Jewels of the Dragon

by Allen Wold

  At last they came to a modern door set into the side of the tunnel, which went on into darkness. Beyond this door was a lush, perfumed, carpeted room, furnished exclusively in velvet-covered Atreef furniture in deep, rich reds, bright yellows, dark greens.

  "Dzhergriem will see you here," the Atreef woman said. "Forgive the lack of appropriate chairs, but I think you will find the couch quite comfortable. When you have finished, you may find your own way back upstairs. I strongly suggest you do not stray from the route we have taken."

  Then she left. Another door opened at once, and a tall, old Atreef gentleman entered.

  "I am Dzhergriem," he said, gesturing toward the couch with two of his four arms. "Please be seated."

  They all three sat. Rikard was trembling with tension— and excitement.

  "The man you seek," Dzhergriem went on, "why did he come to Kohltri?"

  "He thought he had found a source of fast wealth," Darcy said. "He traced it here from Pelgrane."

  "That could be many things. Please do not be reticent."

  "We don't know what it was," Darcy explained, "only that he thought it was here and could be taken away quickly."

  "Something not perhaps common here," Dzhergriem mused. "But again, that could be many things. People come here seeking fast wealth all the time. A few find it. Most don't. I see no light in this direction. Very well, who was this man?"

  "My father," Rikard said, "Arin Braeth." He told Dzhergriem precisely when his father had come, where he had stayed, and when he had disappeared.

  As he spoke, Dzhergriem drew back, his hands clenching his knees. "You were wise not to reveal the name upstairs," he said. "You would have been gently expelled."

  "You know him, then?" Rikard felt the tension mount, and strove to keep it out of his voice.

  "I know of him rather, yes," Dzhergriem said, his voice very low. If he had been human, Rikard would have thought that he was suddenly afraid.

  "You don't know where he is, then? Or what happened when he dropped out of sight?"

  "I do not. You know more than I. I'm sorry, I cannot help you."

  Rikard glanced at Darcy. He was sure Dzhergriem was lying, and Darcy's expression indicated that she felt the same way. Rikard started to speak again, to pursue the point further, but he hesitated, aware that the Atreef was even more tense than he. He remembered Darcy's words of caution and changed his mind.

  "That's too bad," he said instead. "Is there anyone else I might ask?"

  "I know of no one," Dzhergriem murmured. There was something about his tone and posture that made Rikard think he was on the thin edge of violence.

  "I see," he said. "Thank you very much for your time. The lady mentioned a fee."

  "As I have been of no service to you, there will be no charge."

  "Thank you again," Rikard said. He got to his feet, and Darcy followed suit. Dzhergriem remained seated as they left.

  "He does know something," Rikard said tightly as they walked up the tunnel toward the Belshpaer chambers.

  "Of course he does, but you were right to let it go. We would have died without knowing it if you'd questioned him further."

  "That's what I felt. But I can't understand it. Was he afraid? And of what?"

  "He was afraid of you." They went through the hexagonal rooms to the corridor beyond.

  "But why would he be afraid of me?"

  "I don't know. I'm familiar enough with the Atreef to be able to identify his reaction, but I don't understand it at all." They climbed the stairs to the hallway at the top and walked along it to the inner room. The Atreef woman was not there. They let themselves out into the bright white courtyard and to the street.

  "He knows something," Rikard said again, "but he won't say. And why in the world would he be afraid of me, with all the defenses he must have in that hidey-hole of his?"

  "I'm sorry, I don't know."

  "Maybe he had something to do with my father's disap­pearance. Or maybe he's trying to protect him."

  "It could be either one, but I don't think we'll ever find out. Now don't give up. There are other people to ask. It's just that I thought Dzhergriem was our best bet. Come on, let's get out of here."

  3

  They did no more searching that day, but went out early the next morning.

  "We're going to try to find a 'sponsor,'" Darcy explained. "That's someone who specializes in protection."

  "You mean he'll keep his people from demolishing your business if you pay him money?"

  "No, not that. There are plenty of those in the city. What I mean is a person who, for a fee, will help a newcomer adapt to Kohltri."

  "Like you're doing with me?"

  "Well, not exactly. This is a one-shot for me. Sponsors are professional. They teach newcomers things the way I'm teaching you, and they protect the newcomer until she is well adjusted. There aren't many sponsors, and their rates are high. They specialize in embezzlers, swindlers, and others who come to Kohltri with lots of money and not much street savvy. By the time the sponsor is through with them, they have plenty of the latter and not much left of the former."

  "If you hadn't offered to help me, how would I have gotten in touch with one of these sponsors?"

  "The night clerk at your hostel might have told you, but it wouldn't have done you much good. You don't have enough money. And even if you had, you're not the right type. You're not a criminal. But an embezzler, they would have seen her coming, and somebody would have steered her to a sponsor right away. After a couple of days trying to survive on their own, they would have agreed to the deal without too much grumbling. The usual arrangement is the chance to learn how to live in exchange for half her stake, more or less."

  "You think my father might have gone to one of these? But he didn't have any more money than I have, less even."

  "What I think is that a sponsor's agent would have approached your father, not the other way around. Being who he is, they would have thought he was well off, even if he wasn't. If your father turned the sponsor down, they would have kept a close eye on him, if only to see if they couldn't get him to agree to the service after all. Not that he'd need it."

  During the morning they located three such sponsors. They were not hard to find. But none of them had been in business when Rikard's father had come to Kohltri.

  Darcy bought them lunch, and afterward a tender told them that a certain Mareth Davinis had been working as a sponsor for almost twenty years. They got the address and went to her place just outside the port district.

  The courtyard there was exceptionally well planted. Most of the plants were the same as those Rikard had seen else­where, but there was a wider variety than usual and some species that he had not seen in any of the other courtyards.

  Davinis's office was one of six openings onto the court­yard. It was quite modem and luxurious. They were met by a receptionist who asked them their business, which Darcy stated in her usual oblique way. After a moment's wait, they were ushered into a larger inner office.

  It was tastefully if expensively decorated. There were a large desk, several chairs, a couch, cases full of book car­tridges, pictures on the wall. The carpet on the floor was of unmistakable Atreef manufacture. Rikard could see its true beauty in the brighter light of this office. If the Atreef ever decided to begin interplanetary trade, their carpets would bring a good price.

  Mareth Davinis, seated behind her desk, was a handsome woman of 150 or so. Her face was strong, her hair not yet grayed, and her handshake firm.

  "Let me say at the beginning," she said as they seated themselves, "that my business is usually to keep people hid­den, not tell where they are. But tell me what you want, and I'll see what I can do."

  "We appreciate your position," Rikard said before Darcy could speak, "but I don't think you'll have any ethical con­flicts. In any event, my name is Rikard Braeth, and I'm looking for my father."

  "Braeth. I've heard the name, I think. Wasn't there a Gesta some thirty years ago with that
name?"

  "That was Arin Braeth, my father. He left home about thirteen years ago, came here, lived in the city for two-thirds of a year, then disappeared. You may have known him then."

  "I see." Davinis's cordiality visibly cooled. "Yes. Arin Braeth. Yes, I do know the name. But don't you see, if he disappeared, either he died or went underground of his own accord. If he died, I can't help you. If he chose to drop out of sight, I wouldn't help you if I could."

  "What if he disappeared against his will?"

  "I don't know that."

  "Look, Msr. Davinis, my father came here to recover a fortune of some kind, specifically so he could come back home with it. I have reason to believe he thought he'd found it.

  "Now, I don't want to take his fortune away from him, if he did, or force him to return home, or even to get unpleasant about his leaving in the first place. I just want to find him and find out what happened to him. If he's dead, I'd like to know that, see his grave if it can be found. If he's alive, I just want to see him, hear his story, tell him mine, and let him make his own decision as to what he does next."

  Davinis leaned back in her chair. "It seems to me that he's already made his decision."

  "I don't believe that. If you knew him, even if only by reputation, you know what kind of a man he was. He was not the kind to quit, or give up, or avoid trouble. I knew him quite well, even though I was only a kid when he left. If he didn't come back, with or without the money he hoped to find, it could only be because he's dead or is being kept somewhere against his will."

  "I can see that you believe that. Nevertheless, it's not necessarily true."

  "I know. But think about it. You heard of him when he was out making a name for himself. He came here openly. He lived in the city openly for over half a year. In your business you know the comings and goings of people. You would certainly have heard of his arrival, even if you never offered to do business with him. You would have heard about it when he disappeared. If he's dead, if you know that, what harm to tell me?"

  "None at all, I guess."

  "Exactly. Then, since you won't tell me, I can only assume that he's still alive and that you know that he is."

  "That doesn't mean I know where he is."

  "Of course not. But I think you do, or at least have an idea. Must you protect him even from me?"

  "Yes. I don't know you. You say you are Arin Braeth's son. But you can't prove that, I don't think. Show me your ID, and I'll show you another one proving I'm Arin Braeth's mother—which I'm not. So you see, there is an ethical conflict. I'm afraid I cannot help you."

  "Oh, but you already have." Rikard got to his feet. "Thank. you for your time." He extended his hand. Davinis shook it uncertainly. Then Rikard and Darcy left quickly.

  "You did that beautifully," Darcy said as they got to the street.

  "You've been a pretty good teacher." He was covered with goose bumps of excitement. "And it's the way my father would have done it. And now I know he's still alive—unless Davinis is a lot better liar than she seems to be."

  "I don't think so. And I think you're right. And if that's true, then we still have a chance. If he can be hidden some­where, he can be found."

  "What I don't understand is why? Why he'd either hide voluntarily or let himself be hidden against his will. Some­thing happened here eleven years ago. Maybe he found his treasure, and he's being held by somebody until he tells them where it is."

  "For eleven years? I don't think that's it."

  "Okay, let's examine the two most obvious possibilities. First, he didn't find the treasure, or more likely found it and it was worthless. Now, I can understand some people would be so let down that they couldn't face up to having been suckered in on a wild-goose chase for two and a half years, and would just hide away out of shame.

  "But not my father. He would have yelled a lot, kicked a few walls down, cursed himself for his stupidity, then calmed down and come on home. I've seen that reaction, though for lesser cause. He wouldn't crawl in a hole. He'd want Mother to comfort him. He cared more for her, and for me too, I guess, than for money or his pride. So that's not the expla­nation.

  "The second possibility, then, is that he did find what he was looking for, and it was what he thought it was, or close enough. Now, I can understand that some people, suddenly confronted with enormous wealth, might not want to share it, and would just go off alone to spend or hoard their loot in private.

  "But when my father married my mother, he had a fortune, a big one. He shared it then. He lost it because he didn't understand how to invest it properly. He was no businessman.

  "But money for him was just a tool, a means of achieving another, more desirable end. And that end was to live a comfortable life with his family. So just finding the treasure wouldn't drive him into hiding.

  "And hide where? Here? If he were going to go off some­where, it would be out in the Federation, or maybe in the Crescent, or the Abogam Hegemony, or somewhere else where his money would do him some good. If anything, he'd be­come a Gesta again, not a hermit."

  "Maybe he did go off."

  "No, he never left Kohltri."

  "Look, Rikard, ships go out of here all the time that aren't on the record. There's an awful lot of smuggling. I bet three out of five ships leave Kohltri with no record at all, and the rest have their records falsified."

  "Don't kid yourself. If I dared go back up to the station, I could show you. Every ship arriving or departing is logged. Every ship. Some of the codes confused me until I learned down here about all the supposedly secret transport going on. But it's not secret, at least not to the people who run the station. Anton Solvay knows what comes in and goes out. He keeps it quiet because it's part of his control over this whole racket."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Absolutely. Look, you weren't far off. Thirty-seven per­cent of all ships are on one register. Their manifests are in plain language. They dock in, dock out, all according to accepted procedure.

  "But there's another register, fully sixty-three percent of all traffic, and half of it's in code. Including ships that never touch the station but orbit farther down and send their own shuttles.

  "And there's a code for passengers and the like—very simple, I broke it in an hour. More people arrive here than leave, and all those who do leave, especially on the second register, are very carefully identified. I guess Solvay wants to keep track. And none of the people who left Kohltri be­tween when my father arrived and ten days ago was my father. I know that for a fact."

  "My God, you're not kidding."

  "I'm not."

  "But if you're right, then your father really could be here."

  "He is here. Maybe he's dead, but I don't think so. If he were, none of the people we've talked to would have been so protective of him, or afraid of him. He's in hiding some­where. Maybe it is his choice, I don't know. But he's here, he's alive—and Davinis is protecting him."

  "I think you're right, and she is. But in that case, there's absolutely nothing more we can get from her, or from any other sponsors. They form a very tightly knit guild. If one were to talk, she'd be dead within an hour and the pieces spread out all along the streets. So that's closed, and too bad."

  "But we're not finished yet, are we?"

  "Not at all. If either Dzhergriem or Davinis had been willing to talk, it would have been the fastest way to find out where your father is. But if they won't tell us, somebody else will. There are plenty of finks on Kohltri. It will just take more time."

  "So what's next?"

  "We just noise it about that we're looking for Arm Braeth and that we're willing to pay for the information. Quietly, of course. Word will spread, and sooner or later somebody will offer to tell us—for a price. But it will take a while."

  "Then the sooner we get started the better."

  "I agree. We'll just make the rounds of the bars and—"

  And everybody was running.

  "It's a dragon," Darcy said, clutching Rika
rd's arm.

  "Where?"

  "Over there, at the corner."

  He could see the golden orange glow of the creature as it came onto the street. They ducked into an alleyway, following several other people. A moment later the dragon appeared at the alley mouth, its head, if that was what it was, stretching forward on the end of its transparent serpentine neck.

  The alley was a dead end, and there were no other doors. There were six or seven other people trapped with Rikard and Darcy. All they could do was cower and wait.

  Everybody stood very still. The two eyes of the dragon wandered back and forth, as if it couldn't see very well. Then they seemed to focus on Rikard for a moment.

  And then the dragon just went away.

  4

  Rikard and Darcy spent the next three days visiting as many bars, taverns, and pawnshops as they could. Everywhere they went, they asked for Arin Braeth, but no one was able to help them, and the word of their search had not yet brought anyone forward with information.

  They finished up the third day at the Rathrayn Restaurant, a place that was as different from the Troishla as it was possible to be. One had to go through one of the worst parts of the city to get to the narrow alley off which the Rathrayn was located, so one wasn't likely to stumble across it by accident. On the other hand, while it was hard to find, it was safe for practically anybody to be there, even tourists.

  It wasn't an exceptionally large establishment. Twenty tables seated eighty customers downstairs, while two rooms upstairs could accommodate forty more. Rikard and Darcy were seated in the main room.

  "We don't seem to be having an awful lot of luck finding informants," Rikard said after their steaks came.

  "We've only just started," Darcy said. "Something like this takes time to percolate through to the right people."

  "I suppose if it's been eleven years and more a few more days won't matter. But I'm impatient."

  "Be impatient all you want. Just don't hold your breath."

  "That's what I find myself doing. I guess it's knowing that he's here and alive—"