"Good wine, eh? And that dancer was really good. I'd like to know her better. Have her dance just for me." A pause then, "Why not? My money's good. I bet she'd agree if I asked. Damn it, Earl, let's go back and put it to the test. Five hundred. I'll give her five hundred if-" A rattle as Angado walked into a garbage can. "What the hell is that?" And then, louder, "Who the hell are you?"
They came running from either end of the street, four shadows which solidified into men. Shapes which carried lengths of pipe which whistled as they cut through the air.
As the bottle Angado had snatched from the garbage whistled to land with a soggy impact on the pale oval of a face.
Dumarest was running before he hit the ground, his hand moving, the knife it held giving it heft and weight, the pommel smashing against a temple to send a second attacker down. A third followed, screaming, hands clutching his groin and Dumarest turned to hear the gong-sound of beaten metal as the pipe the remaining man held slammed against the garbage can Angado had lifted to use as a shield. One blow and then the pipe fell and the man was running to vanish in the darkness.
"Come on!" Dumarest ran, halting as a whistle broke the silence, turning to head back in the opposite direction. "Quick!"
The four would not have been alone. Others would have been placed as lookouts, the whistle a signal from one of them. Hunting packs followed a pattern the same if animal or human. To surround, to run down, to attack, to kill and then to feed.
Dumarest slowed as he reached the mouth of an alley, speeded as he found it innocent, slowing again as he neared the end of the street. Another crossed it forming a junction restricting his choice to a right or left turn.
As the whistle came again from behind, louder, more imperious, he headed toward the left, Angado following.
To the men waiting with flashlights and guns and nets which caught them both like flies in a sticky web.
Chapter Ten
The cell was a box ten feet long, eight wide, eight high. One fitted with a double bunk and primitive facilities. The door was a barred grill, the window another. Through it Dumarest had seen the dawn come to lighten the sky, the blue shimmer as the Audran had headed into space. At noon a guard took them to an office.
It was as bleak as the cell, holding little more than chairs, a desk, the terminal of a computer. The official seated at the desk was old, tired, heavy lines marring the contours of his face.
"Be seated." Inspector Vernajean gestured at chairs. "I think this can be kept informal. But before we begin do either of you have any complaints as to how you have been treated?"
"No." Dumarest had a bruised cheek, Angado a cut lip and a welt on his forehead. "None at all."
"Good." Vernajean relaxed a little. The injuries could have been accidental but the older of the two had the sense not to make an issue of them. "Last night we received reports of prowlers in the Voe district of the city. A patrol was sent to investigate and you were apprehended. Apparently you were running from the scene of a crime. Other men were also seen but managed to elude arrest. Well?"
Dumarest said, "It was a coincidence."
"Explain."
"We were making our way from the field and heard someone cry out for help. There were too many for us to handle so we ran to get assistance. That's when you caught us."
"Can you describe the men?"
"No, it was dark."
"How many were there?"
"About six."
"Four attacking two others?" Vernajean didn't wait for an answer. "In a way you were lucky to be caught. The patrol disturbed men who had been waiting for you. Scum of Lowtown who had broken curfew as had the others. Does the name Birkut mean anything to you?"
"I've seen him."
"And Yuli?"
"No."
"Gengiz's brother. He's sworn to kill you but you know that. He's taken over and maybe he's getting impatient. That attack could be repeated and the next time you needn't be so fortunate. You appreciate my position?"
Angado said, "We were attacked and had to fight for our lives and all you worry about is your position? How about doing your duty? If you know who was responsible then go after them and make them answer. Why are-"
"Shut up!" Dumarest didn't look at his companion. "He's young," he said to the inspector. "Still learning. He doesn't realize that Lowtown is what it is because you want it to be that way."
"What other way can it be?" Vernajean shrugged. "Men without money, without hope, growing more and more desperate. An abscess ready to burst and spread infection all over the city. It has to be drained."
By using men like Yuli to rule and bleed malcontents into the mines. A ready source of cheap labor for the installations which provided the wealth of the planet. But, for Yuli, the price of cooperation was the death of those who had killed his brother.
"The monks have spoken for you," said the inspector. "We have no wish to antagonize the Church but-" His gesture completed the sentence. "And there is another thing. Without a job or funds you are not allowed within the city during curfew. If you should be picked up by a patrol and found to be deficient then you can be fined or sentenced to the mines. I tell you this so as to make you aware of your position."
"Thank you," said Dumarest.
"Position?" Angado was less gracious. "What position? If it hadn't been for your damned men we wouldn't be here now!"
"If it hadn't been for them we could be dead." Dumarest rose to his feet, facing the inspector. "Can we go now?"
"Yes. Your property will be returned at the desk outside." Vernajean rose in turn. "A last word to the pair of you-do not stay on Yuanka too long."
Outside Angado swore with savage bitterness.
"They robbed us! The bastards took half our cash!"
"But left half."
"We should complain. Go back and make a formal accusation."
Dumarest said, "You heard what the inspector said. He was warning us. Leave Yuanka or wind up in the mines or dead. Maybe some of those officers in there want to see us that way."
"So they robbed us to force us to the brink and over." Angado looked bleak. "How do we get out of this hell-hole? Steal? Gamble? Try our luck at the wheel? Put all of our money on a single turn?" His laugh was brittle. "What have we to lose?"
Everything, but that was the nature of a true gamble. To risk life itself on the throw of dice or the flip of a coin and yet, as Dumarest knew, the need to win was often the surest way to lose.
Yet there was more than one way to gamble.
The place had the familiarity of home; the smell, the sounds, the sight of the ring, the tiered seats, the cubicles in which men sat with blank faces or sported with artificial gaiety. The environs of the arena in which men faced each other with naked steel to maim and kill for the sake of gain.
The promoter was curt. "It's fifty for show, as much if he lasts five minutes, a hundred more if he wins." He looked at Dumarest standing black-faced, vacuous, a seeming moron. "Does he know what it's all about?"
"He knows." Angado primed, acted the part of an entrepreneur eager for a profit, uncaring how he got it. A cynic who shrugged as he added, "You won't be disappointed. He's good and has scars to prove it. Fifty, you said?"
"When he's due to climb into the ring." The promoter ignored the outstretched hand. "Gives you a chance to place your bet," he explained. "Of course, if your man doesn't make good, you do."
"Medicals?"
"We've a doctor but you pay his fees." The promoter glanced at his watch. "The prelims are all arranged; first and third blood stuff. Your man'll feed a main event."
"For fifty?"
"You can double it if you bet right." The promoter sharpened his tone. "You want it or not?"