"You reminded me of someone."
"A woman?" She didn't wait for an answer. "It would have to be a woman. One with red hair, obviously, but redder than mine?" Her hand lifted to touch it and again light threw brilliance from her nails. Splintered reflections from metal inserts each honed to a razor edge and needle point. Talons Dumarest had seen before tipping the fingers of harlots plying an ancient trade. "Earl?" She was insistent. "What was her name? The woman I reminded you of, what was her name?"
"I've forgotten." A lie-he would never forget; but the subject was a dangerous one. Quickly he changed it. "I was told that you could ransom me if I agreed to help you. The guard is waiting."
"Let him wait."
"For how long, my lady?"
"Until I have decided. Until you have agreed."
"Agreed to what?"
She smiled and shook her head, a tress of hair falling to veil one eye, a strand which she lifted and replaced among the rest.
"My lady!"
"Why be so impatient, Earl? What waits for you if you leave this room? Do you prefer a cell? And afterwards the auction block and a life of contract-slavery? Or to be taken and hidden away and used by those who are not known to be gentle?"
The Cyclan? But if she knew of their interest in him then why not mention the name? A guess, he decided. Neither she nor the major was sure. The display of their seal had been a goad or a calculated stimulus to gauge his reaction. An old trick of any interrogator. Let slip a hint and then follow up; probing, using the information the victim lets fall to gain more. But what was the real connection between them? Why had he been sent to the woman?
"To help me," she said, when bluntly he asked the question. "And to help yourself at the same time."
"How?"
She stepped towards him, arms lifting to embrace him, her lips settling close to his ear. Her voice was low, a bare murmur, impossible to hear from outside or to be caught by any electronic device.
"To steal, Earl. To snatch the loot of a world."
* * * * *
From high to one side a man yelled. His shout drowned in the rasp and rumble of falling rubble, the pound of a pneumatic hammer thudding like a monstrous heart accompanying the snarling whine of a saw. Noise which filled the air with blurring distortions as dust veiled sharp detail.
The day had died and night reigned but still work continued under the glow of floodlights. A uniformed figure snarled a curse, then stiffened to salute as an officer barked his displeasure.
"Sorry sir, but these civilians-"
"Are our employers." The officer, young, a neat dressing on his forehead covering a minor wound, smiled at the woman at Dumarest's side. "Your forgiveness, my lady, but the man is fatigued. Battle tires a man and the war was a hard one." His hand rose to touch the dressing. "Even so he should have remembered his manners."
"You are forgiven, Captain." Her smile was radiant. "Your wound is not too serious, I hope?"
"I was lucky," he said modestly. "And medical aid was at hand."
"I'm glad of that. Well, goodnight, Captain. Perhaps we shall meet again. You are on duty here at night? I shall remember it."
"Captain Pring, my lady." His salute was from the parade ground. "If you need help be free to ask."
"A fool," she said as they moved on. "A typical soldier, Earl. A manikin to be manipulated as if it were a stuffed toy."
Dumarest stepped over a low pile of rubble. "Why don't you like mercenaries?"
"Isn't it obvious? They come and fight their stupid war and then make out they have done their employers a favor."
"And haven't they?" He smiled as he halted and turned to face her; a man taking a walk with an attractive woman, a couple engaged in idle conversation. In the darkness eyes could be anywhere. "Think of the alternative. Without mercenaries you'd need to train and equip your own forces with all the expense that entails. Those who died would be close; sons, fathers, brothers, sisters even. And those engaged in civil war tend to ignore restraints and so increase the destruction. All the employers of mercenary bands really lose is money. It is strangers who do the dying."
"Not strangers to each other, Earl," she said pointedly, "Comrades. Is it easy to kill a friend?"
He said harshly, "We came out here to talk. Two men have been following us but they are well out of earshot. You know them?"
"No, but they are probably watching to make sure you do not escape." Her hand rested lightly on his arm. "You were clever to spot them, Earl. Now, shall we talk?"
They found a tavern, a small place busy with uniformed men, off-duty mercenaries returning to the economy some of the money they had been paid. The sound of their voices and laughter was a susurrating din against which no eavesdropper would stand a chance. A female dancer writhed to the music of drums and pipes, cymbals clashing on fingers, knees, wrists and ankles. An indifferent performer, but she was scantily clad and that alone was enough to please the watchers.
"Flesh," said Dephine. Her voice held disdain. "Why do men hold it in such high regard? A body, a few wisps of fabric, a little movement and they roar their pleasure. Well, that is one harlot who will do well tonight."
"You condemn her?"
"No, but the men who will pay for her dubious pleasures -surely they must know how she regards them?"
"They have fought," said Dumarest. "Some of them have killed and all have risked their lives. Every coin has two faces, my lady. And death must be matched with life."
"So the urge to destroy is accompanied by the urge to create?" She nodded, thoughtfully. "You are a philosopher, Earl. And I will admit that, even to a woman, the pressure of danger is accompanied by the desire to be loved. A risk taken, life and wealth won and then-" Her hand closed on his fingers. "The need, Earl. The overwhelming need to be taken and to share in the euphoria of love. And you, after you have fought in the arena, do you feel the same?"
"The arena?"
"You're a fighter. Don't bother to deny it. I've seen them before. Men who set their lives against their skill with a blade, who fight, hurt, kill and risk being killed for the pleasure of those who watch. And afterwards, Earl, when it's over and you walk victorious from the ring, what then?"
A table stood to one side, away from the entertainment and so unoccupied. Dumarest led the way towards it, sat, ordered wine, and looked at Dephine as a serving girl set it down.
"I have no money."
"Here." She flung coins at the girl, and as she left, said, "You haven't answered my question, Earl."
"There are more important ones. Now what is this about robbing a world?"
"An exaggeration," she admitted. "Even though the prospect is a tempting one I must admit it is impracticable. But what I propose is not. The time is ripe, the situation ideal, circumstances ensuring our success. Soldiers are everywhere and the normal police have restricted authority. In a day or so the situation will have changed which is why we must act quickly."
"We?"
She ignored the question. "A ship is on the field with clearance from the military to leave at will. A cargo is waiting and all that remains is for it to be placed aboard. Everything has been arranged and the whole thing should go without a hitch. A neat plan, Earl, there won't even be suspicion. It's simply a matter of moving goods from one place to another; from a warehouse to a ship."
"And?"
She frowned. "What do you mean, Earl? That's all there is to it. We load up and are away."
"To where?"