Jewels of the Dragon

by Allen Wold

  "Maybe I could help you. Gorshik charges high, and I haven't noticed that he's been doing much business lately."

  "You know Sed Blakely?"

  "Never heard of him."

  "Thanks anyway." Rikard turned and left. She hadn't rec­ognized him at all.

  Shop number one, in the courtyard across from the hostel, was closed. Rikard went next door and asked about it.

  "Oh, he moved out a month ago," the woman answered. "What's it to you?"

  "Where'd he go?"

  "Look, buddy, I don't know and I don't care."

  He took out a few bills and offered them to her.

  She looked at them and laughed. "You gotta be kidding. I don't sell nobody out for that little." She made a gesture, and two tough-looking men came out from a back room, carrying truncheons.

  Rikard grabbed his gun, and time slowed. He did not shoot but used the gun as a club. He hit each man once across the face. They fell, and his gun was back in its holster before they stopped rolling.

  "I'm offering you more than money," Rikard said quietly. He hoped she believed him.

  "Yeah, sure, I get the picture. Listen, I don't know where he is, but you go to the Immigration office. They know there."

  "Thanks a bundle," Rikard said. He dropped the money at her feet and left.

  Returning to the Immigration office brought him full cir­cle. The day clerk at his old hostel had not recognized him, but he wouldn't be able to fool the machines. He sat in one of the console chairs.

  He felt very strange. The last time, he'd been an outsider looking in. Now he was an insider looking out. A couple of tourists came in, looked at him curiously, took chairs of their own, and pulled the hoods forward to ask their questions and state their business.

  Rikard pulled his own hood forward. The screen lit up.

  "Where is Pedar Gorshik?" he asked.

  "Please state your identity," the screen answered.

  "Rikard Braeth." He put his hand on the identification plate on the chair arm.

  "Identity noted. You are in an anomalous position, Rikard Braeth, being not registered in any visitor facility nor listed as an immigrant to Kohltri."

  "I'm staying with friends."

  "Very well. What is your authorization for asking for Pedar Gorshik?"

  "Personal authority. He knows where Sed Blakely was eleven years ago."

  "As a visitor, Rikard Braeth, you are not authorized to request the location of unlisted persons without their prior consent."

  "How about as a citizen of Kohltri?"

  "In that case, you may ask."

  "Make it that way then."

  "Do you wish to become a citizen of Kohltri?"

  "Is it reversible?"

  "Only by your departure from Kohltri. A citizen of Kohltri is not liable to nor protected by Federation laws."

  "Make me a citizen, effective the day I checked out of my hostel. Can that be done?"

  "If that was when you acquired a private residence, it can be done."

  "Do it. Will this be recorded?"

  "Certainly."

  "Is there any way I can erase the recording?"

  "No, there is not."

  "What would have been the notation had I not come in here?"

  "Your last address would have been noted, that you had not acquired a new one. Implication that you were hiding out."

  "How is the register compiled?"

  "Anybody may record his present address."

  "Is there an address for Pedar Gorshik?"

  "There is," the screen said, and gave it to him.

  8

  The building was old, the plants in the courtyard surprisingly ill tended. Door 3 opened onto a hallway, with more doors down one side and a stairway going to the upper floors on the other. It was a rooming house.

  Rikard climbed to the third floor. It was dark here and smelled bad, of decay and waste and disease. For a man who "charged high," this was a remarkably poor place to live.

  He found the right apartment and knocked. A weak voice told him to come in.

  The room inside was dimly lit. It contained a dresser, a table, a chair, a bed, and nothing else. The bed contained a wasted form.

  "Pedar Gorshik?" Rikard asked.

  "That's me," the weak voice answered. "Sit down. You make me tired standing there."

  Rikard picked up the chair and took it over by the bed.

  "You're sick," he said, sitting down. "Can I get you any­thing?"

  "Nope. I can still get to the John by myself, thank God."

  "You ought to be in a hospital."

  "You're new here. You ever been in a hospital on Kohltri? It's better to just die sometimes."

  "They take your money?"

  "If you've got any. If you don't, they experiment."

  "Doesn't sound at all good."

  "It's not. What do you want? I gave up the business a month ago."

  "A number of people think you're still in it."

  "Tough. I haven't fenced anything since I caught the crud."

  "I'm looking for Sed Blakely."

  "He's been gone eleven years or more."

  "I know. I was told you know where he is."

  "Who told you that?"

  "Aben Arshaud."

  "He had no business doing that."

  "He trusted me."

  "The more fool he."

  "Arshaud's no fool. I'm not going to hurt Blakely."

  "What else would you say? Look, friend, I'm not talking. You get rough, I'll just die on the spot. I don't care."

  "Would money help?"

  "Not at all."

  "How about a ticket off Kohltri to a hospital you could trust?"

  "If I survived the trip and if they could fix me up, then I'd have the law on me, and rehabilitation. No thanks."

  "You know why he's hiding, don't you?"

  "Sure, he finked on Arin Braeth some way."

  "That he did. And that's why I want to find him."

  "No dice. I didn't know Braeth, but he had a good rep, and whatever it was Blakely did to him, he probably deserves to be shot, but I'm not about to avenge one betrayal by committing another. Besides, for all I know, Blakely could be dead."

  "He could be. If he is, I'd like to know that too."

  "Sorry, kid, you'll have to go elsewhere."

  "You're the one who told Braeth and Blakely where the treasure was, aren't you?"

  "Hell, there's no treasure."

  "I know that, but you told them anyway, right?"

  "Sure. Braeth insisted. Damn fool. I thought he was brighter than that. And then his partner double-crosses him. He must have been getting old."

  "Maybe. Look, I found Arin Braeth."

  "Who squealed?"

  "Arshaud. Like I said, he trusted me."

  "And where is Arin Braeth now? Dead?"

  "Not as far as I know. The man I found, the man everybody thought was Arin Braeth is still alive. He's a hermit living south of the city, crazy as a rorn. But it isn't Arin Braeth who's been hiding out for eleven years; it's Sed Blakely."

  "You gotta be crazy yourself."

  "No. Blakely double-crossed Braeth all right, but he's the one, not Braeth, who's been sending Arshaud letters all these years."

  "Then where the hell's Braeth?"

  "Where Blakely is supposed to be. Where's Blakely sup­posed to have been all these years, Gorshik?"

  "God Almighty, you mean we've been protecting the wrong man all this time?"

  "Sure looks like it."

  "But how do you know it's not Braeth? You're too young to ever have run with him."

  "I'm his son. I can't prove it, but it's true. That's why Arshaud trusted me. He said I looked like my father."

  "Hell's bells. Well, I don't know Braeth well enough to see any resemblance. I only met him a few times, and that was a long while ago. So you're really looking for your father?"

  "That's right. Where did you send them eleven years ago?"

  "Ho, boy,
if I wasn't going to tell you where Blakely is, I'm sure not going to fink on Braeth, even if you hurt me."

  "I don't want to do that. I'm not going to do that. I just want to convince you that I have a right to know, that I just want to see my father, not take advantage of him. Blakely said he left my father with tathas. You know what that is? Okay, so if my father is still alive, which I rather doubt, he could sure use some help, don't you think?"

  "If everything you've told me is true, he does. But I don't know that. You sure look like any local hood to me."

  "I didn't just a few days ago." Rikard told him briefly what had happened since he'd gotten to Kohltri. The dying man lay watching him, and when Rikard finished, Gorshik sighed and smoothed the blankets over his body.

  "Okay," he said, "okay. Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think so. I didn't get along in my business for as long as I did by being a bad judge of character. And you don't sound like a local. You're too innocent. So okay, I'll believe you. You're just looking for your long-lost father. And after all, he's probably dead by now, so what could it hurt?"

  "Where's my father, Pedar?"

  "If he's alive, and if he's still there, he's in a place called the Tower of Fives, in a ruined Belshpaer city somewhere east of here."

  "How do I get there?"

  "I don't know, honest to God I don't. All I know is that if there's any dialithite on Kohltri, it's in the Tower of Fives. Arin Braeth said dialithite came with dragons, and dragons are supposed to come from the Tower of Fives, and that's all I know."

  9

  Rikard called Darcy as soon as he got back from visiting Pedar Gorshik. She invited him over and, since he'd never been there before, told him how to get to her place. It was a comfortable three-room suite, not especially hidden away, though he was sure it had at least one secret exit.

  She gave him a beer when he came in, and he told her everything that had happened to him since the last time he'd seen her.

  "I'm really amazed," she said when he'd finished. She handed him another beer. "You came here with nothing, and now you've gone through half the city just as if you owned it. Anyone would think you were born to the trade."

  "I suspect my father hoped I was. There were those stories he kept telling me. And there was that operation." He fingered the scar on the palm of his right hand. "It cost a fortune, I don't know how much, and I lost a year of school. Mother didn't approve, but she didn't object. I think toward the end there, just before she died, she finally accepted what it implied. Why do something like that to me if he didn't expect me to follow in his footsteps someday?"

  "You were being primed for it during your whole childhood."

  "I guess so. Anyway, now I know where my father is. Or where he was when he was betrayed. He's probably still there, or his bones at least."

  "I still say it's amazing that you could have dug up so much as quickly as you did. And followed such a convoluted trail. I don't know anybody else who could have done it."

  "You could have," Rikard said, half pleased, half embarrassed at the compliment. "Or Leonid Polski."

  She smiled. "Yes, I guess so. But we've been in the business for a long time. You just started." There was something odd in her expression. "I never did like klunkers, and nobody could ever accuse you of being that."

  "Well, thank you. But, uh, I still haven't finished my search. I still have to find the Tower of Fives."

  "Ah, yes. It's legendary. It's the center structure of a Belsh­paer city supposed to be the largest and most complete set of ruins on the planet."

  "What about the idea that dragons come from the Tower of Fives?"

  "I don't know about that, but that doesn't mean anything. I'm not a student of dragons, though some people are fas­cinated by them. What fascinates me is the fact that you've actually seen living Belshpaer. I could almost give up all this other nonsense if I could actually work with real live Belsh­paer."

  "Really?"

  "Well, almost."

  "If I meet any more, I'll send them your way. What I want to know is how to get to this Belshpaer city and the Tower of Fives."

  "I wish I could help you there, but I don't know where it is. I don't think it will be too hard to locate somebody who does. All we'll have to do is find one of the loners who prospects out of the city. New stories about the place come back all the time."

  "Is it far from here?"

  "Several days by car through some pretty rough country, or so I'm told. It will be a real expedition in any event. You'll need a jeep, supplies, a shelter, stuff like that."

  "I'm running out of cash."

  "No problem. My little scheme is almost worked through. It will take us a couple of days to find a guide anyway. By that time my deal will be finished and we'll have plenty of money."

  "You're not going to get into trouble with this, are you?"

  "My money deal? No, I don't think so. I know most of the people involved. Nothing really illegal. Oh, there's a little danger. There always is. But it will pay off, don't worry, and then we'll be able to afford any kind of expedition you want."

  "Sounds good. So I guess I'll spend the time looking for a guide."

  "Sure. But don't tell them what you're after. Let them think you've heard about artifacts or something you can sell. You go off on an altruistic rescue mission after a dead man, they'll laugh at you. Tell them you're in it for the money, they'll come right along for a cut."

  "What should I offer?"

  "A hundred a day plus 5 percent, or whatever they can carry, whichever is less."

  "That's an odd way to do it."

  "Maybe, but it's terms they'll understand. If you don't sound greedy, they won't trust you."

  "Looks like I've got a lot to learn yet."

  "We all do, Rik, but you're learning fast."

  "I sure hope so. And I think I'm going to get on it right now."

  "So late?"

  "The evening's just begun. And I can't sit still."

  The odd look came into Darcy's eyes again. Rikard felt as if he were missing something.

  "Well, if you must, you must," she said.

  Rikard got to his feet. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. Then maybe we could go up to the Troishla and you could introduce me to some of its charms."

  "It's a deal. You've only seen the front room so far. It might be fun to run into Dorong or Arbo again, just to see their reactions."

  "It might at that."

  He took his leave and found his way out of the building.

  As he crossed the courtyard to the street door, four people passed him going the other way. He went out to the street and stopped, suddenly indecisive.

  Something tugged at the tail ends of his mind. The only thing he could think of was the four people who'd passed him, going into Darcy's building. There hadn't been anything special about them as far as he remembered.

  He took another step and stopped again. He didn't know why, but he was alarmed. He tried to go on, but his feet wouldn't work. All his hair was standing on end. He had to go back to Darcy's apartment. He turned and hurried back through the courtyard.

  The building was quiet when he reentered. He climbed to the second floor and stepped into the hall, at the end of which was Darcy's apartment. The silence was broken by the sounds of breaking furniture. There were no shots.

  With an unnatural calmness, he walked to her door. Loud noises came through it, the sounds of fists hitting flesh. He put his hand to the latch. It was locked. He took an extra clip of shells from his pocket, drew his gun, and time slowed.

  He kicked at the door latch. The panel splintered and broke in. Two of the four people he'd seen in the courtyard were holding Darcy down in a chair. The third, a woman, was hitting her in the chest and stomach with a truncheon. The fourth, a man, was directing the affair.

  He fired first at the man on Darcy's left and then at the one on her right. They both slammed back, but the other two were between him and Darcy. A shot at them would go through and hit her.

>   In that instant's hesitation the man who was directing the beating turned and raised a heavy, thick-barreled shotgun pistol.

  Rikard dropped to the floor, the shotgun went off over his head, and he fired upward, taking the man under the rib cage. But the woman's truncheon came through the air and smashed into Rikard's face. For a moment he was blinded by pain.

  Before he could recover, he felt a foot crash into his gun hand. The megatron went flying. Time returned to normal, and he barely ducked another kick that was aimed at his neck. It glanced off his shoulder.

  He grabbed the swinging foot the next time it came, and wrenched it around until the woman fell heavily beside him. He heard shouts and running feet in the hall.

  The woman lashed out with her feet even as she tried to rise. Rikard rolled away, lurched halfway upright, and caught the woman on the chin with an uppercut, starting around his ankles, mainly because he couldn't stand any straighter.

  Another woman with a drawn gun of some kind appeared in the doorway. Rikard slammed the shattered panel in her face. Her gun went off half a dozen times into the floor. He dived for his own gun, the door bounced open, he grabbed the megatron, the machine pistol came up in the woman's hand. He aimed at the pistol and fired. The wreckage of her gun and her arm tore her chest away as it slammed her backward into her companion behind her in the hall. He fired twice more, blindly, into the darkened hallway. His gun was empty. He fumbled another clip into it.

  There was a pause. He could hear voices at the end of the hall, out of his line of sight. He spared a glance at Darcy. She was slumped in her chair, watching him with glazed eyes. There was blood on her shirt.

  "Rik Braeth, is that you?" somebody called.

  "Yeah, it's me."

  "We've got no argument with you," the anonymous voice told him.

  "You do now." He sent a bullet through the wall near where the voices were coming from. There was a loud scream, then the sound of several people cursing and scuffling.

  "Okay, Braeth," another voice yelled. "You've had it. We're going to take you out."

  "Hold 'em," he heard Darcy whisper. "I called Leo when you left."

  For some reason that bothered him, but he brushed it aside. "You just keep breathing," he said. He flattened himself against the wall next to the door.