“Sometimes our, ah, clients, find it advisable to leave in a different set of clothes than the one they wore on the way in,” Tessie explained. “We’ve gathered quite a stock, over the years. Of course, you’ll all need some padding, but we’re not exactly short on pillows here. Let’s see, now—this one ought to fit you, Father, and this one’ll do for your young friend, here…”
Half an hour later, swathed in evening clothes and padded out to the equator, they filed out of Madam Tessie’s like a flock of pregnant penguins.
“Well, you can’t deny they were hospitable,” Dar said through a dazed but happy smile.
“I don’t particularly care for that sort of hospitality.” Sam was fuming.
Dar glanced at her, and couldn’t help feeling gratified. Yesterday he would’ve felt downright hopeful. Today, though, he was primarily concerned with Lona, who was, unfortunately, taking it all in stride.
“They even offered me a job,” she noted.
Sam hadn’t been asked. “Is that’s what’s bothering you?” Dar could at least make it sound as though she had.
“No,” Sam snapped. “What bothered me was that whole scene in the tavern.”
Whitey shrugged. “A brawl is a brawl—and you can’t blame the cops; squelching that kind of thing is their job.”
“Yeah, but they don’t have to gang up three-on-one.” Dar frowned, remembering. “Especially since I was losing.”
“No, that isn’t standard.” Whitey frowned, too. Then he shrugged. “Anyway, I had a good time.”
“I didn’t,” Sam said stiffly. “I recognized the chock who led the cops in—and he wasn’t in uniform.”
“Oh?” Dar looked up. “Anyone I know?”
“You might say that. He had a face like a rat.”
“A rat! What’s he doing here …? Oh.” Dar pursed his lips. “We never did see who was piloting our courier ship, did we?”
“We didn’t,” Sam confirmed. “I wondered why he took off and left us to the pirates, remember?”
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Father Marco put in, “What’s this all about?”
“Our nemesis, at a guess,” Sam said slowly. “We thought we’d left him back on Wolmar, with the rest of Governor Bhelabher’s staff. At least, Terra sent Bhelabher out to take over the governorship; but he, ah, wound up resigning. We got the assignment of taking his resignation back to Terra.”
“And we thought we were the only ones who left,” Dar explained. “But apparently Bhelabher had a change of heart, and sent his right-hand man along to stop us.”
“No, it wasn’t Bhelabher.” Sam shook her head. “If he’d changed his mind, all his sidekick would’ve had to do is order us to hand back that resignation form—or even to hand in a counter-letter from Bhelabher.”
“You mean Rat-Face is doing this all on his own?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Sam said slowly. “He is a career bureaucrat in the Bureau of Otherworldly Activities, remember. Chances are he’s doing what his superiors in BOA want done.”
“A man with a face like a rat, in the BOA bureaucracy?” Father Marco asked. He was frowning.
Dar nodded. “That’s him. But why would he be trying to kill us?”
“Kill you?”
Sam shook her head. “There were two cops after me, but the worst thing they had was a hypodermic bulb.”
“A hypo?” Dar looked up sharply. “They were trying to put you out and take you in?”
Sam nodded. “That’s the way it looked. But it doesn’t make sense. There were two of them, and they were a lot bigger than I was. Why’d they have needed a hypo?”
“And why’d their buddies be trying to put me out completely? I could swear their intentions weren’t toward prolonging my life.”
“Could be you’re paranoid,” Lona suggested.
“No doubt; but in this case, I think it doesn’t matter. And I don’t quite agree with your reading of it, Sam—one of them was trying a blade on you.” He touched the bandage that Tessie had thoughtfully taped over his wound.
“No, I’m afraid you’re both right.” Father Marco was definitely brooding. “After all, if you think someone’s a threat, and you can’t capture them, what’s the logical thing to do?”
“But why would they think I’m dangerous?” Sam wailed. “I don’t have the papers!”
Lona was looking very interested.
“A fascinating episode,” Whitey mused, “especially since I do believe I see some uniforms approaching.”
All heads snapped up, and noticed the strolling pair who had just turned the corner.
“Just keep walking,” Father Marco’s iron tone advised, and Dar soothed his body’s impulse to jump into flight.
“ ‘Course, it’s been a while since I did this …” Whitey offered, and Lona coughed, “… but I do notice there’s some sort of arcade just a few feet down, on our left. Might make a handy bolthole.”
“Ideal,” Father Marco breathed. “Shall we, gentlefolk?”
They nonchalantly turned into the cavelike coolness of the arcade. Its long concourse stretched away before them, lined with shops on both sides.
“Last time you did this, Grandfather, you split us up into small groups,” Lona reminded.
“A good point,” Father Marco agreed. “No doubt they counted noses after that tavern brawl, and came to the conclusion we’d all gone off together.”
“Well …” Dar caught a door-handle and swung it open. “… see ya ‘round, folks.”
Sam stepped through the door before he could close it; the rest went on their way, and his team was back to its original components.
They moved down a short aisle, surrounded by skeins of yarn, squares of stiff netting, and racks of patterns. “What is all this stuff?” Dar whispered.
“Knitting, crocheting, things like that—age-old hobbies,” Sam whispered back. “Ever try needlepoint?”
Dar was about to answer with a pointed remark of his own, when the proprietor popped up behind the counter at the end of the aisle, grossly fat, with the face of an aging cherub and a fringe of puffy white hair around a bald dome. “Something you’d … like, gentlefolk?”
“Just browsing,” Dar said quickly. “Interesting collection you’ve got here.”
“Oh yes, I try to keep it up-to-date. Had some fascinating patterns come in last week, from Samia.”
“Samia?” Dar wondered, but another customer approached before the storekeeper could answer. “Ah there, Kontak! Is my order in?”
“Just an hour ago,” Kontak grinned. He laid a slender parcel in plain brown wrap on the counter. “Sixty spikes, five brads, Grazh Danko.”
“Samia?” Dar whispered to Sam. “Isn’t that the pleasure-planet? You know, ‘wrap up all your cares and clothes, and do whatever’s legal’?”
Sam nodded, her eyes on the brown parcel. “And there isn’t much that’s illegal, except murder. I understand they don’t even look too closely at that, provided the victim isn’t a tourist. I think I’d like a look at the next shop.”
“But this is just getting interesting,” Dar protested as Sam hustled him toward the door.
“Maybe too interesting.” She kept her voice low as the door closed behind them. “That was a porno shop. And did you catch the prices? For a pack of sleazy pictures? I have a sneaking suspicion we’re in the middle of what they euphemistically call an ‘organic market.’ ”
“One that charges whatever the traffic will bear?” Dar looked around him. “These innocent little shops? Illegal goods?”
“And services,” Sam reminded. They went into a confectionary. The patron at the end of the counter was thumbing through a menu that seemed to be mostly bodies, while the proprietor was helping an obese, surly patron strike up an acquaintance with a slender sweet young thing. They turned around and went back out.