Free Captive Scorpio by Alan Burt Akers Page B

for their work.
    Now Layton the Strigicaw said heavily: “Half the money was paid to me. So far I have not completed the assignment.” He paused again, as though expecting me to comment. Again I remained silent. “The irregularity is that the person hiring us is dead. We will not be paid the balance of our fee.”
    I shifted back in my chair and leaned to the side a little, so I could get the exact position of the two guides fixed.
    “That is nothing to me. Stikitches can be killed like anyone else.”
    He went on, and again I detected the note of suppressed anger. “The Aleygyn is not pleased with the situation. The Stikitches of Vondium possess the highest possible reputation. Our honor is in question.”
    “I will not ask you with whom this precious reputation is held in such great esteem.” I waved a casual hand. “Probably the rasts of the dunghills.”
    They did not react. I give them credit for that, at least.
    “You are a dead man, Prince Majister—”
    I interrupted. “Ashti Melekhi is dead. Would you work for nothing?”
    Nath the Knife, clearly a most important man here, letting Laygon do the talking because it was Laygon who had taken the contract but prepared to step in with all his authority, said harshly, bending the mask toward me: “We do not mention names.”
    “You may not. But the fact remains. You are working for nothing.”
    “Precisely. The offer is this: Pay us the balance of the fee and the contract is then closed. If you do not pay, we shall fulfill it ourselves.”
    The instant intemperate indignation that flooded me had to be squashed. I took a breath. I said: “You have not mentioned the amount.”
    “Ten thousand gold talens.”
    I didn’t know whether to be impressed by the value put on my life or insulted.
    “My life is worth more than ten thousand.”
    “We abide by the legal contract. Pay us five thousand in gold and the contract is fulfilled and you live. Otherwise—”
    I shifted on the chair again. It seemed to have a spongy feel to the legs, as though it was not firmly anchored to the floor. Probably it was a trick chair, with a trapdoor below. I’d have to be quick.
    “I am not in the habit of paying gold to cramphs to save my life.”
    “You can always start.”
    This Nath the Knife was an intriguing fellow. He spoke evenly enough. He took no offense from my crude remarks. He wanted his money, or he would kill me.
    “When do I pay?”
    “At once.”
    “I am due at the Temple of Opaz the Nantifer, as I told you—”
    “Then immediately your kow-towing is done.”
    With genuine curiosity, I said: “It is clear you know who I am, for your bowman delivered the message correctly. Yet I think perhaps you do not know me.”
    This trembled on the brink of boasting; but I am who I am, Zair forgive me, and I was intrigued.
    “We know your reputation is very high in certain quarters,” said the woman. She leaned forward and I caught the lamplight’s sparkle from her eyes in the eye-slots of the mask. “But we have certain information that this great reputation is a sham, a bolstered creation because you are the Prince Majister. Of course, the most puissant prince of Vallia must be a great warrior, a High Jikai, for anything less would demean the empire.”
    “It’s a theory,” I said.
    “So you will pay five thousand gold talens and you may live. It is settled.”
    I pondered. It seemed clear they believed the story. They would never have taken out the contract to kill me if they did not. I have amassed a certain unsavory reputation, as you know, and there were places on Kregen where no one — not even a raving idiot — would even contemplate trying to kill me. But, here in Vondium, the capital of the Vallian Empire, I was not in one of those places.
    The four people at the table believed this business was settled. They began to stir, ready to take their leave. The two guides shuffled their feet and stepped back. I put my feet under me, ready for the leap, and