Dragon and Judge

Bolo inclined his head. "Thank you. I must say, it's nice to see a human face out here in the middle of nowhere."

  "Indeed," Jack agreed. "Perhaps after you're done for the day, you'd be able to join us for dinner." He caught the One's eye. "One Among Many? Would that be possible?"

  "Yes, of course," the One said.

  His voice and expression were polite enough. But Jack had lived with these people long enough to have picked up on all the smaller and more subtle touches of face and gesture.

  The One was worried. He was badly worried.

  "Sorry, but I can't," Bolo said. "I've got a ton of work to do, and not nearly enough time to do it all in." He paused, gazing at nothing as if thinking hard. "But I should be back here in two or three days," he continued. "Maybe we can find time then for a dinner or even just a lunch."

  "Sounds good to me," Jack said. "I guess we'll see you when we see you."

  "That you will," Bolo agreed, smiling as he nodded a farewell. He shifted his eyes to the One—"One Among Many," he said, nodding again. Then, brushing past Jack, he headed back to his aircar.

  The One stepped to Jack's side. "You should not have invited him back," he said, his voice dark. "We do not want him here."

  "7 want him here," Jack told him. "I think he's the key to some questions that need answering."

  "It will end in death," the One warned.

  Jack felt his throat tighten. "It usually does," he said. He gestured to Thonsifi, who had come up silently behind him. "I'll start hearing cases in an hour," he told her. "Can you get the complainants lined up for then?"

  She bowed her head. "I will," she said, and headed toward one of the apartment pillars.

  "You need to rest after your visit to the mine?" the One asked.

  "Actually, I need to walk," Jack said. Stepping around the other, he headed down the path toward the Great Hall.

  "Where are we going?" Draycos asked quietly.

  Jack took a deep breath. "To find the place where my parents were murdered."

  He had reached the nearest end of the Great Hall before Draycos spoke again. "You don't believe anymore that they died in the mine?"

  "No, they died right here in the canyon," Jack said, pausing at the base of one of the Great Hall's supporting pylons and looking around. It would most likely be on the far side, he decided, somewhere along the northern part of the river. The area up there was much more open than the part to the south.

  And now that he was looking, he could see the hint of where the pathways had once been. Stepping around the river side of the pylon, being careful not to step into the water itself, he headed along the ground beneath the building. "In fact," he added to Draycos, "I'd lay money that it was right in the middle of arguments in the case."

  Draycos stirred on his skin. "Apparently, I have missed something."

  "No more than I did," Jack assured him, feeling slightly disgusted with himself. "This thing above us is the Great Assembly Hall, right?"

  "Correct."

  "Why Great?" Jack asked. "Why not just call it the Assembly Hall?"

  He felt the K'da's sudden twitch of understanding. "Once there was also a Small Assembly Hall."

  "Exactly," Jack said. "Only eleven years ago, it was blown to bits, or at least wrecked enough that it couldn't be fixed. So they tore it down."

  "Or they didn't want evidence of what had happened to remain," Draycos said slowly. "Remember what the shuttle pilot, Eithon, said on the way?"

  "That there was danger in the mine."

  "Only the parts we visited seemed perfectly safe."

  Jack shrugged. "Scare tactics."

  "Or else the danger wasn't going to come from the mine itself," Draycos said.

  The skin on the back of Jack's neck gave an unpleasant tingle. Trying to look casual about it, he glanced over his shoulder.

  Bolo hadn't left. He was still standing by his aircar, fiddling with something in the rear storage compartment.

  Only what he was really doing was watching Jack. "Oh, boy," Jack murmured.

  "He's watching us?"

  "Oh, yeah," Jack said, turning back around to face forward. "He's trying not to look like it, but he is."

  "Perhaps we should abandon our search until later?" Draycos suggested.

  Jack shook his head. "Too late. He already knows I was in the mine—he would have seen the Golvins' shuttle parked at the entrance on his way in. And there's no reason why I should be walking around under here unless I was looking for something that's not here anymore."

  "Assuming he knows about that."

  "Oh, he knows," Jack said. "I know his type, Draycos— Uncle Virgil hung around with far too many just like him. They're all smooth and polite and professional on the surface, but underneath they're as vicious as anyone you've ever met. Their job is to fix other people's messes and loose ends. Usually by making a few messes of their own."

  Draycos seemed to digest that. "I doubt he will take any action right now," he said slowly. "Though if he doesn't fear the Golvins as witnesses against him . . . ?"

  "No, we're okay for the moment," Jack assured him. "Even if he doesn't mind shooting me in front of everyone, he still doesn't know how much I know or who I might have told it to. He has to worm all of that out of me before he makes his move."

  "I suppose that's reasonable," Draycos said, a little doubtfully. "What then is our strategy?"

  "Basically, we're going to play the game right back at him," Jack said. "See if we can figure out first who he is and what he knows."

  "A dangerous game."

  Jack sighed. "Yeah, but it's the only one in town."

  They reached the other end of the Great Hall and emerged again into the sunlight. Jack continued along the river, peering into the water and the muddy bank.

  A hundred yards from the Great Hall, he found it. "There," he said, squatting down and touching a small piece of blackened wood poking a couple of inches out of the mud at the edge of the river. "See it?"

  Draycos shifted across Jack's skin to where he could look through the neck of his shirt. "A piece of wood?"

  "A piece of burned wood," Jack corrected. "Very important difference." Carefully, he dug a finger into the mud beside the shard.

  And winced as his fingertip ran into something sharp. "There's more under the surface," he said, feeling around. "Feels like more wood . . . yeah. Yeah, there's a whole—feels like a round column of it. Sunk pretty deep, too."

  "A supporting pylon," Draycos said. "Like the Great Hall, only for the Small Hall they were able to use wood instead of stone."

  "Treated somehow to keep from rotting," Jack agreed, rinsing his hand off in the river.

  "Yet a bomb strong enough to destroy any structure this size would have caused serious damage to the entire canyon," Draycos said. "I believe your earlier conclusion was right: the Golvins themselves completed its destruction."

  "And have been shaking in their vests ever since, wondering if someone would come looking for the missing Judge-Paladins," Jack said grimly.

  "Not all of them, I think, have such guilty consciences," Draycos said slowly. "Otherwise, why would any of them have brought you here?"

  "You're right," Jack said, nodding. "Only the One and maybe a few more know the whole truth."

  "A truth which we need to learn."

  "Oh, we will, buddy," Jack promised darkly. "Trust me. We will."

  * * *

  Chapter 18

  The next morning, Alison had just finished dressing when Dumbarton and Mrishpaw arrived at her door. "They're ready for you," Dumbarton said.

  "What, no breakfast?" Alison asked.

  "They've got something there," Dumbarton said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder as the Brummga scooped up her bag of disguised burglar equipment. "Come on, come on—they're waiting."

  They went back upstairs, across the main foyer, and up a wide staircase to a second-floor balcony. From there they walked down a nicely furnished corridor, then up another set of stairs, and finally
to a domed chamber the size of a small conference room, only much more nicely furnished.

  As Dumbarton had said, Neverlin and Frost were waiting for her. They were seated in comfortable chairs beside a line of five safes, looking rather like spectators at some sporting event. Along the side wall a small breakfast buffet had been laid out, with both hot and cold food. The aromas rising from it made Alison's stomach growl.

  And over in the far corner, seated in a chair that looked rather like a throne, was an old, wrinkled, glowering Brummga.

  "Morning, Kayna," Frost greeted her with a sort of gruff politeness. "Ready to start?"

  "As soon as I've eaten something," Alison told him, nodding over at the old Brummga. "Who's your friend?"

  An instant later, a hard blow across her shoulder blades sent her sprawling flat onto the thick carpet. "Hey!" she yelped, rolling back up into a sitting position and glaring up at the two mercenaries behind her. "What was that—?"

  She broke off, throwing herself into a diving roll that barely managed to get her out of the way as Mrishpaw swiped at her again.

  "Mrishpaw—stand down!" Frost snapped.

  But the other ignored him. Taking a long step toward Alison, he raised his hand for another try. "Patri, call him off," Neverlin said quietly. "We need her alive and unharmed."

  There was no order that Alison could hear. But to her relief, Mrishpaw jerked to a halt. Fora moment he glowered down at her, then stepped back to Dumbarton's side. Breathing hard, Alison turned her head to look at the old Brummga.

  He was gazing back at her from his throne, his face expressionless. "Does it have learned respect?" he rumbled.

  Alison took a careful breath. "I humbly crave the pardon of the Patri Chookoock," she said.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Frost stir a little at the subtle edge of sarcasm beneath the words. Fortunately, the Patri Chookoock didn't seem to hear it. "You may can stand," he said.

  "Thank you." Keeping a wary eye on Mrishpaw, Alison got her feet under her and stood up. Jack had told her about his casual mistreatment here at the Chookoock estate. She should have been ready for some of the same.

  "Now; shall we try it again?" Neverlin asked. "Are you ready to begin?"

  Alison glanced sideways at the Patri. "I will begin at your pleasure," she said. "May I humbly suggest that I'll do better if I'm allowed to eat first?"

  "You may indeed so suggest." Neverlin turned to the Patri. "Patri?"

  "It were is better," the Patri rumbled. "Allow it to eat."

  Neverlin gestured to the buffet. "Go ahead."

  "Thank you," Alison said, bowing to each of the three in turn before crossing over to the food. It irritated her no end to have to play this kind of humility game, especially in front of a creature who made his money buying and selling living beings.

  But the very first thing her father had taught her was not to let emotion get in the way of the job. If it took a little groveling to get what she wanted out of these people, she could handle that.

  She ate a quick breakfast, making sure to thank the Patri twice more between bites, and then set to work.

  The safes were tricky, though not quite as bad as the ones she'd opened aboard ship, and it took the entire day to get them open. But by the time the sun was sinking behind the white wall, even Neverlin was convinced. "Excellent," he said as he peered into the last of the empty safes and then closed the door again. "You were right, Colonel—she does seem to have some talent in this area."

  "Or at least some very good equipment," Frost said.

  "Either serves our purposes." Neverlin turned to the old Brummga. "Patri?"

  For a long moment the Patri continued to stare at Alison, as he'd done pretty much nonstop the entire day. "It may try."

  "Excellent," Neverlin said. "Colonel?"

  Frost gestured, and Dumbarton and Mrishpaw detached themselves from a section of the wall near the door. "Escort her back to her room," he ordered them. "Instruct the slaves to give her whatever she wants for dinner." He shifted his attention to Alison. "You'll start first thing in the morning," he added. "I suggest you go to bed early and get yourself a good night's sleep."

  His eyes narrowed in silent warning. "You'll need it."

  With their entire day having been spent in the testing room, Taneem hadn't had a chance to eat anything since the previous evening. Alison made sure to order a large dinner, then left the K'da hiding under the bed while she had herself a quick bath to soothe away her tension.

  She was dried and dressed by the time the meal arrived, brought in again by Shoofteelee. The young Wistawk was polite enough, but there was none of the simmering hope and enthusiasm he'd shown the previous evening. He accepted her thanks for the food, told her he'd overheard nothing new from Neverlin or Frost, and left.

  After they'd eaten—with Taneem reluctantly but gratefully taking most of the food—Alison settled down for that good night's sleep Neverlin had recommended.

  She'd been asleep just over two hours when a sudden hissing roar in her ear jerked her awake.

  "What is it?" Taneem whispered anxiously.

  "It's all right," Alison whispered back, forcing her muscles to relax. Ever since Neverlin had taken Virgil Morgan's shoulder bag from her she'd been waiting for him to open it. She'd therefore gone to bed each of the past two nights with the receiver from the bugged picture nestled in her ear.

  Apparently, the moment had come.

  The brief roar of paper rubbing against paper faded away, to be replaced by the sound of familiar human voices. "—know what you expect to find in there," Frost was saying. "Or why you even care about Morgan anymore. We've got the girl, and she's at least as good as he is."

  "The question is whether we have her, or whether she has us," Neverlin said pointedly. "I don't like the fact that we can't pull up a single clue as to who she really is."

  "Which argues that she's exactly what she claims to be," Frost countered. "Only an especially good professional thief would be able to keep her data and stats out of the system."

  There was a tickling on Alison's neck as Taneem slid around her skin, angling for a spot where she could hear better. She ended up with her triangular dragon's head stretched partway across Alison's own face, her ear just below the receiver.

  "Maybe," Neverlin said. "Well, well, well."

  "What is it?" Frost asked.

  "It seems our master safecracker Virgil Morgan has been thinking about changing specialties."

  "To what?"

  There was a faint crinkling of paper. "To blackmail."

  "Yes, I saw those pictures," Frost said. "I couldn't quite make out what was happening."

  "Obviously, neither could Morgan," Neverlin said. "Or else he was smart enough to know the police wouldn't be able to figure them out either. I wonder where he got them."

  "What are they?" Frost asked.

  "Pictures placing me at a little problem we had a few years back on—well, as a matter of fact, right there on Semaline," Neverlin said. There was another shuffling of papers. "All these other papers are from the same thing. Interesting."

  "Just how little was this problem?" Frost asked. "Specifically, can Morgan call the cops down on us?"

  "The cops would first have to find us," Neverlin said. "Assuming you hid the Advocatus Diaboli properly that's not likely to happen. Besides"—there was a rustling of papers—"we've got all his evidence."

  "Unless he has more."

  "Unlikely," Neverlin said. "It's clear that he's been adding to his collection over the years. No, I think everything's probably here in this one nice neat package."

  Alison nodded to herself. So that was the reason for the Essenay's occasional visits to Semaline. Jack's uncle hadn't been taking money out of the lockbox, as Jack had thought. He'd instead been putting new blackmail material in.

  "And if he has copies?" Frost persisted.

  "I suppose that's possible," Neverlin conceded, a hint of doubt creeping into his tone. "Though these are
definitely the originals."

  "You'd better hope so," Frost warned. "Because the fact that after eleven years a Judge-Paladin has suddenly shown up and tripped your alarms ought to make you pause for thought."

  "I suppose you're right," Neverlin said in a voice that sent a shiver up Alison's back. "There's no point in taking chances, especially not now. The next time Bolo checks in, I'll order him to wreck the mine."

  "Will that be enough?" Frost asked.

  "It'll bury any evidence of motive," Neverlin said. "That, plus the fact that Morgan doesn't have his original documents anymore ought to do it."

  "I meant do you think you should also do something about the Judge-Paladin," Frost said. "Braxton's making enough noise out there without the Judge-Paladins' Office letting itself in on the act."

  "I suppose you're right there, too," Neverlin conceded. "And it's not like Bolo hasn't killed a Judge-Paladin before. He can handle the job."

  There was another hiss of papers sliding over each other. "Meanwhile, we have a busy day tomorrow," Neverlin's voice continued, sounding more distant. Apparently, he'd put the papers back into the shoulder bag. "I think I'll check once more on the girl's record search, then get to bed."

  "Good idea," Frost said, and there was a subtle double creaking of leather as both men stood up. "Because I've seen her before," he added, his voice fading away. "I know I have."

  "You'd better figure out where," Neverlin warned, his voice fading the same way. "And fast."

  There was the sound of a door closing, and then silence.

  Alison waited another minute to make sure they weren't coming back. Then, grimacing, she pulled the receiver from her ear. "You get all that?" she whispered.

  "Yes," Taneem said, sliding back to her usual place across Alison's back, legs, and arms. "This sounds very bad."

  "It'll be all right," Alison said, forcing a confidence she didn't especially feel. So far Neverlin seemed to be concentrating his search on Internos and alien databases, official as well as criminal. If he stayed with those, she should be fine.

  But if it occurred to Frost to dig into the Malison Ring's own database . . .

  "What was that?" Taneem whispered suddenly.