'Right,' I said. 'He's my species. Let me do the talking.'
The Paradise main entrance was a large archway of the same style as the ones we'd seen in the art museum. Leading inward from the archway was an entrance runnel lined by closed doors and a number of shabbily dressed Tra'ho'seej. Most of the loiterers were sitting around talking, inhaling aromatic censer smoke, or moodily watching everyone else. The tunnel also had a double row of light fixtures set about head height, but only one light in six or seven was actually lit. 'I can see why the buyers only come during the day,' I murmured.
I'd barely finished the comment when a group of five Tra'ho youths leaning against the tunnel fifteen meters ahead detached themselves from their section of wall and sauntered their way into a loose line across our path.
'Compton?' Fayr asked.
'It's okay,' I told him as I studied the youths. All had long knives displayed prominently at their sides, but I didn't see any of the telltale clothing bulges or strains that would indicate heavier weaponry. Focusing on the tallest of the five, I nodded a greeting. 'Evening, young honoreds,' I called. 'Is this the Artists' Paradise we've heard so much about?'
[The Paradise is closed to business,] the Tra'ho said brusquely in Seejlis.
'All the artists have gone to sleep, have they?' I asked. 'Nestled all snug in their beds, with visions of sugarplums and all that?'
[The Paradise is closed,] he repeated, dropping his hand warningly to his knife hilt. [Come back with the sunlight.]
'Sorry, but we can't do that,' I said, watching his friends out of the corner of my eye as I continued forward. The whole group seemed a little confused by my strange inability to take the hint.
Which implied this was probably not just some random group of toughs looking for someone to rob. If they were, they'd be moving in for the kill instead of trying to wave us off. Guards, then, hired by the artists to protect them after dark?
If so, we might be able to work that to our advantage. 'I'm afraid we're running a tight schedule and have to be gone by morning,' I continued. I was about three steps away from the leader now, and his hand had wrapped around his knife hilt in preparation for a quick draw. 'I'm told there's a Human here who's looking for the sort of thing we're selling.'
His ears twitched with surprise. Apparently dealers didn't come around at night, either. [What is it you sell?]
'An item one of the artists very much wants,' I said. '
That one got an ear twitch from all five of them. A Paradise artist with spare cash was probably something of a rarity.
For a gang of lower-class toughs, it would be an extremely intriguing rarity. [What Human could that possibly be?] the leader asked. He was clearly trying to be casual about it, but there was enough body language going on to light up a small city. [There are no such Humans here.]
'There's at least one,' I said.
[Perhaps if you gave us a name?] he suggested.
'His name's Stafford,' I said, trying to watch all five of them at once. No reaction. 'He may be going under the name Daniel, or Dan, or Danny. Or possibly Kunstler.'
Still no reaction. [There is no one with any of these names,] the leader said, sounding a bit disappointed.
'Or maybe he simply calls himself Artist,' I suggested.
The leader still didn't react. But out of the corner of my eye I saw a distinct ripple of recognition run through one of his buddies.
Bingo.
Maybe the leader didn't think I'd caught the mark. [All here call themselves Artists,] he scoffed.
'We still want to look for him,' I said. 'We can pass peaceably, or otherwise.'
The leader snorted. [Search all you like,] he invited, stepping aside and motioning the rest of the group to do likewise. [You won't find the Human you describe.]
'We'll see,' I said. 'By the way, I don't suppose any of the food vendors in here are still open?'
[Some sellers of sculpted foods will be preparing their wares for tomorrow,] the Tra'ho who'd reacted to the name Artist spoke up. [One of them may be willing to sell to you.)
'Thank you,' I said, watching for a last-minute sneak attack as I stepped past them. But they were apparently genuinely willing to let us pass.
Small wonder. They knew this place; we didn't. They figured they would be able to get to Stafford and his cash sticks long before we did. Especially if we stopped for supper first.
Fayr and Bayta passed through the line, too, and we continued down the tunnel. ''Artist'?' Fayr asked.
'The English translation of the German word Kunstler,' I told him. 'Could be that's what got the late Mr. Kunstler interested in art collecting in the first place.'
A few meters ahead, the tunnel opened up into a curved corridor, probably a ring paralleling the amphitheater's central performance area. As we turned to the right into the curve, I glanced casually over my shoulder, just in time to see the last of the five toughs disappear through one of the tunnel's left-hand doors.
'They're hoping they can reach Stafford before we do,' Fayr warned.
'That's the idea,' I said, 'They're going to play native guides for us.'
'There will be an entire roundrun of rooms and corridors in a place like this,' Fayr countered. 'If we let them out of our sight, we'll almost certainly lose them.'
'Stafford won't be in any of the rooms,' I assured him. 'The nicer quarters will have been grabbed up by the older residents years ago. Newcomers like Stafford will be stuck in the central area out in the elements.'
'Unless he's visiting someone,' Bayta said quietly. 'Or has persuaded a new friend to let him move in.'
I stared at her, my stomach knotting. Somehow, neither of those possibilities had even occurred to me.
For a moment my tongue was frozen. Fortunately, Fayr interpreted my silence correctly. 'No fears,' he said, and headed back down the tunnel at a brisk trot.
Bayta was still staring at me, and I didn't much like the expression on her face. 'Don't look at me like that,' I reproved her. 'I know what I'm doing.'
'Do you?' she countered. 'You don't seem to be thinking clearly lately.'
'Let me guess,' I growled. 'Penny. Right?'
The last time I'd brought up Penny's name it had sparked an instant and decidedly unpleasant reaction. This time, Bayta didn't even twitch. 'Not necessarily,' she said, her voice tight but under control. 'But since you bring her up, yes, I'm concerned at how you've been behaving. How both of you have been behaving, actually.'
'You don't think a woman like her could possibly want anything to do with someone like me?' I demanded.
'She's not in your class, Frank,' Bayta said. 'If there's really something there …' Her throat worked. 'Danger and tension can bring people together. I know that. People who otherwise might not ever even look at each other —'
'Is there a reason we're having this conversation right now?' I cut her off. 'Because if not, we need to get out there and find Stafford.'
'That
Once, years ago, a criminal kingpin I'd just nailed had offered me a bribe to let him go. This felt exactly the same way. 'If you really believe that, you don't know me at all,' I said stiffly. 'Come on. We have a job to do.'
Turning my back on her, I continued down the curved corridor, walking as fast as I could without breaking into a jog. I didn't know if Bayta was having any trouble keeping up with me. For the moment, I didn't care.
The area we'd come to was somewhat better lit than the tunnel had been, and certainly better populated. Small booths lined the walls, most with the appearance of art dealerships, most of them deserted and closed. As the toughs had suggested, a few of the booths with food and drink products still had people working them. The less artsy types, the ones selling flatcake, soups, and Tra'hok vegetable twists, were doing a fairly brisk business.
The general atmosphere of the place was more or less as expected. Most of the beings wandering through the gloom had a generally disheveled appearance, with ratty hair, feathers, or fur and old or at least rumpled clothing.
