"Of course not. There is more in the trunk."
The cab had a large carrying capacity now almost wholly utilized by the long, squared cabin trunk it contained, the two large suitcases. The officer pursed his lips as he looked at them. The woman, obviously, was not the male fugitive whom he had been ordered to watch for and detain if found and he knew females too well to be deluded by a man wearing their garb. Perhaps, just to make certain, he should order her to be searched? Then, as she smiled at him and casually moved so as to throw into prominence the swell of her breasts and the rounded curves of hips and buttocks, he decided against it.
But the luggage was a different matter.
"The Sivas, you say?"
"Yes. Captain Lon Tuvey. You know him? I found him a most charming man but a little on the eccentric side if you know what I mean. He simply refused to tell me just when he was leaving. I had to be on board at sunset, he said, but when is that? After the sun has lowered beneath the horizon or when it grows dark or what?" Alarm edged her voice, making it shrill, unmistakably feminine. "The ship is still here? I'm not too late?"
"No," he said and smiled to reassure her. "You're in good time."
"And the jitney will take me and my luggage out to the vessel?"
A nervous type, he decided, and one not accustomed to traveling alone. No woman with her face and figure need do that; always there would be someone willing to foot the bills and take care of the details. A quarrel with some lover, perhaps? If so the man had been a fool to allow her to escape.
He signaled to the jitney and looked again at the luggage as it drew to a halt beside the cab. The small suitcase stood beside the woman where she had placed it on leaving the vehicle. The cabin trunk and the two large suitcases remained to be unloaded.
"Rud!"
The driver of the jitney joined him as the officer reached for the cabin trunk. He grunted as he grabbed a handle and strained.
"Heavy!" The driver spat on his hands. "Together now!"
A heave and it was done, the box set on the loading bed of the jitney. Turning, the officer saw Sardia, one of the large suitcases at her feet. She was straining at the other and looked appealingly at him.
"Could you? Please!"
It lifted in his grip and he swung it and set it down beside the box. As he straightened, Sardia set the other beside it, turning away, stooping to reach for the small case which remained.
The driver said, "What about the box, sir?"
A reminder, but the officer hadn't forgotten. It was large enough to hold a man and heavy enough to arouse suspicion. The woman, despite her attraction, could be involved and, if the box did hold the wanted man, the reward would be high.
"The box, madam," he said. "Please open it."
"Must I?" Her eyes betrayed her reluctance. "I mean, is it normal? I've often traveled before and I've never yet been searched like this. Have you the right to demand such a thing?"
"I've the right." And the power too if he wanted to exercise it. Without further argument he tested the lid and found it locked. "The key if you please." Her hand shook a little as she gave it to him. "Thank you."
Lifting the lid he saw a cloth and, throwing it to one side, stared blankly at what the box contained.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't think I was doing anything wrong. I was only trying to help a friend."
"Figures!" Rud, the driver, snorted his disappointment. "A mess of carvings!"
"Works of art," explained Sardia. "That's my business. I deal in works of art, buying, selling, trading, when I have to. I've found the most interesting pieces and I'm sure the museum back home will be glad to put them on display with a little card crediting them to me. A way of advertising you understand. The curator and I have an understanding." Hesitating, she added, "There's no law against my having them, is there? I mean, on some worlds you have to get permission to export rare and valuable items. That's why I didn't want to open the box. I mean, that is-well, I'm sorry."
She made a small gesture with her hands and stood, blushing, a woman confessing her guilt.
"Junk!" muttered the driver. "A lot of rubbish!"
"Get to your seat." The man was right but who was he to deflate the woman's ego? Smiling, the officer said, "You've nothing to worry about, madam. Juba has no prohibition on the export of such items." Locking the box he handed her the keys and then, on impulse, said, "But I'd like to take a look into one of your cases."
"Which?" Her hand rested on the one she had lifted. "This?"
"The other one." She had made hard work of it though he had lifted it without strain. Then the illogic of it struck him as a siren echoed over the field. The case, though large, was still too small to contain a man and certainly didn't have the weight. "Never mind. That siren was from the Sivas. Take her over to the ship, Rud. Have a pleasant journey, madam."
Her smile answered his salute. At the vessel the handler grunted at the weight of the box then heaved it on the loading ramp. One of the suitcases followed and he caught Sardia as, after setting down the other, she staggered.
"You all right, my lady?"
"Yes. They will stay in the hold?"
"Until we lift and then I'll get them to your cabin if you want." The handler glanced at the sky. "Ten minutes and we'll be on our way."
Ten minutes-she had timed it well. And another thirty before the handler came puffing to the door of her cabin, his eyes reproachful as he heaved at the suitcases. Locking the door behind him she busied herself with her keys. The lid of one of the cases lifted.
Dumarest was huddled inside.
He was wasted, gaunt, fat and watery tissue burned away during the time he had waited in the woman's apartment after the fight. Hours spent beneath the influence of slow-time, the drug which had increased his metabolism and turned ordinary hours into subjective days. Time for his wounds to heal. Time for his weight and bulk to diminish-but even so it had been close.
He was naked, the weight of his clothing, boots and knife carried in the other suitcase, the garments mixed with others of a similar nature which were hers. Things bought as the carvings had been to aid the deception.
"Earl!" Gently she eased him from the cramped confines. "Earl?"
He gasped with the pain of returning circulation. He had been in the case little more than an hour but it had seemed an eternity and, to fit into it at all, muscles had to be strained and joints distorted so as to take advantage of every scrap of room.
A trick learned when he'd worked in a carnival from a girl who had been kind. She'd been able to cram her body into a cube little more than a foot on a side and had taken pleasure in teaching him how the body could be bent, turned, the head lowered, the legs folded, the arms wrapped so as to form a compact bundle.
"Earl?"
"I'm all right." He straightened, conscious of her anxiety, breath hissing from between his teeth as he massaged various points. "How long?"
"We left almost an hour ago. You're safe now."
Safe from what she didn't know and hadn't asked. It had been a matter of mutual need. He had won the money and she'd helped him elude the trap. A gamble on her loyalty and the strength gained in the execution of her art. One almost lost when, at the ramp, that strength had almost failed her.
Now she closed the distance between them, touching his body, her fingers tracing the points of recent wounds. Scars now faded and blending with the rest.
But he was thin! So thin!
Gently he moved away from her touch and, guessing his need, she opened the other case and produced his clothing. Dressed he looked more like his normal self but his face held the taut hardness of a skull.
"Earl, you need food."
"Later," said Dumarest. "First we must see the captain."