As soon as Poliakov saw his daughter, he moved away from his companions and swept her into an embrace.
'Did you like your papa's speech, my little sweetmeat?' he said.
'It was wonderful, Papa! Everyone was thrilled!'
Lee looked around. On a table near the fireplace was a model of a strange-looking gun—a sort of mobile cannon on an armored truck—and Lee was curious to look at it more closely, but the nearest man saw his gaze and swiftly covered the model with a baize cloth. It must be the gun Vassiliev had spoken of, Lee thought, and wished he hadn't made his interest so plain, for then he could have taken a longer look. But then he felt the poet's hand on his sleeve again, and turned to hear Sigurdsson's words to the candidate:
'Ivan Dimitrovich,' said the poet humbly, 'I wonder if I might introduce Mr. Scoresby, from the nation of Texas?'
'Oh, yes, Papa,' said Olga. 'Mr. Scoresby was telling me about the horrid bears they have in his country . . .'
Poliakov patted his daughter's cheek, removed the cigar from his mouth, and shook Lee's hand in a bone- cracking grip. Lee saw it coming and responded in kind, and that contest ended even.
'Mr. Scoresby,' said Poliakov, putting his arm around Lee's shoulder and drawing him aside, 'glad to meet you, glad indeed. My good friend Sigurdsson has told me all about you. You're a man who can see an opening—I can tell that. You're a man of action—I can see that. You're a shrewd judge—I can sense that. And if I'm not wrong, right now you're free enough to consider a proposition. Am I right?'
'Right in every detail, sir,' said Lee. 'What kind of a proposition might this be?'
'A man such as me,' the candidate explained, dropping his voice, 'finds himself placed in considerable danger from time to time. This is an excitable town, Mr. Scoresby, a volatile and unpredictable environment for one who inspires the strong passions both of attraction and, I regret to say it, of resentment and dislike. Oh, yes—there are some who fear and hate my principled stand on the bear question, for example. I need say no more about that,' he added, tapping his nose. 'I'm sure you understand what I mean. I will not be moved, but there are those who would like to move me, by force if necessary. And I am not afraid to meet force with force. You carry a weapon, Mr. Scoresby. Are you willing to use it?'
'You mean you want to meet their force with my force?' said Lee. 'Glad to know you're not afraid to do that, Mr. Poliakov. What's the job you have in mind?'
'There is a little situation at the harbor that needs resolving soon, and I think you are the man to do it. You understand, there are things that an official body of men can do, and other things that need specialist work of a less public kind. There is a man who is trying to make away with a . . . with a piece of disputed property, and I want someone to stand guard over it, and prevent him.' 'Whose property is it?'
'As I say, it's disputed. That need not concern you. All you need to do is make sure it stays in the warehouse till the lawyers have done their work.' 'I see. And what will you pay?' 'You come straight to the point, my friend. Let me suggest—'
But before Lee could hear what Poliakov was going to offer, Hester gave a convulsive kick in his breast and said, 'Lee—'
Lee knew at once what she meant, and he looked where she was looking: past Poliakov, towards a tall lean man lounging beside the fireplace, arms folded, one leg bent with the foot resting on the wall behind him. He was smoking a corncob pipe, and his daemon, a rattlesnake, had draped herself around his neck and folded herself into a loose knot. His expression was unreadable, but his black eyes were staring straight at Lee.
'I see you already got yourself a gunfighter,' Lee said.
Poliakov threw a glance over his shoulder. 'You know Mr. Morton?' he said.
'By reputation.'
'Let me introduce you. Mr. Morton! Step over here, if you would.'
The man unfolded his long form from the wall and sauntered across without removing the pipe from his mouth. He was dressed elegantly: black coat, narrow trousers, high boots. Lee could see the outline of the guns at his hips.
'Mr. Morton, this is our new associate, Mr. Lee Scoresby. Mr. Scoresby, Mr. Pierre Morton.'
'Well, Mr. Poliakov,' Lee said, ignoring Morton, 'I think you're making too much of an assumption. I've changed my mind. You couldn't pay me any money that would make me happy to associate with a man like this.'
'What's your name?' said Morton to Lee. 'I didn't catch it.'
His voice was deep and quiet. His snake-daemon had raised her jewel-like head and was gazing intently at Hester. Lee rubbed Hester's head with his thumb and stared straight back at Morton.
'Scoresby is my name. Always has been. Last time I saw you, though, you weren't called Morton. You were using the name McConville.'
'I never seen you before.'
'Then I got keener eyesight than you do. You better not forget that.'
By this time every voice in the room was stilled, every face turned to watch. The tension between the two men had silenced every other conversation, and Poliakov stood uncertain, his eyes flicking from one to the other, as if he were wondering how to reassert the dominance that had suddenly leaked away from him.
It was Olga who spoke first. She had been eating a small cake, and she hadn't noticed anything. She patted her lips and said as loudly as if everyone else was still talking, 'Do they have bears in your country, Mr. Morton?'
Morton-McConville blinked at last and turned to face her. His daemon kept her head fixed on Hester.
'Bears?' he said. 'Why, I believe they do, miss.'
'Horrid,' she said, with that childish shudder. 'Papa's going to get rid of all the bears.'
