The Complete Dumarest, page 310
“No,” said Dumarest. “You’re forgetting something. We’ve hit it rich. We want to stay rich. The other hunters may have different ideas—they’d want a share regardless.”
“A big share.” Santis was grim. “They’ll probably kill us to take it all. And if we signal for a raft they could come instead.”
“But if we don’t signal or contact the other hunters how the hell are we ever going to get back?” demanded Kemmer. “How?”
“It’s simple,” said Dumarest. “We walk.”
* * *
Dell Chuba said, “Ellain, my dear. I am sorry. Truly I am, but what can I do?”
He could enjoy his food the less, she thought savagely. And be more sparing with the wine. And he needn’t have invited her to dine with him in this expensive restaurant. Such a place was for pleasant things not the reception of bad news. She still couldn’t be sure he wasn’t joking.
“Let me get this straight, Dell. You are telling me that all my appointments have been canceled? All of them?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Navida Yagnik made a special point of asking me to sing at her reception. Florence Adhalesh advanced me a portion of the fee for me to sing at her daughter’s party—how am I to return it? And Matilda—all of them?” It was incredible. “But why, for God’s sake? Why?”
“A change in fashion.” His eyes were expressionless. “And don’t worry about returning any advanced fees—there is no need. As for the rest, well, my dear, these things happen.”
On Harge, maybe, but not on more civilized worlds. Certainly not on those with any pretensions to grace and culture. An entire class did not suddenly turn against an artist and for no apparent reason. Unless?
She said, “Dell, be honest with me. Has this been arranged?” The movement of his eyes gave her the answer and, fighting a sudden anger she insisted, “Who? Damn it, man, I’ve a right to know. Who!”
“I cannot tell you.”
“Will not, you mean!”
“Cannot! I am not certain and a guess is likely to have unpleasant repercussions. But, let us say a hint was given, one strong enough for me to accept the inevitable and for me to advise you to do the same. Some more wine?”
She told him what to do with the wine and saw, by his startled expression, he had misjudged her. A lady, yes, but one not wholly as she seemed. One who, somehow, had gained a certain coarseness of thought and expression. At any other time it would have amused her, now she was too worried to feel enjoyment.
“You’ve been my agent since first I arrived,” she reminded him. “You’ve arranged appointments and fees and seen to payment. You’ve even guided me a little and held my hand at times when things were bad. But you’ve been paid for it!”
“So?”
“Just give me the truth. For God’s sake, Dell, stop playing games with me. Who is my enemy?”
“Perhaps yourself.” His tone was cold and she realized she had hurt him. “I thank you for reminding me that our association was a business one.”
“Was?” She felt a sudden panic as he made no answer. “Are you saying that you don’t want to handle me any longer? Dell, if I’ve upset you I apologize, but I’m fighting for my life. Help me! Please help me!” She saw him waver, and with sudden insight said, “Don’t give me a name but just drink your wine if you think I could be right. Yunus?”
She sat watching as he left the table, oblivious of the stares of those who wondered at his departure, thinking only of the sip of wine he had taken before he’d left. So that was it. Barred because of a jealous lover—and one who owned her debt. Had he also shut her from the apartment?
The thought spurred her to her feet and out of the restaurant into the wide, glistening passages outside where small vehicles waited for custom. She rapped her address as she slipped into one, leaning back in the open compartment as the driver sent the cab on its way with a hum from its engine.
Yunus?
She knew he could be vicious but how far would he go? Had he bribed Dell Chuba to take her to dinner just to get her out of the way? And to think she had apologized to the agent! Well, once let her get back in demand and she would see that he suffered for this. And Yunus! Somehow she must find a way to compensate herself for his possessive arrogance.
The cab dropped her, the driver reminding her sharply of the need to pay, and she almost ran into the foyer of the sector containing her apartment. Long before she reached her door she knew what she would find.
“Ellain, my dear!” Yunus was smoothly polite. “I regret not having informed you of my intention to visit but I am not wholly to blame. Have you met Captain Hannon of the Guard? You may have seen some of his men on duty outside. Captain, meet Ellain Kiran of whom you may have heard.”
He bowed, formal in his courtesy. “A distressing incident, my lady, but one I am sure can be quickly settled. My main concern is the matter of security. If there is a weakness it must be found and eliminated. Your help in the matter would be most appreciated.” He saw her expression of bewilderment. “I am sorry. I was not aware that you lack knowledge of the situation. The facts are—”
“I will explain, Captain.” Yunus, smiling, turned toward her. “It is a matter of theft. Certain items were offered to a jeweler for sale and he, in good faith, purchased them. Later, however, he grew concerned as to their rightful ownership and having recognized them as having originally been purchased by me communicated his doubts to the Guard. Captain Hannon is working on the possibility of a thief having broken into this sector.” He added, dryly, “Perhaps with the aid of an accomplice.”
“The maid, naturally, was immediately suspected,” said Hannon. “She has been questioned and cleared. All that remains now is—”
“For you to go home,” said Ellain, flatly. “Or back to your office. There has been no theft and no breach of security. The articles were not stolen. They belonged to me. I gave them to a friend.”
“To dispose of? I understand.” The captain nodded then pursed his lips. “Are there witnesses to the transaction? No? A pity. Is the person available for questioning? Not that your word is doubted, of course, but simply as a matter of routine. I am sure you understand.”
“Captain Hannon is pointing out that, quite often, a woman will lie to protect her lover,” said Yunus. “But I think there is no need to press the point at this time.”
“There is a matter of identification,” said Hannon. “I would like a complete list of all items given by you to your friend.”
“Perhaps later,” snapped Yunus before Ellain could speak. “Captain, you have concluded your duties here. If needed again you will be summoned. That will be all.”
He was of the Cinque. Hannon bowed and withdrew.
“A dog,” said Ellain as the door closed after him. “Too eager to fawn and lick your hand.”
“But a dog with teeth,” reminded Yunus. “Had I wished, you would now be incarcerated in a cell.”
“For what? Giving away my own property?”
He said, blandly, “Certain items are missing from the furnishings of this apartment which, as you must admit, is mine. A small figure of a wrestler made of glazed ceramic set with a profusion of minute gems. A cameo of ebony and alabaster. A vase of elegant workmanship and set with precious metals. A plaque of—” He broke off, smiling at her expression. “Need I continue?”
His own property taken by himself but, if he reported the items stolen, who would believe her innocence?
She said, bleakly, “Wasn’t it enough to ruin my career? Must I be accused of theft as well? Just what do you want of me, Yunus? Isn’t my debt enough?”
“Your debt! Ellain, my dear, thank you for reminding me. You must have forgotten that you have paid no interest for the past two months. In a few days it will be due again and you know the law on these matters. I would hate to have to take action against you to ensure payment.”
“Then sell my debt!”
“To whom? Some young fool like Chole Khalil who would prove his idiocy by canceling it and setting you free? Is that what you’d like?” His face darkened with mounting anger. “No, you bitch! I’ll see you rot first! You chose to act the harlot and you’ll pay. Dumarest! That scum from the arena! Penniless filth!”
“But a man!” In ruin she found courage. “More of a man than you could ever be. You pampered degenerate! Would you have the guts to fight? To gamble your life? You depraved swine! What—” Her voice rose to a scream as he stepped toward her, one hand lifted to strike. “Hit me, you coward! Hit a woman and prove you are a man! But would you go out and hunt for me? For anyone?”
“Hunt?” The raised hand trembled then lowered as, incredibly, he smiled. “Of course. The gifts you gave Dumarest—not rewards for the pleasure he gave you as I’d thought but a stake. Money to buy equipment.” The smile turned into a laugh of genuine amusement. “An amateur! Out in the desert at a time like this! Ellain, my dear, soon you will need to sing a dirge.”
For a moment she stared at him then, running to the window, rasped back the cover. The reason for his amusement was obvious. Outside the sky was darkened, the desert hidden by a raging mass of windblown sand.
Chapter Eleven
There had been warning. Dumarest had noticed the changing light, the oddly metallic tinge which painted the horizon with shades of green and umber, limpid blues and smoldering reds. An effect created by rising dust which acted as filters, swirling to change shape and density, mineral contents reflecting and refracting the sunlight. One which held an awesome beauty even as it warned of impending danger.
Panting, Kemmer said, “What the hell’s that?”
“Trouble.” Santis had also recognized the signs. “A storm’s brewing. We might be lucky.”
And would be if the storm didn’t break. A possibility but Dumarest doubted if it would happen. The best they could hope for was that it wouldn’t break too soon. Halting, he turned and looked back at the loom of the peaks now far distant. The marks of their progress lay close behind in a series of small depressions which filled even as he watched. The sand, blasted by arid winds, was too dry and too fine to hold a shape for long. Even the piled dunes left after a storm tended to slip and find a common level, the desert ending in a series of mounded ridges.
“A storm,” muttered Kemmer. “That’s all we need. No food, no water and near three days walking behind us. God, I’m beat.”
He sounded it and acted like it as he plodded with slow deliberation over the sand. Santis was the same as was Dumarest. He had wasted no time starting the journey once they had left the hills knowing that if they had rested, overstrained muscles and sinews would have stiffened. Now they were operating on strength borrowed from drugs, pain numbed from others. But they hadn’t dared to strip to use the salves and the rough suits had worn sores in delicate places.
“We’ll make it,” said Dumarest. “Just keep going.”
Keep moving, lifting one foot after the other, plodding on over an endless eternity of empty sand. To ignore the itch and burn of chafed and bleeding skin. The agony of thirst and heat. The taste of salt as a dry tongue licked parched lips. To keep going and not to worry about the possibility of a sannak snaking under the sand after them. Not even to consider the chance of getting lost.
“When we reach the city I’m going to buy the biggest and coldest bath I can get,” said Kemmer. “And while I’m soaking I’m going to guzzle iced drinks until I’m ready to burst. After that I’m going to sleep for a month. Then, maybe, I’ll be ready to eat.” A hundred yards later he said, “What are you going to do, Carl?”
“Much the same.”
Another hundred yards. “Earl?”
“I can’t think of anything better.” Dumarest tilted his head to examine the sky. The dancing shades of changing hue had deepened on the horizon and now, high above, thin streamers of wispiness trailed in faded color. Mauve? Green? It made no difference. No matter from which direction the storm came it would be as bad.
“See something?” Kemmer had turned and seen the tilt of Dumarest’s head. “More rafts?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?” His voice was wistful. “A raft would save us.”
As would the others they had seen since starting the journey. Vehicles apparently searching and from which Dumarest had hidden for reasons he hadn’t chosen to explain.
“Earl?” Santis slowed to allow Dumarest to catch up and talk beside him. “How do we handle it?”
“The storm?”
“Yes. Rope up so as to stay in contact? Dig in and wait?”
“Both if we have to. The best thing would be to reach the city before it breaks.”
“And then what?” Santis touched the bag at his waist. It held his share of what they had found. “If it’s blowing we’ll have no chance to strip and hide some of these. We won’t even be able to swallow any. Once we crack open a helmet in a storm we’ll be missing a face.”
“I know.” Dumarest again studied the sky. “I’ve an idea about that.”
“I thought you might,” said the mercenary, dryly. “I figured there had to be a reason why you wanted to walk. Wanted it enough to make us lie down covered with sand to avoid being spotted by those rafts. Is there anything I should know?”
“Such as?”
“Marta didn’t have any jewels in pawn and what we got from selling her stuff wouldn’t have paid for the equipment. The money for that came from those things you managed to find. They could have been stolen.”
“Would that worry you?”
“Hell, no, Earl! I’m thinking about what could be waiting for us in the city. If they were stolen and if the guards are after you—well, that jail could stand some improvement. There might be a way out. Zarl is dead and could take the blame. The license was in his name. If we all tell the same story and stick to it, use bribery, even, we’ll all be in the clear.”
Dumarest said, “The things weren’t stolen, but thanks for the offer. I just don’t want to be skinned at the gate. We’ve worked too hard for these things just to hand them over. Remember what Zarl said? The first five and half the rest go to the Cinque. That’s too big a cut.”
He looked at the sky again as, satisfied, the mercenary plodded ahead. The wisps of color were stronger now and little plumes of sand danced about them, lifting to spin to fall and rise again. A sudden gust sent streamers traveling over the desert like smoke from a fire, the same gust blasting a fitful shower of dust against the three men. A gentle breeze compared to what was coming, but strong enough for the dust to scour the tough material of the suits. Dumarest examined his gloves, ran them over the scraped arms, and checked the overlays of his helmet. Three thin, detachable layers covering the main transparency, each of which could be pulled free if too badly scoured to allow vision.
“Run!” Dumarest forged ahead, setting the pace. “Come on, damn you! Run!”
The city lay ahead, he could see glitters from where sunlight reflected off windows, the domed summits of the towers, the swell of the main complex. A hive buried deep, walls the color of sand, only the shape betraying the life within. A shape which blurred even as he forced tired and aching legs into a run.
“Hurry! The storm’s about to break!”
He slowed, waiting for the others, running beside them as he attached short lengths of rope to their belts, attaching the loose end to his own. Even over the rising wind he could hear the pant of laboring lungs, the ugly rasp of breath through gaping mouths. Both were too close to exhaustion for safety but, unless they kept up the pace, they were dead.
“Keep running! Move, you idle bastards! Move!”
His voice was a lash to stimulate flagging energies. Santis responded to it, a reaction born of youth when he had trained on a parade ground. Kemmer responded too, from anger or simple fear. Both using the last dregs of their strength, making the last, final effort Dumarest had known was in them. One needed now to carry them over the sand toward the city.
Again it blurred, vanished beneath a pluming cloud, reappearing for a brief moment, then disappearing as the storm broke and the world became a screaming nightmare.
Immediately they were blind. Dumarest saw the outer layer of his transparency become frosted with the countless scratches born of the impact of dust and was too conscious of what could be happening to his suit. One weak spot and it would fray, yield, open to the storm. A stream of tiny bullets would blast in to strip his flesh as driven sand could wear away steel.
“Down!” He shouted but it was useless over the roar of wind. Fumbling he hauled at the rope and felt another figure, the shape of a helmet. He pressed his own to it and yelled again. “Down! Get down!”
He dropped without waiting, feeling the other join him, Santis, he guessed, followed by Kemmer. Beneath him the sand streamed away before the thrust of the wind but he dug, using both hands, making a shallow trench into which he lay. The others did the same, sand heaping on the windward side of their suits, shifting to pile again and giving a small measure of protection.
Fumbling, Dumarest found a helmet and shouted as he made contact. “Carl?”
“That you, Earl?”
“Yes. Get hold of Kemmer. Lock him in. We may not get another chance to talk.”
When the storm gained its full strength, the wind, made almost solid by the dust it carried, became a smashing force against which it would be impossible to stand or even lie in one position.
“We’ve got to reach the city,” said Dumarest as Kemmer’s helmet joined the others. “Get into the lee if nothing else. With it to block the wind we’ll stand a chance.”
“For how long?” Kemmer was bitter. “A storm can last for days. We’ll be dead of thirst before it’s over.”
Santis, more practical, said, “Can you find it, Earl?”
“I think so. It’s big and, close to it, there could be eddies. They could guide us. Anyway, we’ve no choice. We find it or we die.” He added, “We’ll find it. It isn’t far.”
In the storm anything out of touch was too far. Senses, disturbed by the wind, couldn’t be trusted. In the swirling dust orientation was lost and all directions became the same. Blind, deafened, they could only crawl and trust to luck.
