Haven of Darkness dot-16

by E. C. Tubb

  A gamble. If the man knew he might unthinkingly give the direction. If he didn't then the question could be covered and no harm would be done.

  "The weapons, sir?"

  "The guns." Dumarest grunted as the man's eyes flickered to the rear of the cookhouse. "Not moved yet? Why not? Well, never mind. Call those men and have them report to the weapons-store. Move!"

  Time gained for him to move to the door and send his knife probing into the lock. It was heavy, but basically simple. A click and it was open. As the men returned Dumarest threw wide the door.

  Inside rested a heap of crates, some open. On the top of one rested a half-dozen guns together with boxes of ammunition.

  "Those!" Dumarest pointed at the crates. "Load them into the raft standing before the huts. Hurry!"

  Men accustomed to obey rarely hesitated if orders were given in a tone of authority. A fact Dumarest knew and had relied on. They didn't know who or what he was, but his voice held the snap of command and, to them, it was unthinkable that he should order without having the right.

  Dumarest stepped back as the first crate was shifted. A gun fell from the loose pile and he picked it up, looking at the piece. It was cheap, crude, now cleaned of grease and fitted with a full magazine. He cocked it, watched the cartridges spill from the ejector, removed the magazine and, after clearing the breech, pulled the trigger.

  As the harsh click faded a voice said, "Well, friend, what do you think of it?"

  He was tall, slouched, his mouth scarred so that the upper lip was set in a permanent smile. He wore stained clothing frayed at wrists and collar, the leather bearing shiny patches and marks where badges could have been. His hair was dark, his eyes wells of coldness. In his right hand he held a compact laser.

  It hung loose in his fingers, not aimed but the muzzle swinging casually in Dumarest's direction.

  Dumarest shrugged. "It's cheap. It'll jam. It isn't accurate and it'll pull to the right. But it will do if nothing else is around."

  "Such as?"

  "That laser you're carrying." Dumarest threw down the weapon he held. "Didn't the boss tell you we were coming?"

  "Should he have done?"

  "Why ask me? I only work here." Dumarest stepped aside as the men returned for another load, a step which took him closer to the mercenary. "How are things here? Good pay? Lots of fun?"

  "Out here? You must be joking."

  "Well, at least you can't spend anything. When did you land? Ship before last? The one before that?"

  "When did you?" The man scowled as Dumarest gave no answer. "What the hell are you doing here, anyway?"

  "Shifting the guns."

  "Why? To where?"

  Dumarest shrugged, deliberately casual. To browbeat the mercenary would be a mistake. To explain too fully another.

  "Don't ask me. I came here with his woman and she gave the orders. I guess she got them from him. Have you ever seen her?"

  "No."

  "She's outside looking around. It might pay you to remember her. Look between the huts and you could spot her." Dumarest took a step forward, hand lifting as he pointed, another and now he was close to the mercenary, the weapon he held. "There she is! See!"

  The jerk of his hand demanded attention. As the man lifted his head, eyes narrowing against the glare it turned, the palm stiffening, slashing down like a blunted axe in a savage chop which would have snapped the wrist like a twig. Instead, at the last moment, Dumarest altered the direction so it glanced over the fingers and sent the laser hurtling to the ground.

  "What the hell!" The mercenary swore, rubbing his fingers. "You damned near broke my hand!"

  Dumarest said nothing, stepping forward to pick up the weapon, looking down the space between the huts at the woman who strode towards him, the man at her side, the armed guards at his rear.

  "Earl," said Lavinia steadily. "This is Lord Gydapen Prabang. Gydapen, meet Earl Dumarest."

  She had the sense not to say more.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Earl Dumarest." Gydapen lifted his goblet and tilted it so the wine it contained left a thin, ruby film coating the engraved crystal. "I must congratulate you, my dear. A most unusual acquisition."

  "He is hardly that, Gydapen."

  "No?" The eyebrows lifted over the small, shrewd eyes. "Then what? Perhaps you will tell me, my friend."

  "I merely escorted the lady, my lord," said Dumarest. "She needed someone to handle her raft. I understood the matter was Council business."

  "Of course. Council business. Naturally." Gydapen gestured and a servant handed Dumarest a goblet of wine. Another and he departed leaving the three alone in the large hut. The interior was soft with delicate furnishings, rugs covering the floor, lanterns of colored glass hanging from the roof. At night it would be a warm, snug, comfortable place. One end would house the place where the mercenary slept. The other would contain stores, luxuries, wines and dainties to soften the rigors of the desert. "Your health, Earl!"

  "Your health, my lord!"

  Ceremoniously they drank, neither doing more than wet his lips and, watching them, Lavinia thought of two beasts of prey, circling, wary, neither willing to yield the advantage. Gydapen who owned land and commanded the loyalty of retainers, who had the protection of a great Family, who held the destiny of Zakym in the palm of his hand. And the other, alone, owning nothing, a traveler who searched for a dream.

  But, watching them, she wondered why she had ever thought of Gydapen as a man worthy to sire her sons.

  "The Council," he said again. "They think it right to send a woman without invitation, to land, to rob, to act the thief and spy. A woman whom I hold in high regard. Tell me, Earl, what do you think of such a Council?"

  "They do what they can, my lord."

  "As do we all. And, while I think about it, you have something belonging to Gnais, I think. The laser you struck from his hand. Thank you." He beamed as Dumarest dropped the weapon into his extended palm. "You made him look foolish. He will not relish that."

  Lavinia said, abruptly, "Gydapen, for God's sake let's put an end to this! What are you doing? The guns? The men firing them at targets! Everything!"

  "You saw?" Gydapen shrugged, his face expressionless, but his eyes moved to Dumarest. "Yet what did you see? Men training to protect me in case of need. Your own actions show that I have reason for such protection. You land, you order my own men to load your raft with goods which you know belong to me. Naked, outright theft. Are you proud of what your friends on the Council have made you do, Lavinia? Is it pleasant to know yourself for what you are?"

  He was provoking her, hoping for an outburst of temper and the betrayal of secrets, but already she had said too much and knew it.

  Quietly she said, "If you owe loyalty to the Council you will abide by their decision. The Pact is not to be broken. Must not be broken. Surely you can see that? What can you hope to gain by alienating the Sungari? Even if your mine shows profit what good can it do you if they turn against us?"

  "Good?" Gydapen smiled and shrugged and toyed with his wine. "You are young, my dear. Innocent in the ways of commerce and men. But you are not drinking. Empty your goblet and permit me to refill it. You too, Earl. It is a good vintage. The best of this decade."

  "I would enjoy it more, my lord, if I knew your intentions towards us."

  "The direct question." Gydapen set down his glass and smiled with apparent pleasure but his eyes, Dumarest noticed, did not smile. "I admire you for putting it. You have strength and determination, qualities I can always use, but enough of that. Let us concentrate on the question. The answer, I am pleased to say, is nothing."

  "My lord?"

  "He can do nothing," said Lavinia, harshly. "Not unless he wishes to turn every hand against him. Alcorus knows we are here. Suchong, Erason, the others. I am on Council business. The guns were declared unlawful. You, Earl, did only as I ordered. He-"

  "Could punish you for being a thief!" Gydapen looked at the hand he had slammed agai
nst the table then smiled. "What is the Council to me or to any Lord or Lady of Zakym? The guns are mine and will remain so. I do as I please and none will stop me. If they try I shall know what to do."

  "You would kill your own?"

  "I will defend what is mine. What is mine, Lavinia, and could be ours. Yes, my dear, could still be ours." Rising he extended his hands. "Let us forget this foolishness. You were curious, that I understand. Perhaps you are also ambitious. If so you will understand me better when I tell you that I, also, am ambitious."

  He was, she realized, utterly sincere. At that moment if nothing else he spoke the naked truth. Then again he was smiling, leading them towards the door, opening it and ushering them towards the raft which rested, empty now, before the hut.

  As it rose she said, "Earl, what did you think of him?"

  "He's dangerous."

  "True, but honest in certain ways don't you think?"

  Dumarest said, flatly, "No madman is ever honest other than to his own delusions. How did he catch you?"

  "I was wandering around with that man who met us when Gydapen appeared. I think he must have been here all the time."

  A risk impossible to avoid. Had he been absent the guns would have been loaded and lifted away-now they had betrayed their intention. Yet he had permitted them to depart. Why?

  Lavinia shrugged when he asked. "You heard him, Earl. There was nothing else he could have done."

  "No," he corrected. "I heard you telling him that."

  "It's the same thing."

  To her, perhaps, but Dumarest recognized the difference. He looked at the sky. The suns were lowering towards the horizon, the discs merging, a haze softening the terrain below. The time of delusia when things were not exactly as they seemed and mistakes could easily be made.

  Lavinia was at the controls. She looked beyond him as Dumarest touched her shoulder, her eyes vacant, her lips moving a little as if in silent conversation. Then, as he touched her again, she shuddered and leaned towards him.

  "Charles! Charles, my dearest, why did-Earl!"

  "What is the shortest way back to your castle?"

  "Southwest by west. The compass-"

  "Over high ground?"

  "Yes. The Iron Mountains run far back and there are some high peaks."

  Together with crevasses and precipices and ledges which could crumble beneath the weight of a foot. Bad country but, it being late, it was natural she would have taken the route.

  "Earl!" She caught at his arm as he altered the direction the vehicle was taking. "We'll never get back in time!"

  "Does it matter? What about the stopovers?"

  "Yes." Her grip relaxed as she thought about it. "Yes, I suppose we could spend the night in one. But they aren't plentiful in this region. We'll have to rise high so as to spot where to land."

  Rise high, very high, so high that nothing would be left of them or the raft if they crashed.

  "Drop!" he snapped. "Fast!"

  "Earl! What-"

  "Do it! Get to the ground! Move!"

  The engine was housed in a humped compartment. As Lavinia tilted the raft to send it gliding downwards to the misted terrain below Dumarest ripped at the casing, tearing away the thin metal with his knife, squinting as he peered inside. A grey cylinder rested against the engine, a cylinder which shouldn't have been there. He probed at it, eased it free and then, obeying the instinct which had saved him so often before, threw himself back and down.

  The explosion was small, a dull report which caused the raft to judder and sent a puff of acrid yellow smoke from the engine compartment. Opened, it had lessened the damage, but it was still enough.

  Dumarest heard Lavinia scream as the raft tilted. He rolled across the floor, felt the rail press against his shoulders and stabbed down with the knife, sending the blade slicing into the thin metal of the side. A hold to which he clung as the raft tilted still further, throwing him so that his body hung in space, only his grip on the knife and on the rail itself saving him from being hurled to the ground below.

  "Level!" He yelled. "Level the raft!"

  The woman, strapped into her seat, fought the controls, hair a tumbled mass over her face and eyes. The vehicle spun, lifted, dropped to spin again as if it were a falling leaf caught by sportive winds. Without power, supported only by the residual energy in the anti-grav units, the raft was little more than a mass of inert metal.

  But still it had shape. A flat surface to act as a wing, permanent stabilizers fed from emergency sources, an aerodynamic balance which, with skill, gave a modicum of control.

  Dumarest felt the strain on his arms lessen, a sudden blow as the edge of the raft hit against his stomach, then he was falling back into the body, sprawled, his knife ripped free and stabbed into the deck to provide another hold. Painfully, every muscle tense, he crawled to where the woman sat at the controls.

  "Earl!" Her voice was high, strained with fear. "I can't handle it! We're going to crash! To crash!"

  His arms closed around her as he locked his thighs around the chair on which she sat. His hands knocked hers aside as he took over control.

  "Earl!"

  "Crouch low. Bend your head into your lap. Rest your hands over the back of your neck. Turn into a ball if you can."

  He stared at the swing and turn of the ground below. At the last moment, if able, he would release her straps and give her the best chance he could. Now, all he could do for the both of them, was to try and send the wrecked raft towards a slope, to keep it level, to let it skid instead of slamming against the rock and soil.

  "How close?" Her voice was muffled but she had recovered her composure. "Earl, how close?"

  "Brace yourself."

  He dropped one hand to the release and freed her of the restraints. A hill loomed before them and he rugged, praying that the explosion hadn't totally destroyed the emergency units, that the hull would take the strain, that something, anything, would give them that little extra to clear the summit.

  A gust of wind saved them. A vagrant blast which caught the prow of the raft, lifted it the essential fraction, letting it drop only after they had cleared the jagged peak. Below rolled a steep slope studded with massive boulders, mounded with accumulated soil tufted by patches of vegetation. Like a stone thrown over water the raft bounced and skidded, metal tearing with harsh raspings, fragments ripped free to litter the slope. A mount flung them into the air, a dip lay beyond, a boulder which smashed like a hammer into the prow of the raft, to send them both hurtling forward, to part, to land with a stunning impact, to roll and finally to come to rest.

  Dumarest stirred, feeling the ache of strained muscles, a warm wetness on the side of his face. A questing hand lowered stained with red, the blood welling from a gash in his scalp. With an effort he turned and sat upright, fighting the nausea which gripped him and sent the terrain wheeling in sickening spirals.

  When it had passed he looked around. Behind him rested stone, a rock against which he had been thrown, the force of landing softened by the vegetation on which he lay. Sharp thorns and jagged stones had ripped the plastic of his tunic exposing the glint of metal mesh buried within. A defense which had saved him from cruel lacerations but had done nothing to save him from ugly bruises.

  But he was alive, intact, dazed a little, suffering minor injuries but that was all. His luck had not deserted him.

  And Lavinia's had not deserted her.

  She lay in a shallow dell, a place thick with soft grasses, shrubs like springs which had taken her weight and eased the final part of her landing. She was unconscious, a lump beneath the mane of her hair but, as Dumarest discovered after examining her body, she was free of broken bones.

  Rising he looked around. The suns were low, the air holding a peculiar hush as if strained with the energies of an imminent storm. But there were no clouds and little wind.

  Walking back to the ruin of the raft he found his knife, used it to slash a reedy plant and collected a handful of pale sap which he
used to bathe the woman's face.

  "Earl?" Her eyelids fluttered. "Earl-what happened? Earl!"

  "Steady!" His hand was firm on her shoulder.

  "Sit up if you can." He waited as she obeyed, staring with eyes free of suffused blood. A good sign-the chances were small she had a concussion. "Any internal pain? No? Good. Can you stand up and take a few steps?" He relaxed as she did as asked. At least she was mobile and he was freed of the necessity of taking care of a maimed and helpless person.

  "Earl! Your face!"

  "It's nothing." He collected more sap and washed the blood from his temple and cheek. The sap held a thin, sweet flavor and he drank a little. "Is any of this vegetation good to eat?"

  "It won't hurt you but it contains no nourishment."

  As he had expected, but at least it would fill their bellies in case of need. Lavinia stared her horror as he mentioned it.

  "Earl, you can't be serious. We can't stay in the open. We have to find shelter before it's dark."

  "Here?" He looked around, seeing nothing but the barren slope of the hill, the wreck of the raft.

  "We must! Earl, we must!"

  "Because of your bogey-men?"

  "The Sungari! Earl, for God's sake believe me! If we are in the open at night we'll never see the dawn!"

  Valid or not her terror was real. Dumarest looked at her, recognizing her near-panic, her incipient hysteria.

  Quietly he said, "In that case we'll have to find somewhere to spend the night. Look around for a place while I go back to the raft."

  "Why, Earl? What good can it do? The thing is a wreck."

  But one which held sharp scraps of metal, wire, fabric, ribs-all things which could spell survival in a wilderness.

  Dumarest examined it. The floor had been of metal covered with a coarsely woven fabric held with strips. He ripped them away, lifted the material and slashed it free with his knife. A coil of wire followed, some rods, a section of foil which he rolled into an awkward bundle. By the time he had finished the suns were resting on the horizon and Lavinia was desperate.