'Brad.' She frowned. 'Did you have to kill him?'
'He had a gun. It was him or me.'
'A gun? Muld Evron arms his scavengers. Brad,' she said again. 'Medium build, dark hair, scarred cheek? Operates with a runt called Elvach?' She thinned her lips at his nod. 'One of Evron's boys. You were smart to pull out. You'd be smarter to get the hell off this world before they catch up with you. Is that what you're after?'
Dumarest nodded, letting her make the natural assumption. 'I can pay,' he said. 'If you can fix it I can pay.'
'That helps,' she admitted. 'But it'll take time. In the meanwhile you'd better stay out of sight. Got a place to stay?'
'I can find one.'
'And bump into one of Evron's scavengers? No, Earl, I've go a better idea. You can stay with me.' She stepped towards him, light glinting from her eyes, her hair. Her flesh held the warm scent of spice, the odor of femininity. She lifted her arms to his shoulders, aware of the movement of her breasts, the temptation they presented. 'You've no objection?'
'No,' he said. 'I've no objection.'
Chapter Five
The room was small, warmly intimate, filled with trifles and soft furnishings; a stuffed animal with glassy eyes, a faded bunch of flowers, a box which chimed when opened. The bed was a frilled oasis of hedonistic comfort, the pillows edged with lace, the sheets scented with floral perfumes. A carved idol nodded over a plume of incense, a gilded clock registered the passing hours.
Dumarest stretched, remembering the night, the warm, demanding heat of the woman, the almost savage intensity of her embrace. A thing of need, not affection, though he suspected that affection could come and turn into love. On her side, not his. He could afford no hampering chains.
'Earl, awake yet?'
She came from the bathroom, smiling, radiant. The thin material of the robe she wore did nothing to hide the swell of hips and thighs, the liquid movement of her breasts. She stooped and kissed him, her lips lingering, his own body responding to her proximity. A hunger as pressing as her own, a need as intense.
Later, lying side by side, they talked.
'You're nice,' she said. 'Gentle. A lot of men think they have to be rough. I guess they reckon they have to prove something, but not you.' The tip of her finger traced the scars on his chest. 'Knives?'
'Yes.'
'In the ring?' She didn't wait for his nod. 'A fighter. I guessed as much. You have the look, the walk. Why do men do it, Earl? For kicks? For money? To stand and slash at someone with a naked blade, to get cut in turn, crippled or killed. And for what?'
For the titivation of a jaded crowd, men and women hungry for the sight of blood and pain, reveling in the vicarious danger. Lying back on the scented pillows, Dumarest could see them as he had too often before. A ring of faces, more animal than human, leaning forward from the gilded balconies of arenas, edging the square of a ring, shouting, screaming, filling the air with the scent of feral anticipation.
And, always, there was the fear, the taint mixed with the smell of sweat and oil and blood. The knowledge that a slip, a single error, a momentary delay and death would come carried on a naked blade.
'Why, Earl?' she insisted. 'Why did you fight?'
'For money.'
'Just that?' Her finger ran over his naked body drifting, caressing. 'A man like you could get it in other ways. A rich woman needing a plaything, a man needing a guard. No?'
'No.'
'Why not, Earl? You don't want to feed off a woman, right? And to be a guard is to take orders. I don't think you'd like to do that, take orders, I mean. But if you had the chance to be your own boss? To own your own business?'
He said, dryly, 'Such as a stall in a market?'
'It's a living.'
'For you, maybe. Not for me.'
'Not good enough for you?' Her voice hardened a little. 'Both the stall and me, perhaps? Is that it, Earl?'
'Is that what you think?'
'Then tell me I'm wrong,' she demanded. 'Tell me!'
'A stall selling succulent meats,' he said bleakly. 'Endless food-can you guess what that means to a traveler? I've known men who ate insects in order to stay alive, grass, slime, the droppings of birds. And a woman like yourself-a gift to any man walking under any sun.'
'But not you, Earl.' Reaching out she rested her fingers on his lips. 'Don't argue, I know, you have to keep moving. Traveling, going from world to world, always drifting, never settling down. Why, Earl? What makes you do it?'
He said, 'I'm looking for something. A planet called Earth.'
'Earth?' He heard her sharp inhalation, the note of incredulity when next she spoke. 'You must be joking. No world has that name.'
'One does.'
'But-Earth?'
'It's an old world,' he said, his eyes on the ceiling, the cracks it contained. 'The surface is scarred and torn by ancient wars. A great moon hangs in the sky and the stars are few at night. It's a real place, despite what legends say. I know, I was born there.'
'And you want to go back?'
'Yes.'
'Then why can't you? If you left it, you must know where it lies?'
'I was young,' he said. 'A scared and hungry boy. I stowed away on a ship and was luckier than I deserved. The captain could have evicted me. Instead, he allowed me to work my passage. I stayed with him until he died, then moved on.'
Ship after ship, journey after journey, and each taking him closer to the Center where stars were close and habitable worlds thick. Moving on until even the name of Earth had been forgotten. The coordinates unregistered, unknown.
And then the search, the endless seeming quest, the hunt for clues. Earth existed, he knew it. One day, with luck, he would find it. One day.
'Earl.' Her hands were gentle as they touched his forehead, his cheek. The caress a mother would give to a child, soothing, comforting. 'Just don't worry about it, darling.'
She thought he was deluded, maybe a little disturbed, a man following an empty dream. An impression he was content to leave.
'When will you set about making the arrangements for me to get on the field?'
'Later.' She stretched beside him, muscles bunching, rounding the contours of her thighs, accentuating her torso, narrowing her waist. 'Earl?'
The idol nodded, smiling as the clock ticked on, murdering the day.
* * * * *
The rendezvous was at dusk down by the wharves, in a small hut which held the stench of rotting fish, brine, the musty odor of nets. Dumarest was cautious as he approached. The woman could be genuine, but her contact have other ideas. Twice he scouted the area and then, satisfied he was not being followed, ducked through the narrow door. Stepping immediately to one side, his eyes were wide as he searched the inner gloom.
'You Dumarest?'
The voice came from one side, a harsh rasp which echoed from the rafters, the roof which half-filled one side of the hut. As Dumarest answered a light flared, settled to a glow. A lantern fed by rancid oil, fuming, adding to the smell. In its light, he could see a tall thin man with narrowed eyes and a mouth pulled upward by a scar into a
