retained to take the news back to Kaldar. He would be forgotten or conveniently disposed of.
Thoughts which sent him to pace the empty salon.
'Earl?'
'Go to Cazele,' he said. 'Apply pressure. I want everything we need delivered without delay. Hint that we could come to an agreement if he wants some of us to settle.'
'You'd give them permission to stay?'
'Can I prevent them?' His smile was that of a man accepting the inevitable. 'Just do your best to persuade him. Take your time and find out what you can. From him and any others of the Cabal.' He added, 'Make the most of what will happen at dusk.'
Zehava was in town, seated at a table with others, throwing dice for wine. She rose as she saw Dumarest.
'Earl, what a pleasant surprise. Say you missed me and decided to have some fun.' Abruptly she changed the subject. 'Zoll tells me the repairs aren't coming as well as they should. Something about delays. Wasn't Nadine supposed to be taking care of that?'
'She is.'
'Good.' Her hand rose to touch his cheek, the fingers trailing in a caress. 'You're worried, darling. Worried and tired. You're trying to carry everything on your back. Let others do some of the work.' Her hand moved, slipped within his arm, her body moving to press against his own. 'Let's see what this place has to offer.'
They found a tavern which offered food and drink and women who danced in erotic postures to the beat of drums. A passage led to an underground lake where they swam among fish with crimson scales and eyes of pearl. Strands of silver weed embraced them and strange blooms of living petals emulated the seasons as they watched.
As dusk neared Dumarest led the way outside to where rafts drifted from the hills to settle on roofs and clear spaces. Wealthy landowners, he guessed, returning from their holdings to the comfort and security of their towers. An evening ritual.
Zehava ignored them. 'Where next, Earl?'
'Wait.' He looked at the sky, the peak of a distant promontory. 'We're about to see a show.'
One which blazed into life without warning. Fire streamed from a scintillating point in savage brightness. A glare which created thunder. A blast which shook the air and rattled windows and caused dust to rise from houses and streets. Twice more missiles hurtled from the ship to repeat the display of the first, the last leaving an ugly patch of widening darkness. Soot which rose to form a new cloud in the sky. Badwasi had done well.
His work created chaos.
Zehava winced as a shrieking woman ran past her down the narrow street, eyes wild, hands tearing at her hair. A man, hysterical with fear, followed her, others joining in to form a sudden flood of demented humanity. One which vanished as quickly as it had appeared, bodies diving through every opening, doors closing, shutters slamming across windows. Almost at once the town was deserted.
'God!' Zehava clutched at Dumarest's arm. 'What's the matter with them? Some noise. A few bangs in the sky and they go crazy.'
'Let's get back to the ship.'
'Why? I want to see what happens. How long is everyone going to stay locked away?'
Long enough for the day to die and the stars to appear. Nadine was waiting when they returned to the ship. She had a message from Cazele.
'You are not to fire missiles again. If you do all cooperation will cease.'
Dumarest looked at Mauger. 'Do we need it?'
'Technical help, no, but we could still use some parts and facilities. Nadine was going to arrange it.'
'I have. Cazele gave me his promise of assistance in return for my assurance that there will not be another accident. That's what I told him,' she explained. 'The missiles were fired in error. He didn't believe me.'
'He wasn't supposed to,' said Dumarest. 'Just as long as he gives us what we need. That isn't a complete overhaul,' he said to the engineer. 'I want the ship ready to leave. Don't rip apart things for the sake of it.'
'I want us to be safe.'
'Just make sure we can leave.' To Nadine he said, 'What else did you pick up?'
'At the time of the blast? Cazele was terrified. So were the others with him.'
'Terrified,' mused Zehava. 'Like the people in town, Earl. I wonder why?'
Chapter Eleven
From the body of the raft the hills were a series of irregular peaks scored with shallow ravines and dotted with level patches bearing stunted trees and bushes. Rough ground providing thick cover for predators and other creatures. But Dumarest had seen no sign of life.
'There!' Zehava pointed to where a regular shape stood to one side. 'See it?' To the driver she snapped, 'Turn left and down. Between those mounds. Land close to the cabin.'
It was small, a mere box with sealed windows, a roof, a door. Ventilation was provided by spinning fans set in meshed tubes. Like the building in town it had been constructed of worn and fretted stone.
Inside rested a wide bed, a table and chairs, a compact cooking unit, some odd items of clothing and sporting gear, a dead man.
Nigel Myer who had chased adventure and had found something which had killed him.
He lay on the bed, legs sprawled, hands empty, the slash across his throat the grisly parody of a smile. He was naked, scratches on arms and torso, more on one cheek. Blood had dried to provide a brownish smear on flesh and the cover on which he lay. More smears made a patch from the bed to the door. Others spattered the walls.
Dumarest touched his arm, moved his fingers to the region of the heart as he felt the temperature of the flesh.
'His companion?'
'Ulman Tighe. He's outside.'
He sat on the ground, well away from the cabin, the radio with which he had summoned help hanging from a strap around his neck. A man of Nigel's age, dressed in rough clothing, a holstered weapon at his belt.
'What happened?'
'I don't know. That is I'm not sure. It -' He broke off, swallowing rising vomit. More lay to one side where he had vented the contents of his stomach. 'We came out here to hunt. Nigel, me and Wanda. She was our guide. More than that, really, she seemed to like us and we all got along. Nigel wanted to be alone with her so I took a walk. When I returned I found them lying together in a puddle of blood. God – what a mess!'
Dumarest said, sharply, 'What about the girl?'
'I dragged her from him. She didn't belong. He was of the Kaldari and -'
'Where is she now?'
Lying in a shallow gully to one side of the cabin. A small, forlorn, naked creature who had once been beautiful but now was a thing of horror. Something had ripped open her stomach from crotch to navel, leaving her intestines to hang like tangled ribbons.
Zehava said, 'Nigel couldn't have done this. Tighe must be responsible. He killed them both then realized he was stranded unless he sent for help.'
'Why did he kill them?'
'Jealously, perhaps? She must have played one against the other and he lost his temper.'
Slashing a throat and ripping open a stomach in a frenzy of rage. A possibility but Dumarest doubted if it was the answer. Tighe had been armed, his gun to hand, an easy method of dealing death. Back in the cabin he studied the man, his clothing, the smears it bore, the smudges. Some were on his face, more on his hands. But the thick spatters which marred the walls were absent. How could he have stood in the sudden spraying of blood and avoided the betraying shower?
How had he caused the wounds?
The dead man moved beneath his hands as Dumarest examined the slashed throat. A knife would have left a clean gash. A claw a rip as neat if not as deep. The wound on Nigel's throat had been made with something jagged like a saw.
