Cleaning the cabin came next, swabs soaked in blood added to a pile and all thrown out to join the corpses.
The keys of the manacles had been on the acolyte. Dumarest used them to free his body. His knife, boots and tunic were in the place he'd suspected and he dressed the limp figure. Again using the sheet he dragged it down to the cargo hold.
A way to escape. To beat the Cyclan. The only way.
The lid of a crate lifted to reveal a mass of objects wrapped in plastic; stubby machine rifles thickly protected with grease. Dumarest weighed one in his hand, replaced it and resealed the crate. Another, differently marked, revealed bags containing seeds, tubers, fibrous masses, jelly-like pastes-all relatively light and bulky. Half of them went through the port into the void.
Into the space they'd taken he heaved his limp and unconscious body.
The effort almost killed him so that, for a long time, he leaned against the crate, gasping, fighting for breath, feeling as if his heart had burst and had drenched his guts with blood. Drugs helped, lessening the pain as he fired them into his throat, more followed to give a brief span of false energy for which he would pay later.
But it was almost over.
He studied the crate when it was sealed. No trace could be seen of it ever having been opened. No one would have reason to look.
No one-now that the cyber was dead.
And now, at last, he could rest. To go to his cabin, to lie on the bunk, to watch as the ceiling dimmed and to drift into an endless sea of confused memories all shattered as Fatshan came bursting into the cabin.
He had a cup of basic in his hand, the thick liquid laced with brandy and, as Dumarest sipped, he talked.
"The craziest thing. Gone-the lot of them. Not a trace. Not even of the acolyte. The Old Man and me went Middle and searched the ship all over. Nothing."
Dumarest said, "Slow down. What are you talking about?" He frowned as the engineer explained. "Vanished? You mean they've all vanished?"
"Yes."
"But how? An emergency sac?"
"None are missing and, anyway, who in their right mind would bale out unless they had to?" Fatshan rubbed at his scalp. "I've been in space over thirty years and I've never bumped into anything like this. I can't see how it could have happened. I just can't."
"But it did?"
"It did." The engineer shook his head. "I'm not joking, but it's crazy."
"A fight," said Dumarest. "The prisoner, Dumarest, could have broken free somehow and killed the cyber. He could have been dragging him to the port when the acolyte found him. They had a fight and, somehow, all went through the port."
"You believe that?"
"Maybe the acolyte killed Dumarest and was evicted as a punishment. Then the cyber, unable to admit failure, followed." Then, as the engineer dubiously shook his head, he snapped, "How the hell do I know what happened? I'm guessing, I'll admit it, but do you have a better explanation?"
"No," admitted Fatshan. "And neither does the captain."
He was in the salon, pacing the floor, frowning, kicking at the table as he passed. His frown deepened as he saw Dumarest enter with the engineer. Deliberately he sniffed at the air.
"Brandy. I've told you before about drinking on duty."
"I didn't think I was on duty," said Dumarest. "The cyber had taken over. You and he didn't need me-or so I understood. Anyway, what's the harm in a drink?"
"He needs it, Captain." The engineer coughed. "His trouble, you know. It's been bad lately."
Erylin grunted. He was more honest than the engineer. A navigator was of use only while he could navigate.
"You know what's happened?" He grunted again as Dumarest nodded. "You saw nothing? No, I thought not. They must have switched to Middle. I've checked the medical kit and drugs are missing."
"I know." Dumarest met the captain's glare. "I took them."
"All of them?"
"Some pain killers. Something to help me get to sleep."
"And I was in the control room. Which leaves you, Fatshan."
"I saw nothing," said the engineer. "Nothing at all."
"Which means they must have left the ship from an upper port. Well, to hell with it. They're gone. The thing now is what are we going to do about it?" Erylin looked at them, waiting. "Well?"
"A cyber and his acolyte," said Fatshan slowly. "The Cyclan won't like it."
"That helps a lot," sneered the captain. "Chagney?"
"If we report it they'll hold us for questioning. They'll take the ship apart and us with it. They'll never believe we had nothing to do with those men vanishing. I can't believe it myself."
"So?"
Dumarest shrugged. "You're the boss, Captain. But if it was me I'd just keep quiet about it."
"Say nothing?" Fatshan scrubbed at his scalp. "Can we get away with it?"
"We don't know what happened so there's nothing we can tell anyone. We could even be blamed. We certainly aren't going to get paid. A long, wasted journey with nothing but trouble at the end of it. What trader in his right mind wants that?" Dumarest glanced from one to the other knowing he had won. But the decision had to be the captain's. He added, "I'm only making a suggestion, but there's something else to think of. We're carrying cargo. If we hope to stay in business we'd better deliver it. Later, if you want, we can report what's happened."
"The cargo!" Erylin snapped his fingers, relieved at having found the excuse he needed. "That's right. We have a duty to the shippers. We can't be blamed for fulfilling our contract but we'll be taken for pirates if we don't. We'll have to alter course back to Zakym."
And a load would be waiting for transport to another world and from there another and then still more. He would never report the disappearances and neither would the engineer. Even if questioned they could only say that three men had vanished into space and it was doubtful if they would ever be found.
Dumarest felt his knees sag and he stumbled and almost fell against the table. His wound had begun to burn and throb, a wound he would have to disguise until the end. But, to do it, he needed help. Erylin frowned as, straightening, he made his way to the store and drew out a bottle.
"Keep a clear head," he snapped. "I want you to plot the course-correction."
The computer would help and the change must be simple. The captain could handle it and Dumarest knew enough about the workings of ships to make a good pretense. Drink and pain, drugs and the ravages of disease would account for the errors he would make.
Now he had something to celebrate.
Lifting the bottle he jerked free the cork and filled his mouth with brandy. He felt the burn of neat spirit against his mouth, the fire which spread down his throat to catch at his lungs and, within seconds, doubled in a paroxysm which tore at his lungs.
"You're mad," said Erylin coldly when Dumarest finally straightened from the bout of coughing. "You can't take that kind of punishment."
"I need it."
"The brandy? You fool! It will kill you!"
"I know." Dumarest looked at the ravaged face reflected in the curved glass. "I know."
Chapter Ten
The wind that morning was from the north, a strong, refreshing breeze which caught at the mane of her hair and lifted it, sending it streaming like an ebon flag barred with silver. A proud sight, thought Roland as he watched her ride from the courtyard. Proud and stubborn and more than a little willful. Any other would long ago have made her choice, uniting the Family with another, extending the joint holdings and content to do little else but breed children.