sudden hardening of Sonefs face, the accentuated pallor on Lekard's thin features.
He didn't have to look at his cards, he knew what they had to be. An ace followed by two cards of the same suit, either of which would have completed Sonefs running flush. If he had taken one card or two, he would have held four aces against a winning hand.
He said, flatly, 'I bet a hundred. You want to see me? No? Then I've won.'
He rose, dropping his cards face upwards, sweeping the money into his pocket. To Leon he said, 'Get your gear. It's time for us to go.'
Chapter Three
They reached the city at mid-afternoon, dropping from the raft which had carried them, the driver waving a casual farewell as he drifted away. The area was bleak, a mass of warehouses and rugged ground, huts and offices showing hasty construction. An extension of the old town which lay in a hollow, at the head of a strait leading to the sea.
The field lay beyond on a stretch of leveled ground, ringed with a high perimeter fence topped with floodlights. On Tradum the authorities maintained a check on all arrivals and departures, a policy backed by the Zur-Sekulich as a precaution against contract-workers leaving before their time.
Leon said, 'What now, Earl?'
'We find somewhere to stay. Then we eat, then I'll look around.'
'Can't I come with you?'
'No, you'd better rest those ribs.'
'Nygas!' The boy scowled. 'That animal! He had no right-'
'You were warned,' said Dumarest curtly. 'You knew what to expect.'
He glanced at the sky. Walking would save money, but be costly in time. He waved as a pedcar came into sight, the operator a slender man with grotesquely developed thighs. Leon sighed with relief as he slumped into the open compartment at the rear. His face was pinched, the nostrils livid, dark shadows around his eyes. He clutched a small bag, the sum total of his possessions, a cheap thing of soiled fabric which he rested on his lap. Dumarest had nothing aside from what he carried on his person.
'Peddling,' the operator asked, 'You from the workings? I ask because I was thinking of getting a job up there. A friend of mine, my sister's second cousin, he reckons a man could do real well. You think it's worth me trying?'
'No harm in that.'
'I could handle a machine given the chance. And I can take orders-hell, in this job you do it all the time. Say, you boys looking for a little excitement?'
Dumarest said, dryly. 'What had you in mind?'
'There's a new joint opened on Condor Avenue. Young girls, sensatapes, analogues, all the drinks you can handle, and all the games you can use. Fights too, if you're interested. Real stuff, no messing about, naked blades and no stopping. Interested?'
They were from the workings. Men from a long bout of hard, relentless labor would be interested.
'Condor Avenue,' said Dumarest. 'What's it called?'
'The Effulvium. Crelk Sugari runs it. If you want, mister, I'll take you straight there. Why waste time?' His chuckle was suggestive. 'Get in while the fruit is unspoiled, eh?'
'We'll drop in later.'
'You do that.' The operator handed back a card. 'Hand this in when you arrive. It'll get you a free drink. A big one, and you won't have to pay entry. Don't forget now.'
Dumarest took the slip of pasteboard. Handed in, it would ensure the man his commission.
'You know a good hotel? Something not too high and with available service?'
'Service?' The man twisted his head, grinning. 'I get it. Sure, Madam Brandt runs a nice, clean, interesting place. Just don't make too much noise and everything will be fine. You want me to take you there?'
'Just drop us close by. You got a card for me to give her? Thanks.'
Leon staggered a little as he left the pedcar, leaning on Dumarest for support as the vehicle moved away, the operator waving and pointing to the front of a house with shuttered windows and gaudy streaks of paint on the walls.
Dumarest watched him go, then turned and headed in the other direction.
'Aren't we going in there, Earl?'
'No.'
'But I thought-' Leon frowned. 'That man thinks we'll stay there.'
'Which is why we won't.' Dumarest stared at the pale face. 'Can you hold up until we find somewhere else?'
'I guess so.' Leon made an effort to stand upright. 'I guess I'll have to.'
'That's right,' said Dumarest. 'You do.'
He settled for a small place in a quiet street, run by a woman long past her prime. The room had twin beds, a washbasin and faucet, a faded carpet on the floor, frayed curtains at the window. The panes were barred and faced a narrow alley. The walls were cracked and the ceiling stained. From a room lower down the passage came the sound of empty coughing:
'Chell Arlept,' she explained. 'He worked with my husband up at the site. They got caught in an explosion. Chell ruined his lungs. My husband-' She broke off, swallowing.
'It happens,' said Dumarest. 'I'm sorry.'
'They just left him there,' she said bleakly. 'Piled dirt over the place where he fell. I didn't even get compensation.'
Dumarest said nothing.
'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tell you, but you did ask about Chell. If there's anything you need?'
'I'll let you know,' said Dumarest. 'There's a bath at the end of the passage? Good.' He looked pointedly at the door. As the woman left he said to the boy. 'Get stripped. I want to look at those ribs.'
Nygas had been savage, or perhaps he had misjudged his victim. Leon winced as Dumarest's fingers probed his side, the strappings that had been hastily applied lying to one side on the bed. One rib was broken, others cracked, the flesh ugly with bruises.
'How bad is it, Earl?'
'Bad enough.' Dumarest picked up the bandages, soaked them in water from the faucet, bound them tightly around the slender torso. 'Just lie there and get some sleep. Don't move unless you have to and, when you do, don't bend. Hungry?'
'I could eat.'
'I'll get the woman to bring you a meal. If she wants to feed you, don't argue.'
'You leaving, Earl?'
Dumarest smiled at the look of concern. 'Don't worry, Leon. I'll be back.'
* * * * *
Finding the hotel had taken time, taking care of the boy still more. It was dusk as Dumarest neared the heart of the city, the square where the market was located. Beyond it lay the wharves from which boats were already putting out to fish the turbulent seas. Around it, running along the avenues to either side, were the palaces of pleasure, the casinos, dream parlors, brothels, the places in which men could pander to their inclinations. Establishments for the rich, or those with money to burn. The market was for the poor.
Beggars were prominent, men with crippled limbs and scarred faces, discarded veterans of mercenary wars. They jostled women selling dubious pleasures, others offering lucky charms, vials of aphrodisiacs, pods of narcotic seeds. In the market proper, traders displayed their wares on stalls illuminated by brightly colored lanterns which fought the encroaching darkness with pools of red and green, yellow and amber, pale blue and nacreous white.
In the kaleidoscope of brilliance heaps of tawdry jewelry, gaudy fabrics, and cheap adornments looked like rare treasure stolen from fabled temples.
