"I've got to get the manuscript."
"Five boxes? Do you know how heavy that will be?"
"Then you can help me carry it."
"What if we have to run?" she persisted. "I know what you think it's worth—but it's not worth a thing to us if they throw us in jail."
"I'm not leaving without it. Look through the closets and see if there's something we can carry it in. Most of the boxes it's in now are falling apart."
He returned a moment later, and found her waiting for him with a small overnight bag.
"You're going to look damned silly walking through our neighbor's yard and down the street carrying that," she noted.
"Not as silly as I'd look carrying three thousand pages in busted boxes," he replied, transferring the manuscript to the bag. "One thing I've learn over the years: act as if whatever you're doing, no matter how aberrant, is normal, and nobody will give you a second glance." He examined the bag. "Has this thing got a strap?"
"I didn't see one."
"Then let me rig something with one of our host's belts. I'll be a lot happier if I can sling it over my shoulder and have both hands free."
"Why bother? As you pointed out, you're unarmed."
"Don't get too melodramatic," he said. "I'm more likely to need my hands to solve a computer lock or even hold a sandwich than to shoot anyone."
She walked to a closet, found a belt, and tossed it to him. "You got me into this," she said. "I hope to hell that you can get me out."
"Just don't lose your head and you'll be fine."
He connected both ends of the belt to the bag, slung it over his shoulder, was surprised at how heavy it was, and walked to the back door.
"Okay," he said. "Take one last look to make sure they haven't moved, and then we'll leave."
She walked to the window, peered out, then turned to him. "They're in the same place," she informed him.
"Good," he said. "It's less than one hundred feet to all that shrubbery our neighbor planted at the back of his yard. See the tallest bush there? Just walk to it in a straight line from the back door, and I guarantee that no one on the street will be able to see you."
"And when I get there?" she asked, staring at the bush.
"I think there's room to walk around it on the left without getting tangled up in any thorns. Then walk straight through, and if anyone sees you just act like you've got a perfect right to be there. I promise no one will challenge you."
"What if someone does?"
"Not to worry—I'll be right behind you."
"Then what?"
"Then we walk to the nearest public conveyance, take it to the spaceport, and figure out a way to get the hell off this dirtball."
"Have you got any money?"
"You know I do. You saw me getting paid at the Golden Fleece."
"Then let's take a private aircab to the spaceport," she said. "For all you know, our faces are plastered all over the public transports."
He considered her suggestion, then nodded his assent. "Yeah, probably we're safe either way, but there's no sense taking chances."
"If we're safe, why are the police watching the house?"
"If they thought there was even a one in a hundred chance that Danny Briggs was in the house, they'd have blown the door away and come after me," answered Dante confidently. "They're the crime prevention unit, not the criminal catchers." He opened the back door. "Now let's go."
The Duchess walked out into the warm dry air and he followed her. They made it to the largest shrub undetected, then circled it, walked through the neighbor's yard—not undetected, but unhindered by an orange-skinned native gardener who stared at them for a moment and then went back to work—and then they were on the next street.
They walked to a corner and summoned an aircab, then rode in silence to the spaceport. Dante waited while the robot driver scanned the cash he'd given it and made change. He looked around for the Duchess and saw that she was walking toward the spaceport's entrance. He quickly caught up with her, linked his arm with hers, and turned her so they were walking parallel to the large departure building.
"What's the matter?" she complained.
"If they're watching houses, they're watching the spaceport too," he said. "Don't be in such a hurry to walk right into their hands."
"You've spotted them?" she asked as they walked past an upscale luggage store flanked by a pair of restaurants, one catering to humans, one to aliens.
"I don't plan to get close enough to spot them. It's enough that I know they're there."
"Then how are we going to get on the spaceliner that takes us away from here?" demanded the Duchess.
"We're not going to take a spaceliner."
"We're not?"
"We never were," said Dante. He glanced carefully around to make sure they weren't being followed. "It's too dangerous to book passage on it—and why tell them where to find us? Even if God drops everything else and we make it out of here on a liner, they'll simply signal ahead to wherever it's bound and have their counterparts waiting for us."
"I thought most Frontier worlds don't have police forces," she said.
"So you'll be met by a couple of bounty hunters," he replied with a grimace. "Is that any better?"
"Come on, Danny," she said, annoyed. "Why are you trying to scare me? You know we didn't do anything to put a dead-or-alive price on our heads."
"You know it and I know it, but I don't think they're real fussy about that on the Frontier. If the reward isn't big enough, it's not cost-effective to keep you alive and deliver you back into the Democracy. That's another reason we want a private ship: we don't want anyone knowing where we're going."
She frowned as the logic of his answer registered. "What the hell have you gotten me into?" she asked in panicky tones. "All I did was trip a man—and suddenly we're leaving Bailiwick and you're telling me that bounty hunters may want to kill me!"
"I didn't get you into anything at all," said Dante. "I'm grateful that you tripped Balsam, but it was your idea. I think it was a fine idea, and it kept me out of jail, but it wasn't mine." He paused. "Try to calm down. Neither of us was doing all that well here. Maybe it's time to go to the Frontier and start over."
"I was doing just fine!" she snapped.
"Well, you can stay if you want . . ."
"No!" she shouted.
"Well, that's settled."
"Some hero!" she muttered.
"I'm no hero. I'm just a guy who's trying to get the hell off the planet before the police catch up with me." He spotted a small hotel that catered to travelers who were changing flights on Bailiwick, and began walking toward it. "And it's time I started putting the wheels in motion."
"What are you going to do?" she asked, unable to slow down while their arms remained linked.
"I thought I'd warn the spaceport that we're coming in," he said with a smile.
"You're kidding, right?"
"I was never more serious in my life."
They reached the hotel, and Dante approached the front desk.
"May I help you?" asked the robot clerk in obsequious tones.
"Yeah. I want to contact the spaceport about my connecting flight. Where's a communicator?"