Angado

man moved toward the group of monks. Curious, he wanted to hear what was being said. Dumarest had already guessed.

'So you see, brothers, what the position is.' Gengiz had made the preliminary spiel, his voice soft, devoid of threat, almost gentle as he urged cooperation. 'In order to maintain the peace we must abide by the rules and as Mayor it is my duty to see that everyone complies. As intelligent men you can see that. As you can see that to patrol the area requires men who have to be paid. A form of tax per head of the population takes care of that. It is small, a zobar a head a week, but in your case-well, perhaps we could discuss it in private?'

Dexter shook his head. 'That will not be necessary.'

'It would be best.'

'No. We have permission to establish our church here. That permission was granted by the authorities. The tax you mention is unlawful.'

Gengiz said, softly, 'Brother, answer me one thing-have you ever been in this situation before?'

'Many times.'

'And must have learned from your experience. Now, if we could go somewhere to be alone?'

Seclusion where the mask could be dropped and the naked threat revealed. Pay or suffer. The structure of the church damaged, monks beaten up, suppliants threatened, stores and supplies ruined or stolen. Even a demonstration could be given-a broken arm or shattered kneecap a hint of what was to come if refusal continued.

Things Dexter knew, as he realized that to yield was to destroy the aim of the Church. To bow to the threat of violence was to condone it. To pay the levy Gengiz demanded was to buy peace at too high a price-yet to refuse was to invite harsh retribution.

Dexter looked at the sun, the sky, aware of the monks at his back, of the watching faces all around. The moment of truth he had known so often before; the hardest thing for any monk to take. Those who served the Church could not be weak in either spirit or body yet that strength had to be sublimated to the greater ideal. To be meek. To be humble. To trust that, by example, they would give rise to a protective concern.

'Well?' Gengiz was becoming impatient. 'Have you nowhere we could be alone?'

'There is nothing to decide. Therefore no good purpose would be served by further conversation.'

'I see. Birkut!'

The small man stepped forward as Gengiz and his bodyguard moved away. A toady, basking in the reflection of the other's power, as poisonous as a serpent. His voice held an oily note of subtle menace.

'The Mayor is being kind,' he said. 'He understands your problems and is eager to accommodate you. Think it over. Discuss it with the others. It could end as a matter of a percentage-a share of donations.' His smirk was as oily as his tone. 'You have until sunset.'

Chapter Seven

Yuanka's sun was a sullen ball of smoldering ochre edged by a flickering corona of orange. Colors which combined with the murk in the atmosphere to produce a purple haze as sunset drew near. In it the perimeter fence surrounding the field showed as a misty web topped by lamps which, later, would illuminate the mesh with a vivid glow.

The fence encompassing Lowtown was less obvious but just as restricting. Dumarest looked at the cleared strip encircling the area, the deep ditch dug beyond it, the huts set at strategic points. Those controlling the planet had taken precautions against the danger residing in the hungry and desperate.

'Nice.' Angado had accompanied Dumarest. 'Try to break out and they'll gun down anyone reaching the ditch. I'll even bet they've got a curfew.'

A gamble he would have won. As Dumarest led the way to where a plank bridge crossed the ditch men stepped from a hut at its end.

'Hold it!' The officer, like his men, wore a uniform and was armed. 'It's late-you got business in town?'

'Nothing special.' Dumarest glanced toward the field. 'Just wanted to check on the chance of getting a berth.'

'Leave it until tomorrow.' The officer rested a hand on the pistol holstered at his waist. 'Curfew runs from an hour before sunset to an hour after dawn. You should know that.'

'We've been helping the monks,' said Angado. 'Do you police inside?'

'Hell, no.' The officer echoed his contempt. 'You scum take care of yourselves.'

In more ways than one.

Dumarest heard the shout of pain as he neared a hovel sprouting like an ugly growth at the edge of the cluster. A man answered it as it came again.

'Steady! Hold still, you fool! Damn it, Susan, get help!'

A woman burst from the door and stared at them with wild eyes. She was gaunt, dressed in rags, an ugly blotch marring one cheek. Flecks of blood stained her hands and naked forearms.

'Please!' She looked from Dumarest to Angado. 'My man! He's hurt bad! Jacek is trying but needs help! Please!'

Inside the gloom was thick, relieved only by the guttering light of a wick floating in a cup of oil. On a heap of rags a man lay writhing, another kneeling at his side. Like the woman, his hands and wrists were stained with blood.

'Hold him!' he snapped after one glance at the visitors. 'Grab him tight.'

Dumarest said, without moving, 'What's wrong with him?'

'He tripped and fell into a bed of feathers.' Jacek's tone was sarcastic. 'That's how he got that face.'

The nose was broken, the lips split, the chin caked with blood. The eyes were puffed and the forehead bruised. Whoever had beaten the man had done a vicious job.

'Gengiz?'

'His boys. Breck fell behind on his payments. They warned him once but he still couldn't find the cash. So they worked him over. Smashed his face, cracked some ribs and twisted his arm out of its socket. I'm trying to get it back.'

The hard way, working with strength but little skill. Dumarest gestured him aside, took his place, examined the injured limb. The dislocation was severe, the joint badly swollen. The injured man groaned as Dumarest moved his hands.

'How long?'

'Since noon. I had to wait for Jacek to get back.'

Angado said, 'Couldn't you have sent for trained help?'

'Medics won't come into Lowtown. They'll treat you if you can get to them but first they want paying.' Breck was patient despite his pain, talking as if to a child. 'I can't pay. If I had money I wouldn't be in this mess.'

The woman said, 'Can you help him? If you can for God's sake get to work.'

'Hold his legs, Jacek. Angado, you hold his other arm. Keep him turned on his side.' Dumarest picked up a mess of rag and wadded it into a ball. 'This is going to hurt,' he warned. 'But it'll soon be over. Just try to relax. Take some deep breaths. Got anything to bite on?'

'Here.' The woman thrust a stick between Breck's jaws. 'Don't hurt him too much, mister.'

Dumarest placed the wadded ball between the upper arm of the injured man and the torso, setting it high beneath the armpit to act as a fulcrum. Checking its position he adjusted the limb then, without warning, thrust down hard on the elbow.

Breck strained, biting into the wood, a low, animal-like groan coming from his throat. Sound Dumarest ignored as he fought the pull of muscles, maintaining the leverage as he felt the swollen joint. A moment as he rammed the heel of his hand against the spot, then he felt the joint slip back into place.

'Good.' He rested a hand on Breck's sweating forehead. 'It's all over,' he said. 'Just relax now.'

'It hurts.'

'The pain will go but it'll be sore for a while.' Dumarest ripped rags into strips and bound the arm and shoulder in a constricting web, tying the arm hard against the chest. 'That'll help the ribs, too.' He looked at Jacek. 'The next time anyone gets into trouble take them to the monks.'

'I did my best.'