Angado

Chapter Nine

Angado had gone when Dumarest emerged from the bank, the monk seated in his place. Brother Lloyd looked tired, grateful for the tisane he had been given. As Dumarest approached he looked up and began to rise from his chair.

"Sit down." Dumarest dropped into the space facing him. "Did he leave word?"

"Yes. He's in there." The monk gestured toward the casino. "He said to be sure and tell you where he had gone."

A fool unable to restrain his impatience and seeking novelty to pass the time. Dumarest helped himself to some of the tisane and leaned back in his chair as he sipped the fragrant brew. Thoughtful as he reviewed the situation.

Angado was a liability and yet it was hard to think of him as such. A danger; those who wanted him dead would try again and to be close was to invite disaster. A man now without assets and only one proven skill. Yet he held potential value; the resources of his House and Family. Wealth, influence, power-things Dumarest could use in his search for Earth and that search could begin on Lychen where Angado belonged.

He stood at a table, face flushed with excitement as he watched the bounding progress of a ball. One which bounced at the edges of ranked divisions to hover and finally come to rest.

"Red. Even. Eighteen." The croupier's voice was a drone. "Place your bets."

Angado had lost. He lost again. As he went to put more coins on the board Dumarest caught his arm.

"We need to talk."

"You're back! Good!" Angado smiled his pleasure. "One more turn and I'll be with you."

"Now!"

"One more turn."

He played and lost and ordered wine as he led the way to a table set in an alcove flanked with mirrors. The girl who brought it was young, enticing in her slit gown, smiling as she saw her tip.

"Anything else, my lord?"

"Food. A plate of delicacies. The best."

"No food." Dumarest was harsh. "Not yet." Then, as Angado made to protest, he added, savagely, "Do as you like after we've spoken. Now we have things to settle. Why didn't you tell me you were rich?"

"I'm not. I told you about the arrangement. Anyway, what does it matter?" Angado sipped, drank, refilled his glass. "Drink up, Earl, enjoy yourself. We can afford it."

"No."

"Why not? You got the money, didn't you?"

"A quarter of face value." Dumarest stacked coins on the table. "Your share. All you're going to get. If you want to squander it go ahead. It's your money."

Looking at it Angado said, slowly, "What are you telling me?"

"You're dead. Officially dead. No cash and no credit. Your notes won't be met. From now on you make your own way." Dumarest picked up his glass, lifted it in a mock toast. "Freedom, Angado. Let's drink to it-you can't afford to waste the wine."

He watched as Angado obeyed, the truth swallowed with the ruby liquid, cold realization dampening the euphoria of alcohol. As yet life to Angado had been an adventure, one padded by the cushions of wealth, now those cushions had been tweaked away and he was going to get hurt.

Dumarest said, "Think of Lowtown. Remember it. That's where you could wind up unless you're careful. Bear it in mind, the dirt, the stink, the decay." The grinding poverty, the pain, the desperation. An alien world to one accustomed to riches. A hostile one to a man arrogant with the memory of wealth. "Do you still feel hungry?"

Angado shook his head, remembering the cost of the wine, the loss at the table.

"What are you going to do?"

"Get back to Lychen. There has to be some mistake. Perotto will correct it. He-"

"Wants you dead!" snapped Dumarest. "And you're a fool not to see it. Remain a fool and you'll die alone. I mean it."

"You'll leave me?"

"I've no time for a man who refuses to help himself. You're dead, Angado. It's only a matter of time before you're in the ground. That's just what will happen when you meet Perotto unless-" He broke off and waited for the other to recognize the obvious.

"I've got to get back home," said Angado. "But without Perotto suspecting I'm back until I'm ready to face him. You'll come with me, Earl? Help me?" Anxiety tinged his voice as Dumarest remained silent. "You won't regret it. I swear to that. I'll give you anything you want."

The gratitude of princes-but first it had to be earned.

Larbi Vargas was old, wizened, his face seamed with a mesh of lines as if it had been leather unoiled and left too long in the sun. Only his eyes were young, holding a shrewd brilliance, one which matched the razor-edged keenness of his mind. An entrepreneur, an agent, a go-between. A man like a spider sitting in a web of information. One drifting in the dim region lying in the strata between law and lawlessness, order and chaos. Men like him existed on every world and Dumarest had known how to track him down. To Angado he was an alien form of life.

Now he watched as the preliminaries were completed; the small cakes eaten with wine. The pleasantries. The handing over of scarce resources.

"You are a man after my own heart," said Vargas. He wiped a crumb from his lips. "Too many who come to me are impatient. They neglect the niceties of civilized conduct but you, obviously, are aware of ancient traditions. Some more wine?"

"Thank you, no."

"You?" Vargas sighed and lowered the bottle as Angado shook his head. "Your problem is a common one, my friends. How to escape a hostile world? Money is the answer, the key to all things. How to get it? That is a harder problem. Theft is difficult and dangerous but desperate men are willing to accept risks. If you are such something could be arranged. No?"

"No."

"Then let us examine other prospects. Work at the mines is available but only for those willing to sign a contract. They pay is low and expenses high. I would not advise it. A party left last week for the northern hills to hunt kulighin. A beast as large as a man," he explained. "Vicious, cunning, valued for its hide and certain glands. Always some die on such a hunt and reward is never certain. But your stake is large enough to buy you a place in such a party if you can match it with experience and would be willing to take a lower share."

"Too long," said Dumarest. "We want something fast. Passage on a ship heading to Lychen. One needing an engineer would be ideal."

"Every vessel operating in the Burdinnion needs engineers," said Vargas dryly. "Which is why all ships carry them. If you were a captain would you trust your life and ship to an unknown? Someone lacking the years in which to have gained experience and without documents to prove his ability? Of course," he added, "such documents could be provided."

In time and with money they couldn't spare. Things the old man knew but he worked in his own way and to press him would lessen his desire to cooperate.

Now he said, "For one of you there is no real problem. If you just want passage away from Yuanka and are willing to do what is asked and spend what you have on bribes there are several ships on which I could arrange a passage. The Warton bound for Lome. The Koura bound for Balaban. A handler who can run a table and show a profit would be accepted." His eyes rested on Dumarest. "And there would be no need for him to pass through the gate."

An extra bonus and an essential one for any wanted criminal.

Angado said, quickly, "We must travel together."

"Then your choice is limited. The Audran leaves tomorrow at dawn. They carry a cargo of mikha and need men to tend them. For the right price the captain will allow you to work your passage."

"To where?"

"Haroun." Vargas shrugged as Angado shook his head. "The choice is yours but I suggest you take it. Haroun is less hostile than Yuanka."

"The mikha?"

"A low order of life similar to leeches." Vargas added, with the hint of a smile, "They need to feed on human blood."

At dusk a wind began to blow from the south carrying an acrid dust which caught at the nostrils and stung the eyes. As the purple haze deepened to night the wind ceased to leave a dusty film over the town. One stirred by pedestrian boots into flurries which rose to settle in new configurations.

"A hell of a world." Angado turned from the window of the room they had hired. "And a hell of a deal Vargas gave us. How much did you pay him, Earl? Whatever it was it was too much. Turn thief," he sneered. "Join a bunch of suicidal hunters. Feed parasites. He had to be joking."

Dumarest made no comment, lying supine on one of the two narrow beds the room contained, looking at the cracked and stained ceiling. One typical of the rooming house with its sagging roof, creaking floors, dingy walls. At night parasites crawled out to feed.

"Earl?"

"He wasn't joking. We're taking his offer."

"I'd rather steal!"

"Then you do it alone." Dumarest sat upright and stared at the younger man. "Vargas will set it up for you if you pay. Find a location, arrange to dispose of the loot, even put you in touch with help if you need it. To him it's just a matter of business. To you it will be your life."

"If I'm caught."

"You'll be caught. People living on worlds like this have learned to take care of their property. And they aren't gentle with those who try to take it. Both hands amputated, blinding, hamstringing-most likely you'll be sold to the mines to work until you die. That needn't take long."

"But to feed parasites!"

"Most do it all their lives." Dumarest rose from the cot. "Maybe we can find the captain in a tavern; if not I'll go to the ship. But first we'll get something to eat."

The food was poor, as cheap as they could find, as everything they had eaten since leaving Lowtown had been cheap. As had the wine, the accommodation, yet still the money dwindled away. Cost was relative; what would keep a man a week in Lowtown would barely buy a snack on the plaza, yet to return to the sprawling slum was to commit suicide. Gengiz had had a brother who had sworn revenge.

Things Angado thought of as he spooned the redolent stew into his mouth. He wasn't hungry but Dumarest had insisted that he eat; good advice from a man who too often had never been sure when he would be able to eat again. A trait nurtured by poverty as were so many others and Angado wondered if he would ever be able to master the basic techniques of survival. Not the ability to maintain life in the wild, that was a matter of learning how to best use available resources, but to master this new and frightening environment. How would he have managed without Dumarest? His money would have been squandered, thrown away on gaudy trifles, on food which gave bulk but little nourishment, on high-priced comfort which, compared to his normal life style, would have been hardship.

It would have been better to have died as Perotto had intended. Perotto! At the thought his hand tightened on the spoon.

Dumarest, watching, said, "Relax. He can wait."

"Can you read my mind?"

Just his hands, his face, the lack of focus in his eyes. Signals he had learned to read when facing gamblers in the salons of a hundred ships. As he had learned to read other signals, more important, those worn by men intent on taking his life.

Tables or the arena. Money or blood. It was all the same.

Neary, the captain of the Audran, was a human wasp; thin, vicious, with a hatchet-face and cold, hostile eyes. He sat alone in a corner of a tavern close to the field, a bottle standing before him, a plate of flat cakes smeared with a sickly paste at his elbow.

To Dumarest he said, "I've been expecting you. Vargas said you might be along. Got the money?"

"We've money."

"Then sit. Have some wine. A cake." The captain hammered on the table and snapped at the girl who answered the summons. "Bring wine, girl. A flagon of your best for me and my friends." He looked at Dumarest. "He'll pay."

"Like hell he-" Angado fell silent as Dumarest gripped his arm.

"He'll what?" Neary had caught the objection. "You don't want to buy the wine? Is that it?" His head thrust forward like that of a snake. "Well?"

"I meant that I'll pay, not him." Angado swallowed his anger, realizing the mistake he'd made. One born of ignorance-never before had he needed to beg favors from a captain. "Get the wine, girl. A big flagon and your best."

It arrived as drums began to pulse and a dancer spun on the cleared space before the tables. One artificially young, paint masking her face, the lines meshing her eyes. Her body needed no artifice, mature, full-breasted, hips and belly rotating in an age-old enticement. The clash of metal merged with the sonorous beat of the drum; coins hanging from her costume more suspended from her ears, her throat, her wrists and ankles. Twinkling discs which caught and reflected the light so as to bathe her in shimmering brilliance.

As she froze to a sudden, abrupt immobility at the end of her performance those watching yelled their appreciation and flung coins at her feet.

"Nice," said the captain, pouring the wine. "But I've seen better. On Elmer and Hakim especially. They start them young on those worlds." He drank and pursed his lips. "Did Vargas tell you what our cargo is?"

Dumarest nodded.

"They'll need feeding," said Neary. "If they don't they'll go comatose and sporifulate. If that happens they won't be worth the atoms used to move them. Lost profit always makes me angry. Need I say more?"

"I get the picture."

"And your friend?" Neary grunted as Angado nodded.

"Good enough. It'll cost you two hundred." He paused for a moment then added, "Each."

"We don't have to dodge the gate."

"So?"

"So we can afford to haggle." Dumarest reached for the flagon and poured all goblets full. "How many mikha are you carrying? A full load? I thought so. You know how much blood they're going to need? I see you do." He lifted his goblet. "Your health, Captain. Now let's start talking sense."

The drum began to pulse again as they left the tavern, the deal made, the wine finished. Angado staggered a little as he stepped into the open air; with Dumarest doing the talking he'd had nothing to do but sit and drink. Now he halted and stared at the field.

"Why not go aboard now, Earl? Neary wouldn't mind."

"We've things to do." Dumarest led the way back into town. "We need plasma," he explained. "It'll eke out our blood. Some frozen whole-blood too. We can get it at the infirmary."

"Why couldn't Neary?"

"He'd have to pay," said Dumarest, patiently. "This way he gets paid."

Together with free labor to handle the cargo. Angado smiled as he thought about it then lost the smile as he tripped and almost fell. Standing beside Dumarest, motionless, he heard a soft scrape of boots.

"Earl-"

"Be quiet!"

Dumarest had heard it too; the grate of soles on the grit deposited by the wind. It came again from a point behind and was echoed from a point ahead. The sounds of wayfarers making their way home or crewmen heading for the field and their vessels. But few roamed the streets of Yuanka at night and crewmen had no reason to creep through the darkness.

"Thieves," whispered Angado. "At least two of them. Waiting for us, Earl?"

If so they wouldn't wait for long and there would be more than two. Dumarest sniffed at the air and caught the scent of sweat and wine coupled with another, unmistakable odor.

The stink of Lowtown and, smelling it, he knew the danger they were in.

"Move." He touched Angado on the arm. "Slowly. Stagger and make noise. Pretend we're together. If anyone comes at you don't hesitate. Hit out and run."

Dumarest crossed the street as Angado began to sing, the noise covering the rasp of his own boots. Shadows swallowed him as, staggering, the younger man lurched down the street talking as if to a companion.

"Good wine, eh? And that dancer was really good. I'd like to know her better. Have her dance just for me." A pause then, "Why not? My money's good. I bet she'd agree if I asked. Damn it, Earl, let's go back and put it to the test. Five hundred. I'll give her five hundred if-" A rattle as Angado walked into a garbage can. "What the hell is that?" And then, louder, "Who the hell are you?"

They came running from either end of the street, four shadows which solidified into men. Shapes which carried lengths of pipe which whistled as they cut through the air.

As the bottle Angado had snatched from the garbage whistled to land with a soggy impact on the pale oval of a face.

Dumarest was running before he hit the ground, his hand moving, the knife it held giving it heft and weight, the pommel smashing against a temple to send a second attacker down. A third followed, screaming, hands clutching his groin and Dumarest turned to hear the gong-sound of beaten metal as the pipe the remaining man held slammed against the garbage can Angado had lifted to use as a shield. One blow and then the pipe fell and the man was running to vanish in the darkness.

"Come on!" Dumarest ran, halting as a whistle broke the silence, turning to head back in the opposite direction. "Quick!"

The four would not have been alone. Others would have been placed as lookouts, the whistle a signal from one of them. Hunting packs followed a pattern the same if animal or human. To surround, to run down, to attack, to kill and then to feed.

Dumarest slowed as he reached the mouth of an alley, speeded as he found it innocent, slowing again as he neared the end of the street. Another crossed it forming a junction restricting his choice to a right or left turn.

As the whistle came again from behind, louder, more imperious, he headed toward the left, Angado following.

To the men waiting with flashlights and guns and nets which caught them both like flies in a sticky web.