Dumarest said, "You're doing it again. Rejecting an offer before it's made. At least listen to what I have to say."
"You're wasting your time."
"That is hardly the response of someone who should be interested in survival. Who is trusted by the Council to do the best for Kaldar. Should I go over your head? Make my offer to someone less intransigent?"
"You would do that?"
"It is your decision." Dumarest moved his chair closer to the desk, placed an arm on the surface, leaned forward to put his face inches from her own. "I'll deal with Pember if I have to but I'd rather not. He would complicate things. He might even try to kill me. He could succeed."
Nadine doubted it. "Why would he want to do that?"
Because of what he was; scum battening on filth. A parasite living on property stolen from others. Trading in goods stained with blood, pain, death and tears. A thing worse than any raider for without his kind to provide a market none could prosper. Things Dumarest didn't mention. Facts she read as if he had.
"Earl! We are what we are!"
"Then be what you are!" He leaned even closer, his face hard with the ferocity of a predator. "What do you owe to Pember and his kind? Why show them concern? Act for me. For yourself. Sell him the components."
"No."
"Two hundred units." Dumarest ignored the protest. "Charge what you like and keep a tenth of what you get. An eighth. A fair commission."
"You don't understand. We don't operate that way. Toibin-"
"Has nothing to do with this. He's made his sale but the components are mine. Money," he urged. "Think of what you could do with it!"
How had he known? Had he read her as she had read him? Sensing her need and playing on it? Offering the one lure she couldn't resist. The chance of freedom. Of independence. Of escape.
Looking up she saw the smiling face of her father. A smile of love or derision?
Dumarest said, quietly, "The components are legally mine. Bought in normal trade."
"That makes a difference?"
"To you, perhaps." He smiled as her eyes dropped to meet his own. "We are what we are. But what we are isn't always what we seem to be. Please, Nadine. I need your help."
"To make a fortune?"
"No," he said. 'To get transport to Earth."
Chapter Seven
In the shadows a woman was chanting a saga composed to laud the prowess of the raiders, their bravery, their courage, their fierce independence. Verses which dealt with blood and conquest, each followed by a roar from the crowd. Sound augmented by fists drumming on tables and the clash of beakers. Barbaric melody laced with wild ululations and animal bellowing.
The Kaldari at play.
The auction was over, the dealers gone, the warehouse now empty. It was a time to relax, to celebrate and make plans for future enterprises. Time, also, for tempers to flare and imagined grievances to be revenged. For romance to flower and assignations to be made. For the true nature of the Kaldari to show itself in strutting, unthinking, barbaric arrogance.
Dumarest sat with Zehava at a corner table. An overhead lantern cast a soft, yellow light and others of varying hues filled the tavern with blotches of ruby and emerald, of sapphire, agate, amethyst. Doors and windows were illuminated with the nacreous sheen of pearl. Colors which accentuated the gleam of polished leather and metal, of bracelets, armbands, chains and heavy rings. Portable wealth advertising the prowess of the wearer.
"Drink!"
A man lurched to a halt before the table. He swayed a little, spilled wine shining wetly on his clothing. His belt was of wide golden links, the sheathed knife bright with jewels and ornate engraving.
"Drink," he said again. "Drink with Odumi."
Dumarest rose without hesitation, his goblet lifted high. "I drink," he said loudly. "To Odumi and to all his friends."
"The toast?"
"To travel far. To live well. To die bravely."
A sentiment which appealed and a roar of approbation echoed from the rafters. Odumi, satisfied, moved away to join a knot of cronies. The woman, her chant ended, stepped forward into brighter light to reveal herself as a crone painted and adorned to resemble a warrior queen. As she scrabbled for the coins flung as a reward other women, far younger, moved purposefully among the men.
Zehava snorted her contempt as someone began another chant.
"Look at the fools. Strutting, drinking, dreaming of past glories when they taste nothing but failure. Do you know how much Toibin made from that raid? Can you guess?"
"Not enough."
"Nowhere near enough." She scowled into her empty goblet, watched as a girl, responding to Dumarest's signal, refilled it. "Tonight will see the back of most of the gain. I had a double share but even that barely paid expenses. Glowering, she added, "I heard he blamed me. Said my selection was poor."
"As you expected."
"As you warned me he would but I still don't like it." The wine lowered as she drank. "What do you think of our administrator?"
"Nadine?"
"That's the one. Nadine Cavallo. Sorenson's niece. Her mother married his brother." Patiently she explained, "Women retain their own names on Kaldar. If I had a daughter she would be named after me. Sons take their father's name."
"Tell me about her."
He leaned back, remembering the face which was a mask for the unhappiness within. A lonely child who had grown into a lonely woman. One alien to her place and time, unable to accept the mores of the society into which she had been born and yearning to escape to a more gentle culture.
"She's weak." Zehava dismissed the woman with a shrug. "Her mother should have taken her into the dark. Brak should have made her go roving to harden her spirit. Instead he let her skulk in an office. I tried to befriend her once. Fetched her a necklace from a raid but she wouldn't touch it. The fool. There wasn't even blood on it." She laughed at the memory. "That raid was something! We hit a vacation resort and stripped it clean. Neat work and good profit. Urstyn was clever."
"Why don't you still ride with him?"
"He's dead. Took a nasty wound in the gut on Asque. The pain was too much so he ended it." She lifted her goblet. "A good man. I drink to his memory."
As others were now drinking to old comrades and departed friends. In a far corner a drum throbbed and a pipe wailed a mournful tune. Money rattled on the tables as serving girls scurried with fresh jugs of wine for the toasting. A custom it would be unwise to ignore. Dumarest bought wine, refilled their goblets, pretended to drink to every shouted name.
To Zehava he said, "Who was the man who died on Arpagus?"
"Did anyone die?"
"A loader. Toibin left him behind. Find out who it was. Quickly!" He watched as she slipped away to mingle with others. Shouting rose as she returned and men milled about the door. The beat of the drum quickened as if the celebrations were reaching a climax. "Well?"
"Dren Ford. He wasn't missed until after they'd left." Slowly she added, "If you know he's dead you must have killed him."
"So?"
"For God's sake don't admit it. He has kin. There are at least five here who would avenge him."
"They'd fight?"
"They'd butcher. You wouldn't stand a chance. They'd cut you down like a beast and none would object. You're an outsider. They don't owe you anything. You aren't of the Kaldari."
But she was. Dumarest said, quietly, "He should be remembered."
"Yes." She looked at the crowd, a sudden anger thinning her lips. "The bastard! Toibin might have some excuse for having abandoned me but not the loader. His people should know what happened." Abruptly she rose to her feet, her voice clear against the wail of the pipe, the pulse of the drum. "A toast! To one who was forgotten. I drink to Dren Ford!"