He said, "What is wrong, Fiona?"
"Nothing. I-"
"What is wrong!"
"A message," she said dully. "Delivered by someone while you were at the pool. A warning from someone who owed me a favor. Kalova wants to ruin me. He intends to push me down and then out. Out of any holding, out of position, out of any pretense at pride. To crush me-and he can do it. Earl! I'm so afraid!"
Chapter Twelve
Vardoon said, "No, Earl! It isn't reasonable! You're asking too much!"
Scowling, he began to pace the room, his figure caught and reflected in the mirrors which adorned the salon as they lined the bedchamber. Still thin, stooped a little, but active and alive when days ago he had been dying. He swore as he bumped into a mirrored wall. "This damned place is like a maze!"
"Sit down," said Dumarest. "Relax and listen."
"I've done that and the answer's still the same. I've waited too long and risked too much to give it all away now. All right, if it hadn't been for you I'd be dead, but that's what partners are for."
"That's what I'm talking about-our partner."
"The woman?" Vardoon shook his head. "Where does she come in?"
"She could have sold her holding and us with it."
"So?" Vardoon shrugged and resumed his chair. Wine stood on a table to his side and he sipped a little before biting into a wafer of concentrate. "It means nothing, Earl. The new holder would have taken his fees and that's all. We owe her for hospitality, maybe, but she invited us to stay with her, right?" He grunted as Dumarest nodded. "Well, that's all there is to it. If you want to split your share with her then go ahead but I'm keeping mine."
"For how long? And what's it worth?"
"For as long as I want and-" Vardoon frowned. "What the hell are you talking about? You know damned well what it's worth."
"I know," said Dumarest. "On this world that's zero. Who is going to buy it? Come on, man, tell me." He smiled as the other remained silent. "Good-you're beginning to catch on."
"I'll handle it myself. Leave Sacaweena and deal through a Hausi. He'll certify the ardeel as genuine and handle the sales. He'll take a commission, sure, but it'll be worth it."
"Now tell me how you're going to get it to him?"
"By ship, of course, how else? I'll-" Vardoon broke off and said slowly, "No. No, he wouldn't do it. He can't."
"Kalova?"
"The Maximus. He holds the field but he can't stop free trade. He daren't." He sounded as if he wanted reassurance. "Earl, he can't do that."
"Then maybe you should tell him." Dumarest took a sip of his own wine. "And while he's giving you the answer he might tell you the real reason he was so eager to find and stop us. Or maybe you've worked it out for yourself by now. Remember those rafts which appeared in front of us? The argument as to permissions? They came from ahead, right? From the north. And did you see the glint of copper? Domes among the rock? Places camouflaged so as to look natural?"
Hints, truth mixed with suggestion but suggestion used to illuminate one facet of the truth.
"A monopoly!" Vardoon slammed his hand hard against his knee. "Somehow he's found how to breed vreks and so ensure a high and steady revenue. No wonder the bastard has managed to stay Maximus for so long!"
"Was he that when you were here?"
"No, he took over about fifteen years ago."
"A long time to stay on top?"
"Too damned long, but the revenue could account for it. And he holds the field." Vardoon drank and looked into his empty goblet. "A search," he said. "He'll make a search and confiscate any ardeel he finds. He'll say it was poached and so justify the act. If we complain who will listen? What holder would care?"
"Our hostess," said Dumarest. "Our partner."
"Yours, Earl. Not mine. So you've shown me I'm in a bind but I'll work it out somehow. Come to a deal of some kind."
If he guessed of the cyber's interest the temptation could be too strong, the deal too enticing. The ardeel, passage, every obstacle moved aside-for Dumarest safely delivered.
"I've made a deal," said Dumarest. "And you're a part of it. You can come in willingly or not but either way you come in. A part of what we found isn't enough. We need it all. She needs it. Fiona."
"Revenue to back her play," said Vardoon. "Earl, you're crazy! You don't know what it's all about!"
"And you do?" Dumarest pressed on. "But you would, you've been here before. You know all about the system. Too much about it, maybe. The shale, for example, and your interest in the holders. The equipment you bought-a good guess if it was a guess. Do you remember what I told you back on Polis? How I hate to be cheated?"
"How cheated? I promised you ardeel and you have it."
"Which is why you're still alive." Dumarest leaned toward the other man, the fingers of his right hand resting on the hilt of the knife riding above his boot. "While you were healing I got to thinking about a few things. Emil Velen, for example, his sister, his uncle, the way he is said to have died. Not in the hills but in the sea. Now how could you have made such a mistake?"
"I didn't." Vardoon met the cold, hard eyes. "People lie when it suits them. Carmodyne would have wanted to save the girl. Emil-"
"A young hothead," interrupted Dumarest. "Chafing at his dependence on his mother. Not liking the way she handled things and impatient to get in on the game. That's what you call it, isn't it? The game? But to buy in he needed a lot of money and could think of only one way to get it. So he hired a companion and headed into the hills. Or maybe he went alone. In which case-"
"He wasn't alone!"
"So something happened." Dumarest reached for the decanter and poured a ruby stream into Vardoon's goblet. "They may have got caught in a storm or found by guards or hit by other poachers. In any case one was killed and the other hurt. Did he hurt someone in return? Kill the wrong man?"
"Earl! I told you what happened!"
"Hurt," said Dumarest softly. "His face burned, caught alone in the hills. Who took care of him until he'd healed? Got him safe passage away from Sacaweena? Told an invented tale of Emil being drowned at sea? Carmodyne?"
Vardoon looked at his wine, drank, stared at the little remaining in the goblet. It shimmered with the amplified vibrations received from the quiver of his hand.
"It makes sense," continued Dumarest. "A man on the run, scared, trying to build a stake to get back. It's something you can't live without once it gets into the blood. The excitement, the fever, the lure of the game. Gambling for life and fortune. Something bred into the bone if you were born here and of the Orres. How long has it been now? Twenty-five years? Moving from world to world, working, trying to build a fortune, losing it as you tried to make it larger. Hitting the bottom and trying again."
Trying and failing until, on Polis, he had met the one man who could provide the answer. A desperate gamble won at the cost of another's safety. Something he couldn't have known.
"You think I'm Emil Velen?"
Dumarest shrugged and sipped again at his wine. "I don't know. I don't care. But if Kalova thinks you are it could be the reason he wants to ruin Fiona. An old blood feud. A relative dead, a friend-what does it matter? You're here that's all that matters."
"But-" Vardoon broke off, shaking his head. "I could never prove it," he muttered. "God, what a mess! If Fiona loses-"
"Kalova moves in. He gets the holding and you with it. Still want to hold onto your share?"
Marc Bulem was old, stooped, his eyes suspicious beneath tufted brows. He received Dumarest in a chamber filled with the scent of age; books, tapestries, scrolls-decaying parchments and papers yielding their insidious effluvium. An atmosphere which suited his thin, scholastic face, his gnarled and blotched hands. A man lost in a world of the past, of speculation and legend, of great deeds done in remote times, of sagas and chants and litanies. Of forgotten crusades.