She was insistent. "I did not leave Eldfane to be stranded on this apology of a world. You seem able to amuse yourself, but I cannot. I see no pleasure in walking through slums, eating with commercially-minded fools or watching unsavory images. I refuse to suffer longer because of your whims."
"Suffer?" Jocelyn stepped close and looked into her eyes. "Are conditions so unbearable?" he asked softly. "I had the impression that we were on our honeymoon. There are many ways, in such circumstances, to alleviate the slow passage of time."
"Must you talk like a peasant!" Memory of the recent entertainment brought a red flush to her cheeks. "There will be time enough to conceive an heir after we land on Jest. Until then, I demand to be spared further humiliation. At least quick-time will shorten this interminable period of waiting. I shall, of course," she added, remembering the girl's nubile beauty, "expect Keelah to attend me."
Jocelyn frowned, understanding the innuendo, and his face grew hard. "I am sorry. It would not be convenient at this time to grant your request."
She looked at him, eyes wide with incredulous anger.
"You are my wife," he said. "As such, your place is by my side. Because things are a little tedious, do you imagine that you can escape them by running away?" His voice was a hammer driving home the point it was essential to make. "Jest is not a soft world, Adrienne. There is much that will prove tedious and unpleasant but will have to faced. I suggest that you begin to learn the basic elements of self-discipline."
He was being unfair and knew it. Eldfane, also, was not a soft world; but the aristocracy had cushioned themselves against its natural harshness by becoming encysted in ritual and formality. Now, as his wife, Adrienne expected to be the head of such a world within a world. It was best to disillusion her now.
Training helped her to contain her anger. "You are well named," she said coldly, "but I do not appreciate the jest. Neither, do I think, will my father."
He bridled at the threat. "You wish to break the contract? Let me warn you that, if you do, you will not be welcome at your father's house. He has too many daughters still unwed. Why else do you think he was so eager to give me your hand?"
Immediately he repented of his cruelty. "Adrienne," he said, softly. "I did not marry you simply for your dowry, nor because we are genetically compatible and should have no trouble obtaining issue. I married you because-"
"You needed a wife to breed more fools," she interrupted savagely, "a woman to bring you goods and credit and the loan of trained and intelligent minds. Well, you have those things, but do not expect to gain more. And do not expect me to aid you with your insane projects. I do not relish being the butt of lesser folk. I, at least, have dignity."
"And can you live on that?" Her rejection sharpened his rage. "You dislike slums, but are there no slums on Eldfane? You sneer at commercially-minded fools, but who else is to plot our prosperity? Unsavory images are only what you make of them and, in any case, who are you to either judge or condemn?" He fought his anger, drawing air deep into his lungs and wondering where his sense of the ridiculous had gone. Now, above all, he needed the soothing balm of humor. "Scar is a backward world," he said. "There is no industry here, no real population, certainly no ruling class. These people will mostly be gone at the end of summer and we shall, most probably, never see any of them again. So, my dear, why be concerned over your image?"
"Is pride a garment to be taken off and put aside?" Her voice was thin and acid with dislike. "I gain no pleasure from this conversation. With your permission, my lord, I will retire."
He sighed as she swept from the room. Women, who can gauge their emotions? Perhaps I've been wrong to deny her the use of quick-time. The hours drag and who knows what mischief a bored and idle woman might do? And yet she has to learn, accept the fact that life has to be lived, if nothing else.
He sat down and picked up his book. He held it in one hand as he stared at the cover, but he did not see the stained and crumbling material beneath the plastic seal. He was thinking of other things. Jellag Haig for one. The trader was hovering on the brink of decision, a little more pressure and he would surely yield.
Thoughtfully, Jocelyn leaned back in his chair.
It would be best to make him a baron, he decided, to begin with, at least. Later, if he proved himself, he could be elevated to an earl or even a duke, but first he would be a baron.
Baron Jellag Haig of Jest.
It made a satisfying mouthful and would please his family. He would have an armored crest together with a residence and an estate, a small residence and a big estate.
Land was cheap on Jest.
Chapter Five
Ewan sat at his table, deft hands busy as he manipulated his shells. The little ball bounded from one to the other, vanishing only to reappear and vanish again.
"A test of skill," he droned in his flat, emotionless voice. "Now you see it, now you don't. Pick the shell it is under and I will double your money. The more you put down the more you pick up. Why risk your neck when you can get rich the easy way? Hurry, hurry, hurry. Hit while the game is hot."
Like the room, he thought, the station, the whole stinking planet. Late summer on Scar was the anteroom of hell. He glanced around beneath hooded eyes, his hand moving mechanically and his voice droning its attention-getting chant. No one took any notice; business was bad.
Business had been bad all through the season. There had been the usual flurry at the end of spring when those in deep sleep had awakened eager for a little excitement, but lack of a reliable protector had made him cautious. He'd been forced to play carefully, letting too many win too often, hoping to recoup later in the season.
Later could be too late. Those who had been lucky would be in a hurry to leave the planet, and those that hadn't would be conserving their money in order to pay for deep sleep or, if they lacked enough for that, hugging every coin to see them through to the next summer. A few would be desperate enough to take a risk, but they would have little to lose.
"Hurry, hurry, hurry," he droned. "Pick the shell with the ball and double your money. Step up and match the quickness of your eye against the swiftness of my hand." He scowled at the continuing lack of attention,
"You're getting good," said Dumarest. He walked from behind the gambler and sat down facing him. "Real good. You could almost pass for an honest man."
"I am an honest man," said Ewan. "I am exactly what I appear to be." He looked up, studying the other man. "You've been out a long time, Earl. Find anything good?"
Dumarest shrugged. "The usual. A few clumps which might pay enough to keep us going."
"You and Clemdish?"
"That's right."
Ewan nodded and then abruptly pushed away his shells. "I saw you when you came in," he said. "The pair of you. You both looked all in, but Clemdish was up and about some time ago. My guess is that you carried him, did all the work."
"You guess wrong," said Dumarest. "I'm not that stupid. If I take a partner, he does his full share." He changed the subject. "How's business?"
"Not so good. Ewan pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. I've had to work under a handicap. No protection," he explained. "And money seems to be tighter than ever. Have you heard the gossip?"
"About the ship with the joker?" Dumarest nodded. "I heard."
"A weird character," summed up the gambler. "But he isn't the only one." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Listen, if you've found anything really good, be careful; I mean extra careful. There's something odd going on, too many men hanging about for no obvious reason. I've seen it happen before. A lot of good men seemed to vanish about that time."
"Jumpers?"
"I don't know. But when a man comes back from harvesting what he's found, he's liable to be tired and a little careless. If someone was waiting for him, he wouldn't stand much of a chance."
"That's obvious," said Dumarest.
"Sure, it is, but if I can think of it, then so can others." Ewan reached out and touched his shells, moving them casually with the tips of his fingers. "There's a few of them in here right now."
Dumarest didn't move.."Where?"
"Over at the bar, the group in the far corner. And there's something else: I overheard someone talking about a ring." The shells made a little sliding sound as Ewan moved them from side to side. "A ring like the one you're wearing."
Dumarest frowned. "I don't get it. Why should they be interested in my ring?"
"I didn't say they were," corrected the gambler. "But there's one sure way to find out."
"Sometimes," said Dumarest, "you make pretty good sense."
He rose, smiling as if at a joke, and casually turned. Three men stood engaged in conversation, one of them looking in his direction. The man was a stranger. He crossed to where Zegun stood before his wares, and managed to catch a glimpse of the other two. Both were unfamiliar. None of the three bore any resemblance to the cat-man or his companion. They could have been entrepreneurs, minor traders, or belated prospectors, but Ewan knew his people.
"Hello, Earl." The vendor smiled his pleasure. "Glad to see you back. I was beginning to wonder if you'd had an accident. You were both out a long time."
"We took a good look around," said Dumarest. "One thing I'll say for Clemdish, he certainly knows how to live off the land. He even found some drinkable water."