"I'm Tolen from the Amytor." he said. "I've seen you around. Dumarest, right? Earl Dumarest from the Erce?"
"That's right."
"An odd name for a ship."
"It means Earth," said Dumarest. "Mother Earth."
"Is that right?" Tolen shrugged. "Well, ships get all sorts of names. I rode in one once named the Polly. Short for Polipolodes, I think, but it was a hell of a name to live with. That was twenty years ago." He looked around, gestured to a man standing close, who was one of the Ypsheim by his scar. "Get us something to drink. Here." He handed the man a coin. "Don't take all day."
Dumarest said, "Here on business?"
"Not exactly. I took care of that the day I landed. This is in the nature of a commission I'm doing for a friend. His son vanished about five years ago; ran off with a girl to a settlement on Xandus. Kalken traced him and sent after him but all his men found was a ruined village and a few corpses. The girl was one of them."
"Slavers?"
"It fit the pattern. So when I'm in a place like this I keep my eye on the block. It's a long chance but, maybe, the boy will come up for sale." Tolen looked around, scowling. "Where the hell are those drinks?"
Eunice was bored. The party last night had been as she'd expected; full of spite and innuendo, with Myrna, the smug, simpering bitch, holding court to her sycophantic admirers. Well, to hell with her, soon now she would show them all. In the meantime the auction was as good a way as any to pass the time.
She pressed closer to the block, feeling Urich's hand on her arm, pulling it free against his restraint. There was no fun if she couldn't see. No triumph if she wasn't seen. If nothing else Urich made a distinguished escort with his height and thin, sensitive features. But he must not, now or ever, imagine that he would be permitted to dictate to her. Even in marriage those born to the Quelen took precedence over those less fortunate.
"My lords! My ladies! The auction commences!"
Travante was old but knew his profession. He stood beside the block, grave in his robes, conscious of the dignity of his office. Attendants stood to hand, guards standing ready, the crowd easing forward as the first man mounted the block. A disappointment; he was an agent selling the harvest from a small seafarm hugging the Purple Sea. Dried fish, scales, oils-she turned away as the bidding commenced.
"Urich, I'm thirsty. Get me a drink."
"Now?"
"Why not." She looked over the crowd and saw two spacers standing with heavy beakers in their hands. "If they can drink then so can I."
And so could anyone but it was a bad time to choose. Urich backed from the front of the crowd, looking for a servant, making his own way to a stall as he failed to find one.
"Sir?" He looked at the woman standing behind a counter, urns to either side, beakers set on the board. A young, well-rounded women with a lustrous mane of hair. One of the Ypsheim and, somehow, familiar. "May I be of service, sir?"
Frowning, he said, "Do I know you?"
"I have not the honor."
"But we've met before. I'm certain of it. You-" He broke off, remembering. "At the Wheel! You had a canteen!"
And grime on her face and dust in her hair, with soiled garments hiding her figure. Even so she had looked young- young enough to be the daughter of the man who had died.
"You are mistaken, sir."
"No! You were there! I know it!"
"Something wrong, Ava?" The man had appeared from nowhere to stand beside the woman. To Urich he said, "You seem upset, Captain."
"You know me?"
"I have seen you at the field. May I extend my congratulations on your coming nuptials?"
He had heard, as all the Ypsheim had heard, all the Quelen. On Krantz such news could not be kept secret. Urich looked at the man, sensing a subtle air of disrespect, even of mockery, but nothing showed on the smooth face. Even so he was convinced they both shared a common knowledge.
"Your name?"
"Leo, sir. Leo Belkner." The man anticipated the next question. "And this is Ava Vasudiva. We are betrothed."
"What was Gupen to you?"
"Nothing, sir. He was no more to us than he was to you."
Again the subtle inflection and again there was nothing tangible in the reply to which he could take objection. Urich looked at the girl, saw the shift of her eyes, felt a sudden itching on his forehead where they were focused.
Irritably he said, "Give me a drink. Something mild and sweet in a glass." Eunice would not thank him for a beaker. "Hurry!"
The auction had progressed by the time he returned; the basic trade finished and more exciting items now on sale. He heard the comments, the innuendos, heard the laughter and the coarse jests. He shared nothing of the amusement, seeing instead a pathetic line of debtors and contract-breakers together with minor criminals sentenced to the block.
Travante wasted no time.
"Jarl Lebshene, trained in the art of working leather, in debt to the extent of five hundred and thirty engels. Your offers?"
A woman bought him for two hundred and he was led away, a virtual slave until he had cleared his debt. As the interest and charges would mount faster than his basic wage he would die in servitude.
A girl was more fortunate; a convicted thief she had been sentenced to five years slavery and was bought for use as a maid by a painted harridan wearing the barred triangle insignia of the Marechal.
The usual dregs followed, most to be snapped up cheap by the overseers. An assistant pounded the floor with his staff in a demand for silence.
"A mixed group offered by Captain Weston, to be sold as a batch. Your offers?"
A dozen men and women were assembled before the block; dull, drugged creatures snatched from some isolated village and barely aware of what was happening to them. A trader bought them all; later he would sell them as individual items and make a handsome profit. Another batch followed in a similar condition. Others were not so ignorant as to what was happening.
"A third officer with some navigational experience," announced the auctioneer. "Tried and condemned by ship-law for rape and murder. Offered for sale by the Achtun."
The man had run out of luck, abandoned by his captain, his price to be shared among the crew. He glowered and spat and screamed curses as he listened to the bids. None came from spacers.
"He's dangerous," said Tolen. "Dragged and crazy. I heard about him-killed the female steward and put the second officer in hospital. Crews'll stand so much but he went over the line."
And was dragged away, still screaming, to spend the rest of his life rotting in the galleries of the northern mines.
Followed by a man who stood wrapped in mystic introspection, dreaming of the blood he had shed in order to assuage a depraved thirst.
"The tail end," said Tolen. "No point in my staying. From now on it'll be-" He broke off, staring, "What the hell is that?"
A thing more beast than man, hulking in chains, glowering from beneath tufted brows. Matted hair fell from the rounded head to hang in greasy strands over the shoulders. His wrists were thick, making the manacles which bound them look like bracelets. His fingers, short, curved, looked like claws.