Free A Game of Authors by Frank Herbert

menace grew stronger with every step. Garson heard Medina’s footsteps behind him. They stopped at the end of the dock. Garson glanced down at the rowboat there, noted that the chain was secured by a large padlock.
    Separdo placed the cardboard box on the dock, slipped a hand under the lid and withdrew a young rooster. The bird squawked once. Separdo dangled it from one hand, appeared to notice Luac’s green notebook under Garson’s arm for the first time.
    “What do you have there?”
    “This?” Garson touched the notebook with his right hand. “Mr. Luac suggested that I might find some of his work useful to pass the time.”
    “Such time as there is,” said Separdo. “Observe.” He turned, flipped the rooster out into the lake.
    It landed about ten feet from them in a splashing of wings, floated awkwardly for a moment. Abruptly, the bird was propelled half out of the water. Its wings beat frantically. It squawked twice: a quavering, agonizing sound. Then it went under. The water around it began to boil with hundreds of flashing forms. A slow red stain spread through the area.
    “ Caribe ,” murmured Separdo. He stared at the water with an intentness that frightened Garson, turned and looked directly into Garson’s eyes. “They are called also piranha.”
    Garson swallowed in a dry throat, recalled his spill into the lake the night of his arrival. “I thought piranha were native to South America.”
    “These were stocked here especially to take care of meddlers,” said Separdo. He stared at Garson with a gleeful intentness.
    Medina stepped closer.
    Garson felt the wild pulsing of his heart, the trembling of fear in his arms. Is Separdo going to push me into the lake?
    “We will go back now,” said Medina.
    Separdo whirled on him. “Stay out of . . .”
    “You’ve had your fun,” said Medina.
    “One day you will go too far, Choco!”
    Medina’s hand hovered above his gun butt. “One day the Patron will say to me, ‘Choco, we have decided—Olaf and I—that Raul is no longer needed.’ I will not play with you on that day, Raul. It will be quick!” He hooked his left thumb toward the shore. “Now, we go.”
    A violent shivering passed over Separdo. His lips twitched. The light in his eyes was like flame.
    “See if you can beat me,” murmured Medina.
    Garson realized with a kind of awed remoteness that he was witnessing a scene that might have occurred fifty years before in the Old West: a trial of nerves. And he realized also that the evil-faced Choco Medina must be the only force on the hacienda keeping Separdo in check . . . with the exception of the mysterious Olaf.
    Who is this Olaf? he wondered. What role does he play in all of this?
    Separdo’s trembling subsided. He turned to Garson with a look of thinly suppressed violence. “I will go after I have said what I came to say: Mr. Garson, do not get any ideas about Nita Luac! She’s not for you!” He turned, brushed past Medina, strode off the dock, crossed the terrace, entered the house.
    “I thought I was going to have to take him that time,” said Medina. He sighed. “I will be glad when we’re off of this powder keg.”
    “What hold does Separdo have on Luac?” asked Garson.
    “I’m sorry, Mr. Garson. It’s not my place to give information.”
    “Thanks, anyway.’
    “My pleasure.”
    “So Anita Luac is not for me.”
    “Nor is she for him,” said Medina. “Shall we go?”
    They moved toward the shore.
    Anita Luac emerged from the house, joined them at the edge of the lake.
    “Your father didn’t want to see you at all,” said Garson.
    She glanced at him, frowned, looked at Medina. “Choco, what happened out there?”
    Medina shrugged. “Raul fed the fish with a live chicken.”
    She shuddered. “That terrible man!”
    Garson could feel a measure of calmness returning after his near panic. He said, “It was supposed to be an object lesson for me. Maybe I should be thankful. I didn’t realize what caribe meant.