"Yet do they not come at thee in company?" Gwen whispered.
"That's why I was sitting back there." Chornoi jerked her head toward a table in a back corner. "I can see the door, and the whole room, but nobody can come at me from behind. They haven't tried, though." She took a sip of her ale, but grimaced as though it were bitter. "Gotta say that much for male chauvinism—when there're so few of us, each one is pretty precious. Any one of them might come at me by himself, but he doesn't want any of his mates to see him trying."
"They'd string him up by his toes," Yorick said quietly.
"Probably for target practice." Chornoi shrugged. "Better him than me."
She lifted her mug for a long swallow, then slammed it down. "So, there you have it. I can't walk through this burg without getting razzed, so anybody who's getting hassled, I'm on their side. Especially women." She nodded to Gwen. "And I think I can trust your man, because he's with you— so why would he want me?" Her mouth twisted in self-contempt. "Oh, don't give me that sympathetic look! I know I'm a hot enough item." She turned and glowered at Rod. "Maybe too hot. I want to get off this planet, so badly that I can't think of anything else—and you folks haven't been here before, which means you haven't been sentenced; so you might get to leave. You might be able to spring me."
Rod frowned. "I thought this was a military prison. Shacklar's just the warden. How can he have the authority to let you go?"
"He can do anything he wants—now," Chornoi said, with a mirthless smile. "PEST cut us off four years ago— right after I got here, in fact. They claimed trade to the outlying planets was a losing proposition—real losing, trillions of therms' worth. And a prison planet was all loss— it was much cheaper to kill the criminals. So they just stopped trade. The next freighter in brought us the news."
Rod frowned. "How come there was a 'next' freighter? I thought they stopped trade."
"We had a little trade going on our own, with some of the other outlying planets—but we had no more supplies coming in from Terra, no new machinery or spare parts. The good General-Governor made peace with the natives just in time."
"Thou canst sustain thyselves?"
Chornoi nodded. "The Wolmen bring in the food and fiber, and our men do the mining and manufacturing. But the end result is, we're not a prison planet anymore—we're a colony. And Shacklar's the Governor as well as the General, so he can do anything he damn well pleases with us. If he wants to let us go, we can go—but where to?" She waved an arm. "There's nothing out beyond that Wall but grass—and Wolmen."
"He won't let you leave the planet?"
"Oh, sure, if he thinks one of us should be allowed to— and if we can afford it." She shrugged. "He can't give away free spaceships, you know."
Rod exchanged glances with Yorick. "Well, when the time comes, we'll find some way to get the cash."
Yorick nodded. "I think the lady could be useful, Major. Real useful."
"Vacuum your brain," Chornoi snapped. "I offered to help you, not service you."
"Wasn't even thinking of it," Yorick said virtuously. "I meant knowledge-help. I know the basics about this planet, and about PEST…"
Chornoi"s mouth twisted. "Who doesn't?"
"Yeah, but, well, uh—about Wolmar. You've been here a few years, you know the lay of the land. It always helps to have a local on your side."
Chornoi shrugged. "I'm as local as they come around here. At least I know who's who, and where the bodies are buried—some of them, anyway. And I've spent time with the Wolmen."
Gwen frowned. "How didst thou come to that?"
"They looked safer than the soldiers—and they were, while I was on probation. But probation with each tribe gave me a year to get my feet under me, and tuck my emotions into place." Chornoi shrugged. "What can I tell you? It worked."
"So," Rod mused, "you're willing to help—if we help you."
"Yeah, if you'll help me get off the planet."
"If we can."
"Well, sure—if you can." Chornoi tossed her head impatiently.
"Of course," Rod mused, "if we do manage to get off this planet, you'll make us a marked crew. I mean, PEST has to have at least one agent here and if you leave, he'll blow the whistle. Then you'll have an assassin hot on your trail before you get past the first light-year."
"I understand that." Chornoi's tone was brittle. "I couldn't blame you if you didn't want to take the chance."
Rod shrugged. "I'm not too worried about it." Especially since we're planning to leave via time machine. "After all, there's no danger from assassins as long as we're on Wolmar—and without your help, we might not live to get off the planet."
Chornoi nodded. "I'd say that's true. You said it yourself—that Wolman's murder was too nicely timed. It had to be designed to put you and your wife behind bars—or into an early grave."
"We do have enemies," Rod admitted, "and I think they would be more interested in the 'early grave' option."
"We will rejoice in thine assistance," Gwen assured.
Chornoi gave her a peculiar look, but said, "Thanks, lady." And to Rod, "So what've we got?"
Rod shrugged. "A Purple corpse." He added a bleak smile. "Even though all Purples are present and accounted for."
Yorick spread his hands. "That's about all the information we have. Not exactly what you'd call a lot."
"Nowhere near enough," Chornoi agreed. "We've got to learn more before we can make any guesses about who really did it."
Yorick leaned back, fingers laced across his belly, thumbs twiddling. "Well, you're the local expert. Tell us—where do we get more information?"
"At the scene of the crime," Chornoi answered.
"Certes, 'tis no great need," Gwen protested. "Thou hast affairs of thine own to be about."
Maybe it was the word "affairs" that made the young private redouble his efforts. "Aw, come on, Ma'am! I'm from Braxa! We used to make our own brooms there, all the time." He gave her a quick grin over his shoulder. "How else'd our mamas keep the houses clean?" He turned back to Gwen's broomstick. "See, it's just this little rope here that's come untied. All it needs is a proper square knot. Now, you just put your finger on it, right there…"
Gwen did. Of course, that necessitated bending over, and swaying closer to the young man. He swallowed hard, and gave the knot a jerk that almost broke the cord.
Behind his back, Rod was tossing a loop of rope up to catch around one of the inch-thick spikes that studded the top of the Wall, and beckoning. Chornoi clambered up it, hand over hand, with Yorick right behind her. Rod came last, and tossed the rope over the far side of the Wall. Yorick slipped down first, then Chornoi. Rod glowered down at the young sentry's back, then turned to leap, catch the rope, and glide down. He landed lightly, and Chornoi stared. "How did you do that? Without breaking your arches, I mean."
"Practice," Yorick grunted. "Come on, let's get out of here." He bolted across the open stretch of brightly-lit land, into the shadow of a copse fifty feet away. No alarms went off; the sentry was looking at something else at the moment. Rod held his breath, feeling the jealousy climb up to consume him. Then a whisper and a rustle, and he whirled about to see Gwen gliding in for a landing on her broomstick.
Chornoi turned around, did a double take. "How did you get here?"
"I trust that young man will count himself amply repaid for his kindness." Rod snapped.
"Husband, I prithee." Gwen laid a gentle hand on his forearm. "What choice was there? He'd ne'er ha' trusted Demoiselle Chornoi."