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Brandyjack by Augustine Funnell

CHAPTER 1

“Draw me a pint,” Brandyjack told the man behind the bar, “and make damned sure it’s cold.”

The bartender nodded, turned, and seconds later turned back with the ale. Carefully, spilling not a drop, he placed it before his customer. Brandyjack tossed two coins to the hardwood bar top, watched them spin a moment, then lifted the mug to his lips. He took a goodly drink before turning back to the man behind the bar.

“Tell me,” he said, flicking away a wisp of hair that had somehow freed itself from the wire he used to tie his hair back, “where might I find Thoruso the Merchant?”

The bartender’s eyes lifted a fraction and the smile left his face to become a blank stare. “Thoruso?” he asked. “What business might you have with him?”

“Nothing that would interest an honest man,” Brandyjack replied, not looking at the man but again lifting the mug of ale to his lips.

“I don’t recall anyone ever accusing me of being an honest man,” the bartender replied, his face straight. His eyes glinted slightly in the dimness. Eager, Brandyjack thought, eager and greedy, matching the shine of his almost bald head with his pudgy, sweat-glistened cheeks.

“Be that as it may,” Brandyjack went on, “this matter is little concern of yours. It is enough for you to know I wish to locate Thoruso.”

“He’d be down past the computers,” the bartender answered after a pause. “He maintains a residence to the west.” The bartender regarded Brandyjack carefully for a moment, taking in the square, handsome face, the hair pulled straight back into a ponytail, and the tall, full-muscled frame. “If that’s any help,” he added.

Brandyjack nodded, tossed another pair of coins to the bar and looked around the room as the bartender refilled the mug. Not much in the way of action here, the wayfarer thought. Better to have stayed in the wastelands.

“As you say,” the bartender began, looking at Brandyjack’s back, “this matter is little concern of mine. Still, if I might be so bold as to venture an opinion, I’ll say your business with Thoruso is of the… umm, shady nature. Oh no, there’s no need to reply in either affirmative or negative fashion,” the man said quickly when Brandyjack had turned to face him squarely, “for it is of little importance. You seek Thoruso; your business is not a legal one. Nevertheless, I peg you for a strong-willed man and must admit to being one myself. I simply offer my services, for a share of whatever undertaking you and Thoruso agree upon, should those services be needed.”

Brandyjack drained the mug, considered the bartender’s pudgy frame for several seconds, and said, “You may be assured that if I find myself in need of a bartender, I’ll send someone for you. Your name?”

“Benjamin,” the bartender answered immediately. “I live in back.”

Brandyjack nodded, turned and walked from the tavern. He could feel Benjamin’s eyes on his back, but he walked straight, never once turning to face the man again.

The sunlight was quickly fading in the street outside. Smells of various evening meals drifted to Brandyjack’s nostrils and for a brief moment he wished he had not spent his last four coins in the bar. Still, he supposed, the show of casual spending had been necessary, perhaps far more necessary than food. A man had to keep up appearances.

There were few people on the streets at this time of day. Most normal men and women were either home eating their evening meal or else had already started their night shift at whichever businesses required such laborers. There were, however, a few children. Some played, others begged, and still others were obviously up to something not entirely within the boundaries of the laws. Brandyjack smiled as he. thought of the latter kind, held back a chuckle as he recalled his own childhood in the streets, begging when he could sucker someone into believing he really was blind. He remembered a time when one rich Merchant had pulled the bandage from his eyes and discovered there was indeed no loss of sight. That had been one thrashing he’d never forgotten, but he doubted the Merchant had forgotten the burglar who broke into his house a fortnight later and set the residence ablaze. It had been illegal, he supposed, but these were times of illegal activities, and there were few other ways to get ahead of the game.

The smells of food interrupted his thoughts, and for a second time he wished he had kept two of the coins to purchase a sandwich or something. Sighing, he pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders and continued along the narrow, cracked pavement of the street, forcing himself to think of rotting corpses and sickly smells; anything to focus his attention on something other than food.

A child approached him with a bowl extended, and Brandyjack knew this was not a scheme such as he, himself, had once pulled on unsuspecting people of generosity. The child had only one arm, that one horribly bent and twisted, and both legs were thin, deformed. The child’s face was natural enough, but there was an expression in the eyes that disconcerted him somewhat. Festering sores covered the child’s neck and arms.

“A pittance, sir,” the child said, but the words were garbled, hardly understandable.

“If I had a pittance, you should have it,” Brandyjack replied, squatting so that he was eye to eye with the child. The bowl the beggar child extended had several coins in it, all of small denomination and of various colors, two green ones, three of orange hue, two blacks, and one red.

“Believe me, child, if I had coins I would give them to you,” Brandyjack said, standing quickly and winking at the boy. “I’m sorry.”

The beggar nodded, winked back and hobbled away. Brandyjack watched him for a moment or two, then turned his palm up to look at the red coin there. He turned his back on the beggar child, pocketed the coin and continued toward the computers. It wouldn’t buy the beggar much anyway, he reflected. Besides, the child needed only another orange coin to buy himself a meal at one of the few places that served infected beggars. Ah well, these are times of illegalities and immoralities, he thought. The importance of the red coin superseded all thoughts of illegalities and immoralities. And besides, it was part of the agreement.

Brandyjack turned into an alleyway between two faded, red brick buildings, walked the length of the fetid stretch and found himself on a side street. Darkness was settling quickly now, but there was no time to contemplate or enjoy the coolness of the evening after what had been a blisteringly hot, day. Before him stood the computers building.

He crossed the street, there hailing one of the old men who sat constantly in front of the building, a bowl resting on the pavement beside him. “Where might I locate the Merchant, Thoruso?” he asked.

The old man looked up at him, his eyes filmed with rheum and cataracts. Running sores bled and tiny trickles of pus ran down the man’s cheeks. “Thoruso?” he asked.

Brandyjack nodded, then realizing the beggar couldn’t see him, he spoke. “Yes.”

The old man pointed, then lowered his arm and picked up his bowl. “Sorry, old man,” Brandyjack told him, “but I have no coins.”

Brandyjack turned and walked in the direction indicated by the beggar. Several blocks later he stood outside a shanty adorned with a single sign that read: “Thoruso— Merchant.” Brandyjack nodded to himself, walked to the door and entered.

The interior of the shack was musty and smelled of decay. There was no smell of food, however, and Brandyjack was thankful for that. Books were piled in stacks, some precariously balanced in corners, dust easily an eighth of an inch thick covering the uppermost ones.

“Merchant!” Brandyjack called out. “Merchant! I’ve business with you.”

For a few seconds there were no sounds. Then, from behind a curtain tacked over a doorway came a shuffling, as if of an old man, and shortly a wizened character did indeed appear. “I am Thoruso,” the man said.

“Wonderful,” Brandyjack retorted quickly. “I am Brandyjack.”

“What business do you have with me?” Thoruso questioned, and his voice was barely audible, bespeaking the age of one about to die.

“First of all,” Brandyjack said slowly, smiling, “you can drop the sickly old man act and discuss certain matters with me.”

“Act?”

“Now don’t be coy. We both know you’re not on the verge of death, so there’s little sense in continuing the charade.”

Thoruso shrugged his shoulders indifferently, and in a much stronger, deeper voice asked, “And what is your business with me, Brandyjack?”

Brandyjack smiled. “Is there no illumination in this shack?”

Thoruso considered Brandyjack for a moment, then disappeared into the back room, returning a moment later with a lantern, which he adjusted to give off a bright light. He sat in a dusty chair, indicating another for his visitor.

“And now, your business with me?”

“I wish to book passage to Alpha Centauri.”

Brandyjack smiled as Thoruso’s face remained calm and blank. He had to give the man credit, he supposed. Most men would have let the cat out of the bag when confronted with such a statement.

“Alpha Centauri,” Thoruso said slowly, contemplatively, “Alpha Centauri. Wasn’t that the name the ancients gave a certain star?”

“You’d know far better than I, Thoruso,” Brandyjack replied evenly. “All I want is to go with you when you go, regardless of where it is you’re going.”

“My dear man,” Thoruso started, “would you mind explaining to me exactly—”

“Stuff it,” Brandyjack said quickly. “You know damned well exactly what this is about. No, don’t deny it. And don’t worry. I haven’t divulged your precious secret, nor will I. All I want is to get away from here.”

“In that case,” Thoruso said curtly, rising as he spoke, “I suggest you contact the Merchant Belaleve. I’ve heard he’s organizing a mule-train to the city of Canav. I’m sure he’d let you tag along.”

Brandyjack smiled, made no move to stand to face his host. Slowly, he reached into the pocket on the inside hem of his cloak, pulled out the red coin and held it out for Thoruso to see. For a moment, Thoruso’s eyes narrowed, then he reached for the coin. He looked back to his visitor; then, with a deft movement of a fingernail, sliced the coin along its edge so that a carefully concealed job of securing the two halves together became as naught. Inside was a small slip of paper. Thoruso removed this, read the message contained on it, then looked back to Brandyjack.

“Was there really a need for all this melodrama?”

“I’m a man of flair,” Brandyjack retorted. “A little style never hurt any transaction.”

“One question,” Thoruso started, “how did you get the coin into the city? It’s an uncommon denomination and for some reason the city guards take great pleasure in confiscating such oddities.”

“Few people will touch the belongings of an infected beggar child,” Brandyjack said, smiling, no longer looking at his host but at the books in the corners. “Even fewer will rob him of whatever coins he has.”

Thoruso nodded and turned, saying, “Follow me,” before leading the way into the back room. Brandyjack picked up the lantern and followed the Merchant. The other room was better furnished than the first, but there were as many books in corners. “Sit down,” Thoruso invited.

Brandyjack placed the lantern on the floor, selected a well-upholstered chair and sank into it and, a moment later removed the wire from his nearly waist-length hair. He watched Thoruso who in turn considered him.

“It is better that we discuss this matter in here than out in the other room,” Thoruso said finally. “Who knows which beggar might be listening at the door, eh?”

“Agreed.”

“Now then, what business do you have with me? You appear to know a bit about my work, but I’ll wager it’s not enough to blackmail me. Nevertheless, I am prepared to buy your silence.”

“I was serious before,” Brandyjack replied evenly. “I want to leave Earth when you do.”

“Why?”

Brandyjack paused a moment before he spoke, then sighed. “Truth to tell, I’m a wayfarer. The entire matter appeals to my sense of adventure. I see this as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to become involved in the type of adventure that has not been undertaken in centuries. I crave action and excitement, Merchant, and I have no roots. It’s as simple as that.”

Thoruso considered this. “What can you offer me in return for this favor?”

“For the time being, protection from everyone who might try to stop you if they found out what you were doing. I’m one of very few men alive who has any knowledge of ancient fighting techniques. Later on, well, who knows when a strong man might be needed on a starship? Especially a strong man with quick wits who is easily educated. I will do whatever is necessary to see the completion of your project, at whatever cost and in whichever way you specify.”

“Simply, if I agree to let you accompany me, you’ll, do whatever I ask?”

“Correct.”

Thoruso read the note again, then tore it to tiny pieces and placed them on his tongue. He swallowed the papers, tossed the two halves of the coin aside, considered Brandyjack for a moment, then said, “Agreed. The note from Evans appears to be authentic, so there is no reason not to trust you. Another question, though. Why did Evans send you to me? Or perhaps I should ask how you found out about the starship and convinced Evans you were gifted enough to go.”

“Evans cannot be blamed for allowing certain of his possessions to fall into the hands of a master pickpocket,” Brandyjack said, smiling. “As soon as I discovered the importance of what I held, I wasted no time in returning same to Evans and he was… shall we say, impressed with my honesty? Yes, that’s a nice phrase. He was impressed to the point that he thought I might be of some aid to your plans. He prepared the note and the coin, told me to bring them to you, and here I am. After making a deal with a certain infected beggar boy, of course.”

Thoruso nodded. “Did Evans mention anything about the books?”

Brandyjack smiled. “As a matter of fact, he told me to tell you he’s having no luck at all. He can’t locate whatever ones you want.”

A frown crossed Thoruso’s face, but he said nothing about the books. Instead, he asked, “Why didn’t Evans kill you the first chance he got?”

Brandyjack smiled. “I am not a stupid man, Thoruso. I took certain precautions. In short, I left a written record of the importance of Evans’s papers with a certain acquaintance of mine. When Evans found this out he couldn’t very well kill me, now could he? After all, I had told my acquaintance I’d return in three hours for the records, and if I didn’t return in exactly that time he was to approach certain authorities. Obviously he decided to let you make the final decision.”

“And the written records?”

“Now Thoruso,” Brandyjack said quickly, “they’re still very much in existence, but with a different set of regulations regarding their delivery to the authorities.”

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to turn them over to me or destroy them?”

“Not likely.”

“You trust this acquaintance of yours? There is no chance of those papers reaching people we’d rather not have them reach?”

“There are always risks.”

“But the senseless ones can be done away with.”

“True, Thoruso, true. Perhaps you’re right. But, also, perhaps you consider me a senseless risk. Perhaps you’d kill me, eh?”

“For what the word of a Merchant is worth, especially one working against the wishes of the authorities, I can promise you you will not die by my hand or by my order. As far as I’m concerned, you’re one of us now.”

“For a Merchant you’re very trusting, Thoruso. I’ve yet to meet a man of your profession who didn’t squeeze every available profit from every available source while eliminating every possible risk.”

“Has it occurred to you that I might consider you a highly available profit from an unexpected source that has no risks, save for the existence of the records?”

“Well put, Merchant. What is life but a series of risks anyway, eh? Consider the papers no longer a threat. And consider my services yours for the commanding.”

They shook hands.

“By the way,” Brandyjack said a moment later, “I destroyed the papers after Evans agreed to send me here. As you said, the senseless risks can be removed.”

Thoruso smiled. “I have a reputation for being a dishonest man,” he said, “simply because I am a Merchant. Admittedly, I’ve been known to take advantage of certain situations. I assure you, however, that in this matter my word is my bond. I am, basically, an honest fellow.”

“Then there’s no more to be said,” Brandyjack responded quickly, rising to his feet, “Is there anything you’d have me do at the moment?”

“No. For the time being your life is your own.”

“Very well. Perhaps you’d oblige a penniless wayfarer with a token of payment for future services?”

Thoruso smiled, reached into the folds of his tunic, and brought out a simple, white card. “Present this whenever you wish to eat, sleep, drink, whatever. I will be billed.”

“Endless credit?”

“Not quite. Discretion would be wise, considering you are now an employee of mine. Exercise at least a modicum of self-control. In your own best interests, you understand.”

“Of course. I’ll be taking a room at a bar a few blocks from here. A man named Benjamin owns the place.”

Thoruso frowned. “I know the place. I’ll send for you when you’re needed.”

They shook hands again, then parted company, Thoruso entering a third room separated from the second by another curtain, and Brandyjack making his way back to the street. He looked at the white card under the glow of a flickering street lamp, chuckled and began to walk back to the bar.

CHAPTER 2

Brandyjack reeled unsteadily across the floor, his long hair hanging over his shoulders and on occasion obscuring his vision. His cloak and tunic were stained with ale and reeked of the same. The bar was filled now, and the chatter of a hundred uncultured voices, each strained to reach above the other, was making Brandyjack’s head swim with unpleasant sensations. He needed fresh air for a moment. Eventually he found the door of the tavern and stumbled out into the street. He had hardly sat down when Benjamin appeared beside him.

“You enjoy the ale?” Benjamin asked.

“Huh? Oh… yeah, yeah.”

“I wondered if you’d considered my earlier proposal.”

“Huh? Proposal?”

“Yes, concerning you and Thoruso.”

“Oh. Yeah. I’ll call you.”

Brandyjack began to pull himself to his feet, assisted by Benjamin, vaguely aware that Benjamin was seeking something, but unable to determine what it might be. He leaned on Benjamin for a few seconds, then, unsteadily, started back into the bar.

The lanterns in the bar were bright now, quite unlike the dim glow they had cast during the day. Some part of Brandyjack’s mind told him Benjamin was not all he appeared, but he was capable only of realizing the problem, not acting upon it. When Benjamin saw Brandyjack slouch into a chair, he returned to his place behind the bar, sending another ale to Brandyjack seconds later.

Brandyjack looked up as the barmaid appeared beside him. She was pretty, her hair cropped short at the front and allowed to stretch down her back. Her eyes were large, round, dark. Brandyjack smiled at her, vaguely aware of the spittle that drooled down the side of his chin. The girl smiled back, seemed to be turning to leave, then sat down in an empty chair beside Brandyjack. Through a haze, Brandyjack thought he saw something of concern behind her own calm expression, but he couldn’t be sure and he was barely aware of his own thoughts.

“You’ve put away a good deal of ale tonight,” she said to him.

“So I have, so I have,” Brandyjack replied, smiling, reaching for the mug before him.

“And I haven’t seen a coin pass from your hand to Benjamin’s,” she went on.

“Simply because none have passed from hand to hand, my dear,” Brandyjack replied. “Don’t worry, you’ve missed nothing.” He belched.

“Then you’re important, are you?” the barmaid asked, at least attempting to hide her disgust.

“Important? Important? Blazes, girl! You can see how much I’m drinking! Important? I’m Benjamin’s best customer!” There was a pause, then, “Important!” he snorted.

“Could I talk to you later?”

“Bloody blue beards! You can talk to me now!”

“No, not now, not here. Later. Are you staying upstairs?”

“I plan to. Unless I pass out down here.”

“Please, can I talk to you later?”

“If you can, you may,” Brandyjack said and chuckled loudly. Then, “Sure, sure. I’m in room… room seven!”

The girl nodded, stood and walked back to the bar, paying little attention to the man who slapped her across the rump as she moved.

“A fine woman,” Brandyjack said softly, watching the man who had slapped her retreat to his table. “Bit lacking in conversational manners, though.” He belched again.

He drained the mug, tried to focus on a knothole in the wall, failed, and turned back to look at the bar. For a second he was sure Benjamin was watching him, but then a haze spread out over his eyes and he wasn’t sure.

From somewhere near the door he heard a scream. Rubbing his eyes, he looked in that direction, seeing there a one-armed beggar child who looked vaguely familiar. A huge, very drunk man was standing over the child and had just landed a solid blow with a stout length of wood. Brandyjack shrugged and looked in the other direction as the child screamed again.

It dawned on him then who the child was. In an instant he was on his feet, lurching unsteadily toward the door. He could barely see, but the motion seemed to clear his head somewhat. He reached the door just as the other man had raised the stick to club the beggar a third time. Brandyjack grabbed the stick, tossed it through the open door into the street, then turned to the other man. “None of that, now,” he said, vaguely wondering if his words were slurred.

There was a sudden silence in the bar as drunks who had been babbling continuously over the course of the evening turned to watch what would happen next.

“He’s just a beggar boy,” Brandyjack said, turning to look at the child. “Won’t do anybody any harm.”

Brandyjack had moved to the beggar’s aid with no thought other than to take the stick away from the huge man. He had already started back to his table, the incident completely forgotten, when he felt a hand grab his shoulder. He was spun around quickly to find himself confronted by the other man.

“And I say the little bastard will cause somebody some harm!” the big man said.

Brandyjack shook his head. What was going on here? Who was this brute? He shook his head again, wondering what he had done to make the other man so obviously upset with him.

“Have I offended you?” he asked, the memory of what he had done lost in the befuddlement of his brain. “If so, sir, I apologize. No offense meant.” He belched and bowed.

He tried to move back to his table, suddenly aware of a huge fist slicing through the smoky atmosphere of the bar. Stars, moons, planets, everything that possibly could, exploded in front of him as the fist connected, sending him sprawling over the top of a table, spilling drinks and crashing into several other patrons. He sat for several seconds, shaking his head, as the realization of what had just happened sank home. His head was suddenly clear, as clear as it had been before he entered the tavern. People were removing the table he’d overturned from his path, and were removing themselves as well, standing behind him and to the sides, expectant.

He got slowly to his feet, brushed bits of broken glass from his cloak, then removed the cloak and walked toward the huge man, the haze gone from his eyes, the dizziness departed from his brain.

There was first an excited buzz then silence from the spectators as he advanced upon the other man. Even the infected beggar boy had been forgotten, cringing against one wall, certain he’d be beaten regardless of who won the fight.

“Naw,” Brandyjack said scornfully when he was only a few feet from the other man, “you’re not worth the effort it would take.” Someone snickered.

He turned his back on the big man, counted to three, then turned quickly, his fist lashing through the air and catching the chin of the other man who had started toward him, insulted at the slur upon his worth. The big man started to fall backward, caught his balance and lunged toward Brandyjack. Brandyjack was in the air in a split second, both feet connecting with the other man’s neck. There was a loud crack and the man fell to the floor, dead. Brandyjack picked himself up from the floor, brushed the bits of glass off his tunic and retrieved his cloak, fastening it tightly about his neck. Then, nonchalantly, he went through the dead man’s pockets, taking all currency and coins he found. Quite aware of the eyes of the other patrons of the bar on him, he walked to the cringing beggar boy, dropped all the money into the bowl and said, “Get the bloody blazes out of here and don’t ever come back!”

The beggar hobbled quickly to the door and disappeared in the darkness as an excited whisper broke out. Slowly, the general merriment was restored as the table was uprighted and the broken glass cleared away. Benjamin and another man dragged the dead man out into the street.

“Blood of a sand lizard!” Brandyjack muttered to no one in particular. “Just like that… sober!”

A couple of men appeared to shake his hand, both muttering something about “that bullying creep,” but their words were lost in the general hubbub and Brandyjack did not ask them to repeat their statements. He smiled, nodded, then watched them stagger back to their tables.

A long time later, after trying unsuccessfully to regain his earlier condition, he went to his room and passed out, tired but not drunk, on the dirty sheets of the bed. His last memories were of the slowly diminishing noise from the bar downstairs.

CHAPTER 3

He awoke to find someone tugging at the edge of his cloak. Dazed, he sat up, his eyes straining to pierce the darkness of the room. In a few seconds he could make out the dim outline of a man.

“You awake?” the man whispered.

“Yeah! What the—”

“Shh! Keep it down. Just come with me. I’ll tell you all about it in the street.”

“Tell me now,” Brandyjack whispered.

“Thoruso sent me.”

“Oh.”

Brandyjack got to his feet, walked quietly across the floor to the window. A rope and grappling hook were attached to the sill. Brandyjack cursed himself for not hearing the sound such a contraption must have made, wondering at the same time why there was such a need for silence when the grappling hook must have made more noise than he. A second later, as he lowered himself hand over hand down the rope, he forgave himself for hearing nothing. The hook had been covered with several wraps of cloth to make it almost silent.

They reached the street, and with a deft flick of the wrist the other man dislodged the grappling hook from the window sill two stories above. It fell down, was nimbly caught by the man and slung over his shoulder. Silently they moved on the cracked pavement, ducking into an alleyway a few seconds later.

“What’s up?” Brandyjack asked at last, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Thoruso has a job for you,” the man replied, and even in the darkness, Brandyjack could see his eyes twinkling. “A very simple job. I’ll be helping you. My name is Dextor.”

Dextor was strong, Brandyjack saw. Even through the thick fabric of the man’s tunic, his muscles bulged. His hair was barely shoulder length, light, well-trimmed. Brandyjack found himself liking the man immediately.

After another few minutes of walking in shadows and alleyways, Dextor hid the rope and grappling hook in a pile of refuse. Then, cautiously, they walked farther, Dextor peering behind them occasionally.

“So what’s the job?” Brandyjack asked, annoyed at the lack of information.

“We’re to steal a certain item from the Catacombs.”

“What item?”

“A computer tape.”

“What’s a computer tape?”

“In this case it’s a sequence of programing that is fed into the computer to activate certain mechanisms. Beyond that, I don’t know. It’s what Thoruso told me.”

“And it’s in the Catacombs?”

“Right.”

“And we’re supposed to waltz right in there and take it. As I recall, there are guards around and in the Catacombs at every hour. Armed with guns, too. Or so I’ve heard.”

“You’ve heard right. They’ve got guns and they know how to use them. If we do a good job we might even get a couple for ourselves. Of course, we’d have to kill the present owners of said guns. That frighten you any?” Again, Dextor’s eyes twinkled.

Brandyjack chuckled softly, but said nothing.

“Good,” Dextor went on, “because we’ll probably have to take a few lives. The guards don’t usually let burglars go by without a struggle.”

“I’ve heard no one ever went in and came out again.”

“That’s quite true. The present authorities consider that particular cemetery quite sacred. There’s a lot of information buried there.”

For the next hour or so they said nothing, hiding only once when a patrol of three Protectors was nearby. A faint pink glow was beginning to brighten the eastern sky when they finally stood in an alleyway across the street from the Catacombs. “Best time to do anything,” Dextor explained. “In the early dawn they’re usually pretty complacent. Why, I don’t know, but they are.”

Brandyjack regarded the man’s boyish face, shook his head as he recalled Dextor’s seeming indifference to killing any guards they might find. Courage just didn’t seem right in that face, somehow.

Dextor rummaged through a pile of garbage, finally locating a bundle tied with string. While Brandyjack tied his hair back in a long ponytail, Dextor unwrapped the package. There was one dirty, torn tunic, the kind the beggars wore, one beggar’s bowl, two knives and a few coins of little value.

“Can you use a knife?” Dextor asked.

“If I have to.”

“Good.” Dextor had begun taking off his clothes. When this was completed, he donned the beggar’s tunic, secreting a knife beneath the fabric. “This is the general plan,” he said softly, looking across the street where the top portion of the Catacombs loomed ominously in what little early-morning light there was. “I’m going to waltz out there like a beggar, except I’m going to be very, very afraid. When I’ve banged on the door twice, you come running out with your knife. Make as if you’re going to kill me for some reason or other. The guards will either come out to stop you or watch you, and in any case you’ll have your big chance. Take ‘em both if you can, but get one anyway. If we get inside, I’ll continue the lesson for today.”

Brandyjack smiled. “I like a man who takes nothing seriously,” he said. “Okay. Get moving.”

Dextor nodded and started from the alleyway, wobbling like an aged beggar but moving as quickly as it was supposed an aged beggar could move. Brandyjack considered the door to the Catacombs, could vaguely see the small sheet of glass that served as a lookout for the guards. He hoped they were watching Dextor’s act.

He watched Dextor reach the door, bang once, bang twice, then darted from the alleyway, his knife raised. “You thieving bastard!” he yelled at Dextor. “I’ll kill you!” No harm in living the part, he decided.

Dextor whimpered as Brandyjack approached. For a moment it appeared no guards would come out, and after delivering a carefully disguised kick at Dextor’s midsection, Brandyjack wondered if he’d have to kill his partner to make it look real. He raised the knife just as the door opened and two guards appeared.

“Here, now!” one of them barked. “Put the knife down.”

Brandyjack whirled, giving them no time to react or unholster their handguns. One guard took the knife in his throat while the other took Brandyjack’s foot in the pelvis.

The stabbed man tried to speak, gurgled for a moment, then dropped to the ground. The other guard rolled about, clutching his pelvis with one hand and reaching for his handgun with the other. Dextor was on him quickly, finishing him off.

“Drag ‘em inside!” Dextor hissed. “Quickly!”

They entered the Catacombs, the guards leaving a trail of blood behind them. “No time to worry about that now,” Dextor said.

“Okay,” Dextor whispered. “That was the easy part. From here on it gets difficult.” He bent down and took the guns from the guards. “We can’t use these because there are around 200 guards in the passageways beyond this point. Some of ‘em guard other buildings, but the passageways are all interconnected, so guards who are watching the incarceration buildings would be here too quickly for us to make a decent last stand. We’ll have to use knives and stealth. No matter what, don’t fire that damn gun!”

Brandyjack nodded, wondering how you fired a gun. He decided not to try to find out right away. Dextor was kneeling, stripping one guard of his uniform. Brandyjack followed suit, stripping the second man. They removed their own clothes, donned those of the guards, and started into the darkness.

“Okay,” Brandyjack whispered as they moved along an unlit corridor, “what’s the rest of the lesson?”

“I know the layout of this place, so just follow me. If any trouble comes up, you’ll have to play it by ear. I might also mention that from this point on it’s every man for himself. If we get split up, I won’t be looking for you.”

“Fair enough.”

Twenty meters from the entrance the corridor started sloping downward, branching out into three sections. Dextor took the section to the right, moving along it with certainty, his hands occasionally touching the wall as if searching for something he could not see. Their eyes adjusted only slightly to the total darkness, but after a while Brandyjack heard a sound and sensed Dextor taking something from a section of the corridor wall. A few seconds later a match flared, and seconds after that the corridor was illuminated by the torch Dextor had located.

Several minutes passed before the corridor split into three once again, and at the opening stood a guard.

Brandyjack improvised a quick joke, and he and Dextor laughed, Dextor keeping the torch in front of him so that the blood would remain unseen by the guard, while Brandyjack kept his arms folded to cover half the stains. The guard said nothing as they passed, apparently not realizing that anything was wrong. The two continued on their way.

The corridor was brightly lit with a type of illumination Brandyjack had seen only once before. Luminescent panels in the roof gave out a soft glow that was not at all harsh to the eye. Dextor extinguished the torch and placed it in a receptacle built into the corridor wall.

“The various rooms begin after that corner up there,” Dextor explained, pointing to a bend in the corridor. “There’ll be a guard or two in front of every room, and they’ll kill us the minute they think we’re out of place.”

Brandyjack nodded, followed Dextor to the bend and stopped. “Are the rooms close enough so one guard can see another?” he whispered.

“No.”

“Okay. Let me take the first one.”

Dextor nodded, stepped aside to make room. Brandyjack smiled at Dextor. Taking a deep breath, he ran around the bend. “The entrance!” he yelled to the guard he saw immediately. “We’re under attack!” He staggered, stumbled and fell to the rock floor, his hand clutching the bloody area of his uniform. In an instant, the guard was beside him, kneeling. Brandyjack looked into the man’s face, smiled and unleashed a tremendous blow to the other’s face. He got to his feet, whistled softly for Dextor, then began stripping the unconscious guard. When he had removed the guard’s uniform, he handed it to Dextor. “Put this on.” He tried to open the door the guard had been stationed at, found it locked, shrugged and crashed his bulk against it. The lock mechanisms gave way with a screech of torn metal. Brandyjack smiled, dragged the guard into the room, and slit his throat. He looked around the room quickly, seeing what appeared to be cabinets. Piled on top of the cabinets were books and charts, and in the center of the room were machines he couldn’t recognize. He left, closed the door so it appeared locked and followed Dextor, now in the clean uniform, down the corridor to another bend.

“That was a smooth piece of work,” Dextor said when they stopped at the bend. “Lucky, but smooth. I’ll take care of this one. The next room is the one we want.”

Brandyjack watched Dextor stride purposefully around the bend. Dextor had not fully disappeared when a shot rang out. Brandyjack cursed, knowing immediately what had happened. Obviously his voice had carried to the other guard when he’d sounded the warning for attack. Damned stupid, he thought. Dextor came back around the corner quickly, a large, growing bloodstain on his jacket.

“That blows it!” Dextor hissed between clenched teeth. “We’ll have to charge him. The corridor will be swarming with guards in a minute or two!”

Brandyjack nodded, unholstered his gun and charged around the corner, remembering only when he was in the guard’s sight that he didn’t know how to use the handgun. He cursed, threw himself to the floor and watched the guard fall a second after a shot rang out. He got to his feet to see Dextor standing behind him. He smiled.

They raced to the room, kicking the guard’s body aside. Brandyjack watched closely as Dextor took careful aim at the lock mechanism and fired once. The door opened.

As they entered the room, they could hear the sounds of running feet and startled voices. Brandyjack quickly pulled the dead guard in after them, shutting the door immediately. He turned to find Dextor rummaging through a drawer, one of many built into the rock wall. Several seconds passed before Dextor pulled out a long, thin box. He squinted, read the description of contents, nodded to Brandyjack, and they left the room.

Just as guards, weapons drawn, came toward them.

Brandyjack turned to Dextor immediately, forcing him against the wall as if examining his wound.

“Are you mad?” Dextor hissed.

Brandyjack flashed a quick smile that disappeared instantly. “Up there!” he shouted to the guards. “Two of them… dressed in beggar’s rags! They’re armed!”

The guards surged past, only one of them looking closely at either Brandyjack or Dextor. They were barely out of sight when Brandyjack started in the direction from which the guards had come. “We won’t fool them for long,” he said quickly, “so I suggest you make use of your extensive knowledge of these tunnels and get us out of here.”

“We’ll have to leave through the basement of one of the administration buildings,” Dextor said, grimacing slightly. “But there’ll be more guards,” he warned.

“These are perilous times,” Brandyjack replied, shrugging.

Dextor smiled. And collapsed.

Brandyjack cursed, looking about the corridor. Sighing, he bent and lifted Dextor from the rock floor, slinging him over a shoulder and adjusting his position until it was comfortable. As quickly as he could he started down the corridor, alert for the sound or sight of additional guards. From somewhere behind him he heard voices bellowing at each other, but ignored them. No doubt they’d found the slaughtered guards.

He hurried along the corridor, listening to the shouts behind him grow in volume. He passed two unguarded rooms, speculated on the difficulty of finding good help to guard precious items and finally stopped before a door he knew didn’t open into a room of books or tapes. Cautiously, he opened it, smiled when he saw the unlit marble stairway and hurried through the doorway, closing the door softly behind him. He considered waiting for the guards to return and hopefully pass by, but then started up the steps, wheezing under the weight of the unconscious Dextor. When he had climbed 20 steps he stopped to rest. Muffled voices from the corridor reached him, but he couldn’t tell how close they were to the stairway door.

He continued up the steps, then suddenly stopped as the sound of metal on marble drifted to his ears. Someone else was on the stairway! Coming down!

He placed Dextor on the stairs carefully, propping him up in such a manner that he would not slide to the bottom. He stood there, waiting, hearing the footsteps grow louder as they came closer. They were even, steady, and Brandyjack felt sure their maker was not a guard. Strange, he thought, but they were almost arrogant footsteps. The footsteps’ echoing stopped.

“I would suggest you throw down your weapons and surrender.”

Yep, Brandyjack thought, they’re arrogant footsteps. Cautiously, making no sound, he started down the marble stairs, stopping only when he could no longer see the unconscious Dextor. For an added precaution, he descended two more steps. There, he crouched and waited.

“There’s no sense to this silence. Drop your weapons and start up.”

Arrogant voice, too, Brandyjack thought.

“I am suitably armored and there is no way any weapons you might have can hurt me. I’ll give you ten seconds. Then, I’m afraid I’ll have to come down after you. I promise you I will not be merciful.”

Brandyjack held his breath, waiting for the man to begin counting. He exhaled when he heard “One!” gripped the handgun tightly, and became painfully aware of the perspiration beginning to bead on his forehead. He inhaled at “Five!” waiting until “Nine!” to exhale.

“Ten! Very well. You’ve left me little choice.”

The footsteps resumed, assuring Brandyjack that the man was indeed armored. There was the faintest clang as the footsteps continued descending, then stopped. Brandyjack heard a soft chuckle, a scrape and a grunt. He smiled, bounded up the stairs and leaped onto the figure of the man he knew was straining to lift Dextor. The man went down heavily, Brandyjack on top.

He had been taken completely by surprise. Obviously the man had thought the unconscious Dextor was the only intruder. He’d had no time to react, no time to regain his balance. He’d been careless, and that carelessness would cost him his life. Brandyjack’s knife struck twice, in the opening the armor had provided for speech, and there was a strangled gurgling as the armored man died.

Brandyjack waited no longer before checking Dextor’s wrist for a pulse. Satisfied that his partner was no worse off than before, he lifted the man and started up the marble steps, listening for any other footsteps that might signal the appearance of someone else. Out in the corridor he could still hear the muffled yells, but they were louder now.

The stairs ended abruptly. Brandyjack slung Dextor over his shoulder, feeling the wall for a doorknob, finding one after much time-consuming and frantic searching. A loud, echoing shout let him know the guards had opened the door at the bottom and were on their way up. Within a few seconds they would find the armored man’s body.

He wrenched open the door and hurried through the frame without checking to see where he was going. He found himself in a well-furnished room, obviously an authority building, fortunately empty. A painting of Star, Premier of all Merka, hung on the wall. He cursed because there was no lock on the door, kicked it shut, and ran from the room, Dextor’s limp body balanced precariously.

Through windows he could see that the sun had risen, but as yet there were few people about. No doubt the beggars were still sleeping in the alleyways. He kicked out one window, climbed through it, making sure that the jagged glass remaining in the window frames did not cut Dextor, and started racing for an alleyway. Any alleyway.

He was sure it was no later than six or six-thirty, and this certainty gave him hope that he might yet find shelter before people were about. Shelter and medical aid, he decided. Dextor would die if he didn’t get attention soon.

Seven blocks from the building he found a wagon loaded with hay. From a nearby shed a man in a well-worn tunic appeared, carrying still more hay. Brandyjack waited until the man had departed before he approached the shed. He entered cautiously, not entirely sure there wouldn’t be a beggar or two sleeping there. He made Dextor as comfortable as possible, covering most of his body with hay. Then Brandyjack stripped off his own guard’s uniform and buried it under still more hay. He took the box Dextor had stolen for Thoruso, located a smith’s apron made of leather, slipped it on and quietly left the shed.

He had walked less than two blocks when a squad of Protectors appeared, hurrying down the street. They glanced at him but did not stop to question him. He smiled at them as they passed.

Half an hour later he entered the Merchant’s shanty. Surprisingly, to Brandyjack, the first thing Thoruso asked was, “Where’s Dextor?”

Brandyjack told him.

“Did you get the tape?”

Brandyjack held it out, watched with amusement as the Merchant trembled slightly and took the box. He examined the brown celluloid, then disappeared for a moment into the adjoining room. When he returned he said, “Dextor will be attended to. You’ve done a good job.”

“Is that tape really worth so much?”

“It is if we are to leave.”

“Speaking of which, I forgot to ask you just when that might be. I’d hate to be left out.”

“No doubt you would. However, I wouldn’t worry about that, Brandyjack. As for when we leave, I can’t be sure. I need only another few nights of calculations, and the books Evans was to bring would cut even that time in half. With this tape now safe, I need only the books.”

“When will Evans deliver them?”

“I’m expecting him back any time now.” Brandyjack nodded. “Why is the tape so important?” Thoruso smiled, mention of the tape reminding him that he actually had it. He stared at it for a second, then started, slowly, “This tape will keep the starship’s life-support systems functioning so as to keep us alive. Without it, or a very specialized knowledge neither I nor any of my group possesses, we might get off the ground, but we’d be dead in a very short time. We need an air-purifying system, we need the nutrient sources, we need the hydroponics, we need… well, we need everything the starship has to offer, and this tape sets in motion the automatic forces that will maintain those services.”

“What about the starship? Where are you going to get one? To the best of my knowledge the authorities aren’t selling any this month.”

Thoruso smiled. “The only ones the authorities have will not suit our purposes anyway. However, there is one starship, built centuries ago, that I believe the authorities aren’t aware of. How it has survived the years I don’t know, but it has, and it is capable of taking us out of this galaxy, to stars no man has ever seen. I’m the only one who knows where it is, Brandyjack, the only person alive who knows what it’s for. I’ve spent years gathering data and records I could barely hope hadn’t been destroyed. It took a great deal of time, Brandyjack, time that someone who didn’t have a lot of money and a lot of perseverance would never be able to give. I searched out hundreds of leads, picking up a clue here, a clue there, and correlating them as best I could. I discovered the existence of the starship by accident—a reference in a half-destroyed textbook—but I began investigating, and slowly a workable plan began to emerge. The scope of it all would have forced any but the most dedicated man to give up the search. But I wouldn’t be forced away; I continued to search. And all under the guise of a Merchant. I made a lot of what my clients considered worthless trades, Brandyjack, and slowly, over the course of the years I’ve amassed almost everything I need.

And now,” Thoruso went on, a tingle of excitement entering his tone, “now, I need only one more item, one more piece of the puzzle. Hopefully, it’ll be in one of the books Evans brings back.”

Brandyjack nodded, contemplated the situation, then asked curiously, “If this starship is such a great machine, why didn’t the ancients use it?”

“They would have,” Thoruso answered quickly, “if the chain of events that made this planet what it is today hadn’t begun shortly after the starship’s completion. The ship was a prototype. If all went well, mankind would have owned the stars, would have had nothing to stop him from complete domination. But, as I said, certain events forced the dreamers to abandon their project and protect themselves. You know why we are as we are today, Brandyjack? Are you aware of the circumstances that removed the stars from the grasp of mankind?”

“No,” Brandyjack answered, “and I’m not sure I want to. I know a little about the wars and riots and plagues, and it’s enough. I’d prefer not to hear it unless it’s necessary for what I have to do to gain passage aboard the starship.”

Thoruso smiled. “Very well. I think it unwise to ignore the past, but what happened to Earth centuries ago is not vital to the completion of your tasks. If you’ve no more questions, I have work to do.”

“No doubt,” Brandyjack said, standing. “Well, you’ll get in touch with me when you need me.”

Thoruso nodded.

Brandyjack turned and walked from the shanty. When he reached the building housing the computers he stood for a long time, staring at the doors he knew were sealed from the inside. Legend had it that three technicians and their families had locked themselves inside the building at one time to escape the vengeance of a mob. Legend also had it that the technicians survived and occasionally walked through the walls of the building to mingle among those who walked the streets nearby.

Brandyjack headed back toward the tavern.

There was no one around when he climbed up the stairs to his room. Easing himself into the bed he sighed, relaxed, and prepared to regain his lost sleep.

CHAPTER 4

His first semi-conscious thought was voiced loudly. “Damn! This is getting to be a habit!”

He opened his eyes to see a woman sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hands held his shoulders and shoved him roughly.

“All right, woman!” Brandyjack snarled. “I’m awake. What do you want?”

“You told me I could come to speak with you.”

“I never cease to amaze myself with my good taste in women,” Brandyjack replied, smiling, letting his eyes linger on the woman’s finely chiseled features: long, dark hair, and what seemed through sleep-encrusted eyes to be full, red lips. Then, puzzled, “Do I know you?”

“In the tavern last night,” she told him, “you said I could come to see you. I came around three o’clock this morning, but you weren’t here.”

“My tough luck, I guess,” Brandyjack told her. “Be a good girl and hand me that smith’s apron, would you?”

The woman looked at the apron, then back to Brandyjack. “You were dressed differently last night,” she told him, an edge of curiosity and suspicion in her voice. “Where did you get that rag?”

“You might not believe me, so I’ll not tell you,” Brandyjack said. “Just hand me the thing, would you?”

“You in trouble with the authorities?”

Brandyjack sighed, crawled out of bed, walked across the floor to where the apron lay and slipped it over his head and shoulders. Smiling, he walked back to the bed. “You were saying something about a conversation?”

“You told me you were someone important,” she told him, her face flushed. “If you are, I want your help.”

“Of course I’m important. Mention the name of Brandyjack in any one of 1000 bars between here and Floren and you’ll find out just how important I am.”

“I have to leave Toronew,” she told him, ignoring his flippancy, “and I need your help to do it.”

“Why leave? This is a fine city. Proper number of beggars, the streets aren’t all that cracked, the buildings will stand at least another six months, the rats don’t bother you, and the deformed stay in their hovels. Why leave?”

“I’d rather not say. But when you leave, I want you to take me with you.” She paused. “I can make it worth your while.”

“No doubt, no doubt,” Brandyjack said smiling. “However, I feel obligated to tell you I am most definitely riot an important person, regardless of what I may have said under the influence of some very fine ale I quaffed last night. I am a simple wayfarer, with little to call my own and even less I would care to. Unless you like the nomadic life, I’m afraid you’re stuck in Toronew.”

“If you’re as penniless as you’d have me believe, how did you manage to get so many ales from Benjamin. He’s not noted for his generosity.”

“I have an understanding with him,” Brandyjack said slowly, part of his mind trying to remember something, but failing to understand what it might be. “It’s a simple arrangement. I don’t kill him and he supplies me with drink and a bed.”

The girl paled. “Nevertheless, I just want to get out of here. And I want your help.”

“Even if I’m not important?”

“Even if you’re not important.”

“If you can make it worth my while, why don’t you buy your way out?”

“That,” she said, nervously, “is impossible.”

Brandyjack lay back on the pillow, his eyes closed. “I’m afraid,” he said at last, “I’d have to know why you want to leave this Utopian life.”

“I can’t tell you any more than I have.”

Brandyjack shrugged, then he remembered what he had been trying to recall. “Damn!”

The woman looked at him, curious.

“Why? Why do these things have to happen to me?”

“What’s wrong?”

Brandyjack searched the single pocket of the apron, then, “Damn!”

“What’s wrong?” She was worried now, not at all sure of the reason for the outburst.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said, smiling. “I just lost a certain item. A memento of a pleasant time. No problem. I’ll get it back.”

The woman stood. “Will you help me leave Toronew?”

“I think not,” Brandyjack said at last. “Remember, I’m an important man who has to sip a certain amount of ale each night. Without it I become a quivering mass of jelly beneath both the burning rays of the sun and the cool waves of the moon. I shake, shiver, quiver and on occasion have been known to die because I couldn’t wrap my paw around a mug.” He smiled.

The woman looked at him for several seconds, puzzled and disgusted at once. “You are an idiot,” she said at last.

“No doubt, no doubt,” Brandyjack said. “However, if you could supply me with enough currency to purchase some clothing and a few hefty drinks, I might consider rushing to your aid to save you from whatever it is you wish to be saved.”

“You are an idiot,” she said again.

Brandyjack smiled.

The woman turned, strode quickly to the door.

“Hey!” Brandyjack called after her. “What’s your name?”

She turned, looked at him, considered for a moment, then said, “Lotus.”

Brandyjack nodded, watched her leave the room, then got up and walked to the window, seeing below what he had termed the proper number of beggars walking on streets that weren’t all that badly cracked.

He stood by the window for a few moments, then turned and walked out of the room and down the stairs to the bar room. Benjamin stood behind the bar. He looked up quickly when Brandyjack appeared, flashing a smile that Brandyjack knew was forced.

“A cold ale!” Brandyjack said. “I assume I won’t have to show you the card again today.”

“Of course not,” Benjamin said, turning for the ale. “Why?”

“Well, I… umm… left it in my room.”

Benjamin turned with a full mug.

Brandyjack downed the ale in two huge gulps, replaced the mug on the counter and asked, “Is there a peg game in progress anywhere?”

“A little early,” Benjamin said, “but you might find someone so engaged down by the computers. There’s always something going on there.”

“Excellent. Now, be a good man and lend me a few coins to get started. My card of credit won’t get me into the thing, I’m sure.”

“I’m afraid I can’t….”

“Now look here. I was your best customer in here last night, was I not?”

“Yes, but you killed my second-best customer.”

“Yes, well, that was unfortunate, but unavoidable. I can assure you I’ll make up for both of us this evening.” He paused. “And, I have friends, you know, some of whom can drink me into oblivion and then some.”

Benjamin considered.

“Of course,” Brandyjack went on quickly, sensing his opening, “they have told me time and time again, ‘Brandyjack,’ they’ve said, ‘we’ll drink only in those places you assure us are fair and honest businesses, for we have no wish to patronize an establishment which is anything but.’ And, of course, the bars I recommend must have a goodly amount of ale on hand because my friends have powerful thirsts. Which reminds me, I’m not entirely sure you’d have enough to accommodate them.”

“I have 50 kegs in the cellar!” Benjamin said haughtily.

“Then I was right,” Brandyjack said, shaking his head sadly. “They would be here no more than an hour. Ninety minutes at most.”

Brandyjack started for the door, but stopped when he heard Benjamin say, “Perhaps a small loan. Yes, I could afford a small loan. And I’ll order another 50 kegs.”

“No need to reorder,” Brandyjack said when the money had been counted into his palm. “They’re not likely to be here for another week or so. Rest assured, however, that your tavern will be favorably discussed when I next speak with them.”

Brandyjack left the bar, chuckling. He hadn’t wanted to lie, he told himself, but as he well knew, these were times of financial instability and physical peril. A man sought out his means of survival wherever he could. Ah, well, the computers, then.

The day was warm and bright, and as expected, the computers were besieged with beggars, each seeming worse off than the one before him. This early in the afternoon few had coins in their bowls. Brandyjack watched almost disinterestedly as a Protector kicked a beggar halfway across Computer Square, then back again. The Protector, finally satisfied with his work, turned and walked away. Brandyjack hurried up to him.

“Bravo for you!” Brandyjack told him. “That man’s needed a comeuppance for some time now. I’m pleased to see authority exercising itself.”

“All part of the job,” the Protector answered. “What state would this city be in if we allowed beggars to ask for coins from Protectors?” He smiled, his pug nose and close-set eyes giving him the appearance of a clothed ape. Black, curly hair on his forearms and chest added to the resemblance.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Brandyjack told him. “Damned nuisance, eh? Still, I guess they serve their function.”

“Which is?” the Protector asked, suspiciously.

“Why, to be there for you to kick around,” Brandyjack said, laughing.

The Protector smiled.

“I know certain things are officially frowned upon,” Brandyjack went on, “but you seem to be a decent sort. Perhaps you could help me locate a game of chance that I’ve been told may be in progress in this vicinity.”

The Protector looked around, then said, “Well, as you say, such things are frowned upon, but I do happen to know where a man might find such a game. Provided he could pay a guide a small pittance to take him there, of course.”

“Of course!” Brandyjack replied immediately. “Of course! You certainly don’t take me for a cheap man, do you? Please, I may look like a commoner in this smith’s apron, but I assure you it’s merely a disguise. Helps to keep the beggars down, you understand. Why, if I dressed in the manner to which I am accustomed, I’d never be free of the bastards!”

“I understand,” the Protector said knowingly, “but surely a man of your stature can find better things to do than peg with riff-raff such as you’ll find playing where I’m taking you.”

“Of course I can!” Brandyjack said quickly, affecting arrogance. “Still, the life of the wealthy becomes tiring on occasion, and I find it’s good to mingle with the scum once in a while. Gives me a better perspective. But then, a man like yourself would know that, right?”

The Protector nodded, held out his hand, and smiled.

“How silly of me,” Brandyjack said quickly, reaching into the apron pocket. He withdrew all the currency Benjamin had loaned him and dropped it indifferently into the Protector’s palm. The Protector smiled, then started toward an alleyway. Brandyjack followed.

“It’s just down at the end and to the left,” the Protector said as they entered the alleyway. He turned his head slightly to talk over his shoulder, continuing, “The stakes aren’t what you’d like, I’m sure, but you’ll at least get your wish to mingle among the scum. Why, some—”

His voice failed him as Brandyjack wrapped an arm around the man’s throat and tightened the grip. A moment later the Protector fell to the ground. Brandyjack retrieved his own money, taking the Protector’s as well. He rolled the corpse into the shadows of the alleyway, covered it with refuse, then started back to Computer Square where he located the beggar the Protector had kicked. He dropped the Protector’s money into the beggar’s bowl, smiled as the man’s surprise and gratitude took on comic proportions, and walked away.

A few moments later, behind the computers building, a long-haired man in a smith’s apron sat down and, through a series of sleight-of-hand movements and other tricks not generally regarded as aboveboard, managed to win a sizable amount of money. Only one participant had the audacity to suggest the game was not being played properly, and much later, when he had regained consciousness, one of his fellows sadly informed him that they were all now penniless. To get at least enough currency for a meal, they went about stealing from blind beggars, each vowing certain tortures would be inflicted on “that bastard” the next time they saw him. They decided, however, not to frequent Computer Square for some time.

CHAPTER 5

Brandyjack surveyed his appearance in the cracked mirror, decided he liked what he saw and paid for his new tunic and cloak, adding a generous tip for the man who had waited on him. On his way out of the tiny shop he noticed a large-brimmed hat with a red feather stuck in its band and decided, what the hell! He purchased that, added a more conservative tip to the total and strode from the shop, most certainly a man of fashion demanding respect.

He did, however, regret leaving Thoruso’s card in his clothes at the Catacombs, he told himself as he stepped over a particularly large hole in the pavement. But, he did have a gun, something he’d never even seen before, and it would certainly come in handy. He forced such mundane thoughts from his mind and entered an inn, there consuming the best meal he’d eaten in months.

When he returned to the bar, Benjamin was serving two men in a darkened corner and Lotus was washing glasses. He walked quickly to the bar, bowed and ordered an ale. Lotus regarded him suspiciously, curiously, then gave him a mug of ale.

“You’re a strange man,” she said.

“These are strange times,” he replied.

“A man was in here looking for you an hour or so earlier.” “Any message?”

“He said he’d be back.”

Brandyjack took a drink, looked at Benjamin who was returning from the darkened corner, and asked, “What did he look like?”

“He was a man. They’re all the same.”

Brandyjack chuckled, took another drink and nodded at Benjamin who regarded him suspiciously.

“I take it you won at peg,” Benjamin said.

“That I did,” Brandyjack told him, reaching into a pocket of his tunic, “and I thank you for your generous loan which I hereby repay.” He dropped a number of coins and pieces of paper currency onto the counter. Benjamin scooped it all up quickly.

“If the man who asked for me earlier should return, I’ll be in my room,” Brandyjack said when he had finished the ale and started for the stairs. Benjamin nodded, but Lotus stared after him, still suspicious. Brandyjack heard only a few words as he walked away, and he chuckled. Strange man, indeed.

He entered his room, still smiling. The smile grew when he saw Dextor sitting on the bed, his arm bandaged and in a sling. “Well!” Brandyjack boomed. “So you lived through it.”

Dextor smiled. “Thanks to you, yes. Thoruso told me what you did.” “All in a night’s work,” Brandyjack told him.

“That wasn’t the agreement. I remember telling you it was every man for himself.”

“So you did,” Brandyjack agreed solemnly, “so you did. However, you said that was the case if we were split up. You mentioned nothing about getting shot in the arm.”

Dextor smiled. “Thanks.”

“I take it you were the man who called earlier?” “Yes. The woman told me you were out so I slipped into the alleyway and climbed up.” He indicated a rope and grappling hook in one corner. “Damned hard with just one arm, I might add.”

“No doubt, no doubt,” Brandyjack agreed, impressed with Dextor’s feat, still wondering how someone with such a boyish twinkle and honest face could be so strong and ruthless if the occasion for that arose.

“Thoruso told me you killed a man in light armor,” Dextor went on.

“I had little choice in the matter.”

“Do you know who he was?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t have time to ask him his name.” Brandyjack lowered his bulky frame into a wobbly chair.

“Well, if anyone finds out you did it you’ll be drawn and quartered in Computer Square.”

“Important man?”

“Only the Protector Chief for all Toronew. Thoruso thinks you should lay low for a couple of days.”

“Why just a couple of days?”

“Evans is back.”

“He have what Thoruso was looking for?”

Dextor nodded.

“Then I take it we’ll be leaving soon.”

“Leaving Toronew, yes, but not Earth. The starship is quite a journey through some not altogether friendly country.”

“Fine. I don’t think I’ll keep a low profile though. There’s no way the Protectors can trace a killing to me.”

“That’s up to you, but if you appear to be acting in any way that conflicts with what’s best for Thoruso’s mission, he’ll have you killed.”

“Understandable.”

“You’ll be staying here?”

Brandyjack smiled. “They have a fine ale.” “Okay. Thoruso will get in touch with you when he needs you or when he’s ready to leave.”

“Fair enough.”

Dextor stood, smiled, and picked up his rope and grappling hook, placing them carefully into a sack he held beneath his cloak. “And don’t use the gun you’ve got stashed under your pillow,” he warned. “A gun would be a giveaway. A dead giveaway, if you know what I mean.”

“I have a fair idea,” Brandyjack said, standing.

“Okay. Be careful.”

Dextor left, and Brandyjack chuckled when he thought of Lotus. How would she imagine Dextor had gotten into the room? He chuckled again.

Perhaps, he thought as he removed his cloak and hat, a light nap before an evening of drinking would be in order. Yes, a light nap would be pleasant.

CHAPTER 6

Brandyjack sat alone at a table, eight empty mugs before him. He smiled at them, raised to his lips the mug he was holding, and the total grew by one. Lotus appeared almost immediately with another ale.

“Will you let me take the empty ones back?” she asked wearily.

“Hell, no! I may lose track. Unforgivable.”

“You’ll dirty every mug in the place.”

“But it’ll be paid for, my dear, it’ll be paid for.”

“Idiot!”

Brandyjack chuckled, took a drink and watched Lotus serve two men in a corner. He looked at the men for a moment, then remembered they’d been there earlier in the afternoon. He smiled, picked up his tenth mug, and got to his feet.

“Lotus!” he bellowed. “Lazy wench! Clear this table!”

Smiling at the few patrons who looked up at him, he crossed the floor. Neither man looked up as he approached, but Brandyjack knew they were aware of him.

“Evening, gentlemen,” he said, bowing slightly. “Mind company?” He belched.

One of the men looked at him, indicated a chair, but said nothing. The man was in his early thirties, and even through the coarse tunic he wore, Brandyjack could see the strength in his thick arms. His eyes were dark and smoldering, beneath black, bushy eyebrows. The other man was as squarely built as his companion, of lighter complexion, but no less intense in facial appearance because of it.

“Names,” Brandyjack said merrily, “names.” He sat down in the indicated chair. “Mine’s Brandyjack. A wayfarer and soldier of fortune. And you?”

The men looked at him, their expressions blank, cold. “Reed,” the dark one said. “My friend is Virgil.”

“Fine names, fine names!” Brandyjack said quickly. “You’ve almost finished your ales. Would you do me the honor of accepting mugs on my tab?”

Reed shrugged.

“Lotus!” Brandyjack bellowed over the hubbub of the tavern. “Get over here with some ales for these men!” He looked at her, amused at the hate in her eyes. Even across the smoky expanse of the barroom it could be clearly seen. “Lazy wench!” he added.

“A fine woman,” he told Reed and Virgil as he turned to face them. “Bit slow, but a fine woman. Now, then, what would bring two men like yourselves to this cesspool of a city?”

Virgil looked at him, but said nothing. “We’re soldiers of fortune, much like yourself,” Reed said. “We’re here in that capacity and that alone.”

“Fine occupation,” Brandyjack said, “fine occupation.”

Lotus appeared with the mugs, set them before Virgil and Reed and walked back to the bar, but not before she glared at Brandyjack.

“And what fortunes are you planning to find here?” Brandyjack asked.

“Any that pay,” Reed answered, taking a drink.

“Men after my own heart,” Brandyjack told them. “Any ideas?”

Virgil regarded Brandyjack closely, then looked at Reed. Reed shrugged.

“We’ve heard,” Reed said, “that the computers building of this city contains certain items some people would be willing to pay a great deal for. We’re considering the possibilities.”

“And there are most likely a great many possibilities,” Brandyjack answered quickly. “However, to the best of my knowledge, there is nothing of value in the building. Just old computers no one knows how to operate. Nevertheless, I’m told the Protectors watch it secretly.”

“Anything the Protectors watch, secretly or otherwise, has some value,” Reed said.

Virgil nodded, slowly.

“True, true,” Brandyjack said, “but I believe they watch it simply so no one will be able to unravel the secrets of the computers. Not that anyone could, of course. The ancients did a mighty fine job of hiding their most important information from us.”

“Perhaps they were right,” Reed said. “They destroyed themselves, didn’t they?”

“Did a nice job of it, too,” Brandyjack agreed heartily.

Reed nodded. He looked at Virgil for a few seconds, then turned back to Brandyjack. “Would you be interested in seeing just what’s inside the computers building?”

Brandyjack smiled. “I’m interested in seeing all there is to see,” he said. “And if there’s something inside worth seeing, I’m ready.”

Reed smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Virgil?”

Virgil nodded.

“Agreed,” Reed said. “Perhaps a bit later, when most of these people have dropped into a drunken slumber.”

Brandyjack nodded, smiling. “Lotus!” he bellowed. “Another round!”

When Lotus came with the ales, Brandyjack smiled at her, still amused at the glare she gave him. She walked away without speaking, further amusing Brandyjack. The men drank for several minutes until Brandyjack felt a tap on his shoulder: Dextor.

“Sit down, sit down!” Brandyjack said when he saw the man. “I’ve the pleasure of introducing two very fine gentlemen.” He indicated the two men. “Reed and Virgil.”

“Thoruso wants to see you,” Dextor said evenly, making no move to accept the proffered chair. “It’s urgent.”

Reed looked at Brandyjack, but Brandyjack spoke immediately. “It can’t be that urgent. Sit down, Dextor, enjoy an ale.”

“It’s urgent,” Dextor repeated.

Brandyjack sighed. “Very well,” he said. “Reed, you and Virgil might as well tag along.”

“I don’t think…” Dextor started.

“Nonsense! Nonsense!” Brandyjack said quickly. “I’m sure Thoruso will find these men a pleasure to know. Why, I’ve drank with them a good deal this evening and found nothing of a detrimental or reprehensible nature.”

“Still—” Dextor tried again.

“Still nothing!” Brandyjack bellowed. He stood, Reed and Virgil following suit immediately. “I’ll just zip up to my room for a moment,” Brandyjack said to Dextor.

Dextor considered Reed and Virgil apprehensively, but said nothing. When Brandyjack returned, Dextor led the three men from the tavern and into the street. Brandyjack waved to Benjamin and Lotus as he walked out, a smile on his lips.

Outside, a wagon waited for them, half-loaded with hay.

Dextor guided the horses while Brandyjack and his newfound companions sat in the hay, Brandyjack sharing jokes with Reed. Virgil, stonefaced, sat watching Dextor.

They arrived at Thoruso’s shack well after midnight. Dextor led them through the first room into the second, disappearing a few moments later to fetch Thoruso. When the latter appeared with Dextor, he was no longer disguised as a sickly old man, but was now stately in his manner and carried his 50 years well. He was apprehensive about Reed and Virgil, but listened while Brandyjack listed their virtues. When Brandyjack told him they had been planning to enter the computers building, Thoruso’s interest picked up. His eyes glinted for a moment, then peered intently at Reed and Virgil.

“Did you have a plan of entry?” he asked them.

“No,” Reed admitted, “we were playing it by ear.”

“Then you’re in luck,” Thoruso told them, apparently satisfied as to their trustworthiness, “for I do have a plan.”

“Never at a loss for a plan,” Brandyjack confided to Reed, smiling.

Thoruso regarded Brandyjack sharply for a moment, then laughed. “One of us has to,” he said. “However,” he went on quickly, “it matters little who has the plan. Now, listen closely, for we’ll need close timing and cooperation. As you may have heard, the Protectors keep a very close watch on the computers building. Not a 24-hour-a-day watch, but close nonetheless. There are, to the best of my knowledge, only three times during any given day when the building is not under some sort of observation. Two-thirty a.m. is one of these times. In order to conserve manpower, any guards at the computers building make a regular check of surrounding blocks, an area of approximately two square kilometers. It take 15 minutes for the check to be completed. In that time span we have to get inside the building, finish our work and be out. If we are not safely away, I can assure you a most painful death at the hands of the Protectors. Before I detail the plan, do any of you wish to get out? If so, speak now, for if you decide you’d rather not see the plan through after I’ve told you what we’ll be doing, I’ll have no choice but to either kill you or keep you here. And, as I cannot spare the manpower to watch you…”

Thoruso paused, looked to Brandyjack, Reed and Virgil. Brandyjack smiled. “We’ll stay in,” Reed said, speaking for Virgil.

“Fine,” Thoruso went on. “At exactly two-thirty, Dextor, Brandyjack and your two friends will be with me in the side street behind the computers building. Two of my other men, Evans and Pier, will be approximately half a kilometer away, waiting for the Protectors. They will attempt to lure the Protectors away from their usual path, but I have my doubts as to the probability of this succeeding. If it does, we’ll have an extra few minutes, but if it does not we’ll have no more than 15. Okay. As you all know, the building is sealed from the inside, and as far as anyone can ascertain, there is no means of entering. These will take care of that problem.”

Thoruso held up several long strips of a substance Brandyjack had never seen before. The Merchant gave all present a chance to look at the strips, then carefully placed them inside his tunic again.

“These are capable of burning a hole through almost anything,” he went on. “They were developed by the ancients before they suicided. They have cost me a great deal of money, I can assure you, but I am satisfied that they will create an opening suitable to our needs. Once an opening has been created, Reed will stay outside to watch for anyone who might stumble upon our work. You are to show no mercy to such an unfortunate. Originally I’d planned to leave the hole unguarded from the outside, but your sudden friendship with Brandyjack has enabled me to use a luxury I hadn’t planned on. Dextor, Virgil, Brandyjack and I will enter the building, Dextor positioning himself just inside the opening to warn us should any warning be needed. Brandyjack, Virgil and I will continue through the corridors until we reach what was called the computer control room. Brandyjack and Virgil will stand guard for me while I program the computers to reveal to me certain information I need. When I have that information, we leave.

“Any questions?”

“I thought,” Reed said slowly, “there was to be a certain amount of valuable property for us inside the building. Our friend here,” and he indicated Brandyjack, “was hoping for much the same thing, although he expressed fears to the contrary.”

“You will be suitably rewarded for your efforts,” Thoruso told him, “and if all goes well, may be more suitably rewarded than you thought. I assure you there is nothing of value in the building unless you know how to program a computer.”

Reed nodded, but said nothing.

“If there are no further questions,” Thoruso went on, “we will leave immediately for the computers building.”

“I have a question,” Brandyjack said, smiling. “You say we’ve got only 15 minutes, and the chances are 15 minutes won’t be enough. Why not have Evans and Pier kill the Protectors instead of luring them away?”

Thoruso smiled. “We can’t risk attempting to kill them and failing. If Evans and Pier seem to be any more than common criminals out for whatever they can get, reinforcements will be called into the area and the computers building will be too closely watched for even a flea to enter undetected. If the Protectors can be killed, they will be, but if the attempt is unsuccessful, well, let’s just say there won’t be much chance of our living to see the next sunrise.”

Brandyjack shrugged. Thoruso regarded him for a moment, then turned and walked past the curtain separating the room from the third chamber. A few seconds later he returned with three tiny pills in the palm of his hand. He gave one each to Brandyjack, Reed and Virgil. “Swallow them,” he said. “This is far too important for there to be any mistakes on the part of someone who placed ale above discretion.”

Brandyjack shrugged again, swallowed his pill, and smiled at Reed. A few seconds later his smile disappeared and his eyes lost the haze of drunkenness Thoruso had noticed with disfavor. For some reason, Thoruso noted, Virgil and Reed did not appear drunk, but he was playing it safe anyway. Strange, though, if they’d been drinking with Brandyjack all evening…

There was a scuffling sound from outside and Thoruso froze, an expression of fear passing quickly across his face. He indicated the third room, holding a finger to his lips to caution the others. Brandyjack was across the room in an instant, but before he or any of the others had safely entered the third room, three Protectors appeared in the second. There was an authoritative “Halt!,” but Brandyjack paid it no mind, hurrying into the third room as the curtain separating the two was almost torn down by his flight. A shot rang out, thudded into wood.

The third room was dark, but through a window Brandyjack could see an alleyway just outside. Moving as quickly as he could, he crossed the room in three strides, leaped through the window, and landed in the alleyway. Shattered glass showered the ground about him, but he was on his feet and racing through the alleyway before the echoes of breaking glass died away. From behind him he heard someone curse, then the sounds were lost as he ran onto a main street. He kept to shadows, ducked into a doorway, and waited, hardly daring to breathe. He stood a moment, decided no one was following him, then sat down to ponder what had happened.

After several minutes of intense thought he could find no answers except that the Protectors must have known of Thoruso’s plan and decided to arrest him before he could carry it out. Still, that didn’t exactly make sense. Thoruso wasn’t the kind of man to advise many people of his plans, and undoubtedly he wouldn’t have told anyone he didn’t trust about the computers building burglary. So, it must be something else. What it could be, Brandyjack finally realized, he didn’t have the faintest idea.

Keeping to the shadows he went slowly back the way he had come, wondering if there was any chance of catching the Protectors unaware. He’d seen only three, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a squad outside. If they were still at Thoruso’s, he decided he’d have a good chance of taking them off guard. They certainly wouldn’t be expecting him to come back.

Carefully, he pulled from his tunic the handgun he had retrieved from his room before leaving the bar with Dextor. He still hadn’t fired it; but after seeing Dextor use it he knew how to work it. But he also knew a tinge of fear. What if the Protectors were still at Thoruso’s and he, in an attempt to rescue them, bungled the job because of his inexperience with guns? Well, he decided as he came to the alleyway that stretched outside the window he’d crashed through, that would be a problem to solve if it presented itself.

He moved stealthily down the alleyway, his ears straining to pick up any sounds. Finally, when he was still several meters from the broken window, he heard voices. He moved closer, alert for Protectors who might be guarding the outside.

“I’ve told you,” a voice drifted to him, “they’re simple wayfarers who’ve come to me for work. I never saw any of them before this evening.” That was Thoruso.

“Why would a simple wayfarer attempt such a dangerous escape from authority if he had nothing to hide?” Obviously one of the Protectors.

A crack carried to Brandyjack, and he knew the interrogator had slapped Thoruso. Brandyjack crept closer to the shattered window, still alert.

“How should I know?” he heard Thoruso go on after a pause. “I’ve no way of knowing what crimes he has or hasn’t committed. I only met the man a few moments before you arrived.”

Another sharp crack, then the sounds of someone falling to the floor and breaking furniture as he did so. Brandyjack clutched the gun tightly, wondered if he could get back in through the window without the sound of glass underfoot giving him away. Probably not, he decided, but it was his only chance. He couldn’t risk going to the front of the shack and making his way through the first room. That, he knew, would be suicide.

“Well,” the Protector’s voice drifted to Brandyjack, “I don’t believe you, if only because this is a damned strange time of night to be seeking employment. However, there are men more skilled in the ways of obtaining information than I. I’ll wager you’ll talk freely enough to them.”

“For the time being, there’s another matter,” the Protector went on. “It’s the reason we’re here, Merchant Thoruso.”

Brandyjack grabbed the window sill, carefully brushing off the bits of glass first. As quietly as he could, he lifted one leg through the frame, paused long enough to hear the Protector mentioning something about “… and this card of unlimited credit, in your name, was found in the garments abandoned by the murderers soon after they gained entrance to…” and gently set his foot on the floor, praying there would be no glass beneath him. There wasn’t. Quickly, he pulled the rest of his body through the window, thanking whatever gods there might be for the favor of the curtain still pulled across the opening between the second and third rooms.

Bellowing “Don’t move or I’ll kill you!” he ripped the curtain from the doorway and charged, half-crouched, into the second room. One of the Protectors whirled, his gun in his hand, but Brandyjack had been ready for him. Sweating heavily and trembling a bit more than he’d have preferred, he pulled the trigger. The sound was like an explosion, startling Brandyjack for a split second, but the Protector fell, a hole in the chest of his uniform. Brandyjack regained his composure, straightened and aimed at the Protector who appeared to have been slapping Thoruso around.

He’d been lucky. There had been only the three of them, and two had been guarding Dextor, Reed and Virgil. Thoruso lay on the floor, his nose and lip bleeding.

“Drop the handguns,” Brandyjack said, the surge of adrenalin he’d experienced slowly ebbing away.

He watched carefully while the two Protectors did as they were told, then, smiling, he threw the handgun to Dextor. “You’ve a bit more experience,” he said.

“Damned nice entrance,” Reed said, and a faint smile crossed his lips.

Thoruso regarded the two Protectors for a moment, then, lifting one of the handguns from the floor, shot both of them. “I didn’t want to do that,” the Merchant said, “but there wasn’t much else to do, was there?”

He gave the handgun to Reed, motioned Virgil to pick up the second and sat down for a moment, wiping the blood from his face. “This isn’t good,” he said. “I’d hoped to check and double-check the information we’ll be getting from the computer, but obviously, there is little hope of that now. We’ll have to leave immediately, get our information from the computer, and head straight out of Toronew. When this scum doesn’t report back you can be assured there’ll be a full-scale search on for me. We’ll have to hurry, but I think we can still reach the computers building by two-thirty. Let’s go.”

Thoruso stood quickly and walked into the back room, Brandyjack behind him. “Most of the material I wanted to take is already organized,” Thoruso said as he lit a lamp to reveal the room much more crammed with articles than Brandyjack had thought it to be. “However, there’s still a bit left. If you’ll take those piles of books and charts out to the wagon, I’ll organize the remainder.” He indicated a few piles of neatly stacked books and papers, and Brandyjack nodded, glancing at shelves filled with books, bottles, stacks of papers and oddities he didn’t recognize.

“Sorry about leaving that card at the Catacombs,” Brandyjack said as he lifted a pile of books. “Bloody stupid of me.”

“Yes, quite,” Thoruso agreed. “But I’m quite content with the manner in which you rectified that oversight. Hurry, now. There isn’t much time.”

Brandyjack nodded, carried Thoruso’s possessions from the room and began loading them in the wagon outside. Deciding there was more hay than necessary, he jumped into the wagon and kicked some to the ground. When he returned for a second load of Thoruso’s books, Virgil and Reed passed him, their arms laden with boxes and sacks. Ten minutes later the wagon was loaded. Dextor, using his good arm, guided the horses while Brandyjack, Reed and Virgil sat on the books. Thoruso paused before he climbed up beside Dextor, walked back to the shack and kicked a quantity of hay toward the doorway of the shanty. He bent down, and when he stood, the others saw a tiny flame beginning to rage through the dry hay. Thoruso sighed, climbed into the wagon, which moved off through the night.

Forty minutes later, the wagon hidden in an alleyway, they stood behind the computers building. Brandyjack, recognizing the area and recalling his peg game, chuckled. Thoruso frowned at him, but said nothing, pulling from his pocket an ancient timepiece. He consulted it briefly, then nodded. They moved to a section of the wall, Thoruso examining it closely and nodding, satisfied that this was the proper area. Reed remained behind, hidden in the shadows of another building.

Thoruso pulled from his tunic the strips he’d showed them earlier and carefully attached them in a squared fashion to the wall. He motioned the others back a few feet, then lit the strips with a match. The strips glowed brightly for several seconds, then burned out. Seconds later, the areas to which they’d been attached began to snap and crumble. Less than a minute after that there was a hole large enough to allow a man entrance. Thoruso hurried through the hole, followed quickly by Brandyjack.

In the darkness, Brandyjack was vaguely aware of Virgil and Dextor following him.

Thoruso had brought several charts and other pieces of large paper with him. Striking a match, he regarded one particular page briefly, then started through the darkness, followed by Brandyjack and Virgil. Dextor, the handgun held tightly in his good hand, stood by the hole.

Brandyjack could see little, but was confident Thoruso knew exactly where he was going. This belief was confirmed a few seconds later when Thoruso turned to his right, obviously unable to see the corridor that joined the one they were in. Thoruso reached back and touched Brandyjack’s chest, indicating to him he was to stop. He heard Thoruso moving slowly through the darkness, a soft click, and the corridor was suddenly bathed in light.

“I knew it,” Thoruso whispered softly. “The ancients provided a backup source of illumination in event of a power failure.”

Brandyjack saw a door built into the wall of the corridor. He opened it and peered inside, surprised to find that room lit as well. “Quite a setup,” he said to Thoruso.

“Come. We’ve little enough time as it is,” Thoruso reprimanded him.

They moved quickly along the corridor, passing several doors before they came to one lettered “Computer Control—Authorized Personnel Only.” Thoruso opened the door quickly, somewhat surprised that it opened so easily. He shrugged and walked through the doorway, followed immediately by Brandyjack and Virgil.

“Damn!” Brandyjack exclaimed when he entered the room.

The room was huge, packed with machines that Brandyjack realized must be computers. Rows and rows of them, one on top of the other, stretched along one wall. There was no wall visible; the computers took up every available inch of space. There were desks, control panels, and various other small machines. Papers and charts lined other walls. Filing cabinets stood beside each desk, most of them piled high with books and charts.

“The world was controlled from here,” Thoruso said softly, more to himself than to Brandyjack or Virgil. “There was not a single development that escaped the memory banks of these computers. There is more information here than any man could ever possess.”

They started to move around the edge of the desks and filing cabinets, but Thoruso stopped suddenly, his gaze focused downward. Brandyjack was around the desks in an instant. He chuckled when he saw the skeletons, eight of them, lying on the floor, a few propped up against the backs of desks. “Half the legend is true, anyway,” he muttered, “but I doubt these things do any walking at night.” He chuckled again.

Thoruso snapped out of his momentary unsettlement and strode to a console. He studied the buttons and switches for a moment, then adjusted several of them. A hum filled the room as the computers came to life, lights flashing and reels click-clacking as they revolved. Brandyjack regarded the array of colored lights, shook his head slowly in disbelief, and smiled. “Damn!” he said softly.

Thoruso piled his charts and papers on a nearby desk, searched through them until he found what he was looking for, then strode to what Brandyjack assumed must be some sort of machine for “programing” the computers. Whatever programing was.

Brandyjack watched the Merchant as the man’s fingers flicked over a keyboard of symbols. Thoruso consulted his books and charts occasionally, checking his figures and the accuracy of the information he was feeding into the computers. Brandyjack could only watch, 100 questions dying because there wasn’t enough time for Thoruso to answer them. Virgil, not as impressed as Brandyjack, was doing what he had been told: guarding the entrance to computer control. Brandyjack snapped back to reality and stood beside Virgil, realizing he’d been negligent in his duties. His carelessness had already cost Thoruso one beating. The Merchant might not take kindly to another. If they were caught here there’d be nothing but death. A bit of intricate torture, perhaps, but death nonetheless.

He thought, once, that he saw intense emotion pass across Virgil’s face, but it was gone too quickly to be identified.

Thoruso finished feeding information into the computers, then walked briskly to one particular section, ignoring both Brandyjack and Virgil. He stood there for several seconds, fidgeting, then reached toward an opening where a long strip of paper appeared. When the paper stopped moving from the opening, Thoruso carefully picked it up and withdrew a long, thin box from his tunic: the tape box stolen from the Catacombs. Delicately, Thoruso placed the paper with the tape, then closed the box and walked back to his charts and papers. He picked them up, turned to take a final look at the computers, and walked quickly to the door.

“That it?” Brandyjack asked.

Thoruso nodded.

“What did you do?” Brandyjack asked the Merchant as they walked quickly down the corridor outside computer control.

Thoruso turned his head slightly, smiled briefly and said, “Using all the information I had gathered concerning the stars and the capabilities of the starship, I asked the computer for a course through the stars.”

“That all?” Brandyjack asked incredulously. “All that clicking and punching on the keyboard for one little piece of paper?”

“Yes,” Thoruso said, amused, “that’s all. It is, after all, the most important part of our plan.”

“But I thought the information Evans brought back was the most important.”

“What Evans brought was a map of the stars. I had to know certain positions and orbits. The map gave them to me.”

“Can you tell what the—” Brandyjack started.

“We haven’t time for all these questions,” Thoruso said, irritated, as they turned into the corridor leading to the hole. “If you still wish to ask them later, you may do so.” This corridor was still unlit, but the glow from the second gave enough light to let them make their way without stumbling. Dextor, standing by the hole, raised his eyebrows. Thoruso nodded.

Cautiously, they stepped out into the alleyway, moving quickly to the shadows where Reed was waiting. Or where he should have been waiting. He was nowhere to be seen, and Dextor had not seen him leave.

“Get back to the wagon,” Thoruso said quickly, his voice carrying more fear than he would have liked. “If he’s been taken by the Protectors…”

He let the sentence trail off. They hurried through the darkness to the wagon, still hidden in shadows. Reed sat in the back on the books. Beside him were two other people, but Brandyjack could not identify them. A few seconds later Reed aimed the handgun at Thoruso. The two forms followed suit and Brandyjack saw Benjamin and Lotus.

“He paid you to find out what I was up to,” Brandyjack said to Reed.

Reed nodded.

“What the hell is going on?” Thoruso demanded.

Brandyjack told him, chuckling occasionally. “They weren’t drunk,” he finished, “because they weren’t drinking ale like I was. Doctored water of some description, no doubt.”

“We don’t go anywhere until you agree to let me in on whatever’s happening,” Benjamin said.

Thoruso considered the man with contempt, but Brandyjack said, “Why not? A good bartender’s hard to find these days. Of course, he’s not a good bartender, but he’ll do until we find one.”

“Come along,” Thoruso snapped, worried and angry at the same time. “We’ll argue about this when we rendezvous with the others.”

They climbed onto the wagon, Reed and Virgil watching the others closely. Brandyjack chuckled as he looked at Lotus. The woman’s expression was one of smugness.

“No,” Brandyjack told her, “you didn’t outsmart me. I knew from the first minute you asked to see me that you’d be working for Benjamin, here. And when you couldn’t give me specific reasons for wanting to leave Toronew, it was obvious you were lying. You make a bad liar.”

“That doesn’t alter the fact that you were fooled by someone, anyway,” Lotus snapped, “even if it wasn’t me.”

Brandyjack chuckled.

“Enough chatter!” Thoruso hissed.

There was silence for almost 15 minutes until they came to a narrow alleyway. There was barely room for the wagon, but Dextor managed to guide the horses into it so that the wagon moved smoothly through what little room there was. At the other end of the alleyway Evans and Pier waited in another wagon. Brandyjack grinned at Evans, gave him a thumbs-up sign. Evans frowned.

Neither of the two had expected to find Thoruso under anyone’s control, and by the time they saw Reed and Virgil’s guns trained on the others, they, too, were captives.

Pier, a big man who appeared capable of handling anything that came his way, seemed ready to fight, but a look from Thoruso stopped him.

“Now we talk,” Benjamin said.

“What do you want?” Thoruso snapped. “You’ve been pestering me since I came to Toronew to let you form a partnership. If that’s what you want, fine, we’ll do it. Be at my shack tomorrow at nine.”

Benjamin chuckled. “No, a partnership isn’t what I had in mind, especially after all Reed’s told me. Whatever your game is, I want in on it.”

Thoruso sighed, glared at Brandyjack who shrugged, and then looked back to the bartender. “Very well,” he said, “very well. As of this moment, you’re going to the stars with us.”

Benjamin’s eyes grew large. He turned slowly to Lotus, then back to Thoruso. “You’re leaving Earth?” he asked incredulously.

Thoruso nodded.

“But the ancients left no clues,” Benjamin said quickly. “For centuries we’ve thought space travel was lost to us—”

“Yes, we have,” Thoruso interrupted, “but I’ve managed to find an answer. If you want to go, you’re in, if not please get off my wagon and go back to serving your vile brews.”

Benjamin stammered for a moment, shrugged and said, “I’ll go.” Lotus nodded.

Because neither Reed nor Virgil had known what Thoruso’s plan really was, it took another few minutes to ascertain whether they wanted to go. Finally, Virgil nodded, and Reed did likewise, but the excitement in their eyes belied their nonchalant expressions.

“Then it’s agreed!” Brandyjack exclaimed, smiling. “To the stars!”

“But my possessions—” Benjamin started.

“Stick ‘em!” Brandyjack retorted, still smiling. “I think you’ll have plenty of time to gather whatever you think you’ll need while we’re on our way to the starship. Thoruso?”

The Merchant nodded.

“We’re off!” Brandyjack said loudly, receiving a stern glance from Thoruso.

Benjamin and Lotus climbed into the wagon Evans and Pier had been using, and Dextor started away, followed by the others. Brandyjack whistled softly, ignoring Thoruso’s glares.

“We still have to escape the city,” Thoruso said, “and after what has happened this night, I doubt we’ll have an easy time of it.”

“You’ll get no trouble from the three Protectors who were guarding the computers building,” Evans said just loudly enough for Thoruso to hear. “They’re in a gutter this very moment, and I’ve yet to see a man with a slit throat offer any resistance to anything.”

Thoruso sighed. “Six dead,” he said softly. “Ah well. Such are the fortunes of war.”

They continued through the night, making their way slowly but surely through the city toward the gates.

“I hope you have a plan for escape,” Brandyjack called up to the Merchant.

“I have,” Thoruso whispered back.

“Never without a plan,” Brandyjack said to Reed, smiling.

CHAPTER 7

“Are you sure they won’t let us pass without trouble?” Benjamin asked. “After all, Thoruso, you’re a well-known Merchant and they’d know better than to make trouble for you, wouldn’t they?”

“No!” Thoruso snorted. “Use the brains God gave a goat and you’ll realize a Merchant is one man who receives more than his fair share of trouble.”

Brandyjack stood with the arguing pair. He smiled as he listened to them, then turned away and peered around the edge of the building behind which they hid. The outer wall of Toronew was guarded well at 50-meter distances, there being one gate every kilometer or so. Aside from the pair of guards every 50 meters, there were five stationed at the gates. Their job was to search the possessions and person of everyone passing through from outside to be sure restricted weapons and other items that might cause trouble for the city government were not brought in. In addition, they searched everyone leaving the city, constantly alert for stolen items and other materials the city authorities wanted inside the city walls. It was through this very gate Brandyjack had entered Toronew only a few days earlier, and it was also through here the beggar boy with the red coin had come. Few guards bothered the beggars, and even fewer were brave enough to search their belongings. Unless, of course, the beggar was uninfected, in which case he was subject to the same scrutiny given all others. Several people attempting entrance or exit from the city had disguised themselves as infected beggars, but the sharp-eyed guards seldom missed such a disguise. No amount of expertise in the ways of facial disguise could capture the sickly expressions and the horror of the sores. And, of course, there was the stench of the infected ones. Few normal human beings could stand to be disguised and scented to the degree necessary to fool the guards.

“If you’re afraid of any danger,” Thoruso was saying as Brandyjack turned back to the pair, “you’re quite welcome to leave our little band. Otherwise, you’ll shut your mouth and do as you’re told.”

They walked back to where the wagons waited in the shadows of an alleyway.

“If there’s anyone who’d rather not take the chance of getting killed, I suggest you get out now!” Thoruso barked to the others. There were startled glances, but no one spoke.

“Okay, fine,” Thoruso went on. “Brandyjack, you and Reed will approach the gate. Keep the guards there occupied while Evans and Pier approach the wall from different directions. If you can keep the guards from noticing Evans and Pier, they’ll be able to set fire to two sections of the wall. When you see the flames, point to them, scream, do anything, but be sure the guards see the fire. It’ll distract them long enough for you to knock them out or kick their teeth in, or do whatever you have to do to keep them occupied. Dextor and I will start toward the gate in the wagons, and we’ll be moving as quickly as we can get these nags to move, so you’ll have to get the gate open, get out of the way of the horses and still jump into the back as we move. Hopefully, by this time, Pier and Evans will be close enough to climb aboard as well.”

“And if they’re not?” Brandyjack asked.

“Then they stay behind and fend for themselves!” Thoruso snapped.

Brandyjack looked at Evans and Pier. Neither man showed any emotion. Brandyjack shrugged. If they didn’t care…

“Okay,” Thoruso said to Pier and Evans, “start toward the wall. When you’re halfway between the gate and the pair of guards 50 meters away, attach these to the wall and light them.”

He handed two of the burning strips he’d used at the computers building to Evans and Pier. Cautiously, they took the things and moved away, Pier starting for an area that would place him to the left of the gate, Evans walking in the opposite direction. Thoruso watched them for a few seconds, then nodded to Brandyjack and Reed.

Brandyjack walked to the corner of the building he’d been at moments earlier with Thoruso and Benjamin, then, inhaling deeply, walked out into the open, followed immediately by Reed.

For several seconds the guards at the gate did not notice them. Then Brandyjack began whistling, and the sudden noise brought the guards to their feet. One withdrew a dagger and stood by the gate.

“Good morning!” Brandyjack called loudly.

The guards said nothing as Brandyjack and Reed approached, but two of them relaxed visibly. There were, after all, only two wayfarers and five guards. Two of the guards turned away from Brandyjack and Reed, entering a small guardhouse built against the wall to the left of the gate.

“Fine morning, eh?” Brandyjack asked when he and Reed were within a couple of meters of the gate.

One of the guards grunted.

“Well of course it is!” Brandyjack went on, still walking. Seconds later Brandyjack and Reed were beside the guards, then behind them a couple of paces so that the guards had to walk back into the alcove caused by the gate’s being built on the outer edge of the wall. From that position they would be unable to see Evans and Pier as they approached the wall.

“Off with the cloak,” a guard said to Brandyjack.

“Beg your pardon?” Brandyjack asked, puzzled.

“Off with the cloak!” the guard repeated, his voice harsh.

Brandyjack smiled. “Of course, of course! Certainly!”

He undid the snaps around his neck, then performed an exaggerated tumble as he fell over the hem of the dangling cloak. His fall brought him out of the alcove where he stole a quick glance to his left and saw the fire beginning to burn at the wall, and Pier racing toward the gate.

“Fire!” Brandyjack yelled, pulling himself to his feet and pointing at the wall. “Fire!”

The three guards who’d been questioning them started out of the alcove. They saw the fire, but couldn’t help seeing Pier as well. One guard pulled a knife and started toward Pier, but was brought down from behind as Reed smashed both fists on the man’s head. Brandyjack turned to face the other guards, hearing the rumble of wagons as they began to leave their cover and start toward the gate. Brandyjack executed a perfect midair kick, knocking one guard senseless, while Reed grappled with the other. The remaining two guards left the guardhouse, paused for a moment, unsure whether they should help their comrades or fight the fire. Just as Brandyjack regained his feet the guards made their decision. They charged him, knives drawn. Brandyjack grabbed one man’s wrist, twisted hard, and broke it cleanly. Pulling the guard to him he used the man’s body as a shield, forcing the second guard to halt his mad dash. Brandyjack shoved the man he held toward the other guard, but by the time he could follow up his move, Reed had knocked his opponent senseless and was dealing with the only guard still operative.

The roar of the wagons heading toward the gate was increasing, but Brandyjack knew he couldn’t risk a glance behind him to see how close they were. He dove for the gate, wrenching the retaining bar free and hurling it aside. He kicked the gates open, stood to the side, and waited for the first wagon to pass through.

Three seconds later the first wagon, driven by Dextor, charged through the gate. Hanging onto the back and running along the ground, trying to get up, were Reed and Pier. Less than five meters behind came the second wagon. Brandyjack leaped, grabbed hold of the side, and pulled himself over. He moved quickly to the back, grabbed Evans who was straining to get aboard and hauled the man into the wagon. They tumbled about, bruised but safe.

Brandyjack turned to look at the gate. Two of the guards had regained consciousness and were pointing stupidly toward the wagons, yelling at guards farther along the wall. The two fires still burned briskly, and it was obvious that 20 meters or more of wall would be destroyed by flames. Brandyjack smiled, waved to the quickly disappearing guards and settled down in the wagon, noticing Lotus and Benjamin for the first time. He smiled at them, noting with amusement the whiteness of their faces.

“Did you have to kill any of them?” Benjamin asked over the rumble of the wagons.

“I didn’t have time to check,” Brandyjack answered, smiling at Lotus. He clapped Evans on the back, gave the man a thumbs-up sign, and settled back again, trying to ignore the rough ride. Within a few moments he gave up trying to sleep and sat up to take in the countryside. He’d seen most of it a few days earlier, but even for that it was pleasing enough to the eye. Far to the west were forests and mountains, while the east held little more than stunted trees, brown grasses struggling for survival, and sand. To the north were rolling hills and lush vegetation, and farther north were mountains and snow. He’d been up that way once and had never forgotten the beauty of it. Most of his life, however, had been spent in the wastelands or cities like Toronew or Canav. Someday, he decided, he’d like to go west. He chuckled as he thought of that, knowing if all went well with Thoruso’s scheme, he’d never even see Earth, any part of it, again.

They stopped a short time later, the break giving all a chance to climb off the wagons and walk the stiffness out of their joints. Brandyjack walked straight to Thoruso. The Merchant looked up from his maps and papers as Brandyjack approached. He smiled briefly, then looked back to the maps.

“How far do we have to go?” Brandyjack asked.

Thoruso looked up. “It’s a great distance,” he said. “But we won’t be moving in a straight line.”

“A wise move,” Brandyjack said thoughtfully. “Won’t give the authorities a chance to catch on to where we’re heading.”

“That’s a benefit, but not the reason,” Thoruso said. He paused, then went on, “I’ve been planning this for years, Brandyjack, and I’ve built quite a network of informers and helpers. We’ll be locating them and giving them our debarkation date. However, as you say, the authorities will have a difficult time tracking us.”

Brandyjack thought for a moment, then, “Thoruso, why have the authorities tried to stifle science and its advancements? I’d think they would be eager to get to the stars again.”

Thoruso looked into the distance and sighed. “They have their reasons, but the reasons are those of the ignorant. They figure we’ll destroy ourselves again if we know too much.”

“But surely there must be someone in the government interested in attaining the heights the ancients reached.”

“Oh, there are, there are. But, you see, the authorities are not interested in technology as a boon for mankind; they’re more interested in having it for authority.”

Thoruso paused, “Brandyjack, do you know what year this is?”

Brandyjack shrugged.

“I didn’t think so,” Thoruso said, shaking his head slowly. “So few people do. I’ve made some calculations based on information I collected over the years. Some of my calculations are mere guesswork, but I think I have a fair idea. This is approximately 5450 as the ancients kept track of passing years.”

Brandyjack shrugged again.

“Ah, it means nothing to you,” Thoruso said. “But I expected no differently. Brandyjack, for over 3000 years human beings have lived and died in this condition, and the race has yet to attain a tenth of the stature the ancients accomplished in something like 300 years. We’ve been afraid to start again, afraid we’ll make the same mistakes the ancients made. But there’s little chance to make those mistakes if we’re truly concerned.”

Thoruso paused, looked around at the others who strolled near the wagons. “We’re content to let life go on, day after day, and we never try to improve anything. Oh, the governments let a few people improve the efficiency of wheels for wagons, and they let a few people forge knives. But they won’t let anyone construct anything that might be too dangerous; they put to death those who illegally do just that. Did you know that?”

Brandyjack shook his head.

“Well, they do,” Thoruso went on. “If you were to invent, say, a handgun, the authorities would kill you when they discovered it. They allow only those things they think are safe. It’s a sad situation, Brandyjack, but it’s the way things are. Me, I can’t take it anymore. I want to get out of here, and I’m going to leave. It’s as simple as that.”

“There are a lot of risks in what you’re doing, though,” Brandyjack said.

“That’s just the point! The risks are there! Mankind, under the consciences of the governments, is afraid to take risks, to experiment with anything. We’re too lazy to improve our lot, and the governments are too paranoid to let us.

“There are risks involved in everything, Brandyjack, and when we stop experimenting because we think the risks are too great, we’re finished.” Thoruso paused. “Just as the human race will be finished if something doesn’t happen soon.”

Brandyjack nodded. “But you don’t think our leaving will force the governments to adopt a new attitude?”

Thoruso shook his head. “No, but I think it’ll make the common man a bit more interested. If everyone wanted technology and space travel, we’d damn well have it, Brandyjack. And soon, too. But, the governments have stripped curiosity from the people. No one really cares any more. Which is a fine situation for Star and his government, but a shame for the people.”

“Are you sure of the course the computer plotted for you?” Brandyjack asked after a few moments. “Can you tell where we’ll be going?”

Thoruso smiled. “No,” he said, “I can’t. But using all the information of the ancients, I let the computer chart the course through the stars I knew were there. The ancients had sent out exploratory, unmanned expeditions before they suicided, and one of them may have located a planet capable of supporting human life. If such is the case, that information would have been sent back to the computers.”

Thoruso paused, smiled, then went on, slowly, carefully, “You see, Brandyjack, I don’t know if there’s a suitable planet out there or not. I’m gambling that the unmanned expeditions found one and relayed the information into the computers. Now, assuming one exists, I asked the computer to print out a tape for the starship’s computer. That tape would control the starship’s movements and take us to that star. Okay so far?”

Brandyjack nodded.

“Good. Now, I had to know certain things before the computer could produce a reliable tape. I had to know the locations of other bodies of stars, and that had to be fed into the computer, or we’d travel in a straight line, undoubtedly entering the orbit of other planets that would be unable to sustain life. I gave the computer the information contained on the starmaps Evans brought back, and hopefully, any planet found by the unmanned expeditions will be within the range of that information.”

“So the whole thing is a gamble on whether or not the unmanned expeditions found a suitable planet?”

“Exactly. And I’ll warn you now, it’s a gigantic risk.”

“But you’re taking it because mankind is afraid to take risks.”

Thoruso nodded.

Brandyjack shrugged. “I don’t understand the intricacies of what you’ve told me, but thanks for putting it as simply as you could.”

Thoruso nodded. “Now, if you’ll give me a few minutes, I have to study these maps so we can get to the others.”

Brandyjack smiled and walked back to the wagons. “Do you know what you’ve gotten yourself in for?” he asked Benjamin. “We weren’t kidding about the stars, you know.”

Benjamin glared at Brandyjack.

“You can’t back out now, though,” Brandyjack said.

“And why not?” Benjamin demanded.

“We’d have to kill you,” Brandyjack said, nonchalantly, smiling at Reed as he spoke. “We couldn’t very well have you talking to certain authorities now, could we?”

Reed smiled back. Obviously he considered his obligation to Benjamin fulfilled and was now sticking with Thoruso for his own reasons.

“But—” Benjamin started.

“Oh, we wouldn’t kill you unless you decided to leave,” Brandyjack interrupted. “But rest assured we’d make it quick.”

He walked away then, giving Benjamin no chance to reply. He located Dextor on the other side of one of the wagons, sitting on the ground leaning against a wheel. “How’s your arm?”

Dextor shrugged. “As you once told me,” he said, smiling, “these are perilous times.”

Brandyjack chuckled, then climbed into the back of the wagon. Within a few minutes he was asleep, his snoring drifting to Thoruso. The Merchant sighed, packed up his maps and charts, and strolled back to the wagons. “Due east,” he said to Dextor.

Dextor climbed into the wagon, waiting for Reed, Virgil and Pier to join him. He slapped the horses once with the reins, and they began moving toward the wastelands.

CHAPTER 8

It was midafternoon when they stopped again. Reed and Brandyjack killed a wild boar, and they ate ravenously, a general spirit of merriment prevailing. Brandyjack cursed Benjamin several times, telling the bartender he was of little use if he couldn’t provide ale for them. Eventually, though, Brandyjack ceased his complaining but told Benjamin that if he didn’t obtain ale for them when they reached the town of Moneral there would be no need to kill another wild boar for eating. Benjamin, not at all overjoyed at the prospects of roasting on a spit and unsure of the limits of Brandyjack’s sense of humor, agreed there would be ale when they left Moneral.

For another day they traveled, stopping only for brief rests and snacks till they reached the outskirts of Moneral.

Thoruso, Brandyjack, Benjamin and Evans proceeded on foot, leaving the others to guard the wagons.

Thirty minutes later, after being searched by guards at the gate to the city, they were inside. Brandyjack stopped the first beggar he saw and asked directions to the nearest tavern. Benjamin accompanied him while Evans went with Thoruso to seek out Thoruso’s contact in Moneral. Under Brandyjack’s watchful eye, Benjamin purchased two kegs of the finest ale available. Brandyjack then turned to the serious business of drinking as much ale as he could in the alloted hour and a half. When the time had passed he shouldered a keg of ale and lurched from the tavern, loudly proclaiming the bar to be the best he’d ever drank in. Benjamin offered some opinions to the contrary, but didn’t offer them too loudly.

On the darkened street they passed several beggars, none of whom were infected, but most of whom were somewhat deformed. Generously using Benjamin’s funds, Brandyjack contributed a few coins to their efforts at survival. Benjamin complained, but as Brandyjack said, “Where are you going to spend them in the stars, bartender? Unless you know of a bar on the moon. Well?”

Benjamin said little after that, handing his coins to Brandyjack whenever Brandyjack felt charitable. Eventually Brandyjack tired of carrying the keg of ale and, with a smile, hoisted it to Benjamin’s free shoulder. Benjamin staggered under the weight of both kegs, but said nothing.

A hissing sound came to them as they were passing an alleyway. Brandyjack squinted but could see nothing when a voice asked him, “Buy some tobacco?”

“Tobacco!” Brandyjack exclaimed loudly as he started into the alleyway. “Benjamin, put those kegs down and get your money over here!”

Benjamin, muttering obscenities, did as he was told, and a few moments later Brandyjack held a small bag of tobacco. “I haven’t had tobacco in a year!” he said excitedly to Benjamin. “Thought I’d never get it again.”

They stood in the street while Brandyjack awkwardly rolled a cigaret, then discovered he had no means of lighting it. “No concern,” he said. “It’s enough to know I’ve got the stuff!”

He helped Benjamin shoulder the two kegs of ale, and they continued down the street. When they reached the area where they were to meet Thoruso and Evans, Benjamin let out a sigh of relief and set the kegs down on the cracked pavement.

“Surely we’re not early,” Brandyjack said, worried. “I could have tossed back another ale at least.”

“We’re not early,” Benjamin assured him, “nor are we late.”

They stood in the street for several minutes, growing increasingly concerned as neither Thoruso nor Evans appeared.

“Something’s wrong,” Brandyjack said at last. “The Merchant wouldn’t be late unless something unforeseen came up.”

Benjamin regarded Brandyjack curiously as the earlier slurring of words disappeared from the wayfarer’s voice. He shrugged. “Perhaps he’s still at his contact’s home.”

“I doubt that,” Brandyjack said, surveying the street carefully. “He only had a few words to say, and it wouldn’t take him this long to say them. No, I’m afraid something has happened.”

Brandyjack leaned against a building for a few minutes, staring at the cigaret he held between two fingers. “You don’t happen to recall whether the Merchant dropped any names or addresses, do you?”

Benjamin thought for a moment, then said, “He did mention something about the Narrows. What that is, I don’t know.”

“I do,” Brandyjack said slowly. “It’s a section of this city that no decent man should be in at any time under any conditions.” Brandyjack paused for a moment, thoughtful. “Look,” he said at last, “you take this ale back to the wagons and wait there for us. If we’re not back by dawn you’re all on your own.”

“I can’t carry these kegs that far,” Benjamin protested.

“No, I suppose you can’t. Nevertheless, when I return to the wagons I expect the ale to be waiting. How you get it there is your concern, and I’ll offer no assistance save to ram both kegs down your throat right now. Well?”

Muttering obscenities, Benjamin lifted one keg to his shoulder and waited while Brandyjack lifted the other keg for him. Without another word, Benjamin started down the cracked pavement, in the direction of the gate.

“And don’t shake them too much, either!” Brandyjack called after him.

The Narrows was a good half-hour walk from where he stood, Brandyjack knew, and he didn’t relish the thought of it, especially when Thoruso might need his assistance immediately. Still, there were no wagons nearby, and no horses or mules grazed on what little grew in the alleyways, so he started jogging through the twisting streets, sweating heavily as the ale worked its way out of his system.

Occasionally a beggar accosted him, but Brandyjack had little time for that now. Soon, he knew, the beggars would all be sleeping in the alleyways or whatever hovels they called home. And soon, too, the other creatures of the night, the cutthroats and petty bandits, would be slinking through the streets. For a few seconds Brandyjack hoped he didn’t look too prosperous in his newly acquired cloak and tunic. Still, there was enough dust on both to show even a casual observer he was not a rich man. He wondered vaguely what had happened to the hat he’d bought, but could not remember the last time he’d seen it. Such are the fortunes of war, he decided as he wound a thin wire around his hair to form a ponytail.

Ahead of him he saw two Protectors, and rather than risk setting off their curiosity, he slowed to a casual stroll, occasionally looking into the various leatherworks and curio shops.

When the Protectors had passed without giving him so much as a second glance, Brandyjack resumed his jogging. Damn! he thought as he ran. He should have asked the Protectors for a match for the cigaret that still dangled from his lips. No, he concluded, perhaps it was best he had not. They’d probably take the tobacco. He removed the cigaret from his mouth and placed it behind his ear, trusting his thick hair to keep it there.

He wished he still had the handgun, but that had been given to Dextor, and Reed and Virgil had the other two. Absently he felt for the knife in his tunic. Reassured, he continued running through the streets.

Fifteen minutes later he knew he had reached the Narrows—or at least, the outskirts of the Narrows. Decrepit buildings that looked ready to collapse lined the garbage-strewn streets, and the pavement was more cracked than any he’d yet walked upon. The stench of rotting garbage almost made him ill, but after a few moments he found he’d become accustomed to the odor. He saw a body laying half-in and half-out of an alleyway, and knew immediately it was nothing more than a corpse. A rodent gnawed on the man’s bare foot, and made no sound other than a brief squeak to let Brandyjack know it resented his interruption of its meal.

He made his way down a series of twisting streets, finally locating the one type of business he knew would be open at this time of night: a tavern. He entered, pulling himself up to his full height.

The barroom was crowded, noisy, and the smoke from lanterns was acrid. He ignored the stares of those who watched him suspiciously as he crossed the floor to the bar. There wasn’t a man or woman here who wouldn’t slit his throat for his cloak, and he knew it. “Gimme a cold ale,” he said to the bartender, a short, fat, heavily perspiring man. The bartender looked at him for several long seconds, then turned to get the ale. Brandyjack dropped two coins on the bar as the man turned with the mug.

A meter away, to his right, two other men stood at the bar. Brandyjack turned to look at them, keeping his expression blank as he did so. The closest man was easily two meters tall, stocky, and a scar running down the entire side of his bald head testified to the man’s character. The other man was only a centimeter or two shorter, and he too gave the appearance of being someone who could handle himself in any situation. Brandyjack turned away from the pair and considered another man on his opposite side. This man looked straight ahead, occasionally lifting a mug to his lips. He was much shorter than Brandyjack but was squarely built and no doubt a capable brawler. Brandyjack turned to look at the bartender who was standing directly in front of him.

“Stranger?” the bartender asked.

Brandyjack nodded.

“Why’re you here?”

“A drink.”

The bartender squinted his eyes slightly, then walked away to serve a group of men and women at a table. Occasionally laughter, loud and raucous, broke the general hubbub of the room, but mostly there was gruff cursing and rowdy arguments. Brandyjack considered the opportunities for conversation at the bar, then moved down to the man on his left.

“Evenin’ ” Brandyjack said, carefully removing from his tone all signs of friendly overtures.

The man nodded.

“I’m lookin’ for two men and I’m willin’ to pay for any information I get,” Brandyjack told the man.

The other nodded again.

“One is a Merchant, name of Thoruso. He’s got gray hair, average build. The other’s a man named Evans. Heavyset, brown hair, average height.”

The man considered Brandyjack for a moment, his eyes half covered with drooping lids. “What you want them for?”

“The bastards conned me,” Brandyjack said, knowing it would be enough.

“Why’d they be here?”

Brandyjack shrugged. “Who knows? I heard one of them mention Narrows. That’s all. I don’t know what the hell they’d want here.”

The man considered this, took a sip of ale, then pointed to a table in one corner where three men and two women sat. They were laughing, ignoring all that went on around them.

“They know everything that happens in Narrows,” the man said. “Everything,” he finished for emphasis.

Brandyjack nodded, tossed a couple of coins on the bar in front of the man, and walked away. Again there were suspicious glances as he walked across the floor, but he carefully kept a blank expression fixed on his face. It would be an open invitation for trouble to smile.

He reached the table, stood for a few seconds until he was noticed, then said, “I’m lookin’ for a coupla men. Fella at the bar said you might be able to help.”

Smiles disappeared from the faces as the three men and two women regarded him. Glints of cunning and suspicion flared at once.

“It important you find them?” one man asked.

Brandyjack nodded.

“Then you’d be willin’ to pay for the information, wouldn’t you?” another man asked.

Brandyjack nodded again, thankful he still had a little money left from his peg winnings in Toronew. “I wanna kill ‘em,” he said. “And yes, it’s important to me.”

A smile appeared for a brief second on one man’s lips, but the suspicion never left his eyes.

“One of ‘em’s a Merchant,” Brandyjack started, “Gray hair, slight build. Name’s Thoruso. The other…”

Brandyjack stopped suddenly. The description of Thoruso had caused a brief change of expression on the faces of two of the men and one of the women. He looked from face to face slowly, his eyes hard and calculating.

“You’ve seen ‘im.” It was not a question, for it was obvious they had at least heard of Thoruso. Had he asked them, they’d deny it. As it was, he had put them on the defensive.

“Maybe,” the woman said. “Maybe not.”

“You’ve seen ‘im,” Brandyjack said again. “Where?”

There was silence from them for a moment, and Brandyjack slowly became aware of a deeper silence spreading throughout the bar as the other drinkers became aware of the conversation. Undoubtedly, being the stranger here, they’d side with those at the table before they’d lift a hand to help him. He had to be careful and play the game properly or he’d never get out of the bar, and he knew it.

“What’s it worth?” one of the men asked.

“Depends on whether they’re still alive,” Brandyjack said, aware of the silence growing still deeper. “I wanna kill the vulture and he ain’t no good to me dead.”

They chuckled at that, and Brandyjack could feel the tension that had been building slowly dissipate. For a brief second he even smiled himself, carefully.

“Far’s I know he’s alive,” the man went on, “but I can’t promise that. Let’s say you buy everybody here at this table a drink and I’ll tell you where I last seen ‘im.”

Brandyjack paused, keeping his excitement carefully locked inside. “Bargain.”

“Last I seen, he and another guy had been waitin’ for somebody down by the Owl. Two guys by the names of Lester and Devon decided to take whatever they had worth takin’. Maybe they killed ‘em, maybe they didn’t. Whether they did or not, you’ll find ‘em behind the Owl. Unless they let ‘em live and they came to and walked away.”

Brandyjack nodded, threw enough coins to pay for the drinks onto the table, and walked out of the barroom, his expression still a blank.

“Be careful Lester and Devon ain’t still ‘round!” one man called to Brandyjack.

“If they are, they won’t be tomorrow night,” Brandyjack replied, his voice soft but carrying easily to the table. Smiles appeared on the faces of those in the bar, but Brandyjack was gone before he saw them.

The Owl, he knew, was another tavern. And without the quality of clientele he’d seen in the bar he’d just left. The Owl had a name, even in other cities, as being the roughest bar anywhere. The owner was a blind man, but rumor had it he could sense just where people were, and he never tripped over anything or bumped into anyone. As a perverse joke he’d named his bar the Owl.

Brandyjack hurried through the cracked streets, trying to remember the exact position of the Owl. He’d been there, once, and the memory of that night would be with him to the grave. He still had the scar on his back.

He blocked the thoughts from his mind as he discovered he remembered his surroundings. Five minutes and two blocks later he was in front of the Owl. He hurried through an alleyway, kicking garbage aside and scaring various rodents who squeaked in annoyance at his intrusion. At the back of the Owl he found Thoruso and Evans. Evans was dead, and blood seeped from a crack in Thoruso’s skull, but the Merchant was still alive. Both men were almost naked.

Gently, Brandyjack lifted the Merchant and started back through the alleyway, stopping at the front and carefully lowering Thoruso to the ground. Grim lines set into the corners of his mouth as he looked at the Merchant for a moment, realizing the man might be dying and there was nothing he could do. Might be dying, hell! he decided. Thoruso would definitely die unless he received medical attention. And there were no doctors in Narrows, that was for sure. There was nothing he could do but carry the Merchant into Moneral proper and hope to find medical aid. Rage at those responsible began to burn within him.

Determinedly he strode to the doors of the Owl. He kicked them open, marched in forcefully, hardly seeing the surprised glances he got. He looked around the bar, his vision confirming his earlier opinion of the caliber of patrons. The cutthroats here made those of the previous bar look like fine, upstanding citizens.

“Lester! Devon!” Brandyjack bellowed, his voice deep, full, but most of all, outraged. His face colored deeply as he stood there, but no one in the room moved.

Then, from the back of the crowded room Brandyjack heard a chair scrape. Another. He squinted to see through the dimness and saw two men standing. Slowly, they started toward the front of the room, all eyes on them.

Brandyjack knew immediately they were the two he sought. One wore Thoruso’s cloak, and the other Evans’s leggings. A medallion Thoruso had worn was around one throat.

They were big men, with thick necks and arms, dirty faces and hands, and eyes that left no doubt as to their character. Yellowed teeth were briefly visible through forced smiles that held no humor.

Brandyjack strode through the room, sidestepping the crowded tables and ignoring the glares of men he’d ordinarily stay clear of. He was several feet from the two men when they stopped walking toward him. “I’m Devon,” one of them said, “and this here’s Lester.”

Brandyjack had not stopped walking toward them, and Devon had barely finished speaking when Brandyjack smashed a balled fist into the man’s throat. Devon fell back, gasping, as Lester leaped forward, a knife flashing in his hand. Brandyjack brought up an arm to block the knife, then drew back his other arm and boxed his fist against the side of Lester’s head. Lester fell to his knees and had started to rise when Brandyjack’s boot caught him in the mouth. Pieces of cracked, yellowed teeth flew through the air, and a second later blood spurted from Lester’s destroyed mouth.

Devon was back on his feet, enraged, still gasping, but advancing carefully, a knife in each hand. He crouched slightly, hatred blazing in his eyes. Brandyjack took one step, whirled in a complete circle, and before he had even touched the floor again his outstretched right foot had smashed into Devon’s face. There was a loud snap as the man’s nose broke. Devon fell back over two tables, sending broken glass flying and the occupants of the table to their feet to scurry into a nearby corner.

Lester was struggling to get to his feet again, but Brandyjack gave him no chance. He took two steps, lifted the man into the air and hurled him against a wall three meters away. The obvious finale of Lester’s life brought a smile to Brandyjack’s lips.

Devon struggled back toward Brandyjack, one knife still in his hand. Blood poured from the man’s nose and mouth, and his eyes were hazy. Brandyjack smiled again, clasped his hands together and let go with a sidearm blow that caught Devon on the neck. Devon fell, unconscious, to the floor, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. His eyes were wide and staring at the ceiling. Brandyjack checked Devon’s pulse, walked to Lester and checked that man’s pulse, then strode from the bar without looking at anyone. Outside, he trembled for several seconds, had to force himself back to calmness.

“I’m an idiot,” he said softly, “a pegged idiot.” Truthfully, he told himself, he had not known what he was doing. No sane man would do what he had done, but he had done it and, for some strange reason, walked out alive. Once, in a strange bar, he had seen a stranger pick a fight with a regular patron. In less than five seconds, half the other patrons had joined forces with the regular and beaten the stranger to death. And here, in the Owl, in the stinking Owl of all places, he had killed two men!

“Blood of a snake!” he said softly.

He walked over to Thoruso’s still-breathing form, gently lifted the Merchant, and started along the cracked streets.

CHAPTER 9

The pinkish glow of approaching sunrise had begun to lighten the eastern sky when Brandyjack reached the wagons. Pier, on guard, roused the others.

“An ale, bartender!” Brandyjack ordered Benjamin. Benjamin grumbled, but went to fill a mug.

Brandyjack told them Evans was dead and that Thoruso was being cared for by a doctor he had located. The doctor had assured Brandyjack that Thoruso would be fit to travel the next day, that the crack on the skull was not as bad as Brandyjack had assumed. “So,” the wayfarer concluded, “we wait out here. I’ll go back into Moneral tomorrow, get Thoruso and we’ll be on our way.”

“Any chance of us sleeping in Moneral tonight?” Dextor asked.

Brandyjack shrugged, wondering why he was being asked. “If you want, I suppose you can. But be careful. News from Toronew may reach Moneral soon and no doubt we’ll be in for a hard time if the authorities suspect us.”

Dextor nodded, apparently satisfied. “We’d better stay here.”

Brandyjack shrugged.

Shortly after sunrise they hid the wagons among rocks, well away from the roadways leading into Moneral. Few people would think it natural to find two wagons and seven people so close to the city, and they wished to arouse no suspicion.

Brandyjack suggested everyone remain close to the wagons, and shortly afterwards went off by himself to get some sorely needed sleep. He spread his cloak out on the ground between two rocks that were high enough to protect him from the burning sun and fell to the ground, exhausted. He had been there for only a few moments, was just beginning to feel sleep wash over him when he heard a boot scrape on the ground. He opened his eyes to see Lotus standing above him.

“Do you mind if I talk to you for a minute?” the woman asked.

Brandyjack sat up and affected his usual shrug.

“I don’t think you told us everything about what happened in Moneral,” Lotus said.

“I told you everything of importance,” Brandyjack said noncommittally.

“Perhaps,” Lotus replied, sitting down on the edge of the cloak, “but there’s blood on your cloak and hands and you didn’t mention anything about a fight.”

“It’s not important.”

“Did you find the men who killed Evans and hurt Thoruso?”

Brandyjack smiled, but it was hard, cold. “Yeah. I found them.”

“Did you kill them?”

Brandyjack nodded.

“Why didn’t you think it was important?”

“It just wasn’t. And isn’t. I evened a score, that’s all.”

Lotus nodded, waited a few seconds, then said, “I’m sorry I called you an idiot.”

Brandyjack smiled and shrugged.

“But you’re still a strange man,” she said, getting quickly to her feet, “and you probably always will be.” She turned and walked away.

A few moments later Brandyjack was asleep and snoring loudly.

Midafternoon he awoke, hot and thirsty. “Benjamin!” he bellowed from where he lay. “Draw me a pint!”

Chuckling softly he stood, stretched and lifted his cloak from the ground. He fastened it around his neck, yawned, stretched again and started toward the rocks where the wagons were hidden. A mug of ale sat on the end of one wagon. While Pier and Dextor watched, Brandyjack downed the ale.

“Hot, but at least it’s ale,” Brandyjack said.

Benjamin sat some distance away, leaning against a wagon wheel. Lotus, Virgil and Reed were not present, and when Brandyjack asked for them he was told they had decided to search out some wasteland beast for a meal. Brandyjack considered asking Benjamin for another ale, then decided to fetch it himself.

“Why are you leaving?” Brandyjack asked Dextor after he’d finished his second ale. “What’s in the stars for you?”

Dextor said slowly, “There’s not much worth living for here, Brandyjack. Thoruso is right about us. We’re dying out and we don’t care. If I have to die, it might as well be while doing something worthwhile.”

“Then Thoruso has convinced you the ancients were right, but just didn’t have the self-control to save themselves?”

“Essentially, yes. Maybe they went too far, but they weren’t afraid to experiment, anyway.”

Brandyjack nodded. “How long have you been with Thoruso?”

An uncomfortable expression passed quickly across Dextor’s face. He looked at Pier, but the man didn’t speak. “I’ve been with Thoruso my entire life,” Dextor said at last. “I was a beggar boy in the streets when he found me and decided to take me under his wing.”

Brandyjack nodded, then stared intently at Dextor as the realization of the man’s words struck him. “Since you were a boy?” he asked. “Dextor, Thoruso’s only five, ten years at the most older than you are. I’ll admit when I first saw him he was wearing enough makeup to look at least 90, but he’s only 45 or 50 years old. And you’re…”

“Thirty-nine,” Dextor finished. He looked at Pier again, still uncomfortable.

“Okay, out with it,” Brandyjack said. “What’s the big secret about Thoruso?”

Dextor looked at Pier. Pier shrugged, said softly, “I’ve been with Thoruso for almost 20 years. He looked the same then as he does now.”

Dextor nodded. “I was eight when he found me 31 years ago. Believe me, Brandyjack, he hasn’t aged a day, at least in appearance, since then.”

Brandyjack whistled softly. “He’s a deformed,” the wayfarer said slowly, smiling. “Thoruso’s a deformed. With most people the deformity is a physical thing, but with the Merchant it’s longevity! Amazing!” He’d been speaking almost to himself, such was his surprise.

“It certainly is,” Dextor agreed. “He’s never come clean with us, but we’re positive it’s true.”

“Any idea how old he is?” Brandyjack asked.

Dextor shrugged.

“He’s slipped a couple of times,” Pier said. “From some of the things he’s said I reckon he must be over 200 years old. He’s talked about seeing things my grandfather told me about seeing when he was a boy. He talked intelligently about those things, so he must have been an adult.”

Brandyjack laughed. “I’ve seen a lot of deformeds, but it was usually a physical thing, like I said… or else a strange little power like the bartender at the Owl. I never thought age would be one of those powers.”

“And according to you,” Pier went on, “he almost didn’t get any older.”

“That’s done with now,” Brandyjack said. “No need to keep thinking about it.”

Pier nodded in agreement.

“So whether or not Thoruso is right about everything he wants to do, you men will follow him anywhere, right?” Brandyjack asked. “I mean, a man who’s as old as Thoruso seems to command loyalty, and if he raised you from boys, you’ve come to love the old goat, haven’t you?”

Dextor nodded. “I disagree with your choice of words, but you’ve covered the sentiments perfectly.”

“What about Evans?” Brandyjack asked. “Same thing with him?”

“No,” Pier said. “Evans appeared about five years ago. Thoruso took a liking to him and let him in on the plan.”

“Didn’t anyone ever get suspicious?” Brandyjack asked slowly. “I mean, someone somewhere had to notice he wasn’t getting any older.”

“He’s moved around a good deal,” Pier went on. “We went to Toronew about eight years ago. From what we’ve been able to gather, Thoruso’s plan has been a long-range one. When he first decided to leave Earth he must have already lived a number of years more than normal men do, and he might have known he was going to live a lot more. He started collecting his information and building his network of informers, and when he had all the material he needed from a certain area, he moved on. He must have known just how much data he’d need before he could tackle the computer, and he figured anything he didn’t have he could get while he lived in Toronew.”

“Does the bartender know all this?” Brandyjack asked, jerking a thumb in Benjamin’s direction.

Dextor chuckled. “No, and neither does his daughter.”

“Daughter?”

“Lotus,” Dextor told him. “I thought you knew that.”

“No, I didn’t. What about Reed and Virgil?”

Pier replied, “The silent one worries me.”

“Why?” Dextor asked. “Because he’s silent?”

“No,” Pier said quickly, “he’s a deformed, and that’s his deformity. Just something about his manner, I suppose.”

“He’s given me no cause to suspect him of anything,” Brandyjack said. “Matter of fact, I rather like him. I have a weakness for deformeds.”

Dextor regarded Brandyjack closely, but Brandyjack merely smiled and bellowed, “Benjamin! Dammit, fetch me another ale!”

He threw the mug toward Benjamin, several meters away, and chuckled when Benjamin caught the thing awkwardly and hurried to one of the kegs on the back of a wagon.

“Feel free to help yourselves,” Brandyjack said to the others, jerking his thumb toward the ale, “or you may avail yourself of the services of my manservant, Benjamin.” He chuckled.

“Why do you treat him so?” Dextor asked quietly, regarding Benjamin who was still at the keg filling the mug. “He’s not worth much, you know.”

“I’m quite aware of that,” Brandyjack replied. “However, my manservant is a greedy man and I’m quite set against greedy men. He’s as tight as a clam with a coin, and I’m quite set against stingy men as well. In addition to those reasons, he holds against me the fact I killed his second-best customer in his bar. The man was beating a harmless beggar boy, a beggar boy who helped me. I have my faults, gentlemen, but I will never stand by and watch someone I respect or appreciate being bullied by anyone else. Never!”

Dextor nodded, smiled. “Expressed in those terms, I quite agree. I’m glad you said that. For some time now I’ve been thinking you enjoyed killing.”

“I’ve yet to kill a man who didn’t deserve it,” Brandyjack said softly, “or else one who was planning to kill me. What men do to other men is none of my concern unless they threaten my friends or myself. Or, perhaps, when they threaten someone they know will not strike back or cannot strike back.

“But we grow too philosophical. Benjamin! Bring my ale!”

Benjamin hurried across the sandy ground and handed the mug to Brandyjack, making no attempt to disguise his bitterness. He left quickly, walking back to the wagon.

“I’d be careful,” Dextor said slowly. “You may wake up some morning to find your throat slit and several quarts of blood missing.”

“You’re probably right,” Brandyjack mused. “I suppose I have been a bit demanding. Dextor, you’ve convinced me.” The wayfarer smiled. “Benjamin!” he bellowed. “Take the rest of today off!” Brandyjack chuckled as Benjamin glared at him and Dextor shrugged, his face impassive.

“Take care,” Dextor said softly. “Any creature, man or beast, will strike back when pushed far enough.”

Brandyjack nodded, thought for a moment, then became serious. “You are, of course, quite right. I suppose I have no right to bully the man simply because he’s a greedy, stingy, cowardly jackass. I fear I’ve overstepped my rights a trifle. Ah well, show me a man who’s never in error and I’ll follow him to the grave.”

Brandyjack set the mug of ale on a rock, turned from the others and walked to the wagon where Benjamin stood. Benjamin regarded Brandyjack coldly, but he couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes.

“It has been brought to my attention that I’ve abused you,” Brandyjack said, “and if you feel the same way you have only to declare so this moment and I’ll abuse you no more.”

A curious gleam passed through Benjamin’s eyes. He started to speak, decided against it, and closed his mouth.

“It appears they were right,” Brandyjack said, indicating the others. “You’re afraid to open your mouth to talk back to me. Well, that as it may be, you’ll be forced to do nothing else for me from this moment onward. You’re your own man, bartender. Accept my apologies.”

Without waiting for Benjamin to speak, Brandyjack walked back to where Pier and Dextor waited. “I gave him his freedom,” the wayfarer said to them. “And apologized,” he added. “Perhaps I’ll not awaken some morning to find myself unable to continue breathing.” He finished the ale, thought for a moment, then asked, “Would either of you be able to lend me enough money to repay Benjamin for the ale and the tobacco and…”

Brandyjack stopped speaking, chuckled, and reached behind his ear to discover the cigaret he’d rolled the evening before. “Bloody lucky, that,” he said. “By rights I should have lost it.”

He handed the tobacco to Dextor, watched a surprised expression cross the man’s face and chuckled when Pier handed him a match. “I’ve ‘been waiting over a year for this,” Brandyjack said, inhaling deeply.

He waited until the others had rolled cigarets, then said, “As I was saying, would either of you be kind enough to lend me monies to repay Benjamin?”

Pier handed him a roll of Star Rule Currency Notes. Brandyjack chuckled and said, “This should cover his losses.”

He gave the money to Benjamin and returned to the others, retrieving the tobacco pouch and placing it securely inside a pocket of his cloak. He smoked the cigaret until his fingers were red and burned, only then crushing the butt beneath his heel. “Alpha Centauri better have tobacco,” he chuckled.

Reed, Virgil and Lotus returned some time later with several small lizards in a sack. Pier cooked the creatures and the meal was finished shortly before sundown.

“I’ve been thinking,” Brandyjack said to Dextor later. “The doctor in Moneral said Thoruso would be fit to travel tomorrow. The old man won’t want to sit around if he’s awake. What do you think about going to get him now?”

Dextor considered the possibility, then nodded. “That’s true. The doctor may not want to have him moving, though.”

. “It matters little what the doctor thinks or wants,” said Brandyjack. “What do you say? Do we go get him?”

Dextor looked around the camp. “Yes.”

Thoruso, when back at camp, was very happy to be away from Moneral. He regretted not having had the chance to bury Evans properly, but said little more about the matter. His contact in Moneral had died two days before his arrival, he explained, and he and Evans had just been leaving the Owl when they’d been stopped by the two thieves. In total, he said, the trip to Moneral had been a wasted one. He patted the bandages on his head, gingerly, as he spoke.

They left the next morning, shortly before sunrise. By midday they were well away from Moneral, but the trouble it had caused them remained in their minds.

CHAPTER 10

The desert, hot and barren, stretched out before them, seemingly without end. There would be no food here, they knew, and for the day and night it would take to cross the gleaming expanse they would have to be wary of danger at all times. Anyone tracking them would have little difficulty locating them. Further, there was no cover, not even a rock behind which to make a stand should Protectors attack. There was the benefit, however, of knowing whether or not they were being closely followed, as well as no chance of ambush.

But there were other dangers in the desert, dangers Brandyjack had faced before and had no wish to face again. Lizards, poisonous to humans, thrived in the desert regions, feeding on what little vegetation there was and what few creatures, men or beasts, dared to travel across it. The lizards were large, easily four or five meters in length, and as deadly as any creature anywhere. They were capable of blending into the sand so that it was impossible to see them until they had actually been touched. On occasion they traveled in packs, often as many as 20 banding together. Once, Brandyjack had been with a caravan crossing this desert and the caravan had come across a lizard pack. To the best of his knowledge, Brandyjack could think of only three others who’d made it out alive, one of those already dying from a poisonous bite. Over 80 others had died fighting the beasts. Brandyjack had no wish to challenge the desert again, but he said nothing as the journey continued farther and farther away from what had been rocks and occasional shrubs, toward sand and fewer shrubs.

“You’re the closest thing we have to a desert authority, Brandyjack,” Thoruso said when the sun had started to disappear in the west and the heat had become less oppressive. “What would you suggest? Should we continue and try to cross the bulk of sand, or should we rest and keep going in the morning?”

“If it’s all the same to you,” the wayfarer said, happy to be asked, “I’d rather keep moving. The longer we’re here the more chance there is of getting killed by the damned lizards. Believe me, Merchant, five men are barely a match for one lizard and it takes more than a couple of knife wounds to stop them. I think we should keep going. With any luck at all we should be out of the desert proper by noon tomorrow.”

“Anyone disagree?” Thoruso asked. “No? Fine. We continue.”

Brandyjack smiled, but there was little humor in it. He was more worried than he cared to admit to anyone else. Justifiably so, he thought to himself, because no one else present had come up against a desert lizard. He sincerely hoped he wasn’t around to witness an initiation.

The desert cooled considerably after sunset, but the temperature was still 10 or 15 degrees higher than any other region would experience at this time of evening. Brandyjack, walking beside the wagon guided by Dextor, found himself scanning the desert for any sign of the sand lizards. He knew, however, he’d be almost on top of them before he ever saw them.

By midnight the desert was much colder and some of the group shivered slightly. Brandyjack took over the reins from Dextor so the man could sleep, but he still watched the desert closely. A bright, full moon aided his vision, but he found himself wishing they were out in the wastelands beyond. He felt safe in the wastelands, had spent most of his life in the rocks and mountains on which little grew, had become contented with a hardy, frugal existence. He was debating with himself whether or not he should stop the wagon for a moment and draw a mug of ale when he caught a movement to his left, perhaps 20 or 30 meters away. He stopped the horses immediately, whisking his knife from inside his cloak. Behind him, guiding the other wagon, Reed muttered, “What the—”

Brandyjack squinted, straining to see what had made the movement, knowing very well only one living creature would be out here in the middle of nowhere. He saw it then, one lizard moving slowly—much more slowly than they could move when they struck—toward them. And behind it…

“Lizards!” he bellowed, leaping to the right of the wagon to place it between himself and the creatures.

Everyone in the wagons, other than himself and Reed, was asleep. They were up in an instant, some with knives in hand, and all turning from side to side looking for something they had never seen before.

“Lizards,” Brandyjack yelled again. “Get off the wagons!”

The sand lizards attacked then, eight of them as far as Brandyjack could make out, racing across the sand at speeds no racehorse could ever attain. Pier, the last to leap from the wagon Reed had been guiding, was far too slow. A lizard leaped over the side of the wagon, and the full force of its lunge struck the man. Pier’s back bent double.

Lotus screamed, and the other lizards were suddenly at them, hissing and moving so quickly it was impossible for Brandyjack to strike with his knife. He heard a shot and one of the sand lizards screamed, a grating sound that made Brandyjack want to clamp his hands over his ears. The struck lizard did not die, but lay wounded on the ground, rolling and thrashing about, its tail smashing into the side of one of the wagons, cracking the wood into kindling.

Brandyjack found that he was removed from the battle, the lizards concentrating mainly on the second wagon. Sand was being churned about, and the scene was partially hidden from his sight. He heard another shot, then someone, Benjamin he thought, screamed as if in agony. The hissing of the lizards was louder than everything else, including the terrified screaming of the horses who leaped and strained, trying to pull the smashed wagon away from the battle. Then one lizard attacked the horses, and the beasts fell under terrible, rending claws and sharp teeth.

Brandyjack got to his feet, fought an urge to turn and run and started toward the second wagon as one lizard emerged from the gigantic sand cloud and started at him, whipping from side to side like the mongoose Brandyjack had once seen in the wastelands. He leaped toward the lizard, knife held high, absently wishing there was a gigantic mongoose or two in the immediate vicinity.

He caught the zigzagging lizard about the neck and hung on, bringing his knife down into the beast’s throat, with no visible fatal effect. The lizard squealed in pain and shook the length of its body. Brandyjack came close to losing his grip, but held on, forcing himself from the ground so that he was suddenly on the lizard’s back. He wasted no time in striking again with his knife as the lizard fell and started to roll. His second thrust, just as the lizard began to roll on top of him, was to the beast’s eye. The lizard twitched violently, its body rolling off Brandyjack, but its tail smashing against his legs. Brandyjack fell, rolled to the side, and got up again, trying desperately to ignore the pain in his legs.

He hurried into the sand cloud, cursing himself for an idiot for not fleeing, when three more shots rang out. There was an agonized scream from a lizard, followed by another shriek from Lotus. Unable to see, Brandyjack felt the scaly hide of a lizard brush against his stomach, the rough skin scraping the wayfarer’s stomach raw. The big man ignored the pain and leaped toward the lizard, plunging his knife several times into the scaly hide, finally breaking the weapon after nine frantic thrusts.

He held onto the lizard, trying to thrust his balled fist into the creature’s eye slits. Claws raked across his back and his hands were torn from their grasp on the beast. He fell to the ground, sand in his mouth and eyes. He struggled back to his feet as he heard two more shots, then collapsed, gasping for breath, but not yet unconscious.

He became aware of a steadily growing silence, and eventually, when he was able to lift his head, saw only the scaly hide of a dead sand lizard. He pulled himself to his knees, then up over the creature’s body, and looked around. Standing over a dead lizard were Reed, Virgil and Dextor. Virgil was badly cut about the shoulders, and a vicious gash on his face spewed blood in sporadic bursts. Reed and Dextor were also cut, but not as badly. Brandyjack turned to survey the smashed wagon and saw the twisted corpse of Benjamin. The man’s head was almost decapitated, and one arm was missing entirely. Close to Benjamin sprawled Pier, his back and neck snapped like twigs. A lizard partially covered him.

Lotus sat, in shock, on the ground, leaning against a dead lizard. Her left hand had been severed from her wrist. Close to her was Thoruso, on his knees and trying to stand, the bandages ripped from his head.

Dextor and Reed snapped out of their trance and hurried to help Lotus before she bled to death. Virgil helped Thoruso to his feet, then moved quickly to Brandyjack. Brandyjack waved him back, knowing the silent man was more badly hurt than anyone still alive, except Lotus.

Brandyjack surveyed the wreckage of the wagon and its contents. The wagon could not be used for anything but firewood, and most of Thoruso’s possessions in it had also been destroyed. One of the two horses that had been pulling the wagon was dead; it lay 30 meters away. The other horse was nowhere to be seen.

Brandyjack made a quick count, discovering five of the eight lizards were dead. Apparently the other three had fled, although Brandyjack had not been aware that lizards ever took flight.

“Brandyjack!” Dextor called out from where he was attending Lotus. “Start a fire. Quickly!”

Brandyjack knew what the fire was for, but wished he didn’t have to start it. If there were other lizards in the vicinity they’d soon be around when the fire’s glow lit the night sky. Nevertheless, he built a small fire, using wood from the destroyed wagon. Only when he had the fire hot enough for Dextor’s purpose did he notice the other wagon was missing. Obviously the horses had panicked and bolted with it. He shivered, knowing someone would have to search for it, knowing also just who would be stupid enough to volunteer.

“The fire’s hot enough,” he called across to Dextor. He watched while Dextor helped Lotus, still in a state of shock and staring straight ahead through glassy eyes that saw nothing, to her feet and across the ground to the fire. At the fire, Brandyjack helped Dextor position her so that she would not be unnecessarily burned. Then, gritting his teeth, Brandyjack took the woman’s arm from Dextor, and thrust it into the base of the fire. Brandyjack counted slowly to five before he withdrew the arm.

Lotus looked at the useless stub, looked at Brandyjack, and began to scream. Dextor helped the wayfarer hold her down. She screamed for several seconds, then sunk into unconsciousness.

Brandyjack stood beside Dextor, and the two men surveyed the scene. Thoruso sifted through the rubble of his possessions, and although Brandyjack could not be sure, he thought he saw the man’s frame trembling occasionally. Brandyjack had no doubts as to why the Merchant was sobbing. In two days he’d lost two men who had been as sons to him. The wayfarer turned away to see Virgil sitting on a lizard, wiping the blood from his face and shoulders with a piece of his tattered tunic. Reed stood, his back to all, surveying the desert emptiness.

Brandyjack walked wearily to where Thoruso searched the rubble. Thoruso turned away and the wayfarer did not move to face the Merchant. “Someone will have to go after the other wagon,” Brandyjack said softly. “If I leave now I might get lucky and be back before sunrise.”

Thoruso nodded and Brandyjack left the man to his sorrow. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he told Dextor. “Put out the fire and try to arrange the wreckage of the wagon so it’ll offer some protection if the lizards come back.”

Dextor nodded and handed his gun to Brandyjack. “There’s still Reed and Virgil with handguns,” he said.

Brandyjack took the weapon, stuffing it into a pocket in his cloak. “Thanks. If I’m not back shortly after sunrise, maybe you’d better try to make it on foot.”

Dextor regarded Brandyjack for several seconds, then, slowly, said, “If you’re not back by sunrise, I’ll go after you.”

Brandyjack smiled, nodded and turned away. He hoped the panicked beasts hadn’t run too far.

He allowed himself the pleasure of another cigaret some time later, noting with dismay that the pouch containing the tobacco had been torn during his battle with the sand lizards. Nevertheless, he still had enough for a few more cigarets. He folded the pouch carefully, placing it inside fas dirty, torn cloak.

He considered the group’s situation, knowing that regardless of how grim it appeared at the moment, they were lucky—exceptionally lucky—to still be alive. The sand lizards, to the best of his knowledge, had yet to lose a confrontation with anything or anyone. Of course, he realized, he had forgotten about the handguns. Undoubtedly they had made a tremendous difference, and had they not been used, the lizards would be feasting on human flesh, including his own.

An hour after he’d left the others Brandyjack found the half-eaten corpse of the missing horse. It would lay there until the sand lizards were hungry again, when they’d return to finish their meal. Sickened, he could do no more than kick a bit of sand over it. He walked on.

The tracks the horses left showed they had stopped racing headlong in panic. The wagon-wheel ruts were straight and smooth, not at all what they would be if the terrified horses had continued their mad dash.

He stopped and rested for a time, his thoughts flashing back to Benjamin. He didn’t exactly regret the way he’d treated the man, but he was happy to have had the chance to apologize. It made him feel at ease, somehow.

He came upon the horses a short time later. Their coats were caked with dried foam and they were still somewhat frightened, but they let him approach without running off again. Once he began guiding the horses back to the site of the lizard attack, he took the handgun from his cloak and set it carefully beside him on the seat. He rolled another smoke, briefly contemplated giving up the entire mission once he was safely out of the desert, then resigned himself to seeing Thoruso’s plan blossom.

CHAPTER 11

What little Thoruso had been able to salvage from the wreck of the second wagon had been loaded and placed with his other possessions in the other wagon. Brandyjack had returned with it an hour before sunrise. Lotus was no longer in a state of shock, but was finding it difficult to accept the cauterized stump where her left hand had been. Virgil’s cuts and the gash on his face had been cleaned and bandaged by Thoruso, while Dextor and Reed had taken care of their own injuries. Thoruso had not been too severely injured, and several times Brandyjack found himself wondering how a man of the Merchant’s age could hold up under the ordeal.

Brandyjack maintained a constant vigilance for any movement in the sands, knowing very well another sand lizard attack could materialize in seconds. Dextor, too, scanned the desert closely. He had removed the sling and bandages from his still-tender arm and was forcing himself to use it whenever he shifted position in the wagon or rearranged Thoruso’s possessions.

Brandyjack found himself wondering if the journey to the stars was worth the hardship and death. He was inclined to think not until he caught sight of Thoruso’s hard-lined, determined face, the eyes staring resolutely ahead, conviction more than evident in the set of his features. He remembered also Thoruso’s words about the worthlessness of men who drifted through life and refused to use their talents and ingenuity for the betterment of mankind. He reached no definite conclusion, but he was inclined to think the Merchant correct.

By noon the fear that had been building inside them since the lizard attack was ebbing. They could see, still a great distance away, the slopes of the wastelands, the rocks and boulders that signified the edge of the desert.

“How many bullets do you have?” Brandyjack asked Reed at one point.

“Three.”

“Virgil?”

The silent deformed held up four fingers.

Brandyjack nodded, knowing four remained in the chambers of his own weapon. Unfortunately, the guards from whom two of the guns had been taken had not carried a great supply of ammunition, undoubtedly assured they’d need only what the guns held plus a few extra cartridges. Eleven bullets might not do them much good, Brandyjack realized, but there was no need for anyone they came in contact with to be made aware of that fact.

They rode in silence after that, none voicing the hunger and thirst they felt.

The sand gradually gave way to blackened, cracked earth, and pebbles and occasional stunted shrubs dotted the landscape. By late afternoon the desert, although still visible and foreboding, was behind them. They made camp under the protection of several large boulders, successfully hiding the wagon so that a casual wayfarer might pass by and not see it.

“Unlike the wastelands on the other side of the desert,” Brandyjack said to Thoruso later when Virgil and Reed had gone looking for any type of game that might be edible, “there are bandits in this land.”

“There are always bandits in the wastelands,” Thoruso replied.

“True, true, but on the other side of the desert they don’t appear from behind every rock and shrub. Over here, well, over here they’re not as limited in number.”

Thoruso contemplated this, then replied indifferently, “That, I’m afraid, is your problem, Brandyjack. I’ll be relying on you to either guide us clear of bandits or pull us out of the fire if we’re accosted.”

Brandyjack chuckled and turned away from the Merchant. Lotus sat alone on a rock, absently staring at the blackened stump at the end of her arm. Brandyjack walked toward her. “How do you feel?”

She looked up at him, anguish in her eyes, and for a moment Brandyjack thought she would say nothing. She shrugged. “I’m alive, anyway.”

Brandyjack dug his toe uncomfortably into the earth. “I’m sorry about your father,” he said, hoping she would believe him, hoping he didn’t sound like a hypocrite.

Lotus regarded him carefully for several seconds, undoubtedly recognizing his embarrassment for what it was. “Thank you,” she said at last, her voice wavering.

Brandyjack sat down beside her and reached to take her left arm. She flinched slightly, but let the wayfarer examine the cauterization.

“It’s ugly, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice soft and filled with revulsion at what she had become.

“I know plenty who are worse off,” Brandyjack said, recognizing her self-pity but not wishing to admonish her too harshly. “You’ve suffered a good deal, and you’ll probably feel out of place for a long time, but if it’s any consolation, the only thing that matters is what’s behind your eyes. Try not to worry about it. I don’t see anything wrong when I look at you. I see a woman; not a one-handed woman, just a woman. And I think everyone else feels the same way. Try not to let it bother you.”

He stood abruptly, flashed an awkward smile, and walked away from her, wishing he had kept his mouth shut but relieved that he’d spoken. His words might help, but they might not. In any case, he decided philosophically, he’d tried to make her feel less uncomfortable and that was all any man could do.

Virgil and Reed returned a short while after sunset, and a small fire, carefully hidden by the rocks, was built to cook two less-than-sufficient lizards. Brandyjack, claiming he wasn’t in the least hungry, sat back and watched his portion being divided among the others. If you growl, he warned his stomach, I’ll rip you out and eat you on the spot. He contented himself with a cigaret.

They decided, on Brandyjack’s suggestion, to post guards throughout the course of the evening. Thoruso and Lotus were exempt from the duty, but neither felt slighted. Shortly before Thoruso bedded down for the night, Brandyjack went to him.

“I know you feel an obligation to the people who’ve helped you over the years,” the wayfarer started, “but after what happened in Moneral have you given any thought to the number of people you’ll have to see and how many places we’ll have to visit? Have you considered the risks?”

“I always consider risks,” Thoruso replied evenly, “and I’ve already decided that the next city we visit, Floren, will be the last. However, as you said, I feel an obligation to those who’ve assisted me, and they’ll not be left behind if they wish to travel with us. I’ve made eight lists, and when I visit my contact in Floren I’ll give them to him. He’ll call on the people on his list, distributing the lists as per instructions I’ll be giving him. My contacts will inform each other. If they wish to go, they’ll be there.”

“That, though, is a big risk,” Brandyjack said. “What if one of your contacts talks to the authorities?”

“I haven’t built my network of information gatherers without being absolutely sure they are “trustworthy,” Thoruso stated calmly. “If any of them wish to remain on this planet they’ll do so and not interfere with the wishes of others. My informants have all been interviewed personally, and I know the depth of their integrity.”

“Well,” Brandyjack started, chuckling, “since you put it that way, I’ll not bother to question your judgment again.”

He walked away and settled in to sleep, Dextor and Virgil both assigned watches before his own. His sleep was an uneasy one, his dreams filled with visions of sand lizards even larger than those they’d fought earlier, even more dangerous. Just as a sand lizard was about to kill him it disappeared, replaced by a blind man who could sense and see more clearly than a sighted person. He saw himself battling desperately with the blind man, but losing, unable to land a blow of any force, his fighting tactics learned on the streets and from an instructor in the ways of ancient techniques all meaning nothing. As the blind man was about to break his back, there was laughter and the blind man, like the sand lizard, disappeared, replaced by nothing.

Brandyjack turned uneasily on the ground as his dreams continued. He saw a street urchin begging coins from passersby, saw the urchin stealing what he could and discarding nothing, growing up in squalor and filth. He saw the youth fighting for survival, felt the youth’s dreams of one day being superior to all and servient to no one. He saw the beggar toss away his bowl one dark afternoon to fight with a drunken man twice his size, saw the beggar boy dart about too quickly for the drunk to follow. He watched as the urchin tripped the drunk and pounced on the man’s throat, smashing the neck until it was red, raw, and the man was dead. He watched the youth become afraid and flee, the authorities close behind, but unable to capture the beggar boy who had dared to kill a man.

He was shoved roughly awake and looked up to see Virgil staring down at him. Brandyjack nodded, got slowly to his feet, and watched Virgil walk toward the rocks where the wagon was hidden. When the man had disappeared behind the boulders, Brandyjack stretched and scrambled up onto a large boulder to sit and survey the wastelands around him. Moonlight gave the scene a peaceful appearance, but Brandyjack knew from past experience that nothing was ever peaceful in these wastelands. If bandits had observed them earlier they would merely wait until the opportunity was perfect before they attacked, whether they had to wait an hour or a day. Bandits were noted for their patience, he knew. After all, he had been one, once.

He thought about Floren. At least it would be the last time they would have to stop. And then what? North, he imagined. Thoruso had never said, but Brandyjack assumed the starship they were slowly making their way toward was north. He hoped so, anyway. He thought of the snows and the mountains, remembering vaguely his short time there. He wondered if old Deneb was still around, chuckling softly to himself when he thought of the man who had taught him fighting techniques forgotten by most others through the years.

The faint, harsh grating of leather on rock brought him to full alertness immediately. He crouched down on the boulder, straining to see what might have made the sound, but could focus on nothing that seemed at all dangerous. He shifted position, slid off the rock to the ground, and withdrew his handgun. He circled the rock carefully, his palms beginning to sweat and the gun starting to weigh more than it actually did.

He had almost circled the boulder entirely when he saw a brief flash, moonlight on metal. He dropped to the ground, squinting to see more clearly, but unable to determine whether one lone traveler had located the camp or whether bandits lurked beyond. He breathed slowly, waiting for another sound or movement. It came, suddenly, and he saw at least seven men rise from the ground where they had carefully camouflaged themselves, and move quickly, almost silently, toward the camp.

He was sure he hadn’t been seen and thanked whatever gods there still were for that small favor. Carefully, forcing himself to remain calm and his hand to remain steady, he aimed at the first man. He squeezed the trigger slowly, and the man fell to the ground, dead. The explosion of sound brought a startled shout from the other bandits, but they fell to the ground immediately, then began crawling toward rocks for cover.

The others in the camp had been awakened and Brandyjack could hear their surprised words as they called out to him. He didn’t want to give away his position, but called out “Bandits!” nevertheless. A few seconds after the echoes of his voice had faded somewhat, an arrow lodged itself into the earth beside him, not 15 centimeters away.

Brandyjack crawled behind his original “watch” boulder and carefully made his way back to where the others had bedded down. He whispered loudly before he made his way among them, identifying himself, not relishing the thoughts of Reed or Virgil shooting him.

Brandyjack and Dextor made their way out of the camp area toward their left, while Reed and Virgil started in the other direction. Thoruso remained behind with Lotus.

Brandyjack strained to see any movements in the darkness, knowing the stealth of bandits, knowing they could be behind him at any moment. He saw another flash of moonlight on metal, pointed out the area to Dextor, and slowly started toward it. Dextor followed closely, a knife his only weapon.

They moved slowly through the rocks and quickly between the spaces where they were easy targets for brief seconds. Then Brandyjack caught sight of a bandit moving slowly toward them. He aimed carefully, fired, and saw the man fall. Just as from behind him he heard, “No moves! No moves! Turn around, slowly!”

Brandyjack knew that at least one bandit had managed to slip around behind them. Tricky bastards, he knew. He also knew he was in for a bit of torturous interrogation, for no bandit took a man alive unless it was for such a purpose.

Dextor started to turn, slowly as ordered, but Brandyjack spun around quickly, hoping to get off an accurate shot. He fell to the ground, rolled once, and was on his stomach, the gun aimed directly at a bandit who held a nocked arrow already trained on him.

“Drop the gun,” the bandit hissed. “You shoot me and you’ll get the arrow. No way to avoid it.”

Brandyjack laughed. “Cherry, you old buzzard,” he said. “I should have known it was you when the first arrow missed.” He laughed again.

“Brandyjack?”

“One and the same,” Brandyjack replied. “Let’s come to a temporary agreement. I’ll put the gun away if you lower the bow.”

A shot rang out and Brandyjack knew either Reed or Virgil had killed a bandit. They were both careful men and wouldn’t risk a shot unless they were sure.

“As you can tell,” Brandyjack went on quickly, “we’ve got guns and we’re not exactly poor shots.”

Cherry considered for a moment, then called out, “Enough! Everyone hold his fire!”

“Same for Thoruso’s group!” Brandyjack called out. “Both groups get back to the camp. Move slowly and hold your fire. We’re going to discuss the matter.”

Brandyjack lowered the gun immediately and scrambled to his feet, eyes still on Cherry who had yet to lower the bow. For several seconds it seemed Cherry might not do as agreed, but then, slowly, he relaxed his grip. Brandyjack chuckled.

They walked back to where Thoruso and Lotus waited. Thoruso glared questioningly at Brandyjack, but the wayfarer only smiled, saying nothing. A few seconds later Virgil and Reed appeared, followed by two of Cherry’s bandits. They waited a bit longer and another bandit appeared.

“That last shot kill anyone?” Brandyjack asked.

Virgil nodded.

“That’s it, then,” Cherry said, looking at his three men and making no attempt to disguise his displeasure at losing three and taking none.

“Sit down,” Brandyjack invited. “We’ll find something to talk about, I’m sure.”

The bandits did as they were told while Brandyjack built a small fire. He smiled as he offered his tobacco pouch to Cherry. Cherry accepted it, smiled, and it appeared there would be no further violence.

The bandits were all dressed in the hardiest of leathers, and although their sizes and shapes varied, all had several scars on hands and faces. Their skins were brown from constant exposure to the sun, and not a man among them could soften his expression into anything more than a wry, humorless grin. Cherry, the most physically imposing, was obviously in command, and Brandyjack knew the others would obey his orders without question.

Brandyjack looked at Thoruso for several seconds, trying to read the Merchant’s expression. He could not. Finally, he said, “Cherry, I’m not in charge here, but I’m going to make an offer. We’ll be traveling north soon and we could use your bows and your men. He glanced quickly at Thoruso as he mentioned north, but saw no expression pass across the man’s calm face. “You’ll be paid for your efforts if you come with us.”

Cherry looked at his men as they rolled cigarets from Brandyjack’s pouch, then asked, “What’s it about?”

“Can’t tell you that right now,” Brandyjack replied, “but I can guarantee you it’s the biggest thing you’ll ever be involved with.”

Cherry squinted and regarded Brandyjack with undisguised suspicion for several seconds. Then, “Okay. Bargain. We’ll help for a cut of whatever you’re getting.”

Brandyjack chuckled. “Fine, fine. We’ll even include the rest of your pack of cutthroats.”

“This is my pack of cutthroats,” Cherry said evenly. Then, softly, “Times have been hard since you left, Brandyjack. Some of us have been killed, but most just left, like you. Not enough loot.”

Brandyjack nodded, then looked to Thoruso. “Any objections?” he asked.

Thoruso shook his head.

There were no objections from any of the others, and apparently it didn’t matter to Cherry’s men what they did; Cherry spoke for them. They were introduced as Grey, Gallant and Lorre. For a few moments, Cherry and Brandyjack talked over old times, and the excitement began to die, Dextor, Thoruso and Lotus bedding down once more.

Bargain or no, when Brandyjack and Cherry were ready to sleep, each left one man awake for guard duties, more to guard against the other faction than against outside danger. Virgil remained awake with Grey, and Brandyjack chuckled softly when he thought of relations growing between his group and Cherry’s. Not through Virgil they wouldn’t. He chuckled again and was asleep.

CHAPTER 12

“Why didn’t Cherry raise a fuss about the three men we killed?” Dextor asked Brandyjack the next day when they stood apart from the others, staring down at Floren from the crest of a hill, waiting for Thoruso and Reed to return.

Brandyjack chuckled. “What good would it have done? Bandits don’t bother themselves with that type of thing.”

“Doesn’t sound like a pleasant life,” Dextor observed.

“I enjoyed it,” Brandyjack said honestly, “until the spoils became too few.”

Dextor considered this, smiled, and walked back down the hill to where the wagon waited. Brandyjack followed a few moments later, uncomfortably disturbed when he saw the way Gallant was regarding Lotus.

Cherry beckoned the wayfarer aside, and the two men walked some distance from the wagon, Brandyjack knowing exactly what the bandit wanted, but preferring to let him ask.

“Don’t play cute,” Cherry said when they were what he considered a reasonable distance from the wagon. “Tell me what this is about.”

“Really don’t have the authority to tell you,” Brandyjack replied.

“When in hell have you ever cared about authority?”

Brandyjack chuckled. “Well, since you put it like that, I guess I can tell you.”

Cherry sat down as Brandyjack withdrew his tobacco pouch and rolled a cigaret, noting with some dismay that there was barely enough left for five cigarets. He handed the pouch and papers to Cherry and waited until the bandit had rolled his smoke.

“You’ll have to swear yourself to secrecy,” Brandyjack started, “because if you tell anyone, I’ll be forced to kill you.” The words were spoken lightly enough, but Cherry believed the wayfarer. He nodded.

“Fine,” Brandyjack went on, “as long as we understand that. Well, I’ll not waste much time with words. We’re going to the stars, Cherry. Thoruso has found a starship the ancients built and he’s leaving Earth.”

Cherry coughed to hide his astonishment. “Leaving?”

“That’s right. If you and your men make it with us to wherever the starship is, you’re welcome to come along.”

“What if we decide we’d rather have money?”

“Then you can have what we’ve got. I doubt we’ll need it out there.”

Cherry considered this for a moment, then asked, “Where’s the starship?”

Brandyjack laughed loudly. “Cherry, even if I knew I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Figures,” Cherry replied, a tinge of bitterness to his voice. “You’re not the man you once were, Brandyjack.”

“It so happens that I know of no one who’s the man he once was,” Brandyjack said, chuckling. He turned and started away.

“Brandyjack!”

Brandyjack stopped, turned around slowly.

“Don’t make light of me,” Cherry said solemnly. “I won’t take it.”

Brandyjack smiled, rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet for a few seconds and turned once again to walk away. This time Cherry did not call him back.

“Trouble?” Dextor asked when Brandyjack returned to the wagon.

“Perhaps,” Brandyjack told him. “We might be wise to keep our eyes on Cherry and his bunch. Just, oh, precautionary measures.”

Dextor nodded. “Will do.”

Thoruso and Reed returned an hour later, Thoruso considerably happier than when he left Moneral. They immediately started north, Brandyjack enjoying some satisfaction in the apparent accuracy of his deductions.

Gradually, the wastelands gave way to grass and waving fields of wheat; small farmhouses dotted the countryside, and occasionally they glimpsed someone working in his fields. Game became more plentiful, and a deer was brought down by Lorre. They feasted and continued their journey, ever alert for a sign of someone following them. Merely because they’d had no trouble from the authorities as yet didn’t mean they weren’t being sought. Perhaps more than anyone present, Brandyjack was quite aware of that fact.

By nightfall they had put Floren 35 kilometers behind them, and although Cherry continued to be tulant, a feeling of general merriment prevailed. Only Lotus appeared depressed, but this, Brandyjack reflected after a time, was not out of place, considering her reasons.

They traveled for several hours after darkness, finally coming upon a small farmhouse. Lamps burned within and cast their light outwards through the windows, illuminating a small yard and garden. A barn stood to the left of the cabin.

“Should we ask for shelter in the barn?” Brandyjack asked Thoruso as the sounds of distant thunder carried softly to their ears. “We might welcome it before morning.”

“Go with Dextor and ask,” Thoruso instructed. “A word of caution, however. We don’t need trouble of any description. As yet we’ve had no risks from discovery by the authorities, and if at all possible I’d prefer to keep the situation as such.”

“Trouble? Me?” Brandyjack asked, smiling as he jumped from the wagon with Dextor. “Thoruso, I’m deeply offended.”

He was still smiling as Dextor strode up beside him and started toward the farmhouse. “I ask you, Dextor,” Brandyjack said as they walked, “have you ever known me to be anything but the epitome of courtesy and charm? Have I ever given the impression of a ruffian looking for trouble?”

Dextor grimaced, but said nothing.

A dog began to bark inside the farmhouse. Brandyjack stopped for a moment and peered back toward the wagon. He could barely see its outline in the darkness. He shrugged and walked closer to the farmhouse.

“Ho! Inside!” he called out when he was close enough. “Could we talk with you a moment?”

There was a muffled order, apparently to the dog. It continued barking. Another order, delivered with what sounded from the dog’s yelp to be a good stiff blow, followed.

“Who are you?” a voice called out to them.

“Simple wayfarers requesting lodging in your barn for the evening!” Brandyjack called back. There was a brief pause. “And willing to pay for the favor!” he added.

Slowly, the door of the farmhouse opened and a man peered around the door frame. He opened the door a bit farther, then called out, “Come closer. Step into the light so I can see you.”

Brandyjack and Dextor acted as directed. They could see the man was nothing more than a simple farmer. His clothes were old, faded, and his face bore the scars of a difficult life spent under less-than-favorable conditions. He surveyed the pair for a moment, seemed to shrug and opened the door its full range. He stood in front of them, tucking a knife into a crude belt fastened around his breeches. Rough, leather boots reached to his knees.

“What’re your names?”

They told him.

“We’ve friends back a bit in a wagon,” Brandyjack said, pointing into the darkness. “We’ll pay you whatever you think is fair for a night’s lodging.”

“We also have a side of venison,” Dextor offered. “In addition to the money, of course.”

“Of course,” Brandyjack reasserted.

“You’re not bein’ followed by Protectors or nothin’, eh?”

“Nope,” Brandyjack told him, thinking to himself that it was the truth. At least, he wasn’t aware of Protectors following them. “We’re on our way up north,” he went on. “Hope to establish a trading post with the deformeds.”

The man sniffed, obviously against such trade, but said only, “Very well. The barn’s over there. Just be damned careful you don’t let the cow or the horse out. And don’t kill the chickens.”

“Rest assured,” Brandyjack said, worldly, “that we’ll do your livestock no harm. We’ll settle our account in the morning.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” the farmer said, quickly, “we’ll settle the account now. I get up awful early in the mornin’ to work and I might miss you.”

Brandyjack laughed loudly. “Reasonable, even if untrue,” he chortled.

The farmer took no offense at the statement and stood in the dim illumination from the lamps inside the house as Dextor went back to the wagon to bring the others. A rumble of thunder sounded, closer than before.

“Looks like you’ll be glad for the shelter,” the farmer said, his greed undisguised.

“Looks that way,” Brandyjack agreed, “although if we’re putting you out any, you just tell us and we’ll head on. Probably another farmer and another barn nearby, eh?”

“Oh, no,” the farmer assured him quickly. “Nope. No trouble at all. Glad to have you. The side of venison too, you said?”

“That we did.”

“Well, then, fine. I ain’t had a chance to go huntin’ for some time now. The wife will be glad to get the fresh meat.”

Brandyjack said nothing more until Dextor returned with the others. Thoruso didn’t haggle over the price the man asked, and Brandyjack handed over the side of venison without a word.

“Like I said,” the farmer called after them as they started toward the barn, “be careful you don’t let the cow or the horse out.”

“We’re the most careful group you ever saw!” Brandyjack called back to him.

Another rumble of thunder, this time preceded by visible lightning, boomed out and tiny droplets of rain began to fall. Brandyjack opened the barn door while Reed guided the wagon inside to the irritated squawking of startled chickens.

“Damn!” Brandyjack cursed in the darkness. “I wonder how much the old chiseler would charge us for a lantern?”

He considered going back to the farmhouse to ask for such a luxury and had decided not to when the barn door opened and the farmer appeared, holding a lantern high, its light illuminating the interior. “Thought you might appreciate this,” the farmer said.

“That we do,” Brandyjack told him, smiling. “You’re a kind and generous man, sir. Salt of the earth.”

The farmer regarded Brandyjack closely for a few seconds, then, muttering beneath his breath and shaking his head, he left them.

Loose hay was piled to the roof and took up half the interior. Tied to one post was a horse, and the farmer’s cow was tied to another one several feet away. A few crude agricultural tools were neatly arranged in one corner. Several bins had been built, and upon examination these were found to contain vegetables, potatoes, carrots, turnips and the like.

“I wonder if the old turd has any ale,” Brandyjack mused.

Eventually, even without ale, Brandyjack became tired. He picked out a corner where he was as removed from everyone as he could be, and threw himself into the hay. Eventually there were a few snores as one by one, the group drifted off to sleep. Except for Brandyjack. He was tired, he told himself, damned tired. So fall asleep, he ordered his body. He sighed, sat up and leaned against the side of the barn, cursing himself and the barn and the hay and everyone else, finally deciding he couldn’t sleep because everyone else was making too much noise. He cursed them again, finally deciding to roll a cigaret.

He had removed the pouch from his cloak and had just begun removing the tobacco from its pouch when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked up, carefully replacing the tobacco in the pouch. Someone, one of Cherry’s men as near as he could tell, was crawling across the hay on his stomach. Brandyjack replaced the pouch in his cloak and watched carefully, recognizing after a while the moving form as that of Gallant.

From where he sat, Brandyjack had been invisible to Gallant, the man having chosen an area to sleep where his view of Brandyjack’s position was blocked by a small stack of hay. Consequently, he had decided all were sleeping, and had started on his mission.

It was several seconds before Brandyjack became aware of Gallant’s destination. Lotus. The men had, by unspoken mutual consent, reserved a section near the door for the woman, and it was toward her sleeping form that Gallant crawled.

Brandyjack considered the situation for a moment, deciding he did not like what Gallant was about to do, but unsure whether or not he had any right to interfere. After all, he told himself, she may have told him earlier to come to her. He decided to await her reaction to Gallant’s appearance before he acted. If she seemed pleased with the bandit’s presence, well, there wasn’t much sense in showing him he was aware of them. He’d just have to force himself to sleep. Easier to slit my own throat, he thought.

Gallant continued to move quietly, unaware that Brandyjack watched him. There was something about the way the man moved toward the woman that suggested something other than an act of mutual consent, Brandyjack thought. Still, he’d have to wait.

Gallant was beside Lotus then, and Brandyjack could almost see the man’s eyes gleaming in the darkness. Lotus, Brandyjack decided, had not asked for the attentions she was about to receive.

His suspicions were confirmed when he saw Gallant’s hand go to Lotus’s mouth. Lotus awakened immediately, but could do nothing as Gallant held her tightly, one hand on her chest, pinning her to the ground and the other on her mouth. Brandyjack saw the man bend close to her ear and whisper something, and for a second, thought he might have been wrong after all. Lotus might have fallen asleep waiting for…

Nope, he decided when Gallant continued to hold the woman as she attempted to push him away, desperately using the stump of her left arm, she hadn’t fallen asleep waiting for him. Brandyjack got to his feet quickly, smoothly and silently, and started across the floor of the barn, making no sounds. Neither Lotus nor Gallant saw him coming, and when he reached their struggling forms he wasted no time in grabbing Gallant by the throat and wrenching him away from the woman. Lotus’s clothes were in disarray, but Brandyjack took no notice of them. He clamped a hand over Gallant’s mouth as quickly and tightly as he could, and with his other hand slashed at the side of the man’s neck. Gallant lost consciousness, started to fall, but Brandyjack caught him and started toward the barn doors. Lotus got to her feet and started after them. Brandyjack turned to her, shook his head, and whispered, “You won’t like it.”

With that, he opened the door and carried Gallant into the soft rain that was falling. The bandit was revived almost immediately, and Brandyjack dumped him unceremoniously into the mud.

“You bastard!” Gallant hissed as he got to his feet, crouched.

“Did she ask for your attentions?” Brandyjack asked coldly.

Gallant said nothing, leaping immediately toward Brandyjack. Brandyjack dodged the well-built man’s charge, and as Gallant’s form rushed past, struck the bandit a heavy blow in the small of the back. Gallant fell to the ground again, but was on his feet quickly, gasping and crouched.

“I’ll give you one chance to live,” Brandyjack said calmly as Gallant approached warily. “You go back in there, apologize to the woman, and get your tail out of here. If you don’t, I’ll kill you. I swear it.”

Gallant made no answer, but swung his left hand toward Brandyjack’s head. Brandyjack blocked the blow with his right arm, bringing his left elbow into Gallant’s throat with tremendous force. Gallant wheezed and gasped for breath, but swung again, this time with his right hand. Brandyjack ducked beneath the blow and Gallant began to spin around slightly in the mud. He caught his balance and turned toward Brandyjack in time to receive a perfectly executed kick to the midsection.

The bandit clutched at himself, fell to the mud, and lay gasping for several seconds. Brandyjack waited, knowing the man would not quit, but would fight until one of them was dead. Gallant got to his feet and started toward Brandyjack, wobbling at first but becoming steadier as he approached. Brandyjack waited until there was only a meter between them, and Gallant’s body had tensed to swing again. Using his right leg as a pivot, Brandyjack pirouetted, his left foot smashing against Gallant’s right knee when the circle was completed. Almost the instant he landed, Brandyjack spun again, this time his boot catching Gallant in the stomach. Again Brandyjack whirled, so quickly that it seemed he had never touched the ground to propel himself, and this time his foot struck a slowly falling Gallant directly on the face. His head whipped backward. He had hardly seen the perfectly executed pirouettes; when he looked up at the wayfarer determination gleamed from his eyes.

Brandyjack moved back, let Gallant get slowly to his feet. The man advanced again, wobbling and staggering, unwilling to admit defeat. For a second, Brandyjack felt pity for the man, but when he remembered Lotus, the pity disappeared and he decided to end the affair immediately.

Gallant came closer, drawing back his right arm to swing again, but Brandyjack clenched his hands together and smashed the bandit on the top of the head. There was a cracking sound, and Gallant fell to the ground, dead, the top of his skull crushed like an eggshell. Brandyjack stared at the bandit for a few seconds, then checked the man’s pulse. He bent down, scooped the corpse into his arms and walked toward the farmhouse. The dog barked several times, but Brandyjack ignored it. Carefully, he propped the body against the door so that an observer might think Gallant was merely sitting down. A bit of a present for the old chiseler to find in the morning, he thought grimly.

He walked back through the rain to the barn, finding Lotus standing there waiting for him. She had watched the killing through the crack in the door, and Brandyjack saw from the whiteness of her features that she had most definitely not enjoyed watching a man efficiently killed.

“I told you you wouldn’t like it,” he whispered to her. “I’m sorry.”

She looked at him for a long while without speaking. He turned to go back to his corner, but her hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Brandyjack placed a hand gently on her shoulder, nodded and turned away. For a long time he made no effort to sleep, but sat against the barn wall, smoking the cigaret he’d begun to roll earlier. He stubbed it out carefully and listened to the snoring around him. Finally, when his eyes had begun to close of their own accord, he lowered himself into the hay and fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

CHAPTER 13

When morning came, no one commented on Gallant’s corpse which still sprawled in front of the farmer’s door. Brandyjack noted the farmer obviously had not gotten up quite as early as he’d led them to believe, but he said nothing to anyone. He would have liked to see the farmer’s face, though. He grimaced.

By the time the sun had fully risen, the wagon was out of sight of the farmhouse, Dextor guiding the horses down a narrow path. Beside the path was an occasional chunk of asphalt, but no one paid the black substance much notice, it being a common item by roadways.

The green of grass was a pleasant change from the yellow sand of the desert and the blackened earth of the wastelands. Trees were many, and in them birds sang.

“A morning to make one enjoy life,” Brandyjack said to Dextor.

“A pity there are not more of us alive to see it,” Dextor retorted, but Brandyjack could detect no malice or admonishment in the man’s tone.

“That’s true,” the wayfarer answered, “but we must realize there are some things no man may let pass and still call himself a man.”

“Well put,” Dextor told him.

They spoke little after that, but Brandyjack noticed what he thought was increased animosity toward him from Cherry. The bandit had said nothing, had not even appeared startled when he’d first seen Gallant’s corpse, but Brandyjack knew the killing of the man had not raised him any in Cherry’s estimation. Occasionally he smiled at the bandit, but the grins were never returned, nor even acknowledged with a nod.

At midday they came to another farmhouse and Brandyjack haggled with a farmer for a hot meal from the man’s wife. Thoruso paid, uncomplainingly, and they continued their journey.

“I’ve been wondering,” Brandyjack said to the Merchant after some time had passed, “why you do not complain when I make deals with your money. We could have found game in the woods, I suppose, but when I suggested we buy our food, you made no opposition. Why?”

“The very fact that you see fit to ask that question proves you do not fully believe in what I have told you I am going to do,” the Merchant replied evenly. “I’ve lived with my dreams for a long time, Brandyjack, and I see no reason to abandon them or safeguard against their failure. I will not need the money.”

“In that case,” Brandyjack went on, “why not buy another wagon from one of the farmers we meet? We’re getting cramped in this one, and there are certain members of our group who do not seem to care for my company.”

“We could use the wagon,” Thoruso agreed, “but if there is anyone who doesn’t care to sit near you, that person may remove himself from the wagon and walk beside us.”

Brandyjack chuckled, knowing the Merchant’s words had carried to everyone present, even over the creak of the wagon and the sounds it made traveling over the uneven path.

“However,” Thoruso went on, “if you think we would be better off with another wagon, we’ll buy one.”

The purchase of a wagon was Brandyjack’s assignment in a small village through which they passed shortly after his conversation with the Merchant. Brandyjack knew he had been overcharged, but said nothing, telling himself he should adopt Thoruso’s attitude.

“I heard there was some trouble in Toronew,” Brandyjack said to the wagon’s previous owner when the transaction had been completed.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” the wayfarer went on, wondering if messengers from Toronew had arrived in the village, and determined to change the man’s suspicious attitude toward the others who waited in Thoruso’s wagon. “Apparently someone broke into the computers building. Stole some machines or something. Murdered a few Protectors, so I’ve been told.”

“That’s little loss,” the other man said. Then, quickly, fearing Brandyjack had misunderstood him, he went on, “About the machines, I mean. Everyone knows they’re worthless. About the Protectors, yes, that’s a shame.”

“Glad to hear you say that,” Brandyjack said slowly, allowing a confiding tone to enter his voice as the other’s suspicion began to leave his features. “Star needs loyal supporters for his government. Like yourself.”

Brandyjack looked around nervously, then looked back to the other man. “I trust you,” he said in a low tone, “so I’ll tell you a few things. I shouldn’t, but, well, you’re a trustworthy sort.” The wayfarer’s tone was low enough that the other man had to come closer to hear the words. He was all interest, his eyes glinting with the thought of hearing secrets. “I’m a Protector. We’re searching for the criminals right this moment, but we need the help of people like yourself.”

The man’s eyes lit up even more as Brandyjack added to the tension by stopping his narrative and glancing about as if at any moment thieves and murderers might leap out of the ground and initiate some trouble. The other man, too, looked about him nervously.

“We’re close to capturing these traitors,” Brandyjack continued, “but I’ve just been informed by a messenger from Toronew that the fugitives have somehow gotten their hands on Protector uniforms. Apparently they’ve been making like they’re real Protectors, and I’ve been told they even gave my description to a man in Moneral, telling him I was a criminal. Surely a man of your intelligence can understand that I must dress in this fashion to allay the suspicions of criminals, but look beyond that. Do I look like a criminal?”

“Of course not!” the man responded quickly.

“Exactly,” Brandyjack said softly, “exactly. So obviously a man of your intelligence could tell I was a Protector and those masquerading as Protectors are criminals. But not everyone has the insight you possess, my good man, and this is why we need your help. The criminals are hoping to kill us, saying we are the outlaws. They will then be free from prosecution, for only a limited number of observant men, like yourself, for instance, would be able to see beyond my disguise. So, if men wearing Protector uniforms appear in this village and ask for a man of my description, or of the descriptions of my friends,” he pointed in the direction of Thoruso and the others who were watching him closely, having no idea what he could be talking about in such secretive tones, “you’ll be certain they are the outlaws.”

“Obviously!”

“Quite,” Brandyjack went on, “quite. Now, you can do a number of things if the false Protectors arrive, and every one of them is proper. You can give them false directions so they’ll have little chance of ambushing us; you can kill them on the spot—and that is probably the best solution, but I certainly don’t mean to imply it’s necessary; or you can capture them and notify proper Protectors who will come and take them away for punishment. Of course, they might escape, so perhaps you should kill them.”

“What if I’m not in the village?” the man asked quickly. “What if I never see them?”

“I’m getting to that,” Brandyjack said curtly, the proper amount of arrogance ringing in his voice, “but I’m surprised a man of your mental capabilities hasn’t solved the problem.” A touch of disappointment crept in. “However, I’m sure the excitement of the moment has caused your senses to temporarily abandon you. What you must do is inform all the residents of this fine village of what I have just told you. Be sure no one is without the knowledge I’ve given you. Can you manage that?”

“Yes, of course, of course.”

“I hope so,” Brandyjack said, allowing his expression to become merciless and his voice to drip with high-born arrogance, “because if you should bungle the job, we’d have no choice but to assume you had done it purposefully, and you’d then be charged as an accomplice. And I assure you, the death we have planned for these criminals and their accomplices is not a pleasant one.”

“I’m… I’m sure it isn’t,” the man said, swallowing nervously. “Don’t you worry, sir. I’ll make sure no false Protectors get out of this village alive.”

“Good man!” Brandyjack said, clapping the other’s back heartily. “But be on your guard, for these men are desperate and convincing. They’ll try to tell you lies about us, but believe me, their words are, indeed, lies. As I said, they’re convincing. As a matter of fact, their leader is reputed to have convinced the governor’s wife he was… but no, I don’t think I should repeat such words here. A lady’s reputation is at stake.”

Brandyjack watched, amused, as disappointment crossed the man’s face.

“Yes,” the other said with no conviction, “I suppose you shouldn’t tell.”

“You can deduce it all, I’m sure,” Brandyjack said, his smile a leer. “However, I’m afraid I’ll have to be on my way. Remember what I said, and be sure all the villagers are on their guard. I’ll be powerless to save your life if you err.”

With that, Brandyjack turned and strode away, leading the horses, which pulled the newly acquired wagon. Half the contents of Dextor’s wagon were loaded into the new vehicle, and Cherry and his men got into it as well. Cherry was to guide the horses.

“What were you talking about for so long?” Dextor asked when they’d left the village.

“Politics,” Brandyjack told him. “You know how it is when two men of differing philosophies get arguing.”

“Yes, I know, but I’ve never seen one as nervous and scared as your political opponent seemed to be.”

“Hmmm. Yes, well, I presented a very convincing argument and he’s believed in his ways for such a long time, he suddenly found himself lost and unsure. His life is at a crossroads, I can assure you. He’ll not be the same man for many, many years.”

“That’s nice,” Dextor replied. “Now, what did you tell him?”

“I would think a Protector like yourself, looking for vicious criminals who broke into the computers building and murdered your Protector brothers, would have the intelligence to come to a proper conclusion. However, to spare you the torment of thinking, I’ll tell you. I told him to kill any false Protectors, because they were trying to kill us, the real Protectors.”

Dextor laughed, loudly, wiping the tears from his eyes a few seconds later. “You never cease to amaze me, Brandyjack, and I hope you never do.”

“Yes, well, you must remember that in these perilous times, a man must live by his wits. What sort of man would I be if I settled all my problems with my fists and feet, eh?”

Dextor chuckled, saying nothing while Brandyjack climbed into the rear section of the wagon and settled down beside Lotus. She smiled, but it disappeared quickly, suspicion and uncertainty replacing the grin.

“No,” Brandyjack told her, “you owe me nothing and I am trying to collect nothing. On my honor as an ex-bandit.”

She smiled at that, and for the next several miles conversed with the wayfarer, talking of her life as a barmaid in her father’s tavern, of the dreams and plans she’d once dreamed and laid.

“Why are you continuing with us?” Brandyjack asked her at one point.

“What else is there? I have no family and I don’t think I’d like any of the means of survival that are open to such as myself.”

“Nonetheless, they are all a means of survival,” Brandyjack told her, “and if you don’t want to leave Earth, you might be wiser to consider staying behind.”

“It’s not that I don’t wish to leave. It’s more that I might as well, for as I said, what else is there? If you’re worried that I may come to rely on any of you too much, don’t. I’ll not take any more of your time and services than I have to.”

Brandyjack chuckled. “Don’t worry about that, woman. From what I understand of Thoruso, anyone who wishes to go can go, no strings attached. I suppose, if you were an invalid and wanted to go, he’d take you.”

Lotus nodded. “All this is unimportant. I’m tired of talking about myself. What of you?”

“I am what I am,” Brandyjack told her. “And I must admit I’ve never taken the time to figure it all out; I just let things happen. I guess there’s nothing to tell.”

“But there must be something that…”

Her words faded away as her eyes widened and small traces of fear came into her expression. She looked beyond Brandyjack, and the wayfarer wasted no time in turning to see what it was that had changed her mood. He suppressed a chuckle when he saw a lone Protector riding slowly toward them, easily 50 meters away.

“If that’s all you’re worried about,” Brandyjack started, “I can assure you he’ll not give us much trouble. He’s alone.”

“He looks familiar—with that hair color and length, it must be the one,” Lotus said quickly. “He used to come often to my father’s tavern. If he recognizes me…”

She let the sentence trail off, but Brandyjack needed no warnings as to what might happen if the Protector recognized the woman. He indicated the bottom of the wagon and she got down immediately. Brandyjack took off his cloak, threw it hastily over her, and sat back, his eyes searching out clouds in the sky.

Any Protector had the right to stop and search any man or woman, but he could only hope the man continued on his way and gave them no more than a cursory glance. Still, there had to be some reason for him to be so far away from Toronew. Brandyjack hoped that reason wasn’t themselves.

The Protector rode a horse which, as its rider drew closer, could be seen to be a fine animal indeed. If they were recognized they might not have a chance to kill the man before he escaped. That, Brandyjack reflected, would make things a bit more difficult.

The others of the group were saying nothing, and Brandyjack noted with some amusement that even Cherry and his men had the presence of mind to remain calm. That was another problem, though; it was possible Cherry or his men would be recognized at some point as being bandits. Still, for the moment, their only worry was the Protector.

The redheaded Protector approached. Dextor and Cherry guided the horses so that the officer had a clear path by them. Cherry seemed to be going out of his way to show the proper amount of respect for authority, Brandyjack thought.

Their worries had been unbased, they discovered, when the Protector passed them by with no more than a quick glance. Fortunate, but why was the man here anyway? Brandyjack shrugged and pulled his cloak from Lotus when there was enough distance between them and the Protector.

“Are you sure that was the man you knew in Toronew?” Brandyjack asked her. “You weren’t that close when you first saw him.”

“It was him. Did he have a small scar running down the left side of his nose?”

Brandyjack considered, but could not remember.

“He did,” Thoruso called back.

“You think we might be riding into a trap?” Dextor asked the Merchant.

“It’s as possible as not,” Thoruso decided, “but we’ll continue on this course. I believe we can handle anything that might arise.”

Brandyjack smiled at Thoruso’s confidence, but said nothing, knowing only eight bullets remained in their handguns. Still, there were the bandits. Unless Cherry decided to spite them. That was the trouble with bandits, Brandyjack reflected; you never knew what they might do.

At a crossing a few kilometers farther, a wagon,” piled with family belongings and headed by a horse that didn’t appear to enjoy its task, was by the side of the pathway. A man and a woman sat on the grass near the wagon and a child played by himself in a nearby field.

“Our first joiners,” Thoruso said when they’d pulled closer. “I expected a few, but not as soon as this.”

The man was Moore, the woman his wife, Chall, and the boy their son, Lars. Moore was of frail build, beginning to bald. His eyes blazed with a strange emotion Brandyjack could not recognize. Chall had a sad face, and Brandyjack assumed it to be perpetual, not merely a result of leaving home and friends behind. The boy, like all boys, was wide-eyed, excited with the thoughts of new adventures.

Thoruso explained to his group that Moore and his family had for years been sending what little they could dig up in the way of information, and that they had been on one of the lists given to Thoruso’s contact in Floren.

“Any trouble?” the Merchant asked Moore when introductions had been made.

“None yet,” Moore admitted, “but we’ve seen a number of Protectors in the area.” He paused. “Many we’ve never seen before,” he added.

“One lone Protector would never have risked attempting to arrest us all,” Brandyjack said, thinking back to the man Lotus had recognized, “and definitely not if he was scouting the area for a larger group waiting elsewhere.”

Thoruso considered the situation for a few moments, then said, “I feel we’d be safer if we traversed less-frequented paths and roads. Undoubtedly we’ll be seen, but there’s no sense in asking for trouble.”

“You mentioned something earlier about being able to take care of anything that might arise,” Brandyjack reminded him, smiling.

“You,” Thoruso replied slowly, “may travel this path if you so choose, but I’ve decided upon another route.”

Brandyjack chuckled. “Fine. Now, I may be a bit of a dunce, but I’m not all that stupid. You’d better tell them.” He jerked a thumb toward Moore’s wagon.

“What’s he mean?” Moore asked suspiciously.

“He’s a tactless man,” Thoruso replied. “Moore, you can’t bring all your belongings with you. There just isn’t enough room. If everything goes well, we’ll have no extra space, and our quarters will be taken up with humans.”

“No extra space?” Moore asked, looking at Thoruso’s charts and maps and books and other possessions.

“Those,” Thoruso said, smiling slightly, “are the results of the information you and others like you have sent me through the years. It’s necessary. Moore, I’m sorry, but there’s no other way. You think I’d refuse you if it was possible?”

Moore regarded Thoruso for a few seconds, then smiled, resigned to the facts. “No,” he said, and turned to walk toward his wagon. Brandyjack, Reed and Virgil helped the man unload his wagon, and several minutes later the task was completed, only food, blankets and certain other essential items being kept. When they returned to Thoruso’s wagon, the Merchant had plotted another course.

For several kilometers they were forced to remain on the main thoroughfare, but they finally came to a side road Thoruso claimed was their new direction. The path had once been an asphalt road, and pieces of the black substance were everywhere. Weeds grew up through what remained of the asphalt.

Grumbling, Cherry guided his wagon onto the new road. Thoruso ignored the man’s complaints, but it was obvious to Brandyjack that the Merchant was beginning to regret having agreed to the bandits’ accompanying them. Still, they might come in handy, Brandyjack knew, and it was undoubtedly for this reason that Thoruso did not order them away.

By sundown they were several kilometers from the main road. They made camp and built a small fire. Brandyjack regarded the area, noting the increasing number of trees and the steadily worsening condition of the road itself. Soon, he judged, they would be traveling through forests, and the going would continue to be difficult. They could always detour around forests if there was no other way.

Because Moore and his family had brought a good deal of food, there was no need for anyone to hunt that night. But they would be forced to either kill game or trade for food the next day. Moore had counted on feeding three people, not 12. Nevertheless, the man didn’t complain over the depletion of his foodstuffs.

“I’ve heard tales of certain forest dwellers,” Brandyjack said to Moore when the evening meal had been completed. “Are they true?”

“Depends on which tales you’ve heard,” Moore said, regarding the wayfarer curiously. “If they’re tales of strange beasts that eat anything that moves, no, they’re not true. Granted, there are strange beasts, but they’re harmless. I even know one man who made a pet of one of them. A bloody wingspan of two and a half meters, and purple as Star’s tunic. Shy and perfectly harmless. But the men…”

“Ah, yes,” Brandyjack smiled, “the men. I knew we’d get to the real dangers soon enough.”

“And they are dangers,” Moore said quietly. “According to legend, they’ve been living in the forests since the ancients suicided. They are men, but men unlike any you’ve ever seen, I’ll wager. Now, I’ve never seen one, but I’ve been told by a man who did. Far as I know, he’s the only one who ever saw a forest-dweller and lived to tell anybody about it. He said they’re two and a half meters tall, easy. Said they’re more than a meter through the chest, and he claimed he saw one rip a tree out by the roots, so they’ve gotta be damned strong, too. Strangest thing, though, is their faces. Covered by hair so thick and strong it can’t be cut or burned. According to the man I told you about, they got no noses, and except for their eyes there ain’t nothing unhairy about ‘em. Their mouths are in the proper place, but they gotta lift hair away to eat.”

Brandyjack chuckled. “Just like that, eh?”

“Course, I ain’t never seen one,” Moore said quickly, “so I can’t swear to it. But I kinda believe the man who told me all about them.”

“I don’t know…” Brandyjack started, obviously not believing what he’d been told.

“The man was my father,” Moore said quietly, “and he used to wake up a few hours after he’d gone to sleep, and he’d scream for an hour. We could never get him to stop until he wanted to stop. Then he’d fall asleep again, and before we all got up in the morning, he’d start screaming again. You don’t have to believe anything I said. I don’t care, but I remember the screams my father came out with when everything was dark in the house. Mister, I believe what he told me.”

“And these forest-dwellers are around here?” Brandyjack asked in a more respectful tone.

“Nope. Another 200 kilometers north. The forests before you get to the mountains and the snows.”

“Yeah, well, thanks,” Brandyjack said as he stood and stretched. “One other thing. You’ve lived in this area for quite a while, I suppose; how long do you think it’ll take us to get through those trees and vegetation?”

“To where the forest-dwellers are? Well, these wagons weren’t built to go through forests, but I think, if we have any luck at all, probably no more than a week. The trees get pretty thick a few miles on, but after that they sorta thin out a bit and we should make good time.”

“Thanks.”

He left Moore and found Dextor sitting near the fire, staring absently into the flames. “I think we’d better continue to watch Cherry and his men, Dextor. Since I killed Gallant, they haven’t been too friendly.”

“Can’t blame them.”

“Thanks,” Brandyjack said wryly. “Still, what if I take the first watch, you second, Reed third, and Virgil fourth? I’ll tell Reed and Virgil the basics and I’m sure they can be trusted.”

“Yes,” Dextor agreed, “they’re good men. Neither of them has complained about anything yet, and I’m sure they would side with us over anyone else.”

“I’ve been wondering,” Brandyjack said after a pause, “why Thoruso hasn’t shown any resentment toward me or Virgil or Reed. Or Lotus, for that matter. None of us were supposed to even know of his plan, and yet, when we left Toronew the number of newcomers equalled those who were supposed to know.”

“He was obviously impressed with your manners,” Dextor chuckled, “and as for Benjamin and the others, he had little choice at the time, as I recall.”

“True,” Brandyjack mused, “but I would have thought a slight touch of resentment to be in order, if only because his ego was slighted because his web of secrecy had been violated.”

“Normal men might very well think in such terms,” Dextor said quietly. “I assure you, Brandyjack, Thoruso is not a normal man.”

“Your word is good enough for me!” Brandyjack said heartily, clapping the other on the back. “I’ll not again question the character of our most exalted leader.”

He found Reed and Virgil, together as usual, and explained to them what he and Dextor had decided would be best. Virgil nodded and Reed asked no questions. Brandyjack started away, then stopped and turned back to the men.

“Tell me,” he said slowly, “just why you’ve stuck with us. You’re both capable of looking after yourselves, but you seem willing to do whatever you’re told. Why?”

Reed looked at Virgil. Virgil shrugged, nodded.

“You may not believe it,” Reed said slowly, “but I’m not going to be too heartbroken if you don’t. Brandyjack, paying our debt to Benjamin by finding out what you were up to with Thoruso was the greatest stroke of luck Virgil or I have ever had. We’re almost unique, Brandyjack, because we are aware of our lineage, all the way back to before the ancients suicided. Our names, for anyone who knows much of the ancients, are enough to prove that.”

As Reed paused in his narrative, Brandyjack withdrew his tobacco pouch, rolled a cigaret, and handed the pouch to Virgil. Virgil rolled two more cigarets, using the last of the precious tobacco. They lit up and Reed continued.

“There was an ancient named Virgil Grissom and he was an astronaut. He died accidentally, but his contribution to the ancients’ space travel was a considerable one. Virgil, here, is a direct descendant of Grissom.

“As for myself, I’m a direct descendant of a man named Jackson Reed, another astronaut. He died because of an equipment malfunction while he was in orbit around Mars. His contribution was also a great one.

“We’re not the only people in the world who are aware of their lineages, but we are rarities. Our ancestors were up there once, Brandyjack, and we’re going too. As I said, our favor to Benjamin was the greatest thing that ever happened to us. We managed to keep our excitement under control, but we were amazed when we found out what Thoruso was up to.

“You might dismiss this as a tall tale, or even an outright lie if you wish, for we agree it is an incredible coincidence. But we really don’t care, because every word is true. Our ancestors were astronauts. Virgil and I will also be astronauts. Believe whatever you wish.”

Brandyjack chuckled. “I suppose it is a coincidence, an almost impossible one, but I don’t think there’s any reason to disbelieve you. The hardest thing to accept is that you were able to trace your lineage. There are few records these days.”

“We had little to do in that regard. Our families kept records from before the ancients suicided, and for some strange, although appreciated reason, the descendants have continued the practice. Except for Virgil and myself. We’ve kept no records and we’re the last of the two lines, as far as we know. When we leave, it won’t matter.”

Brandyjack took one last draw on his cigaret, winced as the red coal burned his fingertips, and crushed it beneath his heel. He looked at Virgil, then at Reed, and walked away.

An hour or so later, everyone in the camp was asleep. Brandyjack walked around the perimeter occasionally, checking to be sure no intruder was about, and that no wild animals had found them.

He startled himself when he discovered he was remaining closer to Lotus than anyone else. He shook his head slowly, wondering if he was losing his mind, and intentionally walked to the far side of the camp, as far away from her as he could be.

“No,” he said softly to himself, unbelievingly, “it can’t be happening to me. Not to me, of all people. No. Impossible. Good Lord, what is this world coming to? By God, I won’t allow it!”

Nevertheless, before he woke Dextor for the second watch, he checked Lotus once more to be sure she was sleeping soundly. Still wondering if his sanity was slipping away, he bedded down and soon his snores were added to those of the others.

CHAPTER 14

Brandyjack awoke from his sleep, vaguely aware of Virgil shoving him roughly. One look at the man’s face and Brandyjack knew something was wrong. Virgil pointed to the far side of the camp as Brandyjack got quickly to his feet and started across.

The sky was still dark in the west, but lightening quickly in the east as the first pink fingers of dawn stretched outwards. Brandyjack had still not seen what Virgil had indicated, but as he reached the other side of the camp he was aware that something was not quite right. Then he saw Reed, sprawled on the ground, with blood congealing around a dark gash on the side of his head.

It dawned on him then what was wrong. A wagon was missing. Because of the grayness of early morning he’d been unable to see clearly and he’d not noticed that only two wagons were still there.

He forgot about the wagons for the moment as he tenderly touched the swelling on Reed’s temple. Virgil stood over him, his usually blank, calm face showing only a small amount of the concern he felt.

“Get Dextor,” Brandyjack told him.

Virgil hurried through the camp until he found Dextor, while Brandyjack made a quick check of those who were present and those who were not. As he’d expected, Cherry, Lorre and Grey were gone. The wheels of the other wagons had been cracked, and in some cases spokes were missing. When he returned to Reed’s side, Dextor was attending to the man’s injury.

“Serious?” Brandyjack asked.

“Serious enough. He’s got a nasty crack, might have a concussion, but I think he’ll be okay. Cherry responsible?”

“Not much doubt of that, is there?”

“No, I guess not. The question now is, what will he do? Think he’ll go to the authorities?”

“That creep could do anything,” Brandyjack said bitterly. “He might even be a kilometer or so behind us, following us. Maybe he plans to kill us later. I don’t know.”

“In any case, we’ll have to be bloody careful from now on,” Dextor said thoughtfully, still wiping blood away from Reed’s wound. “I assume he’s no friend of yours now, but if you feel any sort of affinity for him, I’m telling you right now, I’ll kill him the next time I see him. No questions, no threats, nothing. I’ll kill him!”

Brandyjack nodded. “Fair enough. If you need a hand, I’ll be happy to assist.”

Brandyjack woke the others, calculating there wasn’t much time remaining until sunrise anyway. Lars was sufficiently excited about the entire matter to provide some humor, but when the child saw Reed’s head injury, he became quiet and said nothing.

“Your bandit friends were not such a good risk,” Thoruso said when told of what happened. “Any idea why they did this?”

“I wouldn’t tell Cherry where the starship is, for one thing,” Brandyjack said, “and I killed Gallant. That’s enough to get him into a killing mood. That’s probably the only reason; he just wanted to get back at me.”

“Why didn’t he treat you as he treated Reed? Or kill you? You were asleep.”

“He’d rather have me boiling mad,” Brandyjack said bitterly. “Makes him feel better if an enemy is frustrated. So help me, if Dextor doesn’t kill the bastard, I will, just on general principles.”

“What about the wagons?”

“It’ll take a few hours, but I think I can repair them. Virgil can help me.”

“Fine. I’ll help Dextor find something to eat.”

Brandyjack regarded the Merchant with a raised eyebrow for a few seconds. “Manual labor, Thoruso? How the mighty have fallen!”

Thoruso chuckled, but said nothing while Brandyjack left to get Virgil. The two men had barely started their tasks when Thoruso appeared, a worried expression on his face.

“He take your books, too?” Brandyjack asked, smiling.

“There is no humor in this,” Thoruso said firmly. “He took the tapes.”

“The tapes? He wouldn’t know a computer tape from his arse.”

“That as it may be, Brandyjack, he took them. Both of them. You know as well as I that we go nowhere without them. Would he take them to the Protectors?”

Brandyjack considered that for a moment. “Probably. He might get a pardon if he delivered us to them. The tapes probably looked important so he took them as proof.”

“We’ve got to get them back, Brandyjack,” Thoruso said quietly. “As soon as possible.”

Brandyjack nodded. “You and Moore get to work repairing the wheels. If you can’t do it, I’ll do it when we get back.”

“We?”

“Dextor, Virgil here, and me. I’m going after him.”

Brandyjack walked to the horses, unharnessed them, and rode away with Virgil and Dextor following closely behind. Because there were no new tracks ahead of them, it appeared Cherry had gone back the way they’d come the day before.

“Why would he leave the horses and take a wagon that can’t escape as quickly as we can catch up to him?” Dextor asked after a while.

“Good question,” Brandyjack called over to him. “Bloody good question. We’ll have to be careful. Cherry’s not stupid and he’s quite capable of setting up a neat little trap somewhere along the road. That’s probably what he’s done, so keep your eyes peeled.”

Two hours later they came upon the wagon. They advanced carefully, seeing no one. The horses were not in sight, an indication that the wagon had been abandoned, but Brandyjack was taking no chances. When they got to the wagon and saw the left front wheel, Brandyjack could not suppress a chuckle.

“Broken wheel,” he said, smiling. “That’s a break. With two of them on one horse they won’t be able to move as quickly as we can.”

They continued riding, saying nothing, until they came to the main thoroughfare they had left the day before.

“Now what?” Dextor asked. “Which direction?”

Brandyjack shook his head while Virgil dismounted and surveyed the ground. “I don’t know,” Brandyjack said disgustedly. “Virgil, you see anything?”

Virgil stood, pointing back toward the direction from which they had come the day before, but there was uncertainty on his face.

“Don’t worry about it,” Brandyjack said as the silent deformed remounted.

They rode hard, ignoring the obvious exhaustion of their mounts, and it was almost midday when they rounded a bend in the road and found Cherry and his men—in the custody of four Protectors.

Brandyjack cursed, but made no effort to stop his mount until he was beside the Protectors. “Those bastards stole our horses!” he said before he could be questioned.

“Wait a minute,” Cherry said, seeing his opportunity. “These men are criminals. They plan to take a starship and—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Brandyjack demanded. It was obvious to him that Cherry and his men had been stopped only moments before and had had no chance to barter for their freedom. Then, because he knew there was no other way, he pulled the handgun from inside his cloak.

“Unfortunately,” the wayfarer said, “the man has just mouthed the truth. A rare occurrence for him.”

The startled glances of the Protectors amused Brandyjack, but he said nothing more.

“It’s against the law to possess a gun,” one Protector started. “Drop it and I’ll make sure—”

“Not interested,” Dextor said quickly. “Shut up or he’ll use it. Believe me, he’s a mean bastard and he hates mouthy Protectors.”

Dextor and Virgil dismounted while Brandyjack kept his handgun trained on the Protectors. Dextor took lengths of rope from a Protector’s saddle, then ordered the Protector to the ground and removed the saddle from the horse.

“Pretty rough ride out here,” he said to Brandyjack. “I see no reason for more discomfort.”

While Brandyjack kept the Protectors from resisting, Dextor removed the saddles from their horses and Virgil bound Cherry and his men.

“These men are planning to steal a starship,” Cherry said nervously when he realized there was no way out. “They’re leaving Earth.”

Brandyjack chuckled. “They’ll tell no one.”

Fear began to grow in Cherry’s eyes, but he said nothing after that. The Protectors glared at Brandyjack, Dextor and Virgil, but said nothing, Dextor’s threat obviously having had the desired effect. Dextor retrieved the tapes from Cherry’s tunic, smiling as he pocketed them.

When Cherry and his men had been tightly bound, and the saddles from three of the Protectors’ horses had been placed on the mounts of Brandyjack, Dextor and Virgil, Brandyjack found he was at a loss as to what to do with the Protectors themselves.

“I can’t kill them,” he said.

“You’ve killed Protectors before,” Dextor reminded him.

“Well, yes, but they were trying to kill me. These men haven’t attempted such folly.”

“They will,” Dextor said as he climbed into the saddle, “and they’ll have others trying with them.”

“I can’t kill them if they haven’t tried to kill me,” Brandyjack persisted. “And they’ve done nothing to any of my friends.” He looked squarely at Cherry as he spoke, satisfied to see that Cherry was beginning to feel more fear.

“Listen! We’ve got no choice!” Dextor said hotly. “Brandyjack, I don’t like it any more than you do, but if you don’t kill them, I will!”

The Protectors, listening to the argument regarding their lives, were beginning to fidget. They started to move away, then, suddenly, all four broke into a run, each in a different direction.

Brandyjack tossed the gun to Dextor. Dextor used the remaining two bullets in the weapon, both striking true. Virgil used his as expertly, firing two shots and killing two Protectors. Dextor handed the empty gun back to Brandyjack. “They’d have killed you in a reversed situation,” he said.

“No doubt, no doubt,” Brandyjack replied as he replaced the handgun inside his cloak. “But I just couldn’t do it, Dextor, I just couldn’t do it.”

They turned and rode back the way they had come, amused at Cherry’s fearful complaints and attempts at reassuring them he had been up to nothing that was disastrous to Thoruso’s group.

“We didn’t hit Reed hard enough to kill him,” Cherry protested. “Surely that proves something.”

“Sure does,” Brandyjack agreed, smiling. “It means you’re a fool, because if Virgil, here, doesn’t decide to kill you before we get back to camp, Reed is going to be very happy to do it himself.”

“We should kill them now,” Dextor said. “Thoruso’s just likely to let them go free.”

“He killed the Protectors at his shack,” Brandyjack said.

“True, but he’s liable to free them anyway.”

Brandyjack considered the statement for a moment. “Well,” he said at last, “we can at least be fair about it. And I’ve got a perfect plan, gentlemen. When we turn off this road I’ll let you in on it.”

They rode quickly, not wishing to explain to anyone why they had three captives. An hour later they left the main thoroughfare, and when they were far enough away, Brandyjack explained his plan.

“Very simple,” he told them. “There’re three of them and three of us. What I propose is a simple battle to the death, unarmed of course, one to one until as many as necessary are dead. For instance, if, after the first round, there remain two from our camp and one from theirs, one of us will fight that other. If both camps are still represented, why, there’ll be two combatants left to kill each other. A marvelous solution, I think.”

Virgil and Dextor agreed, but Cherry and his two men did not. However, there was little they could say that would change the minds of their captors. Dextor untied Lorre, choosing that bandit as his opponent. Lorre was obviously a weak man, but Dextor explained, “After all, I am injured,” and displayed his wounded shoulder.

Lorre had no wish to fight with Dextor, but with Virgil training his handgun on the bandit, he had little choice. He struck quickly, knocking Dextor to the ground with a solid blow to the head. He leaped on Dextor, fists flailing, and for a moment both men rolled around in the vegetation. There was a sharp intake of breath, a brief cry of pain, then a soft sigh, and Dextor stood, looking at Lorre. A knife was imbedded to the hilt in Lorre’s chest.

“Dammit, he was winning!” Dextor said as he pulled the dagger out.

“That was a naughty thing to do,” Brandyjack said as he dismounted and untied Grey. “However, I wish to assure my worthy opponent that I will not resort to the tactics of the wounded gentleman who has just dispatched Lorre. Be assured, Grey, that I will kill you with my bare hands.”

Grey started to run the moment he was untied, but Brandyjack darted after him and had tackled the man after only a few meters. Grey started to whimper, remembering what Gallant had looked like when Brandyjack finished with him. He made no attempt to strike Brandyjack, but held his hands in front of his face. Brandyjack shrugged, delivered a powerful slash to Grey’s neck, stood, bowed to the others, and walked away from Grey’s corpse.

“Glad to see your ethics are constant,” Dextor said sarcastically.

Brandyjack shrugged.

Virgil was grinning slightly when Dextor removed the ropes from Cherry’s arms, but it was a cold, cruel smile, and Cherry knew Virgil meant to deliver a painful death. “This isn’t fair,” Cherry said as Virgil, crouched, came to within a few meters of him. “Hell, the circulation hasn’t returned to my hands.”

“Did you hear that?” Brandyjack asked Dextor, mockingly aghast. “He’s out of circulation!”

Dextor chuckled as Virgil moved closer to Cherry who was frantically massaging his wrists to return circulation. Virgil maintained his crouch, waited a few seconds longer, then moved still closer to Cherry. Cherry’s eyes narrowed and he finished rubbing his wrists, crouched and concentrated on his opponent.

They moved in a circle, both men slightly bent at the waist, both waiting for an opening. Virgil moved, quickly, his arm lashing out. His balled fist caught Cherry on the chin, but the bandit did not fall. He retaliated quickly, his blow drawing blood as Virgil’s lip split. Virgil smiled his humorless smile and leaped at Cherry. Both men fell, Cherry lashing out several times, each blow landing squarely, but none strongly enough to force Virgil away. They grappled on the ground for a moment, then Virgil’s arm and fist rose above the tangle, descending quickly. Again. A third time. Cherry stopped resisting, unconscious, and Virgil struck him one more time, harder than any of his previous blows. The deformed got to his feet, his expression once more calm, cold, unfeeling. Brandyjack checked Cherry’s pulse, nodded to Dextor, and the three men mounted their horses, leading those Cherry’s group had stolen earlier.

There was little conversation between Brandyjack and Dextor for the remainder of the journey back to camp. Moore and Thoruso had repaired five wagon wheels and were working on the sixth. Thoruso asked no questions when he saw the riderless horses, and he accepted the box from Dextor without checking to be sure the tapes were inside.

Virgil went immediately to where Reed lay, his head bandaged, on the ground. Reed was conscious, apparently sufficiently recovered from his injury.

“Did you get them?” he asked in a soft voice.

Virgil nodded, made a slashing motion with his hand across his throat, and turned to help Brandyjack and Dextor repair the remaining wagon wheels. With the assistance of Moore, the task was completed within two hours and the wagons were ready to move once again.

They made little progress for the remainder of the day, most of it having passed before the wheels were repaired. Brandyjack thought the Merchant and Moore had had ample time to effect repairs, but perhaps they were just bad carpenters.

“There is,” Thoruso said later when they had made camp once again, “another road not far from here. It leads northwest, and tomorrow we’re taking it.”

“Why leave this road?” Dextor asked.

“You might call it a premonition,” Thoruso said slowly, staring into the fire, “but I feel we’ll be safer if we leave before the forests become too thick with growth.”

“It’ll be hard for Protectors to follow us in here,” Brandyjack said, voicing his preference for the forests.

“True,” Thoruso told him, “but if they find us they’ll have no difficulty in killing us. We’ve nowhere to run.”

“Too bad,” Brandyjack said with mock disappointment. “I wanted to see one of Moore’s big men.”

Thoruso smiled grimly. “You’ll get your chance,” he said softly.

CHAPTER 15

It was early the next morning when they found the road Thoruso had mentioned. It was in no better condition than the one they’d been using, and after a few moments of clearing away shrubs and other vegetation, the wagons were guided onto the cracked, heaved asphalt. Brandyjack and Dextor rode the two extra horses, preferring the movements of the mounts to the shakiness of the wagons.

By midday they were out of the thickest part of the forests, and gradually the trees gave way to fields of long waving grasses. The countryside was hilly, but not uncomfortably so, the slopes gentle and rolling. They left the cracked pavement and continued through the fields, Thoruso consulting a compass to determine their direction.

They came across several cows grazing and, because they could see no herdsman or farmhouse nearby, slaughtered one of the animals and cooked what they could eat. Thoruso estimated the animal’s worth, stuffed a corresponding amount of money into a pouch, and tied the pouch securely around the neck of another cow.

“Even in the most perilous of times there remains some integrity,” Brandyjack observed.

“I’m surprised you’re aware of it,” Thoruso replied sarcastically.

Brandyjack chuckled, mounted his horse, and they started through the fields once more.

“Thoruso,” Brandyjack said that evening when darkness had fallen and they had made camp, “I’m willing to risk no one’s life but my own. I ask no favors. Leave as you ordinarily would if I’m not back by sunrise.”

“Where are you going?” Thoruso demanded.

Brandyjack licked his lips, looked at the Merchant and said, slowly, evenly, “I’m going to find a tavern. Thoruso, I’ve been too long without ale. Why, I can feel my courage slipping away. If I don’t have a brew soon I can assure you I’ll be stark raving mad, unable to talk. I’ll probably attack you in the night.”

Thoruso chuckled at the exaggeration, but said, “I don’t think you should leave, Brandyjack. There are too many risks.”

“The risks be damned! I’m a desperate man. Thoruso, I’m dying for a mug of ale. As I said, I’ll go alone and no one else need risk their chance to see the stars.”

“You’ve proven valuable to my cause,” Thoruso said evenly, and there was no humor, no hope of compromise in his voice. “I can’t risk losing you now.”

“Are you telling me I can’t leave?” Brandyjack asked incredulously.

“For all intents and purposes, yes.”

“Dammit, Merchant! You’ll not order me around in matters that are none of your concern!”

“The welfare of everyone here is involved and consequently my concern. As leader of this group, I’m ordering you to stay here.”

“The hell with that!” Brandyjack replied, surprised at the anger in his voice, but more surprised that Thoruso was refusing to let him leave. “You don’t own me, Thoruso. If I’m not back at dawn, leave without me. If I’m able, I’ll catch up as quickly as I can.”

The wayfarer turned away quickly, stalking toward the horse he had ridden all day.

“Brandyjack!” Thoruso called after him. “Leave if you wish, but the horse stays. It’s my property, remember?”

“And it’ll be returned in good condition!” Brandyjack snarled as he mounted.

Before Thoruso could speak again, Brandyjack had urged the horse out of the camp and away from the small fire that had been built. He received surprised and startled glances from the others as he passed them, but no one spoke. He shook his head slowly as the camp disappeared behind him. What, he wondered, had come over him? Surely, he was exaggerating his need for ale, but why had Thoruso acted as he did? Doesn’t matter, he decided at last. I want ale, I’ll have ale. No one told him what to do, he told himself as he rode, not under any circumstances. He would bow to no man, accept no man’s orders as absolute law to be obeyed unthinkingly. Anything for a friend, he decided, but nothing for a tyrant. Nevertheless, he felt a bit foolish having reacted as he had.

After a while he found himself on what appeared to be a main road, well worn by wagon wheels and pounding hooves. He debated what direction he should take, then decided south was as good as any other.

The village he found, two hours later, was a quiet place. Few men were about, those that were seeming to be either coming from or going to a certain area. Brandyjack chuckled, knowing there were only two types of business that could have paths worn to their doors, and he knew that even if he followed the men to discover them wenching, they would at least be able to tell him where the nearest tavern was. Ten minutes later he sat in the first tavern he’d seen since Moneral. A beautiful place, he decided, a beautiful place.

The clientele was quiet. Hard-working men who enjoyed a quiet drink after a long, laborious day in fields that were hotter than hell: the men that made the world a bit saner, Brandyjack decided.

The wayfarer made little noise as he sat down, recognizing that his usual boisterousness would be frowned upon. Certainly, there would be no violence, but he knew these men wanted only peace and quiet. So, he remained silent, wondering how he might get enough money to buy an ale.

A serving girl sauntered over to him, her face scarred with the years of too much given for too little return. She smiled briefly, but it was a sad smile, one of a person who has known little pleasure. “What’ll it be, stranger?” she asked him.

“Nothing at the moment,” Brandyjack said. “I’m still deciding.”

“Ale is all we have. Mug or pitcher?”

“Hmm. Yes, well, I’ll decide that in a moment. For the time being, are there any gambling men present? Anyone who might enjoy a game of peg?”

The woman indicated three men in one corner. Brandyjack had noticed them before, but now, his full attention drawn to them, he saw they were having a quiet game of peg.

“Brandyjack’s the name,” he said when he was beside the table. “I’m flat busted broke, but I’d like to sit in for a few tosses, provided one of you would lend me enough to get started.”

The three men looked at him, the lines of years of hard work etched into their faces. “Maybe players lend newcomers money where you come from, but not here.”

“Hmm. Yes, well, that same circumstance applies where I come from,” Brandyjack admitted. “However, I’ve a disgustingly powerful thirst worked up inside me and I was hoping to win enough for a drink.”

“We can’t do that,” one of the men said quietly, and Brandyjack was surprised that there was no malice or anger in his voice. He merely stated a fact, unoffended that he had been asked.

“I understand perfectly,” Brandyjack told them. “However, I wonder if any of you would be interested in buying a real antique?”

Brandyjack looked around the barroom, seeing no one was paying particular attention to him, and slowly withdrew his handgun. The men, startled, looked at each other, and for a moment, Brandyjack was afraid they were going to get self-righteous on him. “That’s a handgun,” one of them said.

“That it is,” Brandyjack admitted quickly, “but I have no bullets for it. As you know, possession of such weapons is against the law, but with no ammunition, the gun is hardly a threat.”

“I’ve never seen one of those before,” one of the men said wonderingly.

“I hadn’t either,” Brandyjack said evenly, “until I bought it from a man in Moneral. He needed enough money to rent a room for an evening, and I, big-hearted fool that I am, supplied him with the money. As I say, it’s quite an antique.”

“And you’d sell it for the price of a pitcher of ale?” the man who’d admired the handgun asked.

“No, not at all,” the wayfarer replied, smiling. “What I want is a small loan. You loan me enough money to get started in your peg game, and you can have the gun. If I win, I’ll repay your generosity; you’ll still have the gun.”

“And if you lose?”

“Why, if I lose, you already have your money back, plus the handgun.”

“Bargain,” the man said quickly, counting out several bills and coins.

Brandyjack handed the gun over immediately, pulled up a chair and reached for the pegs that lay on the table. He regarded them carefully for a few seconds, hefting them, then smiled at the men and tossed the oblong pieces onto the table. “Shall we get pegging?” he asked, smiling.

An hour later Brandyjack discovered the other three had no more money. He repaid the man who’d loaned him money originally, then won that back. He offered to buy back the gun, but the man wouldn’t sell it. “Well, then, it appears our pegging is completed for the evening,” Brandyjack said as he stood, bowed slightly, and walked toward the bar. The three men looked after him, knowing they had been conned and cheated, but unsure of the methods, and so, unwilling to make accusations. They had finished their ales and were just rising to leave when the serving girl appeared with three pitchers, filled with ale. She placed one pitcher in front of each man, pointed to the bar, and left. Brandyjack, standing at the bar, raised his glass to the three men, smiled, and drank. Damn, he thought to himself, there’s nothing like a good loser!

Brandyjack drank for the remainder of the evening, wishing there was someone to talk with, but each time he attempted to initiate a conversation, he discovered no one cared to converse with him. Not particularly caring after he’d finished his third pitcher of ale, he stood alone at the bar and continued drinking.

When he finally left the tavern, the bartender locked the door behind him, there being no other patrons. Brandyjack stumbled to his horse, spent several minutes apologizing for being so long, then spent several more minutes thanking it for waiting, untied the reins and finally mounted the creature. He left the village, singing loudly and swaying from side to side in the saddle.

He had not been away from the village for five minutes before he heard the sounds of pounding hooves behind him. “Damn!” he said softly. “Not an escort! Hell, I didn’t do a bit of damage.”

He stopped the horse and tried to force his vision to clear. He could hear the sounds more clearly now, but everything was a blur as far as his sight was concerned. He tried again to clear his vision to see the riders he knew were within sighting distance, but he could see nothing other than waving lines.

“Ho!” he heard someone call. “Stay where you are!”

“Seem friendly enough,” Brandyjack said to the horse. “What do their horses sound like?”

Receiving no answer from his mount, he tried to adjust his position in the saddle and fell to the ground. Swearing loudly he struggled back to his feet and stood, leaning on the horse, squinting into the darkness.

“You are Brandyjack?” one of the riders asked him as they reined up.

“That’s the name,” Brandyjack assured them. “Accept no substitutes.”

“Drunk,” the rider said.

“Get on your horse,” another ordered him.

Brandyjack shrugged, pulled himself into the saddle, and to the laugher of the riders, fell off the other side. He shrugged again, climbed back up, and this time managed to stay there.

“By the way,” Brandyjack started, still squinting, “who are you people?”

There was no answer.

“Not as friendly as I thought,” Brandyjack said to the horse. “You people have names?”

The waving outlines moved closer, and the reins were suddenly ripped from Brandyjack’s hands. The wayfarer shook his head and his vision cleared long enough for him to see Protector uniforms. “Aha!” he said. “The plot thickens. Mind if I ask what this is about? What are the charges?”

“You’ll be told.”

“No doubt, no doubt. But I’d like to know now. How about a hint?” He wondered why he’d asked such a foolish question. The fog that had settled in his brain began to lift somewhat as he forced himself to accept what was happening.

“All I did was win a bit of money at peg,” he started, “and no one complained when they lost.”

“Shut up.”

“Listen,” he started, “I haven’t—”

He was slapped, suddenly, viciously, across the face. He teetered in the saddle for a moment, then regained his balance as his vision cleared a bit more and the fog lifted a little higher.

“If you say another word,” he was told by the Protector beside him, “you’ll get more than that.”

They were back in the village. Brandyjack’s vision was clear now and he could see four Protectors, one in front of him leading his horse, one on each side of him, and one behind them. The coolness of the evening and the steady jouncing of his horse was slowly bringing rationality back to his mind. He decided to be quiet.

Several moments passed. The Protectors stopped in front of what appeared to be a smith’s shop. They dismounted, ordered Brandyjack down, and escorted him into the shop. Inside, three lamps burned dully and Brandyjack saw two more Protectors. Seated, bound to their chairs, were the three men he’d beaten at peg earlier in the evening.

“Helluva way to treat professional beggers, eh?” Brandyjack asked the men.

“Quiet!” a Protector barked.

“Is this the man you got the handgun from?” another Protector asked one of the bound men. The captive looked at Brandyjack, then nodded.

“Where did you get the handgun?”

“As I told these gentlemen, I bought it as an antique from a man who needed enough money for rent,” Brandyjack replied evenly, his face a blank.

“It’s unlikely that any man would attempt to sell a handgun.”

“I did it,” Brandyjack replied nonchalantly.

The Protector who had spoken regarded Brandyjack closely for several seconds. “I don’t believe you came by the gun honestly,” he said, and Brandyjack knew he’d have to come up with a very convincing story very quickly.

“Well,” he started, smiling knowingly, “you know how it is. I couldn’t very well tell these men the truth, now, could I? I’m from Toronew, on a special assignment to this area. The gun was issued to me by Protector Chief in Toronew. Unfortunately, it proved to be defective, and I decided to sell it for enough money to buy ale.”

“So you’re a Protector?”

“Disguised of course, but yes, I am.”

“May I see your service card?”

“Service card? Why, certainly.” Brandyjack made the movements of searching through his cloak and tunic for the requested card. Finally, he shrugged, “I’m afraid I don’t have it. Must have lost it.”

“Unfortunate,” the Protector said, a thin smile spreading across his lips. “Unfortunate indeed.”

“Yes,” Brandyjack agreed sadly, “first time I’ve ever been without it.” He patted his cloak helplessly.

“Really?” the Protector asked, and Brandyjack knew he had made a bad mistake somewhere along the line. “That’s strange, for I’ve never had a service card and I’ve been a Protector for 15 years. As matter of fact, I’ve never even heard of them.”

“Okay, the truth, then. Enough of this lying. I guess I can trust you men.”

“Tie him tightly,” the Protector said. “We’ll get some information about the Merchant out of him.”

Brandyjack shrugged as two Protectors moved toward him. The first reached out, but his hand never touched Brandyjack’s cloak. In a blur of motion, Brandyjack grabbed the officer’s outstretched arm, turned and flung the man over one shoulder. He crashed against the wall of the shed and dropped to the floor. Before the second Protector could react, Brandyjack had downed him with a drop-kick, and was back on his feet to face the others.

The remaining four Protectors were more cautious. Knives appeared in their hands and they formed a circle that steadily closed on the wayfarer.

“You’ll die for that,” an officer snarled.

“These are perilous times for us all,” Brandyjack replied as he watched the man in front of him and listened for movements from the man behind.

There was a soft scuff of boot leather on the floorboards and Brandyjack knew the Protector behind him was charging. He pirouetted quickly, kicking his foot into the air when the circle was half completed. His boot caught the Protector in the throat, and the man dropped his knife, falling to the floor a second afterward. Brandyjack completed the pirouette perfectly, facing the man who had threatened him a few seconds earlier. That one had moved in when his fellow charged, and was now close enough for Brandyjack to grab.

As the wayfarer seized the man’s wrists, the other two Protectors charged toward him, their knives ready for a kill. Brandyjack swung the Protector he held, knocking one of the others to the floor. He released the man’s wrists, turned quickly, and smashed the remaining man in the throat with a clasped-hands blow. The man choked, fell and writhed in agony on the floor.

Two others were back on their feet, their eyes blazing. They moved much more cautiously now, one attempting to get ‘behind Brandyjack. He backed slowly to the wall, keeping both men in sight.

“I’ll let you live,” the wayfarer said, “if you get out of here right now.”

Neither Protector spoke. Brandyjack shrugged, then feinted toward one of them. That man moved back quickly, but Brandyjack turned in midstride and caught the other by surprise. He spun the man around, then pulled his head back. A loud snap echoed off the walls.

The last Protector glanced quickly at the door, then back to Brandyjack before suddenly sprinting for the exit. He didn’t make it. Brandyjack was across the room in an instant. As the Protector reached for the door handle, Brandyjack leaped into the air, both feet catching the back of the Protector’s head and mashing his face against the wood. The officer fell to the floor.

Only one Protector was still conscious, but he writhed on the floor, clutching his throat, and gurgles were the only sounds he made. Brandyjack considered slitting the man’s throat with his own knife, but decided against it. He’d probably hemorrhage sufficiently to cause death. Two others were still alive, but unconscious. Brandyjack finished them, then walked to the bound three farmers.

“I didn’t mean to put them on to you,” the farmer who’d been given the handgun earlier started, obviously afraid for his life. “I had no choice.”

“No doubt, no doubt,” Brandyjack said cheerfully as he untied the men. “I’d have done the same in your position.”

The men left the building with Brandyjack, too awed to ask him anything. “I wouldn’t do a lot of talking about what you saw if I were you,” Brandyjack told them. “Protectors have a nasty habit of seeking revenge. They’d probably torture you for not helping the Protectors who got killed. It wouldn’t matter that you were bound.”

The farmers left, assuring Brandyjack they would say nothing. Brandyjack left the village, wondering why he was never left in peace when he was drunk. He had yet to experience a good time since he’d joined with Thoruso.

Brandyjack whistled softly as he rode through the darkness. Virgil was on guard when he returned to the camp, but the silent deformed just smiled as Brandyjack threw himself to the ground and fell into a deep sleep.

CHAPTER 16

They broke camp shortly before sunrise the next morning, Thoruso making no effort to speak with Brandyjack. Nonetheless, Brandyjack felt an obligation to inform the Merchant of what he’d learned the evening before. Thoruso accepted the information, consulted his maps and charts and announced another route change.

By midday they were on the fringes of the farmlands, the wastelands stretching to the horizon on their left. They traveled straight north from this point on. The sun disappeared behind clouds, and from a considerable distance they heard the booming of thunder. At first, Brandyjack assumed the thunder signaled another summer storm, but as soft rain began to fall he realized they were entering an area where storms were the norm, and sunny days virtually non existent. To the northwest was an ocean, and although rain fell on the wastelands and minor desert nearby, nothing grew in the blackened, destroyed earth.

This area had long been legend, Brandyjack knew. Few travelers came this way, avoiding it much as they avoided the deserts, but with a much less substantial reason. The storms were violent on occasion, but the danger was not as great as that of the sand lizards farther south. Nevertheless, the stormlands were given a wide berth by travelers.

Breezes that had earlier been gentle became cool and stinging. Brandyjack wrapped his cloak tightly about himself and looked into the sky, shielding his eyes against the soft drizzle that still fell. The sky was dark, very dark, and clouds moved quickly. The rain would increase, he knew, and very soon the wind would also pick up.

Lightning flashed across the sky, followed by tremendous cracks of thunder. The rain began to fall even heavier and Thoruso checked the tarpaulins he had placed over his books and charts. The tarps were sufficiently secured, but the Merchant continued his periodic check nonetheless.

The winds picked up terrifically after a few miles, and torrents of rain whipped the faces of the travelers, stinging any exposed area. Brandyjack’s cloak was wrapped around his chest and head so that he could still see, but was protected from the sting of rain.

This, he knew, was the fringe of the stormlands. Farther to the west, until one reached the ocean perhaps 50 kilometers away, it was said no man could remain standing, such were the combined forces of wind and rain. The wind and rain here on the fringes wouldn’t kill a man like the sun and the sand lizards would in the desert, but they could make life unpleasant and uncomfortable.

Brandyjack tried to whistle, but the sound was drowned completely by the rumble of thunder and the roaring of the wind. Rain pounded the rock beneath them, what little earth there might have once been having long ago been washed away. Here and there, however, a stunted shrub, with roots underneath the rock where there was still some earth, poked its way through the rocks. How they survived without sunlight, Brandyjack had no idea.

He could barely see the wagons ahead of him, and he took it for granted that Virgil was still behind him. To shift position in the saddle in the gale was a foolhardy move, and he had no wish to be whisked to the rock beneath him. If the wind caught his cloak he might be carried for several meters before being able to stop himself, and he knew that would be a bit more pain than he’d like. Besides, if he was twenty meters from the wagons, he wouldn’t be able to see them through the rain that had become almost a solid wall.

Brandyjack began to feel the coldness of the wind and rain stinging at his fingers and his cheeks, even through the thickness of his cloak. He cursed the ancients, starships, Thoruso, the career of Merchantry, the quality of cloaks, and several other items both relevant and irrelevant before he realized he was a man in the prime of life, and in the wagons ahead was a man who was hundreds of years old and a child who probably wasn’t even ten years old yet. And they weren’t complaining.

“Because I can’t hear them over this goddamn roar!” he bellowed, but he could hardly hear his own words.

It occurred to him that they might not be through the worst of the stormlands’ fringes before it was time to make camp somewhere. Obviously they’d have to keep going, but for how long? He wished he knew how many kilometers the stormland encompassed, but decided it was information only a Merchant or someone in a similarly despicable trade would know, and he felt better for his ignorance.

They continued onward, slowly, the rain and the wind neither increasing nor decreasing. Brandyjack wanted to look into the skies, but he knew the force of the rain on his face would sting tremendously, and it would be impossible to tell what time of day it was anyway. It seemed like a week that they’d been here, but he knew it was only four or five hours. How many kilometers could they cover over rain-washed rock in a wind that forced them to move so slowly? He didn’t know.

Until his mount stopped, he didn’t notice that the wagons were no longer moving. Thoruso was walking away from the second wagon. When he reached Brandyjack’s horse, the wayfarer bent down as far as he could without slipping out of the saddle.

“We’ll camp here!” the Merchant yelled, his words barely audible.

“You’re mad!” Brandyjack bellowed.

Thoruso shrugged and started back to Moore’s wagon. Brandyjack watched as Moore guided his wagon up beside Dextor’s and stopped. Thoruso, barely visible through the rain, waved Brandyjack and Virgil forward. A few seconds later Thoruso was handing tarpaulins to them.

Brandyjack caught on then and began covering the wagons with the huge tarps, sliding corners of the canvas beneath the wagon wheels. There wouldn’t be much room beneath the wagons, but it would be shelter from the rain anyway. Placing the tarps was difficult, but not impossible.

Dextor was unharnessing the horses, and when Brandyjack had finished securing the tarpaulins he’d been given, he helped Dextor. There was no shelter for the beasts, but the two men tied the reins to the sides of the wagons so the horses could get close enough to the makeshift shelter to protect themselves from the gale’s full force. When the horses were situated so that they had enough room to lie down, Brandyjack and Dextor crawled into the shelter.

At first, the pounding of the rain on the tarps was deafening, but eventually they became used to it. Reed and Chall sat on the ends of the canvas to prevent the tarps from blowing away. Lars slept on his mother’s lap.

There was no room to move around beneath the wagons, so once a position was assumed it was maintained. Shifting position was virtually impossible.

“Get as much sleep as you can!” Thoruso yelled. “We’ll leave in a few hours!”

Food, Brandyjack thought as weariness began to overtake him. Food and ale. God what he wouldn’t give for a meal and a drink. He smiled at Lotus who sat across from him and was pleased to see her return the grin. Eventually, he slept, his stomach rumbling occasionally.

When he woke he was stiff and sore, and he decided it had been, without a doubt, the most unpleasant sleep he’d ever had. Bar none. He led the procession from the shelter, carefully holding the end of the tarpaulin so it would not be blown away. If anything, he thought while the others filed out, the storm had increased in tempo. He found himself wondering, while he folded the tarps, how many more years it would take before the rains pounded the rock into sand.

Unable to cope with the animals who much preferred to remain just where they were, it took Dextor and Virgil ten minutes to successfully harness the horses. After almost 20 minutes of standing, shivering in the rain, the group began to move once more.

It was still virtually impossible to see, but occasionally a jagged bolt of lightning crackled through the darkness, illuminating the scene for a brief second, then fading into darkness again. After a few such flashes, Brandyjack decided he preferred the darkness to the sudden jolt of light.

The hours passed slowly, but the rain and the wind began to gradually die down to the point where it was possible for one to hold his head steady and look straight ahead. Thunder still boomed after the occasional flash of lightning, and the wind was still blowing with tremendous force, but at least they could see. Brandyjack knew what they were experiencing, although more than welcome after what they’d been through, would be a damned violent storm anywhere else.

Dark clouds still rolled across the sky, but a few kilometers away they could see beams of sunlight shining upon the land. They made for the edges of the farmlands as the wind became once more slight breezes and the torrents of rain became a slight drizzle.

The farmland of this area was not as fertile as the land farther east and south, but the men who survived here were hardy enough to get by.

They located a cow and butchered it on the spot. Brandyjack forced himself to wait until the meat was cooked, but his stomach informed him several times that it had few preferences, as long as his throat could take it.

After gorging himself, he discovered he would like a drink of ale, but that, he sighed to himself, was quite definitely out of the question. A cigaret, then. That, too, was impossible. He sighed again and made his way to Lotus who sat near a wagon, her back leaning against a wheel.

“How’s the arm?” he asked her.

“There’s nothing like a little emotional hardship to make one forget about pain,” she said, smiling.

“I didn’t think you’d hold up through the last few days,” he said quietly, choosing not to look at her as he spoke.

“Funny, I thought the same about you.”

He chuckled at that. “And you’ve probably got better reasons, too. Ah well, it takes hardship to make one show his true colors.”

“And what are your true colors?”

Brandyjack signed. “I don’t really know. I just do whatever feels right or reasonable.”

“Without thought to the consequences?”

“Almost entirely without.”

“That seems a dangerous way to live.”

“These are dangerous times.”

“Do you rationalize everything with that theory?”

Brandyjack chuckled. “Yes. It helps. It justifies.”

“Brandyjack,” Lotus said thoughtfully after a pause, “why are you here? Really. And no doubletalk.”

Brandyjack regarded her for several seconds. He smiled, slowly, then got to his feet. “I try not to think of why I ever do anything,” he said and walked away.

“Irresponsible?” she called after him, her tone taunting.

“Totally!” he called back.

“We’re going back into the fringes,” Thoruso told Brandyjack when the wayfarer joined the Merchant and Dextor.

“What in hell for? You like the idea of the rain smashing us into pulp?”

Thoruso chuckled. “Not that far into the fringes,” he said. “We’ll stick to the gentle breezes and light sprinkle areas.” He pointed to the outer edges of the stormlands where rain could be seen falling lightly. “After a couple of kilometers to the west the stormlands continue north for several kilometers. What we’ll be doing in the outermost fringes is merely avoiding contact with everyone else and leaving no tracks for anyone to follow. Once we get a bit farther north the stormlands end and we start into the forests and mountains.”

“As long as I don’t have my face pushed into my guts by the rain, I don’t care what we do!” Brandyjack stated.

“You’ve little worry of that,” Dextor told him. “Once we get north a bit there are no storms. But there will be snow, and it’ll be damned cold.”

“Wonderful,” Brandyjack said, frowning.

“There aren’t many farms or cities farther north, obviously,” Thoruso went on, “so there’ll be fewer run-ins with authorities. We’ll have the men in the forests to contend with, and I understand there are several species of creatures in the mountains. And, of course, there are the deformeds’ camps, but they should be no trouble.”

“I was north once,” Brandyjack said quickly, “and there were several species of nothing. Except for the people with me and the deformeds, there wasn’t anything in the least hostile.”

“There will be where we’re going,” Thoruso said evenly. “For the time being, though, I suggest you come up with some method of dealing with the men Moore told you about.”

“That won’t be much trouble!” Brandyjack snorted disgustedly. “Their hair can’t be cut or burned and they’re two and a half meters tall and strong enough to rip a tree out of the ground! No problem! Thoruso, what are you trying to do? Can’t we get to this blasted starship by any other route? Do we have to go through deserts and storms and forests and blizzards and God knows what else? I’m beginning to think you’ve come up with an elaborate plan to murder all of us!”

“You may leave any time you choose,” Thoruso said evenly.

“And two nights ago you wouldn’t even let me go for an ale!”

“We all change our minds.”

“Wonderful.”

Dextor chuckled at the exchange, but when Brandyjack glared at him he covered his mouth and lowered his eyes in an effort to stop.

“Hilarious, Dextor?” Brandyjack asked.

“No,” Dextor smiled. “I was just wondering how you’ll destroy the forest-dwellers when we meet them.”

Brandyjack stood and walked away, swearing loudly. “I should have been a bartender,” he muttered to himself. “Free ale, no aggravation, no Merchants, no sand lizards…”

After enjoying another half hour of sunshine, they started back into the rain and wind, but kept the farmlands in sight. They headed west, and a half hour later started north, still within the edge of the stormlands, but far enough away that the rain was almost pleasant and the breezes no more than a minor annoyance.

Brandyjack hoped they saw the ocean. On the northern shore there was an area where the water touched the stormlands, the sparse farms and the foothills of the mountains, all within several miles of each other so that it was possible to swim in the ocean without being killed by the merciless storms. But, Brandyjack remembered sadly, there were killers even in the ocean.

He forced himself to whistle as he followed the wagons north, but the tune was not a quick one, nor was it happy. Virgil, usually blank-faced and cold, smiled as he listened to the mournful whistling and the occasional curse that barely carried to him from Brandyjack.

After an hour of journeying, Brandyjack fell back to where Virgil brought up the rear. He smiled at the deformed and said, “Virgil, do you ever feel yourself going insane? Do you ever think your brain is dripping out of your ears?”

Virgil smiled.

“I was afraid of that,” Brandyjack said. “No one else is going nuts. Just me.”

The wayfarer said nothing else, but rode beside Virgil, occasionally looking into the sky and regarding the clouds that moved so quickly. It was a beautiful sight if you looked at it objectively. However, he was too wet and too cold to think objectively. He rode in silence.

Hours later they had left the stormlands only a mile or so behind them, and were ready to start into the forest preceding the foothills and mountains. Brandyjack was disappointed that Thoruso had not followed the stormlands a few kilometers farther west in order to see the ocean, but he recognized the importance of continuing toward the starship, wherever it was.

They made camp, deciding to enter the forests in the morning after they’d had a chance to rest. The cow they had slaughtered earlier provided them with a second meal and Brandyjack was quite happy to compare where he was with where he had been 24 hours earlier.

“Something just occurred to me,” Brandyjack said to Thoruso after they had eaten and were preparing to sleep. “Won’t all your contacts, all heading north, cause some sort of suspicion? Surely Star’s men aren’t stupid enough to miss what’s happening.”

“They’ll be coming from many different routes,” Thoruso told him, “and that will give us some time. Some will undoubtedly be questioned by the authorities, and a few of those will probably tell what they’re doing. Nonetheless, the starship is not easily found, and once we have reached it we’ll not be taken away unless we wish to be. The point is, if we get to the starship before the authorities catch on, it won’t matter what they learn.”

“Will it matter how many are put to death trying to follow you into the stars?”

“No. They knew what they were doing before they started. Why did you ask that? You’re a strange, strange man, Brandyjack.”

“I didn’ t mean to get moral. I was just wondering whether or not you thought their sacrifice was in vain.”

“I’ve done all I can for them. They know the risks and they either accept or reject them. They pay for or are rewarded for their own decisions. It is no concern of mine.”

“Fair enough. It makes sense.”

Brandyjack found a patch of grass and spread his cloak out. Within a few moments he was asleep. Thoruso sat for a long time, staring at the slumbering form. Occasionally he shook his head as if extremely puzzled. Finally, he, too, slept.

CHAPTER 17

The slaughtered cow yielded one more meal in the morning before they pushed on across the almost barren farmlands toward the forests. There was, Thoruso informed them, only one village between them and the forests, and it was a small one, likely offering little that would be of use to them. He looked at Brandyjack, but the wayfarer smiled, inwardly cursing because he knew Thoruso was speaking of ale. What community would be without a tavern, he asked himself. Men often did stupid things, but there would be a tavern, he was sure of it.

He was wrong. There was no ale to be had in the tiny village, and when he asked for the substance he received only vacant stares. There was only one shop where anything might be purchased, and the owner’s idea of what those who lived nearby might need was spartan. Nevertheless, they bought two lanterns. There were the usual service shops, but they had little need for the services of smiths. Their journey through the village was a quick one, the only stop being for enough food to last them two days.

The sun was not shining, and for a while Brandyjack feared there might be rain. It wouldn’t be as bad as it had been in the stormlands, he knew, but after the amount of rain he’d seen already he didn’t relish the thoughts of facing even a minor drizzle for quite some time.

The air was cold and crisp, brisk north winds blowing down from the mountains and through the forests. Brandyjack wrapped his cloak tightly around his shoulders and for a moment wished for the heat of the wastelands.

There were no roads north of the village, and the paths were barely traversable, used so infrequently that no usable thoroughfare had been established. The wagons jounced along and Brandyjack was quite thankful for the horse he rode.

The landscape became gradually worse, and the occasional trees became more frequent until, four hours after they had left the village behind them, the forests loomed in the distance. Had they remained in the forests earlier and not changed their course to escape Star’s Protectors, they would not be this far, Brandyjack knew. Even with the hardships of the stormlands they had progressed much faster than originally planned.

They heard the calls of wildlife as they continued through the trees, but Moore assured them none of the animals who made the calls were carnivorous. Only the men who lived here need be feared.

There had been the unvoiced hope that they would get through the forests without ever sighting or being sighted by a forest-dweller, but as the branches and leaves made the sunless day even gloomier, that hope slowly began to dissipate. Brandyjack’s earlier orders from Thoruso to devise a method of fighting the forest-dwellers became more serious than the jokes they had originally been, and all of the group, including the child, Lars, kept an alert watch for any movement that seemed out of place. Under no circumstances did they wish to be taken by surprise.

They continued through the trees, the wagons forced to twist and turn through and around areas where it was impossible for a single man to pass, and when the darkness surrounded them completely they placed the wagons as closely together as possible and tethered the horses tightly, forming a rough circle with themselves in the middle. If an attack came the wagons and the horses would go first. Thoruso, remembering the destruction of a wagon by the sand lizards, kept the tapes secreted upon his person.

A double watch was deemed necessary for safety, and Reed took the first with Virgil. It was decided, because everyone would need as much sleep as possible, that only Lars would be exempt from watch. That made four watches.

Brandyjack, awakened by Reed for his watch, woke Dextor, and the two men surveyed their surroundings. The darkness was oppressive, foreboding, and it was virtually impossible to see beyond the rough circle formed by the wagons and horses.

“Give me Star’s Protectors,” Brandyjack said nervously as the barest slivers of moonlight passed through the leaves. “This waiting, and not knowing if anything is going to happen or not, is chipping away at my sanity.”

“I hope you aren’t suggesting we create a disturbance to lure the forest-dwellers here so we can get it over with,” Dextor said quietly.

“I may be crazy,” Brandyjack chuckled softly, “but I’m not stupid!”

The coldness began to chill them. As quietly as he could, Brandyjack exercised for a few moments, then remained alert while Dextor exercised. The wind increased slightly, and the noise of swaying branches grated on their nerves as they searched out every moving shadow caused by the moon’s light and the leaves.

Then there was movement that was not the result of shadows.

Brandyjack tensed, touched Dextor’s arm, and pointed to the vague shapes he saw moving through the trees several meters distant. The shapes were obviously those Moore had told Brandyjack about a few days earlier. Brandyjack swore softly when he saw Moore had not been lying about the height of the creatures. He could see nothing other than their outlines, but it was obvious they were as shaggy as Moore had said. Clumps of stringy hair hung from their elbows whenever their arms were bent, and when the wind picked up slightly, it blew the hair out from their bodies.

The creatures stopped moving and seemed to be staring at the wagons. One of the horses neighed nervously. The creatures remained standing, staring. Their eyes shone a dull blue.

“What do you think?” Dextor asked, his voice barely audible.

“Don’t move,” Brandyjack replied in a whisper. “They may just be interested. If we move to warn the others, they may take it for a threat and attack.”

They stood for several seconds, and Brandyjack was more aware than he wanted to be of the shivers racing up and down his spine. Another horse neighed nervously, shifted its position at its tether. Brandyjack held his breath, tensed to move or yell, whatever was needed. Perspiration began to form on his forehead and trickle into his eyes. He ignored the stinging, keeping his arms at his sides.

Slowly, one of the beast-men started toward the wagons. Then, as one of the horses moved nervously, it stopped and moved back with the others. Another of them drifted away into the darkness, and several moments later the others followed. Brandyjack and Dextor waited several moments before moving, and when they did they exhaled loudly.

“Damn!” Brandyjack said, barely above a whisper. “Did you see the arms on those things? They could rip out a tree!”

“We may see that,” Dextor said solemnly. “We’ve got a long way to go yet and I’m not sure they won’t be back.”

“Maybe if we keep still like we did this time they’ll leave again.”

Dextor shook his head. “I’m not counting on it,” he said slowly. “I think we’re lucky. Maybe they’re not hungry, or maybe they were confused. In any case, I don’t think we’ve seen the last of them.”

“Probably not,” Brandyjack replied thoughtfully, “but I’m not going to be sleeping too soundly after this.”

Dextor nodded, checked the time on Thoruso’s ancient timepiece, and said, “Well, sit awake all night like I will. Our watch is over anyway.”

Brandyjack woke Thoruso while Dextor located Lotus and woke her. They explained what had happened, advising them to remain still if the forest-dwellers returned. Brandyjack slept, but as he had predicted, it was not sound. He found himself wide awake several times, and when morning finally came he was more relieved than he cared to admit, even though he knew the time of day would make little difference to the beast-men. At least he could see them now, though, he told himself, not at all sure he wished to should the opportunity arise.

After eating, they continued their twisting, turning journey through the trees. The sun did little to warm them and as they traveled the wind picked up enough to keep them wrapped in their cloaks and blankets.

The sun disappeared behind ominously dark clouds shortly after they started out and a light drizzle began to fall, soaking through their garments and chilling them even more. They ate their midday meal while moving, not wishing to waste any more time than necessary completing this leg of their journey.

The drizzling rain continued for the remainder of the afternoon, and when they finally stopped for the evening, several of the group were sniffling with colds. They ate nervously, peering over their shoulders often, alert for any sign of the beast-men. The day had been totally uneventful, but this served to make them even more apprehensive than ordinarily.

Thoruso expressed a hope that they would be out of the forest by noon the next day, which served to brighten their spirits somewhat.

Thoruso and Dextor took the first watch, waking Chall and Moore for the second. Brandyjack, when awakened, found Lotus waiting for him near the wagon containing Thoruso’s possessions. She was still sleepy-eyed, shivering with the cold. Brandyjack offered her his cloak, and was relieved when she refused it.

They had been unable to form even a makeshift circle with the wagons and the horses, and the camp had assumed an almost straight line because of it. It would be impossible to find shelter if the beast-men attacked, they knew, but there was no choice.

The rain, which had ceased soon after they’d eaten, began once more. It soaked them again, and Brandyjack found himself hard pressed not to curse continuously.

“Do you think we’ll make it?” Lotus asked him at one point.

“No sense in thinking otherwise,” he told her.

“I don’t know. Sometimes, when I think of how lucky we’ve been so far I can’t help wondering if it can continue.”

“It’s best not to think of that.”

“I know, but it just seems so hopeless sometimes.”

He smiled at her, reached to touch her shoulder. She moved closer to him, and they stood for a few moments in each other’s arms. “Don’t worry about anything,” he told her. “We’ll make it with no problems. We haven’t come this far to lose out now.”

She smiled at him, but there was worry in her eyes. She turned away and looked into the trees. Brandyjack turned and walked to the end of the camp area where his and Virgil’s horses were tied. He patted their coats for a few moments, absently staring into the treetops and trying not to think of the rain.

He suddenly became aware of his shadow, knowing there should not be one. The moon simply wasn’t bright enough to shine through the trees and the rain both. He turned, quickly, and saw the reason. Lotus walked toward him, one of the lanterns lit and held waist-high.

He opened his mouth to speak, then quickly shut it when he saw two beast-men appear to Lotus’s right. She saw his expression, turned, stifled a startled cry and watched the beast-men approach, intrigued by the light.

They weren’t going to stop this time and Brandyjack knew it. Nonetheless, he remained still while the beast-men walked to within ten meters of Lotus. Her resolve broke then and she began moving away, the lantern casting eerie shadows as it shook in her hands.

The forest-dwellers moved quickly now, still intrigued by the lantern. Brandyjack was beside Lotus in an instant, his motions so quick that the beast-men had no chance to react. He wrenched the lantern from her grasp and shoved her behind him.

The beast-men paused, confused, then snarled and leaped, threatened by Brandyjack’s sudden movements. Brandyjack swung the lantern once, feeling the handle break as it smashed in the beast-man’s face. There was a flash, and suddenly the beast-man was covered in flame and screaming in agony. Then the second forest-dweller landed on him, snarling and barring its fangs. Brandyjack fell to the ground beneath the creature, its spittle and hot saliva dripping down to his face.

The screams of the burning beast-man carried to him, but he ignored them as he grabbed huge handfuls of hair and attempted to force the other beast up. The creature snarled, snapped at Brandyjack’s face, and the wayfarer shoved, his muscles straining with the pressure. The beast-man rolled off, and Brandyjack found himself astride the creature. He slashed its neck viciously, feeling pain shoot through his hand. He was tossed off and backwards as the creature got quickly to its feet and charged him.

He stood his ground until the last possible second, then ducked beneath the forest-dweller’s raking claws. The creature’s momentum carried it over top of him, and again he moved quickly to land on it, his knees digging into its back. He wrapped his arms around the creature’s neck and began to pull the head backwards, keeping his knees against its back and pinning it to the ground. The creature tried to roll away but Brandyjack strained harder, pulling the neck back another inch, still pinning it to the ground. His arms slipped upwards suddenly, just enough for the beast-man to sink its teeth into yielding flesh.

Brandyjack screamed with the pain, but kept his grip and pulled still harder. Blood spurted from his arm and a part of his mind absently informed him that the scent and taste of blood would make the forest-dweller even more furious. He felt his head begin to twirl with dizziness and he knew he was about to faint. He strained again, the muscles in his arms stretched as powerfully as possible, and the forest-dweller’s head snapped back, the neck broken. Brandyjack fell on top of the beast, exhausted, relief washing over him as he relaxed. His arm, he discovered, was no longer in the creature’s mouth, but was free, a huge chunk of the flesh missing. Blood gushed from the arm, staining the undergrowth around him. He struggled to his feet to see the rest of the group staring, incredulously, at the beast-man whose neck he’d broken. Then, forcing a smile to his lips, he fainted and dropped to the forest floor, blood still spurting from his arm. He recovered consciousness almost immediately, but he was only vaguely aware of arms helping him to his feet, and less aware that his arm was being bandaged.

The rain and the cold revived him after a while, and he stood unsteadily for a few seconds. Then, taking a deep breath, he walked to the dead beast-man and stuck his fingers in its mouth, withdrawing the pieces of his own flesh that rested between the teeth. He dropped the flesh to the ground and turned away to face Moore.

“I thought you said fire couldn’t hurt them.”

“I said their hair was so thick it wouldn’t burn,” Moore replied quickly. He indicated the other beast-man. “If you look at it you’ll find the hair hasn’t been burned. The oil on its hair burned though, and it actually cooked the thing inside the hair.”

“When the lantern broke!” Brandyjack exclaimed. “Right! It broke and there was a sudden flash. That’s it!” He chuckled, then noticed Dextor and Thoruso were anything but happy. He walked to them.

“I’m not blaming you,” Thoruso explained, “but the beast’s screams and your own may have attracted others. We’re debating whether or not we should leave.”

Brandyjack shrugged. “Do whatever you wish. I’m going to drain the other lantern of its oil and make a few weapons.”

Chall had kept several glass containers, and these she gladly gave to Brandyjack to fill with oil from the remaining lantern. Into the neck of each container Brandyjack stuck a small piece of cloth for use as a fuse, and when he had finished he had seven of the containers filled with oil.

“Brandyjack,” Dextor said as everyone was preparing to leave after Thoruso’s decision to do so, “I saw almost the whole battle with that beast. I’ve never seen anything like it. Incredible.”

“In case you didn’t notice,” Brandyjack said, smiling slightly, “I was too scared to even wake the rest of you.”

Dextor chuckled. “How’s the arm?”

“These are perilous times. A man can’t expect to make it through life whole. It’s fine, I suppose. Sore, but I’m happy enough to have it to be sore!” He smiled.

Lotus appeared. Dextor smiled at her, turned, and walked away.

“That’s twice,” she said slowly. “They would have gotten me if you hadn’t been there.”

Brandyjack shrugged.

“Thanks a second time,” she said, staring at the ground.

Brandyjack took her in his arms for a moment, kissed her, and smiled. “We can settle accounts later,” he grinned. He paused. “For the moment, though, you’d better get on the wagon or you’ll be waiting around for the hairy horrors to come again.”

She regarded him curiously for a few seconds, then turned and walked to Thoruso’s wagon. They started out through the darkness, Dextor carefully guiding the first wagon, and Moore the second. Brandyjack took one last look at the forest-dweller he had killed with his hands, shook his head slowly and muttered, “Damn! Didn’t even know I had it in me!”

He chuckled softly, gently rested his injured arm in his lap, and followed the wagons.

An hour later the snow started, tiny white flakes that melted almost as quickly as they touched the ground. The flakes continued to drift slowly to earth for almost a half hour before they stopped, but their appearance had been enough to let the group know they would soon be seeing much more.

They were, however, much less concerned with the snow than they were with the reappearance of the forest-dwellers. Each man had been given one of the oil-filled containers Brandyjack had prepared, but the amount of oil in each might be substantially less than what was required, and all in the group knew it, even if they did not voice their fears.

No words were spoken as they continued traveling, slowly, through the forest. Twice, Brandyjack thought he saw something moving in the shadows, but when there were no attacks he convinced himself he had either seen nothing, or else the strange creatures Moore claimed lived here.

Dawn’s light was just beginning to shine through the branches of the trees when Reed saw the forest-dweller. The creature approached the humans nervously, then more confidently. It stared with curiosity as Reed and Dextor lit the fuses of their oil containers, then started forward again, snarling. It was still several meters from the wagon when Dextor hurled his weapon, followed quickly by Reed’s. Both containers struck the forest-dweller and the fragile glass broke to spread oil onto the creature’s hair. Then, suddenly, the fire caught and began to burn brightly. The beast-man screamed, turned and fled.

They continued, more relaxed, satisfied that they had some defense against the beast-men. As the haze of dawn continued to fade, Brandyjack saw some of the strange creatures Moore had told him about, but they were too far away to be seen clearly.

By midmorning the snow had started falling, lightly as before, but the trees were beginning to thin out and navigation around them was much easier. By noon the landscape was barren, rocky, with few trees of any kind growing. They ate what little food remained from the supply purchased in the last village they had passed through, then pushed on as the snow began to fall a bit more heavily. It melted, however, and caused them no problems. It ceased falling after a short time.

Late afternoon found them in the deformed reservation, that place where the most hideous of the deformeds eventually drifted, unable to cope with life among normally developed human beings. Thoruso and Virgil had managed to get by with their wits and their strength, but not all deformeds could, and they consequently lived by themselves where the torture of being something other than normal was not continuously brought to their attention through insults and physical abuse.

They were greeted at the reservation entrance by a woman who had no arms or legs. She regarded them silently for several moments while Thoruso explained that they wished to rest at the reservation for the evening and would be willing to pay, either in currency or services, for the privilege. Not until the woman giggled did they realize she was mentally unbalanced.

They passed through the crude fence that had been constructed around the encampment and continued into the reservation, seeing a few huts scattered haphazardly about. Here and there were what appeared to be the charred ruins of burned-out huts. A few children, some with no legs, others with no arms, and still others with flattened faces and skulls that were abnormally large or small, watched them curiously, with no fear on their faces. It occurred to Brandyjack that here, where there were no normal human beings, they themselves were the oddities, the deformeds.

A man left one of the huts and walked quickly toward them. It was not until he was much closer that Brandyjack noticed the man’s head was resting on his shoulders, no neck visible.

“We explained our situation at the gate,” Thoruso told the man, “and the woman there didn’t seem to mind if we entered.”

The deformed nodded, the movement requiring a bend from the waist that made his head tilt forward slightly, and his words, when he spoke, were harsh, grating, garbled. “Sshheee haasss nnno autthhhorithy.”

“Very well,” Thoruso said immediately. “We wish to spend the evening in your camp, and we will pay for the privilege.”

Children, those who could walk, had begun to surround the wagons and horses, and were gazing intently at the newcomers. In addition, several men and women, most twisted and bent to the point that they were hardly recognizable as human, had approached and listened to the exchange.

“You may stay here the evening,” one woman said. “Payment is unnecessary.”

Brandyjack looked at the speaker, finding her to be short, fat, infected with sores of the type many beggars in the larger cities like Toronew or Canav were cursed with. One of her legs was much thinner than the other, and Brandyjack estimated it to be no more than three inches in circumference. Even through her leggings it was obvious.

“Thank you,” Thoruso smiled. “We appreciate your courtesy.”

The Merchant’s group arranged the wagons and horses in a rough circle while some of the deformeds began to drift away, returning to whatever it was they had been doing earlier. Others stood nearby, watching the break in routine, apparently satisfied to be relieved of the monotony that was their life.

When the horses pulling the wagons had been unharnessed and tied to the wagon sides with enough room to lay down or graze on the sparse vegetation, Thoruso called his group into the circle.

“I don’t want these people to have the impression that we consider them anything but equals,” he said softly, keeping his voice low enough that any deformeds in the area would not hear. “Common sense dictates that we protect our possessions, however, thus the circular formation. I don’t want any of you to taunt these people or belittle them in any way. If you feel uneasy among them, stay inside this circle. If you are not afraid of them or any diseases you may think you’ll encounter, you may mingle with them. A bit of mingling, if any of you can do it, might be good to get them to trust us. We don’t need a full-out attack by them during the night. Brandyjack, I think you’ll probably decide to mingle. Please, for God’s sake, don’t get into any trouble.”

Brandyjack chuckled. “No chance of that, Merchant. As a matter of fact, I was planning to mingle immediately. I’m hungry.”

“Just be careful,” Thoruso warned. “These people are here because the rest of society forces them to be. Here we are as they are in Toronew, and there’s no sense in reminding them of it or renewing old prejudices and hatreds.”

“I’ve not a hateful bone in my body,” Brandyjack retorted as he left the circle. “Anyone care to tag along?”

Lotus, Reed and Virgil so cared, and a few moments later they had left the circle of wagons and horses behind them. The reservation, Brandyjack saw, was much larger than he’d thought it to be. There appeared to be one family for each hut, and he realized with a start he’d expected another arrangement, although he realized he had never consciously thought that way. Why should the family setup be different? he asked himself and realized it shouldn’t.

There were very few people who could have survived life in the cities, and obviously they had chosen not to, preferring to be among their own even though their defects, in some cases, were minor. Most would have been taunted unmercifully, perhaps even killed by a drunken Merchant out for a good time. And there were those so hideously deformed that they would not have been welcome anywhere, even among the beggars. Still, life seemed to have a pattern, he realized, and the operation of what amounted to another culture was smooth.

They came to carefully cultivated gardens, and Brandyjack recognized only two or three of the plants growing there. Hardy strains of vegetables were grown, and he saw what looked like fruits of some description hanging from various other plants. Even though the darkness was rapidly approaching, men, women and children were picking the vegetables and fruits and carrying them to several sheds shoddily constructed on the edge of the gardens. Supplies for the winter, Brandyjack assumed. The cold would keep the food well frozen until they needed it, at which time they would simply take what they wanted and heat it in their own shanties. Simple, but effective, he decided.

They watched the food-gatherers for several moments, and finally Brandyjack stopped one of the men who was carrying vegetables to a shed. “If you could spare some of those vegetables, we’d be happy to buy them.”

“Of what use is money?” the deformed asked, and Brandyjack saw that the man was blind. And yet, he navigated through the rows of vegetables and fruits as easily as if sighted. Like the owner of the Owl in Moneral, Brandyjack thought.

“True, I suppose,” Brandyjack told him, “but if there’s anything you’d like for them, or if you’d rather we picked our own or performed some service…”

“There’s enough for all,” the deformed said, holding out what he held. “There’s no debt.”

Brandyjack took the vegetables and thanked the man. He watched the deformed turn and walk among the plants, carefully avoiding stepping on any. Then, shaking his head with appreciation, he walked back to the others.

They ate the vegetables as they walked past the gardens, marveling at the taste. They’d expected nothing more than something to fill their bellies, but it performed that task and pleased their tastebuds as well.

“I always thought deformeds lived miserable lives,” Lotus said after a while. “I never dreamed they’d have their own little community and their own standards. They don’t seem to want for very much.”

“Just acceptance,” Reed said. He looked at Lotus for a few seconds, then shrugged and indicated his partner. “Virgil was born here,” he went on. “He decided to leave when he was told about the world beyond. I think it lived up to his expectations. In every way.”

There was a certain bitterness to Reed’s voice, Brandyjack discovered. He was unable to determine the cause until he remembered how close Virgil and Reed were. Undoubtedly Virgil had endured hardships because of his inability to speak, and undoubtedly Reed had bled with him. There was a bond, he decided, so strong between the two men that nothing short of death would ever break it. Perhaps not even that.

“Lotus didn’t mean to insult Virgil or the people here,” Brandyjack said. “A person can have misconceptions and misinformation given him or her for a long time and never hear or see the truth. It’s not the fault of that person when the truth is discovered.”

Reed regarded Brandyjack for a few seconds, looked at Virgil, and nodded. “You’re right. I didn’t mean to offend. Virgil and I have taken a lot of abuse, and I’ve come to understand the way he feels. No offense intended.”

“None taken,” Brandyjack chuckled. “I must admit, I’m a little surprised myself. I saw deformeds when I was north a few years ago, but I was never here.”

There was silence for a few seconds, then Lotus asked, “Where are his parents? His family?”

Reed looked at Virgil. The silent deformed shrugged and nodded.

“They were killed a short time before he left the reservation,” Reed said. “By normals, naturally. Apparently all the ancestors of both his father and mother were normal, but somehow, they were not. They came here to live, met each other, married, and hoped their son would be normal. He wasn’t, but they informed him of his heritage anyway. Or rather, his father did. Like most people, his mother had no idea who even her great-grandmother had been.”

There was silence as they continued to walk. Darkness was almost totally upon them now, and snow had begun to fall lightly once more. The deformeds were gradually finding their way back to whatever huts they lived in, and soon the four were alone in the night, walking back to the circle of wagons and horses.

“You talk of deformeds coming here, and of normals raiding this place,” Lotus said, “but how do any of them get here? Surely none of them are willing to face the forest-dwellers just to find sanctuary or indulge in bloodletting.”

“We came the hard way,” Brandyjack told her. “There is another route, but it would take about two or two and a half weeks longer than the way we came. There’s no danger, but it’s a lot longer. Thoruso just wanted to get to the starship as quickly as possible, I guess, regardless of the risks.”

“We could have been killed to satisfy his dream,” the woman said.

“Yes, that’s true,” Brandyjack answered evenly, “but if we’d come the easy way we’d probably have been arrested by Protectors and killed anyway. Or thrown into some damn dungeon for the rest of our miserable lives. I’d rather die honestly than live as a slave. It was a difficult journey, I’ll agree, but we’re still alive. Besides, what’s worth having if it’s given to you for nothing?”

Lotus made no reply as she wrapped her cloak about her a bit more tightly. The snow was becoming thicker and no longer melting as quickly once it touched the ground. A wind had come up that while not yet too oppressive, would soon be so. They quickened their step and were soon back at the circle. They discovered some of the deformeds had played good hosts and brought those who stayed near the wagons several baskets of food, some of which was meat.

“Where did they get the meat?” Brandyjack asked incredulously. “Surely there aren’t enough animals around here that they can just give it away.”

“They have pens on the other side of the reservation,” Reed explained. “They keep quite a few animals from the forest we passed through. They breed them and eat them. Simple fact of existence.”

“So they only had to make a few hunting trips to capture the original animals,” Brandyjack mused.

“That they did,” Reed agreed. “They must have four hundred of the things in the pens. Or rather, they had that many when Virgil left. I doubt they have any less now. Probably more, what with the number of refugees who trickle in.”

Brandyjack said nothing, considering the use of the word refugees. Reed had used it without thinking, the wayfarer reflected, and that, perhaps more than anything else, was a clear indication of what he thought of the deformeds. And, sadly, Reed was right, Brandyjack decided.

They slept beneath the wagons, cursing the cold and shivering, but happy enough that they were in what was a protective area, and certain that no harm could befall them this evening. They were wrong.

Brandyjack awakened to the shrieks of terrified deformeds. He crawled out from under the wagon as quickly as he could and got immediately to his feet as others of the group began to awaken. He needed only one look to tell him what was happening.

Normals had raided the reservation in what was probably one last hell-raiser before winter set in. Two or three flimsy huts were burning, the flames casting an eerie illumination onto everything nearby.

Brandyjack left the protection of the circle, racing across the wet, slippery ground toward the nearest hut. A man and a woman, clutching each other in fear, sat outside. Neither had legs. From inside came shrieks of fear and pain.

Brandyjack raced into the burning hut just as a deformed hobbled out, a child clinging to his neck. The child was screaming, its hair on fire. The deformed placed the child on the ground and began attending to it.

Brandyjack surveyed the scene, seeing normals running after deformeds, torches held high and glowing brightly. Another hut was set afire as its occupants began pouring out into the night.

Brandyjack wasted no more time observing, but started running as quickly as he could toward the nearest normal, a man who was kicking a deformed along the ground. The deformed, a child, had no arms or legs and was crying and screaming in fear and pain. The normal was laughing.

His laughter was cut off abruptly as Brandyjack reached him, spun him around, and broke his neck with one devastating slash of his hand. Pain sliced through his arm from his fingertips to his shoulder, but he ignored it, racing across the ground to where two other normals were setting fire to yet another hut. They turned in time to see his charge, but far too late to stop it or flee from it. Brandyjack crashed into them, the force of his charge carrying them into and through the side of the hut they’d set fire to. Brandyjack was on his feet in an instant as the fire began to burn more quickly. One of the normals scrambled to his feet, swung at the wayfarer, and was knocked to his back. The normal got up quickly, joined his fellow, and the two charged Brandyjack as the hut wall began to fold inward. Smoke was filling the room as the men reached Brandyjack, and their eyes were watering. Brandyjack ducked, avoiding the swinging fist of one man and chopping the ribs of the second with the edge of his hand. He spun quickly, elbowing the first in the ribs and knocking him off balance, sending him into the blazing wall behind them. The man screamed as his clothes began to burn. He got jerkily to his feet and started running out of the hut, his movements causing the flames to burn even brighter, even more fiercely.

The second normal was choking on the smoke as perspiration began to trickle down his forehead and cheeks. Brandyjack ignored the heat as he leaped toward the man, his fists swinging. He landed two solid blows to the man’s head and the normal fell, unconscious.

There was the sound of snapping wood and the roof of the hut began to collapse as the walls started to fall outward. Bringing up his arms so that they protected his face, Brandyjack dove through the flames and out into the night air. He winced with pain as his injured arm struck the ground, but got to his feet and looked around. The man he’d fought inside the hut was rolling on the ground, attempting to smother the flames that were licking at his skin. Brandyjack saw that the flames were too mighty and that the man would not succeed, then turned to survey the area. He saw that Dextor, Virgil, Reed and Moore had followed his lead and had dispatched several of the intruders. Deformeds who had originally run from the normals were now striking back, and Brandyjack was about to enter the fray again when he became aware of Thoruso calling him and the others back to the circle.

Brandyjack was reluctant to cease the fight, but saw that the deformeds seemed to have everything under control, and so did as directed. The others followed.

Within a few moments the normals, those that were still alive, had left the reservation. Those that were dead were scattered about the ground, ignored by all. Several huts were still burning, and around them small groups of deformeds stood and watched.

It was 15 minutes before calm returned to the reservation. The moaning of several deformeds who had been beaten or burned could be heard, but the sounds were soft and carried only short distances.

Thoruso’s group had watched the deformeds finish the job of beating off the normals, and none of them had spoken. Now, Brandyjack turned to the Merchant. “What was the idea of calling us back?” he asked loudly.

“Simple protection,” Thoruso answered, self-assuredly. “The deformeds weren’t likely to distinguish between the normals who were helping them and the ones who were killing them. I didn’t want to lose any of you.”

Brandyjack accepted this and turned, aware that a deformed had made his way to the circle. Brandyjack looked at the man, recognizing him as the blind man who had given them vegetables earlier.

“We wish to thank you for your assistance,” the blind man said.

“Does this happen often?” the wayfarer asked.

“Yes, it does.”

“Hell!” Brandyjack said loudly. “There weren’t any more than 20 of them, but when I woke up, everybody was running away. Why? There must be more than 300 of you here. You could have beaten them off easily enough.”

“Yes,” the blind deformed agreed, “we could have. But what sense is there to that? They’d only return with 300 more and they’d kill us all.”

“You mean to say,” Brandyjack started slowly, “that they do this on a regular basis and you seldom fight back.”

“That’s right.”

“To hell with that!” Brandyjack exploded. “The next time those bastards come here you kill them!”

“They’ll return and destroy us all, believe me.”

“So? Would you rather suffer through that kind of treatment, or die like men?”

“We think it’s better to be alive than die bravely.”

Brandyjack considered this for a moment, then looked directly into the eyes of the deformed, knowing the man couldn’t see him. “And that,” he said slowly, evenly, coldly, “is why there’ll always be a reservation for deformeds. If you don’t have the guts to fight for fairness, you damned well don’t deserve it!”

The wayfarer turned from the deformed and walked to the other side of the circle. He rubbed his injured arm gently, staring at the huts beyond where the normals had not penetrated. Regularly they did this, he told himself. And the deformeds never offered anything more than token resistance, hoping the normals would tire of their game and leave. They probably wouldn’t have fought this time except that Thoruso’s group had started, he decided. What would the deformeds do when the normals decided to make a clean sweep of the reservation? By the time they got organized enough to fight, the reservation would be nothing more than smoking ashes.

Quite suddenly he became aware of someone standing beside him. He whirled to find Virgil standing there, his face hard, cold. Virgil cocked his head slightly, indicating the area where the rest of Thoruso’s group still stood with the blind deformed. Several other deformeds, those who appeared to be in the best physical condition, considering their abnormalities, had joined their blind brother, and all stood, silently, staring at him. Virgil jerked a thumb toward the group, and Brandyjack started back, slowly.

“These people heard your statement,” the blind deformed said when Brandyjack was near him, “and they’d like to hear you repeat it.”

Brandyjack considered the situation for a moment, knowing they might be baiting him and in another instant they would be fighting him. To hell with it, he thought.

“I believe,” he started slowly, “that if you don’t have the guts to defend your way of life and the lives of the people you love, that if you run away and hope the normals will get tired and leave you alone, that if you think you have to take insults and abuse from the kind of idiots who came here tonight, then you deserve to live alone on a reservation in the middle of nowhere, and you don’t deserve to mingle with any humanity other than deformed humanity. If you’re too cowardly to fight for your rights, then you’re less than what the normals think you are.”

For a few seconds there was silence. Brandyjack waited, wondering if they’d surge forward to fight him.

“Even with the possibility of their returning and killing all of us, you think we should fight them, and kill them if we have to, every time they try to destroy anything on the reservation,” the blind man said. “Is that correct?”

“It is,” Brandyjack said evenly. “But there’s one thing you don’t understand, and people who live in fear never understand it. People who do what was done here tonight only do it because they know they won’t be held accountable. If you fought back I’d almost guarantee you the attacks would stop. If you let it go on, they’ll never stop.” He paused. “Never!”

“We’ll discuss the matter,” the blind man said and turned away. The other deformeds followed him.

Reed stood with Brandyjack, watching the retreating backs of the deformeds. “Fifteen years too late,” Reed said softly, and when Brandyjack looked at him questioningly, the man nodded toward Virgil, who sat alone by one of the wagons. Brandyjack nodded.

They crawled back under the wagons after a short time had passed. The snow, which had stopped falling sometime after they had fallen asleep earlier, started again, and as Brandyjack lay on the ground beneath the wagon, he wondered what right he had to scorn the deformeds. Finally, he closed his eyes. Eventually, he slept.

CHAPTER 18

Brandyjack cursed himself when he awoke, discovering he had somehow dislodged his cloak during the night. It lay one meter away from him, covered with a centimeter of snow. He cursed again, pulled the cloak under the wagon where he shivered from the cold, and brushed the snow away. He fastened it carefully around his neck, keeping the cold metal of the neck chain away from his bare skin.

The sun had barely appeared in the sky, he saw, and the deformeds were already working, dressed little differently from the day before when there had been no snow on the ground at all. They were a hardy people, Brandyjack decided, and if they ever found the courage to stand up to raiding normals, it would take more than double their own number to eliminate them.

Smoke rose, lazily, from the tops of several huts. In front of most of the huts children played in the snow, some obviously for the first time. The more deformed ones kept to themselves, but they seemed to be having as much fun as any of the others. They split into groups because of differences, Brandyjack decided, but they weren’t persecuted for those differences.

The activity for the day seemed to be the rebuilding of huts that had been burned the night before. Those adults who could carry lumber from trees that had been felled nearby did so, while others who couldn’t walk the distances supervised the building or helped with the hut foundations. Brandyjack wondered if he should offer to help, but decided that after what he’d said to them the evening before they might not appreciate any such offer.

He looked under the wagons to find only Chall and Lars still sleeping. The others of Thoruso’s band were nowhere to be seen. Probably out bartering for a meal, Brandyjack decided, then concluded such wasn’t a bad idea and climbed out of the makeshift circle to tromp through the new-fallen snow.

He found the others near the pens Reed had told him about the preceding night. Animals of a variety he’d never seen before were kept in huge pens. The creatures were nervous around men, but they made no violent overtures to defend themselves or force the men from the pens. One huge beast, with what seemed to be red feathers on its bearlike frame, had been slaughtered and was being cooked in pieces over a spit. Two deformeds were carefully removing feathers from the creature’s hide, and another had started skinning the fur that Brandyjack noted with amazement was beneath the feathers. Thoruso saw the wayfarer approach and waved him over.

“I told you the smell of roasting meat would bring him around,” Dextor said smugly.

Brandyjack allowed an expression of mock arrogance to cross his face, then smiled at Dextor and sat down on the pieces of bark and wood shavings that had been spread about. There were many deformeds sitting with the group, and none regarded Brandyjack with anything more hostile than a curious or amused glance.

A small woman hobbled over to him with a steaming piece of meat. Brandyjack took it from her, thanked her, and regarded it carefully, wondering what the flesh of a beast whose fur was covered with red feathers would taste like. A moment later he satisfied his curiosity and was pleased to discover the meat was delicious.

The deformeds talked among themselves, casually, but Brandyjack noticed after a short time that Reed and Virgil sat closer to their hosts than to the others in Thoruso’s group, and on occasion Reed talked with them. Virgil seemed content to simply be among people he considered his own, and Brandyjack found himself wondering just how difficult a choice the silent one had been forced to make. He had a great love for his people, but there was also his heritage, the stars. Undoubtedly the choice of the stars over his people had been a hard one to make, and having seen both Reed and Virgil in action and knowing both were valuable men, Brandyjack hoped Virgil did not reverse his decision and decide to stay with the deformeds. Reed would almost certainly remain with the silent deformed, regardless.

Brandyjack turned his attention to the three deformeds who were plucking the slaughtered beast’s feathers and skinning it. He watched with interest for several moments as the beautiful feathers were carefully collected and carted off by children. As a question occurred to him he got to his feet and sauntered over to where Reed and Virgil sat.

“I was just wondering,” the wayfarer started, “what these people do with the feathers. Most people would decorate their clothes or their persons with such beautiful things, but I’ve seen none on anyone here.”

Reed looked at Brandyjack for a few seconds, then replied slowly. “They save them until they have what they consider a sufficient stock, and they take them into the nearest city where they trade them for pots and a few agricultural tools. They get a few other minor items, then come back to the reservation.”

“I’ve seen feathers decorating some of the wealthier people in various cities, but I never guessed they came from here.”

“They do,” Reed said evenly, “they do. The deformeds have yet to receive a fair price for their feathers, and like as not they’re beaten whenever they enter the villages or cities. But they need cooking pots and such items, so they sell their feathers for pittances and the buyers of the feathers sell them for vast amounts of money.”

Reed’s voice was cold, but not bitter. Another fact surrounding the reservation, Brandyjack decided. Still, Reed was simply saying the transactions were not fair.

“I would venture,” Brandyjack said evenly, just loudly enough for Virgil and Reed to hear, “that if the deformeds fought back here at the reservation they’d get a higher price for their wares. I’m not saying the normals will like it, but they probably wouldn’t take advantage of people who were willing to fight.”

“Virgil and I agree with what you said last night,” Reed said quickly, “so there’s no need to preach to us. We think the people here will start to fight to protect the reservation. If they can live with some semblance of peace here, they’ll worry about getting fair prices later.”

“Logical,” Brandyjack mused, “as long as they don’t think they’ve won the war once they show the normals they’ll fight back. I hope they know it won’t be easy.”

“It never has been,” Reed said evenly.

Brandyjack nodded and stood, wondering what could make a man as normal as Reed feel so strongly for the deformeds. Undoubtedly his respect and love for Virgil had shaped his feelings, but Reed seemed more bitter than Virgil. Brandyjack shrugged mentally, then walked to Thoruso and Lotus. Moore and Dextor sat close to them.

“When are we leaving?” the wayfarer asked.

“A slight problem has come up,” Thoruso said slowly, looking at Lotus who averted her eyes from his gaze, “and we’re still here because I’m trying to resolve the situation to my satisfaction. Also,” he went on more slowly, “to be sure the decision made has been the right one for the person most involved.”

“Dammit!” Brandyjack cursed loudly. “Can’t you just tell me what the hell has come up instead of talking your guts out around it?”

“Lotus has decided to stay with the deformeds,” Dextor put in.

“What?” from Brandyjack. “Why?”

Lotus looked at the wayfarer for a few seconds, then sighed and said, “I told you I was still with Thoruso because I had nothing else that really meant anything. I’ve found a way of life that’ll give me some meaning.” Her voice was soft, and Brandyjack knew immediately her mind was quite definitely made up. Nothing he or Thoruso could say would sway her. Still, he was going to try.

“What meaning is there to a life like this?” he asked. “Living in fear that normals will come and burn the reservation to the ground; living in the worst of conditions because you aren’t allowed anywhere else; watching children grow up knowing they’ll never be considered human. What kind of meaning is that?”

“You’re contradicting yourself,” the woman said slowly, dropping her gaze to the ground. “Last night you said people who wouldn’t fight for their fair share don’t deserve it. This morning you’re saying there’s no meaning to the fight.”

Brandyjack said nothing for a few seconds, then, softly, “If you want to interpret my words that way, fine, but I didn’t mean them that way. If you find meaning here, you should stay here.”

Lotus nodded. “Thoruso’s stars have no meaning for me,” she said simply. “I’ll be needed here and no one will look down on me. I’m a normal, but I’m a deformed, too.” She held up the stump of her left wrist, then dropped it. “My father was a weak man, eager for anything to break the monotony of his life, and I was the same until I came here. But I’m not leaving, Brandyjack, so please don’t try to persuade me.”

“I won’t,” Brandyjack said slowly. “You’ve made a choice and I have no right to change it.” He paused. “Thoruso, get your tail back to the wagons and get everything ready. I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

Thoruso nodded and left the area, taking the others of his group with him, Moore hesitating only long enough to receive meat for his wife and son. Brandyjack sat beside Lotus for a few seconds, then asked, “I suppose someone has said it’s okay for you to stay? You came with us; you’re probably considered a normal.”

Lotus nodded. “I’ve received permission, but I doubt if they’d force anyone to go. They’re good people.”

Brandyjack took her hand in his. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry you’re leaving us,” he said slowly, “but I hope you never regret it.”

Lotus looked at him, then a smile crossed her lips. “I don’t think I will. But I’m sorry you never got to “settle accounts” with me for saving my life.”

“There was nothing to settle,” Brandyjack said slowly. “I’m glad I was able to do what I did.”

There was nothing to say, Brandyjack discovered then. He’d thought certain other developments might occur, but this, he’d never considered. So why was he still here? He stood. “Goodbye, Lotus. I hope you’re happy here.”

She looked up at him, smiled, then dropped her gaze to the ground again. Brandyjack turned and walked away through snow that was already melting in the gradually warming morning, hardly seeing the deformeds who went about their work as usual. When he returned to the wagons, all were ready to leave. He mounted his horse. “Let’s go catch a few stars!” he yelled to them.

Only the children watched them leave the reservation Brandyjack thought he saw the blind man standing near one of the huts, but when he tried to focus his gaze more clearly, whoever he’d seen had gone.

An hour later most of the snow had melted, but a stiff breeze had taken its place. The northern sky appeared dark, even though the sun shone upon them, and Brandyjack knew that soon they would encounter the snows and the mountains, both of which could be seen in the distance.

He urged his mount up to the wagon holding Reed, Dextor and Thoruso, and asked Reed, “I thought for a while you and Virgil might decide to stay at the reservation. Why didn’t you?”

“I can’t say we didn’t consider it,” Reed said after a pause, aware that Dextor and Thoruso were regarding him closely, ““but there is little we could do there. We could help them, yes, but our work, in the end, would come for nothing. This way we might help mankind in a much greater way. Give them the ambition and the intelligence to change what they’ve become.”

Brandyjack accepted the answer and dropped back to where Virgil rode alone. “I’m glad you decided to stay with us,” the wayfarer told the silent one.

Virgil only nodded, his face set as evenly as ever.

By midafternoon the sun had disappeared and the sky was much darker. The stiff breeze became much colder and Thoruso continuously checked the tarpaulin fastenings to be sure none of his papers or charts were being blown away.

Snow began to fall, lightly at first, then more heavily as they continued toward the mountains. The wind picked up even more, and before too long they were in the midst of a blizzard. Brandyjack and Virgil tied their horses to the backs of the wagons and climbed in with Thoruso, Dextor and Reed. They huddled together for warmth, Brandyjack informing them the cold would be much less of a problem if they had a few kegs of good ale on hand.

“What happens when the snow gets too deep for the horses to pull the wagons?” Brandyjack called to Thoruso over the howl of the wind.

“I’ll take care of it,” Thoruso called back.

Brandyjack accepted this and attempted to wrap his cloak more tightly about him, knowing it was already as close to his body as it could be without being a part of him.

The snow continued to fall as the wind diminished slightly, and eventually the horses were straining to pull the wagons. They stopped long enough to unharness one horse from each wagon, replacing them with the horses Brandyjack and Virgil had been riding.

When darkness came the wind had abated almost completely and the snow had ceased, but the cold increased. There was, they knew, absolutely no sense in stopping anywhere for the night. They would freeze to death. Several times Brandyjack cursed the planet, wondering how the weather could have been so pleasant in the morning when they had been several kilometers farther south, and why it was so cold now. He hoped the unmanned spaceships sent into the stars by the ancients didn’t find a planet like Earth and classify it suitable for life. The least the scouts could have done was find a planet where there was no snow. And no sand. And no sand lizards. And no rain. And, most of all, no Merchants.

The tarps were thick enough to protect Thoruso’s charts and books, so while Dextor guided the wagon through the snow, Brandyjack, Thoruso, Reed and Virgil slept. Dextor remained at the reins for little more than an hour, then woke the others so they could stretch and warm themselves a bit. Brandyjack took over from Dextor, and Reed went to Moore’s wagon to take over from him. Chall and Lars were awakened to move about and keep warm, and then they were moving through the snows again.

Every hour or so throughout the night this ritual was performed, and because of it no one froze and they covered ground they would not have had they stopped and slept. By morning they were still moving, and each man had had at least three turns guiding the wagons.

The sun shone brightly, but offered no warmth. A not overly brisk wind blew snow about, occasionally making vision difficult, but progress was generally smooth, even with the accumulation of almost half a meter of soft snow. Several times they changed horses so that none got exhausted, and since their progress remained constant this seemed to work quite well.

Gradually the snow became solid and they were able to make good time on the hardened crust, but not before they had covered several kilometers of snow that was well packed, interspersed with great distances of snow that was too soft for smooth travel. By midafternoon they were only a few kilometers from the mountains, and the snow supported them easily. Thoruso commented, “The snow appears solid enough to hold us now.”

“Do you really think we can get the wagons through the the mountains?” Brandyjack asked Thoruso immediately.

“No,” the Merchant replied, “I don’t. There are several passes, but I doubt either of the wagons will be able to move through them. However, Brandyjack, I would like to bring to your attention the fact that I am not a stupid man.”

Brandyjack chuckled. “Okay,” he said, “what does the genius Merchant have up his sleeve for crossing the mountains?”

“I’m sure you remember your bandit friend Cherry’s unwise move to steal our computer tapes, and your subsequent tracking and capture of him. Well, you were gone for quite some time. We were making runners while you were away, and if you’ll carefully remove them from under my books and charts, we’ll attach them to the wagons.”

“You’ve had the runners while we struggled through the snow back there?” Brandyjack asked, jerking a thumb in the direction from which they had come. “Why didn’t we put them on earlier?”

Thoruso sighed and looked at Dextor, smiling. “It becomes tedious dealing with uneducated minds,” the Merchant said. Then, more seriously, “We sunk to the ground several times, Brandyjack, and the runners would have been useless. They might even have hampered our progress. Now, however, we can glide along quite nicely. Provided,” tie added arrogantly, “there is anyone present with the intelligence and strength to attach the runners.”

Brandyjack grunted and slid off the wagon to remove the runners. “Never without a plan,” the wayfarer said to Reed and Virgil as they assisted him, “never without a plan.”

Several times while attaching the runners to the wagons, Brandyjack strained his injured arm and cursed loudly each time. Thoruso, who had decided to watch in place of assisting, clucked and made several comments on the vulgarities of certain barbarians. Brandyjack, happy that a general mood of merriment was prevailing, kept the feud progressing. There was, he decided, a great deal for them to be happy about, even though they’d encountered a great many ‘hardships since leaving Toronew, not the least of which, to his mind anyway, was the loss of Lotus. Still, he decided not to mention her to any of the others, preferring to think of and remember her as he had thought of very few other women in his life.

The runners were crude things, but Brandyjack grudgingly admitted they would suit their purpose quite well. He placed the runners beneath the wheels while Reed and Virgil held the wagon up. The runners were then fastened tightly with rope.

The entire operation took only a few minutes, but when it was completed the wagons moved much more quickly across the snow, the horses straining hardly at all to keep moving at a consistent pace.

A bitter wind continued to create snowdrifts in places and a chill in the bodies of the travelers. By the time the sun descended they were shivering violently, and young Lars had what appeared to be a bad cold and a fever. They took shelter between huge boulders that had been covered with drifting snow. With the boulders as a barrier against the wind, they were spared the majority of the biting cold. Dextor and Brandyjack felled a few small trees and a fire was ‘built, around which all huddled. What tarps weren’t needed to cover Thoruso’s possessions were spread out on the snow, and they slept fitfully, using blankets and extra clothing from Moore’s few possessions to stay warm. Occasionally one of the men put more wood on the fire, and although it never gave off as much heat as they would have liked, it did provide a good deal of warmth.

Morning found Lars in a much worse condition than the evening before. He was ‘burning with fever and coughing, occasionally whimpering as the cold became too much for him. When they left the shelter between the boulders, he lay in the back of his parents’ wagon, covered with as many blankets as possible. His mother sat beside him, consoling him and attempting to cheer him somewhat. Soon after they had resumed their journey the boy slept, but Chall’s worried expression never changed and she continued to pray and made sure he was well covered.

Thoruso consulted his maps only once and they changed their course slightly as the mountains rose very abruptly before them. There was little gradual sloping, no doubt caused by the amount of snow in this region, and they were traveling upwards with what seemed alarming suddenness.

The ascent became less steep after a few kilometers and there was reduced strain on the horses. They stopped to unharness a pair of horses and replaced them with the two who trailed Moore’s wagon, then continued upwards.

The wind was still cold and snow began to fall as the afternoon passed. Only when they stopped for a quick meal after Brandyjack killed a wolf did they appreciate the distance they had covered. The whiteness of the landscape began to annoy Brandyjack, it being far removed from the colors and temperatures of his familiar wastelands. He was, however, glad there were trees and boulders to break the monotony.

The snow began to fall more heavily, and after a while the wind abated so that the snow was not whipped into their faces with its earlier force. Brandyjack found himself enjoying the snow as it drifted gently down. The wind remained gentle for the rest of the afternoon, and when they found another protective shelter, this time against the base of a cliff, the snow stopped. From the ‘base of the cliff the snow was flat for a distance of 20 meters or so, then sloped drastically downward so that they were situated on a rise of sorts. The night, while cold, was clear, and moonlight brightly illuminated the mountainside.

Young Lars, it soon became apparent, was in a coma, and dying. Thoruso’s medicinal supplies were of no use and there was little they could do for him save keep him warm and out of the wind. Moore, speaking with Brandyjack and Dextor, told them he knew his son was dying. The man was grieved, but a realist, and Brandyjack knew he had given up all hope. Brandyjack saw Moore talking to his wife later, and he knew the man was preparing her for Lars’s inevitable death.

They kept the fire burning, and shortly before they spread out the tarpaulins for sleep they heard the howling of wolves far in the distance. Reed took the first watch, keeping near him a bow and several arrows. Brandyjack’s last vision, as he drifted into sleep, was the anguished form of Chall sitting near Lars. The woman wiped perspiration from the boy’s forehead and wept softly. Brandyjack slept.

He was awakened by Dextor who held a finger to his lips. “Thought I should tell somebody,” Dextor said softly. “The wolves are getting closer.”

Brandyjack nodded, got to his feet, and followed Dextor away from the cliff to a point where he could see the wolves. They were more than 100 meters away, but moving slowly in the direction of the encampment. One of the horses, catching the scent of the wolves, whinnied nervously.

“Well?” Dextor asked. “Should we wake the others?”

Brandyjack watched the wolves for a few seconds, saw them moving cautiously toward him, and said, “Yes. And get the fire burning a bit more.”

Dextor turned and walked back to the encampment, but Brandyjack watched the wolves for another few moments. There were, perhaps, 20 of them, gaunt, but obviously powerful and almost definitely hungry. There was wildlife in the mountains, but little that wolves could catch, even in a pack this large.

Brandyjack returned to the encampment to find the others awake and the fire beginning to burn higher, a good deal of wood now piled on it. Dextor, Reed and Virgil were armed with bows, while Thoruso and Moore held the two handguns, which Brandyjack knew contained only four bullets. Chall and Lars were on the other side of the fire, Lars tossing and turning in his delirium, and Chall holding a knife, her attention alternating between the approach route of the wolves and her son. Brandyjack found a knife in one of the wagons, and stood, waiting, with the men.

A wolf appeared on the ledge of snow, followed almost instantly by two more. Dextor took careful aim, drawing the bowstring taut, and fired. The arrow flew true and the wolf went down instantly in midstride, thrashing about only a bit before it quivered violently and was still. The other wolves ignored their dead companion, and padded quickly across the snow directly toward the encampment, their speed indicating they were about to charge in full force.

Arrows were suddenly whipping through the air as Virgil and Reed fired, followed a few seconds later by another arrow from Dextor’s bow. Of the three, only one struck true, and the wolves were suddenly charging, their motion almost a blur.

The wolves were only ten meters from the men when Thoruso fired his first shot. The lead wolf went down, but the others leaped over its body and into the camp. Only five had been killed to that point.

Brandyjack had stood almost at the front of the men, and as the first wolf came hurtling through the air he pulled his left arm back until it was directly behind him. then swung forward in a tremendous arc. The knife he held was buried in the leaping wolf’s stomach, and it howled as Brandyjack jerked the knife down the length of its body. It fell, dragged itself a few centimeters, then lay still, no longer a threat.

Brandyjack turned quickly and was met by another wolf, this one crashing into his chest, its fangs going immediately for his throat. The knife fell from his hand. He grabbed the beast’s neck and slowly started pushing the creature back, desperately aware that another wolf might attack him while his attention was focused on the snarling creature now astride him. Hot saliva from the wolf’s mouth dripped onto Brandyjack’s face and he strained even harder to push the beast off him. He was absently aware of another shot being fired and absolute confusion, the snarls of wolves and shouts of men mingling as one.

For all its thinness, the wolf was strong, and it clawed at his shoulders and chest, trying to rip open Brandyjack’s throat with its claws if unable to do so with its fangs. Then it was flung on its back in the snow, and Brandyjack was moving toward it. The wolf was on its feet in an instant, leaping once more toward its intended prey. Brandyjack waited until the last possible instant, then brought his hands, clenched together, upwards in a mighty swing of power that caught the wolf in the throat, only centimeters from Brandyjack’s face. The wolf flipped backwards and fell to the snow, its neck broken.

Brandyjack had half turned to enter the fight once again when he heard a scream. He whirled to see a wolf, already in the air, leaping toward Chall and Lars. Chall, terrified, had dropped her knife.

Brandyjack was moving in an instant, racing the ten meters across the snow toward the woman and her son. He leaped over the fire to come down on the wolf as it rolled on the ground with Chall, trying to rip her throat out. Brandyjack grabbed the wolf, lifted it above his head, and threw its squirming, twisting form into the fire. Howling it got to its feet and dashed through the snow, the fur on its body ablaze.

Brandyjack turned to see the others, expecting the battle still to be raging. It was not. Reed, however, lay sprawled on the snow, and around him were the others. Moore was hurrying toward Chall and Lars.

Brandyjack raced across the snow, kicking the dead bodies of wolves from his path. When he reached the others he saw that Reed’s throat had been ripped almost fully across. Virgil knelt in the snow beside Reed, trying desperately to stop the flow of blood that spurted upwards and stained the snow when it landed. Reed’s eyes were open and staring upwards, and the pain he felt was obvious. He tried to speak, but could manage only a gurgle. His body twitched slightly, but he was making an effort to lie still.

Virgil tore strips of cloth from his cloak and bound them around Reed’s neck. They were stained instantly with blood, and Brandyjack knew the silent deformed’s efforts would be of little use. Nonetheless, Virgil continued the attempt.

Brandyjack left them and walked over to where Moore held his wife tightly in his arms. The woman was sobbing softly, and Brandyjack saw that Lars was dead. When the wolf had attacked it had not been after Chall as he’d thought, but after Lars. In the flurry of snow that had arisen when the beast landed, he’d not seen it reach its objective and kill the child.

Brandyjack turned from the grieving parents and counted the bodies of dead wolves. Thirteen. Including the one he had thrown in the fire, 14 of what he’d estimated as 20 were dead, but they’d taken their toll, and they were probably out there somewhere, waiting. They had not eaten, after all.

Not wanting to, but concerned for Reed, he returned to where Virgil still attended the injured man. Thoruso and Dextor were calming the horses which were still terrified, even though no wolf had gotten close to them.

Virgil looked up at Brandyjack, then turned to Reed once more. Brandyjack wasn’t sure, but he thought there had been tears in the deformed’s eyes. Reed’s eyes were no longer open, but he was still breathing, and gurgling sounds from the man’s throat could be heard. The strips of cloth Virgil had bound around the neck were soaked with blood and the liquid continued to stain the white snow. Brandyjack knelt beside Virgil and checked Reed’s pulse. He couldn’t feel it.

Then, suddenly, Reed’s eyes opened and he jerked upright, his hands clutching the front of Virgil’s tunic. His eyes were wide, as if he was terrified, and he stared into Virgil’s eyes for what seemed an incredible length of time, but was no more than five seconds. Blood ran down his chest and he opened his mouth to speak, but again there was nothing more than a gurgling sound. Then, slowly, he relaxed his grip on Virgil’s tunic, and he began to fall back to the ground. Virgil caught the limp form before it struck the snow. Reed’s eyes closed as a slight smile crossed his lips, and Brandyjack realized that the man was dead. Virgil rested the dead man’s head gently in his lap, ignoring the blood that stained his tunic and what remained of his cloak.

Brandyjack glanced once at Virgil’s face, but it was enough to tell him anything he’d ever wanted to know about how much the two men cared for each other. The deformed’s eyes were closed, but not tightly enough to trap the tears that seeped out of the corner of each one and trickled down his wind-beaten cheeks. There was more anguish on his face than Brandyjack had ever seen any other man or woman express, and he knew Virgil would gladly have taken Reed’s place.

Virgil continued to hold Reed’s head in his lap, rocking slowly back and forth as tears trickled down his cheeks. The man’s lips were drawn tightly together. Blood continued to stain his clothes, but the circle the liquid created was growing much more slowly than it had been.

Brandyjack rose slowly to his feet and walked to where Thoruso and Dextor stood, beside the horses, watching Virgil. “Reed’s dead,” Brandyjack said softly. Dextor nodded as Thoruso continued to stare at Virgil’s slowly rocking body.

Brandyjack helped Moore dig a deep hole in the snow to bury Lars, but Virgil would accept no aid in digging Reed’s grave, nor would he accept aid in carrying the body to the hole and gently placing it inside. The silent deformed stood for long moments beside the filled-in grave before he turned and joined the others. He looked at them for a few seconds, nodded and returned to where he had been sleeping when the wolves attacked.

Moore and Chall also went back to their sleeping area, but Thoruso and Dextor stood with Brandyjack beside the wagons and horses.

“There are other dangers here,” Thoruso said at last, looking directly at Brandyjack. “I hadn’t planned on telling you, because I was hoping we wouldn’t have any trouble with them, but now that the wolves have attacked, it seems unlikely we’ll remain unvisited by the others.”

“Others?” Brandyjack asked quietly.

Thoruso nodded. “There are snakes here,” he said, looking at the dead wolves, “strange as that may seem. They’re huge yellow things and they’re more dangerous than the wolves are, but their entire life cycle is spent following the wolves. They feed on the wolves, but they also eat anything the wolves kill and don’t finish. Undoubtedly, they’ll be here soon.”

“Then why didn’t you order us to leave?” Brandyjack asked curiously.

Thoruso shrugged. “There is no doubt that I am in command, but I can’t find it in myself to order Moore and Chall away from the spot where they’ve buried their son, nor can I tell Virgil he can’t remain where he is.”

“You think facing killers is preferable to leaving as far as they’re concerned?” Brandyjack asked quickly.

“We’re dealing with emotions,” the Merchant replied, “and emotions are not always logical. I suppose Virgil will do anything he’s told, but I would almost guarantee you that Chall would rather stay here. Moore might not want to, but he’d probably do it because of Chall. If it came to that, I couldn’t order the rest of you away and leave them to face the snakes.”

“You told me once,” Brandyjack said after a pause, “that the hardships of those who wished to follow you were not your concern. Have you changed your mind?”

“No,” Thoruso admitted, “I haven’t. I was lying earlier, Brandyjack. I care very much what happens to the people who choose to follow me into the stars, but if I let my concern rule me we’ll never see the starship.”

“That’s what you’re doing right now,” Brandyjack said.

Thoruso sighed. “True, but I can’t tell a mother she has to leave her son’s grave. Dextor told me about you being unable to kill unarmed Protectors who hadn’t attacked you, and although the analogy isn’t a good one, I feel the same way.”

Dextor, who had listened quietly to the exchange between the Merchant and the wayfarer, now asked, “Would you rather Brandyjack or I gave the order? What if we forced Chall to leave?”

“It would take the direct responsibility from my shoulders,” Thoruso replied after a pause, “but by transferring authority to either of you I’m responsible, considering the reason I would give you the authority.”

“While we’re talking, the snakes are moving toward us, right?” Brandyjack asked.

Thoruso nodded.

“I can understand your position,” Brandyjack said, “but we’re fools if we stay here simply because you don’t wish to force Chall away from Lars’s grave. I don’t plan to wait for the snakes, and when I explain the situation to Virgil, he won’t think much of it either. We’ll leave, and we’ll take as many of you as we can, by force if necessary.”

Thoruso listened to the words, realized that Brandyjack meant every one of them, and finally sighed. “Yes, I suppose you would. Giving me the choice of leaving intact and leaving with a bloodied skull, I suppose I must prefer the former.” He paused. “Tell the others we’re leaving as soon as the horses are harnessed.”

Dextor and Brandyjack turned and walked away, and when they were out of Thoruso’s listening range, Dextor said, “Well done, Brandyjack. A brilliant method of forcing his decision.”

Brandyjack regarded Dextor for a few seconds, then, with no smile on his face and no hint of humor in his voice, said, “I was serious, Dextor. I meant it.”

Brandyjack went to Virgil, and in a few words explained the situation to the deformed. Virgil simply nodded, got to his feet and started toward the horses to harness them to the wagons. As Thoruso had expected, Chall had no wish to leave the area, and it took both Dextor and Brandyjack to convince Moore not to stay. In the end Chall obeyed her husband, and they prepared to leave, but not before they had moved the dead wolves a reasonable distance from the graves of Lars and Reed. Satisfied that no other wolves would get at the bodies, and that the snakes would feed on the wolves and leave the area, the group started up the mountainside once again.

By the time the sky had begun to color with morning they were several miles from the ill-fated cliff. The sun, however, would obviously not appear this day. Dark clouds scudded across the sky and they knew they were in for another snowstorm, possibly worse than the others they’d encountered thus far. Their fears became reality a short time later when the wind became harsh and colder than it had yet been, and soft white flakes of snow began to fall. Gradually the wind increased and the snow fell in greater abundance until its force brought memories of the stormlands and unceasing rain to Brandyjack’s mind.

It was almost impossible to be heard above the roar of the wind, and several times Brandyjack asked Thoruso questions, only to have the answers blown away into the wind. Finally, he gave up and sat in the back of the wagon, futilely attempting to protect himself from the snow and wind.

After several hours had passed, Thoruso ordered a halt, but the Merchant only wished to get under the wagon so that he could consult his map without having it ripped from his hands. Brandyjack, uninterested in the map, but quite interested in a few moments of shelter, crawled under the wagon with the Merchant. The wind still whipped about them, but Thoruso was able to look at the map.

“Another change?” Brandyjack yelled.

Thoruso shook his head. “I’m trying to figure out where we are!” he yelled back. “There’s supposed to be a cave once we’ve gone through one of the passes! I’m trying to be sure we pick the right pass!”

Brandyjack had seen no passes, and because of it crawled out from beneath the wagon and looked ahead of them, covering his eyes from the snow. Dimly, not too far away, he could make out the pass Thoruso had been talking about, although how the Merchant would know it was the correct one was beyond him. What landmarks had there been, other than cliffs and trees and snow-covered boulders? Brandyjack sighed and climbed back into the wagon. The Merchant hadn’t been wrong yet, and it was true that he always had a plan of some sort.

When Thoruso reappeared from beneath the wagon he waved toward the pass, and the wagons started toward it, Brandyjack and Virgil huddled into the back of the lead wagon. Moore’s wagon was at times impossible to see, but the man kept the horses moving steadily in the right direction, never more than a few meters away from the first.

Brandyjack, who kept his head tucked into the folds of his cloak, could not tell when they finally went through the pass. It was, however, several hours before they stopped again, and this time Thoruso pointed excitedly up the side of a cliff. At first Brandyjack did not see what the Merchant was indicating, but as he squinted to see through the snow he saw the faint outline of what appeared to be a cave. The wind blew drifts of snow about with violent force, however, and he couldn’t be sure. Thoruso shouted something to him, but the wind blew the words away.

The wagon started moving again, but stopped after 50 meters or so, and Thoruso stepped off into the snow. Brandyjack took another look at the darkened area and saw that it was indeed a cave, almost certainly the one Thoruso sought.

Thoruso scrambled up the side of the cliff leading to the cave, slipped and started up again. A few moments later the Merchant stood on an ice ledge, and then he disappeared into the cave. Seconds later he returned and waved to them to follow him.

They climbed out of the wagons and started up the gently sloping cliff, being careful they did not slip as Thoruso had done. When they reached the ice ledge Thoruso was waiting for them. He spoke, but again his words were drowned by the wind. They got the meaning of his words when he indicated to them that they should enter the cave, and they did as they were told.

For a few seconds they were surrounded by darkness, and then, slowly, the walls of the cave began to glow with a soft, white light. They looked at each other, puzzled, as Thoruso followed them into the cave. Although still terrific, the roar of the storm was lessened enough that conversation was possible.

“This is the cave leading to the starship!” Thoruso said loudly to them.

“You mean the damned thing is underground?” Brandyjack asked.

Thoruso nodded. “Yes. There are covers built over the exit. They can be automatically removed when it’s time for the starship to blast off!”

“How does the cave light itself?” Dextor asked.

“The weight of a man’s body,” Thoruso answered. “The pressure causes automatic relays to release enough current to light up panels built into the rock.”

They marveled at the slowly brightening light, and then Thoruso directed them to go back down to the wagons and carry up everything they had brought. It required a good deal of caution so that none of the papers or books were blown away, but the task was completed in slightly less than half an hour. Once everything was safely inside the cave the books and charts were divided into five equal piles, one for each man. The piles were wrapped in blankets so they could be easily carried.

They regretted leaving the horses and wagons outside, but there was no other way. Brandyjack did, however, return to the bottom of the cliff and unharness the beasts so that they would have as much chance for survival as possible. He gave them a slap to get them moving, then scrambled up the cliff and into the cave.

They debated staying where they were and catching up on their rest, but it was cold near the cave entrance, and Thoruso assured them that as they walked farther the cave walls would give off enough heat to make the walk comfortable.

Farther along, the cave was dark, but as they walked it slowly began to grow lighter, and the sections behind them grew slowly darker as the weight left those sections of the floor. And, they discovered, Thoruso had been correct, for the cave walls did give off sufficient heat once they were away from the coldness near the entrance.

“Why,” Brandyjack started as they moved, “was the starship built underground?”

“It had something to do with the world political situation at the time,” Thoruso informed him, “and this was supposedly a secret installation. This tunnel leads directly into the starship, and from there we, as the first occupants, can control the entrance mechanisms so that no one can enter unless we wish them to.”

Brandyjack considered that for a moment, then asked, “How much chance do others have of finding this place? We almost didn’t make it ourselves.”

“They stand as much chance as we did,” Thoruso replied, “providing they use their wits and their resources as we did, and also provided they don’t give up. These are people who want to go to the stars, Brandyjack. Some of them will make it, enough, at least, to start a stable life somewhere else. You forget, Brandyjack, that they have the same directions I had. If they follow them, they’ll make it.”

Brandyjack said nothing, but he was not convinced. Unless they came in groups of seven or eight, or perhaps more, they might not make it as easily as Thoruso imagined. Still, he decided, anything this important was worth a bit of hardship. Personally, he thought, the warmth was enough reward for the seemingly unending time spent in the cold.

It was, Thoruso told them, at least five kilometers to the starship, with certain barriers along the way. The barriers, he assured them, were little problem, simply doors that opened only when a certain word or group of words was spoken.

“And you, of course, just happen to know those words or groups of words,” Brandyjack said.

“Of course,” the Merchant answered, smiling. “For all three doors.”

The weight of the books, added to the exhaustion of the day’s activities, soon began to tell on them and they decided to stop and rest, continuing when all were somewhat refreshed. Thoruso wished to continue, Brandyjack knew, but he agreed to rest before moving any farther. The man knew his word was law, but he wasn’t about to deny anyone a simple rest period.

Chall had said nothing since they’d first entered the cave, and she did not break her silence as she sat on the floor. She stared straight ahead for a while, then closed her eyes and stretched out on her back. She was soon asleep, and Brandyjack wondered if Thoruso would be angry at the delay, but when he looked around and saw the Merchant, he, too, was asleep. Brandyjack chuckled and followed suit, and soon the echoes of snoring drifted along the length of the cave.

CHAPTER 19

“Now, if my information is correct, the first door is a few meters farther on the other side of this bend,” Thoruso told the others as they walked through the tunnel.

Brandyjack sighed as he rounded the corner and saw the door Thoruso had ‘been sure would be there. As usual, he thought, as usual.

Thoruso examined the door for several seconds, searching for a microphone or other device that would pick up his words and transmit them to whatever automatic mechanism controlled the door’s opening. Finding none, he wondered how his words could have any effect, but he spoke anyway, his words clear and ringing throughout the tunnel.

‘“It’s a fresh wind that blows.”

The echoes had died out and Thoruso had begun to move nervously about when the first grating sounds were heard. The door began to slide slowly into the tunnel wall, and the group looked on the second section of the tunnel, darkened and dismal.

Thoruso urged the group through the doorway, making sure everything had been taken before he stepped through himself. The door closed silently and they were left in darkness until the light panels built into the cave walls began to glow softly. Within seconds the tunnel was illuminated for a distance of 20 meters. They started moving once again, watching the darkened tunnel walls in front of them slowly begin to glow so that by the time they reached what had been a darkened area, it was fully lit.

“What was the meaning of those words?” Brandyjack asked as they walked.

“They have no meaning until the words for the other two doors are spoken,” Thoruso told him. “It’s a sentence and you’ll get its meaning later.”

“Ever the mystery man,” Brandyjack said, grimacing.

“Isn’t it odd that there were no animals or their skeletons in the first section of the tunnel?” Dextor asked suddenly. “I’d have thought they would seek some sort of shelter from the weather.”

“They probably did,” Thoruso told him, “but no doubt the place frightened them. However, it was a difficult climb to the ledge and there are few animals who would attempt it.”

They walked in silence after that, but Brandyjack could feel Thoruso’s excitement building slowly. The Merchant had waited, for how many hundreds of years he didn’t know, for these moments to come, and now that they were upon him he was eager to realize his dream.

Brandyjack still wondered about the others of Thoruso’s mysterious network of informants. He couldn’t see how they would complete the journey unless, as he’d earlier supposed, they traveled in groups of seven or eight or more. Moore and Chall were lucky to be here, he knew. If they’d attempted the journey alone they’d be nothing more than skeletons gleaming in the snow somewhere, and with their wagon weighted down the way it had been, they’d never have crossed the snows.

They were moving quickly, an unvoiced eagerness to reach the second door forcing them onwards. In less than an hour they saw the last bit of darkness in the section give way to light and the gray outline of the door was visible.

Again Thoruso searched for hidden microphones, once more finding none. He decided they must be inside the door itself, or perhaps built into the walls, if indeed there were any.

“Against.”

The single word echoed and died, and again there was a lapse of several seconds before the first grating sounds were heard. Then the door slid into the cave wall and the group hurried into the third section, the walls beginning to glow almost as soon as their feet were on the floor.

“It’s a fresh wind that blows against,” Brandyjack mused as the door slid shut again. “Doesn’t make much sense, but as long as it opens the doors I’m not too concerned about logic.”

“When have you ever been?” Dextor asked, smiling.

Brandyjack affected an offended manner, but returned the smile. “I’ll have you know I’m one of the most logical people on this entire planet. Why it took me only three days to learn how to pull the trigger of a handgun.”

The third, and final door, came into sight two hours later. They hurried to it, Thoruso almost dropping the blanket in his haste. His breathing became much louder, almost gasps.

Brandyjack regarded Thoruso closely, seeing in his manner the fulfillment of everything the man had ever lived for. He was nervous, but in complete awe of what he knew was behind the sliding door. He touched the door several times more, his breathing irregular and his body trembling slightly. He had waited so long, and now that he was here he was letting the excitement build, almost as if he wished to delay seeing the starship for another few minutes, as if they would make no difference whatever in the scheme of things.

Thoruso steadied himself, moved quickly back from the door, and said, “The Empire.” The words echoed as the others had, but the echoes did not die before the door slid, silently, into the wall.

And before them, across the dull, gray expanse of a metal walkway, was the tip of the starship!

Thoruso moved through the opening like a man entranced, set his feet carefully on the walkway, and looked down. Below, 100, 200, 300 meters, more, was the platform on which the starship rested, had rested for tens of centuries. Brandyjack grabbed the Merchant’s blanket of books, hoisted them with his own, and followed the man out onto the walkway. He was awed by the immensity of the starship and the area in which it rested, especially after having spent so many hours in the confines of the tunnel.

Thoruso moved slowly across the walkway, his head turning from side to side, looking up and down, marveling at the spectacle before him. His hands gripped the walkway railing tightly and slight tremors shook his body.

Dextor, following behind Brandyjack, whistled softly. Brandyjack turned to the man and smiled, but Dextor was looking beyond, at the dark space where the open air lock was touched by the walkway. Dextor, too, had lived with the dream for many years, Brandyjack realized, and while the thrill was infinitely greater for Thoruso, Dextor was certainly experiencing as much of it as he was able to.

Thoruso’s body stopped shaking as he continued across the walkway toward the open air lock. This was his moment, Brandyjack knew, and he was going to face it proud and tall.

It took them several moments to cross the walkway, and when Thoruso reached the open air lock he stopped for a moment and inhaled deeply. He had not started the final step when a voice, loud and deep, sounded.

“Welcome to the starship Destiny!”

Thoruso, totally startled, stepped backwards several paces, almost crashing into Brandyjack. The rumbling of the echoes of the voice continued for several long seconds.

“Stay where you are!” the voice commanded, still loud, deep, authoritative. “You will be met at the air lock!”

Thoruso, trembling slightly, turned to face Brandyjack who could do nothing but return the Merchant’s incredulous stare. It was almost impossible to believe, but there was someone here ahead of them, someone who had known words Thoruso assumed only he knew.

They fidgeted on the walkway, wanting to continue, but wanting also to turn and leave the area immediately. They stood, in silence, as Thoruso turned and stared vacantly at the air lock.

There was suddenly someone moving inside the starship beyond the air lock, and behind the shadowed form were others. Brandyjack couldn’t tell how many others, but for a moment he thought he’d been wrong about others completing the journey through the snows. Then, remembering that Thoruso alone knew the key sentence, he knew these were not any of the Merchant’s informants.

The first man, when he walked onto the walkway from the starship, was a man Brandyjack recognized immediately, even though he had never seen him in person before. He was Star, Premier of Merka, leader of virtually half the world. Paintings of his face hung in all government buildings, and even if he hadn’t seen the paintings, the man’s royal purple tunic was enough to identify him. Following him were others Brandyjack knew were important dignitaries, but their names escaped him.

In all, eight men left the starship to stand on the narrow walkway facing Thoruso’s group. The eight smiled at Thoruso, but the Merchant’s only expression was a vacant stare, and none of his group could find any words.

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” Star began, still smiling as he came even closer to Thoruso, “but since you left Toronew we’ve been waiting, afraid you wouldn’t make it. Please, enter the starship. You’ve waited a long time to do so.”

Moving slowly, still with the vacant stare on his face, Thoruso walked toward the air lock, following Star and the other dignitaries as they reentered the starship. Brandyjack, turning to glance quickly at Dextor, followed.

The air lock was dark, but they passed through it quickly, entering the starship proper, and were moving silently through rooms and corridors, until finally Star and the other dignitaries stopped in one particular room, indicating chairs to Thoruso and his group.

Brandyjack sat, feeling the luxuriant texture of the chair. The room, filled with desks and chairs the like of which he’d never seen before, was large, painted a dull green. The painting of a man Brandyjack didn’t recognize hung on one wall. On another wall were what looked like machines similar to some he’d seen in the computers building, but much, much smaller.

When everyone was seated, Star remained standing; the Premier smiled widely at Thoruso. Thoruso’s composure was beginning to return and he regarded Star carefully, seeing before him the embodiment of everything he felt was killing the human race.

“Why are you here?” the Merchant asked flatly. “And how did you know we were coming?”

Star continued smiling, his eyes twinkling beneath bushy eyebrows, and said, “I could answer those questions, but there is little need to. If you’ll listen to this recording, you’ll know everything. And if you don’t, you have only to ask.”

As he spoke, Star was moving toward the machines lining one wall. He flipped a switch, and reels began to turn, clicking softly. There was a barely audible hum, and then, from speakers attached to the machine, a voice started speaking.

“Welcome aboard the starship Destiny. I am John Vincent Chamberlain, President of the United States of America in the year 2087, and I am making this tape for a purpose I know I shall never live to see completed. I have no way of knowing in what year my words will be heard, nor even if they ever will be, but I have faith in the strength of humanity, and I believe that someday, in a future I cannot comprehend, these words will be heard by people who have the intelligence to understand what I am saying.

“The history of the human race has been a troubled one. Our technological advancements have been so great that it is now virtually impossible for us to continue living as we would wish. We have moved beyond the grasp of the common man, so far beyond that the common man is no longer willing to accept technology. Even as I speak there are riots in the streets of virtually every major city in every nation on Earth. Men and women who have lived simple lives feel they have been passed by, have been forced to live in darkness, and they are afraid of technology. In essence, technology has moved too fast for them, and now that they realize that, they are resentful, feeling that their goals were the important ones, not those of a handful of scientists and leaders. They had no wish to conquer the stars, had no wish to live anything but quiet, peaceful lives.

“It is this fact, and this fact alone, which is at this moment killing our society, and will continue to kill it until there is nothing left but ashes, and the human race starts rebuilding. The scientists and world leaders have moved beyond the realm of the common man, and the common man resents it. Individually, he is nothing, but collectively, he is the most powerful force we know of. And he is now, collectively, destroying civilization, not out of hatred for civilization, but out of frustration at being left behind, out of rage because his problems, the problems of life, have not been solved by technological advancements.

“It boils down to one simple, plain fact: unless the common man wants technology, unless he wants to advance, there will be no advancements beyond a certain point. Until mankind wants something, a minority of scientists will never be able to go beyond certain boundaries.

“We have sent exploratory, unmanned scoutships into space to find planets that will be more suitable for human life, but we have acted too late. There is no room here any more, and the scoutships’ reports will not be back in time for us to save our civilization or evacuate what people we can to new worlds. It must be remembered that the common man had no interest in space except as a passing curiosity, and that we, the leaders of Earth, failed to recognize this fact. We moved onwards to solve mathematical and scientific problems, without ever solving those of the common man. I suppose, in all fairness, the common man is not destroying civilization. Its decay was begun when the prestige of a nation mattered more to the leaders than the welfare of the people who were governed.

“There can be no technology, no major advancements, no gains in science or mathematics until the common man wants them. When he has decided life must change, when he has set his sights on certain goals, those goals will be attained and life will change. But the leaders and the scientists must never make those decisions. They have no right to do so, and the result of their attempting to do so is being seen in the streets right this moment.

“There is little else to say except that when this tape is played and the words listened to by people who are not leaders, the common man will be ready for technology and the myriad benefits it can bring. Even so, there must be caution. The common man must be educated so that he understands and is not left in the dark. If he is left out, your civilization will be destroyed as surely as my own is being destroyed now.

“This is John Vincent Chamberlain, President of the United States of America in the year 2087, and to those who are listening to my words, I wish you peace and I pray you understand me.”

Star flicked a switch and the reels stopped moving, their clicking abruptly ending.

Thoruso looked around the room at the dignitaries who sat, still smiling, looking at him.

“The governments have known what you’ve just heard for almost 1000 years,” Star said as Thoruso turned to face him, “but as you know we’ve allowed no technological advancements, no major gains in science. We have abided by the wishes of the ancients, and we’ve waited for the common man to yearn for the stars. Government leaders have lived and died, praying the common man would come in their lifetimes, but only we have been fortunate enough to witness the event.” Star opened his arms to include the other dignitaries. They smiled, widely, but Thoruso continued to keep his face straight.

“We were forced to make your dream as difficult as possible to attain,” Star went on quickly, “thus the harassment from Protectors whenever we could. If you had come here with no resistance, you would not be the common man, your views would not be representative. We had to be sure the common man wished to overcome certain obstacles to attain his goal.”

Still Thoruso said nothing, but Brandyjack could see the emotions beginning to be etched there. The Merchant’s mind was working on a problem, and Brandyjack knew he’d not speak until he was sure of his words.

“From this point onwards mankind shall rise,” Star continued. “There is no need to be in the dark as we have been.”

There was silence for a few seconds, but still Thoruso said nothing, his face betraying nothing of what he felt. He regarded Star intently.

“We happen to know you’re a deformed,” Star said to Thoruso, “and we know how long you’ve been alive. You’ve worked for this moment for several centuries, and yet, here, on the threshold of everything you’ve ever wanted, you act as though we were delivering your death sentence. Is there anything you don’t understand?”

Thoruso shook his head slowly. “I understand everything perfectly,” he said at last. “I understand that for 1000 years governments have been afraid to grow and experiment because they listened to the words of a man who drew the wrong conclusions.”

The smiles faded suddenly from the lips of the dignitaries, and Star began to regard Thoruso coldly.

“I understand,” Thoruso went on, “that intelligence has been suppressed to insane limits, and that mankind has been forced to live in apathy and neglect because world leaders believed the ancients were gods who couldn’t err— instead of seeing them as the idiots they were, the idiots who killed themselves through stupidity.”

Brandyjack could feel the hostility rising as Thoruso spoke, but he knew that now that the Merchant had begun, he would not stop until he’d said all he wished to.

“I understand,” Thoruso continued, “that children have been forced to live lives of misery and fear because they happened to be born diseased or because an arm or a leg was missing. Advancements in medicine could have given them meaningful, enjoyable lives. Instead, they were sentenced to a lifetime of neglect and misery.

“I understand that people have starved to death because they were not educated enough to know they were ruining their land. The soils were drained of all nutrients, and farmers watched their children die, and never once knew that if they’d rotated a few crops they’d have been alive.

“I understand the knowledge contained in the computers building was kept secret and used to benefit no one.

“I understand that beasts that kill human beings were allowed to continue killing human beings because leaders were afraid the reinvention of weapons would signal the end of mankind.

“I understand that people live in cities that are little more than garbage heaps, that they are forced to surround themselves with walls to keep intruders and beasts out.

“I understand that fear has destroyed everything mankind might have been in the last 3000 years. We could have been beyond the ancients now, and we could have solved the problems of human suffering without ever incurring the wrath of what that ancient idiot termed the common man. We could have had everything man needs to survive, but because of the fears of a few stupid men, and the actions of stupid men, we have nothing.”

Thoruso paused, his face red with anger and his hands gripping the arm rests of his chair with great strength. He glared at Star who regarded the Merchant incredulously.

“And lastly,” Thoruso went on coldly, “I understand that your years of waiting for the common man to appear have been in vain, because he’s yet to come. I am not indicative of the common man, Star, nor are Dextor and Virgil and Moore. Did you know, Star, that Moore is an inventor? Some might call him a scientist. The only man here who might be called the common man is Brandyjack, and he’s here because he’s sick of the filth. If there was a pleasant city on the other side of the planet, he’d be there and not the stars. This is just a thrilling adventure he’ll soon tire of.

“The common man doesn’t give a damn for the stars or technology or mathematics or anything else, Star. He’s interested only in what affects him directly, and you, like that fool Chamberlain, can’t see that. Devote 5 percent of your energies to the common man and you’ve made his life one of Utopian beauty. That was the problem, Star. Fools like Chamberlain wouldn’t give the common man even that much. He had the right reasons for the collapse of their civilization, but he drew the wrong conclusions.

Because people like you listened to him for 3000 years without daring to think for yourselves, nothing has changed. And nothing will ever change, Star, not as long as there are people like you.”

Thoruso paused in his indictment and glared at each dignitary in turn. Even Brandyjack squirmed, although the Merchant never glanced his way.

“You said you placed obstacles in my path to make my journey difficult, but you were too stupid to realize that because you never stopped me completely, you weren’t even adhering to your own philosophy of suppressing everything you could. You wanted me to succeed, no matter how many obstacles you placed in front of me, and if by chance I’d died, you’d have seen to it that someone else appeared to justify everything you’ve done. No, Star, nothing has changed, and it never will.”

“But the starship,” Star said. “When you take it and leave Earth the common man will be interested in technology once more. We can start rebuilding, we can—”

“No!” Thoruso roared. “The common man will not be interested in technology again, and surely not because someone who is different from him took a starship from Earth.” Thoruso paused. Then, “And I won’t be leaving Earth, Star. If you want to see the Destiny blast off you’ll have to do it yourself.”

Star glared at Thoruso for a long time, but said nothing. Brandyjack, made uncomfortable by the silence, finally asked, “How in hell did you people even get here anyway?”

Thoruso whirled in his seat to face Brandyjack. He smiled at the wayfarer, and then curiosity replaced the smile as he began to wonder himself.

“There’s an underground transit system,” Star said to Brandyjack. “There are tubes large enough for one man. They’re whisked through the underground tunnels, the destination decided by punching a control panel inside the tube.”

“Pneumatics,” Thoruso said softly, “and you bastards have known about it for years. Star, you don’t know what you and all the others before you have done, do you?”

“We listened to the ancients,” Star replied quickly. “They blueprinted the plans for survival before they suicided!”

“But they did suicide,” Thoruso said, and his voice was tired, old. “Their blueprint didn’t do them much good, did it?”

“It was too late,” Star said quickly, and his anger was obvious.

“It’s always too late,” Thoruso sighed, beaten, weary.

The Merchant rose from his chair and looked at each member of the group who had followed him to the starship. “It was for nothing,” he said softly, sadly. “Nothing. Moore and Chall, I’m sorry about Lars and I feel responsible even though it’s the fault of idiots like Star. Virgil, I’m sorry about Reed, too. He died for something he believed in, and that makes him a hero. Dextor, well, you’ve been with me most of your life; you’re almost my son. You know what I’m going to say and you know how I feel about you. Brandyjack, you kept us alive when we should have been dead, and you did more for us than anyone else. I apologize for what I said concerning your interest in the starship, but I feel it’s true. I hope you’re not offended, but I think you’re intelligent enough to realize I spoke only the truth.”

Brandyjack nodded.

“I’m not going to the stars,” Thoruso said softly, “for it makes no difference now. If Star will let me use the pneumatic tubes, I’ll go back to Toronew. If he won’t, I’ll leave by the tunnel and try to get back through the snow. You’re welcome to come with me if you choose, or, maybe you want to go to the stars. The choice is yours and I don’t want to influence you.”

Star looked incredulously at Thoruso as his anger began to rise once again. “But what about our technology?” the Premier asked. “It’ll never grow.”

“You already have it,” Thoruso answered, sighing. “What you do with it is your business. Use it or forget it, whichever you choose. It no longer matters. Will you allow me the use of the pneumatic tubes so I can return to Toronew?”

“You see no reason why we shouldn’t expand our technology and start growing again?” Star asked, ignoring Thoruso’s question.

“That’s right,” Thoruso told him. “If you’ve got the intelligence to use it properly, there’s no reason why you can’t get started right now. About the tubes?”

Star looked to the other dignitaries. They were smiling, talking excitedly among themselves as they considered what they could do now that they had what amounted to permission to use the technology they’d kept secret and suppressed for so long. It seemed, to Brandyjack, that they’d suddenly discovered a new toy.

Star looked back at Thoruso and nodded. Thoruso turned to the others of his group. “Do any of you wish to return to Toronew?”

Dextor and Virgil nodded and stood beside Thoruso. Moore and Chall discussed the situation briefly and decided to return with the Merchant, their possessions long ago scattered about.

“Brandyjack?”

The wayfarer shrugged. “Yeah. I guess so. I’m going to look up a certain beggar boy who helped me get an unusual red coin into the city, and then I think the two of us will take a short journey to a reservation I’ve heard is around.” He chuckled. “From what I hear, there’s a young lady who’s found a meaning to life and I think I’ll give it a try.”

He got to his feet and Thoruso led them from the room where Star had joined the other dignitaries and was talking excitedly about the plans.

They walked down through the starship until they came to a second air lock, and once there went quickly across the walkway and down steps leading to the pneumatic tubes Thoruso knew would be below the starship’s launching base.

The tubes were there as Thoruso had thought, and Brandyjack’s last glimpse of the weary Merchant was of the man looking at the computer tapes. Just before the panel closed on the tube, Brandyjack saw the tapes slide from the old man’s fingers and drop to the floor. Then the panel was closed and Brandyjack was in darkness. He wasn’t sure, but he thought a tear had been trickling down the old man’s cheek.

But it occurred to him then that if Star and his cohorts were about to begin the next technological revolution, then people like Thoruso would be needed to make sure the common man got his fair share. And somehow, he was sure the Merchant would arrive at the same conclusion after a few days of mourning lost dreams. After all, the Merchant always had a plan.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19