The Peacemen pushed the door shut. "We heard there was a robbery here," said one Peaceman, keeping a firm grip on his thick black truncheon. "Looks like you've got it fairly well under control, though." He waggled his club at the scarfaced man on the floor. "Come with us, you; we're going to see the Uncle of Public Peace."
"Just a minute, Peaceman," said Kris mildly. "Could I have a word with you?"
"What is it?"
Kris lowered his voice. "These men are my bodyguards. We put on this little act for the people outside, just to show them that I could take care of myself."
"Oh? But why?"
Gradually Kris relaxed his pressure on the longshoreman's arm. He made no untoward move, so Kris released the arm completely.
"Well," Kris said, "I handle quite a lot of money here, and I was afraid there might be a robbery. I know that you Peacemen have enough to do already, and a good citizen should do all he can to help, so I thought that if word got around that I was able to handle my own affairs, I'd have less trouble." He patted the longshoreman on the back. "With the boys here to back me, we won't need to take Peacemen from their more important duties."
The Peacemen were smiling. "Why, that's a very good idea," said one. "Scare the tough boys off, eh? You're very thoughtful."
"I try to do my best," Kris said deprecatingly. "Don't I, boys?" He glanced at the two longshoremen.
"You sure do, sir."
"Yes, sir."
The words came out as a duet.
"Thanks for coming, though," Kris continued. "It's good to see such fine Peacemen."
"We were right outside, really. One of your customers called us in. What sort of business do you run here, anyway?"
Kris smiled and explained carefully. Within three minutes, the Peacemen were carrying Pelvash money, for which they had handed over their worthless Dimay cash.
"By the way," he said when the transaction was finished, "would you mind waiting outside for my boys? It would add color if the crowd thought they'd been arrested, and if they try to walk out by themselves they're likely to get killed."
"Certainly, sir. Glad to do the favor."
When they were outside, Kris faced the two longshoremen. They looked shamefaced, and, as Kris slowly looked them over, they grew nervous.
What's your names?" he asked.
"Bor pePrannt Hebylla," said the scarred one, "He's my brother, Bryl pePrannt."
"You look like a couple of pretty tough boys," Kris said. He paused for a moment. "If you want a job with good pay, come back here tomorrow morning."
"You mean that?"
"If I didn't, you'd be on your way to the Uncle right now. All you have to do is let those Peacemen escort you out of here."
He handed each of them a five-weight Pelvash note. "Go out and get yourself cleaned up. Take a bath. If you're not here by the Hour of Second Prayer, don't bother."
They nodded and left without another word.
Kris turned. There still were customers waiting to be served. He kept going until it was well after dark. Then he went to the door and announced to the impatient crowd, "The office is closing now. May the Great Light illumine you."
One man stepped forward.
"I've just got—"
"Sorry," Kris said firmly. "That's all for today. Come back tomorrow, if you want to redeem your Dimay money."
"But ... will the offer still hold?"
"Certainly," Kris said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "The offer's good indefinitely. So long as you've got Dimay scrip, I'll be offering half as much in Pelvash money for it!"
He packed the day's receipts carefully in a bulging leather case, went out the back way of the building, unhitched his deest, and rode swiftly toward the hotel in which he and Dran peDran had rented rooms.
Dran was waiting for him.
"How is it go, captain? I doesn't understand what's going on, but I does my best today."
Kris chuckled at the Bronze Islander's simplicity. "Everything's perfect, Dran! Business is wonderful!" He tossed the heavy leather case on the bed. "Watch that. He pulled a handgun from his belt. "There's my pistol," he said. "Use it if necessary. Someone might have found out where we are and decided to take the loot. I doubt it, but there's not much use taking chances."
"Where's you going, captain?"
Kris stripped off his vest and shorts and substituted a pair of common seaman's shorts, a uniform of somber black. He grinned secretively at Dran peDran. "You do your rumor-spreading by day, youngster; I'll do mine by night!"
He headed out into the Tammulcor street.
Chapter VI
Half an hour later, Kris strolled into a tavern, looking like nothing more or less than an ordinary seaman. The tavern was full and the peych-beer flowing; it was a time of troubles, and business was good.
When he produced cobalt coin to pay for his drinks, the barkeep practically fawned on him.
"What's yours?" he asked, staring at the hard money glinting in Kris' hand.
"Peych-beer," Kris said. The bartender fetched a glass of the heavy, warm Dimay brew, and Kris dropped his coin on the bar. "Light illumine you," he said. "What's news around here?"
"May He illumine us all," said the barkeep. "There's nothing much, seaman. Just the same as yesterday."
It was the standard reply of the Tammulcor barman, ritualized, uninformative. It was social custom, nothing more. The real news would be forthcoming.
The barkeep pushed out the mug of brew and said: "There's a rumor around town that some fool is buying up Dimay scrip."
Kris grinned inwardly. He had figured that that would be the news of the day, and he had been right. It was unusual enough an event to cause comment all over town— perhaps it had even spread farther. Fine, he thought. Excellent. Now comes the counter punch.
"Oh?" he said languidly. "Buying up Dimay scrip, eh? It doesn't surprise me at all. I'll give you one for two right now."
The tavern owner looked a little startled. "You mean that?"
Kris nodded emphatically. "Sure!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of crumpled Pelvash notes. "Here's twelve weights. Want to give me twenty-four?"
The tavern-keeper's eyes flickered greedily. "You've got a deal, seaman." He handed over a sheaf of Dimay notes, which Kris promptly pocketed.
"That's a good profit for me— when the cobalt comes back to the bank."
He walked out, whistling.
The same thing was repeated, with variations, all over Tammulcor. Kris arrived at his hotel room much later that evening, tired and somewhat overloaded with peych-beer, but with his pockets stuffed with Dimay scrip. Things were beginning to move, he told himself happily.
"Dran? Dran, you here?"
There was no sign of the Bronze Islander. Kris shrugged and turned to the bed, where he spied a note written on a grimy piece of paper. It took him a while to decipher Dran's near-illiterate scrawl, but finally he concluded that it was a message telling him that Dran peDran had gone out for some entertainment, and would be back later.
Kris nodded. He didn't mind a few moments of privacy at all. He walked to the closet, reached upward, and hauled out the saddlebags of his deest. Quickly, he unpacked one of the pockets.
The first item to come forth from the saddlebag was a thickly-folded wad of paper—Del peFenn's instructions on what Kris was to do in Tammulcor. Kris remembered the way Del's grizzled, fierce face had looked as he handed the instructions over.
"Here's what you're to do, lad. Seoul around, try to turn popular sentiment to us and away from the Elders, and above all stay out of any fights. I've outlined some speeches you can make."
Kris leafed through the pages. They were filled with Del's usual hysterical anti-priesthood tirades, the same sort of stuff Del peFenn had been handing out for so long to people obviously unwilling to listen. Casually, he ripped the sheets lengthwise, then tore the halves a second time, and ripped what was left into tiny fragments that he sprinkled into the waste unit.