As Hasselborg moved to get a better view, his scabbard struck against the merchandise and gave forth a faint tink. Instantly the man's eyes opened. For two seconds these eyes swiveled before coming to rest on Hasselborg and his companion.
Instantly the man bounded to his feet, holding a scimitar that had lain on the floor beside him, and sprang towards the intruders. Hasselborg jumped away from the crates to get elbow room and drew his sword. The man, however, went for Chuen. The curved blade swished through the air and met the pry bar with a clank.
Hasselborg stepped toward them and cut at the man, who saw him coming and skipped away before the blow arrived. Then he came back again, light and fast, cutting right and left. Hasselborg parried as best he could, wishing he were an experienced swordsman so that he could skewer this slasher. Clong, dzing, thump! Chuen had stepped behind the man and conked him with the crow. The man's saber clanged to the floor and the man followed it, falling to hands and knees.
He shook his head, then reached for his sword.
"No you don't!" said Hasselborg. In his excitement he spoke English, but nevertheless got his meaning across by whacking the outstretched hand with the flat of his blade.
"Ao!" cried the man, nursing his knuckles.
"Shut up and back up," said Hasselborg, remembering his Gozashtandou.
The man started to comply, but Chuen landed heavily on his back, flattening him out, and twisted his arms behind him.
"Amigo," said the Chinese, "cut length of rope off one of these bales and give it to me."
Hasselborg did so, wondering if there were not some easier way of making a living. While during hot action he never had time to be afraid, it gave him a queasy feeling when he came to reckon up the odds afterwards. When the man's wrists and ankles had been secured, they rolled him over and shoved him roughly back against the wall.
"Like to live?" asked Hasselborg, holding his point under the man's chin.
"Of course. Who be ye, thieves? I but guard the goods while—"
"Pipe down. Answer our questions, and in a low voice, or else. You're one of those who came down in the boat from Koloft, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Wait," said Chuen. "What's become of the regular watchman?"
"Gone reveling. There's a place near here he's long craved to visit, but can't because their working hours be the same as his. Since I was to stay the night anyway, I told him to take himself off whilst I watched."
Chuen looked at Hasselborg, who nodded confirmation, saying: "I saw the man leave this building while I was waiting for you." Hasselborg then asked the riverman: "Where's the rest of your boatload?"
"Out on the town, even as the watchman, may Dupulan rot his soul!"
"When do they shove off?"
"Tomorrow, as soon after sunrise as their night's joys'll let 'em."
"D'you know whom this box is for?"
"The Dour of Zamba, so they say."
"Do you know this dour? Have you ever seen him?"
"No, not I."
"When's he due in Majbur?" *
"Tomorrow ere sunset."
Chuen interposed: "Whom did you get this box from in the first place?"
"Earthman at Novorecife."
"What Earthman?"
"I—uh—know not his name; some unpronounceable Ertso—"
"You'd better remember," said Hasselborg, pricking the man's skin with his point. "I'm going to shove—"
"I know! I remember! 'Twas Master Julio Gois! Take away your sticker!"
Hasselborg whistled. "No wonder he tried to have me bumped off!"
"What's this?" asked Chuen.
Hasselborg told of his experiences with the Dasht of Rüz.
"Of course!" said Chuen. "Think I know. He didn't believe your story about Miss Batruni and took you for man after the guns. I wouldn't have believed it myself."
"But why should Gois go in for a smuggling scheme of this kind? What would he stand to gain from it?"
"No need for material gain. He's—ah—fanatic about progress."
"So that's why he said that no matter what happened, always to remember that he esteemed me! The twerp liked me well enough as a man, but since I threatened his world-changing scheme, as he thought, I'd have to be liquidated."
"Undoubtedly." Chuen turned back to the prisoner and switched to the latter's tongue, asking for more details. The few he got, however, were not such as to change the general outlines of what they already knew.
"I think you've pumped our friend dry," said Hasselborg at last. "Let's have a look at the crate."
With the pry bar they soon ripped the crate open. Inside, ranged in a double row in a rack, were twenty-four well-greased Colt-Thompson 6.5-millimeter light machines rifles. A compartment at the bottom of the crate held thousands of rounds of ammunition.
Hasselborg took one gun out and hefted its four kilos of weight. "Just look at these little beauties! You can adjust them for any reasonable rate of automatic or semiautomatic fire; you can set this doohickus to fire in bursts of two to ten shots. With one of these and plenty of ammunition I'd take on a whole Krishnan army."
"No doubt what friend Fallon has in mind," said Chuen. "Now that we got them, what shall we do with?"
"I was wondering myself. I suppose we could tote them an armful at a time down to the river and dump them in."
"That would fix Fallon's plans, all right, but then where would evidence be?"
"What evidence?"
"Evidence against smuggling ring. I don't care much about King Anthony. Lots of disguised Earth-men adventuring around Krishna, and if we get rid of him there will just be another soon. Main thing is to bust up gang inside Viagens Interplanetarias."
"Let me think," said Hasselborg. "By the way, now that we've drained this gloop, what'll we do with him? While we can't very well let him go, I don't like to kill the guy in cold blood."
"Why not? Oh, excuse, I forget you're an Anglo-Saxon. If not kill him, then what?"
Hasselborg felt in his pockets. "I think I've got it. Where's a pitcher and a glass?" He rummaged until he found a brass carafe and mug.
"What are you doing?" asked Chuen.
"See this? It's a trance pill that'll lay him out cold for a couple of weeks."
"I don't see how Novorecife authorities let you take that out."
Hasselborg grinned. "This is one they didn't know about. Or rather they thought it was an ordinary longevity pill. You might say it is, in a way, since I'll have a better chance of a long life on account of it."
"What are you going to do?"
"Knock him out, move the crates around to make a hiding place, and leave him there with enough air to keep him alive till he wakes up. In this mare's nest, we can hide him so it'll take a month to find him."
"All very well, but what when watchman come back? And what about the guns?"
Hasselborg had set down his water and was toying with the machine gun, working the bolt and squinting along the sights. He was careful to keep the muzzle pointed away from the others.
"Let's see—" he said. "I used to be able to strip and assemble these blindfolded." He unscrewed a wingnut and took out the bolt mechanism. "As I recall, one of the tricks they played on us in the Division of Investigation was to wait till we had the parts all laid out, then steal the firing pin while we were sitting there blind, and hope we'd put the gun back together without it. Maybe we could—"
"Take out firing pins—" said Chuen.
"And reassemble the guns—"
"Then let Fallon pick up guns—"
"Yes, while I tear back to Hershid and get my private army!"
Hasselborg and Chuen slapped each other's backs in sudden enthusiasm. Then the former said: