'You'll pay it.'
'And you, Earl? I owe you my life. How do I pay for that?'
'When I know I'll tell you.' Dumarest looked around the room. It was small but neat and comfortable despite the lack of windows, the polished stone of the floor. A rack of instruments stood against the wall flanking the door, another of drugs on the matching side. Soft light from an overhead globe threw a diffused luminescence in which the pearls gleamed as if alive. 'Is that all?'
'About half. Tobol has the rest. I asked him to keep them safe for me. He could handle their sale if you want. Whom else could you trust?'
'A Hausi?'
'None on this planet. Nothing for them to do with trade so limited and what there is all tied up by interested parties. The agent at the field works for the holder who takes his cut from everything coming in and going out. No place for a free agent, free enterprise or damn all else.'
'So the field's valuable to the one who owns it?'
'Yes.'
'Who does?'
'Usually the Maximus. Sometimes it can belong to another holder but it's damned hard to hang onto.' Vardoon looked up from the egg he was slitting. 'Why the interest? You thinking of staying? If so, forget it. This is one game you can't join.' The egg burst in his fingers to leave a smear of yellow. 'Damn! Look at that! A Low passage down the drain!'
'You're trying too hard,' said Dumarest. 'Give it a rest for now. What did you mean when you said this was one game I couldn't win?'
'Join, Earl, not win. No one can ever do that. Not for keeps.'
'So?'
'You aren't of the Orres. Even if you were born here you have to be of the Orres. They are the only ones who can own anything on this world. Every inch of land and sea, what's in it, on it or under it-the whole damned works. Didn't I explain all that?'
'What about the utilities? Water? Power?'
'All owned by a holder. Good returns and so highly valued. Sometimes they change hands but not often.' Vardoon stooped, lifted a jug from the floor and poured himself a cup of thick liquid. Basic-the essential food of a spaceman, sickly with glucose, tart with citrus, laced with vitamins. A high-protein substance, each cup holding enough energy to last a normal man for a day. 'A lousy system,' he said after drinking. 'Holders are limited so only the heads of Families can operate. That creates jealousies. Boredom too for those left out despite their allowances. Sometimes a holder resigns when too old, sometimes assassinated, sometimes quits if losing too much too often, but usually they hang on until they die of natural causes.'
'Can they buy in?'
'The numbers are limited. If they fall too low and a vacancy arises then an outsider can challenge a holder for entry. Usually those wanting in are set one against the other until only one is left. Even then whoever wins has to be admissable. That means of the Orres.'
A nice, neat, closed system which made sure that those who had continued to hold and those outside remained that way. A society with ingrained weaknesses and one sure to shatter given time; the pressure of heirs denied a part in the economy would ensure that. But, for now, he had to work with the culture as he found it.
Dumarest said, 'So whoever owns the field can deny anyone passage if he wants.'
'That's right.' Vardoon drank more basic. 'But why should they?'
'We stole those eggs, remember? The owner doesn't like it. He might intend to get them back and freezing us could be one way to do it.'
'Trouble,' said Vardoon. 'Well, nothing comes easy, but who would have expected this? I just figured to go in, grab what was going and then out again. No one hurt. Nobody really robbed, just a little poaching, a little collecting and that was all. I still can't understand why those goons came after us the way they did. That shooting-' He broke off, shaking his head. 'I'd better get up. I'm no use lying flat on my back. Any friends, Earl?'
'One,' said Dumarest. 'You might know her. You said you were with her brother when he died.'
He had left her with the monks and found her seated with Tobol, a chessboard between them, men scattered in bright touches of gold and jet on squares of scarlet and silver. She played the game well, he noted, moving the pieces with a sure deftness, covering each attack and retreating when threatened. Skill refined over the years and sharpened when Carmodyne had died.
As the old monk acknowledged defeat and set the board for another game she said, 'How is your friend?'
'Alive and impatient to be on his feet.'
'And to be gone?'
'That too.'
'As you are?'
He had no place here and she must know it but to admit to a desire to leave was to betray his indifference. An attitude any woman would take as an insult and she more than most.
'This is a pleasant world,' he said. 'One I have hardly had time to see. Now, with money, perhaps I shall enjoy it.'
'Perhaps?'
'A doubt you could resolve, my lady. Turn from me and what has this planet to offer?'
An answer which pleased her even though she knew it for the flattery it was. One which salved her pride and reassured her that it would be she and not Dumarest who would end their relationship. But not yet; not when she enjoyed his company so much, not when others envied her so openly.
Tobol sighed as, again, she demonstrated her prowess on the board.
'You are too skilled for me, my lady. I must beg you to allow an old man to retain his pride. Perhaps a younger opponent?' He looked up to where Dumarest stood beside the board. 'Will you take my place?'
'Can you play?' Fiona was direct.
'I know the moves.'
'But can you play?' She gave him no time to answer. 'You understand the object of the game? To move and force selected responses from your opponent. To trap the enemy king and so to win. A miniature game of war,' she mused. 'Combat reduced to the dimensions of a board and yet holding all the cunning and strategy of actual battle. Sit, Earl, fight with me, and for a wager?' She looked at him, the smile on her lips not matched by her eyes. 'Double what you owe me if I win, the usual fees canceled if I am beaten.'
'Fees?'
'As I explained; resident's, utilities, protection. All quite normal.' She added softly, 'And one-tenth of your treasure-mine by right as the holder of this sector. Shall we begin?'
Dumarest glanced at the monk and saw the almost imperceptible lift of the shoulders, the nod signifying she had the right. Above the vaulted roof reflected small sounds from the partitioned area outside the room in which they played; a scuff of shoes, a cough, the rustle of garments. Tiny murmurs drowned by the sharp rap of pieces on the board as she set them out for the new game. 'Earl?'
'A game of war,' he said. 'Do I have it correctly? A game we play to win.'
'With what you owe me as the fee-double or nothing.' She extended both hands toward him, the fingers clenched, the pawns she held hidden by her flesh. 'Your choice, Earl. Gold has first move.' She smiled at his selection and opened her hand to reveal jet. 'You lose, I win. An omen, perhaps?'
'If you are superstitious.'
'Are you?'
'I hold certain beliefs.'
'Such as?' She shrugged, again giving him no chance to answer. 'We'll talk about such things later but for now let us concentrate on the game. My first move, Earl.' She shifted her king's pawn two squares forward. 'There!'
Dumarest followed her move.
Without hesitation she moved a cowled piece to a position four squares above its fellow. She smiled as, again, he followed her move, confident that, after the next, she would have him. Her smile vanished as, deliberately, he swept pieces from the board to leave it bare but for her checkmated king.
