"He has found the Way?" Nimino was excited. "He has found the realm beyond?"
"As well as any man can find it. He is dead. Killed by a fall from the roof of his hotel in Nagash on Jacellon. Some say that he was drunk and attempted to fly. Others that he was summoned. A few whisper that he was assassi shy;nated, but that is rumor and rumor always lies."
"Dead." Nimino looked down at his ring and touched it with loving fingers. "Had he lived what might not that man have accomplished. He could even have found the holy world from which all men originated."
"Now that, at least, you cannot believe," said Yalung. "It is the stuff of legend and as frail as gossamer. Forgive me if I lose patience but I have heard such legends too often to be tolerant. The mystery planets found and lost again: Jackpot, Bonanza, El Dorado, a dozen others. Worlds of dreams and imagination born of longing and dying hope. I have traveled the galaxy and have never heard more than a rumor of any of them."
Dumarest looked down at his hands, then at those of the trader. Quietly he said, "Have you ever heard of Earth?"
"Earth?" Yalung's hands remained immobile. His eyes were enigmatic as Dumarest raised his head to stare into the yellow face. "A strange name for a world. I know of Sand, an odd place of almost total desert. A species of insect lives beneath the surface and constructs balls of natural secre shy;tions which have a slight value when ground and polished. But Earth? No."
"And you, Nimino?"
The navigator hesitated. "There are so many worlds- how can one man know them all? The name is strange to me, Earl, yet I cannot say there is no such place."
"How about Terra? Is that name familiar?" Dumarest shrugged as both men shook their heads. "Well, never mind. It isn't important."
Not if a life had no value and years of searching were of no account. Not if home meant nothing to a man or a quest had no substance. The questions had been automatic, born of the hope that someone, somewhere, would be able to give a positive answer. It was a slim chance, but one which had to be tried. Their response was another disappointment to add to the rest.
Dumarest picked up the deck of cards. "Well, gentlemen," he said. "Shall we play?"
III
dumarest stood at the head of the loading ramp and looked over the landing field at Hendris. It was small and, aside from the Moray, deserted. An acre of gritty soil lacking the usual perimeter fence, the surface scarred and blotched with weed. To one side a huddle of shacks stood in the shadow of a gaunt warehouse, flimsy structures advertising their poverty. More substantial buildings rested further back in the town, a listless flag signaling the whereabouts of a tavern. Edging the field a squat tower held the administration of shy;fices, the flat roof surmounted by the elaborate antennae of a supraradio.
A flash of yellow moved from the building: Yalung, prob shy;ably on his way to search for precious gems. Thoughtfully
Dumarest looked at the sky. It was dark, almost indigo, the ball of the sun halfway towards the horizon. It was a dull, angry red, the wide corona limned with sooty markings, the surface writhing as it fed on the dust. From a few parsecs it would be invisible, all radiation absorbed by the cloud before it could escape from the Web.
"Hey there!"
Dumarest looked down. A field loader had come from behind the vessel riding an antigrav raft loaded high with crates. He stared upwards, squinting.
"You the handler?"
"That's right."
"What happened to Elgart? I thought he was Sheyan's man."
"He was."
"Like that, eh?" The field loader shrugged. "Well, it's none of my business. You ready to take delivery?"
"Just a minute." Dumarest walked down the ramp until he stood level with the man. "When did the last ship leave here?"
"Three days ago. Heading Inside."
"And before that?"
"Maybe two weeks. Heading Inside." The man grinned. "I know what you're after, a ship out. Well, mister, you're not the only one. Sam Glegan at the hotel is getting fat on traders waiting to be carried out of the Web. It's been two months since the last ship headed that way and it could be as long again until the next."
Dumarest frowned. "Where's the next terminal?"
"Thermyle? That's in the next system. You could pick up a ship bound for there in maybe a month or so. Maybe less. They don't run much to schedule. Why the interest? You thinking of quitting the Moray?"
"Forget it." Dumarest looked at the crates. "Are they for us?"
"That's right. And there's three times as much waiting to be hauled. Where do you want it?"
"In the hold."
"Open up the hull and I'll oblige," said the field loader. "Failing that I can't do more than dump it. My job is to deliver it to the ship. How you get it inside is your problem." He guided the raft to the foot of the ramp and released the grapnels. Bobbing, the vehicle rose, an open frame be shy;hind the driver's seat. "Right," he said. "It's all yours."
The crates contained agricultural implements: hoes, ax heads, saw blades, scythes, plowshares, and rakes, together with rods and ingots of native iron. Each crate was heavier than the weight of a man. Dumarest lifted one and let it fall with a crash on the foot of the ramp. On normal vessels the loading ramp would have been powered, hooks and rollers carrying the cargo up to the hold where it could be stacked. On the Moray the power attachment refused to work.
The field loader delivered the second heap of crates as Dumarest walked from the vessel. He paused at the edge of the field looking to either side. Usually there would have been men looking for either work or passage but Hendris was a casual world and to wait for a ship was to starve. The edge of the field was deserted and Dumarest walked on to where the drooping flag hung over the tavern.
"Earl!" Claude shouted an invitation as he entered the long, bleak room. "Come and join me!"
The engineer sat slumped at one end of the bar, his broad, mottled face streaming with perspiration. One big hand was clamped around a tankard of fused sand. At his side Lin hovered, an attendant shadow. A straggle of men filled the rest of the place, most of them standing close to where Claude was sitting.
"Earl!" he shouted again. "Come and join me and my friends." His free hand thudded on the bar. "A drink for the handler!"
Dumarest ignored the foaming tankard the bartender slapped down before him. He said, "Claude, I want you back at the ship. The loading ramp isn't working."
"Why tell me?" The engineer emptied his tankard and reached for the one served to Dumarest. "The cargo's your job."
"And the ramp is yours. I'm not going to sweat because a fat, drunken slob is too lazy to do his work. Now get on your feet and get to it!"
Claude slowly rose from his stool, one big hand clenching the tankard. Thickly he said, "What did you call me?"
"A fat, drunken slob," said Lin. "I heard him."
"You stay out of this!" Dumarest didn't look at the stew shy;ard. Around him he heard the scuff of boots as men re shy;treated.
"A fat, drunken slob," said Claude softly. "A fat-"
His bulk belied his speed. He turned, his arm a blur as he smashed the edge of the tankard down on the counter, rising with a circle of jagged shards, thrusting them vicious shy;ly at Dumarest's face. Dumarest lifted his left hand, his palm smacking against the wrist, gripping, holding it firm- the broken tankard inches from his eyes. He could see the savage points, the little flecks of brightness in the fused sand, and thought of what the improvised weapon could do, what one similar to it had done on Aarn.
He twisted and, as the shattered tankard dropped to the floor, balled his right fist and struck at Claude's jaw.
"All right," he said to Lin as the engineer fell. "When he wakes up get him back to the ship." To the others stand shy;ing around he said, "You've helped him to drink his pay, now you can help him to do his work. I want six men to load the Moray. You six. Let's get on with it."
Nimino entered the hold as Dumarest was securing the last of the cargo. He stood by the open port, his slim figure silhouetted against the angry ball of the sun, the darkness of his skin merging with the darkness of shadow. Teeth and eyes caught reflected light and made touches of transient brilliance, fading gleams accentuated by the movements of his hand, the polish of his nails.
"I hear that you've been having a little trouble, Earl."