Jack of Swords dot-14

  Jack of Swords

  ( Dumarest of Terra - 14 )

  E.C Tubb

  E.C Tubb

  Jack of Swords

  Chapter One

  At sunset the sky of Teralde was painted with vibrant swaths of brilliant color; minute crystals of air-borne dust refracting the light so that the entire bowl of the firmament looked as if some cosmic artist had spilled his palette in a profusion of inspired genius. An eye-catching spectacle but one which, for Dumarest, had long ceased to hold charm.

  He walked through the streets gilded with dying light, past tall houses fashioned of stone, the windows small, the doors thick and tightly barred. Even the shops were like small fortresses, their wares jealously guarded, reluctantly displayed. The field, as usual, was empty, the barren dirt devoid of the weight of a single vessel. The gate set into the perimeter fence was unmanned, a sure sign that no ship was expected.

  "Nothing." The agent, a Hausi, leaned back in his chair. His ebony face, scarred with the caste marks of his guild, was bland. "Ships will arrive eventually, of course, but Teralde is not a commercial world. Only when the beasts have been processed and shipments are available will the traders come. Until then all we can hope for is some tourists."

  Luxury vessels carrying jaded dilettantes, the rich and curious with money to burn and time to waste. But Dumarest had no time-unless a ship arrived soon he would be stranded.

  He said, "I need work."

  "Work?" The Hausi shrugged. "My friend, on Teralde the desire is not enough. You need to own special skills. Your profession?"

  "I can do most things which need to be done."

  "Of course. Do I reveal doubt?" Yethan Ctonat selected a comfit from an ornamented box and crushed the candied morsel between strong teeth. "But, you understand, I represent my guild. To place a man who cannot perform the skills he claims to own would reflect on my reputation. And demand is small. Are you a master of genetic manipulation? A physician? A veterinarian? I tell you frankly, we have no need of gamblers."

  "Do I look a gambler?"

  "A man who travels is always that," said the agent smoothly. 'To drift from world to world, never certain of what he will find, what else can such a man be? Especially if he travels Low. The fifteen-percent death rate is a risk none but a gambler would take. And you have traveled Low, have you not?"

  To often, riding doped, frozen, and ninety percent dead in caskets designed for the transportation of animals. Cheap travel-all that could be said for it.

  "I will not deceive you," said Yethan Ctonat. "As you must have discovered, there is no hope of normal employment on this world. You work for the Owners or for those they tolerate or you do not work at all. And for every vacancy there is a host of applicants." He added, casually, "For a man like you there is only one way to survive on Teralde."

  Dumarest was curt. "To fight?"

  "You have guessed it. Blood has a universal appeal. If you are interested-" The agent broke off, reaching for another comfit. "It's all I can offer."

  And all Dumarest had expected, but the attempt had had to be made. The colors in the sky were fading as he walked through the city and toward the wilderness at the edge of which sprawled the slums. Lowtowns were always the same and in his time he had seen too many of them. Sometimes they were huddles of shacks, tents, and shelters crudely fashioned from whatever materials were at hand; at others as on Teralde, they were simple boxes built of stone and set in neat array. But shacks or buildings the atmosphere was identical.

  A miasma compounded of despair and poverty, the reek of a world which held no pride, no hope, nothing but the bleak concentration of the moment, the need to survive yet one more day, one more hour. The refuge of those without work or money. Had they been slaves they would have been fed and clothed, a responsibility to their owners. As it was they formed a pool of cheap labor which cost nothing, the only expense being the warren in which they lived and bred and died.

  "Earl!" A man came running toward Dumarest as he entered one of the buildings. "Earl, have you decided?"

  Cran Elem was small, thin, his cheeks sunken, the bones prominent. Beneath the rags he wore his wasted flesh and bone gave him the fragility of a child.

  Dumarest made no answer, climbing the stairs to the flat roof there to stand and look at the sky. Dusk was thickening and would soon yield to night, the darkness heralded by the glitter of early stars.

  Stars like the eyes he had seen too often in the shadows surrounding a ring. The avid, hungry eyes of those eager for the sight of blood and pain. Their coldness was the chill of naked steel, their gleam that of razored edge and point. To fight, to kill and maim, to win the price of a meal so as to live to fight again. He had done it before and would again if all else failed, but there could be a better way.

  To Cran he said, "Assemble and warn the men. We leave in an hour."

  * * *

  The storm broke at midnight with a sudden flurry of lightning followed by thunder and a driving rain. Crouched beneath the fronds of stunted vegetation Dumarest felt its impact on his head, the deluge filling his mouth and nostrils so that he had to bend his face in order to breathe. On all sides the gritty soil turned into an oozing, alluvial mud.

  "Earl!" From the darkness Cran edged close, his voice strained, echoing his despair. "Earl! It's a bust!"

  "Wait!"

  "It's useless. We tried but this is hopeless. We'd best get back to town."

  A flash illuminated him, thunder crashing as Dumarest reached out and caught an arm. Beneath his fingers he could feel the stringy muscle, the stick of bone. In his grip the man was helpless.

  "Wait," he said again. "This storm could help us."

  "Help?" Cran almost sobbed in his disappointment. "With mud up to our ankles and rain in our eyes? The storm will have unsettled the beasts and they're bad enough at the best of times." His voice rose to the edge of hysteria. "I thought we'd have a chance but the luck is against us. Damn the luck. Damn it all to hell!"

  He cried out as Dumarest's hand slapped his cheek.

  "Earl!"

  "Control yourself." Dumarest freed the arm. "Get the others."

  "You're going back?"

  "Just do as I say."

  They came like ghosts, revealed in stark detail by the intermittent flashes, the dirt which had stained faces and hands gone now, washed away by the rain. Like Cran they wore rags, torn and discarded garments salvaged from garbage, broken shoes and naked feet wrapped in layers of rotting cloth. Their hair, plastered close, accentuated their skull-like appearance. Starving men who would be dead soon unless they obtained food.

  Among them Dumarest looked solid, reassuring, his clothing scuffed but whole, the gray plastic of tunic, pants and boots gleaming with a wet slickness.

  He said, "Cran, how far to the compound?"

  "A mile, maybe less, but-"

  "This storm will help us. The guards will remain in shelter and the lightning will be blamed for anything affecting the electronic system. The animals will be together and easy to take. Before dawn you'll all have bellies full of meat."

  "Or be dead," said a man bleakly.

  "Today, tomorrow, what's the difference?" said another. "I'm willing to take a chance if Earl will lead us."

  "I'll lead you," said Dumarest. "And there'll be no quitting. If any man tries to leave I'll cut him down. Understand?" He paused as thunder rolled and, as it faded, said, "We've no choice and the storm will make it easy. Just keep down and merge with the ground. Freeze if a light shines your way. Work as a unit and we can't go wrong."

  Words to stiffen their resolve, but a man had a question.

  "When we reach the compound who goes in?"

  "I will," said Dumarest. "Ready? Let's get on with it." />
  Cran led the way and Dumarest followed him close as they left the poor shelter. It was too early to move-later the rain would ease a little, but waiting would rob the others of enthusiasm. What had to be done must be done fast and they had to be gone long before dawn.

  A blur of light and the compound came into sight. The rain lashed against the mesh of the high fence and the lights ringing it, spraying and misting the installation so as to give it the insubstantial quality of a dream. A dream shattered by the sudden, snarling roar of a beast as it slammed itself against the fence.

  From a tower a searchlight threw a cone of brilliance, the beam tracing a path over milling shapes, settling on the fence, dying as, satisfied, the guard killed the illumination.

  Without hesitation Dumarest led the way to within feet of the mesh well away from the tower. At his orders men vanished like ghosts into the rain to take up positions at either side. At intervals they would jar the mesh to create a distraction.

  "Cran!"

  From within his clothing the man produced wire and a set of cutters. Quickly he hooked up a jumper-circuit, and resting the cutters on the mesh, glanced at Dumarest.

  "Now?"

  "Wait until the next flash."

  It came with a livid coruscation, closer than before, dirt pluming as electronic energy tore at the ground. As thunder rolled the mesh parted in a narrow slit through which Dumarest thrust himself. Speed now was all-important and as the searchlight stabbed to one side where a man had jarred the fence he dived toward the nearest animal.

  It was as large as a horse, horned, the hooves like razors, the tail ending in a club of bone. A chelach, its eyes small, set deep in ringed projections of bone; the mouth, open, showed teeth as sharp as chisels. A beast disturbed by the storm and bristling with anger. For a second it watched and then, as Dumarest moved closer, it charged.

  Its size belied its speed. An engine of bone and muscle weighing half a ton, it jerked from a standstill to the speed of a running man in a numbing explosion of energy. Fast as it was Dumarest was faster. He sprang aside, his arm lifting as it drew level, the knife he had lifted from his boot rising, stabbing, the edge slicing at the arteries of the throat as he dragged it clear.

  Blood fountained to splash on the ground, his body; carmine smears washed away by the rain but leaving its sickly scent to hang on the air. As the beast halted close to the fence he struck again, the point driving deep between the ribs, the hilt jarring against the hide as the blade dug into the heart.

  "Earl!" Cran stared, incredulous. "How-I've never seen a man move as fast."

  "The rope. Quick!"

  It came toward him like a snake, a thing of carefully woven strands of salvaged wire. Looping it over the head Dumarest ran back toward the fence and, with the aid of others, hauled the carcass toward the gap. The rain helped as he had known it would, the mud acting like an oil. He snarled with impatience as the animal jammed, and setting his feet deep in the slime, threw the strength of back and shoulders against the wire. It grew taut, hummed like a plucked string, stretched a little but held. With a sudden rush the mass passed through the opening and within seconds was clear.

  "Keep pulling," snapped Dumarest. "Hurry!"

  They needed no urging, panting as they struggled against the weight, freezing as the beam of the searchlight swept toward them. It touched the upper part of the torn fence, hesitated, then turned away as one of the men, recognizing the danger, jarred the mesh.

  Their luck was holding-but time was running out.

  Dumarest strained, edged to the right, and found the hollow he had noted earlier. A final heave and the dead animal rolled down the slope to come to rest in a pool of watery mud.

  "Get the others, Cran. Be careful."

  As the man slipped away Dumarest set to work, his knife plunging, ripping, blood flying as he flensed and dismembered the carcass. Those watching snatched fragments of meat, gulping them like dogs, licking the blood from their hands with a feral hunger.

  "Here!" Dumarest handed out hunks of dripping meat, "Don't take more than you can easily carry. Leave as soon as you're loaded. Wait for the next flash and freeze when the next one follows."

  "The liver," said a man. "Don't forget the liver."

  "We'll share it on the way and eat as we go. Cran?"

  Like an eel he slipped into the hollow with his companions.

  "Hurry," he panted. "The guards are suspicious and they could have spotted the torn fence. If so they'll be coming to investigate."

  Men with guns and portable searchlights who would not hesitate to shoot.

  "Keep watch," ordered Dumarest. "Let me know if they come this way. The rest of you, get moving. Move, damn you! Move!"

  Minutes later he followed, wiping his knife and thrusting it into his boot before lifting his load. Together they vanished into the darkness, shielded by the storm, invisible to the guards who finally came to investigate. They found the cut fence, but rain had washed away the blood and filled the traces with oozing mud. It wasn't until the dawn they made count and found the discarded bones, head, hooves, tail, and intestines of the slaughtered beast.

  Chapter Two

  Pacula had set the table, decorating it with fine glass and delicate flowers set in vases of crystal, little touches he could have done without but which impressed the Owners who came to visit. Kel Accaus was openly envious and paid unmistakable court to the woman, clumsy in his flattery.

  "Pacula, my dear, your brother should be proud of you. Had I someone like yourself to act as my hostess I should not spend as much time as I do in the field. Tien, your health."

  A toast which Tien Harada acknowledged with a bare inclination of the head. He had no great love for Accaus but had invited the man from necessity. Only a fool made an enemy of a man whose lands joined one's own, and yet the way he looked at Pacula would, in other times, have been grounds for a quarrel.

  "You are kind, Kel," she said. "But surely you should reserve your compliments for someone younger than I?"

  "What has youth to do with beauty?" he demanded. "In you I see the epitome of womanhood. If I were a poet I would compose a work in your honor. As it is, I can only state a simple truth in simple words. Your loveliness puts our sunsets to shame. You agree, Chan?"

  "How can I deny it?" Chan Catiua bowed, gracious in his gesture. "Tien, a most pleasant meal."

  A comment echoed by the others present and, Tien recognized, a neat way to turn the conversation. Politic too, while beautiful in her way, Pacula was no longer young and the excessive flattery could hold a tinge of mockery. Not that Accaus was capable of such subtlety, but a man couldn't be too careful and shame, once given, could never be erased.

  Now, as the servants cleared the table and set out flagons of wine and bowls of succulent fruits, Tien Harada looked at his guests. Owners all, aside from one, and he was of no account. Pacula's whim and one he had tolerated-if the man could bring her ease, what right had he to complain? Yet sitting as he did, barely touching the food, a bleak contrast in his brown, homespun robe, the monk looked more like a skeleton at the feast than a privileged guest. Some wine would warm him, perhaps, and Tien gestured for a servant to fill his glass.

  "Thank you, no." Brother Vray rested his hand on the container.

  "You refuse my hospitality, Brother?"

  "That, never, but a sufficiency is enough. And I have work awaiting me."

  "The consolation of the poor," sneered Accaus. "A pat on the head for the unfortunate and a scrap of concentrate to ease their labors. No man should eat unless he works for what he puts into his mouth."

  "And if no work is offered, brother?" The monk's voice was gentle as were his eyes. An old voice, the eyes in a face seamed and creased with years and deprivation. "You would be more commiserate if you were to remember that, but for the grace of God, you would be one of their number. Charity, brother, is a virtue."

  "Professed by many but practiced by few," said Catiua dryly. "And your charity has an edge, Monk,
is that not so? Before receiving your Bread of Forgiveness a suppliant kneels beneath the Benediction Light and is instilled with the command never to kill. Am I right?"

  "You are entitled to your opinion, my lord."

  "Am I right?"

  "And, if you are, what is the harm?" Pacula was quick to come to his defense, for which Vray was grateful. Chan Catiua could be guessing, but he had stumbled on the truth. "Can it be wrong to prevent a man from taking the life of another?"

  "No," boomed Kel and then, with sly maliciousness, added, "A pity the restriction didn't apply to beasts, eh, Tien?"

  Trust the fool for having mentioned it, and Tien felt again the anger he had experienced when staring at the remains of the slaughtered animal. A rage so intense that it seemed impossible that whoever was responsible, no matter where they might be, could not have been blasted by the naked ferocity of his hatred. His prize bull slaughtered, a fortune lost, and himself held to ridicule. The guards-he felt the muscles jerk in his face as he thought about them. Useless fools who had been asleep, careless, stupid, well, at least they had paid. Black-listed, they would be lucky to get any job at all. To hell with them. Let them starve together with their families. His bull had been worth a hundred such scum.

  Casually, Catiua turned the knife. "Days now, Tien, and still no word of the culprits?"

  "None." Tien's hand trembled as he poured himself wine. "But I will find them. They will pay."

  "According to the law?"

  "Yes." Tien met the other's eyes, cool, slightly amused. "They will pay," he said grimly. "No matter who they might be or how high. This I swear!"

  "You think an Owner might be responsible?" A man spoke sharply from where he sat at the table. "Do you, Tien Harada?"

  "The possibility has not escaped me, Yafe Zoppius." Tien was coldly formal. "It is being investigated."

  "If Ibius Avorot's men came snooping around my land they will get short measure. That I promise. You forget yourself in your suspicions, Tien." His tone softened a little. "That I can understand. It was a grievous loss. A prime specimen of genetic manipulation which would have bred a new and stronger line. But you must not accuse your friends."