Or was it? Alone on a primitive planet, not speaking the language, sought by the authorities—what did I have to be cheerful about? Black gloom descended instantly and I sneered aloud.
“That’s it, Jim? You turn coward at the slightest setback. For shame! What would The Bishop say to this?”
He would say stop talking in public, I thought as I noticed the strange looks I was getting. So I whistled happily, not a care in the world, turned a corner and saw the tables and chairs, men sitting and drinking interesting beverages, under a sign that said SOSTEN HA GWYRAS which conveyed exactly nothing to me. But underneath it was printed NI PAROLOS ESPERANTO, BONVENUU. I hoped that they spoke Esperanto better than they wrote it. I found a table against the wall, dropped into a chair and snapped my fingers at the ancient waiter.
“Dhe’th plegadow” he said.
“Plegadow the others,” I said. “We speak Esperanto. What’s to drink, Dad?” “Beer, wine, dowr-tom-ys.”
“I’m just not in the mood for a dowr-tom-ys today. A large beer, if you please.”
When he turned away I dug out Rasco’s wallet. If my guards were supposed to encourage the local economy they should be carrying some of the local currency. The wallet clunked when I dropped it onto the table, heavy with little metal discs. I shook one out and turned it over. It had the number two stamped into one side, with Arghans on the other.
“That will be one Arghans,” the waiter said, putting a brimming clay pot in front of me. I passed over the coin.
“Take that, my good man, and keep the change.”
“You offworlders are so generous,” he said, muffledly as he bit the coin. “Not mean, stupid, vicious like the locals. You want girl? Boy? Kewarghen to smoke?”
“Later perhaps. I’ll let you know. Beer now and the heady pleasures of native life to come.”
He went away muttering and I took a great slug of the beer. Instantly regretting it. I swallowed—and regretted that as well as the noxious brew bubbled and seethed its way through my digestive track. I pushed the jar away and belched. Enough of this tomfoolery. I had escaped, great, step one. But what came next?
Nothing that I could think of at the moment. I sipped at the beer, it still tasted just as repulsive, but even this heroic treatment produced no inspiration. I was grateful for the interruption when the waiter sidled over and whispered hoarsely behind the back of his hand.
“New shipment kewarghen fresh from the fields. You get high, stay up for many days. Want some? No? What about girl with whips? Snakes? Leather straps and hot mud …”
I interrupted since I wasn’t sure that I enjoyed where the conversation was going. “I am sated, I tell you sated. All I wish are directions to return to the municipal edifice.”
“Do not know what long words mean.”
“Want to find building big, high, filled with plenty offworlders.”
“Ahh, you mean the lys. For one Arghans I take you there.”
“For one Arghans you give me instructions. I don’t want to drag you away from your work.” Nor did I want to be led astray to one of the many offers he had made. In the end he had to agree. I memorized the instructions, sipped some more of the beer and instantly regretted it, then slipped away when he had vanished into the back room.
As I walked a glimmer of a plan began to develop. I must think of a way to get to Bibs, the crewgirl from the freighter. Garth, the captain of her ship, had escaped, I was sure of that. But she might know more about him. She was my only link with this villain. But how could I get into the prison? I knew the name she had been arrested under, Marianney Giuffrida. Could I pass myself off as a concerned relative, one Hasenpeffer Giuffrida? The local identification should be easy to forge—if it existed at all. But would the computer identify me as an ex-prisoner when I entered the building? Or had I been wiped from its memory when I had left? Perhaps I had been, but would Fatso put me back in memory when he reported my escape?
These thoughts were rattling around in my head when I turned the next corner and found the gigantic edifice before me. It rose up from the low buildings of the city like a towering cliff—and looked just as impenetrable. I strolled by and looked up at the steps I had so recently descended, watched the doors open to admit a visitor. Then close again like a bank vault. My mind was still blank. I stood with my back to a brick wall across from the building. Which was perhaps not too bright, since I was still wearing prison garb. But such was the variety of local costume that my uniform drew no notice at all. I leaned and waited for inspiration to strike.
It didn’t. But pure, random luck, a chance in a thousand did. The doors opened one more time and three people emerged. Two minions of the law, this obvious from the size of their boots, flanking a delicate female form. One thick wrist was manacled to her tiny one.
It was Bibs.
The suddenness of her appearence froze me in place. Kept me leaning against the wall as they descended to street level where one of the guards waved and whistled. In quick response two of the horsedrawn vehicles raced their way, one of them neatly cutting off the other. There were shouted curses and loud neighing as the horses reared up. This was quickly sorted out and the loser trotted off. The high body of the horsedrawn hulk blocked my view, but as clear as though it were transparent I knew what was happening. Door being opened, prisoner escorted inside, door closed …
The thing started forward as the driver’s whip cracked, even as I was hurrying across the road. Getting up speed as I ran after it, jumped, got my feet on the step and hauled the door open.
“Out,” the nearest guard said, turning toward me. “This cab is taken …”
We looked at each other in mutual recognition—he was the night guard from the prison. With a cry of anger he reached for me. But I reached quicker, jumping in on top of him. He was big and strong—but I was fast. I had a quick glimpse of the shocked look on Bibs’s face as I turned all my attention to avoiding his clutch and getting in a quick blow with the edge of my hand.
As soon as he went limp I rolled over to face the other guard and discovered that he had no interest in me at all. Bibs had her free arm around his neck and was throttling him to death. He flailed with his other hand but could do nothing because it was manacled to her wrist.
“Just wait … until this one … is dead too,” Bibs gasped.
I didn’t explain that the guard I had taken care of was only unconscious but reached over and grabbed her elbow hard, index finger grinding into the big nerve there. Her arm went numb, dropped away, and her face grew red with fury. But before she could speak I silenced the gasping guard and unlocked the cuffs. She rubbed her wrist and smiled.
“I don’t know where you dropped from, buster, or why, but I appreciate the help.” She cocked her head and looked more closely at me. “I know you, don’t I? Yes, of course, you’re the midnight passenger, Jimmy something.”
“That’s right, Bibs. Jim diGriz at your service.”
She laughed, loud and happily, while she removed all the possessions of the two unconscious guards, then scowled when I manacled them together.
“Better to kill them,” she said.
“Better not to. Right now we’re not important enough to them to cause much fuss. But if we murdered two of their men they would turn this planet over to find us.”
“I guess you’re right,” she said with reluctant agreement—then kicked both unconscious bodies with sudden fury.
“They can’t feel anything.”
“They will when they wake up. So where do we go from here, Jim?”
“You tell me. I know absolutely nothing at all about this planet.” “I know far too much.” “Then lead the way.” “Right.”
She opened the door as our vehicle slowed and we slipped out, stepped up onto the pavement as it lumbered from sight.
CHAPTER 3
Bibs tucked her arm through mine, which felt very cheering, as we strolled along the busy avenue. Anywhere else our gray prison clothes, tastefully decorated with
blood-red broad arrows, would have certainly drawn attention—and apprehension. Not among the motley throngs crowding these streets, dressed in every manner possible. There were bearded men in fringed buckskins, women in layers of colored gauze, armed warriors in leather and steel; robes, gowns, chainmail, cuirasses, sashes—everything imaginable. Plus a few that defied the imagination. We drew no attention at all.
“Do you have any money?” Bibs asked.
“Just a few Arghans I lifted from one of my guards. Like you, I have just escaped.”
Her eyebrows lifted at this—very attractive eyebrows arched above even more attractive eyes I noticed.
“Is that why you helped me out? What were you in prison for? All I know is that you and the old boy were left behind on Spiovente. Scuttlebutt had it that Garth sold you into slavery.”
“He did, and my friend is dead because of that. I am a little bitter about Garth for a lot of reasons. I liked The Bishop. He helped me, taught me a lot, and I am happy to say that I was able to help him in return. We left our home world in a hurry, as you will remember, and paid Captain Garth a lot of money to get us away. But that wasn’t enough for him. He earned more by selling us into slavery. I lived—but The Bishop died because of being a slave. As you can imagine I am not wildly pleased by his death. A number of loathsome things happened on that planet, the least of which was my being caught by the League Navy. They were returning me to my home planet to stand trial.”
“On what charges?” There was keen interest in her voice.
“Bank robbery, criminal abduction, jailbreak. Things like that.”
“Wonderful!” she said, laughing aloud with joy; she had very neat white teeth. “You did yourself an immense favor when you came to little Bibs’s aid. I know this planet well, know where the money is. Know how to buy our way offplanet when we are done. You steal it, I’ll spend it—and our troubles are over.”
“Sounds reasonable. Could we talk about it over some food? It’s been a long time since breakfast.”
“Of course—I know just the place.”
And she did too. The restaurant was small and discreet while the felyon ha kyk mogh tasted a lot better than it sounded. We washed it down with a great bowl of ru’th gwyn which turned out to be a satisfactory red wine: I memorized the name for future use. When we had eaten our fill I took one of the wood splinters from the jar on the table and worried bits of gristle from between my teeth.
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” I asked, asking a question. Bibs sipped at her wine and waved permission. “You know why I was imprisoned. Would you consider it rude if I asked the reason for your incarceration?”
She slammed her mug down so hard that it cracked and oozed a carmine trickle. She was unaware of it; her face twisted with anger and I could hear her teeth grate together.
“He did it, I’m sure, it had to be him, the bastardacfiulo!” Which is about the worst name you can call anyone in Esperanto. “Captain Garth, he’s the one. He knew the League Navy was after us for gunrunning. He paid us off here—and the next day I was arrested. He tipped them off and planted the kewarghen in my bag. With that evidence they busted me on a drugs charge, selling to the natives and all that. I want to kill him.”
“So do I—for causing the death of my friend. But why did he want you arrested?”
“Revenge. I kicked him out of bed. He was too kinky for my liking.”
I gulped and coughed and took a long slug of wine and hoped that she wouldn’t notice that I was blushing. She didn’t. Her eyes, still glazed with anger, stared past me into space. “Kill him, I really would like to kill him. I know that it’s impossible but, oh how he deserves it.”
“Why impossible?” I asked with some relief, glad to have the conversation back on comfortable topics like murder and revenge.
“Why? What do you know about this planet, Jim?”
“Nothing. Other than its name, Steren-Gwandra.”
“Which means planet in the local lingo. They are not a linguistically imaginative lot. At least those here in Brastyr aren’t. Like many other settled planets this one was cut off from galactic contact during the breakdown years. Brastyr, this continent, has few natural resources and over the centuries they managed to lose all of the old technology. They are so dim that most of them forgot Esperanto. Not the traders though, they had to deal with the offshore island. By the time that galactic contact was reestablished the locals had sunk into a sort of agricultural semi-feudalism.”
“Like Spiovente?”
“Not quite. Just offshore is this damned great island I mentioned, separated from this mainland by a narrow strait. Almost all of the minerals, coal and oil in this hemisphere are located there. That’s why it was settled first and why it was well developed before the second wave of immigrants arrived during the diaspora ages. None of the newcomers were allowed to settle there. Not that they cared, this entire continent was wide-open and bountiful and the arrangement suited all parties concerned. Industry and technology over there on Nevenkebla, farming and forestry here. I doubt if anything changed much during the breakdown years—I imagine the relationship was intensified if anything. That’s why we are never going to get close enough to Garth to kill him.”
“I don’t understand. What has this got to do with him?”
“He’s on the island. Unreachable.” She sighed and rubbed her fingertip in circles in the pool of spilled wine. I was still puzzled.
“But Garth is a Venian, like you. The captain of a Venian ship. Why should they protect him?”
“Because he’s not Venian, that’s why. The Nevenkebla military bought the ship, he commanded it. We were happy to go along with the plan, they paid well. Venians are very flexible when it comes to money. But he is really something big in the military there. They run the place. All those guns we were smuggling were made on the island. It was a good racket, plenty of offplanet currency. But when the League Navy got too close they paid us off and closed the operation down. There is just no way to get at him on that island.”
“I’ll find a way.”
“I hope that you do. I’ll give you all the help that I can. But first things first, Jim. We will have to stay out of sight for a bit while they are looking for us—and that will take a pile of Arghans. How much do you have?”
She spread out the coins she had stolen and I added mine to the pile.
“Not enough. We need a lot for bribes, a safe place to get out of sight. I have contacts, a fence I used to peddle to. For the right price we can have him find a safe house …”
“No. Avoid the criminal classes at all counts. Too expensive and the first place that the authorities will look. Do they have hotels here? Expensive, luxurious hotels?”
“Not as such. But there are ostelyow where traveling gentry put up. But offworlders never go there.”
“Even better. Can you pass as a native?”
“Yredy. You could too with a little effort. There are so many different accents and dialects here that no one will notice.”
“Ideal. Let us then instantly steal a lot of money, buy some expensive clothes and jewelry and check in at the best ostel. Agreed?”
“Agreed!” She laughed out loud and clapped her hands together. “I swear, Jim, you are a breath of fresh air on this fetid planet. I like your style. But it won’t be easy. They don’t have banks here. All the cash is held by moneylenders called hoghas. Their places are like small forts. Plenty of guards, always from the moneylender’s own family so they can’t be bribed.”
“Sounds good. Let’s go check one out. Then we will go back tonight and crack it.”
“Do you mean it?”
“Never more serious.”
“I’ve never met anyone like you. You look like a kid—but you can really take care of yourself.”
I did not like that kid remark but I stayed shut up and tried not to pout while she made plans.
“We’ll take some of these Arghans, change them for Nevenkebla coins. This will take
a lot of arguing over rate of exchange so you will have time to look around. I’ll do the talking. You just carry the money and keep your mouth shut. We’ll get you a bodyguard’s club first, then they’ll never even notice you.
“No time like the present. Let’s find a club shop.”
This was easily enough done. Most of the side streets were open markets, with stalls and tiny shops that sold an apparently endless variety of cloth, fruit, meals wrapped in leaves, knives, saddles, tents—and clubs. While the merchant extolled the value of his wares, muffledly and incomprehensively through the layers of cloth about his face and neck, I hefted the samples and tested their swing. I finally settled on a meter length of tough wood that was bound about with iron bands.
“This looks like what we want,” I told Bibs. The weapon vendor nodded and took the coins and muttered some more. Bibs pointed inside.
“He insists that a year guarantee goes with every club and you must try it out before you leave.”
The testing block proved to be a large upright stone that had been carved into human form, what might at one time have resembled a man in armor. But years of testing had taken their toll. Gouges, nicks and missing chunks defaced it; noseless, chinless with a single fragment of ear remaining. I hefted my club, tried a few practice swings—then stood with my back to the stone while I psyched up my muscles with some dynamic tension contractions and a breathing mantra. I was chuffing as nicely as a Spiovente steam wagon, holding the club upright, when I felt ready.
Timed release, that’s the secret. Not a secret really, just technique and practice. A single shout contracted my body all in an instant. In time with the sound I swung about with all of my weight and strength focused on the iron band on the end of the club. It whistled through a half-circle that terminated on the side of the rock head.
There was a ringing crack as the neck shattered and the stone head fell off. The club was still sound and the iron ring had a slight nick.
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