The coordinates of Earth.
Knowing him, the Cyclan must know of his quest and could have used that information to lure him to a world of its choice. But would they have fashioned the boxes? Set Nisbet to wait until he arrived and then to be so unhelpful? Arranged the details of an entire living complex on the assumption that he would learn of the casket and the decoration it had carried?
He decided not. The box he'd examined had been real and there had been more than one. And while the Cyclan held greater power than any other organization ever known, it was not omnipotent.
No matter how the trap had been arranged there was now only one matter of real importance-how to escape.
The bird chirruped, tilted its head, stared with a beady eye at the shape below which remained so still. A sound which joined with others to break the pre-dawn stillness. Dumarest took advantage of it to ease his weight and change his stance. Small movements which pressed his boots against the gravel to produce a faint rasping, echoed by the sound of boots from lower down the warehouse.
Guards and Dumarest tensed. So far he'd been lucky, moving when no one could see, freezing to stand immobile in the shadows the searchers passed by. Too many and still too intent. A second shift, he guessed, fresh men to replace those tired and jaded. Fatigue he had assessed when moving from the shrubs to the avenue. Now, among the warehouses, his skin prickled to incipient danger.
"A waste of time." The voice echoed disgust. "I bet he's holed up in that carnival. Instead of checking the town and field we should go in and take the damned place apart."
"Give them the fun of the fair, eh, Franz?"
"Why not? You like the idea of them laughing at us?"
"They won't be laughing for long." The second voice held a feral purr. "But the grounds and booths were checked last night and nothing found."
"So?"
"So we wait until dawn and then go in. A full cordon and the orders are not to be gentle. If he was there someone will tell us. If we find him the place gets burned." The man laughed with a soft malice. "My bet is that it gets burned in any case. An accident-you know how they can happen."
Franz returned the laughter. "Too well, Tousel. It should be fun."
Two of them and there could be more within call. The Scafellians were efficient. Dumarest listened to the pad of nearing boots and saw the flash of beams directed at the looming bulk of the warehouse against which he stood. Lights which rose to the eaves as well as playing on the lower regions.
Deep in the shadows something snarled and broke free with a rasp of claws. A nocturnal predator startled by the noise and confused by the lights. It raced across the gravel toward the place where Dumarest stood, slowed as it scented his presence and sprang upward to hit the wall with all four feet. As it vanished over the eaves the darting beams followed it, one sliding down to follow the trail left in the scuffed gravel. Before it could reach him Dumarest stepped forward.
"You there! Halt!" The rasp in his tone was that of one accustomed to obedience. "Lower those beams! Immediately!"
Automatically they obeyed.
"Your numbers?" Dumarest waited as they gave them. "I am reporting you both for gross negligence. Do you think the man we are searching for is deaf? I heard your babble long before you appeared. Had I been the criminal I could have killed you both. Fools! Return to your checkpoint and report to your officer."
It almost worked. If he had worn a familiar uniform they would have obeyed but the robe was soiled and creased and Franz had seen too much in the diffused glow of his torch.
"Your authority, sir? Your name?"
"Major Wyle-I am known."
Franz hesitated. The man had stepped forward without being challenged and it was not uncommon for spot checks to be made. And they had been talking too loudly. Yet he was reluctant to compound the error.
Tousel solved the dilemma. "Your identification, sir? Please show me your identification."
"Of course." Dumarest stepped closer to the guards as he fumbled beneath the robe. One, the elder, stood back, both hands on his club, which he carried like a stave before him. The standard alert-stance from which he could move in any direction and bring his weapon into play with maximum efficiency. The other had taken a step forward, one hand extended, the club dangling from its thong. "I wondered when you would ask for it. Your light?"
Dumarest moved on as Tousel aimed his torch to illuminate his robe. The elder of the two hadn't moved but his eyes shifted a little as Dumarest drew closer. The more wary of the two, he must be taken care of first.
"Here," said Dumarest. "Check this."
His hand came from beneath the robe, fingers clenched as if holding something, his arm extending as he neared the watchful guard. Another step and the fingers had straightened to form a blunted spear which he thrust up and forward to strike at the throat, at the nerves buried deep beneath the skin. He delivered the blow with lightning speed and the man was falling before Tousel knew what was happening. Even so he was fast.
"Alarm!" he shouted. "Tome! Al-" He slumped, stunned, not feeling the impact of the gravel, but the damage had been done. From the far end of the warehouse came the dancing glow of lights, accompanied by the blare of whistles. Dumarest glanced the other way, saw more lights signaling more guards. Trapped between them, he had only one way left to go.
He backed, breathing deeply, knowing he would have only this one chance. Before him the building loomed dark against the sky and it was hard to spot the exact position of the eaves. A run and he threw himself upwards, hands extended, feeling the bruising impact of the wall against legs and chest as the tips of his fingers caught the gutter. For a moment he hung suspended, then, with a convulsive effort, had drawn himself up and over the eaves to lie sprawled on the low slope of the roof.
Above him something snarled.
The creature which had betrayed him, startled then and furious now. Dumarest heard the rasp of claws and swung up a hand, striking fur, hearing the beast land and dart away.
"What was that?" A guard below swung up the beam of his light. "I heard something up there. It-" The beam jerked as the creature jumped from the roof, chasing it as it landed to race into darkness. "There! He's running down there!"
A natural mistake, and Dumarest lay silent as the guards ran after the vanished beast.
Dawn came to illuminate the warehouse, one of a row set widely apart, the spaces between patrolled by guards. Dumarest watched them, careful not to reveal himself against the sky, checking the distance between himself and the field with its ships. Safety lay there if he could reach them and find a handler willing to give him passage. One wise enough to know that he would never get the posted reward for handing over the wanted man. To insist would be to wait for the hearing, wait for the final assessment and then with luck, to receive only a portion. Professional guards did not take kindly to those wanting to deprive them of their rewards.
The problem lay in choosing the right vessel. That was the first problem-there were others: to reach it unseen, to gain time to make the arrangements, to stay free until it left. But first, to find the right ship.
Dumarest studied them from his position on the roof: a freighter which would carry massed cargoes, some free traders open to charter, an agency vessel belonging to a trading consortium, a couple of others he guessed had been hired for a specific task. The dealers who had come to trade and buy would not wait for the Sporing but once they had gone it would be a long time before the tourists followed. If he was to escape it had to be soon.
Dumarest looked at the sky, at the wheeling shapes of birds and other shapes which rose to glide low and steady through the air. Rafts filled with watching men who would search every inch of open ground.