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  IV

  argonilla was a cold, bleak, inhospitable world with snow thick on the landing field and sleet carried on the wind. Yalung took one look outside and retired to his cabin.

  "There will be no stones of value here," he said positive shy;ly. "And little of anything else."

  Claude verified his prophecy. He came into the hold, blowing, his big frame muffled in shapeless garments. "They had a ship three days ago," he said disgustedly. "A trader bound for Thermyle. It took every decent pelt in the place."

  Dumarest turned from where he tested the cargo restraints. "Do many ships call here bound for the terminal?"

  "Hell, no. It was a wanderer dropping in on speculation to pick up anything that was going. The first ship to call in months and they beat us by three days. We would have done well."

  "Trading iron for furs?"

  "You're learning, Earl. This planet is short of heavy metal and we could have done a nice trade. Not now, though; there's no point in giving the stuff away. Sheyan's trying to get us something worth carrying." Claude shrugged. "I doubt if he'll find it."

  The captain contracted for a load of hides to be brought to the ship and paid for when stowed. He left before half had arrived in order to avoid a coming storm. From Argonilla they went to Feen where they sold the hides and sonic recordings for cash, bought a quantity of crystallized ex shy;tract of glandular secretions culled from a local life form, and gained a passenger.

  Brother Angus of the Church of Universal Brotherhood was a small, elderly man with a wizened face and balding skull. He stood blinking in the bright light of the salon, diminutive in his robe of homespun, sandals on his bare feet, and the traditional begging bowl of chipped plastic in his hand.

  Yalung, from where he sat at the table, said, "Greetings, brother. You seek charity?"

  "To give is to acquire virtue," said the monk in a musical voice. He looked at the captain. "I understand that you are bound for Phane, brother. Is this so?"

  "And if it is?"

  "I beg your charity, brother, to give me a passage. I am willing to travel Low."

  Sheyan frowned. In normal space monks were many, but hardly seen in the Web. The power of the Church in the small conglomeration of stars was negligible and it was safe to refuse. He tried to soften the blow.

  "Phane is a hard world, brother, with little charity. I do not think you would be welcome."

  "I do not ask for welcome, brother. Merely a place on which to set a church and to ease the hearts of men. The church," the monk added quickly, "is very small. A benedic shy;tion light, some plastic sheeting and collapsible supports. I can carry the whole thing on my back."

  Sheyan's frown deepened. "I would not care to take the risk, brother. You talk of going to an inhospitable world."

  Quietly the monk said, "Are there poor on Phane, brother?"

  "There are poor everywhere," snapped the captain. "I am poor. Too poor to waste energy carrying unprofitable mass. I am sorry but I must refuse. The handler will guide you from the ship."

  "Take him," said Dumarest.

  "Will you pay his cost of a High passage?" Sheyan glared his anger. "From your share, perhaps? The profits we're making wouldn't even pay for his food."

  "You're being foolish," insisted Dumarest. "The good will of the monks is worth having. It would be a wise investment to carry him to Phane. And we could use the luck he might bring us," he added. "The Moray can use all the luck it can get. Am I right, Nimino?"

  "A holy man is worth more than a cargo of rotting hides," said the navigator. "Hides on which we would have made a profit had they been left behind. Earl is right, captain. It would be wisdom for you to gain virtue at this time."

  Sheyan brooded then accepted defeat. "All right, have it your way. But I warn you, the cost of his passage will be deducted from our profits before I make the share."

  Dumarest settled the monk in a cabin, carrying the col shy;lapsed bulk of the portable church from outside. Setting it down he looked at Brother Angus, who had sat on the bunk.

  "You have been long in the Web, brother?"

  "Many years. It is a hard place with hard men but I hope to have brought a little comfort into their bleak lives." The monk stretched, enjoying the warmth and relative com shy;fort of the cabin. "You were kind to persuade your captain to give me passage. He seems to be an aggressive man."

  "He is old and worried and afraid," said Dumarest, and added, casually, "In your travels, Brother, have you seen many cybers?"

  Imperceptibly the monk stiffened. Between the Church and the Cyclan no love was lost, each regarding the other as would cat and dog. In the wizened face his eyes were shrewd as he answered the question.

  "An odd thing to ask, brother, but the answer is no. There is little in the Web to attract those who wear the scarlet robe. No great houses or industrial combines. No ruling lords, managers, dictators, and chairmen. Most worlds have only one settlement and to sway their destiny would not be easy. And few could afford to purchase the service of the Cyclan. The advice of a cyber does not come cheap. You are new to the Web, brother?"

  "Yes," said Dumarest.

  "You have chosen a hard life with much danger and small reward."

  Dumarest smiled. Few lives could be as hard and as un shy;rewarding than that chosen by the monk. Living in poverty, surrounded by it, alleviating it as best they could, the servants of the Universal Church were to be found wherever men suffered most. In their portable churches they offered solace to tormented minds; the suppliants confessing their sins beneath the hypnotic glow of the benediction light, to be relieved of guilt and to suffer subjective penance before being given the bread of forgiveness.

  And if most suppliants knelt as a prelude to obtaining the wafer of concentrate the monks did not mind. They considered it a fair exchange for the hypnotic conditioning they installed together with the penance. The command not to kill-the reason why Dumarest had never knelt before the glowing kaleidoscope of the benediction light.

  At Phane they loaded synthetic fiber for Igar. From Igar to Landkis, to Oll, to Krieg: a scatter of insignificant worlds close to suns which burned like red hot embers in the dust. The Moray questing and probing as it rode from world to world, earning hardly enough to pay for the energy it used.

  Claude brooded about it as he sat with the others, his nerves twitching with the need of alcohol. His supplies were exhausted; Krieg had been a temperate world without taverns. "We're going to end up owing money," he said. "A minus profit. A hell of a way for any trader to operate."

  "The luck will change," said Lin. The steward had brought cups of basic from the salon. "You'll see. Nimino's working on it right now."

  "Burning incense and mumbling incantations," said Claude.

  "Praying to his gods and trying to bribe them to throw us a good cargo." He gulped half his meal and sat, scowling into the cup. A thread of vapor rose from it, the contents warmed by a heating element in the base. "How can a man with his brains be so stupid as to believe in such rubbish? And you're as bad," he added, glaring at Dumarest. "We should never have carried that monk. We were begging for trouble. The first rule of a trader is never to carry anything without profit. It's bad luck to break it."

  "Now who's superstitious?" Dumarest sipped at his own cup. It contained enough energy to nourish a spaceman for a day and it was all they had been eating since entering the Web. "Luck has nothing to do with it. Sheyan moves on too fast. He should wait until the news of the Moray's arrival has had time to spread. My guess is that we are miss shy;ing cargoes because we're gone before they can be de shy;livered."

  "No," said Claude. "It doesn't work like that. On other worlds, perhaps, but not in the Web. Cargoes are assembled and waiting for the first ship to arrive. We've been unlucky. On Argonilla and Landkis we arrived just too late. Oll had been stripped a week before we got there." He drank again, frowning. "Let's hope we have better luck on Candara."

  Candara was an ancient world, great seas lapping a soli shy;tar
y land mass composed of low hills, boulders, leached and inferior soil. Straggling vines, olives, and other culti shy;vated crops surrounded the settlement with beasts grazing beyond on rough foliage. The foothills were crusted with trees, shining a dull brown in the light of a somber sun.

  "Candara," said Nimino as he stood beside Dumarest in the open port. "Sheol would have been a better name. Look at it, Earl. Who do you think would ever choose to settle here?"

  Dumarest could guess. The followers of a minor sect turning their backs on civilized comfort for the sake of imagined spiritual reward. Masochists who took a delight in physical hardship. Unfortunates who had had no choice. The dispossessed glad of any world to call their own.

  "You were right the first time," said Nimino. "They are a hard people following a hard path towards the Ultimate. They may be right, but I would not like to emulate them." He lifted an arm, pointing. "You see that building? The one with the tower and walls of massive stone? That is their temple. I have seen the inside, a gloomy place devoid of color, the very air depresses with thoughts of the tomb."

  "Do they have wine?" Dumarest was thinking of the en shy;gineer.

  "Ceremonial vintage only. Twice a year they release their emotions in a great feast. They have the best food available and wallow in wine. There is singing and dancing and mar shy;riages take place. Fighting, too, as old scores are paid. For three days they enjoy civilized dissipation and then, ashamed, they spend the next six months in hard work and repentance." Nimino shook his head. "An odd way to live and yet they must find it to their liking. Never yet have we had any shy;one asking for passage."

  "Perhaps they can't afford it."

  "Or perhaps they are afraid to step outside their own nar shy;row world," said the navigator shrewdly. "There is a com shy;fort in recognized boundaries." He turned as Lin called from beyond the hold. "Sheyan is waiting for me to accompany him to the chief elder. Why don't you join us?"

  "And Claude?"

  "He remains behind. The last time we were here he drank too deeply of the guest-offering. Need I say more?"

  Two men waited with the captain. They were stern, mid shy;dle-aged, dressed in plain garments of undyed wool; their hair long and held by a fillet of hammered steel. Each car shy;ried a staff as tall as himself and as thick as three fingers. Their faces were deeply scored and devoid of humor. The honor guard, thought Dumarest, or the escort to restrict the contaminating influence of the visitors. He fell into step behind the captain as they led the way towards a squat building built of stone and roofed with shells.

  Inside was a long table, benches, and a rack to hold cloth shy;ing. All were roughly made of wood; the marks of the tools clearly visible. The floor was of tamped dirt polished until it shone like lambent glass. As they entered, the chief elder rose from the head of the table. He could have been the father of the guards.

  "I am Herkam, the chief elder," he intoned. "I bid you welcome."

  "I am Sheyan, captain of the Moray. These men are of my crew." Sheyan gestured, naming them. "I thank you for your welcome. Your hospitality will not be abused."

  It was a ritual and belonged to the setting. An event to break the monotony and to add to the prestige of the chief elder. Dumarest sat when bidden and shared in the guest-offering of cakes and wine. The cakes were small, made of rough-ground flour with a nutty consistency and surprisingly sweet. The wine was better than he had antici shy;pated.

  "The law of hospitality," whispered Nimino at his side. "Now we cannot be injured or detained."

  The formalities dispensed with, the business then com shy;menced. Prepared skins of giant fish, soft and with a scaled gleam, ornaments of carven bone, unusual shells, giant crys shy;tals which sang when struck, and vials of oil which formed the base of costly perfume began to pile on the table. They were samples from the stocks held in the warehouse. Shey shy;an's hands quivered a little as he inspected them.

  "The goods are of fine quality," he admitted. "I have seen better, but these are good. Yet, as good as they are, the market for such things is small. Have you nothing else?"

  Necklets of amber, pieces of stone striated with luminous color, fronds of dried weed which gave off aromatic per shy;fumes when burned joined the other goods on the table.

  Dumarest watched as the captain examined them. Al shy;ready he knew what really interested the man, the vials of costly oil, his other actions were to cover his real object which was to obtain the oils at the lowest possible price. But he was too transparent. Either the run of bad luck had affected his nerves or his eagerness had numbed his caution.

  "You have seen what we have to offer," said the chief elder. Sunken in the seams of his harsh face his eyes never left the captain's. "What have you to offer in exchange?"

  "Iron," said Sheyan. "Implements to work the soil."

  "Our religion forbids us to use the things of the Evil One," said Herkam sternly. "We have tools of wood and shell and stone. Nature's free gifts to us, her children. These things we can make at any time."

  Dumarest said, "And fishhooks?"

  The shrewd eyes flickered as Herkam looked down the table. "You have such things?"

  "Of many sizes," said Dumarest, ignoring the captain's glare. "Together with fine chains and gaffs of steel."

  "We may see them?"

  "Tomorrow." Dumarest didn't look at the captain. "Now, if we have your leave to depart, we will begin unstacking our cargo."

  Sheyan remained silent while within earshot of the guards, but once back in the privacy of the Moray, he exploded.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing? I gave you leave to come and watch-not to take over. You've ruined a good trade. A ship could land at any time and snatch it from under our noses."

  "A ship carrying fishhooks?"

  "What's that got to do with it?"

  "Everything." Dumarest was curt. "I suggest that you use your mouth less and your eyes more. This is a world almost wholly composed of ocean. You saw those skins and sea products. How do you think they catch such big fish?"

  "With nets," said Nimino. "And spears. I've seen them."

  "Nets that are easy to break and hard to mend. With spears made of wood and stone and shell. You heard the chief elder. How strong do you think a spear like that is against what must live in the ocean?" Dumarest looked from one to the other. "You don't know," he said. "You've never had to fish for your food. I have and, believe me, there's nothing quite so hard to make as a strong fishhook if you can't use metal. Chains, too, in order to prevent the catch from biting through the line. And gaffs so that you can hook it aboard. Supply what I promised and you'll have no trou shy;ble getting your oil."

  Sheyan bridled. "How did you know that was what I wanted?"

  "I knew," said Dumarest. "And Herkam knew also. If you take my advice you'll ask for everything else but the oil. Set the price of the hooks ridiculously high in terms of skins and amber, weed and crystals; a thousand times its own weight. The chains and gaffs a little less, they can do without those if they have to. But they can't do without the hooks."

  "He makes sense, captain," said Nimino. "Don't forget, Earl is a gambler, he knows how to bluff."

  "How to He, you mean," snapped Sheyan. "How can we trade what we haven't got?"

  "We'll get it," said Dumarest. "We'll make it. There are tools in the engine room and laser torches to cut and fuse and use as a forge. And we have rods of iron as well as the rest of the stuff. With five of us working full time we'll be able to make what we need."

  "By tomorrow?" Regretfully Nimino shook his head. "It's a good plan, Earl, but we can't do it in the time. We haven't the experience and we'll be slow. We simply haven't the time to both learn and manufacture."

  "Yes we have," said Dumarest. "We'll use slowtime."

  Herkam slowly lifted the length of chain and let it fall, link by link, to the surface of the table. It was well-made: half-inch circles linked and welded tight. The gaffs were rougher, adapted from hoes cut and shaped and sharpened int
o curved tines. The hooks were cruder still, the un shy;polished metal showing signs of tools and tempering, but they were viciously barbed with an eye for the leader and filed to a needle point.

  "These items are of worth," said the chief elder slowly. "Our young men die too often while fishing the waters, fall shy;ing prey to the beasts that live in the ocean; yet our land is poor and we need the meat of the sea. Even so I cannot take them. All night I have wrestled in prayer, seeking guidance from the All Powerful, and counsel from the vaults of the dead; they remained silent yet I know what must be done. We cannot use the fabrications of the Evil One."

  "The iron used was that received from the skies," said Sheyan quickly. Primed by Dumarest he was ready to bluff, by Nimino ready to lie and to turn the religion of the elder to his own ends. "As such surely it is a natural thing? As natural as stone and wood and shell. Meteors, by their nature, cannot be from the domain of the Evil One."

  Herkam nodded, willing to be convinced, and Dumarest gained the impression that he had raised the objection mere shy;ly in order to lower the price.

  "You make a point, captain. One which has to be gravely considered. Let us do so over a glass of wine."

  Was the old man delaying, perhaps hoping for the arrival of another trader? Dumarest doubted it. The last time the Moray had called it had carried biological fertilizers, wool, strains of mutated yeast, seeds and artifacts of iron-hard wood. All natural things according to the dogma of the Candarians. Sheyan had never guessed that his load of iron might prove worthless.

  Dumarest swallowed his wine, feeling the rich liquid ease some of the fatigue which ached his bones. He looked at his hands, bruised and discolored with pressure and strain. Slowtime was a dangerous drug to use on a wakeful man. It accelerated the metabolism and slowed normal time to a fortieth of its normal passing. A man so drugged would move forty times as fast, do forty times as much. But care had to be taken. Flesh and bone could not stand the shatter shy;ing impact of a normal blow. The touch had to be gentle, the movements under constant control. He had the knack and so did Nimino. They had used the drug while the others did the rough work. Moving, gulping down pints of basic to replenish lost energy, sleeping to wake and eat and work and eat again.