehawk. Someone has really humped himself passing papers hither and thither. Your precious oat-burners are on board."
Kade had swung his feet off the cot and was looking about for his clothing, the pain in his head forgotten. Che'in laughed and handed him his uniform tunic.
"They're not sitting on the landing apron yet. You have about four hours grace, since they are still in orbit. You needn't run all the way to the field—and don't forget that control box, friend."
Kade bent down, unseamed those lining pockets in his boot tops and brought out the four small packets into which he had divided the remains of both collar and control box, some of it now only metallic dust. If the experts could make anything out of these bits and pieces he would be not only gratified but amazed. And giving the responsibility of that task to Che'in left him freer in mind as he went to the field where he found most of the post personnel waiting. Some of his enthusiasm must have spread outwards to the others after all.
There were five mares and a stallion. Although not the proud, sleek creatures of Kade's dreams—for the imports from Qwang-Khan were smaller, shaggier in coat—all were dun with black manes and tails, their legs faintly marked with dark stripes, reverting to their far off Terran ancestors. But when the young Terran personally freed them from their shipping boxes, led them, still dazed from trip shots, out into the corral he had had built, Kade was pleased to find fortune with him. Against the general ocher-brown of the landscape they would be hardly visible from a distance. And these ponies used to the hardy life of one frontier planet would make an easier adjustment to another.
The Terran's only worry was the attitude of the Ikkinni. Since he had chosen to handle the animals himself upon their landing, Kade had not at first been aware of the fact that the natives did not approach the corral at all. Only later, when he wanted help in feeding and watering the new arrivals, he met Buk, and the latter had a sly half-grin.
"Does the starwalker want a labor gang?"
"The animals need water, food—" Kade stopped speaking as he saw Buk's fingers seek the control box, touch buttons which meant punishment for the slaves.
"Why?" Kade demanded, knowing that the Overman was enjoying this.
"These earth worms say those are devils starwalker brought to devour them. Unless they are driven they will not tend the horses."
"No!" If Buk drove the Ikkinnis to handle horses under the lash of collar pain, Kade's plan would be defeated.
"I will lead the horses to the w
ide field," he said swiftly. "Let the Ikkinni then put the water and feed into the corral while it is empty."
Buk's grin faded. Kade allowed him no time for protest as he hurried to the corral gate. So far he had merely postponed trouble, but for how long? And was Buk telling the truth, or using his own power to make the natives hate and fear the horses?
Chapter 8
"That's it, not one of them will willingly go near the horses," Santoz sounded as if he were relishing Kade's discomfiture. "This situation could blow up into real trouble."
"If," Abu answered from the head of the council table, "we don't fulfill our contract with the Pac we'll also be in trouble."
"What I am asking," Che'in struck in mildly, "is how this 'devouring demon' rumor ever got started in the first place. We've imported other, and much more potentially dangerous beasts in the past and never aroused more than some curiosity. Why this sudden antipathy for horses?"