“Why did you tell all those lies about being in the Stellar Guard,” she asked in a quiet voice, apparently still busy at the papers. This was my cue to smile sardonically, and flick some imaginary dust from my sleeve.
“Well I certainly couldn’t tell all those nice people what I’ve really been doing all these years I have been away, could I?” I responded with wide-eyed simplicity.
“What were you doing, Bent?” she asked and there wasn’t a trace of any emotion in her voice.
“That’s really my business, isn’t it,” I told her, matching toneless tone for tone. “And while we’re asking questions, I would like to know who you are, and how come you seem to throw more weight around than the great Count Cassitor?” I’m good at playing this kind of guessing game. But Angy was just as good and dragged the conversation back to her own grounds.
“Since I am in the stronger position here, I think you’ll find it wise to answer my questions. Don’t be afraid of shocking me. You would be surprised at the things I know about.”
No, Angelica love, I wouldn’t be surprised at all. But I couldn’t just tell all without a little resistance. “You’re the one behind this revolution idea, aren’t you,” I said as a statement, not a question.
“Yes,” she said, laying her cards on the table so she could see mine.
“Well if you must know then,” I said, “I was smuggling. It is a very interesting occupation if you happen to know what to take where. For a number of years I found it was a most lucrative business. Finally though, a number of governments felt I was giving them unfair competition, since they were the only ones allowed to cheat the public. With the pressure on I returned to my sluggish native land for a period of rest.”
Angel-mine was buying no sealed packages and gave me an exhaustive cross-examination into my smuggling career that showed she had more than a passing knowledge of the field herself. I had of course no trouble answering her questions, since in my day I have turned many a megacredit in this illegal fashion. The only thing I was afraid of was making it too good, so I described a career of a successful but still young and not too professional operator. All the time I was talking I tried to live the role and believe everything I said. This was a crucial time when I must let drop no hints or mannerisms that might bring Slippery Jim diGriz to her mind. I had to be the local punk who had made good and was still on my way up in the universe.
Mind you—our talk was of course all most casual, and carried on in an atmosphere of passing drinks and lighting cigarettes all designed to relax me enough to make a few slips. I did of course, slipping in a lie or two about my successes that she would catch and credit to boyish enthusiasm. When the chitchat slowed I tried a question of my own.
“Would you mind telling me what a local family named Radebrechen has to do with you?”
“What makes you ask?” she said so calm and coolly.
“Your smiling friend Cassitor Rdenrundt asked me about them before we came here. I told him I knew nothing. What’s their connection with you?”
“They want to kill me,” she said.
“That would be a shame—and a waste,” I told her with my best come-hither grin. She ignored it. “What can I do about it?” I asked, going back to business, since she didn’t seem interested in my masculine attractions.
“I want you to be my bodyguard,” she said, and when I smiled and opened my mouth to speak she went on, “and please spare me any remarks about how it is a body you would like to guard. I get enough of that from Cassitor.”
“All I wanted to say was that I accepted the position,” which was a big lie because I had had some such phrase in mind. It was hard to stay ahead of Angelina and I mustn’t relax for an instant I reminded myself again. “Just tell me more about the people who are out to kill you.”
“It seems that Count Rdenrundt was married,” Angelicious said, toying with her glass in a simple, girlish way. “His wife committed suicide in a very stupid and compromising manner. Her family—who are of course the Radebrechen—think I killed her, and want to revenge her supposed murder by killing me in turn. Apparently in this lost corner of Freibur the vendetta still has meaning, and this family of rich morons still subscribe to it.”
All at once the picture was getting clearer. Count Rdenrundt—a born opportunist—aided his noble fortunes by marrying the daughter of this family. This must have worked well enough until Angelina came along. Then the extra wife was in the way, and ignorant of this charming local custom of revenge-killing, Angelina had removed a stumbling stone. Something had gone wrong—probably the Count had bungled, from the look of the man—and now the vendetta was on. And my Angel wanted me to interpose my frail flesh between her and the killers. Apparently she was finding this retarded planet more than she had bargained for. Now was the time for me to be bold.
“Was it suicide?” I asked, “Or did you kill her?”
“Yes, I killed her,” she said. The sparring was over and all our cards were on the table. The decision was up to me.
XVII
Well what else was there to do? I hadn’t come this
