“Sigsman gave that to the Holder four seasons ago when we wished certain privileges. But—a Jat does not leave its bond master. That needs some thinking about also.
“Tssek must have come to a boil. But why this woman with them? She is a new complication.”
“What we can learn, Veep, we shall.”
“You continue to do very well, Ho-Sing. I am well pleased.”
“One asks no more than that, Veep. I have already ordered that a strict watch be kept.”
It was the third day after their return to Wayright and Zurzal had been summoned twice to service headquarters. He returned each time with a flaring frill and a refusal to talk for a while after pacing the room like a caged orzal. The scanner had been carefully returned to the guardianship of the hive as if the Zacathan feared that it might disappear were he to leave it out of safekeeping.
Jofre had known something of impatience also. He needed weapons. Even the Makwire was lost to him now and he felt almost as if he had been stripped of his clothing as well. On the third morning he ventured to break into Zurzal’s preoccupation with a mention of this point.
“Of course!” Zurzal was immediately attentive. “A man must always be supplied with the tools of his trade if he is to be set to work. But this is not a place where I have the proper contacts—”
“There is one Istarn of Vega.” The cool voice of Taynad somewhat startled them both. “It is said that he offers weapons from half a hundred worlds to those who take pleasure in collecting such things.”
Though Zurzal had urged her to gather a new wardrobe, she had made no effort to return to the rich garments of her supposed trade. She had selected a second spacer suit, lacking any insignia, and seemed, when wearing it, to be able to take on a kind of enwarping drabness. Jofre knew that she was summoning her own form of the Shadows invisibility.
Only her hair remained to mark her as different from any woman crew member on leave, for, though she kept it braided tightly, it still formed a heavy crown for her head. That, Jofre also knew, she would not part with willingly, for it was a weapon she might call upon in need.
“Istarn,” Zurzal repeated first a little blankly as if he had not heard the name before, and then added with more force, “Istarn—but of course—it was he who turned up the Balakan mirror dispatcher that Zanquat has in his collection. I have never met the man but I thought he dealt mainly in antiques—not the weapons of this day.”
“Learned One,” Jofre said, “we of the issha have been trained with weapons those of these strange worlds believe to be primitive, for the use of barbarians only. However, it might be that this Istarn would put a collector’s price on what he has to offer and that would be too great to pay.”
“Istarn himself does not deal here on Wayright,” Taynad continued to impart information the other two began to wonder how she gathered. “His shop is on the Second Way—where those bored while they wait for their ships spend time and money on things which seem strange and new to them, but have little real value. We have the knowledge to pick from among rubbish that which will serve.”
Zurzal gave his hissing laugh. “I do not know how you got this information—”
For the first time Jofre saw Taynad’s lips curve in a true smile. “Learned One, I listened—after asking a question or two. Yan,” she patted the head of the Jat that, as usual, was clutching at the edge of her tunic, “is very much an interest to the maidservants. They have come and asked to see our little one. And they talk freely when doing so. I have learned of the best shops, those which have quality merchandise and do not put up the prices when a passenger ship planets, the eating places and the specialty of each, again where one may expect to get the best service for the credit outlay. So eventually I learned of Istarn.”
“To our benefit,” Zurzal returned. “Very well, let us off to this establishment and I shall leave it to the two of you to equip yourselves with what you believe will be most useful.”
In the arms courts of the Lairs a weapon was judged for efficiency. The truth of a blade was in its forging and edging, of all other implements for battle in their usability and strength. Valley lords of Asborgan might prance about with gem-hilted sidearms. A hilt wrapped with well-seasoned lacing to keep it from slipping in the hand was what the issha-trained judged by—and no one could fault the value of any Lair wrought blade, lance, hand hook or the like, that value rested in the weapon itself and not in any ornamentation.
What confronted Jofre in the shop of this so-called weapon merchant were not the tools of his trade but rather trumped-up bits of glitter misnamed for the blades he knew. He stared at the display of what the shopkeeper spoke of as “swords of value from Vega” and thought privately that one good blow from any one of those would speedily separate blade from hilt, perhaps even shattering the blade. These caught the eye most certainly but not the eye of a warrior. What did he care if a hilt was of tri-gold in the form of a washawk with emerald eyes—or something of the same stupid description when he could see very well that the blade attached was not nine times forged, or even six times worked!
“These are toys,” he said in Lair tongue to Taynad. “What does any want with such—unless to pick out the jewels, melt down those hilts and use the blades for hide scraping?”
“Those off-worlders who are the buyers here do not intend to USE them,” she replied as softly. “They are for show only. But there is a second display beyond. Perhaps—”
He was impatient enough to move away and lost any other word she might have said.
Yes, there was a second display—or rather it was not an arranged display to show off the offered weapons, rather a pile, in a darkish corner, of dull metal, long uncared for, with nothing in that mass to catch the untaught eye. Only when he stopped there and looked for himself—could he mark possibilities. This clutter might be what was tossed aside in some smith’s forge, things to be melted down and reworked—at least that is what it looked to be at first sight.
However—no arms master would have been so quick to devalue—that! His gaze fixed upon the peeling leather sheaths, twins, and the matched blades they sheltered. He plucked one forth. Dulled, needing a honing, yes. But the steel—ah—that he knew for what it was. Heartened, Jofre drew the second knife and found it as sound as its twin.
Taynad was busied separating a choice of her own from the rusty jumble. Luckily the proprietor had been detached from them by the entrance of several off-worlders whose rich robing proclaimed hearty credit ratings and who were fascinated by the gemmed display.
At the end of some careful choosing, even a bit of surreptitious testing of the elasticity of blade, Jofre had at his hand for bargaining the twin knives, a short sword, and a collection of wicked-looking hooks which, when wedded to a length of chain he had loosed from the pile, would make a Makwire far more suitable even than that which had served him on Tssek. Unfortunately other familiar aids to a guardsman were not to be found. Perhaps he was lucky that he had discovered as much as were useful among these apparent discards as he had.
Taynad had a blade which was near the length of a short sword encased in a sheath once covered with a grimy brocade which was now peeling from it in strips. At the top of the scabbard showed also the hilts of two small knives and she had worked one out of the damaged sheath to show, unrusted, an almost needle-thin weapon perhaps as long as her hand. Such were perhaps meant for eating purposes but they were close to those weapons the Sisters were well-known to hide in hair coils or hanging sleeves, and Jofre had no doubt that she would be able to put them to the best service. She also had a Makwire chain, which she was twisting about now inch by inch to test it, for there were stains of rust on her fingers where she handled it. However, beneath that surface flaking it appeared to be strong enough to satisfy her.
“Gentlehomo and—Gentlefem—” The salesman looked at Taynad as if she were indeed an oddity in such a place, or else her air of knowing exactly what she wanted from this dingy heap was a surprise to the selle
r. “Have you made some discovery—? But this—this is of second rating. You would be better with the swords from Lanker, or the ruby-headed daggers of Grath. Now those are proud weapons.”
“They are,” Jofre returned, “but not to our purpose—”
“No,” Taynad struck in, “we do not seek weapons of fine show, but rather ones we can use to demonstrate various forms of fighting. We think to display combat for show.”
“So? Are you then from the Arms Court of Assherbal? It is known that his battle displays are very lifelike—close to the real—blood spilled, even.”
“Something like is what we aim to do.” Jofre picked up her hint quickly. “No, Gentlehomo, what price is put on these?” He indicated what they had set aside. The salesman eyed their selections with a disdain he did not attempt to conceal. Certainly his attitude had become brusque—that of one dealing with persons below the social rating of those he commonly served.
He quoted a price well within the credits Zurzal had transferred to Jofre’s new account and for the first time Jofre made use of that ever-present aid to off-world living.
Their selections were bundled into a sack in a hurry as if the salesman did not want it seen that such dingy wares were going out of his shop, and they returned to the open street.
They were passing by one open-fronted shop where there was a sprouting of tables edging out into the thoroughfare and for each some stools. The aroma of food was strong enough to combat and defeat the scents wafting from a place of perfumes across the way.
Jofre nodded towards one of the tables. “It smells good,” he said simply. For it did, better somehow than the exotic dishes which were constantly offered them at the inn. Taynad gave a heavy sniff and then showed him again that very fleeting smile.
“So it does, and no Shadow food either. Yes, let us try it to see if it tastes as good as it smells.”
They seated themselves at one of the tables, Jofre allowing the package of weapons to lie on the floor between his feet, and consulted the menu printed in trade and displayed as part of the tabletop between them.
Not too far away a woman in a spacer’s uniform chose a table and settled into a seat there. The occupant who was already there greeted her with a nod. He was humanoid to about the fifth degree, but his heavily furred body, erect pointed ears, and wide well-toothed mouth, showed he did not share his companion’s Terran breed.
“Those then.” He did not look at Jofre and Taynad, and his voice was very soft, nearly a growl.
“Those. I pass them on to you, Lenoil. She wants them well watched. And do not take them lightly, they are of a trained-for-fighting breed—the most feared on their home world.”
“One world among many,” her companion replied. “We all have our champions. Sometimes such do not survive—”
“No! No interference with them, only watching,” the woman said swiftly. “Watch and report—you are staying at the Auroa as are they; therefore, you have better chance to keep an eye on them. Be sure that eye is ever there.”
CHAPTER 22
THE ZACATHAN walked in upon a scene of concentrated industry. His three companions were seated on the floor and each was busy. The Jat was drawing back and forth through a length of oil-stained cloth a supple chain. Beside him Taynad honed the narrow blade of a very small knife and opposite them both Jofre was fitting another chain, thicker, well able to support such a burden, with a series of wicked-looking hooks, pausing now and then to test his work with a swing or two of the metal line.
“Luck, Learned One?” They had all three looked up at his coming but it was Jofre who asked that.
“As yet none. Almost one could believe that there was some pattern we are not able to understand—” He paused as if not knowing just how to put his thoughts into words.
“A warn off by the Patrol!” Jofre suggested.
“I hardly think so. We seek Free Traders, and they do not take kindly to official warning unless those are delivered with force. Two such ships have planeted within the last ten days. One is already chartered by a party of engineer-techs to transport them and their equipment to Helga. The other carries no passengers and is mainly an asteroid mining ferry.”
“It may be a long wait, Learned One.” Taynad had not halted work on her knife while she listened. “It seems you deal with the whims of fortune now and that is always sheer chance.”
“Yet there is no better place to await any transportation than here,” Zurzal returned. “I have spread the word as to what I wish. And this is on route to Lochan—which is why I chose it as a base in the beginning. Have you consulted those?” He indicated the three tapes lying on the tabletop beside the reader.
“It seems a place about which very little is known,” Taynad commented, “if that is all which we have to consult, Learned One.”
“A barren land,” Jofre struck in, not that that was any deterrent as far as he was concerned. The northern stretches of Asborgan were certainly sere and stripped enough. “It seems to be mainly desert—”
“As far as we know. Yes, that is all the information on file,” Zurzal assented. “It does not have too promising a reputation—there is no great trade to be found there—small stuff—some strange furs, odd minerals—”
Taynad fitted the newly sharpened knife into a small sheath of her own devising, one actually woven from strands of her hair. “Then why should anyone go there—or is it that this Lochan might have other uses for outworlders—a hidden base, perhaps?”
“Guild dealings?” Zurzal shook his head. “It was well combed for any off-world activity after the failure of Desmond’s expedition. There is no defense against Patrol sensors, unless the establishment would be a major one and Lochan certainly could not support such.”
“Treasure?” Taynad submitted another surmise.
“Not the kind which would draw the average trader. Though it was the matter of some artifacts turning up in the cargo of such a one which first directed us to Lochan. What we seek there is another kind of treasure than would draw Guild interest—knowledge. There is good reason to think there may be one of the Forerunner repositories there.”
“The Guild seeks knowledge, too—” Taynad commented. “Is it not rumored that they discover what they can which may be put to their own uses?”
“The scanner!” Jofre had fastened his last hook and was coiling the chain to accommodate those additions.
“Which will not serve them,” Zurzal answered. “We learned long ago to protect our tools from wrongful use. Were any other to attempt to use the scanner, it would destruct. That is built into every tool of the sort which we lift from our own world.”
“How long a wait then, Learned One, until such a ship as you wish sets down here?”
“Not too long. There is one which made the run to Lochan five planet months ago. It has made two runs and each time to a near planet. The ship is old, the captain not one, I have been told, who is ready to push into any other territory. We can expect the Haren Hound to be in port soon if all goes to the past pattern.”
Jofre had moved to the wide window-door which gave upon the balcony servicing this portion of the floor.
“We are being watched,” he said flatly. “I do not think we are off the Patrol’s hook yet.”
“The watcher?” Zurzal demanded quickly.
“Differs. We could slip them if we wish. We would rather learn who they are and why eyes and ears are set on us. To learn that perhaps it is well to let them go about this Shadow business for a space longer.”
Tetempra was already seated at the head of the table in the wide room which could be entered only through her personal office. There were five of her staff flanking her and at the other end of the table, awaiting any orders, Ho-Sing.
“They have rearmed themselves, this guard and the woman, with barbarian weapons—such as can only be used in hand-to-hand combat. Doubtless they prepare so for the wastes of Lochan. Our people cannot penetrate into their suites because of the Jat—it is very quick to
sense anyone who is not friendly to its bondmates.”
“It can be removed—” came the suggestion from an obese and warty-skinned member to her right.
“And give them warning? Nusa, have your brains begun to addle already? I thought your skin-shed season was yet well off. No, we do not move against them. But there is this other matter—the message—the order to be given to the Asborgan woman. So far we have not been able to separate her from her companions. But a bargain is a bargain and this one must be carried out. Ho-Sing, have you any new thoughts on reaching the woman long enough to pass a message without the others knowing what has happened?”
“This morning the room maid spoke to her of the Fragrance baths—she showed interest. The maid receives a percentage of what any guest spends at the Tri-lily—she will endeavor to send this woman there. The maid’s in debt to Dabblu; she may be reached through that—though the hotel staff are supposed to be incorruptible.”
“Excellent. This you will move on, Ho-Sing. When this one goes to the Tri-lily one will meet with her—seemingly by accident—to the beholders—but for our purposes. Let it so be arranged.”
“The ship, Veep Tetempra?” Salanten being officious once again, her eyes slitted to mere threads though she did not turn those on him, rather focused her attention on a small com before her.
“The Learned One is waiting for the Haren Hound. We have prepared the way very well in that direction. Gosal is due in very shortly—the new drive we installed in his bucket of rusted bolts has delighted him; he is very willing to be able to pay for it in service. Which is well since any cargo he has lifted in the past could not pay for a wind wheel!”
“Do the Patrol have a watch on them?” One of silent others spoke. “The Tssek business could not have made the authorities happy.”
“Ho-Sing?” Tetempra looked to the head of her Shadow service.