"Do you have any money?" Bibs asked.
"Just a few Arghans I lifted from one of my guards. Like you, I have just escaped,"
Her eyebrows lifted at this—very attractive eyebrows arched above even more attractive eyes I noticed.
"Is that why you helped me out? What were you in prison for? All I know is that you and the old boy were left behind on Spiovente. Scuttlebutt had it that Garth sold you into slavery."
"He did, and my friend is dead because of that. I am a little bitter about Garth for a lot of reasons. I liked The Bishop. He helped me, taught me a lot, and I am happy to say that I was able to help him in return. We left our home world in a hurry, as you will remember, and paid Captain Garth a lot of money to get us away. But that wasn't enough for him. He earned more by selling us into slavery. I lived—but The Bishop died because of being a slave. As you can imagine I am not wildly pleased by his death. A number of loathsome things happened on that planet, the least of which was my being caught by the League Navy. They were returning me to my home planet to stand trial."
"On what charges?" There was keen interest in her voice.
"Bank robbery, criminal abduction, jailbreak. Things like that."
"Wonderful!" she said, laughing aloud with joy; she had very neat white teeth. "You did yourself an immense favor when you came to little Bibs's aid. I know this planet well, know where the money is. Know how to buy our way ofiplanet when we are done. You steal it, I'll spend it—and our troubles are over."
"Sounds reasonable. Could we talk about it over some food? It's been a long time since breakfast."
"Of course—I know just the place."
And she did too. The restaurant was small and discreet while the felyon ha kyk mogh tasted a lot better than it sounded. We washed it down with a great bowl of ru'th gwyn which turned out to be a satisfactory red wine: I memorized the name for future use. When we had eaten our fill l took one of the wood splinters from the jar on the table and worried bits of gristle from between my teeth.
"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" I asked, asking a question. Bibs sipped at her wine and waved permission. "You know why I was imprisoned. Would you consider it rude if I asked the reason for your incarceration?" She slammed her mug down so hard that it cracked and oozed a carmine trickle. She was unaware of it; her face twisted with anger and I could hear her teeth grate together.
"He did it, I'm sure, it had to be him, the bastarda Sfitllo!" Which is about the worst name you can call anyone in Esperanto. "Captain Garth, he's the one. He knew the
League Navy was after us for gunrunning. He paid us off here—and the next day I was arrested. He tipped them off and planted the kewarghen in my bag. With that evidence they busted me on a drugs charge, selling to the natives and all that. I want to kill him."
"So do I—for causing the death of my friend. But why did he want you arrested?"
"Revenge. I lacked him out of bed. He was too kinky for my liking."
I gulped and coughed and took a long slug of wine and hoped that she wouldn't notice that I was blushing. She didn't. Her eyes, still glazed with anger, stared past me into space. "Kill him, I really would like to kill him. I know that it's impossible but, oh how he deserves it,"
"Why impossible?" I asked with some relief, glad to have the conversation back on comfortable topics like murder and revenge.
"Why? What do you know about this planet, Jim?"
"Nothing. Other than its name, Steren-Gwandra." -"Urhich means planet in the local lingo. They are not a linguistically imaginative lot. At least those here in Brastyr aren't. Like many other settled planets this one was cut off from galactic contact during the breakdown years. Brastyr, this continent, has few natural resources and over the centuries they managed to lose all of the old technology. They are so dim that most of them forgot Esperanto. Not the traders though, they had to deal with the offshore island. By the time that galactic contact was reestablished the locals had sunk into a sort of agricultural semi-feudalism."
"Like Spiovente?"
"Not quite. Just offshore is this damned great island I mentioned, separated from this mainland by a narrow strait. Almost all of the minerals, coal and oil in this hemisphere are located there. That's why it was settled first and why it was well developed before the second wave of immigrants arrived during the diaspora ages. None of the newcomers were allowed to settle there. Not that they cared, this entire continent was wide-open and bountiful and the arrangement suited all parties concerned.
Industry and technology over there on Nevenkebia, farming and forestry here. I doubt if anything changed much during the breakdown years—1 imagine the relationship was intensified if anything. That's why we are never going to get close enough to Garth to kill him."
"I don't understand. What has this got to do with him?"
"He's on the island. Unreachable." She sighed and rubbed her fingertip in circles in the pool of spilled wine. I was still puzzled.
"But Garth is a Venian, like you. The captain of a Venian ship. Why should they protect him?"
"Because he's not Venidh, that's why. The Nevenkebia military bought the ship, he commanded it. We were happy to go along with the plan, they paid well. Venians are very flexible when it comes to money. But he is really something big in the military there. They run the place. All those guns we were smuggling were made on the island. It was a good racket, plenty of ofiplanet currency. But when the League Navy got too close they paid us off and closed the operation down. There is just no way to get at him on that island."
"I'll find a way. "
"I hope that you do. I'll give you all the help that I can. But first things first, Jim. We will have to stay out of sight for a bit while they are looking for us—and that will take a pile of Arghans. How much do you have?"
She spread out the coins she had stolen and I added mine to the pile.
"Not enough. We need a lot for bribes, a safe place to get out of sight. I have contacts, a fence I used to peddle to. For the right price we can have him find a safe house…"
"No. Avoid the criminal classes at all counts. Too expensive and the first place that the authorities will look. Do they have hotels here? Expensive, luxurious hotels?"
"Not as such. But there are ostelyow where traveling gentry put up. But ofiworlders never go there."
"Even better. Can you pass as a native?"
"Yredy. You could too with a little effort. There are so many different accents and dialects here that no one will notice.'"
"Ideal. Let us then instantly steal a lot .of money, buy some expensive clothes and jewelry and check in at the best ostel. Agreed?"
"Agreed!" She laughed out loud and clapped her hands together. "I swear, Jim, you are a breath of fresh air on this fetid planet. I like your style. But it won't be easy. They don't have banks here. All the cash is held by moneylenders called hoghas. Their places are like small forts. Plenty of guards, always from the moneylender's own family so they can't be bribed."
"Sounds good. Let's go check one out. Then we will go back tonight and crack it."
"Do you mean it?"
"Never more serious."
"I've never met anyone, like you. You look like a kid—but you can really take care of yourself."
I did not like that kid remark but I stayed shut up and tried not to pout while she made plans.
"We'll take some of these Arghans, change them for Nevenkebia coins. This will take a lot of arguing over rate of exchange so you will have time to look around. I'll do the talking. You just carry the money and keep your mouth shut. We'll get you a bodyguard's club first, then they'll never even notice you."
"No time like the present. Let's find a club shop." This was easily enough done. Most of the side streets were open markets, with stalls and tiny shops that sold an apparently endless variety of cloth, fruit, meals wrapped in leaves, knives, saddles, tents—and clubs. While the merchant extolled the value of his wares, muffledly and incomprehensively through the layers of cloth about his face and neck, I hefted the samples and tested their swing. I finally settled on a meter length of tough wood that was bound about with iron bands.