There seemed no reason to wait, and yet the Hausi lingered. Hoping.
* * * * *
Dumarest was late in leaving the ship. Shajok was a bad world. He could tell, almost smell it as he descended the ramp. A planet which had little in the way of industry, a backward world on which it would be hard to find work, to earn enough to build a stake. It was too easy to become stranded in such a place, waiting, working for food if work could be found at all.
A road led from the field towards the town, a cluster of beggars at its side. Crippled men and a few crones, their eyes dull, waiting, hoping for charity which would never come. Winter would kill them off like flies, but more would take their place in the spring.
The town itself had the grim appearance of having once been a fortress. The houses were fashioned of solid stone, the roofs sharply pitched, the windows narrow and barred. Only the pennons gave a touch of gaiety, long streamers of brilliant color, all pointing towards the distant loom of the mountains. Dumarest studied them, looking for emblems or symbols, seeing nothing but a jumble of hues.
The square was fringed with open-fronted shops selling a variety of local produce; dried meats on skewers, woven carpets, basket work. There were masses of fruit dried and pounded, then compressed into blocks, things of stone and wood and metal to be used in any household. A smith was busy at a forge, the sound of his hammer strident over the hum and bustle of the crowd. In a corner of the square a woman fashioned pottery.
She was old, stooped, hair a wispy tangle over small, bright eyes. Her arms were bare to the elbows, hands grimed with a grayish clay. Dumarest paused, picking up a bowl, looking at the material of which it had been made. A gray, stone-like substance which he had seen before.
As he set the bowl down the woman said, "Anything special you're after, mister?"
"A few words."
"For free?"
"For pay." He dropped a few coins into the bowl. "Do you fire this stuff?"
"No." She came towards him, wiping her hands. "It's ground levallite mixed with a polymer resin. Leave it stand and it sets as hard as a rock. Why?"
Dumarest said, "Did you have a boy working for you once?"
"I've had a lot of people working for me. They come and they go. Why should I remember?"
More coins made metallic sounds as they joined the rest in the bowl.
"His name was Leon Harvey. Young, slightly built, probably came from a village somewhere. His face was a little peaked, if you know what I mean. He wanted to move on and see the galaxy."
"I remember." Wispy hair straggled as she nodded. "He came to me starving and I gave him a bowl of stew. Made him work for it, though. He hung on and I fed him, gave him a little money from time to time. Then he upped and vanished."
"Just like that?"
"They come and they go," she said. "I guess he found his way around, then made his move. It happens."
"Did anyone come looking for him?"
"No-are you?"
"He's dead," said Dumarest flatly. "I was hoping to take word to his folks. He left a little something I thought they might like to have. Where can I find them?"
Her shrug was expressive. "Why ask me?"
"He worked for you. He must have talked, mentioned his home, his family. No?" Dumarest deliberately scooped the coins from the bowl. "Too bad-I guess we both wasted our time."
"Now wait a minute!" Her hand gripped his arm with surprising strength. "We made a deal."
"Sure, I pay and you talk, but so far you've done no real talking."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"No?" Dumarest's voice lowered, became savage. "A youngster, tired, hungry, working for barely nothing. A stranger, and you say he didn't talk? Hell, woman, he'd have to say something. You were the only one he knew."
"He was on the run," she admitted. "I guessed that, and was sure of it when he ducked under the counter one day. A group was passing, some men from the mountains, I think. He took one look, then ducked."
"Nerth," said Dumarest. "He told me he came from there. Where is it?"
"I don't know."
"A commune." Dumarest jingled the coins. "A village, maybe." He saw the blank look in her eyes. "The Original People then? Damn it, woman, don't you know your own world?"
For answer she took a mass of clay, slammed it on the counter, gouged it with her thumbs.
"Shajok," she snapped. "At least a part of it. Here are the plains, here the field, here the town. And here," her fingers mounded the gray substance into a range of peaks, "here are the mountains. And in the mountains-" Her hand slammed down, fingers clawing, digging, leaving deep indentations. "-valleys. Places where God alone knows what is to be found. Maybe people calling themselves by a fancy name. Maybe communes of one kind or another. I don't know. I'm no hunter and I've more sense than to stick my head into a noose. And, mister, if you'll take my advice, neither will you. See those flags? When they fall, get under cover and fast. Get into shelter and stay there until the wind blows again."
"Why?"
"Because, mister," she said grimly, "if you don't, you'll stop being human, that's why."
* * * * *
The interior of the tavern was dark, a place of brooding shadows in which men sat and talked quietly over their wine. Too quietly, but much about Shajok was less than normal. The flags, the town itself, the odd atmosphere of the field. A place besieged, thought Dumarest. Or, a place which had known siege. No wonder that Leon, after a taste of normal worlds, had sworn that he would never return.
Leon, whom the old woman had known in more ways than she had admitted. The boy must have turned thief to gain the price of his passage. But the money couldn't have come from her. Somewhere else then, that was certain, but from where? Home, perhaps. It would be logical for him to have stolen before running away, but in that case why work for the woman at all? And who were the men who had frightened him?
Questions which waited for answers, but at least one problem could be solved now.
Kinabalu grunted as Dumarest dropped on the bench at his side. "My arm!"
"Will be released as soon as I know why you have been following me."
"You noticed? Good. Is that why you came into this place?"
"It serves." Dumarest tightened his grip. "The answer. Why are you interested in me?"
"Please!" Sweat shone on the Hausi's face. "The bone-you will break it! All I wanted was to offer you employment."
"Your name?"
Kanabalu rubbed his wrist as he gave it. Beneath the fabric of his blouse he knew that welts would be forming bruises which would make his flesh tender.
"Earl Dumarest," he said. "The handler gave me your name. I took the liberty of following you. That woman-why do you wish to find this place you call Nerth?"
"If she told you that, she must have told you the rest."