"I'm working on it."
"And with success?" Chaque parted his lips in silent laughter as the other made no comment. "You'll have to work harder, my friend. Sirey has taken a job with a harvester. I thought that you would like to know."
The guide! Kinabalu thinned his lips. The man had promised, but had obviously broken his word. That, or he had been bribed away. Two men to find now instead of one-and guides were scarce.
"Of course," said Chaque casually, "a replacement could always be found if the price was right. The price or the prospect of satisfaction."
"You?"
"Perhaps."
"What do you know of the mountains? Moore wants good men. He'd discover you for what you are in a matter of minutes."
"And what am I, Bhol?" Turning, Chaque looked the other man in the eyes, his own surprisingly direct. "I've hunted and I know the area. I've spent as much time in the foothills as any of your vaunted guides. Just because I can't see the sense in making more money than I need doesn't make me a fool. There are other values. And I'll be frank, the adventure appeals to me. At least it will break the monotony."
The adventure and other things, Iduna Moore for one. A beautiful woman despite her mannish ways. A challenge to anyone like Chaque, with his enhanced self-esteem. He would fail, of course, and failing perhaps turn ugly, but that would be Moore's problem, not his.
"You know, Bhol, you don't really have much choice. Sirey probably recognized his folly and who else could you find? I think you should consider my offer."
"The decision is Moore's."
"True, but he has less choice than yourself." Chaque smiled, confident of his position. "Of course you could wash your hands of the deal, but I don't think you'd like to do that. Right?"
Kinabalu said, "The pay is-"
"I know what the pay is. I want an increase of fifty percent."
"You'll take what's offered." The Hausi was firm. "And you'll have to talk Moore into accepting you. That's the best I can offer, Agus. Personally I don't think you stand a chance, but I won't speak against you."
A problem solved if the man agreed. Kinabalu felt an inward relaxation as Chaque nodded. The guide was replaced at least, which left the situation as before. He glanced at the ship. Two women were moving down the ramp, sisters he guessed, come to see the harvest. Wen Larz moved quickly toward them, smiling. The smile grew wider as others appeared, a couple with a small boy, a matron who sniffed disdainfully as she saw the town.
"So this is Shajok. I don't think much of it."
"You haven't seen the best yet, my lady." Larz bustled about as he collected his party. "That is yet to come. A vista of unequaled splendor which will stun the eye and fill the nostrils with almost unbearable delight. You have arrived at the best time. The fields are superb. Is there anyone else to take the tour? No? Then if you will all follow me, I will guide you to your accommodation."
To the rooms in the hotel of which he was the part owner. Later, they would take rafts and head towards the plains to camp and inspect the crop. Mile upon mile of ulumen, the plants all in full bloom, pods swollen with volatile oils. They would see a blaze of color stretching as far as the eye could reach. They would live, breathe, almost bathe in the perfume which hung over the area like a cloud.
Kinabalu ignored them, now looking at the ramp leading down from the open port. Zorya was talking to the handler, haggling over something he held in his hands, probably narcotics or a few semi-precious stones. Frend walked past, scowling, barely nodding a greeting. No one, obviously, had ridden Low. His mine would lack the cheap labor he'd hoped to obtain.
There seemed no reason to wait, and yet the Hausi lingered. Hoping.
* * * * *
Dumarest was late in leaving the ship. Shajok was a bad world. He could tell, almost smell it as he descended the ramp. A planet which had little in the way of industry, a backward world on which it would be hard to find work, to earn enough to build a stake. It was too easy to become stranded in such a place, waiting, working for food if work could be found at all.
A road led from the field towards the town, a cluster of beggars at its side. Crippled men and a few crones, their eyes dull, waiting, hoping for charity which would never come. Winter would kill them off like flies, but more would take their place in the spring.
The town itself had the grim appearance of having once been a fortress. The houses were fashioned of solid stone, the roofs sharply pitched, the windows narrow and barred. Only the pennons gave a touch of gaiety, long streamers of brilliant color, all pointing towards the distant loom of the mountains. Dumarest studied them, looking for emblems or symbols, seeing nothing but a jumble of hues.
The square was fringed with open-fronted shops selling a variety of local produce; dried meats on skewers, woven carpets, basket work. There were masses of fruit dried and pounded, then compressed into blocks, things of stone and wood and metal to be used in any household. A smith was busy at a forge, the sound of his hammer strident over the hum and bustle of the crowd. In a corner of the square a woman fashioned pottery.
She was old, stooped, hair a wispy tangle over small, bright eyes. Her arms were bare to the elbows, hands grimed with a grayish clay. Dumarest paused, picking up a bowl, looking at the material of which it had been made. A gray, stone-like substance which he had seen before.
As he set the bowl down the woman said, "Anything special you're after, mister?"
"A few words."
"For free?"
"For pay." He dropped a few coins into the bowl. "Do you fire this stuff?"
"No." She came towards him, wiping her hands. "It's ground levallite mixed with a polymer resin. Leave it stand and it sets as hard as a rock. Why?"
Dumarest said, "Did you have a boy working for you once?"
"I've had a lot of people working for me. They come and they go. Why should I remember?"
More coins made metallic sounds as they joined the rest in the bowl.
"His name was Leon Harvey. Young, slightly built, probably came from a village somewhere. His face was a little peaked, if you know what I mean. He wanted to move on and see the galaxy."
"I remember." Wispy hair straggled as she nodded. "He came to me starving and I gave him a bowl of stew. Made him work for it, though. He hung on and I fed him, gave him a little money from time to time. Then he upped and vanished."
"Just like that?"
"They come and they go," she said. "I guess he found his way around, then made his move. It happens."
"Did anyone come looking for him?"
"No-are you?"
"He's dead," said Dumarest flatly. "I was hoping to take word to his folks. He left a little something I thought they might like to have. Where can I find them?"
Her shrug was expressive. "Why ask me?"
"He worked for you. He must have talked, mentioned his home, his family. No?" Dumarest deliberately scooped the coins from the bowl. "Too bad-I guess we both wasted our time."
"Now wait a minute!" Her hand gripped his arm with surprising strength. "We made a deal."
"Sure, I pay and you talk, but so far you've done no real talking."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"No?" Dumarest's voice lowered, became savage. "A youngster, tired, hungry, working for barely nothing. A stranger, and you say he didn't talk? Hell, woman, he'd have to say something. You were the only one he knew."
"He was on the run," she admitted. "I guessed that, and was sure of it when he ducked under the counter one day. A group was passing, some men from the mountains, I think. He took one look, then ducked."