He was standing beside one of his death-throwers which had been thrown a little death of its own. It had burst open, exploded into a tangle of twisted pipes and fractured metal. The long arm had been neatly cut into three pieces and even the wheels had been torn from the body. It was just a mass of unrepairable junk. Brother Farvel ran off, still shouting hoarsely, wisps of hair floating in the breeze behind him.
There were more cries and shouts of pain from the other monks as Brother Farvel came staggering back, stumbling towards the Capo Dimonte, who was just sitting up.
"Destroyed, all of them!" the Black Monk roared while the capo clutched his hands tightly over his ears. "The work of years, gone, crushed, broken. All my deaththrowers, the steam-powered battering ram-ruined. He did it, Capo Dinobli did it. Gather your men, attack the keep, he must be destroyed for this monstrous crime that he has committed."
The capo turned to look towards the keep. It was just as it had been at dawn, quiet and undisturbed, the drawbridge still up, as though the day's events had never occurred. Dimonte turned back to Brother Farvel, his face cold and drawn.
"No. I do not lead my men against those walls. That is suicide and suicide was not our agreement. This is your argument, not mine. I agreed to aid you in taking the keep. You were to force entrance with your devices. Then I would attack. That arrangement is now over."
"You cannot go back on your word. . . ."
"I am not. Breech the walls and I will attack. That is what you promised. Now, do it."
Brother Farvel turned red with rage, raised his fists, leaned forward. The capo stood his ground-but drew his sword and held it out.
"See this," he said. "I am still armed-all of my men are armed. It is a message that I understand quite clearly. Dinobli's men could have taken our weapons and cut our throats while we lay here. They did not. They do not war on me. Therefore I do not war on them. You fight them-this is your battle. " He nudged the toe of his boot into the bugler lying beside him, "Sound assembly." We were quite happy to leave the Black Monks there in the field, surveying the wreckage of their machines and their plans. Word quickly spread through the ranks as to what had occurred and smiles replaced the pained grimaces as the headaches vanished to be replaced by relief. There would be no battle, no casualties. The Black Monks had started the trouble-and it had been finished for them. My smile was particularly broad because I had some good news for The Bishop.
I knew now how we were to get off the repellent planet of Spiovente.
Through the clear wisdom of hindsight I could understand now what had happened the night before. The approach of our troops in the darkness had been observed carefully. With advanced technology of some kind. The hidden watchers must have also seen the track being constructed through the forest for the death-thrower and understood the significance of the operation. The loudspeaker had been placed in the tree directly above the site-then activated by radio. The gas that had felled us was sophisticated and had been delivered with pinpoint accuracy. All of this was well beyond the technology of this broken-down planet. Which meant only one thing.
There were off-worlders in the keep of Capo Dinobli. They were there in force and were up to something. And whatever it was had aroused the wrath of the Black Monks, so much so that they had planned this attack. Which had backfired completely. Good. Mine enemy's enemy one more time. The monks had a stranglehold on what little technology there was on Spiovente-and from what I had seen, the technology was completely monopolized by the military. I cudgled my brain, remembering those long sessions with The Bishop on geopolitics and economics. I was getting the glimmer of a solution to our problems when there was a wild shouting from the ranks ahead.
I pushed forward with the others to seethe exhausted messenger sprawled in the grass beside the road. Capo Dimonte was turning away from him, shaking his fists skyward in fury.
"An attack-behind my back-on the keep! It is that son of a worm, Doccia, that's who it is! We move now, forced march. Back!"
It was a march that I never want to repeat. We rested only when exhaustion dropped us to the ground. Drank some water, staggered to our feet, went on. There was no need to beat us or encourage because we were all involved now. The capo's family, his worldly goods, they were all back in the keep. Guarded only by a skeleton force of soldiers. All of us were as concerned as he was, for what little we owned was there as well. The knaves watching our few possessions. Dreng, who I scarcely knew, yet felt responsibility for. And The Bishop. If the keep were taken what would happen to him? Nothing, he was an old man, harmless, no enemy of theirs.
Yet I knew this was a lie even as I tried to convince myself of its validity. He was an escaped slave. And I knew what they did with escaped slaves on Spiovente.
More water, a little food at sunset, then on through the night. At dawn I could see our forces straggling out in a ragged column as the stronger men pushed on ahead. I was young and fit and worried-and right up in the front. I could stop now for a rest, get my breath back. Ahead on the road I saw the two men spring from the bushes and vanish over the hill.
"There!" I shouted. "Watchers-we've been seen." The capo jumped from the war-wagon and ran to my side. I pointed. "Two men. In hiding there. They ran towards the keep."
He ground his teeth with impotent rage. "We can't catch them, not in our condition. Doccia will be warned; he'll escape."
He looked back at his straggling troops, then waved his officers forward.
"You, Barkus, stay here and rest them, then get in formation and follow me. I'm going on with all the fit men I can. They can take turns riding on the war-wagon. We're pushing forward."
I climbed onto the roof of the cart as it started ahead. Men ran alongside, holding on, letting it pull them. The steam car wheezed and puffed smoke at a great rate as we clanked up the hill and onto the downslope beyond.
There were the towers of the keep in the distance, smoke rising from it. When we rattled around the next bend we found a line of men across the road, weapons raised, firing.
We did not slow down. The steam-whistle screeched loudly and we roared in answer, our anger taking us forward. The enemy fled. It had just been a holding party. We could see them joining the rest of the attackers who were now streaming away from the lake. When we reached the causeway it was empty of life. Beyond it was the broken gate of the keep with smoke rising slowly above it. I was right behind the capo when we stumbled forward. Long boards were still in place bridging the gap before the splintered and broken drawbridge, half raised and hanging from its chains. A soldier pushed out between the broken fragments and raised his sword in weary salute.
"We held them, capo," he said, then slumped back against the splintered wood. "They broke through into the yard but we held them at the tower. They were firing the outer door when they left."
"The Lady Dimonte, the children . . .?"
"All safe. The treasury untouched."
But the troops quarters were off the yard and not in the tower. I pushed ahead with the others, who had realized this, climbing through the ruined gate. There were bodies here, many of them. Unarmed knaves chopped down in the attack. The defenders were coming out of the tower now-and Dreng was among them, coming forward slowly. His clothing was spattered with blood, as was the ax he carried, but he seemed sound.
Then I looked into his face and read the sorrow there. He did not need to Speak, I knew. The words came from a distance.
"I am sorry. I could not stop them. He is dead, the old man. Dead."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
He lay on the bunk, eyes closed as though he were sleeping. But never that stilt never. Dreng had drawn my blanket over him, up to his chin, combed his hair and cleaned his face.
"I could not move him when the attack came," Dreng said. "He was too heavy, too ill. The wound in his back was bad, black, his skin hot. He told me to leave him, that he was dead in any case. He said if they didn't kill him the 'fection would. They didn't have to stab him though. . . ." My friend and
my teacher. Murdered by these animals. He was worth more than the entire filthy population of this world gathered together. Dreng took me by the arm and I shook him off, turned on him angrily. He was holding out a small packet.
"I stole the piece of paper for him," Dreng said. "He wanted to write to you. I stole it. "
There was nothing to be said. I unwrapped it and a carved wooden key fell to the floor. I picked it up, then looked at the paper. There was a floor plan of the keep drawn on it, with an arrow pointing to a room carefully labeled STRONGROOM. Below it was the message, and I read what was written there in a tight, clear hand.
I have been a bit poorly so I may not be able to give you this in person. Make a metal copy of the key-it opens the strongroom. Good luck, Jim, it has been my pleasure to know- you. Be a good rat.
His signature was carefully written below. I read the name-then read it again. It wasn't The Bishop-or any of the other aliases he had ever used. He had left me a legacy of trust-knowing that I was probably the only person in the universe who would value this confidence. His real name.
I went and sat down outside in the sun, suddenly very weary. Dreng brought me a cup of water. I had not realized how thirsty I was; I drained it and sent him for more.
This was it, the end. He had felt the approach of darkness-but had worried about me. Thought of me when it was really his own death that was looming so close. What next? What should I do now?
Fatigue, pain, remorse-all overwhelmed me. Not realizing what was happening I fell asleep, sitting there in the sun, toppled over on my side. When I awoke it was late in the afternoon. Dreng had wadded his blanket and put it under my head, sat now at my side.
There was nothing more to be said. We put The Bishop's body on one of the little carts and wheeled it along the causeway to the shore. We were not the only ones doing this. There was a small hill beside the road, a slope of grass with trees above it, a pleasant view across the water to the keep. We buried him there, tamping the soil down solidly and .leaving no marker. Not on this disgusting world. They had his body, that was enough. Any memorial I erected in his honor would be lightyears away. I would take care of that one day when the proper moment came.
"But right now, Dreng, we take care of Capo Doccia and his hoodlums. My good friend did not believe in revenge, so I cannot either. So we shall call it simple justice. Those criminals need straightening out. But how shall we do it?"
"I can help, master. I can fight now. I was afraid, then I got angry and I used the ax. I am ready to be a warrior like you."
I shook my head at him. I was thinking more clearly now. "This is no job for a farmer with a future. But you must always remember that you faced your fear and won. That will do you well for the rest of your life. But Jim diGriz pays his debts-so you are going back to the farm. How many groats does a farm cost?"
He gaped at that one and shuffled through his memory. "I never bought a farm."
"I'm sure of that. But somebody must have that you know."
"Old Kvetchy came back from the wars and paid Widow Roslair two-hundred and twelve groats for her share of her farm."
"Great. Allowing for inflation five-hundred should see you clear. Stick with me, kid, and you'll be wearing plowshares. Now get to the kitchen and pack up some food while I put part one of the plan into operation." It was like a chess game that you played in your head. I could see the opening moves quite clearly, all laid out. If they were played correctly, middle game and endgame would follow with an inevitable win. I made the first move.
Capo Dimonte was slumped on his throne, red-eyed and as tired as the rest of us, a flagon of wine in his hand. I pushed through his officers and stood before him. He scowled at me and flapped his hand.
"Away, soldier. You'll get your bonus. You did your work well today, I saw that. But leave us, I have plans to make...."
"That is why I am here, capo. To tell you how to defeat Capo Doccia. I was in his service and know his secrets."
"Speak!"
"In private. Send the others away."
He considered a moment-then waved his hands. They left, grumbling, and he sipped his wine until the door slammed shut.
"What do you know," he ordered. "Speak quickly for I am in a foul humor. "
"As are we all. What I wanted to tell you in private does not concern Doccia-yet. You will attack, I am sure of that. But in order to assure success I am going to enlist Capo Dinobli and his secrets on your side. Wouldn't the attack be more better if they were all asleep when we came over the wall."
"Dinobli knows no more of these matters than I do so don't lie to me. He is tottering and has been bedridden for a year."
"I know that," I lied with conviction. "But it is those who use his keep for their own ends, who cause the Black Monks to make war on them, these are the ones who will help you."
He sat up at this and there was more than a glint of the old schemer in his eyes. "Go to them then. Promise them a share of the spoils-and you will share as well if you can do this. Go in my name and promise what you will. Before this month is out Doccia's head will be roasting on a spit over my fire, his body will be torn by red-hot spikes and..."
There was more like this but I wasn't too interested. This was a pawn move in the opening. I now had to bring a major piece forward to the attack. I bowed myself out, leaving him muttering on the throne, splashing wine around as he waved his arms. These people had very quick tempers.
Dreng had packed our few belongings and we left at once. I led the way until we were weH clear of the keep, then turned off towards a stream that ran close by. It had a grassy field at its bank and I pointed towards it.
"We stay here until morning. I have plans to make and we need the rest. I want to be sharp when I knock on old Dinobli's door."
With a night's rest to refresh my brain everything became quite clear. "Dreng," I said, "this will have to be a one-man operation. I don't know what kind of reception I will get and I maybe busy enough worrying about myself, without having you to care for. Back to the keep and wait for me."
There was really no door to knock on, just two heavily armed guards at the gate. I came down through the field, past the mounds of junked machines already smeared with a red patina of rust, and crossed the drawbridge. I stopped before I reached the guards and carefully kept my gun lowered.
"I have an important message for the one in charge here."
"Turn about and quick march," the taller guard said, pointing his gun at me. "Capo Dinobli sees no one."
"It's not the capo I care about," I said, looking past him into the courtyard. A tall man in rough clothes was passing. But beneath the ragged cuffs of his trousers I saw the gleam of plasteel boots.
"I wish the capo only good health," I called out loudly. "So I hope that he is seeing a good gereontologist and takes his synapsilstims regularly."
The guard growled in puzzlement at this-but my words were not for his edification. The man I was looking at in the courtyard stopped suddenly, still. Then slowly turned about. I saw keen blue eyes in a long face. Staring at me in silence. Then he came forward and talked to the guard- though still looking at me. "What is the disturbance?"
"Nothing, your honor. Just sending this one on his way."
"Let him in. I want to question him."
The pointed gun was raised in salute and I marched through the gate. When we were out of earshot of the gate the tall man turned to face me, looking me up and down with frank curiosity.
"Follow me," he said. "I want to talk with you in private. " He did not speak until we were in the keep and inside a room with the door closed behind us. "Who are you?" he asked.
"You know-I was about to ask you the very same question. Does the League know what you are doing here?"
"Of course they do! This is a legitimate . . ." He caught himself, then smiled. "At least that proves you're from off-planet. No one can think that fast here-or knows what you know. Here, sit, then tell me who you are. After that I will judge how much I can te
ll you of our work."
"Fair enough," I said, dropping into the chair and lying my gun on the floor. "My name is Jim. I was a crewman on a Venian freighter-until I got into difficulties with the captain. He dumped me on this planet. That is all there is to it."
He pulled up a pad and began to make notes. "Your name is Jim. Your last name is ..." I was silent. He scowled. "All right, let that go for the moment. What is the captain's name."
"I think that I will save that information for later. After you have told me who you are."
He pushed the pad aside and sat back in his chair. "I'm not satisfied. Without your identity I can tell you nothing. Where do you come from on Venia? What is the capital city of your planet, the name of the chairman of the global consul?"
"It's been a long time, I forgot."
"You are lying. You are no more Venian than I am, Until I know more . . ."
"What exactly do you have to know? I am a citizen of the League, not one of the dismal natives here. I watch tri-D, eat at MacSwineys-a branch on every known world, forty-two billion sold-I studied molecular electronics, and have a black Belt in Judo. Does that satisfy you?"
"Perhaps. But you told me that you were dumped on this planet from a Venian freighter, which cannot be true. All unapproved contact with Spiovente is forbidden."
"My contact was unapproved. The ship was smuggling in guns like this one."
That got his attention all right. He grabbed the pad. "The captain's name is . . ."
I shook my head in a silent no. "You'll have that information only if you arrange to get me off this planet. You can do that because you as much as told me you were here with League approval. So let us do a little trading. You arrange for my ticket-1 have plenty of silver groats to pay for it." Or I would have, which was the same thing. "You will also give me some small help in a local matter-then I'll tell you the captain's name."
He didn't like this. He thought hard and wriggled on the hook, but could not get off it.
The Stainless Steel Rat is Born Page 18
