Earth is Heaven

and-'

Dumarest looked at the small, painted faces. All of her Family and all related. But Urich, the man she was to marry, wasn't among them.

Chapter Five

Blue luminescence reached for the sky as Dumarest walked toward the landing field, the glow echoed by the thunder of parting air; echoes which rolled and died into silence as the blue shimmer vanished into space. A vessel lifted on its way to another world. It had escaped the trap which held the Erce.

'The Nairn.' The man spoke from shadows. 'It brought a cargo of stolen wares and leaves loaded with the sweat of broken men.'

'So?' Dumarest looked at the indistinct figure. 'Who are you?'

'Does it matter?' The figure, robed and cowled, remained in the shadows. Beyond him, ringed by lights, the field stretched within the confines of its fence. 'You arrived with almost empty holds. As yet you've bought no cargo.'

'Knowing so much you must know more,' snapped Dumarest. 'I needed repairs and-'

'You have no money to pay for them. A bad situation to be in here on Krantz.'

He was aware of that. Dumarest looked at the man, took one step forward then decided against further action. Men who lurked in shadows could carry guns beneath their robes. Always they had things to hide and usually it was best to let them retain their anonymity. But he didn't have to stand as an easy target.

'Sir!' The man called after him. 'A word-please!'

'You want something?'

'To know if you are open to charter.'

Dumarest said, 'I'll listen to anyone who has money-but first I want to see the cash.'

'To buy your way free of Krantz. I understand. If it could be arranged would you be interested in a proposition?'

'I've said so.' Dumarest turned to move but hesitated long enough to add, 'The next time we talk, my friend, I want to see your face.'

He walked on, mulling the incident, which was common enough on many worlds especially those suffering under harsh restrictions. Men looking for a vessel to lift contraband or import proscribed items. Entrepreneurs sounding out a possible ally or potential dupe.

Police setting a trap so as to make an easy arrest and so enhance their record; a man tainted by greed would make a weak and easy victim.

But, on Krantz, there were no restrictions as to cargo-so what had the man really wanted?

A question dismissed as Dumarest reached the Erce. The vessel was locked; the port yielding to the pattern of his hand. Inside the air smelled sweet and the ship was clean- Batrun had insisted the workers clear up their debris. Closing the port Dumarest moved through the vessel-too big and too empty. Small echoes rose to accompany him like the ghosts of crews long gone. The silence hung like a brooding miasma.

'Ysanne!'

Her cabin was empty and not just of her presence. The cabinet was devoid of clothing, the drawers of her personal possessions; paints, oils, perfumes. A place abandoned in a hurry. A slashed pillow told of her rage.

'She's gone.' Batrun was in the passage, calm, his fingers steady as he lifted snuff to his nostrils. 'I tried to reason with her, Earl, but you know how she is.'

Strong-willed, stubborn, a creature of impulse. Dumarest looked at her bed, the pillow they had shared-had she seen his image when using her knife?

'How long?'

'She came back at dusk. I heard her and came to talk. She didn't want company so I left. The next thing I knew she told me she was quitting. That was about an hour ago.'

'Did she say where? With whom?'

'No. Just said she'd had a gutful of you, the ship, the whole damned thing. I quote, you understand. I did my best but she wouldn't listen.'

And was now gone, perhaps in the Nairn-if so, gone forever. But if not, there was still a chance.

Batrun said, quietly, 'No engineer and now we've no navigator.'

'And no money to pay for repairs. So?'

'Captain Grausam of the Sharma made a suggestion. The loan of a crew in return for half the profit in a mutual enterprise.'

'Slaving?'

'He would call it the recruitment of involuntary labor.' Batrun added, 'I'm passing the message. If you want to join him he'd better find you a new captain while he's at it.'

'I'd rather sell the Erce. When Ysanne came back what did she do?'

'Stayed in her cabin.'

Brooding, sulking, seething with rage. An anger which had finally destroyed the pillow and sent her storming from the ship. Too long a wait if she'd found a new berth on the Nairn.

'What are we to do, Earl?'

'Find her.' Dumarest looked at the captain. 'What else?'

She was in a tavern close to the field, a rough place with tamped dirt for a floor and stained beams supporting a sagging roof. One used by spent-out spacers and the scum always to be found near the fence. Men who sat in shadowed corners, watching, harlots studying the market, pimps looking for prey. At a table Yssane sat with two men. From her eyes Dumarest knew she was far from sober.

He said, bluntly, 'I've come to take you back.'

'Go to hell!'

'Get up and-'

'No!' She looked at the man to her right. 'Tell him, Brad.'

'That's right, Captain, tell him.' The man to her left was big, confident in his strength, sardonically amused. His eyes, beneath heavy brows, held the feral anticipation of a tiger.

Dumarest looked at him, at the table, the mugs it carried, the bottles. Three were empty. Wine stained the bottoms of the thick, earthenware beakers.

He said, 'Tell me what?'

'You've lost your navigator,' said the captain. 'I've given her a berth on the Gora. We leave at dawn.' He leaned back, smiling, his left hand resting on the table, his right below the edge and out of sight. 'I'm Brad Dwyer. That is Shiro. We know about you.'

'Not enough,' said Dumarest. 'Or you'd know you're not going to get away with this.'

'You're going to stop me?' Dwyer shrugged. 'Tell him, Ysanne.'

'I've quit,' she said. 'You, the Erce, the whole damned thing. I told Andre that. I'm leaving and there isn't a damned thing you can do about it.'

'You've a share in the ship. We're partners.'

'Not any longer. You can have it all. Now get the hell out of here and leave me alone!'

'You heard the lady.' Shiro rested both hands on the table and made to rise to his feet. 'Beat it-or do I have to break both your arms?'

Dumarest moved as the man heaved himself to his feet, reaching for the mug he had noted, sending it to smash against Shiro's temple. As the beaker splintered he was around the table, knife glinting in his right hand, the edge coming to rest against the captain's throat.

'Your hand,' he said. 'Your right hand-show it!'

Dwyer heaved, froze as the razor-edge sliced skin.

'Your hand,' said Dumarest. 'I won't ask again.'

The captain lifted his hand, the gun it had held falling to the dirt of the floor. He said carefully, 'There's no need for more. You've made your point.'