sent the door open and his right hand through in a blur of movement. His fingers thudded home on the neck of the Tssekian before the befuddled guard knew what happened and the man folded forward. That nerve pressure had not been enough to kill, Jofre wanted no bodies to betray him, but it would keep the fellow unconscious for a space of time, perhaps even leave him unable to account for what had happened—it sometimes worked that way.
Jofre squeezed through into the hallway, pulled the bulk of the guard to a cramped seating position with his back to the door which he had drawn closed. He stood assaying the situation. There did not come the sound of any alarm. Which, of course, did not assure him that such might not have been given.
But he had gained freedom, at least for a space, and he must use that to the best advantage he could. Also, and that healed a fraction the wound to his self-esteem which their kidnapping had dealt, he was in the act of proving that issha training had some answers to even off-world technology.
He did not rise to his full height, rather scooted along at a crouch, but he was swift and he reached the end of the corridor where it linked to the next in seconds. This was the way to the dining room which Zurzal had outlined in the soapy rings.
It was deserted, there were no signs of guards along it, and all the doors were closed. There could be someone in wait behind any of those but Jofre had to take that chance.
This was not to be an escape but rather a reconnaissance, thus he must take no chances. He slid into the dining hall. The light here was very dim, and only night sight alone was able to assure him there were no watchers. There were two other doors, wide ones which could be thrown open to accommodate a whole squad of visitors at a time. He opened each in turn cautiously. One showed another hall of closed doors, the light very dull. But not enough to hide that other guard. Jofre pulled back instantly and waited, Makwire ready. He dare hardly believe he had not been sighted.
However, there was no alarm and he slipped around the wall to that other doorway. This gave abruptly onto a terrace and the open night. He could smell the scent of growing things and hear the splash of water as if from a fountain. Several steps below the terrace lay a garden and into this, with the ease of one coming home to the familiar, Jofre quickly faded.
Many of the scents were strange, growing things particular to Tssek, issuing from various forms of vegetation. He flitted from one welcoming shadow to the next, surveying as well as he could his surroundings. This garden did not give on the open countryside, but rather was set in a well with the four walls of the building standing to form its limits. There were doors at intervals in those walls, but for the moment Jofre did not test those.
He had early sighted the lighted windows a full story above the garden level. The light was dim, cut by drawn curtains, and the three windows from which it issued on a line. Someone was awake there, of that he was sure.
Moving in immediately below that beacon he surveyed the wall. With the proper equipment—now denied him— he would have found it an easy climb. At the same time any such action would spotlight him against the pale wall at once to any other intruder in the garden. Regretfully he decided against that.
It was while he was still fingering the wall's roughish surface, reluctant to leave such a chance to spy, that he was interrupted by a sound. Instantly he went to cover and from his brush-screened position he saw a figure flit from the door in the wall below those intriguing windows.
The invader did not come boldly, rather showed something of the same stealth Jofre was employing. And, his curiosity fully aroused—for why should any rightful inhabitant of this pile act like a rooftop thief?—Jofre moved closer and then took a limited step or two along the path the other followed. The newcomer emerged from the thickest shadows when reaching the pavement surrounding the central fountain.
A woman! The enveloping cape the other wore, even the hood to veil the head, could not disguise the swing of body and telltale signs of sex for an issha. For an instant he thought of the Jewelbright—if this were indeed she, he might have his chance to learn more of this unknown Sister.
But the small breeze stirring branch and leaves about brought no whiff of the betraying perfume. Then she whom he spied upon pushed back her hood a fraction so that he could see features which certainly could never be assigned to any peerless beauty.
She crouched down beside one of the two benches set to face the fountain and, though the long cloak masked her movements, Jofre thought she was in some way hiding or withdrawing from hiding some object.
He could catch, even through the continued tinkling of the fountain a faint scraping sound, even a click. Then she was on her feet again, hurrying back the way she had come. He watched her disappear before, like any trail hound, he went to sniff at the place she had been busy.
His fingers touched moist earth, crumbs of it. She had not taken time to sweep entirely away the traces of her work here. His nails caught under the edge of a flat stone like those which paved the section of earth between bench and fountain and the rock yielded to his pull. Carefully he used his fingertips since it was too dark in this corner to depend upon his eyes to explore the find. What he examined by touch was a roll covered with some slick material, the whole perhaps as big as his hand. Jofre was greatly tempted to take it. To his exploratory pinch the contents within that narrow bag yielded a little—nothing stiff or hard. He could, in spite of all his prodding, discover nothing solid. This might not be a conventional weapon nor even the fruits of some theft—unless what had been taken was some type of record.
At length he decided to leave it where it was. If he had time to stand spy here, to discover if what he had uncovered was merely a way place for message exchange and not a secure depository, he could doubtless learn— but that time was not his—not this night.
He had already been away from their apartment too long. To be sighted by the reviving sentry was the last thing which must happen. Regretfully he replaced the stone and this time he made sure there were no crumbs of soil about to betray that it had been moved at all.
Back he prowled through the dining hall, down the corridor. To his relief the guard was still wall supported and yet as unconscious as he left him and he was able to squeeze within the narrowly open door and begin the same worm's journey back to his sleeping cushion.
Once stretched out there he allowed himself to relax, loosed the strains he had put upon every sense during that night's journeying. And that relaxation allowed him to slip into the slumber which he had banished so ruthlessly earlier. He did not try to relive his exploit, to wonder about what he had seen—there would be plenty of time for that later.
Though there was no sun beaming through a window to waken him, the daytime glow of the walls appeared to arouse one with the same efficiency. He stretched and became aware that the Zacathan was standing near, watching him.
