Angado

A gamble he would have won. As Dumarest led the way to where a plank bridge crossed the ditch men stepped from a hut at its end.

"Hold it!" The officer, like his men, wore a uniform and was armed. "It's late-you got business in town?"

"Nothing special." Dumarest glanced toward the field. "Just wanted to check on the chance of getting a berth."

"Leave it until tomorrow." The officer rested a hand on the pistol holstered at his waist. "Curfew runs from an hour before sunset to an hour after dawn. You should know that."

"We've been helping the monks," said Angado. "Do you police inside?"

"Hell, no." The officer echoed his contempt. "You scum take care of yourselves."

In more ways than one.

Dumarest heard the shout of pain as he neared a hovel sprouting like an ugly growth at the edge of the cluster. A man answered it as it came again.

"Steady! Hold still, you fool! Damn it, Susan, get help!"

A woman burst from the door and stared at them with wild eyes. She was gaunt, dressed in rags, an ugly blotch marring one cheek. Flecks of blood stained her hands and naked forearms.

"Please!" She looked from Dumarest to Angado. "My man! He's hurt bad! Jacek is trying but needs help! Please!"

Inside the gloom was thick, relieved only by the guttering light of a wick floating in a cup of oil. On a heap of rags a man lay writhing, another kneeling at his side. Like the woman, his hands and wrists were stained with blood.

"Hold him!" he snapped after one glance at the visitors. "Grab him tight."

Dumarest said, without moving, "What's wrong with him?"

"He tripped and fell into a bed of feathers." Jacek's tone was sarcastic. "That's how he got that face."

The nose was broken, the lips split, the chin caked with blood. The eyes were puffed and the forehead bruised. Whoever had beaten the man had done a vicious job.

"Gengiz?"

"His boys. Breck fell behind on his payments. They warned him once but he still couldn't find the cash. So they worked him over. Smashed his face, cracked some ribs and twisted his arm out of its socket. I'm trying to get it back."

The hard way, working with strength but little skill. Dumarest gestured him aside, took his place, examined the injured limb. The dislocation was severe, the joint badly swollen. The injured man groaned as Dumarest moved his hands.

"How long?"

"Since noon. I had to wait for Jacek to get back."

Angado said, "Couldn't you have sent for trained help?"

"Medics won't come into Lowtown. They'll treat you if you can get to them but first they want paying." Breck was patient despite his pain, talking as if to a child. "I can't pay. If I had money I wouldn't be in this mess."

The woman said, "Can you help him? If you can for God's sake get to work."

"Hold his legs, Jacek. Angado, you hold his other arm. Keep him turned on his side." Dumarest picked up a mess of rag and wadded it into a ball. "This is going to hurt," he warned. "But it'll soon be over. Just try to relax. Take some deep breaths. Got anything to bite on?"

"Here." The woman thrust a stick between Breck's jaws. "Don't hurt him too much, mister."

Dumarest placed the wadded ball between the upper arm of the injured man and the torso, setting it high beneath the armpit to act as a fulcrum. Checking its position he adjusted the limb then, without warning, thrust down hard on the elbow.

Breck strained, biting into the wood, a low, animal-like groan coming from his throat. Sound Dumarest ignored as he fought the pull of muscles, maintaining the leverage as he felt the swollen joint. A moment as he rammed the heel of his hand against the spot, then he felt the joint slip back into place.

"Good." He rested a hand on Breck's sweating forehead. "It's all over," he said. "Just relax now."

"It hurts."

"The pain will go but it'll be sore for a while." Dumarest ripped rags into strips and bound the arm and shoulder in a constricting web, tying the arm hard against the chest. "That'll help the ribs, too." He looked at Jacek. "The next time anyone gets into trouble take them to the monks."

"I did my best."

"I know, but you lack training. They've had it." Dumarest added, "I guess you know how to take care of his nose."

"I should." Jacek's own was twisted across his face. "I've had to fix mine often enough. The rest of the cuts too. It was just that shoulder which beat me. A neat trick that; you using the arm itself as a lever." He paused then said. "Not that it'll do much good."

"Gengiz?" Dumarest shrugged. "A few of you could get together and take care of his boys."

"There'll be others." Jacek's tone reflected his loss of spirit. "There are always others."

Angado said, "What happens if he still can't pay? Will they kill him?"

"Not unless they have to. There are mines to the north and a ready market for workers. Deliver a volunteer and collect a bonus. Gengiz has a habit of delivering volunteers."

Dumarest looked at the interior of the hovel. "Maybe a man could do worse."

"I'm not signing a contract!" Breck struggled to sit upright on the rags. "Once they get you they never let go."

"You'd eat," said Dumarest. "You and your woman. What better have you got here?"

"I'm free!"

"Sure," said Dumarest. "I'd forgotten. Maybe Gengiz has too."

He moved to the opening and stepped out into the thickening purple haze of the dying day. After a moment Angado joined him, falling into step alongside as Dumarest moved along the littered path. In the shadows rodents scuttled and, from a shack, came a snatch of discordant song.

As it died Dumarest said, "You gave Breck money, right? It was a mistake."

"It was my money."

"It was still a mistake. Now he's not as desperate as he was. He'll pay and buy his way out of trouble. But it'll return and he'll be back where he started."

"I've given him time, at least. His shoulder will heal and maybe he can find a job." Angado looked at his companion. "Would you pay, Earl? If Gengiz makes his demand will you meet it?"

"I might."

"Then how can you blame Breck and those like him for doing the same?"

"I'm not blaming them," said Dumarest. "They can do as they like. It's none of my business. But if I was starving and had a woman depending on me and she was starving too and some thug came and tried to rob me-well, who knows?"

They reached the end of the path, turned left, moved into a cleared space formed by the junction of crossings, headed up a slope to where the church rose against the sky.

Before it, silhouetted against the brightly colored plastic, two men were beating a robed figure to the ground.

It was a scene from nightmare, the men tall, broad, their clubs the yard-long weapons carried by Gengiz's guard. The monk was crouched, hands lifted to protect his face, body bowed as if he were a suppliant accepting a merited penance.

A stagelike vista broken as Angado yelled and ran forward.

"Stop that! Stop it! Leave him alone!"

A command obeyed only momentarily as the men turned at the shout, clubs lifted, contemptuous of the new arrivals.

Dumarest said, sharply, "Angado! Leave it!"

An order ignored if heard and he ran in turn, passing the other, heading to where he had left the broom leaning against the fabric of the church. Set far to one side of where the men stood over the monk he was ignored. As he snatched it up Angado came to a halt.

"Back off!" His breath was ragged, his voice hard but shaking a little. "You filth! Beating up a monk! Is that the best you can do?"

He was talking instead of acting, a mistake repeated by the thugs.

"Listen to the insect." The man on the right hefted his club. "Doesn't all that big talk frighten you, Rayne? Maybe we should get down on our knees and beg his forgiveness."