The trick comes off as planned. Kris caches the Bank funds—some eight million weights in cobalt—on the offshore Bronze Islands, and returns to the Vashcor headquarters of the Party, where he learns that the entire province is in an uproar. With the metal backing for it's paper money gone, Dimay's scrip becomes worthless. And, to make matters worse, Elder Grandfather Kiv peGanz Brajjyd, head of the Council, has announced his refusal to replace the cobalt.
Kiv had been faced with a unique problem. He had received an anonymous note informing him that if the coin were replaced the robbers would dump the stolen metal back on the market, thus reducing the value of all Nidorian money. Kiv did not, of course, suspect that the note had been sent by his grandson, Norvis, whom he believed to be dead. Confronted with this prospect, Kiv refused to allow the bullion reserves to be minted.
The second part of the plan now remains to be carried out. Kris peKym goes overland to Tammulcor, accompanied by his devoted First Officer, a Bronze Islander named DRAN peDRAN GORMEK. Kris sets up an office, and, using the cash reserves of the Party, begins to build up the value of Dimay scrip again by offering paper from the Bank of Pelvash, buying the Dimay money at half its face value. Within a short time, he gains control over Dimay's economy; the value of the money fluctuates at his whim. People become aware of his power.
With Tammulcor in his grasp, Kris can begin his next bold stroke against the Earthmen. He invites a group of merchants to his office and tells them that Nidor's calamities are really the doing of the Earthmen, and when he sees them sympathetic to his approach, he begins to sketch out a tentative plan of attack that will result in the downfall of the Earthmen. He is painfully aware, all this time, that as a Party underling he has no right to be furthering plans of his own, and that Del, if he knew, would oppose him solidly.
As he speaks to the merchants, Kris is interrupted by a sudden knocking at the office door. It is Secretary Norvis, looking travel-stained and weary.
"What's going on, Norvis?" Kris asks. "Why are you here?"
Norvis peKrin's face becomes bleak. "Leader Del PeFenn was murdered two days ago. Shot from ambush by a rifle. We don't know who did it."
Chapter VIII
Kris stared at the smaller man almost without seeing him, as the meaning of his words began to filter through his mind.
"Del is dead?"
Norvis nodded. "He was killed in the street, right outside the Headquarters. He was about to enter the building when someone shot him down. I saw the whole thing from my window."
"You know who did it?"
"Couldn't see," Norvis said, shrugging. "I have some ideas, but—" He paused. "Del was getting awfully fiery about overthrowing the Elders, and I knew it wouldn't be long before someone tried to silence him."
"Nasty situation," Kris said, almost to himself. He glanced back into the room where his eight merchants were sitting waiting for him. "Look—I've got eight fine, dues-paying members of the Party in there. They don't know that they've been in the presence of their new Leader all morning."
Norvis frowned, then nodded. "You are the new Leader, of course, now that Del's dead. You sure you can do it? It's a big job, Kris—and getting bigger."
"Don't worry about that. I'll be able to handle it." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully with the back of his hand. "It seems to me, though, that you should have sent a messenger instead of coming yourself. Who's handling the Party in Vashcor? You didn't leave young Ganz in charge, did you?"
"No. Ganz and Marja came with me; I figured that if anyone were out after Del, they might try for his children, too." Rather self-consciously, Norvis brushed dust from his forearms. "No; I left the Party in Captain Bas peNodra's hands. He's a nobody, but he can hold them together if there's stronger leadership from the top. I thought maybe you'd rather keep up the work here than go back to Vashcor."
"You were right," Kris said decisively. "There's more work to be done here in Tammulcor in a week than there is in Vashcor in a year. I think we'll set up our new headquarters here—make this the center of the Merchants' Party.
"But there's time for that later. Here's some money; you take Ganz and Marja down to my hotel. Dran peDran's there; he'll take care of you. We'll talk this out when there's some free time. Right now, I've got business to attend to."
"Fine." Norvis nodded and left. Kris remained at the door for a moment, a half smile on his face. Del peFenn Vyless was dead. How nice! How timely!
It was too bad about Del, of course—but the old seaman had been asking for trouble all along, and anyone who antagonized people the way he did had better be prepared for a short life. And now Del was out of the way. That left Kris free to put his own plans in operation without fear of conflict from the gruff old captain.
Kris turned and went back into his office. The conversation the eight merchants had been engaged in died away immediately. They looked up at him, and he surveyed them with icy eyes—eyes that showed neither friendliness nor hatred, only an expectancy of obedience.
He glanced at each of them in turn. "You are all members of the Merchants' Party, aren't you?"
The men looked at each other briefly, and then, as though he were afraid something would happen to him, the baker said softly: "Yes. We are."
Kris peKym's expression didn't change. "Then give your alms (o the honor of Del peFenn Vyless, who has been murdered by our enemies."
"What?" Nibro peDom was out of his chair instantly. "How do you know that?"
"The man at the door just now was Norvis peKrin Dmorno," Kris said. "He bore the news from Vashcor."
"What will happen to the Party now?" Nibro asked nervously. "Now that Del is gone, who—"
"From now on, you will follow me," Kris said coldly.
"You? But who are you?"
"Kris peKym Yorgen, and that's all that need concern you. Del chose me his successor before his death."
"But how do we know that?" the baker asked truculently.
Kris frowned. "Because I tell you so! Do you think I'd lie?"
Nibro peDom seemed to give ground. "But—what are your qualifications? You're not a merchant. What do you know of our special problems? As far as we know, you're just a traveling moneychanger!"
Kris stepped forward and placed a forefinger on the baker's chest. "Nibro peDom, be assured that I know the merchants' problems intimately. I also know the problems of the seamen, the bankers, the farmers, and the priests. I have their interests at heart as well as those of the Great Light. The Party is in good hands, Nibro peDom." He folded his arms. "And now, let's get down to business, shall we? I called you here for a reason, and we've already wasted too much time."
The meeting took nearly an hour. By the time it was over, Kris had obtained several definite commitments. Mentally, he checked off the things he would have to remember —there were things to be delivered and things to be set aside and stored.
"Let's run through it again. Drang peBroz, two thousand peych-knives."
The merchant nodded. "Nearly three feel long, heavier and wider in blade than normal, with a special thong to loop around the wrist. A very odd peych-knife, Kris peKym."