A stooped crone was next. "Cold drinks, my lord, iced to tantalize and tease the tongue."
The small-time entrepreneurs of Scar were taking full advantage of the boredom attending late summer. A man sidled close and spoke in a whisper.
"A half share in a clump of golden spore, yours for the cost of a high passage."
From one side a man droned as he stooped over a crystal ball filled with minute and swarming life.
"See the epic struggle of the sharmen as they battle with alien spores. Watch as they turn into mobile balls of destructive vegetation. The next show about to commence. Two places yet to be filled."
A woman laughed as she danced to the dull thudding of a drum, coins scattering around her naked feet.
A roar lifted from the center of the crowd. A man rose, stripped to the waist, struggling against the hands which gripped hip and shoulder. He spun, twice, then was dashed to the ground.
"Brother!"
Dumarest turned to face the monk, looked at the lined face beneath the shielding cowl. "Brother Glee, how can I help you?"
"Not I, brother, but one who claims to be a friend of yours, a woman of Lowtown. She has a scarred cheek and neck."
"Selene?" Dumarest frowned. "She sold me food and shelter."
"Even so, brother. She asked for you."
"Why? Is something wrong?"
The monk nodded. "Of your charity, brother, will you come?"
* * *
She looked very small huddled on her bed of rags. The scar was hidden and, with her cropped hair, she seemed more like an adventurous boy than a mature woman who had seen too much of the hard side of life. Then she turned and Dumarest could see the rags and blood and the damage done to the side of her head.
"Earl?"
"Here." He found her hand and gripped it. "What happened?"
"Earl." Her fingers tightened. "I'm frightened, Earl. It's so dark, and it shouldn't be dark, not in summer, not like this."
Dumarest raised his head and looked at the monk standing on the other side of the bed. Brother Glee spoke before his junior could answer Dumarest's unspoken question.
"We were selecting those for work in the sheds of agent Zopolis. Men and women in the greatest need. Selene was one. We entered and found her lying in a pool of blood; she had been struck down."
"Why?"
"I do not know, brother," said the monk quietly. "But it was rumored that she had money hidden away."
Dumarest turned, looking at the interior of the hut. The corner which had held his bed was a jumbled mess. The chests had been wrenched open; scraps of fabric littered the floor. Even the plastic fragments lining the sagging roof had been torn down. Someone had searched the place with a furious desperation.
"Earl." Her voice was a fading whisper. "It's so dark, Earl, so dark!"
"The blow crushed the side of her head," said the junior monk quietly. "She is paralyzed down one side and totally blind. I have managed to staunch the bleeding, but there is extensive damage to the brain." He paused and then added, "There are other mind injuries: bruises and lacerations together with burns."
"Torture?"
The monk inclined his head. "It would appear so; she was gagged when we found her."
Dumarest leaned closer to the woman on the bed. "Selene," he said urgently. "Who did it? Tell me who did it."
Her fingers closed even tighter on his. "Earl," she breathed, "You came. I needed you and you came."
"Who did it?"
"A man," she said. "He wanted money."
"Which man? Did you know him? Tell me his name."
"Name?" She moved a little. "Hurt," she said, whimpering. "He hurt me."
"The damage to her brain has obviously impaired her memory," said the junior monk softly. "It could be that she is unable to tell you more."
"She must." Anger made Dumarest curt. "A woman," he said, "harmless, trying to make a living the best way she could-and some money-hungry swine comes to her home and does this to her." He stooped even lower over the bed, his lips almost touching her ear. "Selene!" he said sharply. "Listen to me."
"Earl?"
"You must tell me who the man was. Who did this to you?"
She moved a little as if trying to escape from something unpleasant.
"Tell me," he insisted.
"Rings," she said abruptly. "Rings!" Then, with a fading softness, she continued, "Earl, don't leave me. Earl… don't leave me."
He felt the fingers locked on his own suddenly relax, watched as the cropped head turned, falling on the crude pillow, hiding the scar for the last time.
Dumarest rose, stepping back as the monk gently closed her dead eyes and turning to face the silent figure of Brother Glee.
"You came here looking for her," he said. "Did you see anyone leave as you approached? Someone who stood close to the hut, perhaps, or who may have passed you on the path."
Beneath the shadow of the cowl the eyes of the monk were steady on his own. "What do you intend, brother?"
"I am going to find the man responsible for this," said Dumarest rightly. "He will not do it again."
"Murder, brother?"
"Justice, monk, the only kind of justice there is on this planet. Or do you wish to see the man who did this escape?"
Brother Glee shook his head. Dumarest was right. There was no law on Scar, no police or other authority which had any interest in what had happened. But, if he should prove too hasty, what then?