But in the center they could see the white wake of a large marine creature. A wake that had paced them for several marches.
Bedside, with his ingenuity, might have prepared chemicals to repulse the thing. This party had to find other means.
Bossman did not take long to make up his mind. “The lots.”
Garnet approached. “I know what you want,” she said dully. “I’ll do it. I can swim good.”
Bossman brushed her aside. “I didn’t tell you to do nothing! The lots.”
She refused to move. “You can’t spare any more men. I can swim good. I want it.”
Bossman studied her for a long time. He turned away. “You stay here,” he told her over his shoulder. “Five—come with me.”
Aton accompanied him to a place away from the group, where the wall curved back briefly to make an open room bounded on one side by the river.
“I been meaning to talk to you, Five,” Bossman said, laying his axe down near the water and divesting himself of all other armament. Aton, knowing what was coming, discarded his own stone weapons.
“We’re all of us down here for our own reasons,” Bossman continued. “Ain’t none of us good enough to talk about none of the others. But we got to have a settlement, now.” He stood with hands on hips. The muscles, firmer now than they had been before the trek, shone with light sweat. “I don’t know what you done to get shipped down here, and I ain’t asking.” This was standard courtesy only; the word about Aton’s minionette had long since circulated. “But you been more trouble than any ten men since the mines were started. You’re slick, you’re tough—but I know you. I saw the sign long time ago.
“If I’d had my way, you’d’ve been tied decoy to that stone for the chimera, ’stead of that scared little man who never had the guts to make real trouble. You’d’ve been the one stuck in that hole, waiting for the axe, ’stead of the only man with brains enough to get us through. You’d be the one to take that lonely swim coming up.”
Bossman was not quite as ignorant as Aton had thought. How much did he suspect? “Are you accusing me of Framy’s crime?”
“I ain’t smart,” Bossman said. “I don’t know what goes on in people’s minds, and I take a long time to figure things out. But I know that Framy wouldn’t’ve fingered his only friend. He didn’t work that way. He’d’ve named his worst enemy, to save a guilty friend.
“But he didn’t know who got the other half of that garnet. He figured you were innocent, because he was. He expected you to alibi him. But you didn’t, and that was the end of him. You only had one reason to frame him like that, and that was because you knew we wouldn’t get no one else to confess, because no one else had done it—because you were the one who picked up the other half-garnet and slipped it into the basket for Tally. You were the traitor.”
And Bossman, slow to catch on, had executed Framy before figuring out the truth—and now had to stand by that mistake.
“Too bad,” Aton said sympathetically. “You also hold me responsible for Hastings’ death?”
“You’re smart.” Bossman had missed the ironic note. “You knew we’d wind up on the Hard Trek, and that’s what you wanted all the time. So other people would die instead of you. You couldn’t chance it alone. Everyone that’s died here, is dead because of you.”
“Even the victims of the chimera?”
“I looked when we heard Framy scream, and I didn’t see you. That’s when I began thinking. You came up from the other side of the tunnel. The chimera had to go right past you to get away. But you said nothing. You wanted Framy dead, so he couldn’t talk any more and maybe have someone believe him—”
“Sure. I have the hysterical strength vested in me by the sorcery of the minionette. I can kill instantly with my bare hands. I can take hold of the mass of cords in the front of a man’s neck and rip it out, or jab my fingertips in under his ribs and tear loose the entire rib cage. I can use my unkempt human nails in the feline trick of hooking the nose of my prey and breaking its neck by pulling the head around. I can neatly duplicate the cut and tear marks, the parallel lines left by animal claws, and the distinctive half-chewed, half-slashed look of the fang attack. I can do this because I have a secret cache of specialized appliances designed for the specific purpose of imitating the marks of the phantom chimera, and accomplishing this in a matter of seconds. I made these tools, since I forgot to smuggle them in, in my hidden laboratory in Chthon, where I have a serviceable metal press and a small blast furnace to smelt my crude iron. Stone is too awkward, you see. I had to cut a hole to the surface of the planet for the smoke and fumes to escape through unnoticed. Every so often I have to go up there and shoo the tourists away from my chimney, because this is very private business and I don’t want any interference. My lab is soundproofed so that no one can overhear the noise of its operation, and I have a private railway paralleling our course on the Hard Trek, so that I can fetch my implements every time I feel the need for another execution. I have special equipment to erase my bloody tracks, and of course I wear an all-enveloping covering, a form-fitting suit similar to those used in space, that takes the brunt of the spattering blood, and that I can peel out of and hide immediately so that my person retains no more than its natural grime, and no one can tell what I’ve been doing. For, you see, I have to be ready to rejoin the group at once, so that no one realizes that I’m missing when the sound of the first scream comes. I was a little slow with Framy, I must admit; but I’ve been practicing diligently. Oh, it takes the finest split-second timing. A real challenge. I can’t tell you how much fun it has been—”
Bossman continued, unmoved by Aton’s too-elaborate sarcasm. “I seen what you done to Garnet, too. She’s a rough gal—but she don’t deserve what you give her. I can’t do nothing about the rest of it. But I’m telling you now, you’re going to make it up to her.”
Yes—the time for a settlement had come. “You quite sure of that?”
“I’m sure,” Bossman asserted. “That’s one thing this farmer can do. She’s got to die, but she’ll die happy. You’re going to ask her real nice, and bring her in here where nobody can see you, and tell her those lies you know the gals go for, and make up to her like you meant it. She deserves that much, and she’s going to get it. The rest of them’ll take a break and get ready for the crossing.”
Aton studied him. The man was serious. “You expect her to believe it?” He shifted position slightly.
“She’ll believe what she wants to believe. I know her well enough for that. And you’re going to make it easy for her. You’re a good enough talker when you want to be.” Here Bossman permitted himself a slight smile. “Why she fixed on you I can’t figure. But she’s ready for anything you put on the line. You make it good, and you carry it all the way through—or you’ll be decoy this time, not here. If you don’t believe that—”
Aton didn’t. Trained to give no warning, he twisted over, a bare foot lashing out with all the deadly skill of his fighting art. The krell farmer was overdue for a lesson.
The edge of an iron hand brushed the kick aside. So fast he hardly seemed to move, Bossman was inside the thrust of the leg. His calloused foot kicked Aton’s other leg from under him. The bruising slam of his body against the stone floor was doubled by that of Bossman’s weight on top of him. Under what little fat was left, the farmer was hard as a cavern wall. An unyielding arm clamped Aton’s head; a powerful hand locked his own arm in an unbreakable grip. Fingers probed under his jawline.