"But not forever.” Petion said, "or this city wouldn't be here. Sooner or later they had to stop running and find another way to deal with the carnivores."
"Of course. They found that the Sinnd could be trapped in pits, captured alive. By this time they had developed such an aversion to taking life that they found it hard to kill. Rather they found it impossible. Yet a crime even worse than killing would be to let the animals starve to death. That was when Grom — ancestor of the present King — started the royal family. He killed a trapped Sinnd. That's the way the myths have it and for a change they're probably true. Of course the rest of the Andriadans were horrified that a man could do this — yet at the same time strangely attracted. Grom was obviously the strongest man and quickly gained the power passed on to the present King Grom. They have all had the same name."
"And the same job.” Petion said. "Killing Sinnd. Does it happen often now?"
"Only a few times a year when a Sinnd will raid one of the towns. Most of them stay away, following the herds. Then the captured Sinnd is sent here to be dispatched in the proper manner. The professor who told me all this also claimed it was a ritual murder of evil. The king-protector destroys the symbolic and the real devil at the same time."
"Probably true.” Petion considered. "It certainly explains what we saw today. Don't think these questions foolish, Commander. Everything on this planet is relevant to the case under investigation. I imagine you know why I'm here?"
"One can only guess…" Commander Rissby murmured politely.
"The murder of Prince Mello."
"The murder of course," Rissby agreed with no surprise.
"Tell me about Prince Mello. What kind of reception did he have here?"
Commander Rissby was no longer at ease. He mumbled something and suddenly his collar was tight enough to need easing with his forefinger.
"Louder please, Commander," Petion asked.
"Prince Mello. . Why the Prince was of course a nobleman, a gentleman. All admired him and praised him…"
"Rubbish and nonsense!" Petion exploded, angry for the first time.
"This is an investigation, not an attempt to whitewash the already tarnished name of a wastrel and a dolt! Why do you think a prince of the House, eighty-second cousin of the Empress, should be pleasure-jaunting in an out-of-the-way spot like this? Because the departed Prince's intelligence just cleared the moron borderline and he had trouble signing his own name. Through stupidity compounded by arrogance he caused more trouble for the Empire than an army of liberationists."
Rissby's face and neck were flushed bright red. He looked like a bomb ready to explode and Petion took pity on him. "You know all this — or suspected it," he said gently. "You must realize if the Empire is to prosper — as we both want it to prosper — some of the evils of generations of inbreeding must be eliminated, Mello's death was more of a blessing than a tragedy. Just the manner of his going reflects ill on the Empire and must be investigated. You are too long in the service not to know these things. Now tell me about the Prince's activities here."
Commander Rissby opened his mouth, but no words came out. Loyalty fought with honesty. Petion respected the combination— knowing how rare it was — and treated the old soldier gently.
"It is no crime to discuss the faults of members of the royal family, since there is no doubt of your loyalty. You may talk safely to me." Petion put his hand to one eye and when he removed it the iris was brown, in striking contrast to the pink albinism of the other eye. Rissby gasped.
"It is an open secret," Petion said, "that a reward of great service merits admission to the royal family. The Empress was good enough to reward my police work with a knighthood. With it goes the honor of royal albinism. I have had the operations to change my coloring; the manipulating techniques even changed my genes so the trait is hereditary in me now. I have not had the time for the eye operation— it means months in bed — so wear these contact lenses instead. So you see I am half of one world, half of the other. You can talk to me, Commander. You can tell me about Prince Mello."
Rissby recovered quickly, with a trained soldier's resiliency. "I thank you for taking me into your confidence, Sir Petion. You will understand then that I attempt no rumor or slander when I tell you that Prince Mello was — unpopular here…"
"That's the strongest term you can use?"
"Perhaps—'detested' might be a better one. It hurts me to say it, but it was the truth. My own soldiers felt it and only strong discipline kept them in line. The Prince laughed at the native customs, paid no attention to the people's sensitivities, blundered in where he had no business, in general he, you might say—"
"Made an ass of himself."
"Precisely. He was tolerated by the Andriadans because of his nobility and his relationships with the royal family here. He was with them quite often. He favored King Grom's daughter, Princess Melina, and I understand the attraction was mutual. She was so upset by his death that she was confined to her bed for weeks. I visited her myself, in the name of the Empress. Shock. Crying. Very unhappy case.”
"Then everything was peaceful inside the castle?" Petion asked.
"I would say so. King Grom is very reserved, so there is no way of telling his feelings at any time. But if he did not encourage, he certainly did nothing to hinder the romance of the royal youths."
"What about in the city?" Kai broke in. "Mello make enemies there? Go to gambling joints? Have girls? Associate with toughs?"
"Never!" Rissby gasped, shocked in spite of himself. "The Prince may have had his failings, but he was still nobility! He rarely ventured into the city, and certainly had no acquaintances there."
"Yet he did see someone in the city," Petion said. "Someone he knew well enough to recognize from a moving car at night. Someone he rushed to meet, never considering it a risk. Someone who may have killed him. I'll need more information on the Prince's activities outside of the palace. He may have been visiting the city unknown to you. Have you any spies or paid informers? Reliable ones I can contact?"
"Intelligence Section can give you more detailed information on that, though I don't think you will need it. We have one operative who has been consistently reliable, the only one I might say. His loyalty is to money and we see that he is well paid. He will tell you anything you need to know. Only you must go to him, he is never seen near the military compound."
"The name?"
"One-finger. He has an unusual deformity of one hand. He keeps a low-class inn and drinking parlor in the Old Town. I will arrange for the proper clothes and someone to show you the way."
No possible disguise could have made Kai resemble anything other than what he was. He grumbled at being left behind while Petion was slipping into the loose robes of a Turaccian trader. The Intelligence Officer, Captain Langrup, adjusted the outfit with professional skill.
"A number of traders come through here," Langrup said, "so two more wouldn't be noticed. A lot of them stay at One-finger's so this is a natural cover."
"Do you have the caller?" Kai asked, taking the small, high-frequency receiver out of his pocket. Petion nodded and held up his hand with the ornate ring. When he pressed on the stone and twisted a shrill squeal blasted from the receiver. It warbled up and down when Kai changed the angle of the directional aerial.
"I doubt if we'll need to use it.” Petion said. "We're just going there for information and there's no danger involved."
"That's what you said on Cervi III.” Kai scoffed, "and you were four months in the hospital afterwards. I'll be hanging around close, ready to bust in."