Dumarest eased open the door.
Outside the passage was empty. If Beint had gone to join Arbush in the salon, then Shalout must be towards the right at the end of the passage leading towards the engine room. And Eglantine?
He caught the scrape of movement, the shift of air; he spun, one hand dropping towards the knife in his boot, the hand freezing as he saw the captain, the laser he held in one pudgy hand.
"Hold! Move and I fire!"
The gun was steady, the muzzle aimed low to sear legs and groin, the knuckle white over the trigger. A fraction more pressure and it would vent its searing beam; energy to burn clothes, skin, muscle and bone. To cripple if it did not kill.
Dumarest said, blankly, "Captain! Is there something wrong?"
"Shalout! To me!"
The knuckle had eased a little, no longer white; the captain more certain of his command of the situation. He stood in a cabin, the door barely open; the gap just wide enough to show his face, the weapon he held. As the navigator came running down the passage from the engine room Eglantine said, sharply, "That's close enough. Watch him. Burn his legs if he tries anything."
Shalout, like the captain, held a laser. He halted, twenty feet from Dumarest.
He said, puzzled, "He's riding Middle like the rest of us."
"Yes." Eglantine opened the door wide and stepped into the passage. "Proof of what I suspected, if I needed proof at all. Why should an honest man suffer the tedium of a journey when there is no need?"
Dumarest said, "Your drugs are old, Captain. They lack effectiveness. I woke and was riding Middle. I was about to obtain more quick-time from the cabinet. Now, perhaps, you will tell me what is wrong."
"The radio is ruined. You must have done it. Where are the components?"
"You need guns to ask me that?"
"They could be in his cabin," said Shalout. "Shall I search?"
For a moment Eglantine hesitated, then shook his head. He had the advantage and wanted to retain it. With the navigator in the cabin he would be left alone with Dumarest. "No. He will tell us where they are." The laser moved a little, menacing. "You will tell us."
Dumarest said, "Here?"
The passage was narrow, with an armed man at front and rear; he would be caught in the cross fire if he tried to attack. In the salon, perhaps, he would stand a better chance, even with Beint present. Arbush would, he hoped, be neutral if not an ally.
As if the man had caught his thoughts the sudden thrum of a gilyre rose from the compartment to send echoes along the passage; a stirring, demanding sound, hard, imperious.
A voice rode with it, bland, more than a little mocking.
"Are we to be left alone, my friend? Were you sent here to keep us out of the way? Does the Styast now carry two crews, when it used to carry one? Are secret deals being made and fortunes promised? If the trap has been sprung, where is the victim?"
Eglantine shouted, "Arbush! Shut your mouth!"
As the gilyre fell silent, Beint loomed at the end of the passage.
"So you've got him," he rumbled. "Good. Bring him in here so we all can listen to what he has to say."
He backed as they passed, his withered left hand rucked into his belt, his right holding a short club of some heavy wood. It made little slapping sounds as he struck it against his thigh. Arbush sat on the table, the gilyre on his lap, blunt fingers idly stroking the strings; tapping the wood so as to produce a soft thrumming interspersed with the whisper of simulated drums.
He said, "Captain, you could be making a mistake."
"No mistake." snapped Eglantine. "The radio proves that. Why should a man want to ruin the instrument?"
"Why did you want to use it?" Dumarest looked at the round face, the splintered glass of the eyes. "What need did you have for it? And why was I not told? Do you forget that I chartered this ship?"
"I am the captain!"
"And a thief. You took my money and reneged on the deal. Why?"
Eglantine shrugged. He was more relaxed now, the laser hanging loose in his hand, confident of his mastery.
"A man wanting to charter a ship for a single passage. A man without cargo who is willing to pay highly for the privilege. You could have bought High passage on a score of ships for what you paid. And then your demand we follow a random course. I asked myself why? Are you interested in the answer?"
"Tell me."
Let the man talk; while he did so he would relax even more. And his words would hold the attention of the others, reassuring them of their anticipated wealth. And, while he talked, it was possible to plan.
Dumarest moved a little, so as to rest the weight of his hip against the table. Shalout would have to be saved, his skill would be needed. Beint also; the engines needed constant attention if they were not to drop from phase. Arbush was an unknown factor; as yet he had shown himself to be a friend, but it would be a mistake to rely on him and he was expendable.
As was Eglantine.
Any ship was lost without its captain, but emergencies happened and Eglantine was a poor specimen of his kind. The condition of the Styast proved that. Without him it would be possible to reach their destination, and all navigators held a basic skill. Shalout could do what had to be done if Eglantine were to die.
And the man had to die.
Dumarest altered his position a little more as the captain talked, proud of himself, his conclusions.
"Ten thousand ermils," he said. "A healthy sum, but a man worth that could be worth much more. And a man does not run without cause. Then I remembered things I had heard on Tynan. A reward offered-need I say more?"
Dumarest said, "Why not? Are you afraid the others will know as much as you?"
"We share! It is agreed!"
"Share-how much? The little you choose to give them?" Dumarest shrugged, casual as he shifted position once more; edging along the table so as to narrow the distance between himself and the captain. "Or perhaps they trust you. Rely on your word-as I did!"
"You-?"
Dumarest moved, muscles exploding in a burst of controlled energy; the knife lifting from his boot as he neared the captain, thrusting as the gun lifted, catching the laser in his left hand to turn as the dead man fell, the hilt of the knife prominent over his heart.
"Drop the gun! The club! Do it!"
He fired as they hesitated, wood smoking, the club falling as Beint snatched away his hand.
"Shalout! Don't, you fool!"
The navigator dropped his gun at Arbush's shout. He looked dazed, numbed; eyes wide as he looked at the dead captain, the pool of blood in which he lay.