He said, patiently, "You are home now. Safe. Take something if you must but don't dwell on the past. It's over. Finished. Just forget it."
"You keep saying that. Do you think it so easy?"
"No," he admitted. "But sometimes it needs to be done." Then, as she made no comment, he added, "Do you need medical assistance? The shock-"
"Is one I can handle. She inhaled, inflating her chest, automatically throwing back her shoulders and tightening her stomach. Rising on her points she spun in a graceful pirouette then crossed the floor to where a cube glowed in kaleidoscopic shimmers. As she touched it the shifting rainbows stilled and music softly filled the air.
"Poisanard's Suite," she said. "You know it?"
"No."
"It's quite recent, the last thing he ever did. He composed it a month before he died. Some say that it holds the sum total of his life, but I disagree. He was too boisterous for that. He lived and, having lived, moved on. The music holds what is to come not what has gone. Listen and you will appreciate what I mean."
Listen for how long? And, while listening, what would he lose? From the window Dumarest could see the distant field, the ring of lights around the perimeter fence bright against the clouded sky. Even as he watched a ship lifted, seeming to hang poised for a moment, a shimmering bubble which darted upward wreathed in its Erhaft field, to dwindle, to vanish as it drove into space.
A ship he had missed because a woman had chosen to walk into danger.
A passage lost because of a coincidental meeting.
It had to be that. There had been no way of telling which route he would take or the time he would take it. The woman, as far as he could tell, was genuine and there had been nothing contrived about the way those who had accosted her had died.
His eyes shifted focus, looked at her reflection on the pane, the smooth, olive features, the eyes which looked into distance and not at his back. An intelligent woman-too intelligent to risk walking the Maze at night unless driven by a desperate need. Or perhaps she was simply ignorant-Tonge was not Juba and those accustomed to gentle worlds found it hard to accept the savagery normal on harsher planets.
Without turning he said, "What are you?"
"A dancer."
"A what?"
"A dancer. Ballet. On Tonge I was the prima ballerina of the Corps Mantage. You have seen ballet? You know something of it? A harsh discipline, Earl, and endless exercise. It takes skill and stamina and suppleness. It takes time and dedication. And then-" She shrugged and gestured, hands fluttering like pale moths against the pane. "I grew old. It is as simple as that."
"And came to Juba." He turned and stared into her eyes. "To dance?"
"To deal. When you are old in ballet, Earl, you are finished. Continue too long and bones grow brittle, sinews lose their elasticity and applause turns into derision. Now I deal in works of art. With luck fortunes can be made."
"How?"
"Not by finding rare and costly treasures, Earl, though that, too, at times. No, the thing is to find an artist who has yet to be appreciated. To buy his work cheap and then to sell it dear. To hold it, build his reputation, to display it, have it enhanced by select critical praise, then to cash in on the created demand."
"To rob," said Dumarest. "To pay the artist a pittance and then to make a pile. And you call the Maze a jungle?"
"It isn't the same," she protested. "A work of art is valueless until it has found a buyer. And once the artist is known he will get his reward. Once he is known," she added bitterly. "Once he is found. That's why I was in the Maze. To find a man who might know a man who-but why go on? It's hopeless."
"The prima ballerina of the Corps Mantage," said Dumarest softly. "Yet once you were a small girl leaning on a barre and trying to stand on your points. Did you think it was hopeless then? A waste of time even to try?"
"This is different. Have you ever looked for a needle in a haystack?"
Looked and was looking, but he said nothing of his search for the world of his birth.
"You must have clues, Sardia. The artist, for instance, you must have samples of his work. It is a man?"
"I don't know, Earl. It could be a man or a woman but I think it likely to be a man. A matter of instinct, I'll admit, and I could be wrong." Rising from where she sat she stilled the music and poured them both fresh drinks. Handing a glass to Dumarest she continued, "I'm following a rainbow and hoping for a pot of gold. Some paintings were offered to a gallery on Tonge and I was fortunate enough to be the one approached. I was an associate, but never mind that, the thing is I recognized the genius of their creator. Naturally I wanted to know more but the vendor could only tell me he'd bought them from a man on Juba. Someone here, in this city, who owns a shop close to the field. I saw him and he claimed ignorance of the origin of the paintings. I tried a little bribery and gained the address of a man who worked for the dealer at times. He lives in the Maze. I went to find him-the rest you know."
"How long have you been on Juba?"
"A couple of weeks. This place is rented. Why?"
"Two weeks. Did it take you that long to find the local dealer?"
"He was away and it took time to check him out. I had to scour the galleries and find out what I could before I approached him."
"And?"
"He admitted nothing, but that's normal, he'd want to retain his source of supply. Naturally I was casual in my approach. I acted the part of a tourist looking for an interesting souvenir. Luckily he had two parts of a triptych and I asked for the address of the artist so as to obtain the third. He wouldn't give it to me. The artist, naturally, wasn't the one I am looking for but it shows the man's caution. I'd hoped to learn more from his assistant."
And had failed and had almost lost her life and lacked the courage to try again. But Dumarest?
She said thoughtfully, "You could help me, Earl."
"No."
"Please." His refusal increased her desire to gain his aid. "I need you to help me. All it will take is a little time. You are accustomed to dealing with men like the dealer. He will respect you. And once we find the artist I promise you will not regret it. A share of what I make. A third of the clear profit."
"No."
"How much then? A half? A half of all we make, Earl. Equal partnership. I'll advance all expenses which will later be deducted." Hesitating, she added, "This agreement to be for the first items obtained. I-why do you smile?"
"As a dancer, Sardia, you make a good dealer."
"I am a dealer, and when you work for the Corps Mantage you learn to keep your wits about you. A deal, Earl?"
"No."
"But why not? Can't you spare the time? Don't you trust me?" Her voice hardened a little. "Is that it? Do you think I've been feeding you a pack of lies."
"Not lies, Sardia. But perhaps a dream."
"The coordinates of the world of solid treasure. The clue to a fabulous fortune. The whereabouts of Bonanza, maybe, or El Dorado, or Jackpot, Avalon or even Earth. I've heard them ail before. Men who try to cash in on ignorance or greed or who try to buy favors with a list of figures. Fools for trying it and bigger fools for thinking others can be so gullible. But I'm not trying to sell you a legend, Earl. Not the location of some mythical planet. My artist is real and I can prove it!" She vanished into a room which held a bed, reappeared holding a canvas which she thrust toward him. "Here!"
The painting was that of a child crying, and the artist had caught all the pain and torment of the universe in the young and innocent face.
"It's good," said Dumarest.
"Good? It's superb! Look at it, damn you! Look at it!"
A thing of ten by twenty inches, the background dark, the central figure luminated by a glowing, mottled ball. The child dressed in a nondescript gown so that it could have been of either sex. The face round, the eyes luminous, liquid with tears which fell over the cheeks, the little hands clenched, one holding a thorned rose, the other a tattered thing of rag and buttons. A doll which had given pleasure as the flower had given pain. On the hand gripping it, touches of red showed where blood had seeped from wounds caused by the thorns. Pleasure and pain-the summation of existence.