implement fall to the ground. He stood gasping. “For speaking simple truth must a person be tortured and killed?” Even to his own ears his voice sounded high-pitched and hysterical.
“Truth offends worse than falsehood.” Shrack gazed in awe along the prone shape of Scales. “He is a prodigy. No man has dealt with me so easily.”
Jubal looked to sea, where Balance thrashed fitfully somewhere out in the dark. He gave a crazy laugh.
“Scales’ bones are broken; Balance took the bath; I am dosed with hyperas… My thanks to you. I am in your debt, to whatever extent you name.”
Shrack grunted. “If I stood quiet to watch two men harm another I would doubt my manhood. Sometime do as much for another man, and the debt shall be justified.”
Jubal reached to the ground, seized the warrant. “Notice this warrant. They laid it for arbitration even before I knew it existed! Imagine the insolence!”
By the glow of the blue-lamp Shrack read the warrant. “You have strong enemies.”
“Tomorrow I will learn whether I have friends as well. If not, please hold open a berth for me aboard the Clanche .”
A horrid blood-stained face rose into the illumination; Scales tried to grasp Jubal’s ankle but his right arm seemed to articulate on four joints instead of two and he could not control the motion.
“Vermin!” spat Jubal, stepping back. “Shall I break more of your bones?”
Scales’ voice was guttural and profound. “I must execute the warrant.”
“An illegal warrant, you ditch-skulker?”
“The warrant was in legal form.”
“As to that, we shall see tomorrow. I too have connections.” The hyperas had inflamed Jubal’s brain; words poured forth in a spate. “If you fail to die here on the beach as I hope, you will be disbarred from your trade, and that wallowing Balance as well. Lie here and suffer.”
Jubal tottered away, the soles of his feet tingling and tender from the drug. Shrack gave Scales a civil nod and followed. They walked along the beach to where Shrack had drawn up his dinghy; ahead the lights of the inn glimmered through the daldank trees.
Shrack hesitated a moment, then said in a pensive voice: “A thought has entered my mind which you may wish to consider.”
“Speak; I can only profit.”
“Tonight we discussed opportunities and how they must be grasped. Need I say more?”
“Your idea throws a new light upon the incident,” said Jubal. “I will certainly consider it.”
“A restful night to you.”
“And you as well.” Jubal limped to his chamber, which now reeked with decomposing narcogen. Wearily he considered the barred window, but lacked the strength to go around to the back and pry it loose.
Gingerly he removed his clothes: a sensation like ripping away adhesive bandages. The linen prickled like stubble when he lay upon the pallet. Presently he fell into an uneasy doze and the night passed without further incident.
Chapter 7
Midmorning: two and a half hours after that time stipulated by Eyvant Dasduke. Mora, a crackling violet-white ball inside a magenta coruscation, hung halfway up the sky. Skay was nowhere to be seen; the sky, to use the Thariot terminology, was ‘free’.
Jubal Droad, departing the Hall of Chancery, crossed the plaza to the ancient black hulk of the Parloury.
The parcel of off-world clothes had earned him a mere seventeen toldecks a week; he had failed to extract maximum advantage from Nai the Hever. On this occasion he would take a firm line.
Jubal entered the Parloury foyer, an enormous hall painted a dingy and depressing yellow-brown. At a number of counters the citizens of Wysrod conferred with functionaries, both in tranquil accord and rancorous debate. Along the walls hung a row of placards, designating the location of the various departments; Jubal learned that Department Three of the Bureau of Trade occupied the north wing of the third floor.
An escalator carried him aloft and discharged him into an octagonal chamber.
“Truth offends worse than falsehood.” Shrack gazed in awe along the prone shape of Scales. “He is a prodigy. No man has dealt with me so easily.”
Jubal looked to sea, where Balance thrashed fitfully somewhere out in the dark. He gave a crazy laugh.
“Scales’ bones are broken; Balance took the bath; I am dosed with hyperas… My thanks to you. I am in your debt, to whatever extent you name.”
Shrack grunted. “If I stood quiet to watch two men harm another I would doubt my manhood. Sometime do as much for another man, and the debt shall be justified.”
Jubal reached to the ground, seized the warrant. “Notice this warrant. They laid it for arbitration even before I knew it existed! Imagine the insolence!”
By the glow of the blue-lamp Shrack read the warrant. “You have strong enemies.”
“Tomorrow I will learn whether I have friends as well. If not, please hold open a berth for me aboard the Clanche .”
A horrid blood-stained face rose into the illumination; Scales tried to grasp Jubal’s ankle but his right arm seemed to articulate on four joints instead of two and he could not control the motion.
“Vermin!” spat Jubal, stepping back. “Shall I break more of your bones?”
Scales’ voice was guttural and profound. “I must execute the warrant.”
“An illegal warrant, you ditch-skulker?”
“The warrant was in legal form.”
“As to that, we shall see tomorrow. I too have connections.” The hyperas had inflamed Jubal’s brain; words poured forth in a spate. “If you fail to die here on the beach as I hope, you will be disbarred from your trade, and that wallowing Balance as well. Lie here and suffer.”
Jubal tottered away, the soles of his feet tingling and tender from the drug. Shrack gave Scales a civil nod and followed. They walked along the beach to where Shrack had drawn up his dinghy; ahead the lights of the inn glimmered through the daldank trees.
Shrack hesitated a moment, then said in a pensive voice: “A thought has entered my mind which you may wish to consider.”
“Speak; I can only profit.”
“Tonight we discussed opportunities and how they must be grasped. Need I say more?”
“Your idea throws a new light upon the incident,” said Jubal. “I will certainly consider it.”
“A restful night to you.”
“And you as well.” Jubal limped to his chamber, which now reeked with decomposing narcogen. Wearily he considered the barred window, but lacked the strength to go around to the back and pry it loose.
Gingerly he removed his clothes: a sensation like ripping away adhesive bandages. The linen prickled like stubble when he lay upon the pallet. Presently he fell into an uneasy doze and the night passed without further incident.
Chapter 7
Midmorning: two and a half hours after that time stipulated by Eyvant Dasduke. Mora, a crackling violet-white ball inside a magenta coruscation, hung halfway up the sky. Skay was nowhere to be seen; the sky, to use the Thariot terminology, was ‘free’.
Jubal Droad, departing the Hall of Chancery, crossed the plaza to the ancient black hulk of the Parloury.
The parcel of off-world clothes had earned him a mere seventeen toldecks a week; he had failed to extract maximum advantage from Nai the Hever. On this occasion he would take a firm line.
Jubal entered the Parloury foyer, an enormous hall painted a dingy and depressing yellow-brown. At a number of counters the citizens of Wysrod conferred with functionaries, both in tranquil accord and rancorous debate. Along the walls hung a row of placards, designating the location of the various departments; Jubal learned that Department Three of the Bureau of Trade occupied the north wing of the third floor.
An escalator carried him aloft and discharged him into an octagonal chamber.
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