by David Drake
Abram set the satchel between us. He took a deep draft of his wine and said, “This is yours.”
I set my glass down on the other side to free a hand, then with one finger lifted the length of finely woven goat’s wool to see the pistol beneath it. It was standard Alliance military issue and looked brand new.
There was a loading tube in place, though I didn’t know how many rounds were in it. I wasn’t going to take the weapon out and look it over until I knew I was alone—probably tonight in the passage—but for now it looked like a very functional pistol.
“Thank you,” I said. I took a bite of pasty, then opened a pocket of my money belt. “I’ve got some money for you.”
“What’s that for?” Abram said. He covered the coins with his hand as I opened a second pocket.
“For your family,” I said, handing over more coins. “This is a good time to visit them. I mean right now.”
I opened a third pocket and emptied it also. I’d still have thirty-five Alliance thalers and forty Karst sequins, both of which could be negotiated on most planets of the region. I hadn’t dared to collect more off-world currency for fear of raising questions, but I’d happily accepted it in place of piasters when a supplier had offered it.
“Look,” Abram said angrily. “I’m not working for you any more. That’s what you’re saying, right?”
I didn’t understand his tone, but I nodded as I continued to hand over all my local money. “If you want to put it that way, yes.”
“Then you don’t have any right to tell me where to go!” Abram said. “I’ll go where I bloody well want to go whenever I want to do it!”
I started to say that I hadn’t been trying to give him orders, but he knew that. I nodded and took another bite of my pasty. It was extremely good.
Abram crammed the rest of his into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. Then, still around a normal mouthful, said, “I’m going to get another glass of wine, and then I’ve got business to tend to.”
He stood and added, “Business of my own!”
“I hope it goes well,” I said to his back as he stalked off.
* * *
I thought of taking a nap—I had a little room off Giorgios’ entrance hall. I didn’t bother, because I couldn’t have slept; much as I knew I’d need it later. Besides, somebody likely would’ve come in and waked me up for some favor or other if I’d tried to sleep in the daytime.
If Abram had been here, he’d have guarded the door curtain. I hoped that, despite his bravado about not getting out of Salaam, he’d had sense enough to leave at least until people had forgotten about me.
I didn’t doubt his courage, but he had a good mind too. When he cooled off, he could see that him staying around to be caught wouldn’t help anybody.
An hour before midnight, I hung the satchel over my right shoulder, picked up my broom, and made my way down to the front entrance. There were a lot of folks in the plaza, chatting with friends and passing bottles around.
At least two people within earshot were playing stringed instruments and singing. They were different songs, and at least the nearer singer was so drunk that he was repeating the same line: “…we will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile…”
I could hear people in the alley as I reached it from the side street. I was having to deal with something I hadn’t thought of even sooner than I’d thought I would. Mind, this was something I should have thought of.
One choice was simply to ignore the people whispering and to go past them to the door. Instead I reached into the satchel and brought out the lamp in my left hand. Holding it up and out, I loudly said, “Hoy! What’re you playing at?”
The light worked fine. It wasn’t bright but in the close darkness it was as good as a spotlight. I saw three forms, all men as best I could tell in the swirl of loose garments, as they ran the other way down the alley.
That wasn’t the only thing that could’ve happened, but my right hand was inside the hanging satchel. I hadn’t had to test the pistol also, thank heavens.
I entered the passage and closed the door after me. I was breathing hard. I set down the satchel. It was heavy enough to unbalance me with the weight of both the pistol and the pry bar. I hoped I wouldn’t have to use either one, but who knew?
The light was still on. I started to turn it off to conserve power, then worried that I wouldn’t be able to turn it back on. Finally I left it on just for the company the light would give me for the next twenty minutes.
I’d shot the hand bolt on the alley door. There was one on the garden door also, but I left it. I wasn’t worried about somebody trying to enter from the Wives’ Wing. At 11:27 p.m. I dropped the cover plate. Through the grating I heard a woman say, “What’s that light!”
The voice wasn’t Monica’s. I’d forgotten that at night, any light in the passage would be visible in the garden.
I heard a thunk. “Quick!” Monica said. “Open the door!”
I pulled it open. The hinges were stiff, but the oil had done its job. My blood was jumping with so much adrenaline that I felt like I could’ve ripped the door off, let alone opening it.
Azul lay in front of the doorway. Monica was bending over her. She’d dropped the unlit brass lamp that she seemed to have used as a club. She removed a glittery barrette from the fallen woman’s hair.
“Get her inside,” Monica said. Then she said, almost the same breath, “Oh, thank the heavens you’re here!”
I dragged Azul into the passage. Her head was bleeding; that must’ve been a hell of a clout.
As soon as Azul’s feet were out of the way, Monica tried to close the door. It was far too heavy for her. I reached past her and shoved it shut, then shot the interior bolt.
I bent at the waist so that I could suck in more air. All my muscles were wobbling. I pointed a finger at Azul and said, “What was she doing here?”
Monica settled the barrette in her own hair and straightened. “I told her that I’d found something that frightened me and I needed her to take it to the Admiral,” she said. “We slipped out secretly.”
“But why?” I said.
“She saw this in my hair the first day I arrived…” Monica said, touching the barrette. “And took it. I think just because I had it, not that she particularly wanted it. And she kept wearing it so that I’d see it every day.”
“Look, she’s a nasty person”—or anyway, she used to be a nasty person. Her breathing was loud and very slow—“but she might not have come alone.”
“She did, though,” Monica said, drawing herself up straight. “And I wasn’t going to let the bitch rob me.”
I’d have bought you ten baubles just as nice as that one, the first time we got to a civilized planet, I thought. The trick was that we had to get off ben Yusuf first. Complaining would be as pointless as what Monica had done.
“Come on,” I said aloud. “Our ride is going to be here at any time now.”
We left Azul snoring on the ground and walked briskly to the alley end of the passage. I said, “I’m going to switch off the light now,” and did so. The sudden darkness helped me relax.
Monica was wearing loose trousers and tunic, all the clothing any of the wives had. It wasn’t ideal for anything but the Wives’ Wing, but she wouldn’t have had a choice.
“Why did you turn the light out?” she asked.
“I’m waiting for somebody to come with a car,” I said. “I don’t want him to get a good view of us until, well, until I’m ready for him to.”
She didn’t respond. There was nothing to say, but I still expected her to say something. Monica was a real person, not an image in a camera, and I was starting to get a view of what was below that surface.
Someone knocked at the alley door.
I was expecting that, but I still jumped nearly out of my skin. They were using their knuckles, not something hard.
I slid back the bolt. There wasn’t a view slit on this door, so I had to assume that Platt had arrived. Idlers in th
e alley might’ve tried the door, but they wouldn’t have knocked. I shoved it open and whispered, “Come in quick!”
Somebody squeezed through the crack in the door. “Can’t we have a light?” the man said.
I pulled the door shut behind him. I got the pistol out of my cargo pocket, then turned the light on.
“Master Platt,” I said, quietly but not whispering any longer. “You’re to do exactly what I tell you. If you don’t, I’ll shoot you dead. Do you understand?”
Platt’s throat worked as he swallowed. His eyes were wide and his mouth fell open.
“Do you understand?” I repeated.
“I do…” he said. Then he said, “Who are you?”
“A distressed spacer, whom you’re going to help get off planet,” I said. That was more or less his job, after all. “Do you have a gun?”
“No,” he said. “No.” He swallowed again and added, “My driver has a gun.”
“Then I’d like you to go to the door and call him in here,” I said. I was impressed at how calm I sounded. “Monica, keep hold of the back of his tunic but try not to be seen. If he makes a break I’ll have to kill him, and I don’t want to do that.”
Platt hesitated; the door was closed, after all. I smiled at him, keeping the pistol aimed at his belly but my bent arm withdrawn a little. I didn’t want him to grab for it.
“Just call him calmly,” I said. “He needs to give me his gun, but nobody’s going to be hurt if he does.”
I pushed the door open enough that Platt could put his head out. “Hiram?” he said. There was a squeakiness to his voice, but I didn’t suppose he could help that. “Come in with me.”
The driver replied something but I couldn’t make out the words. Platt was wearing a loose brown tunic, a local garment; Monica had gathered a double fistful of the material into her hands, but she was bending down to stay hidden by the door panel.
Platt snarled, “Just leave the bloody car! Leave it!”
I heard the car door open and thunk shut. I could drive, but the alley was so narrow that getting down it with enough room to open a door was an expert job. If I’d backed out, I’d have had to navigate by the sound of fenders rubbing.
“Sir?” said a voice outside.
I pushed the door farther open, straining not to seem to be straining. I said, “Come on in. Just stay calm and everything’s going to be fine.”
“Wha wha wha…?” the driver said. He was about forty and sturdy looking, but his face was unmarked. I didn’t have the impression of a brawler.
“Platt, back up,” I said. “Let Hiram come in.”
The consul jerked backward with a squawk. Monica was a strong lady, and a very determined one.
“Come in, Hiram,” I repeated, “and put your hands on the wall while I take your gun.”
The driver squeezed through the opening, moving as far to the right as he could. My pistol was aimed at his left eye. He whispered, “Don’t shoot me.…”
“Just lean on the wall,” I said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The driver was wearing a blue jacket, maybe from a uniform of some sort, but his pistol was loose in the side pocket instead of being holstered. I withdrew it and dropped it into my left cargo pocket.
Stepping back but keeping my eyes on our two prisoners, I said, “Now, we’re getting back into the car and Hiram will drive to the harbor. Monica, take the pistol I just put in my pocket and go out first. Walk to the ride so that you’re not in the way if one of them does something dumb.”
“Where are we going?” Platt said. He kept swallowing and his voice was ragged.
I felt Monica take the gun and slip out behind me. When she’d reached the alley, I said, “We’re just going to the harbor, like I said. I’ll leave the two of you there. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“I’m ready!” Monica called.
“You next, Hiram,” I said. “Don’t get into the car until the rest of us are out, though. But no problems, okay? I’m a very good shot.”
I wasn’t, not with a pistol anyway. I hoped I wouldn’t need to prove that.
The driver left the passage, then Platt himself when I nodded to him. I followed them, still holding the light.
I left the door open. Azul had been a thorough bitch from everything I’d seen through the cameras—and particularly a bitch to the blond, young Monica. I still didn’t want to leave her to die in a dark tunnel. If it was open at the alley end, somebody was going to venture in soon. They might even do something for the injured woman.
Monica held her pistol concealed under a fold of her loose sleeve. It was aimed at the driver.
“Do I get in or are you leaving me?” Platt said.
“Hiram, open the trunk,” I said. “Get in the trunk, Master Platt. You’re going along, but I don’t need you until you tell your watchman that it’s all right for us to come aboard.”
“You can’t do that!” Platt said.
The driver leaned through his open window and touched a control. The trunk lid popped open.
“Get in,” I said, “or I’ll leave you here in the tunnel, dead. And I’ll figure to bribe the watchman. Your choice.”
Platt climbed carefully into the trunk. He was trying to find a comfortable spot to lie down when Monica slammed the lid onto him. He shouted angrily, but when she slammed it again he’d flattened out of the way.
“Monica, get in back,” I said. “Keep your gun on Hiram as he gets in. And then I’ll go around to the other side and get in beside him.”
When she was inside with her pistol touching the back of the driver’s neck, I walked around to the passenger door and got in beside him. “Now just drive down to the harbor and park where the boats are pulled up on shore,” I said. “No need for a hurry. As soon as we’re gone, you and your boss can go do anything you please.”
The driver was as rigid as a statue behind the steering yoke, but he drove precisely. He didn’t look over at me or the pistol in my lap.
We drove to the end of the alley without touching a wall. A step encroached from the left near the far end, but we rocked over it without difficulty; the driver fed in just enough power to get us up and then down with minimum disruption.
We turned left at the street and continued toward the water at the same sedate pace as we’d navigated the alley. The pavement was wide enough, but there were scores of idlers out on the hot night. They moved out of the way, but occasionally somebody shouted an insult.
Monica slid across the back seat and put her lips close to my right ear, the one away from the driver. “This pistol,” she whispered. “It isn’t loaded. The tube fell out.”
“All right,” I said. I suspected that the driver hadn’t known that the pistol he carried was empty; certainly he’d acted as though Monica was holding a loaded gun. It wasn’t exactly a complication, since I hadn’t planned on getting a second pistol from our prisoners. I’d thought we might, though.
We drove toward the harbor, rocking on the irregular pavers. We reached the parking area where Giorgios had brought me. The sand beyond that point was too soft for normal tires. There were no other vehicles, but some of the watermen’s huts were lighted by small fires or lamps like the one I’d used in the passage.
“Now Hiram,” I said. “We’re all going to get out. Then you’re going to reach in through the window again and open the trunk so that the consul can join us.”
Monica continued to point her pistol at the driver from under the fabric so that he couldn’t see that there wasn’t a loading tube. I wondered if it’d fallen out unnoticed in his pocket when he’d bumped something or if he simply hadn’t realized it was missing to begin with. The amount of technical ignorance on ben Yusuf went beyond making me a wizard for being able to give a computer basic commands.
The trunk popped open. “Out,” I said.
Platt carefully straightened, then clambered out as quickly as he could. I guess he was afraid that Monica would slam the lid on him again. We were
far enough from the huts that the watermen couldn’t be sure of what was going on at the car.
“Now,” I said to him, “we’re going over to the shelters and find a boatman to take us to the Alfraz. She’s your ship, so there shouldn’t be any—”
“Roy,” Monica said, not loud but urgently. I broke off and followed her eyes. Somebody was coming toward us from the huts.
The trunk lid was still up. I shifted to the side so that I was sure the newcomer couldn’t see my pistol.
“Hey, boss,” Abram called. “I figured you’d come here looking for a boat, but I didn’t realize you were coming in style. That’s the Karst consul’s car, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and this is the Karst consul,” I said. “You might want to go somewhere else, stranger.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Abram said, nonchalant as always. “Anyway, I already got a boat laid on for you. Come on down to the freight landing.”
“Hang on,” I said and did some quick figuring. “Hiram, you get into the trunk now. I still need your boss to board the Alfraz, but I don’t want to have to watch you too.”
The driver bowed and said, “Yes, lord.” He got into the trunk quickly and made himself as low as he could. Monica closed the lid over him.
I nodded to Abram. “We’re ready,” I said.
A cargo lighter of some size was drawn up at the landing stage. I heard a thrum rather than the sound of a reciprocating engine; it was probably the flywheel of some sort of electrical drive. The water alongside the hull quivered in the starlight. A mound of supplies filled the central portion of the vessel.
Abram hopped on. “You next, consul,” I said. I was holding the pistol close to my chest. It was possible that the two boatmen in the stern couldn’t see it in this light, but they could probably guess that something off-kilter was going on.
I trusted Abram to fix any problem that this caused. I was out of my depth.
We boarded. Abram cast off the line looped around a concrete bollard. Without verbal commands, the lighter backed into the bay, coasted for a moment with the drive grunting, and then proceeded forward in a curve that took us to the ship moored five hundred feet off shore. Even in the darkness I could see that the hull was bigger than those of the pirate cutters that made up most of the port’s traffic.