"Earl?"
"They were waiting for me. There could be others."
"Then we'd better get out of here." Branchard scooped up a discarded weapon. "Let's go!"
They found a place in a small inn towards the center of the town; a discrete place with a troupe of dancers moving gracefully to the tap of a drum, gossamer fabrics catching varicolored light so that they seemed to move in a kaleidoscope of subtle luminescence. The wine was worth less than a tenth of what they paid, but the price was for entertainment and privacy. In the glow of an emerald lantern, Branchard examined the weapon he had found.
"A dart gun," he commented. "Vibratory missiles which throw the central nervous system all to hell. They can cripple, but rarely kill. Whoever was after you, Earl, didn't want you dead. Robbers, maybe?"
"Maybe." Dumarest looked at his shoulder. The plastic was torn, the mesh beneath bright. Unable to penetrate, the missile had left him unharmed.
"But you don't think so." Branchard was shrewd. "You could be right. Three men, armed like they were; it doesn't make sense. One would have been enough, but I guess they wanted to make sure."
Dumarest said, "I waited. What kept you?"
"I had trouble finding Eglantine."
"And?"
"I found him," said Branchard heavily. "Earl, you're crazy. His ship's a wreck. If you want to commit suicide there are a hundred more pleasant ways. Listen," he added urgently, "there's no need for going off like that. Stick with the Tophier. We're doing well, mostly thanks to you, and we can do better. Why waste all you've made on chartering a vessel which won't be able to hold air for much longer, let alone get where you want it to? Why not use the Tophier! Hell," he said dryly, "we can use the trade."
"Where are you heading when you leave Tynar?"
Branchard shrugged, "It depends on what we can get as cargo, Earl. Maybe Lochis with metals, or Hemdalt with stones. Branch, even if we can get nothing but local products. Anywhere which will show a profit. You know that."
"Yes," said Dumarest. "And so do others."
"Those after you?" The captain frowned. "I've not asked, Earl, because it's your business. I figured that if you wanted me to know you'd have told me. But I can guess. You've got powerful enemies, right?"
Dumarest nodded.
"And I can make a guess that they are fond of wearing scarlet. That's why you had to leave Chard in a hurry. Well, no matter; as it turned out they did me a favor. Now I want to do you one. To hell with profit. Give the word and I'll take you anywhere you want to go. I mean it, Earl. Anywhere."
For any captain to make such an offer was rare, for a Free Trader unknown. Dumarest poured Branchard more wine.
"Thank you, but no."
"Why the hell not?"
For reasons Dumarest didn't want to explain. Already he had stayed with the Tophier too long; but the last port of call had been bad as regards easy shipping, the one before even worse. Now they had found him: the city was alive with potential enemies and, once they learned of the cargo the ship would be carrying, any cyber would be able to predict where it would next land. And that would not be necessary. Already the ship would have been planted with detectors, arrangements made to negate any plan of escape he might have considered, using the ship as a vehicle.
He said, "If I leave with you we'll be followed. Burned out of space, maybe. You want to risk that?"
Branchard glowered at his wine.
"Well?"
"No, Earl, I'll be honest. The Tophier is all I have. Once it's gone I'll be no better than a stranded traveler. But would they really do that?"
"They'd do it."
For the sake of the secret he carried. The correct sequence of units which formed the affinity-twin. The means by which one mind could dominate another, to the extent of literally taking over mind and body. To use a subjective host to gain a new existence; to see and taste and feel, to enjoy a completely new life. A bribe no old man could refuse, no aging matron resist.
"All right, Earl." Branchard accepted defeat. "You'll do as you think best, but I still think you're crazy to ride with Eglantine. What else do you want me to do?"
"Nothing." Dumarest looked towards the stage. The dancers had gone, replaced by three women who sang like angels; the thin, high notes of their song rising like the sigh of wind, the thrum of harps. "Just be honest. Make a point of telling people what you're carrying and where you are going. Someone will ask for passage-give it to him. If anyone asks about me, tell them the truth. I've shipped out, but you don't know where. Tell them about Eglantine if they press. Remember that you've got nothing to hide, nothing to answer for."
And, if he was lucky, nothing would happen to him or his vessel. He would be watched, followed perhaps; checked for a while and then forgotten as no longer being of importance. Forgotten-and safe.
Branchard finished his wine.
"So this is it, Earl. Goodbye. I guessed it would have to end. Do I have to tell you that, anytime we meet, you've always got a friend?"
"No." said Dumarest. "You don't have to tell me that."
"We'd best not leave together, in go out the front door and you take the one next to the stage. It leads to a back alley. Turn left and climb the wall. Go right and you're heading towards the field. Eglantine is expecting you." Branchard blew out his cheeks. "Look after yourself, Earl."
* * * * *
Eglantine was small, fat: his face creased like a prune, his eyes twin chips of agate, his teeth startlingly white. His ship was like his clothes; patched, worn, soiled with stains.
"Earl Dumarest." He gestured to a chair in the dingy room used as a salon. "Branchard told me about you. You want to charter the Styast, right?"
"You know it."
"But the terms of charter were a little vague. And, as yet, I've seen no money."
"The terms are what I say." Dumarest was curt. "Ten thousand ermils to the next planetfall."
"Which will be?"
"Where I say after we have left Tynar." Dumarest jingled the money; thick, octagonal coins each set with a precious gem, accepted tender on any world. "If you've changed your mind say so now. There are other ships."
"But none as cheap," said Eglantine quickly. "And, perhaps, none available. But let us not be hasty. All I know is that you want to charter my ship. To the next planetfall, you say; but that could be a world on the other side of the galaxy. Where's the profit in that? A man has to know what he's selling."
"And buying," snapped Dumarest. "From what I hear your vessel is a wreck. Maybe I'm making a mistake."
"Maybe," Eglantine shrugged and spread his ringed hands. "What man can claim that never in his life, has he made a mistake? And yet why should we quarrel? You need my vessel and I am available. All I ask is for a little information. What cargo will you be carrying?"
"None."
Eglantine hid his surprise. No cargo, which meant that Dumarest was in a hurry to get away and had no wish to travel on a normal ship. Charters were never cheap, but had certain advantages; and why should he object when the money was in plain view? Yet old habits died hard. A man willing to pay so much might be pressed to pay even more.
Then he looked again at the man before him, and changed his mind. In any game of bluff Dumarest would be the winner. In any confrontation he would never lose. There was that look about him, the hard sureness of a man who had never known the protection of House, Guild or Organization; who had early learned to rely on no one but himself.
But still he had to assert his position; as captain he was in command.