His face was the killing mask of a beast.
'No! Please, no! I -'
His hand clamped over her mouth to silence her scream as the knife fell away from her throat to be sheathed in his boot. A mistake, one he had realized almost too late; the woman was a harlot plying her trade. A harmless creature turned into a figure of menace by the ruby light, the robe she wore, the loose cowl which protected her elaborate coiffure.
Dumarest said, quickly, 'I mean you no harm. You startled me. Please do not scream.' As he freed her mouth he added, 'I apologize for my rudeness.'
She said nothing, breasts heaving as she drew air into her lungs, eyes searching his face with fading anxiety. Then, shrugging, she smiled.
'No need for that, my lord. How could I object to such an impulsive lover?'
A woman knowledgeable of men and the devil which rode within them. One resuming her trade, already dismissing the fury he had displayed, the knife, the threat of the blade at her throat as a symptom of his need. Passion often wore a bizarre and terrifying face.
'Here.' Dumarest produced a coin and pressed it into her hand. 'Accept this as recompense.'
'For your lack of interest?'
'For the urgent business which demands my attention elsewhere.' Smiling he closed her fingers over the metal. 'Good fortune attend you.'
'You are gracious. I regret your departure. May the goddess favor your life and enterprises.'
Empty words born of his charity but it was better to receive a blessing than a curse. Dumarest moved on, the wash of ruby light falling behind him, the soaring facade of the hotel becoming a brighter hue among others. Polletin was lost in drunken slumber, dreaming of profits to come and the ruin he had so barely avoided. Someone who had chosen a bad partner and had been left with a contract to be met or a ruinous penalty to be paid. But was the man what he seemed? Could he be the agent of a relentless enemy?
The odds were against it. The game had been honest and while it was possible for a skilled gambler to manipulate the other players he doubted if Polletin had the skill. The man had been desperate to win enough to meet his obligation. Losing, it had been natural for him to approach the winner with his proposition. One Dumarest had accepted. A bargain now struck and sealed.
Irritably he shook his head, exhilaration gone, concern taking its place. The harlot had startled him more than she could have guessed. The scarlet of her robe and the cowl which had shadowed her face had created the illusion of a cyber and he had reacted without conscious thought imagining an enemy where none existed. A danger which was unlikely to exist. The Cyclan could have no interest in Arpagus and must now be convinced that he was dead. Yet nothing was certain and the wildest coincidences could happen. If a cyber was on the planet he needed to take precautions to save his life and money. On this world if he lost one the other would be short.
The field lay on the edge of town, lights tracing the high perimeter fence, hazed as it winked from mesh and barbs. The warehouse loomed close to one side, the turret at the end of the building ready to hurl destruction at any attempting to violate its contents. Two other towers were set at intervals at the far side of the field both equally armed. Dumarest headed towards the nearest, frowning as he neared the structure. The tower was too silent, too lifeless. Men should have been on watch quick to challenge his approach but he closed the distance between himself and the tower without question.
Three steps from the door his foot hit something soft and he stumbled and almost fell. Stooping he touched the obstruction, feeling hair, ears, bared fangs. In the silver starlight he saw the body of a large dog stretched on the ground.
A guard dog now dead. From the throat rose the tufted feathers of a dart.
'Guards!' Dumarest sent his boot thudding against the door. 'Guards! Guards – answer me, damn you!'
The building remained silent and he turned, tense, aware of danger. Dirt plumed beneath his boots as he ran towards the other tower. The field was empty. Those on watch, dulled by the lack of action, could have grown careless in the conduct of their duties. Even now they could be dozing, drinking, indifferent to his approach.
Someone was before him.
He saw the glint as he neared the tower; brightness which vanished to glow again as he veered from his path in a transient glimmer of reflected light. A sheen which he had seen before and he slowed, moving silently towards it. The glint moved in turn and he heard the rasp of shoes against soil. One repeated as he ran silently towards the noise, the metallic sheen of remembered garments, the woman who wore them.
One who wore a pad resting over her nose and mouth.
She turned as he reached her, rearing back as he tore the pad from her face and threw it to one side. An acrid scent caught at his nostrils and smarted his eyes then it had gone and he was fighting for his life.
She attacked without hesitation, metal blades lancing at his eyes from the stabbing tips of her fingers. Speed alone saved him. The blades passed over his lowered head stabbing again at his neck and slashing at his face. He heard the rasp as they tore at the fabric of his blouse, the grate as they met the protective mesh buried beneath. Before she could strike again he slammed the heel of his hand against her chest between and above her breasts. She staggered back, chest heaving, fighting for breath. Before she could regain her balance, he straightened, arms sweeping aside the threat of the sharp steel wedded to her nails.
'Use those again and I'll break your arms!'
'Bastard!' Panting, she glared her hate. 'Why did you interfere?'
She gave him no time to answer, one hand dropping to her waist, lifting with the bulk of a laser. Dumarest smashed it aside before it could level, gripped it, twisted it from her hand. For a moment they stood dangerously close and he could smell the aroma of her perfume, feel the warm, feminine heat of her body. Then he threw the gun after the pad and stepped back, hands lifted in wary defense.
'Fast.' She stared at him, eyes wide beneath arching brows, the helmet of her hair silvered by starlight and the glow from the field. She lifted one hand and pressed it where he had struck. A blow which should have rendered her helpless. The woman was far stronger than she seemed. 'Too damned fast.' Wincing she added, 'You hurt me.'
'You asked for it.'
'Maybe. What happens now?'
'I take you to the guards.'
'Why? What's the complaint? That I wouldn't let you rape me?' Her voice thickened a little as she edged closer. 'Is that what this is all about? You saw me and desired me and came after me to get what you wanted? Well, you know what they say. To the victor the spoils. You certainly won. So?'
The offer of her body; a weapon as deadly as the laser, the blades fitted to her nails. A man lost in passion was vulnerable. To accept would be to commit suicide.
Dumarest said, 'You killed the dog. You did something to silence the guards in the towers. A lethal gas of some kind. It has to be gas. Why?'
'You're talking nonsense. I was just out for a walk. I couldn't sleep and it's quiet out here.' Her hand lifted to gesture at the towers, the space between them. 'I saw no dog. If one is dead I didn't kill it. Someone else could have been here before us. I've no gas. Search me if you want.'
She lifted both arms and turned so as to display her body. The metallic fabric she wore fitted her tightly, accentuating the swell of hips and breasts, the curve of buttocks and thighs. Her waist was that of a girl as were the broad contours of her face, but there was nothing young about her eyes. Looking at them Dumarest was reminded of the harlot.
'The guards can do the searching.'
'You don't believe me? Why? Because of what happened? I thought you intended rape so I defended myself. Can I be blamed for that? Do you want me to beg? To grovel?' She shrugged as he made no answer. 'To hell with it. Take me to the guards if you want. I'll tell them I found you up here close to a tower. That you attacked me without cause. I've bruises to prove it. Your word against mine.' Her breasts rose as she inflated her lungs. 'Want to bet on whom they'll believe?'
A gamble he would win despite the lure of her body. The guards would listen to both sides and the pad would speak for him; traces of skin, sweat and saliva would tie it to the woman. Her clothing would hold betraying residues of the gas she had used. Evidence which would settle guilt without question.
A thing she must know so she was either trying to lull him into a false sense of security or playing for time.
