"Why, Earl?" she insisted. "Why did you fight?"
"For money."
"Just that?" Her finger ran over his naked body drifting, caressing. "A man like you could get it in other ways. A rich woman needing a plaything, a man needing a guard. No?"
"No."
"Why not, Earl? You don't want to feed off a woman, right? And to be a guard is to take orders. I don't think you'd like to do that, take orders, I mean. But if you had the chance to be your own boss? To own your own business?"
He said, dryly, "Such as a stall in a market?"
"It's a living."
"For you, maybe. Not for me."
"Not good enough for you?" Her voice hardened a little. "Both the stall and me, perhaps? Is that it, Earl?"
"Is that what you think?"
"Then tell me I'm wrong," she demanded. "Tell me!"
"A stall selling succulent meats," he said bleakly. "Endless food-can you guess what that means to a traveler? I've known men who ate insects in order to stay alive, grass, slime, the droppings of birds. And a woman like yourself-a gift to any man walking under any sun."
"But not you, Earl." Reaching out she rested her fingers on his lips. "Don't argue, I know, you have to keep moving. Traveling, going from world to world, always drifting, never settling down. Why, Earl? What makes you do it?"
He said, "I'm looking for something. A planet called Earth."
"Earth?" He heard her sharp inhalation, the note of incredulity when next she spoke. "You must be joking. No world has that name."
"One does."
"But-Earth?"
"It's an old world," he said, his eyes on the ceiling, the cracks it contained. "The surface is scarred and torn by ancient wars. A great moon hangs in the sky and the stars are few at night. It's a real place, despite what legends say. I know, I was born there."
"And you want to go back?"
"Yes."
"Then why can't you? If you left it, you must know where it lies?"
"I was young," he said. "A scared and hungry boy. I stowed away on a ship and was luckier than I deserved. The captain could have evicted me. Instead, he allowed me to work my passage. I stayed with him until he died, then moved on."
Ship after ship, journey after journey, and each taking him closer to the Center where stars were close and habitable worlds thick. Moving on until even the name of Earth had been forgotten. The coordinates unregistered, unknown.
And then the search, the endless seeming quest, the hunt for clues. Earth existed, he knew it. One day, with luck, he would find it. One day.
"Earl." Her hands were gentle as they touched his forehead, his cheek. The caress a mother would give to a child, soothing, comforting. "Just don't worry about it, darling."
She thought he was deluded, maybe a little disturbed, a man following an empty dream. An impression he was content to leave.
"When will you set about making the arrangements for me to get on the field?"
"Later." She stretched beside him, muscles bunching, rounding the contours of her thighs, accentuating her torso, narrowing her waist. "Earl?"
The idol nodded, smiling as the clock ticked on, murdering the day.
* * * * *
The rendezvous was at dusk down by the wharves, in a small hut which held the stench of rotting fish, brine, the musty odor of nets. Dumarest was cautious as he approached. The woman could be genuine, but her contact have other ideas. Twice he scouted the area and then, satisfied he was not being followed, ducked through the narrow door. Stepping immediately to one side, his eyes were wide as he searched the inner gloom.
"You Dumarest?"
The voice came from one side, a harsh rasp which echoed from the rafters, the roof which half-filled one side of the hut. As Dumarest answered a light flared, settled to a glow. A lantern fed by rancid oil, fuming, adding to the smell. In its light, he could see a tall thin man with narrowed eyes and a mouth pulled upward by a scar into a perpetual sneer.
"Elmar Shem," he said. "We have a mutual friend, right?"
"Maybe."
"You're careful, I like that. Well, mister, if the price is right we can do business. What do you offer me to get on the field?"
"Unseen?"
"That's the deal. How much?
"Fifty."
"Too bad, mister, someone's been wasting my time."
"And another fifty when we part." Dumarest stepped forward towards the lamp, the table on which it stood. "A hundred total. Easy money for little work."
Shem sucked in his breath. He wore a faded uniform with tarnished braid. A checker at the field who owed the woman a favor and, so she'd claimed, could be trusted. Dumarest wasn't so sure.
"Well?"
"It's low," Shem complained. "They've got the field sewed up real tight. Every man is scrutinized and every load searched. God knows what they want you for, but it has to be something big."
"Me? Are they looking for me?"
"You fit the description." Shem hesitated. "There's even talk of a reward for the man who turns you in."
"From whom? Evron?"
"Well-"
"You're lying," snapped Dumarest. "And even if you're not, it's none of my concern. Evron's after me. He could be watching the gate and I don't want to be shot in the back as I pass through. Now, do we make a deal or not?"