Dumarest rolled over to lie on his face.
"The arena," said Angado. "None on your back so you had to be facing your opponent. And the way you fought showed skill. The way you taught me, too." His oiled thumbs ran up the sides, dug into the declivities alongside the spine. "But I'll never be as good as you are. Nor as fast." His hands fell to his sides. "That should do it. You want to rub me?"
"Call the girl."
"No." Angado mounted his own couch. "I'll do without." He lay silent for a while then said, "I've only seen two other men scarred like you. One was a fighter and I saw him in the arena on Rorsan. Kreagan, I think he was called, a big man, moved like a cat. A left-hander as I remember. He fought and won and afterward I bought him wine. He got a little drunk and started to boast. Said he could take on any three ordinary men at the same time. He also claimed there was nothing to match the excitement of facing an opponent. He said it was better than going with a woman." He turned on his couch to face Dumarest. "Was he right, Earl? Is it like that?"
"For some, maybe."
"And you?"
Dumarest said, "What happened to your friend?"
"Kreagan? He died shortly afterward. But-" Angado broke off. "I see. Fighting isn't a game and it isn't like going with a woman. Make one mistake and it's your last. Right?"
"Yes." Dumarest looked at the floor beneath the couch, one set with a variety of colored squares. Turning he looked at the ceiling with its mass of abstract designs. Patterns designed to soothe and induce a restful somnolence. One negated by Angado. He said, "Who was the other man?"
"The one with the scars? A monk. Brother Lyndom. He was old and was giving me tuition. We went swimming one day and I saw his body. It was horrible. All seared and puckered as if burned and torn. Later I learned that he'd been tortured on some world where he'd gone to set up a church but when I asked him what had happened he just laughed and said he'd run into a swarm of angry bees. I guess that's why I respect monks. I wanted to be one once, but that was before I learned I had no real choice in determining my future. And perhaps it wasn't in me. I'm too much of a coward to face what they put up with."
"Most are." Dumarest reared to sit upright then threw his legs over the edge of the couch. "Where's that oil?"
It was warm, scented, slippery beneath his hands as they moved against the other's body. His fingers, stronger, if lacking the fine skill an expert would possess, dug deep into fat and muscle.
As Angado relaxed he said, "Was the monk with your people on Lychen?"
"That's right."
"What happened?" Dumarest filled his palms with more oil. "What made you leave home?"
"It's an old story. My father married late and was old when I was born. He died in a crash and my mother with him. My uncle took over until I became of age. By then Perotto had become the real head. I tried to take over but couldn't manage." Angado stirred beneath Dumarest's hands. "Maybe I should have fought harder but I didn't know how. So I compromised."
"And?"
"I drifted. Just traveled around. What else?"
"There's no harm in that." Dumarest slapped a thigh and began to knead Angado's back as he turned over to lie prone on the couch. "The trouble is it doesn't get you anywhere. Ever think of going back?"
"To Lychen? No. That was the deal."
"Deals can be changed. Don't you ever get homesick?"
"No. Do you?"
"Often." Dumarest moved his hands up to the base of the neck and probed at the tension he found there. "So where will you go? There's not much here on Yuanka."
"I guess not." Angado lay silent for a while, speaking as Dumarest lowered his hands to the shoulders. "You saved my life," he said abruptly. "I'm not forgetting that."
"So?"
"You don't have to be stranded here. We could travel together. I've always wished I had a companion and we seem to get along. Just as if you were my older brother." He forced lightness into his tone. "I've always wanted an older brother. As a kid I was always alone and after my parents went-well, uncle did his best but it wasn't the same. Anyway, I owe you."
The truth and Dumarest didn't argue. "It takes money to buy passage."
"You don't have to tell me that." Angado twisted his head to look upward, smiling, confident he would get his own way. "We've been robbed and cheated but it doesn't matter. I've got money. As much as we need. All I have to do is get it. Earl?" His smile widened as Dumarest nodded. "Then it's a deal. Good. Let's be on our way."
* * *
Credit Debutin had branches scattered throughout the Burdinnion and that on Yuanka occupied a prominent position on the main plaza. Dumarest waited outside as Angado entered, looking at the shops ringing the area, the familiar figure standing outside the casino. Brother Lloyd, somber in his robe, a bowl of chipped plastic in his hand, was busy collecting alms.
A good position, as he knew; gamblers were superstitious when it came to luck. A coin on entering could placate the goddess of fortune and if you were successful another was her just tribute. Even losers dropped a coin in the bowl in the hope of bettering future chances.
"Earl!" Angado came from the bank, his face drawn. "I don't understand it," he said. "I just don't understand it."
"No money?"
"No, but-"
"Leave it." A cafe stood to one side and Dumarest led the way toward it. At a table he ordered a pot of tisane and waited until it had been served and poured before looking at his companion. "No money," he said. "Did they tell you why?"
"Yes, but it's crazy. The account's been stopped. I can't understand it. The arrangement was plain; I can draw at any branch of Credit Debutin against the family account. Five thousand ryall a month. That's Lychen currency," he explained. "It's converted to local."
"How many zobars would that be?"
"Over ten thousand." Angado met Dumarest's eyes. "I told you I had money."
Dumarest said, "Have you an account? A credit balance?" His right hand moved toward his left forearm checking as he halted the subconscious gesture. "Any money at all?"
"Only what we split." Angado looked helplessly at the tisane. "I can't understand it. Perotto gave me his word and there's never been any difficulty before. Just my name, thumb-print and code number and the cash is handed over." His hand clenched, slammed down on the table with force enough to send tisane slopping from the cups. "What the hell's going on?"
The waitress came from within the cafe, attracted by the noise, frowning at the mess. Dumarest dropped coins on the table. "For your trouble," he explained. "Would you bring me a sheet of notepaper? Nothing special, a leaf from a book will do."
The paper was thick, rough, jagged down one edge. Dumarest placed it on the table before Angado.
"Write me a promissory note. It's a gambling debt for five hundred and date it before we were dumped. No," he amended. "Earlier than that. Before you took passage on the Thorn."
"When I was on Tysa?"
"That'll do." Dumarest took the paper when Angado had finished. He folded it, opened it, dropped it on the ground and trod on it. Picking it up he scuffed the sheet and stained it with tisane. Folding it again he tucked it under his tunic and rested it beneath his armpit. "How did they treat you in there?"
"The bank?" Angado scowled. "Like dirt!"
"I want the truth."
"They were cold. Hostile, even. They just said there was no account and no funds for me. I argued but got nowhere. The instructions had been revoked and no money would be paid."
"Did they check you out? Your thumbprint or-"