by Anthology
Disregarding the pleading attitude of the beast, Don continued to punch at the squirming body till it was obvious that no vestige of life could remain. Then, he looked at the other man.
The fellow had managed to get to the center of the path before he had collapsed. He half sat, half lay against his pack, breathing raggedly. Sweat stood out on his forehead. He looked at Don vaguely, making an obvious effort to focus his eyes.
"Thanks ... Friend," he mumbled. "You tried---- Oooh!" He closed his eyes and stiffened, his legs stretching out and his back arching.
The men who walked ahead had been attracted by the commotion. They came back and one jerked off his pack and bent over the man in the path. He looked over at the dead animal, then glanced up at Don.
"How many times was he bitten?"
"I doubt if he got more than one," Don told him.
The other nodded and looked searchingly at the victim. Then, he reached into his clothing and removed a small packet. He opened it and pulled the protective cover off a syrette.
"There's a small chance, then," he remarked. He poked the needle of the syrette into the sufferer's forearm and squeezed the tube.
The stricken man moved convulsively and opened one eye. His companion nodded.
"You might make it, Delm," he said cautiously. "Only one bite, and we got to you soon." He nodded.
"If you can hang on for just five minutes, you'll walk the trail again." He looked up at Don.
"That was quick action," he said. "You may have saved our clan brother." He looked down at the torn place on the man's leg.
"A couple of more bites, and he'd surely be dead by now." He got to his feet.
"Whom do we have to thank?"
Don looked down at the path in apparent discomfort.
"I am Kalo," he said, "of the mountains."
The other's eyes clouded. "Oh," he said tonelessly. He looked down at his companion, then back at the dead animal.
"Well," he said slowly, "we are grateful, Clanless One. Go your way in peace. We will take care of our brother."
Don started to turn away. "I hope he----"
The other nodded curtly. "The gersal's poison is strong," he said. "But soon we shall see. May your way be safe." He turned back to his patient.
Don turned away and went around the curve in the path. Well, maybe the Korental had been right, he thought. So long as they kept from bothering others, the clanless ones weren't molested. And they certainly didn't form any associations that might be embarrassing later on. He glanced back.
"Hope that guy lives through it," he told himself, "but I'm glad I don't have to put up with a three-day celebration. Haven't got the time."
In the distance, he could see the walls and towers of Riandar. The walk was nearly over now. He stepped his pace up a little, then slowed down again. There was no sense in coming through the gate all hot and sweaty, he reminded himself. It would be way out of character.
* * * * *
It was funny, Don thought, that he hadn't remembered this store when the Korental had described its location. Probably it was the use of the word "shop." This was a large department store. He'd done some shopping here at one time or another, himself. He started to go by the front, then a display in one of the windows attracted his attention. He paused.
Someone had designed a tasteful array of furniture, set up like a nobleman's bedroom suite. One could, without too much effort, imagine himself standing on the enclosed walkway of a palace, facing away from the inner garden. The furniture, he noted, was of excellent quality. In fact, when he started refinishing the ranch, maybe he'd come in here. He glanced at the display floor. The mats were similar in design to those in his pack.
Suddenly, he remembered his own present status and stepped back, away from the window. Simple mat makers don't concern themselves with examining displays that would cost more than they'd make in a lifetime. This window was strictly for people who could afford large platters of luxury. He turned away, looking for another, less elaborate entrance.
Down the street, at the corner of the building, he found an inconspicuous door. A brass plate indicated that this was the employees' entrance to the Blue Mountain Mercantile Company's offices. Another plate indicated that the delivery entrance was around the corner. Don shrugged and went into the door.
He found himself in a narrow hallway. Before him was a stairway, its lowest step blocked by a light chain. To his right, a man sat in a small cubby.
"You're in the wrong door," he said expressionlessly. "Deliveries are received around the corner."
"I know," Don told him. "I'm from the Kor-en. I'd like to see Korentona."
The man frowned fleetingly. "Tell you," he said casually, "maybe it would be better if you made your delivery right now. Then you can come back later on."
Don examined him for a moment. "You mean something is----"
"That's right." The man nodded. "Go around to the receiving room. Drop your pack, and come back--say in about an hour." He glanced upward as footsteps sounded on the stairs.
"Oh, oh," he added softly. "Keep quiet and let me handle this."
A heavy-set man came down the stairs. He looked sharply at Don, taking in his appearance and the details of his pack.
"What's this, Mora?" he demanded.
The timekeeper shrugged casually. "Just some porter," he said negligently. "Can't read too well, I guess. Got in the wrong door. I was telling him where to drop his pack."
"Oh?" The other looked at Don more closely. "Looks like another load of those mats from the Morek. Look, Fellow, you wouldn't be from one of those clans, would you now?"
Don shook his head. "I am Kalo," he said, "of the mountains. I have no clan. I make mats. And twice a year I come here to Riandar to sell them."
"Been here before?"
"I have been in Riandar many times."
"That's not what I mean. Have you been here--to this store--before?"
Don shook his head. "Not to this store, no. But they told me the Blue Mountain was paying better than some others. I thought I'd try----"
[Illustration]
"Yeah," the other said coldly. "Sure. Now, suppose we take a little walk, you and I? Some people down the street would like to talk to you."
Don shook his head. "I merely came here to sell mats," he insisted. "I make good mats."
The heavy man frowned. "Maybe," he snapped. "We'll see about that after we've had a talk with you." He stepped closer. "If you're just a mat maker, nothing will happen to you. If you really have good mats, you might even get a nice price for some of your stuff. Come on."
He reached out to take Don's sleeve. Don stepped back, his face suddenly losing its vague, apologetic expression. His features sharpened, to become hard, uncompromising.
"Get over to that wall, Fellow," he ordered sharply. "Move!"
The man's hand dropped. For a moment, he stared slackly at Don.
"Come on!" Don's voice raised a little. "Get over to that wall. And then stand still." He started to shuck off the straps of his pack.
The man before him sobbed helplessly, then shuffled away. Don knelt down and stripped the pack off. Then he stepped aside and raised a hand in a beckoning gesture.
"Now get over here," he snapped. "Pick up that pack and take it up to Mr. Tona's office. I'll follow you."
The man in the cubby rubbed his head for a moment, then picked up the phone. Don swung toward him. "Put that phone back," he ordered, "and come out of there. You're coming with us."
* * * * *
Korentona looked up as the small procession entered his office.
"What's happened now?"
Don nodded at him, then faced the man with the pack.
"Put that pack down," he commanded. "Now, stand over there." He pointed. "And be very quiet." He glanced at the doorman.
"You can stay where you are." He looked at Korentona.
"My apologies," he said, "for being so informal. But I come from the Kor-en, and I had a little troub
le. There's a message for you in the pack. You know, of course, where to find it. Who are these two?"
Korentona looked worried. "This one," he pointed at the doorman, "is a trusted employee. He's been with me for years."
He paused, looking at the other man. "But this one, I have never trusted. I'm sure he reports to the police."
Don glanced at the doorman. "My apologies," he said. "You are free to go as you will." He looked closely at the other.
"Is this correct?" he demanded. "Are you a police agent?"
The man nodded. "That's right," he said reluctantly. "I'm supposed to watch this place and report on its visitors."
"Here," Don told him, "is one visitor you won't report." He stopped, considering, then impaled the man with a cold stare.
"Have you ever seen a man bitten by a gersal?"
The man shrugged. "Yeah. What about it?"
Don nodded. "You will remember that scene," he said. "Do you remember that man's struggles? Do you remember the animal, chewing at him, injecting its poison? Do you remember this man dropping, first to his knees, then to his back? Do you remember----"
"Hey!" protested the other. His hands came up before his face.
"Put those hands down," snapped Don. "And listen closely. I want you to have full recall on this. You remember this man who was bitten, how he sobbed for breath--how his legs stretched out and his back arched, till the muscles tore from the bones with their effort. You remember all this?"
The man nodded wordlessly, his fascinated stare fixed on Don's face.
"Then I want you to fix this in your mind," Don told him. "Should you be so unwise as to attempt to mention any of these things that have happened since you came down those stairs--should you even allow your memory to dwell on these things for too long--these are the things that will happen to you.
"You will sink to your knees. Your muscles will be unable to support you, and you will fall to your back. You will find it impossible to breathe, for the muscles of your chest will distend the ribs. And in your struggles, you will break bones. And you will tear your body to bits. Do you understand this?"
The man sagged against the wall, panting. He managed a nod.
"Then forget about this afternoon," commanded Don. "Go about your business in normal fashion. And forget about this afternoon. Nothing happened that was worthy of note." He waved a hand in dismissal, then turned to Korentona.
"I don't want to go into a lot of detail," he said. "As I said, there's a detailed message in the pack. I'll wait for you to read it." He glanced down at his clothing.
"I'd like a place, though, where I can clean up. And I could use some other clothes, if you don't mind."
* * * * *
When he came back to the office, Korentona waved him to a chair.
"So," he said musingly, "they were right. You did go to the clans for aid." He smiled.
"The police have been keeping close watch on everyone in the city who might have even a remote connection with the hill clans. And they're really keeping an eye on the Waern home. You're going to have a nice time getting in there."
Don nodded. "I expected some trouble. Do you know whether they've done any searching?"
Korentona shrugged. "I don't run an investigative agency," he said with a smile, "so I don't know everything that's going on. But I've heard there've been lights on up there nearly every night. And they've had crowds of people around the place. Not so much activity the last couple of days, though. They're just watching."
"I see," Don nodded. "Wonder if they've found what they were looking for?"
The other shook his head, "Doubt it," he said. "If they had, they'd relax. Now that I know what it's all about, I can figure out what I've heard. They'll take off the watch as soon as they find that book, I think.
"Oh, of course, they still want you," he added. "And they'd like to get their hands on the Waernu. But they wouldn't be frantic about it if they weren't worried about the outcome of a conclave."
"No," agreed Don. "I guess they wouldn't, at that."
He stretched. "Well, guess I'd better get on my way. I've got to get into that house somehow. Think I'll take a wander out there and see if I can get some ideas."
The merchant put up a detaining hand. "Take it slow," he advised. "You can't go up there tonight."
"Oh?"
"No. It wouldn't be wise at all. There are a bunch of young fellows that have been hanging around there lately. It isn't safe to walk around that neighborhood. They've beaten five or six people pretty badly. And they've killed a couple." Korentona paused.
"Funny," he added. "The police don't seem to be so upset about that."
"They wouldn't be," Don told him.
"So you think I'd better wait till morning?"
"It'll be a lot better. I can give you a place to stay tonight. And my house isn't too far from the Waern place, so you can get over there in a hurry if you want to." Korentona paused.
"Say, how about that fellow, Foree? Are you sure he'll keep quiet?"
Don smiled. "Pretty certain. Of course, I don't know whether an effort to talk would actually kill him. But he'd be pretty uncomfortable for a while. Might even come up with shock amnesia." The smile broadened.
"He may have already done enough careless thinking by this time to make him pretty sick." He regarded Korentona thoughtfully.
"You say there's a gang of young fellows hanging around the Waern neighborhood?"
The merchant nodded. "Quite a few of them, I think. People living around there don't spend any time on the street or in the park, you can be sure of that."
"I see." Don nodded slowly. "That way, it's a lot easier to watch the Waern place at night. Look, there must be quite a few hillmen in this city. I should think you'd know quite a number of them."
"Yes, I do, of course." Korentona smiled. "We don't exactly form a closed group, but ... well, I'll have to admit we do think a little differently from the plainsmen."
"I know." Don reached into his jacket and slowly withdrew a stick with a thong wrapped around it.
"Many of your friends carry these?"
The merchant laughed. "Certainly!" He produced a polished stick of his own.
"Can you imagine any clansman without this sling?"
Don looked at him speculatively. "I wonder," he said casually, "what would happen if these young toughs found themselves being hunted down by ... say ten or fifteen blood hungry clansmen. Might worry them a little, wouldn't you think?"
Korentona shook his head doubtfully. "You know what the situation is here in Riandar," he remarked. "The police don't worry too much about these robberies and beatings. But they'd be pretty perturbed if someone started hunting the hunters."
"That's what I mean." Don spread his hands. "Might even get the people watching the Waern place upset and nervous." He shrugged. "And who's to know what caused the uproar, or who's involved? After all, all the clansmen were at home. The watchers on their houses could testify to that."
Korentona looked at him curiously. "Interesting idea, at that, you know." He got to his feet. "Suppose we talk it over for a while."
* * * * *
Maurie VanSickle crouched behind a bush, watching the path. This, he thought, was getting old. It had been a lot of fun at first. Profitable, too. He thought with amusement of the old man who had scrambled about in the dirt that first night. Boy, what a beat jerk he'd been. And what a beautiful job Gerry had done on him. Clipped the stupid yokel so hard he didn't make a sound when he went down.
Then he and Walt had come in. Man, how the old guy had wriggled! He looked down the path.
Now, though? Phooey! Not a lousy person on the path all evening. He'd tried to tell Gerry they were on a loser. Park was all worked out for a few weeks. But the stubborn clown wouldn't listen. Kept insisting they try it a couple more nights. Maurie reached into his pocket.
"Better make a strike pretty soon," he muttered to himself. "The old cash bag's getting empty." He stretched, then tensed. There
were footsteps on the path.
This one was his!
Silently, he gathered himself. He'd clip the guy from behind, then Gerry and Walt could come in from the other side and pin him down.
"Hope the jerk's got plenty of that stuff," he muttered.
The stroller came closer. Maurie appraised him as he walked. Oh, boy, another little, old guy. Clothes looked pretty good, too. Nice stack of cloth. Should be quite a rack of the purple in them.
Now the man was almost close enough. Maurie's eyes followed him as he approached, then passed. He launched himself in a crouching dash.
As he left the shelter of the bush, something bumped against his neck. He found himself whirling to the ground. Dimly, he saw his intended victim whirl around. He attempted to dodge the foot as it came down on his face, but it was like moving in a dream. Somehow, he was too slow.
For just an instant, he felt crushing pain, then the world dissolved into bright specks in a spreading blackness. One by one, the points of light winked out. And then, there was nothing.
As their intended victim whirled to crush Maurie, Gerry Kelton poked at his brother.
"Come on," he urged. "He can't take two of us. Let's go."
The two dashed out of their cover, then found themselves prostrate at the edge of the path.
Walt Kelton was flipped over and held in a vicelike grip, his head grinding into the path. Close by, he could see his brother. Two men held him down. As he watched, they seized Gerry's hands, twisting them so that his head flopped face up.
A third man leaned over, a long knife in his hand. Unbelievingly, Walt watched as the man thrust the knife into Gerry's throat. The boy's feet kicked convulsively a couple of times, then dropped. The toes sank, to point outward.
With calm precision, the killer turned his knife and forced it across the throat with the heel of his hand. Dark fluid welled out on the path, making a pool which flowed toward Walt.
Casually, the man pulled the slack of Gerry's shirt toward him and wiped the blade till it was gleaming again. Then he looked toward Walt. He got to his feet.
For an instant, the boy lay limp, paralyzed with terror. Then, he kicked and struggled madly. Unbelievingly, he felt the hands which restrained him loosen and he kicked and squirmed until he was free to scramble away.