by Dave Freer
Without haste or overwhelming signs of interest they ventured in. Underfoot lay soft carpets full of complex patterns and rich hues. In endless display cabinets were opals in various settings. Blue-greens, yellows . . . milky-whites, the rarer reds, and at the back, in a carefully sealed glass case, the blacks. Keilin caught his breath. For a moment it had seemed as if an entire tray of core sections lay before him. Except they felt . . . flat. A terrible compulsion pulled at him from behind a nondescript curtain on the left. And S'kith moved dreamily towards it, too.
Keilin saw how Leyla pulled Kim across to the curtained-off doorway. He nodded to himself. Clever. Women were probably the only thing that would effectively stop S'kith once he'd set himself a target. Still, the urge to go through that curtain pulled at him, too. It was nearly pushing him beyond the realms of logical behavior. He risked a glance at Kim, and found his foot following the direction of his eyes. She seemed unaffected. He couldn't take this . . . while Cap, disguised in merchant clothes and broad hat, enquired boredly about prices. He had to go . . . S'kith edged forward, too, trying to flank the girls.
Wait . . . Cap had said that he, Keilin, was . . . psionic. He could use his mind to make the stones work. He tried to focus his thoughts on the core section behind the curtain.
The trumpet blast response blared across the room. Keilin looked around, alarmed. S'kith's normally near-expressionless face had a brief flighting of terror across it. Kim's hands were clapped to her ears . . . but the business of the shop continued as usual. And the compulsion to go through that curtain at all costs had disappeared.
". . . my apprentice. I doubt if he'll ever be any good, but one must try. Boy, come and assess these stones. You know what we are seeking." Cap sounded bored and world-weary.
As Keilin peered into the tray of black opals, Cap continued to talk. "He's the son of an old friend who died in a bandit ambush. I took him on for old Kotar's sake, but he'll never have his father's eye for a good stone. Too much of his mother's blood there. Woman thought too much of herself."
"A pity that there's no possibility of getting sons without corrupting them that way. Your friend Kotar probably had the usual travelling-merchant's problem. When you're away from home too often, the women get to making decisions they shouldn't," sympathized the shopman. "Tried it myself a few years ago. Came back and found the woman giving orders. I tell you, my strap and I had a fine job to sort her out again."
Keilin noticed that now it was Kim who was holding Leyla's arm. "I don't think any of these will do, master," he said servilely.
For which he received a sharp clip around the earhole. "Dolt of a boy! There are some stones of the first water here. Still . . . do you have any others? We have a commission from the Shah of Ebrek to buy suitable black opals for his new throne. It's his sixth, you know. And each more ornate than the last. He'll ruin that principality of his with his taste, or rather lack of taste, for expensive jewellery."
A few more stones as yet unset were produced from a back room. Keilin managed, now that his head had stopped spinning from the casual blow, to surreptitiously indicate they were not core sections. They bought two stones, and left.
The council of war that evening was heated. "Burn the city down. We can loot it at will then," was Leyla's flame-eyed suggestion.
Memories of the terror of being in a burning building came back to Keilin. "No! Just think how many people will be killed."
"Besides, there's no guarantee of success," said Cap. "No, Leyla. You'll have to restrain yourself until it is yours."
"Go in, take them all hostage, take the core section, and use the hostages to get out of the city. Take the rest of the stock and scatter them in the bazaar along the toll passage. That'll keep the flatfeet occupied awhile," Beywulf suggested, eyeing the concept of professional mayhem with relish.
"With what weapons, pray? And the Amphir policy on hostages is that none of them are worth the city's reputation."
"Well, Cap. Do we raise an army and invade the place? Lot of loot on offer."
"Only if all else fails. My idea means killing the gate guards . . ."
Suddenly all the talk of death and murder sickened him. Keilin interrupted, "I'll do it."
The group was silenced. Finally Cap asked, with exaggerated patience, "How?"
"They have built flush against the city wall here . . . on both sides. I can get over. The shop building is easy to get into. There are no bars on most of the windows. Compared to Port Tinarana, the building security is a joke."
"The only bars are on the women's quarters," interrupted Leyla savagely.
"Well, I won't be going there. I know where the core section is. It's in a steel case on the other side of the curtain to the left of the back room."
"A hidden safe," said Cap, "and then what, small dark horse? Are you an expert safecracker as well?"
"No. But I saw that all that money swindled from the trader in the turban was whisked behind that curtain by the short fat one. And he had a key, which he took out of his pocket on the way. I just have to find it, and remove it from him."
"Boy, you're turning into more than just another little psi." It was not entirely praise and approbation. There was a little threat in his voice too. "Just don't you get too cocky for your own good. Talk with Leyla. She'll tell you the internal layout of the non-shop part of the building. Beywulf will go along in case your fat little burgher wakes up."
"Beywulf . . . but he's so big . . ."
The broad hairy face broke into a sardonic smile. "But I can climb better than you, boy," and he jumped up and down, with an arm above his head, going "Ook! OOK!" and scratching his armpit with the other hand.
"That's enough, Beywulf." Cap was not amused. "You'll go tomorrow night. We need to provision and prepare for a hasty retreat."
"Good. I was hoping you did not want me to go tonight," Keilin said slowly. "I'd like to get a few things from the bazaar, and do a careful recce of the jeweller's shop tomorrow." He didn't dare to point out that it wasn't Beywulf's climbing ability that had worried him, but the hairy man's ability to be a silent burglar.
The next night scuds of cloud hid the moon, making the night alternately light and dark. Whenever it was dark Keilin spidered across the rooftops, to freeze in the light periods. Behind him he could hear his somewhat unwelcome assistant grunting along. Frustration made him grit his teeth with annoyance. He could have moved at twice this speed on his own. And he kept expecting that great behemoth to fall through the slates. It was a good thing this wasn't a more ordinary city, but an overprotected, overpoliced and pampered place. Otherwise they'd certainly have been caught by now, or at least attacked for poaching on someone else's territory.
At last they were on the roof next door to the target. And luck was with them. There was a window open on the top story. But there were still voices coming from inside, and a scattering of lights coming from windows in the upper floors. In the shadow of a tall gable they settled down to wait. They had a fine view of the building, and soon found entertainment. The barred windows were visible only from the rooftop, and Keilin and Beywulf spent an entertaining and educative half hour watching the three middle-to-late-teen-age daughters of the house prepare for bed. Keilin found he hadn't noticed the cold at all.
When the candles were finally snuffed Beywulf sighed gustily next to him. "Seems a shame to leave three well-endowed little gems like that to become those dispirited women one sees sludging about in this place. Tell you what . . . I'll liberate them, while you go and collect this pretty that Cap wants." Keilin smothered a sneeze. Damn. It was colder than he'd thought, and knowing Beywulf, he was only half-joking too. Before he could reply his eye was caught by another dark figure dropping onto the next-door rooftop. Keilin motioned Beywulf to silence. This person moved with the kind of sneak-thief caution alien to Beywulf.
Keilin got a second's worth of a good look in an unexpected shaft of moonlight. The moon reflected off a shaved head. S'kith was no burglar, but he had th
ree times the natural talent that Beywulf had. Keilin called softly as S'kith gathered himself to jump the last gap. The Morkth-man nearly fell off the roof, but a few moments later he came to join them.
"What in hell are you doing here, Morkthy?" Beywulf demanded roughly.
Keilin already knew. "The section below us is calling him, Bey. He probably couldn't help coming. It is dragging at me, too."
"Hell's teeth! A pair of bloody nutters. But you took a chance, S'kith! Cap'll skin you. And aren't you too far . . ."
The Morkth-man looked doubtfully at them. "They do not know I have come. And it is not too far. They are less than two hundred yards away, outside the wall. Why do you wait?"
"The lights have only just gone off. We've at least half an hour before it will be safe to move." A strange kind of understanding for S'kith came over Keilin. "Bey. I'll go in with S'kith. You cover our backs here."
"Not what the man said," muttered Beywulf.
"Bugger the man. He's not here. And face it, Bey. S'kith's a natural-born sneaker, which you're not. And if I don't take him with me he'll probably go in anyway."
He could see in the change of set in S'kith's shoulders that he'd said the right thing. He made another snap decision. "S'kith. Come and huddle in here and help me warm up. I'm cold and I don't want to sneeze and give us away." Without a word the muscular, bald-headed man slid in next to them. His arms went around Keilin and he held him, not as a lover might . . . but as a mother might hold a child. Keilin did not know why, but he felt this was something of a profound experience for the strange shaven-headed man. So he put an arm around him, too. They waited in silence for the half hour to pass.
"If you hear a noise, come running," said Keilin to Beywulf, as they slipped in through the window.
Keilin and S'kith moved as silently as shadows down the corridors of the sleeping house. No house with people in it is ever completely quiet. There are small sounds. If these stop then the burglar should know fear. Keilin's ears listened carefully to these sounds, as they moved to the master bedroom.
Motioning S'kith to wait, he slipped within. The master's little piggy face was cherubic in snoring repose. The girl sobbing in her sleep at the foot of the bed belied his angelic appearance. She must have been younger than his own daughters . . . Keilin couldn't be truly sure she was asleep as he stealthily searched the pockets of the tossed-aside trousers, and removed the keys from them. She hadn't sobbed for a while. He slipped away . . . waiting for the cry.
It didn't come. They moved downstairs, and into the echoing silence of the showroom. The safe opened with a small creak. It was too dark to see here, but his hands needed no visual guidance. Keilin cursed softly to himself. It was in some heavy gold setting. They moved to a shaft of moonlight, and there with S'kith's knife they pried the claws aside, and roughly substituted one of the black opals which Cap had bought. Suddenly, knowing it was right, Keilin gave the jewel to S'kith. "Go up," he whispered. "I'll put this back and return the key."
Piggy was still doing his whistle snore, but the girl was too quiet. Under those heavy-lidded brows, she was watching him as he dropped the key into the pocket. He knew it, but he was also unsure what to do about it. Should he just hope she'd be too scared to do anything? Or should he risk a scream by threatening her with his knife?
The decision was abruptly taken out of his hands by a terrible crash downstairs. Keilin was out of the room before she could even draw breath. He knew what that noise meant. Bloody Beywulf had come looking for them. The swearing from below told him he was right. Bey came boiling up the main stair as doors flung open all around them. Keilin ran for the window they'd come in by, as people fumbled for tinderboxes and candles. Keilin nearly ran headlong into S'kith, and the occupant of the room. The Amphirian jeweller was advancing on the frozen Morkth-man with a well-used riding crop in hand.
If he'd had a sword instead, the man would simply have died. But S'kith's fear reaction to the whip, combined with the core section he clutched, produced the only kind of refuge the Morkth-man had ever really known. Ripped from the depths of the hive, human brood-sow cell 9003 was still the same as it was the first time . . . the time he'd sneaked down there driven by feelings he simply could not understand . . . and the immense feeling of joy and . . . release that had resulted. He still clung to the memory in his new unfamiliar world, a world where he was not only not in control, but barely able to cope. The cell was the same, although the occupants were not. It now contained a new girl, and three Alpha-Morkth of an artificial insemination team.
When the teams go in, they rely on an integral part of the cell's structure. The Morkth had discovered in the course of a myriad experiments on their human subjects that a certain combination of flashes of the visible spectrum, as well as pulsed low-frequency sound, caused uncontrolled neuromuscular spasms in humans, inducing, in effect, a petit mal fit, followed by neural overload and a blackout. Under these conditions no escapes had ever occurred. Until now. The cell was no longer part of the hive's power net. It wasn't even a complete cell any more. Just the front section, all that S'kith had ever been able to see.
The woman in the cell's eyes had been conditioned to a lifetime in semidarkness. The moonlight was almost too bright for her, unlike the half-blind Morkth and housefolk. She didn't know where she was . . . or care. All she knew was that at last the warriorbrood women's hatred could have solid form. Her hysterical strength outmatched the Morkth worker who had been pulling her legs open. Beywulf came roaring into the fray. He'd been obliged to leave his sword behind for the climb. He substituted it with the master of the house, whom he swung by both legs.
"SHIT! S'kith! Bey! Let's get out! Morkth'll be here any moment," shouted Keilin, putting the pieces together as he struggled towards the window.
The Beta-Morkth base for the southwestern quadrant was less than seven seconds off. The warrior crews waited in their craft with the ready-to-strike immobility that their kind could muster for patient hour upon hour. In the last four missions flown, two had been lost completely, crew, craft and all. The last six missions had also failed to retrieve the core section. In the three hundred years and the five missions previous to that, they'd always struck without loss and successfully retrieved the core sections. It was obvious to the Beta that the equation had changed, and stakes were rising. Therefore three platecraft were on standby.
One got away. As Beywulf and Keilin fled across the rooftops, half-carrying S'kith, Keilin replayed it in his mind. One of the items that stuck out was the child's voice, as in his half asleep state he came out of his room, and loudly asked what the terrible whining noise was. This in the midst of a killing brawl! Then there was that naked woman from S'kith's materialization, with her insane blind ferocity, and tiger smile even as she bled . . . And S'kith throwing the core section to him, before diving into the fray. The Beta-Morkth had been prepared for human weapons when they had arrived. The presence of an Alpha warrior with an energy weapon had torn their strategy, as had the attack by a trained Alpha guard, and a hairy berserker. Still, without the screaming suicide attack of that woman . . . Keilin shook himself. She'd killed two of them, ripping their heads from their torsos before she'd died. Why had she called out a number as it happened? And just what had it done to S'kith?
There'd be time to think about it when . . . if they got away. Meanwhile the city guards were champing about frantically, like bugs from a broken termitarium. At least he'd got one more Morkth himself. Strange that a poison which caused eventual loss of consciousness on hot-blooded creatures would produce instant shuddering death in Morkth. It had been on Marou's spear blade, and Keilin had tipped his knife and arrows with it.
CHAPTER 9
"You stupid, clumsy ham-handed bastards!" Cap's anger was not in the least ameliorated by the fact that they had brought him another core section. "You deserve to be bloody court-martialed, or at least flayed for gross insubordination."
Beywulf was probably the only one feeling the edge of his tongu
e. Keilin was still too unused to riding to be doing anything but concentrating on staying in the saddle at this speed. And S'kith was sunken deep into some private and expressionless misery.
By that evening Keilin felt that even flaying would have been more gentle than that ride. The opal dealer's shop stood beside the south wall, above the fault cliff. They had not dared ride back through the toll passage. Instead they were pushing further south just as fast as their horses would carry them.
At least Cap's temper had cooled by sunset, although the three were still at the top of the fecal list. The tall man grimly produced a core section from his pocket, and looked at Keilin and S'kith. He drew the thin-bladed knife. "I need to know where we are going next." S'kith showed fear, backing away slightly, his eyes growing that dangerous glazed look which foreordained combat. Keilin sighed. "I'll do it. Relax, S'kith."
The vastness was comforting and familiar. Here at least there was a sense of a job well done. Five more core sections lay together in a place of near total darkness, and endless repeated patterns. It was warm and not-quite scented . . . somewhere between a badger's hole and sweet lavender. The emotion ran high in it, too. It had the tinny taste of hatred . . . and fear. Then came the familiar message about betrayal . . . somehow tied to the smell.
"A place. You've got to tie it to a place, dammit," Cap said, his ire rising in a perceptible tide.
Keilin shook his head helplessly. "I've told you all I can," he said. "But . . . there are four sections," he lied conservatively. He could always say it was a mistake. "It's somewhere north of here."
"Great. Why the hell couldn't you mindee types get that before we ran south?" Cap said in disgust. "You damn psi are all the same. Bloody prima donnas and then next to useless on top of it. S'kith! Come here, damn you!" Instead the Morkth-man curled himself into a ball. Cap stepped over, gripped him by the shoulder and shook him so that his teeth rattled. It was only in acts like this that one got some idea of the power in that tall, spare frame.