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Rebels of Merka by Augustine Funnell

CHAPTER 1

As the woman handed the foaming mug of ale to the tall man with long, almost waist-length, dark hair, she smiled and slowly shook her head. The man, lounging in a roughly hewn wooden chair, pretended not to notice the smile.

“I don’t know how you do it,” the woman sighed, her dark eyes twinkling, her pale skin bathed in golden sunlight from the last rays that streamed through the window.

“I admit,” the big man said, mockingly self-important, “that it takes, a great deal of skill, and I accept the accolades you heap upon me.”

Lotus chuckled at that and moved away from Brandyjack’s chair. She sat on a bench drawn close to a table, rested her arms on the table and glanced at her left wrist for a second. There had once been a hand there, but now there was only a stump, a grim reminder of other days, no harder than now, but much more uncertain.

The small hut was built by Brandyjack and Lotus together: the results of their efforts as carpenters. Two chairs, a bench and a table were the sole furnishings, and the only items not constructed by them were three huge kegs carefully situated in one corner of the room. From one of those kegs Lotus had filled Brandyjack’s mug.

Lotus looked through the hut’s single window into an already darkening sky. When the sun dropped, so would the temperature, but it was late spring on the reservation, so the nights would not be as bitter as they had been even a month earlier.

The people who lived here, deformed mockeries of human beings, had found life too difficult in the cities housing normal mankind. They had created their own settlement, grown their own crops, tended their own livestock and generally remained as distant from the normals as possible. They preferred to wrench what pride and self-esteem they could from life, rather than endure the scorn and humilities heaped upon them from those of the cities. Of all on the reservation, only Brandyjack and Lotus were undeformed; Lotus’s loss of her left hand was an accident of adventure rather than an injustice of birth. Nonetheless, she had chosen to remain with the deformed colony. And because Brandyjack loved her, he had come back to be with her, had spent an entire winter as her man.

When the room began to darken, a chill pervaded the air. Lotus rose from the bench and dropped a thick canvas over the window opening, before walking back to the table to light a lamp. Its meager light was sufficient for such limited quarters.

“You’re speaking little this evening,” Lotus said, resuming her position on the bench and looking across the room at Brandyjack.

The big man shrugged, pulled an exceptionally long wisp of hair from in front of his eyes and sighed. He took another huge swallow of ale from his mug, emptying it, and, after placing the mug on the dirt floor, folded his hands on his chest.

“I’m not used to silence from you,” Lotus went on, smiling.

“Hard work and little ale makes the joy of conversation a minor one,” Brandyjack said. “And it appears tomorrow will be another day of same. There’s a lot of planting yet to be done.”

Lotus chuckled. “I’ll admit you work hard with the others in the fields, but I can’t agree that you’ve too little ale. Why, two of those kegs in the corner are yet full, and the third is easily over half.”

Brandyjack shrugged, turned his eyes from her and stared at the thick canvas covering the window. A dim light peeked around its edges, indicating the sun had not yet sunk completely below the horizon.

Lotus said nothing for a few seconds, but her smile disappeared and she considered her man carefully for a moment or two. “Brandyjack,” she said at last, slowly, softly, “what bothers you? For more than two weeks you’ve been different.”

“Different? How so?”

“Well,” Lotus began, her careful speech indicating concern and uncertainty, “you seem to have become restless… unsatisfied with our life here.” She stood up and walked across the dirt floor to stand before Brandyjack for a few seconds; then she sat down, her arms resting across his legs.

“I’ve never been one to beat around the bush,” Brandyjack started immediately. His tone betraying relief that Lotus had tried to draw his unhappiness from him, he continued, “so I’ll tell you as plainly as I can what has been bothering me.” He paused for a moment. “Lotus, this past winter and most of the spring have been hard on me. I’m not used to a regulated life, not accustomed to a farmer’s lot. Inactivity is quickly twisting my sanity.”

“Inactivity?” Lotus asked incredulously. “Brandyjack, you work harder than any other man or woman in the settlement. All winter you worked to build new pens for the animals, helped the others repair their huts or build new ones. You built this hut, you constructed the furniture. And now that spring has come, you’ve been planting the fields, spending almost all the daylight hours there. You call that inactivity?”

Brandyjack sighed and shook his head slowly from side to side. “Damn!” he muttered. “Lotus, the physical labor is not what I meant. I’m unaccustomed to this life. I need action, excitement, uncertainty all about me. Never before have I settled down to anything, and I fear I’ve made the wrong choice in deciding to return to the settlement.”

For several moments, Lotus said nothing, absorbing the full meaning of Brandyjack’s words. He had come to be with her. He’d returned from the mountains farther north after an adventure with Thoruso the Merchant and his aides, Dextor, Virgil, Moore and Chall, to live a simple life with a woman he’d decided was the one for him. Now, after almost two full seasons of life with her, he had reconsidered his decision.

“You don’t find the life here fulfilling?” Lotus asked softly, her eyes staring at the floor.

“That’s not what you mean,” Brandyjack told her, recognizing immediately that she couldn’t put what bothered her into words. “What you mean to ask is whether or not I’ve lost my feelings for you.”

Lotus looked up at him, quickly, then resumed her downcast gaze. Brandyjack rested a huge hand on her dark hair and sighed. Lotus said nothing.

“No, Lotus, I’ve lost none of my feelings for you. But try to understand that the life of a farmer, the life of a person unaffected and uninvolved with the excitement of the world, is not the life for me.”

Lotus said nothing for long moments, but when she spoke, her voice almost broke with sorrow. “So you will leave?”

Brandyjack sighed. “Eventually,” he said slowly, “yes. Not tomorrow, not the next day, but someday, yes, I will leave.”

Silently, Lotus rested her head against Brandyjack’s thigh. Brandyjack sighed, cursed inwardly, wondering how he became involved in such things, wondering why his life couldn’t, just once, be free of difficulties.

“You wish you had never returned, don’t you?” Lotus asked him, her soft voice suggesting that tears had sprung from her eyes, even though Brandyjack could not see her face

“Bloody bluebeards, woman, not a bit!” he cried. “I regret nothing of the past two seasons, but I’ve come to realize that another two seasons will turn me into a babbling moron. Or worse, a Merchant like Thoruso!”

His attempt at humor brought a smile to Lotus’s lips as he turned her face to look into her eyes. He could see there the love she harbored for him; he did not doubt that she would be miserable and sorrowful when he left. But he was a man of action, a man of excitement, and no love could keep him tied to a life that did not satisfy.

“I’ve always done what I felt I must,” Brandyjack told her, “and I’ve always tried to be honest with myself and those around me. I cannot change; indeed, I will not.”

They were words Lotus could understand because she understood Brandyjack, knew his ways and loved him for them. It was with a sad sense of loss, for she realized he would leave because he had to, and she would love him less if he did not.

“I understand,” she told him softly, unable to keep the tears from her eyes. “I wish there was another way for you, but I know there isn’t.”

He nodded, kissed her once on the forehead and climbed out of the roughly hewn chair. He pulled his cloak from the back of the chair, wrapped it around his massive shoulders and started for the door.

“I’m going for a walk,” he told her. “I won’t be long.”

She nodded, thinking only briefly of his bad timing. But Brandyjack was an impetuous man, acting on whatever mood struck him, marching to a rhythm no other man could hear.

In the cool night air, Brandyjack inhaled deeply, pulling a small paper bag from a pocket on the inner side of his cloak. Inside were tobacco and papers, and he wasted little time in rolling a cigarette, sticking it between his lips and lighting it with one of his few matches. Tobacco was a luxury, one he paid dearly for whenever he managed to scrape together enough currency to obtain it. As with his ale, however, he did not begrudge the expense; the pleasure derived from both far outweighed the cost.

Dusk had descended on the settlement, and the few windows not covered with canvas wind barriers allowed light from lamps and fires to reach the outside. There were perhaps 200 huts here, each one housing a family, regardless of how large that family might be. Only a few had been able to spare the time to enlarge their dwellings, and fewer still had been able to assist in the enlargements. Even so, like as not, Brandyjack had been involved in the improvements.

There was satisfaction with life here, Brandyjack realized. It pleased him to help, gave him satisfaction and gratification to know his efforts were appreciated and accepted as the offerings of a friend. Where another normal might have felt conspicuous among the deformed, Brandyjack had never seen any reason why he should not live with those who had no arms, or had no legs, those whose twisted bodies barely supported them, or who were blind, or deaf, or mute or any of the other myriad deformities that ran rampant among the colony members. Reverse scorn, the deformed seeing Brandyjack as something less than they, had reared its ugly head at the beginning. But when he treated them with respect, not condescension, and as equals whose only measure of worth was ability and desire according to the equipment provided by an unkind providence, their opinion of him changed; he had melted into the lifestyle of the deformed with none questioning or raising a hand against him.

But there was something lacking here, the wayfarer realized as he walked away from his hut along the pathway leading to the fields; something that made life dull and empty. He knew what it was, but hadn’t wished to admit it to himself on earlier occasions. It was excitement, yes, action, yes, but he knew there was another word for it; irresponsibility.

He considered this as he walked, puffing on his cigarette and enjoying immensely the taste of the tobacco. Was his inability to settle down to a life of hard, unexciting work, a life requiring certain labors with little return, a defect in his character? He hoped not but was afraid it might be so. He did not begrudge the hard work, but needed the uncertainty of action. Could that be called irresponsible? In his life as a wayfarer he had always been irresponsible, had constantly made wrong decisions and judgments, but that was not the issue. The issue was self-fulfillment and satisfaction, and he felt only a little of these in his efforts as a member of the deformed settlement.

All that remained now was the decision of when to leave. He realized, as he dropped the cigarette butt to the ground and crushed the red coals into lifeless ash, that it must be made now.

He wrapped his cloak more tightly around him, feeling the chill of an increasingly cold wind. He didn’t want Lotus to awaken one morning to discover that her man had left; that was both unfair and wrong. He had an obligation to let her know, so that she would not feel deserted, so that she would not hate him.

How long could he stay here and not become totally unhappy? A day? Two? He didn’t know, but he realized as he thought about it that he would very much like to leave immediately, to know once again the freedom of travel and adventure. That in mind, he wondered if a week would be too long for him, or too short for Lotus to become accustomed to the idea. There was, he realized, no sense in dragging it out over too many days, making the final separation more difficult than necessary.

A week it was, then! Seven days hence he would leave the settlement, would bid farewell to the friends he had made, would kiss Lotus for the last time until a future date he was at present unaware of.

He stood on the edge of the settlement, the last of the huts behind him and the beginnings of the fields before him, and stared at the westerly horizon, full into the face of a wind that had picked up considerably since he’d left the hut. Turning his back to the breeze, he pulled the tobacco pouch from its place inside his cloak and rolled another cigarette. On his way back to his hut, he enjoyed the pleasure of a second smoke in a single evening, a luxury he had not afforded himself on any previous night.

Would seven days be enough to empty the two and a half kegs of ale that sat in the corner of the hut? He chuckled when he realized such a thought came from his former life, a life he was soon to reenter. And, he decided confidently, seven days was more than enough time to enjoy the ale.

Early on the morning of the seventh day, before the sun had crept over the eastern horizon, Brandyjack awoke and crawled out from between the skins on the floor that served as the bed he shared with Lotus.

There was, he discovered when he had dressed, just enough ale in the kegs to fill a single mug, and as he washed the taste of sleep from his mouth, he contemplated the still-sleeping form of Lotus. She was beautiful, he decided, as he lit the lamp that rested on the table. Flickering shadows danced across her and the wall near her head, and for the briefest of instants Brandyjack reconsidered his decision, thought perhaps he had been too hasty. No, he decided at last, this life was not for him, even if it was one that satisfied Lotus.

He finished the ale, set the mug gently onto the table and collected those few things he wished to take with him: a long, keen knife, his tobacco, and a supply of papers and matches. He stuffed these into pockets of his cloak, carefully inserting the knife into its sheath. He pulled from a cloak pocket a long, thin strand of wire, and drew his long hair back over his shoulders, wrapping the wire around it so that it formed a ponytail down his back. Then, slowly, he fastened the cloak around his neck, drawing it around his chest and stomach and fastening it with buttons. Briefly he considered leaving without waking the woman he had been with for two seasons, but he knew he could never do that. He walked softly across the dirt floor, considered her for an instant, then bent and lightly touched her shoulder. She stirred and was immediately awake, blinked sleep from her eyes. As she looked up at Brandyjack, he knew she would be weeping in a moment.

She pulled herself to a sitting position, wrapping her arms around Brandyjack’s neck as he squatted near her. She was wide awake now, the realization of what was about to happen complete.

“I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye,” the wayfarer said to her, and his voice was soft and tinged with an emotion Lotus knew was love, even though he had never been able to put it into words. She knew, then, that he was not leaving because of any lack of love for her, but because he honestly could not wring those things he needed to be content from life on the settlement.

Resting her head on his shoulder and drawing him down close to her, she said nothing. He wrapped his arms around her, kneeling on the dirt beside the skins and wishing the moment was over.

He stood quickly, and she rose beside him, naked in the chill of early morning. She shivered as they embraced one final time, and then, before either of them could say anything, Brandyjack turned from her and strode out of the hut, still feeling her hot tears of sorrow on his cheek.

“Someday,” he muttered softly to himself as he drew his cloak around him, “someday…”

The morning was chilly, but early dawn revealed a cloudless sky, and Brandyjack knew he would not be cold this day. Indeed, if he was not a man so addicted to warmth, his cloak would be off and slung over his shoulder by midday.

The road leading out of the settlement was well worn up to the enclosure, but after that it became less and less a road, and more and more a path; the wagon ruts from the previous autumn were barely visible beneath the grasses that had begun to grow.

He kept to the pathway that led southeast, because the shorter route would have passed through forests and an area of constant rain. On a journey through those same forests once, he had battled fiercely with creatures half-man and half-animal and had no desire to meet them again: a long scar on his arm attested to the savage teeth and served as an unneeded reminder of the ferocity of the forest dwellers. And as for the area of constant rain, he had nearly frozen to death in its relentless, pounding cold and vowed never to combat those elements again.

“Leave that for lowlife like Merchants,” he said quietly to himself, chuckling at the memories of Thoruso.

Such reminders of the Merchant caused him to feel slightly melancholy. As he strode briskly through the still-dim dawn, he recalled the adventures he’d shared with Thoruso—remembered being in the hands of death far too often for comfort. Brandyjack recalled his first meeting with the Merchant and the adventure that indefatigable soul had masterminded: how he planned to locate and steal a starship to reopen mankind’s centuries-dormant exploration of the stars, and how Thoruso was blackmailed into allowing an extra passenger—Brandyjack. After collecting enough information about the starship to know they’d need computer tapes and projections of courses, the fearless little group had raided the closely guarded depositories of information that paranoid governments had kept hidden for hundreds—thousands—of years.

The Merchant and his aides had fought a constant battle against mutants, the elements and the government police force—the protectors—until they finally reached the single starship remaining from an insane period in mankind’s development. But world governments had known of the starship for hundreds of years; because they had listened to the terrified, paranoid conclusions of a leader from 30 centuries earlier, these governments had suppressed all inventions, all developments that would lead to the rebirth of technology. The situation changed after Thoruso and his band reached the starship, for the leaders seemed once again willing to let progress take its course. Currently isolated from the developments of the normal world, Brandyjack had no idea how far new developments had gone, if indeed they had been started at all. Since it was little more than six or seven months since the change in government philosophy, Brandyjack imagined not much was yet completed.

Now that his ties had been severed with the settlement and his life as a wayfarer had resumed, he felt contentment.

He wondered if a visit to Toronew to see Thoruso and Dextor—plus Virgil, Moore and Chall if they had remained with the Merchant—might be in order. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. He chuckled fondly when he thought again of the Merchant, himself a deformed, hundreds of years old and still, as far as could be ascertained on the trip to the starship, exceptionally capable of any task he set himself.

Toronew it was then! He could borrow a bit of money from the Merchant, perhaps win some more playing peg, and generally loaf around until he found someone willing to hire his services. He began to whistle, thoughts of the settlement no longer in his mind, and memories of Lotus already beginning to fade.

CHAPTER 2

Late afternoon on the eighth day of travel, Brandyjack finally located a town with a tavern. He made his way toward the place with due haste, discovering once he’d ordered that he did not have the price of a mug. Undaunted, he proceeded to locate men willing to gamble and, within the space of ten minutes, had involved no less than seven men in a game of peg.

Peg was a difficult game to play, and the rules were complicated, even though to a casual observer the exact opposite might appear to be true. The playing pieces were wooden rectangles of varying lengths, shapes and thicknesses. There were seven pieces in all, two long and thin, two long and thick, two short and thick, and one short and thin. On each side of six of the pieces was a symbol, suns worth eight points, stars worth six points, moons worth four points, and clouds worth two points. The seventh piece was blank on all sides except one, which was marked with a tree symbol; if the tree was snowing, it could be used as either an additional cloud or moon for full points, or an additional star or sun for half points. Thus, it was possible for a man to have two stars snowing worth twelve points, two moons worth eight points, and two clouds worth four points, and by using the tree as a moon at full value, end up with more points than by using the tree as a star at half points. If a man had a full slate of stars or suns on his six pieces, he could then use the tree of the seventh as a star or sun at full value provided the tree was showing. A participant could shake the pieces together in his hand and drop them to the playing surface, or he could pair them together according to their size and drop them from a height of no less than 30 centimeters from the surface. If a piece landed on its end, double the full value of a sun was scored. Only the ends of the pieces were unmarked.

The varying lengths and thicknesses of the pieces added nothing more than a little variety, but there were players who placed no faith in certain pieces simply because of superstition and, similarly, players who depended on other pieces for the same reason. If a man chose to drop the pieces from above the table, he could not move his hand or shake the pieces in any way, this being a violation of the rules and an automatic forfeiture of all points showing on the playing surface. The player could only open his fingers to release the pieces, nothing more. Thus, it was declared, peg was a game at which no one could cheat.

But Brandyjack had found a way, had employed it often and had never been caught. In actuality, his manner of dropping the pegs was merely an indication of skill, but had he been discovered, such would not have been the decision of the others. After placing the pegs together in their respective pairs, Brandyjack would hold them the required 30 centimeters above the playing surface, always careful to adhere to that rule, for it was the most important. But when his fingers opened to release the pegs, he brought his thumb forward a fraction of an inch, pushing one peg unnoticeably inward so that when the peg landed, it did not move, but remained with the desired symbol side up, depending on which symbol Brandyjack wished, also depending on how other throws had gone. This thumb movement affected only one peg, so on occasion the wayfarer had been forced to play according to the rules, simply because the peg over which he had no control did not land as he wished. He was, however, exceptionally philosophical about such instances and always managed on his next throw to have a full slate of suns or stars, as well as the corresponding tree symbol. He had practiced for hours attempting to perfect a movement with his fingers that would insure the correct landing, but that movement was so obvious that he had stuck with the thumb alteration. By the end of the first throw, his points usually more than doubled those of the other participants.

Peg could be played for entertainment or for money— synonymous in Brandyjack’s way of thinking—and if for the latter a monetary equivalent was attached to the various symbols for each and every toss, the debts paid immediately after a throw so that no disgruntled losers could refuse to pay.

Starting the game with no money, Brandyjack had bet with one individual that he could top a certain number of points. And, of course, he had topped those points, collected the money and paid for his ale. He promptly continued to bet on his own throws until he had enough won to bet on the tosses of others, at which time he won enough money to insure that he would be quite drunk by the end of the evening.

Because it was considered impossible to cheat at peg—a drop from below 30 centimeters would be immediately apparent to the other participants—those who played with Brandyjack always suspected that something was not entirely proper, but they had no way to prove it, for Brandyjack’s thumb movement was imperceptible and skillfully executed. It was more a game of chance than skill, but no one could believe chance would always be on the side of the wayfarer. But strangely enough, it was.

After the game had ended, Brandyjack generously offered to lend some of the participants enough money to continue playing, they being unlucky enough to have lost all of theirs, but no one cared to take him up on his offer. They were sure they’d lose the money again and owe still more to the wayfarer. Brandyjack had never been one to lord it over defeated opponents, and this game was no exception. He bought drinks for the seven men, assuring them it was his pleasure.

The tavern itself was a small one, capable of seating no more than 25 patrons. Even now, it looked packed and gave the erroneous impression of a bustling business.

After having remained seated for more than an hour drinking and playing peg, Brandyjack decided some exercise was in order. He pulled himself from his chair and walked across the room to the bar, ordering another mug of ale from the bartender. He paid for his beverage, noting with amusement the way the bartender quickly scooped the money into his apron pocket.

The bartender was about 50, his gray hair thinning on top but still full at the sides. His eyes were narrow slits and often seemed to be entirely closed, but Brandyjack had no doubt that the man missed nothing that transpired in his tavern. His nose was thick and red, an indication that he often sampled his own merchandise, and pockmarked with little craters. Below, thick, moist lips were pursed in constant disapproval.

Satisfied that the bartender would provide unsuitable company, Brandyjack surveyed the others for a likely companion. None of the losers at peg would be eager to speak with him, so they were automatically forgotten.

He noticed one man sitting alone in a far corner; the light of various lanterns barely reached him, adding an ominous overtone to the scene. Shrugging. Brandyjack moved across the floor, somewhat unsteadily, and towered above the man for a few seconds.

“Evening,” he said.

The other man looked up. His face was hard, grim, his expression and eyes betraying years of toil at tasks not entirely pleasant. His face was adorned with a thick, red mustache, which drooped over his lips and caught foamy flecks of ale, and his shoulder-length hair was even redder, glinting whenever light from the lanterns was reflected on it. He nodded.

“Mind if I sit down?” Brandyjack asked not waiting for an assent but pulling a chair from the table and lowering his thick frame into it.

“Name’s Brandyjack,” the wayfarer said, extending his hand. “Best pegger in all Merka.”

The man nodded, ignored the hand and lifted his mug to his lips.

“I like friendly fellas,” Brandyjack said, chuckling and withdrawing his hand. His manner was such that no insult could be taken, regardless of the implication of the words.

The other smiled as Brandyjack had hoped, then held out his hand. “My name’s Snake.”

Brandyjack smiled as they shook hands. “Strange name, isn’t it?”

Snake shrugged. “It’s the only one I got. Brandyjack ain’t so common either.”

Brandyjack shrugged in return. “You a stranger here, or just someone no one else in town likes?”

“Stranger.”

“Umm. Headed anywhere in particular?”

“Nope.”

The conversation went downhill from there, but Brandyjack did not find Snake’s reluctance to talk especially offensive. Indeed, as the night wore on, and the wayfarer became increasingly drunk, he was quite pleased that Snake chose to listen instead of speak. As he was babbling to Snake, however, he failed to notice that four of the men he had beaten at peg, now agressively drunk, were looking his way with considerably less than friendliness. One had been speaking quite loudly, expressing doubts as to the morals of Brandyjack’s female ancestors, but the wayfarer had heard none of it, totally engaged in his stimulating conversation with Snake. Only when Snake finished his third ale—Brandyjack was on his eighth—stood up and banged the mug loudly on the table, did Brandyjack notice anything amiss. He turned to see four men walking toward him, all other patrons stepping aside to make way. Brandyjack recognized them and, too drunk to be aware of their intentions, smiled and gave them a small wave.

He turned back to Snake. “No, no, you don’t have to go. There’s plenty of room for all of us. I’ll just get another chair or two…”

He had been rising as he spoke, his back to those approaching him, and his words were cut off as a hand gripped his shoulder. He was spun around, and before his eyes could focus, smashed in the mouth. He fell back over the table, crashing into the wall.

The four started for the wayfarer, but Snake moved immediately, positioning himself between Brandyjack and his assailants. The four stared daggers at Snake for a few seconds, then realizing that the stranger had aligned himself with Brandyjack, began to close in on him.

Brandyjack had clambered to his feet and staggered up beside Snake, a quizzical expression on his face, as if he couldn’t quite understand what these men wanted. A small line of blood trickled from his lip to his chin.

The four were on them then, and Brandyjack was thrown back to the wall, a punishing right fist snapping his head backward. Brandyjack fell to the floor, but this time he rose without stagger; his movements contained nothing comical now. The haze of drunkenness that had descended as the evening wore on had disappeared to be replaced with a cold, hard glare. The blow that had knocked him down, while it might have broken the neck of a lesser man, had only served to clear his head.

He leaped at the two men who had chosen him, crashing into them and knocking both to the floor. He was up in an instant, crouched, ready for another assault. As the snap of cracking furniture reached his ears, a quick glance to his side showed him that Snake was looking after himself admirably and had already dispatched one of his assailants.

Brandyjack’s opponents rose unsteadily to their feet, one of them as sober as Brandyjack had become and much more determined for it. Brandyjack did not feint, did not become intricate in his assault, but leaped, feet first, for the man’s head. The man ducked but not enough, and the soles of Brandyjack’s high boots cracked his head backward. Brandyjack rose immediately and turned to face the second man. He straightened his hand, chopping once at the other’s neck and, without waiting to see his opponent fall, turned again to face the first. A huge gash on the other’s forehead showed the force of Brandyjack’s earlier assault, yet the man lunged forward, his arms out to encircle the wayfarer’s stomach. Brandyjack merely sidestepped, brought his clenched hands down hard at the base of the man’s skull and turned to see that Snake had just finished his own battle.

“Who’s going to pay for this?” the bartender demanded as he rushed across the floor, his voice a shrill shriek, his eyes wider than they’d been at any previous time during the evening.

Brandyjack looked at the man, then over at Snake and back to the bartender. “Put it on their tab,” he said grandly, indicating with a sweep of his hand the four unconscious men sprawled on the floor.

With that, Brandyjack and Snake started for the door, no opposition appearing from friends of the other patrons. Once they were outside, the cool night air continued the sobering up and Brandyjack grinned at Snake. Snake returned it.

“Thanks,” Brandyjack said. “You’re not bad with your fists.”

Snake shrugged.

“Personally,” Brandyjack went on, “I’m a peace-loving man. But it never fails; every time I get a good drunk going, some idiot comes along to ruin it.”

“Perhaps,” Snake said slowly, “if you didn’t cheat at peg, it wouldn’t happen.”

Brandyjack was startled that he’d been discovered but recovered quickly. “What? Cheat at peg? That’s impossible, and everyone knows it.”

“Umm,” Snake grunted.

Brandyjack chuckled, then glanced around. Two mules were tied to a stake in the ground, while some distance beyond them stood three wagons, each harnessed to a team of horses. The streets were narrow, and it was obvious that two wagons would be hard-pressed to pass each other without some damage occurring to one of them. No lights flickered in any of the service shops, and very few in the windows of the various shacks that made up the residential district.

“It appears,” Brandyjack began, frowning, “that our immediate concern is to find shelter for the evening.”

“Umm,” Snake grunted, walking away from the tavern and toward one of the wagons.

Brandyjack followed, then stood beside the wagon while Snake climbed into the seat. Brandyjack continued to stand while Snake looked down at him.

“Well?” Snake asked.

“I think we’ve caused enough trouble without stealing a wagon and a team of horses,” Brandyjack told him.

Snake shrugged, flicked the reins and the wagon started away.

“Of course,” Brandyjack went on quickly as he grabbed hold of the wagon and flipped himself up beside Snake, “I’m still drunk and cannot be held accountable for my actions.”

Morning brought the threat of rain; to the south occasional flashes of lightning lit up the horizon, followed by low rolls of thunder. Dark clouds scudded across the sky, and as Brandyjack and Snake traveled they calculated when the storm would reach them.

“I think we should leave the wagon wherever we camp tonight,” said Brandyjack as he rolled a cigarette. “Protectors probably have a pretty good description of us by now, and if they recover the wagon they’ll likely forget about us.”

“Enforcers,” Snake said.

“What?”

“They’re called enforcers now, not protectors.”

“When did they change?” Brandyjack asked, lighting the cigarette and inhaling deeply, keeping it between his lips while he rolled another for Snake.

“Four months ago.”

“Why?”

“Dunno.”

“Well, in any case,” Brandyjack continued, completing the cigarette and handing it to Snake, “I don’t think it matters what they’re called; they’ll still be looking for us, and we should ditch the wagon.”

Snake said nothing.

They traveled in silence for a time, and the rain they’d expected began to fall in a drizzle. Brandyjack buttoned his cloak.

“Where are you from?” the wayfarer asked after a while, the silence beginning to grate on his nerves.

“Nowhere.”

“And you’re not going any place in particular?”

“Nope.”

“I’m going to Toronew. Care to come along?”

“Okay.”

They rode in silence once more, the rain increasing to the point where Brandyjack began to feel miserable, wishing his companion was a trifle more skilled in the art of conversation. He stared at Snake balefully for some minutes.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” he asked.

Snake shrugged, and Brandyjack groaned.

“Why?”

“Have nothin’ to say.”

“And you don’t care to discuss unimportant matters?”

“Nope.”

Brandyjack sighed, hunched his shoulders and pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders. Rain had soaked it completely, and his tunic beneath was drenched. Huge forks of lightning now lit the sky, followed almost immediately by the crash of thunder. Still the man who called himself Snake sat, guiding the horses, apparently oblivious to the cold, bone-chilling rain, saying nothing, virtually ignoring his companion.

Unable to change the situation, Brandyjack began to wonder about the enforcers, and why the name had been changed. It might possibly have something to do with recently discovered technology, but he doubted it somehow. It was an ominous change, he realized, implying strictness, harshness and punishment, whereas the earlier title had implied security and strength. He supposed there must be a reason for it, but for the currently miserable life of him, he couldn’t think of what it might be. When they’d reached Toronew, perhaps Thoruso would be able to shed some light on the matter.

The rain ceased shortly before dusk, but by that time they had reached another town, this one twice the size of the last one and boasting no fewer than three taverns. Brandyjack made an immediate beeline for one while Snake continued to guide the wagon farther into the town, eventually abandoning it in front of a stable to rejoin Brandyjack in the bar. Three empty mugs testified to Brandyjack’s activities in Snake’s absence.

They spent the evening drinking; Brandyjack struck up conversations with several of the bar’s patrons, but refrained from entering either of the two peg games in progress. He had enough money to get him to Toronew, so there was no need for more.

Toward the end of the evening, slightly fewer than half the tavern’s 100 or so patrons had left for home. Brandyjack was engaged in conversation with two men he’d brought to his table, introducing Snake as Mouth to them. When eight men dressed in similar uniforms entered the bar, an immediate hush, so obvious after the babble that had been echoing all evening, descended on the place. Men who had been completely drunk, yelling and singing and cursing, sobered instantly and either sat down or stood motionless at the bar. No eyes save Brandyjack’s were on the newcomers.

It was obvious to Brandyjack, even in his inebriated state, that the uniformed men were enforcers. The uniforms were simple, consisting of only a shirtlike torso covering and leggings from the waist down. Gold braid stretched from the side of the neck to the armpit. A gold “E” was embroidered on the left side of the chest. Their boots were no different than anyone else’s: high, ending at the knee and twisted back and down for a good ten centimeters. Most startling of all, to Brandyjack’s mind, was the handgun holstered at each waist. Less than a year ago, only a limited supply of such things existed, and they were used sparingly by the protectors. It had been a crime for anyone even to possess such an item. It appeared that the protectors had changed not only their name, but their entire appearance as well. And what about purpose?

The enforcers seemed to be searching for someone in particular as they walked slowly through the tavern, inspecting each and every patron, occasionally conferring among themselves. Finally, when they had passed the bar area and were halfway around the room, one of them tapped a man on the shoulder. The man’s fear was obvious as he turned in his chair, then stood to face the enforcer. The victim was of slight build, with short wavy hair and a sickly look about him; that appearance was aided tremendously by the fear he now felt.

The enforcer who’d tapped the patron nodded to his companions, and without a word two of them stepped forward and took up a position on either side of the unfortunate who’d been singled out. As they left the bar, all strength seemed to ooze out of the thin man’s body, his fear and despair obvious. Only once, before he disappeared through the doorway, did he look around, and in his eyes Brandyjack saw a desperate plea for help.

When the last of the enforcers had disappeared, a loud, excited whispering broke out, and Brandyjack, somewhat sobered by what he’d seen, turned immediately to the two men who sat with him and Snake.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

“Who knows?” one of the men replied. “He was probably an inventor.”

“So? I thought technical advances were approved.”

“Afraid not,” the man said. “They’ve never been approved, and lately the government’s stepped up its programs to stop them.”

“But…” Brandyjack started, then stopped speaking as he realized what had happened after he’d left Thoruso’s group. The technological advance Thoruso had thought he’d started had obviously never come to pass. In its place was something worse than before. The full implications of what he’d just seen sobered Brandyjack completely. He was on his feet in an instant, waving Snake to follow and racing across the floor. Outside, in the darkness, he could just barely see the wagon the enforcers sat in with their captive. It was moving slowly; apparently the enforcers were in no hurry to arrive at their destination.

“I don’t have time to explain it all now,” Brandyjack told Snake quickly, “but we have to get that man the enforcers grabbed.”

Snake looked quizzically at Brandyjack but said nothing, and for the first time since he’d met the man, Brandyjack was happy for his taciturn habits. They began to follow the wagon, keeping far enough behind it for safety. When it became clear that the enforcers would remain on this same narrow street, a plan began to form in Brandyjack’s mind. This was a service shop area, merchants and smiths and the like. Undoubtedly, at some point farther along, there would be a stable of some sort, and Brandyjack had yet to find a stable that didn’t have a considerable amount of hay in it. It would be the hay, he decided, that would save the prisoner.

They took a side street to enable them to get ahead of the enforcers without being seen. Snake was still not sure what was happening, but asked for no clarification. He waited to see what Brandyjack had planned.

When the wayfarer was sure they had moved ahead of the enforcers, he led Snake back to the first street, hurrying along it until they came to a stable. As quickly as he could, Brandyjack forced the stable door from its hinges, the creak and grate of the wrenching metal squeaking loudly in the stillness of night. Brandyjack held a finger to his lips, and together they listened for any sounds that would indicate someone had heard their forced entry. There were none, so he leaned the door against its moorings to appear as natural as possible.

Brandyjack searched frantically for several seconds, finally finding a long coil of rope. With Snake still right behind, he made his way into the stable loft and quickly fashioned a lariat. An upper door faced the street, and as it was chained from the inside, Brandyjack made considerably less noise opening it than he’d made with the lower one. He listened for a few seconds, finally hearing the creak of wagon wheels still some distance away.

“Okay,” he said as he handed his matches to Snake, “we’re going to have to be bloody quick about this.” He indicated the bales of hay stacked in the loft. “Grab one of those bales and when the wagon’s in sight, set fire to part of it. When they’re directly below us, I’ll try to loop this noose around the skinny man’s arms and shoulders and haul him up. As soon as I make my toss, I’ll move back a bit and you hurl the bale down at the wagon. If we have enough time, it wouldn’t hurt to toss another one down at them.” He peeked around the edge of the loft doorway. “Okay, here they come. We’ll only have one chance, so we’ll have to do it right. Set fire to one of the bales.”

While Brandyjack took another look at the approaching wagon, Snake struck a match and set fire to one corner of the hay, keeping close to the wall so the glow could not be seen from below. They were more than six meters above the wagon and it was unlikely any of the enforcers would look up, but Snake was taking no chances.

By the time the wagon was near enough for Brandyjack to attempt to lasso the thin man taken by the enforcers, the hay was burning fiercely, and Snake was in danger of burning his hands and arms.

Brandyjack waited another few seconds, until the wagon was only a meter or so beyond the doorway, then made his toss, stepping back immediately so Snake could hurl the burning hay. Unable to see whether or not his aim had been true, he jerked the rope tight and discovered he’d lassoed someone. When Brandyjack started pulling on the rope, he was immediately joined by Snake, who had apparently decided it was more important to aid Brandyjack than toss another flaming bale of hay at the enforcers.

There were shouts from below, and Brandyjack could only hope they would be able to pull the thin man through the doorway before any of the enforcers recovered from their surprise and began shooting or heading into the stable.

Brandyjack absently wondered if he’d roped the right person. What would happen if he’d managed to snag an enforcer?

The flickering glow of burning hay was visible as they pulled, and suddenly a shot thudded into the wooden wall of the stable. They gave one last terrific wrench, and the head and shoulders of the thin man appeared above the bottom of the doorway. They had him into the loft in an instant and immediately began running across the hay-strewn floor, the thin man untangling the rope from his torso as he ran. They ignored the ladder at the edge of the loft and leaped to the lower floor where they started for the back of the stable. The thin man, utterly confused, had not stopped to think, but had begun running as soon as Brandyjack and Snake started their flight; he had even jumped with them from the loft, not slowing for even a second.

Brandyjack smashed into the rear door at full speed, wrenching the hinges loose and smashing the wood of the door itself into splinters. They were in an alleyway, but had no time to find their bearings because the enforcers were already crashing through the unhinged front entrance.

As they darted into an alleyway separating two service shops, Brandyjack was only half-sure it led to a different street. They raced along it, then ducked into another alleyway leading to still another street.

The thin man was tiring quickly, apparently unused to such strenuous activity. Brandyjack and Snake slowed their pace accordingly, but realized they had to put a considerable distance between themselves and their pursuers. Regardless of what the enforcers wanted the thin man for, they’d wanted him badly enough to send eight men after him, and that was an indication of how far they’d go to retrieve him.

The three crossed six streets before the thin man collapsed; Brandyjack and Snake hauled him to his feet, each taking an arm and wrapping it around their shoulders to run the remaining distance to the next alleyway. His lightweight frame hardly slowed them, so from that point they took turns carrying him. Finally, Snake exhausted and Brandyjack becoming increasingly so, they stopped and leaned against the back of a building, panting and gasping for breath, but attempting to keep their noises low.

Even though he’d been carried more than half the distance covered, the thin man did not recover from his exertions as quickly as Brandyjack and Snake. Instead, he was still sweating and gasping when Brandyjack finally felt fit enough to roll two cigarettes.

“Okay,” Brandyjack whispered to the man, “first things first. What’s your name?”

The thin man looked suspiciously at both Brandyjack and Snake before he answered. Then, “Bell.”

“What did the enforcers want with you?” Brandyjack asked.

Suspicion clouding his features, Bell said nothing for several seconds. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“What in bloody blue blazes do you think we just did?” Brandyjack snorted incredulously. “You think we make a hobby of running until our guts are falling out? If you’d prefer, we can give you back.”

Bell’s face lost its suspicion and became contorted with fear. “No, no, of course not. I’m sorry. It’s just that… well, living from day to day, not knowing when they’re going to—”

“Okay, okay,” Brandyjack interrupted, “Just tell us what devious little crime you committed.”

“I’m an inventor,” Bell replied. Looking around the alleyway they sat in, his expression betrayed that he was afraid of being overheard. “Well, it’s nothing much, I guess; just a way to use steam to make things move. I figured that if water could be—”

“Fine,” Brandyjack interrupted again, “fine. We don’t have time for the details. Besides, I wouldn’t understand anyway. Obviously you aren’t safe here, so you’re welcome to come with us. We’re on our way to Toronew. I’m Brandyjack, and the mouthy one here is Snake.”

Bell nodded at Snake.

“You have a family?” Brandyjack asked.

Bell shook his head.

“Good. Maybe we should try to get out of here before they launch a full-scale search.”

They clambered to their feet and made their way cautiously from the alleyway into a sidestreet, keeping to shadows, avoiding those streets with night lanterns. Rain, which had ceased shortly after they’d reached the town, began to fall once they reached the outskirts, leading Brandyjack to conclude that the town itself was charmed. Bell failed to see any humor in the observation, and Snake had no comment.

They encountered no enforcer patrols as they left the outskirts of the town. Only when they had put several kilometers between the last shack and themselves did they consider sleeping. They made camp some distance from the centuries-old, cracked road, but were able to sleep little: the cold and perpetual drizzle kept them awake. Finally, an hour or so before sunrise, Brandyjack decided they should continue south until the rain let up, at which time they could regain lost sleep. Snake, as usual, showed neither dissent nor agreement with the decision, and Bell was too miserable to care.

They stayed on the road, almost certain no one would be along at this late hour and positive they would hear any approach. Their main consideration earlier had been escape from the town, but now that the escape had been accomplished, Brandyjack’s thoughts turned to the changes in government, and he questioned Bell concerning the general state of technology. He began to realize just how differently things had turned out from his assumptions at the starship far north in the snow-covered mountains. From what he could piece together of Bell’s statements, technical advances had never been approved by the government of Merka. Indeed, several months earlier, Premier Star had become even more ruthless in his efforts to stamp out all inventiveness. The causes of this clampdown were totally unknown to the populace. But Brandyjack, because he had been present when the starship was discovered, realized that Star and other government leaders must have decided not to allow the populace to experiment. Instead of outlawing inventiveness out of fear, as in the past, the government now outlawed it in order to retain its power over people.

Three hours after daybreak, the rain stopped. They slept, exhausted from the night’s activities. Brandyjack, however, found himself afraid of what he might find in Toronew. Or rather, what he might not find. Of the millions of people controlled by Star’s government, only a handful had been present to witness the apparent shift in government policy, and it was unlikely Star would allow that handful to remain free to subvert government intentions. And number one on the list of those most dangerous to Star would be the Merchant, Thoruso. It was an ugly thought, but Brandyjack wondered also if he was the only one left of those “common men” who had seen the starship.

CHAPTER 3

They were unable to determine exactly how much the enforcers wanted to apprehend Bell. The inventor himself was little help in this regard, claiming he had no idea what the enforcers had planned to do with him. But he mentioned rumors of camps set up in various places where inventors were kept isolated from the rest of the Merkan populace; but as he relied only on hearsay, he could not be sure such camps actually existed.

Brandyjack, choosing to be more careful than usual, had decided they would remain as inconspicuous as possible; indeed, when they came to a town where ale might be procured, Brandyjack sent Snake to purchase it, knowing very well he himself wouldn’t be able to carry it back to camp without extensive sampling.

On the day of the arrival at their destination, the sun was shining brightly, but the brisk wind from the west was cool and refreshing. Brandyjack thought of the last time he’d seen the walls of Toronew and recalled with some amusement the daring escape planned by Thoruso and executed by the wayfarer and three of the Merchant’s aides. From all appearances, the men who had been Protectors at that time had managed to extinguish the fire and save both the wall and the city.

Occasionally, as they watched, people entered or departed from the city, some going no farther than the ring of huts that thrived outside the wall; a few headed east or west, obviously merchants or businessmen of other persuasions.

The only problem Brandyjack could see in gaining entrance to the city was whether or not he would come across any enforcers who remembered him from his previous visit here—a visit he had then presumed to be his last. There was no alternative to being searched and at least seen by enforcers, for the walls were well guarded, and it his contact with enforcers to date was any indication, those guards were well armed.

They left the grassy knoll from where they had watched the city and strolled casually across the fields toward the wall. It had been decided that Brandyjack would do any necessary speaking, except when a question was directed at one of the other two. They would be, as far as Brandyjack was concerned, simple wayfarers come from the city of Moneral, hunting for employment in a city they had heard was one of almost unlimited opportunity. That Toronew was as squalid and backward as Moneral or any other city would not matter, especially if the guards who searched them took a certain pride in their home city.

They were visible for almost two hours before they reached the city gates, and Brandyjack knew that would act in their favor, for what kind of idiot would make himself visible if his intentions in Toronew were not honorable?

Six guards were stationed at the northern gate where they chose to enter, and a great distance farther along the top of the wail were additional guards, too far away to hear anything that was said, but close enough to act within a matter of moments if anything appeared amiss.

“Hello!” Brandyjack boomed when he and his companions were within 20 meters of the wall. “Beautiful day, eh?”

One of the guards grunted as he walked out to meet them. A few seconds later two other guards moved to stand beside him. All were enforcers, dressed in their green tunics, handguns prominent at their waists.

“Off with the cloak,” one of them said to Brandyjack.

Chuckling, the wayfarer removed his cloak and handed it to the enforcer. Bell, Brandyjack noticed, was nervous, unsure, but Snake was calm as an enforcer patted him down for concealed weapons. The enforcer with Brandyjack’s cloak pulled Brandyjack’s stash of tobacco from one of the inside pockets, looked at his companions and smiled.

“How’s our tobacco situation?” he asked them.

“Always glad to share!” Brandyjack said immediately, fearing he was to lose it all. “If you’re low on the precious weed, feel free to divide what I have in two.” He chuckled.

“We have enough,” one enforcer answered to his companion, “but half of what he’s got won’t go to waste.”

The enforcer checking Bell had completed his task. The guard took Brandyjack’s tobacco and walked through the gate to the guardhouse. The guard inspecting Brandyjack’s cloak pulled the wayfarer’s dagger from another pocket, looked at Brandyjack questioningly for a few moments, then inspected the finely crafted weapon.

“You have much use for this?” the enforcer asked.

“Traveling and eating are difficult without a dagger,” Brandyjack answered jovially. “Many times that dagger has saved my humble self from starving to death, and on more than one occasion I’ve not had to stand idly by while bandits robbed me of everything I owned.”

The enforcer nodded and, replacing the knife in the pocket, handed the cloak back to Brandyjack. He stepped forward to check his person for anything the big man might be attempting to smuggle into the city. In one pocket of Brandyjack’s tunic the enforcer found the wayfarer’s money, but—and this was a surprise to Brandyjack—he took not a single note, not a single coin. Standard procedure at one time had been half the amount found, provided the man with the money had not made a prior arrangement and already had bought off the guards. The wayfarer doubted the enforcer’s actions were now official procedure. More than likely the officer merely had a few limited scruples; and taking half a man’s money was against them.

The enforcer who’d absconded with the tobacco returned as the body searches were finished, and he tossed the pouch back to the wayfarer. Brandyjack could tell by its weight that more than half had been taken, but he simply smiled and nodded his thanks.

“What’s your business in Toronew? And how long do you plan to stay?”

“We’re looking for honest employment in the service of an honest employer,” Brandyjack answered promptly, his smile wide and his eyes twinkling. “As for the length of our stay, that depends on the length of the employment. We’ve heard this city is one of opportunity; is that so?”

The apparent spokesman for the enforcers shrugged, apparently not one of those people who believed his city to be better than any other in Merka. “Who knows? It depends on what you want to do.” He regarded the three of them carefully for a few seconds, then waved, “Okay, into the city.”

Brandyjack nodded, chuckled, and led Snake and Bell beyond the wall, across the length of ground separating the wall from the first row of huts and shacks. These first buildings were the dwellings of the poor and the malformed. The stench, while not totally overpowering, became obvious as it had outside the walls. Some of the buildings had been built before the revolt of the common man and the resultant holocaust hundreds of years earlier, and these constructions were slowly crumbling: the concrete was cracked and split, the steel rusted and sagging. Other buildings had been thrown together for flimsy shelter against the elements, one-room affairs that seldom lasted more than a few months and were not long mourned when they finally collapsed. Very few beggars were about, because no one had money out here, and it was forbidden to beg from newcomers to the city before those newcomers had gone beyond the huts.

The living conditions of the deformed here in Toronew, while not much worse than those on the settlement, struck Brandyjack as disgusting, and he realized it was because there was no pride here, no sense of accomplishment or responsibility. Those on the settlement did not beg, nor did they accept their lot in life with irresponsible passivity. They were making an honest effort to better themselves, regardless of the hardships involved. Still, he couldn’t condemn the deformed in the city, for they had been tossed a cruel slate with which to play and could scarcely be scorned for their choice.

As it was late afternoon, Brandyjack decided—for Snake affected his usual grunt, and Bell was amenable to anything proposed by the other two—the first order of business was a place of lodging for the evening; the second order of business was a mug of strong ale to wash the dust from their throats. Naturally, Brandyjack found himself more interested in the latter of the two priorities; but the first was solved as well when he discovered a tavern that offered lodgings. Brandyjack had always appreciated such a find when in a city for the first day, for he seldom had the ability—or the recollection of exactly where he had booked lodging—to return to his room after a bout of drinking.

An hour or so after sundown, the tavern became as lively a place as any Brandyjack had ever had occasion to drink in. He wondered how he had ever missed the place on his last visit. Even so, there was a sense of uncertainty about the carousers, a sort of melancholy that drove them to be as merry as possible, for the next day… who knew? The realization that the merrymaking concealed a sort of fear bothered Brandyjack for a while, but as the evening wore on, his faculties became less and less cogent and he forgot the matter entirely.

Finally, only Brandyjack, Snake and Bell remained in the tavern. A tired bartender and his two female assistants leaned on the bar casting frustrated glances at the big man who seemed to consume more than his weight in ale. Much to the employee’s relief, Brandyjack finally passed out. Snake and Bell pulled the wayfarer by his ankles up one flight of stairs and into the room they had rented. Appreciative as the bartender was of the great amount purchased by the big man, he was exceptionally glad that few had Brandyjack’s capacity for ale; otherwise he’d never get any sleep.

When Brandyjack finally awoke, his first vision was that of Bell sitting in one corner of the room, idly writing on a piece of paper, drawing and scribbling notations. Brandyjack closed his eyes, groaned and slowly forced himself to a sitting position on the bare floor. Obviously, Snake and Bell, themselves still being able to think and maneuver, had decided the wayfarer deserved nothing better than the floor and had therefore dumped him unceremoniously beside the bed in which they’d slept.

Bell looked up, smiled and resumed his doodling. Brandyjack groaned again, cursed his throbbing head and slowly got to his feet. He walked to the room’s single window, observed the panoramic view of an alleyway and turned to survey the room. To the best of his recollection, this was the first time he’d seen it. Snake had handled the actual rental of it and he himself was unaccountably unable to see when he’d entered.

There was one double bed, and the coarse sheets that had covered it were strewn half-off the top of the feather-filled mattress. There were two chairs—why did Bell choose to sit on the floor, Brandyjack wondered—both apparently hastily constructed with little attention to detail or thought to comfort. An old chest of drawers stood near the window, designed by the same carpenter as the chairs: for the wood was unfinished and splintered, and the lines of the drawers anything but straight and flush.

“Where’s Snake?”

Bell looked up again. “He didn’t say where he was going.”

Brandyjack nodded. “Umm. Did he say anything before he left?”

“I believe he belched shortly after awakening.”

Brandyjack chuckled. “Typical.”

Fortunately either Snake or Bell had decided to remove the cloak from Brandyjack before throwing him on the floor, for the knife in an inside pocket might have unpleasantly awakened him during the night if it had become dislodged from its sheath. The wayfarer retrieved his cloak from the arm of one of the chairs and threw it around his shoulders, fastening it with a silken cord around his throat, and buttoning the top lapels to the top of his tunic. He pulled his hair from under the cloak, fastened the thick wire around it and left the room. Bell’s head remained bent over whatever he was doing.

The hallway outside the room was dark, but Brandyjack found the stairs with no difficulty, and descended to find the bartender idly wiping the top of the unattended bar. The man was a little short of two meters, thick-muscled in the arms and chest, but sporting what was obviously an expanding paunch. His reddish hair was cropped short and beginning to thin at the front, and he boasted a very thick red mustache. The bartender glanced up, flashed a quick smile and leaned on the bar.

“Morning,” Brandyjack said.

“Good afternoon,” the man replied evenly.

Brandyjack chuckled. “Whatever. You didn’t happen to see my companion this morning, did you?”

The bartender thought a moment. “The one with red hair and the mustache?”

“That’s the one.”

“Yeah. Left about four hours ago.”

Brandyjack frowned. “He didn’t say where he was going, or when he’d be back?”

The bartender shook his head. “Didn’t say a word. But listen here… we have rules about how long a night is, and it isn’t until three in the afternoon.”

Brandyjack grinned, counted out the price of the room for another day, then considered ordering a mug of ale to start the day properly. When Snake appeared at the doorway of the tavern, he decided against it. Brandyjack waved to him. Snake nodded, then stared at the bartender with a coldness in his eyes, and the man moved away.

“What’s up?”

Snake glanced once more at the bartender who had begun to polish tables in a far corner. “There’s a lot of enforcer activity about.”

“You think they might be looking for Bell?”

Snake looked at Brandyjack for a second, then shrugged.

“If they are, they must want him pretty badly,” Brandyjack mused, “so it makes good sense that we keep him hidden here.” He thought briefly. “I wanted to talk to you about Thoruso. You remember me mentioning him?”

Snake nodded.

“Right. Well, I plan to find him and maybe hire myself out to him for a while. The catch is that with recent developments, I might have some trouble locating him, and there could be a good deal more trouble when I do.”

Snake considered this statement carefully, but said nothing.

“What I’m getting at,” Brandyjack continued, glancing at the bartender to make sure that worthy was not eavesdropping, “is that if you want to stick with me for a while, I don’t mind. But I’ll warn you that we may end up in a lot of hot water, and we might be called upon to carry out some strange orders.”

Snake merely nodded.

Brandyjack was pleased. “Okay then, our first chore is to impress upon Bell the necessity of staying put for a while. If we find Thoruso with no trouble he won’t have to remain here long, because if I know the Merchant, he’ll have something for an inventor to do.”

Snake nodded.

“Our second chore,” Brandyjack went on, “will be to actually find Thoruso. He might be anywhere, doing anything. And like as not, it’ll be illegal.”

Snake smiled, the tough, weathered face somehow grotesque in humor.

Having agreed to maintain the partnership a little longer, they returned to their room upstairs, informed Bell of their decision, making it clear to him that he was not to leave the room under any circumstances. Nor was he to admit anyone but them. He seemed to understand, but was strangely uninterested, his attentions completely taken up by whatever he was working on.

Before Brandyjack and Snake left, they informed the bartender that the third member of their party had left; and if he was seen, would he be so kind as to tell their friend to wait for them. Thus if the bartender was questioned by enforcers concerning Bell, he would tell them the man had been there, but had left.

Late afternoon brought the beggars out in full force, many of them crippled and deformed, a sizable number infected with strange and ugly diseases, which manifested themselves in bleeding sores. They lined both sides of the street at irregular intervals, dressed in tattered rags and requesting something from each passerby for the chipped wooden and rusted metal containers held out in supplication.

Beggars were not new to Brandyjack, but familiarity did not make the ordeal any more pleasant. Since he had not nearly enough money to give each something, he decided every tenth person should receive a donation, and then only if infected, for these were the most hard-pressed. Some of the cripples did manage to obtain a day’s work here and there, but those unfortunate enough to be infected with disease seldom received more than carefully placed kicks.

He had not, he discovered, been on this street during his previous visit to Toronew, nor had he walked upon it during the course of any other stay. He asked, twice, for directions to the Computers square, and two hours later found himself standing in the square looking at the Computer complex, that building where a giant computer had once received all knowledge from all the others on the Earth. There, too, Thoruso’s tiny band had destroyed the back section of a wall to gain entry and plot a course through the stars.

The Computers square, the very center of Toronew, was most heavily infested with beggars; all races, sizes and deformities were represented in multiple profusion. The square brought a tingle of nostalgia to Brandyjack, but he did not explain to Snake exactly what had transpired there some months earlier.

He found the place where Thoruso had once conducted business, rebuilt after Thoruso himself had set fire to it when they were leaving Toronew. He had half hoped the Merchant would have resumed his business on the same spot, but the shanty was occupied by an old couple who mistook Brandyjack and Snake for their long lost sons finally come home. It took them several minutes to persuade the old man they were not even brothers, but the old woman remained convinced the pair were her own flesh and blood. It was obvious neither knew anything about the Merchant, so they left the shack and stood outside, trying to arrive at a course of action.

“An offering, kind sirs,” came a whine. A beggar sat on the cracked pavement several meters away. He smiled at them, but Brandyjack and Snake ignored him, Brandyjack long ago having run out of spare change, and Snake apparently not inclined to donate anything until he knew where he stood concerning future finances.

“An offering, kind sirs,” the beggar repeated, his voice louder, deeper and a bit more urgent.

Something in the voice was familiar to Brandyjack; and when he turned again, the beggar smiled fleetingly before he held out his metal bowl.

“Dextor!” Brandyjack roared happily, walking toward the beggar.

A horrified expression passed across Dextor’s face, and Brandyjack immediately looked around to see if anyone had noticed his loud exclamation. No one had.

The wayfarer knelt beside Dextor. “What in the name of lunacy are you doing here?” he asked.

“Thoruso thought you might come,” Dextor explained, “so for the past three months we’ve been sitting here waiting for you to show up. We didn’t think we’d ever see you. Or we thought the enforcers had found you.”

“What’s this all about?” Brandyjack asked.

“Pretend you’re giving me something,” Dextor hissed, his voice urgent, “then start west. I’ll follow in a few minutes, pass you and you can follow me.”

Brandyjack nodded, pretended he was flipping a coin into Dextor’s bowl, stood and walked west. Snake looked at him in puzzlement but said nothing. When they were a considerable distance from Thoruso’s old place of business, Brandyjack stole a quick glance behind and noted Dextor clambering to his feet. He turned back to Snake.

“That’s Dextor,” the-wayfarer explained to his companion, “one of Thoruso’s group. Apparently they’ve been waiting for me to show up, although I don’t know why they thought I would.”

Snake nodded.

Brandyjack wondered about Dextor’s strange appearance and finally concluded the situation must be worse than he had thought. If Dextor must effect a disguise there was obviously a risk of death. And, from what little information he had, such a risk would come from the enforcers.

But Brandyjack was exhilarated. Here, at last, was a return to the old ways, a return to the adventure and uncertainty he thrived upon. He had to force himself to walk slowly so that Dextor would eventually be able to pass them.

“It’s a three-hour walk,” Dextor whispered as he limped by.

The sun had set and darkness filled the streets of Toronew when Dextor finally descended a flight of steps leading into a cellar dwelling. The section of town it was located in was squalid and ugly: garbage was heaped in piles; rats and other vermin ran free and unmolested; and the stink was worse than any Brandyjack had encountered in a long time.

Once through a flimsy door, they found themselves in a well-lit room. Dextor stood there, smiling at them and removing the trappings of his disguise, happiness at seeing the wayfarer once more obvious on his boyish face. No more than 15 seconds after Dextor, Brandyjack and Snake had entered to meet Thoruso, his old, gray face lined with smiling wrinkles. He moved immediately to Brandyjack, hugged him warmly and stepped back.

“Okay,” Brandyjack said through a huge grin, “will someone please explain to me what’s going on?”

“Who’s your friend?” Dextor asked.

“I’d forgotten he was with me,” Brandyjack replied, smiling at Snake, “because he hasn’t spoken to me in hours. His name is Snake.” The wayfarer completed the introductions, then sat cross-legged on the floor and surveyed the room. He noticed its bareness immediately; there weren’t even any books as there had been at the Merchant’s earlier residence.

“To answer your question,” Thoruso began, his face serious and grim, “Star hasn’t undertaken any of those things we thought he would, nor has he lifted any restrictions. Instead, he has become more ruthless in his approach, more determined to stamp out anything that even hints of progress.”

“Seems a bit different than what he planned before,” Brandyjack commented. “Why?”

“What else?” was Thoruso’s quick reply. “He figures to remain Premier of Merka, and he’s chosen fear as his method. But more than that, he’s seen an expanding technology—an expanding government technology—as a means of insuring his supremacy. While his government has the benefit of machines and technical advances, all designed to keep humanity in line, the populace is to be kept in the dark. To this end he’s imprisoned all inventors, and in some cases, he’s had them publicly executed. His statements consist of condemnations of technical advances, because of what man did to himself 30 centuries ago, but his private ambitions are to increase and expand all existing technology, solely for his own ends. It’s rumored that he’s enslaved large segments of the population to work in secret locations, constructing those inventions his staff has been able to come up with or extrapolate from ancient writings. But such a giant leap takes time, and they’ve unraveled very little that is useful to them. And, from what I hear, they’re working on a method to operate the dormant computers. I know how complicated that process is from personal experience, and I don’t give them much chance.”

Brandyjack was silent for a moment. “You say he’s already enslaved large segments of the population?”

“Large segments are not necessarily large percentages,” Thoruso explained, “but there have been multiple disappearances, hundreds of them, that are completely unexplained. I suppose enslaved was not the proper term; perhaps imprisoned is more appropriate.”

Brandyjack nodded. “You mentioned the computers. You can operate them; why can’t Star find someone on his own staff equally capable?”

“As I said,” Thoruso explained, “it’s a complicated process. And you forget that I had the benefit of hundreds of years of study and mental computation. I knew exactly what I was doing, while Star and his henchmen are starting cold, not exactly sure where to begin.”

“What they’re turning out at the moment,” Dextor put in, taking up a different tack, “is weapons. You’ve probably seen all the enforcers sporting handguns? Well, Star found some old equipment, forges to be specific, located right here in Toronew. They were covered with the dust and disrepair of centuries, but with the help of certain documents and manuals they found at the site, he and his technical staff managed to make them operative. His first priority was to arm his law force. From what we’ve heard, they’re working on rifles now. That’s just a rumor though, and personally, we doubt it.”

Brandyjack whistled softly. He’d heard of rifles, had read of their superiority in an old book he’d once found, but he’d never seen one. He thought about this for a moment, considering the extent of the tyrant’s plans.

“So where do you fit into all this?” the wayfarer asked at last. “I don’t expect for a minute you’re uninvolved.”

Both Thoruso and Dextor laughed, and then the Merchant spoke. “Yes, Brandyjack, we’re involved. We’re presently attempting to overthrow Star’s government and to assassinate him if we can.”

Again, Brandyjack whistled.

“And Star has a special vendetta out for us,” Dextor added, “because when he first envisioned his dream state, he came immediately to Thoruso to enlist his aid. Thoruso told him exactly what he thought of the plan, and Star made a more than generous offer. At which point Thoruso told him to do certain unmentionable things, and we’ve been running ever since. There have been some close calls with his enforcers.”

“So it’s more a matter of pride than supremacy as far as you’re concerned,” Brandyjack asked the Merchant.

“Exactly,” Thoruso agreed. “He wants a highly mechanized state, controlling a highly illiterate populace, and as long as I’m literate and against him, I’m a threat. But I’m also an insult, and Star forgets very little.”

“We’re subverting his entire scheme at every opportunity,” said Dextor, “but so far we’ve managed too little to speak of.”

Brandyjack nodded. “If you’re so busy trying to stay alive and trying to throw a wrench into Star’s plans, how did you find enough time to set up a watch for me?”

“We’ve taken turns,” Thoruso explained. “But not just the two of us. Virgil’s still with me, and so are Moore and Chall.”

Brandyjack sighed. “How has Virgil been since Reed died?”

“Even if he could talk,” Thoruso started seriously, “he wouldn’t have mentioned it. But he seems consumed by a desire to avenge Reed’s death, especially since Star’s change of intentions. I think he holds Star personally responsible for what happened to Reed—doubly so now. The inner demons that drive him seem to have an almost relentless ferocity.”

“And Moore and Chall?” the wayfarer asked, “How have they adjusted to Lars’s death?”

“Moore, very well,” Dextor replied, “but Chall’s never gotten over it. I doubt she ever will. She’s only with us now because Moore is.”

This information cast a dampener over the happiness of reunion, but Brandyjack tried not to think of it. All three were good people, and he did not wish to dwell on their sufferings.

“We have an inventor named Bell locked in our room,” Snake said, speaking for the first time.

“Thunderin’ blazes!” Brandyjack said, snapping his fingers. “I forgot all about him. Yeah, we were in some cesspool of a town when we saw enforcers whisk him away. Naturally, being a curious sort, I had to find out why they’d taken him, and so I took it upon myself to rescue him. Like my talkative companion said, he’s in our room now.”

“I know of him,” Thoruso said, not entirely surprising Brandyjack with this statement. “He’s been experimenting with steam-propelled vehicles. Or was, the last I heard of him.”

“Well, it appears he’s come up with something,” Brandyjack said, “because he told us he’d gotten something to move. I didn’t ask for the details.”

“Being the curious sort you are,” Thoruso said mockingly, “I can understand your interest.”

Brandyjack chuckled. “Be that as it may, he’s waiting for us to go back and get him. I sort of… um, promised him protection under your aged and capable wing.”

Thoruso shook his head slowly. Then, sighing in the manner of one greatly put upon, he said, “Very well. I’ll send Moore to get him later.”

“So you’re going to destroy Star’s pipe dream.” Brandyjack murmured.

“As surely as I was going to find the starship,” Thoruso answered evenly, his voice strong.

Brandyjack considered the old man, the multitude of wrinkles on his face, the almost gray and rapidly thinning hair, the slight but still firm build, and the desire and determination that blazed in his eyes. Yes, this was the same Thoruso.

“I suppose,” the wayfarer started, mockingly self-important, “I might as well lend you an experienced hand. If you run this operation like you did the ether, you’ll need all the help you can get!”

Thoruso snorted his opinion of that, but said nothing.

“Snake?” Brandyjack asked.

Snake shrugged, nodded.

“Count us in for the duration,” Brandyjack said, smiling.

During the next few days Brandyjack discovered the extent of Thoruso’s plans to assassinate Star and overthrow the premier’s government; the results were minor. Against well-armed enforcers, the Merchant had fewer than 20 others working with him; that number was pitifully insufficient. They managed only occasional ambushes on enforcer patrols, and even Thoruso admitted these had little effect en the overall picture. The Merchant received reports regularly from those helping him, but the details were often insignificant and inconsequential, giving the man virtually nothing to work on. Mostly they analyzed rumors, and those rumors were anything but reassuring. The wayfarer was happy to renew his friendship with Virgil, Moore and Chall, but he saw in Chall’s eyes her deep sense of loss. As Dextor had suggested she would probably always feel the pain. Moore seemed to have adjusted completely to his son’s death, however, and his dedication to Thoruso’s cause was strong. As for Virgil, the silent deformed’s determination was plain in his face, and Brandyjack realized the man did, indeed, hold Star personally responsible for Reed’s death.

After he’d been reunited with the Merchant for only a few days, Brandyjack sensed a change in Thoruso’s mood. For some reason Thoruso was more confident, more determined, apparently simply because Brandyjack was with him. There was a strong bond between them, the wayfarer realized, and Thoruso was happy to have it strengthened and renewed once more.

Brandyjack, back with his friends and involved in the adventure and excitement of danger, thought only once about Lotus. Even then it was only because he had been questioned by Thoruso about her.

CHAPTER 4

The stench of garbage was always present in the section of Toronew that Thoruso had chosen as his base of operations. Only occasionally did enforcers come here, and even then they went about their business as quickly as possible, monitored carefully by members of Thoruso’s band disguised as infected beggars, or whatever served the purpose at any given time. It seemed only logical to Brandyjack that Thoruso should choose such a place to launch his minor assault against Star; but somehow the rationale of it had never struck Star, for no search parties ever came within a mile of the hideout, unless they had specific business with someone else. Even so, those remaining in the house were in constant preparation, ready to depart on a moment’s notice.

The sense of oppression that others had lived with in Toronew for several months began to weigh on Brandyjack. His increasing awareness of the new order was bolstered by even more rumors of atrocities committed under Star’s name. Rumors, however, were considered as just that, for Thoruso felt it unwise to place too much faith in such things. While no one knew exactly where, there was now no doubt that Star had set up a settlement of captured inventors. The people were being coerced to develop whatever they could for the government’s purposes. Those experimenters who agreed were removed from the settlement, while those who refused were left imprisoned. Thoruso could only hope those imprisoned would continue to refuse their aid to Star, but he realized the various intricacies of torture might well effect drastic changes in a man’s decision. The Merchant knew he would be unable to place blame on those who finally agreed.

Thoruso’s minor skirmishes with enforcer patrols, always well removed from the Merchant’s base of operations, were ineffectual and all knew it. There was little to be done until someone could locate the captured inventors, or a method of penetrating the defense of the forges could be found. Thoruso, a man Brandyjack had once claimed was never without a plan, seemed to have no idea how to reverse either situation.

“It seems to me,” Brandyjack told Thoruso late one night when just the two of them were awake, “that we might be wasting our efforts ambushing patrols and learning nothing, only occasionally gaining a weapon for our arsenal, when we might better be working on more important schemes.”

“I cannot disagree,” Thoruso replied from his position on the floor of their basement headquarters. “But unless you have any ideas about those more important schemes, Brandyjack…”

He let the sentence trail off, and Brandyjack, leaning against the outer wall and staring out a slatted window, said, “I don’t pretend to have a brain superior to yours, Thoruso, and I don’t wish to appear arrogant, but have you considered hitting Star in his own base of operations, enforcer Headquarters?”

“The place is heavily guarded,” Thoruso told him, “or I would have tried it earlier.”

“Okay, we’ll take a different tack. Remember the tubes we came to Toronew in after our meeting with Star at the spaceship?”

“The pneumatic tubes?”

“Yes, that’s it. I’d forgotten the name.” The wayfarer turned from the slatted window through which only a sliver of silver moonlight penetrated. “Have you given any thought to destroying the tubes?”

“No,” Thoruso admitted, “but what good would that do?”

“Perhaps none,” said Brandyjack as he walked across the floor to sit in front of Thoruso, “but it might cause Star some anxious moments. As things stand, he has few worries, and he’s confident. Confident men seldom make mistakes, whereas angry or confused men often do.”

“There is some merit to your proposal,” Thoruso admitted without rancor, “and I’ll have to give it some thought.” After a pause, “You wouldn’t happen to know where we might intersect the route of one of the tubes, would you?”

Brandyjack chuckled. “I am, and ever have been, a soldier of fortune, acting on whatever orders are given me and always for specific purposes. The actual details I leave to the commander doling out the orders.”

“And I am the commander in this case,” Thoruso sighed. “Very well, your points are well taken, and I don’t suppose I’m as helpless as I let on. I’m sure I can obtain the information we need, and who knows, we might strike a bigger blow for our cause than ambushing 10 patrols!”

“That’s the point!” Brandyjack told him, slapping a hand to his knee. “We have to vary our attacks, do different things, keep them off balance. Of course our efforts will be small, but they might make Star angry or annoyed, and that would be good for us.”

Thoruso smiled at the big man who sat before him. “I don’t pretend to agree with everything you say and think, wayfarer, but I will admit things tend to happen whenever you’re around. You carry action about you like that infernal cloak you seem never to be without.”

Brandyjack grinned, pulling the cloak a bit more tightly about his shoulders, even though the night was warm and the air muggy within the confines of the room. “People think I’m crazy for wearing it as much as I do,” he admitted. “It’s one idiosyncracy out of many, just the most obvious.”

They sat in silence for a time, and finally Thoruso spoke, his voice contemplative. “Brandyjack, I’ve been thinking. I must admit the fact that the proposal is yours is certainly astounding.”

Brandyjack ignored the jibe. “How so?”

“Well, what if the pneumatic tubes presently comprise the sole means of travel for Star and his top advisers? We don’t know how complete the tube network is, can’t begin to guess the many points it touches. After all, Star and his cronies are seldom seen, and they must visit certain places periodically for inspections and whatever else they scheme. Perhaps the tubes are the most important link in holding their network together.”

Brandyjack shrugged. “Again, I act on specific orders given for specific reasons. If you wish to conjecture, I have little to offer.”

Thoruso smiled and regarded the wayfarer intently for several seconds. “You claim that often, Brandyjack, but we both know you are not as simple as you claim. Perhaps some of your antics are mere contrivances so that people will continue to regard you as a fool. No, don’t deny it. I think you cloak yourself with your aura of action and simplicity as a sort of protective covering. If you wish to play your little games, I will not object; I ask only that you remember this discussion, and know that I am on to you so that you may give the aid you claim you cannot, without compromising or jeopardizing your carefully constructed outer appearance.”

Brandyjack shrugged. “Think what you will. All you’ve said is that I know more than I let people think I know. That is like much of what you say, and hence mere conjecture.”

Thoruso smiled.

Brandyjack rose to his feet, turned and walked to the slatted window. Feeling the Merchant’s eyes on his back, he couldn’t suppress a smile. Thoruso missed very little.

As he stared out at the narrow street beyond the basement headquarters, he saw a rat run across to the dwelling opposite. Then, a second later, another. What, he asked himself musingly, could make the rats run like that? To the best of his knowledge and experience, they acted as if they owned these slums: to them the humans were the intruders. Ah well, who knew what went on in the mind of a rat? Only another rat, of course.

He had begun to turn away from the window when two more vermin scampered across the cracked, heaved pavement of the street, their little shrieks of fear carrying softly through the night air. Brandyjack knew immediately what had frightened the rats.

He hurried across the floor, holding a finger to his lips. “Enforcers!” he hissed.

Thoruso was up in an instant, racing through a curtained doorway leading to the second room of the basement dwelling. There was, as Brandyjack knew, only one way out of the basement, so the Merchant was obviously waking the others. A bad oversight, that, he decided. Either Thoruso was slipping, or he’d felt so secure here in the slums that he’d decided an escape route wasn’t necessary. Whatever the reason, they were trapped!

He returned to the window, glad he and Thoruso had been conversing in the dark without aid of a lantern. He peered cautiously at the street, saw the shadows of at least six men and estimated the enforcer patrol’s strength.

As rustling sounds from the second room drifted to his ears, he supposed the others were moving out to join him to wait until the enforcers burst through the doorway. Seconds later Thoruso returned, Snake, Dextor, Virgil and the others following silently. Thoruso thrust a handgun toward Brandyjack, but the big man refused it. He much preferred using his body as a weapon, even though he knew the enforcers would be using handguns.

There was only enough room for one at the slatted window, and Brandyjack’s massive form occupied that space. He saw first one, then two more enforcers slip from the alleyway to the left of the basement dwelling, take positions directly in front of the cellar and occupy the middle of the street between the two rows of buildings. Were they going to get a running start the wayfarer wondered.

Then, as the first three were joined by four more companions, Brandyjack knew what they planned. In their hands they held clubs easily one meter long, with oiled rags wrapped around the ends. Even as their purpose dawned on him, a match was lit and thrust at one of the torches.

“They’re going to burn us out!” Brandyjack yelled, loudly, and immediately bedlam followed.

Guns in hand, Thoruso’s group raced for the flimsy door, smashing it to toothpicks. It had been only seconds since Brandyjack’s yell, but the basement dwelling was empty and the members of Thoruso’s band were firing at the enforcers outside.

The attackers had been startled by Brandyjack’s yell, had stood mute for several seconds while those inside the cellar charged the door and raced up the few steps leading to ground level. Because of their hesitation, they were caught in the middle of the street, all save one holding unlit torches. That one managed to cock back his arm to throw, but before he could bring the arm forward even a centimeter, a bullet cut him down.

Shouting and total confusion reigned as the other enforcers reached, too late, for their handguns. Thoruso’s band stood near the side of the basement dwelling, almost in a straight line, firing round after round at the enemy until, scarcely 15 seconds after Brandyjack’s yell, all seven enforcers lay dead, their bodies strewn about the garbage-covered street.

Thoruso raced back down the steps to the basement, Virgil, Dextor, Moore and Chall right behind. Puzzled, Brandyjack and Snake followed, and directly behind them staggered a numbed and confused Bell.

Ever the realist, Thoruso had realized he’d need what few books and papers he still owned, and it was for them, stacked in a room off to the left of the second enclosure, he had rushed. With eight pairs of hands grabbing all they could hold, nothing of value was left behind. They took to the darkened street just as the first of those human vermin that lived in the slums stumbled to the door to investigate the noise. No explanations were given.

As they ran, Brandyjack realized Thoruso had absolutely no idea where to go; there were no contacts nearby who could help them spend a few nights in seclusion while they found another base of operations. They ran down garbage-cluttered streets, cut through even more filthier alleyways, their main objective only escape.

First Bell, then Chall, then Moore began to drop behind the others, and they were forced to slow their pace so that all would remain together. This made the problem of locating a place to hide even more urgent as it became apparent that they would not be able to pick and choose. They must settle for any apparently unoccupied or deserted building.

They discovered they’d been running for a longer period than they imagined, for the piles of garbage had become less frequent, and the buildings did not threaten to collapse if someone sneezed. There was even a candlemaker’s shop. The door was chained shut, but this presented no problem to Brandyjack. He gently placed his pile of books and papers on the ground, then proceeded to snap the chain and wrench open the candleshop door. The others hurried inside as Brandyjack retrieved his papers, replaced them on the dirt floor of the shop and closed the door. He drew the lengths of thin chain in around the frame and fastened them from the inside so that the shop would appear undisturbed.

They puffed and panted in the darkness of the shop, able to see little, the smell of wax strong in the air. They tried to be quiet, because shops of this kind often contained living quarters in the back. For the time being, they had no wish to awaken whoever owned the business.

“Who’s there? I have a knife.”

The voice was frightened, of that there could be little doubt, for the words were forced and uneven. Brandyjack whirled in an attempt to peer through the darkness at the back of the shop; he could just barely see the outline of a man.

“We mean you no harm,” Brandyjack whispered, loudly enough for the candlemaker to hear, but not audible enough for anyone outside. “If you’ll give us a moment to explain, you’ll realize that no harm will come to you.”

“Who is it?” a harsh, high female voice asked, obviously directing the question toward the man.

“I don’t know,” the candlemaker replied, his voice still blanketed with fear.

“We’re friends,” Brandyjack started reassuringly, beginning to move toward the darkened figure near the back of the shop. “We only need a place to rest for a moment…”

As he’d spoken, Brandyjack had been edging toward the candlemaker; when he was only three or four meters away, he leaped on top of the man, who was so terrified he dropped his knife and attempted to flee into the back of the shop. Knowing what would happen, Brandyjack clamped a massive hand over the candlemaker’s mouth, waiting until the man stopped struggling before he spoke.

“I assure you,” he whispered, “that we won’t hurt you. If I take my hand away from your mouth, will you give me your word that you will not yell?”

The man nodded, and Brandyjack did as he’d promised. The candlemaker was breathing heavily, but he did not yell out.

“Who is it?” the female voice requested again, annoyed.

“Can we move to the back?” Brandyjack whispered to the candlemaker.

The man nodded and edged toward the back of the shop, pushing aside a huge square of canvas to allow entry to his living quarters. Thoruso’s band followed quietly, each satisfied to have a moment’s respite.

When the canvas had been drawn back across the doorway leading into the candle shop, and Brandyjack was assured that no windows adorned the walls of this particular room, a lantern was lit, and all were able to see. The candlemaker, as Brandyjack had known from his brief, physical contact, was a short, thin man, with a gleaming bald spot surrounded by sparse hair. His face was downcast, even when he smiled, and his eyes showed something deeper than misery. His wife, who stood in a doorway leading into the room where they now stood, was a large woman, outweighing her husband by at least 10 kilos. She had no feminine curves, just muscular sturdiness all through her torso.

“Who are these people, Danton?” she demanded of her husband when the lantern had been lit.

“I have no idea, my love,” the nervous Danton replied.

“We’re undercover enforcers,” Brandyjack said immediately, stepping forward to confront both Danton and his wife. “And if you want an explanation, I’ll be happy to give you one.”

The wayfarer looked around the room, seeing a table, two chairs, and. not much of anything else. Cracked glass dishes rested in piles in one corner, while rusting metal ones rested beside them. A wooden tub stood nearby, which Brandyjack assumed was for washing the dishes. He sat down in one of the chairs, an air of importance oozing from him.

“We’ve been on the trail of several enemies of Premier Star’s government,” Brandyjack explained in his most pompous, officious tone, “and up until tonight we’d been unable to infiltrate their group and find concrete evidence against them. Well, to make a long story short, we broke into their headquarters and managed to get away with large amounts of incriminating evidence; and we were on our way back to Star’s palace when the criminals gave pursuit. Naturally, we couldn’t run forever, so we were forced to break into your shop.” He paused, smiled at Danton’s wife with a leer that was exceptionally hard to maintain, before going on. “As for damage to the chain on your door, rest assured that Premier Star will look after it. Tomorrow, present a bill for damages to any enforcer, and you’ll be compensated.”

Brandyjack continued the deception for almost half an hour while the various members of Thoruso’s band caught their breath. After a threatening word of caution to the candlemaker and his wife, they departed via a back entrance, and once more began their stealthy flight through the darkness.

“What doesn’t sit right with me,” Brandyjack explained to the others, “is why they only sent seven enforcers after us.”

They were seated in a rough circle in a stable loft, the books and papers they’d carried from the basement dwelling in front of them. Through the cracks in the stable walls, they could see the first fingers of dawn stretching across the sky.

Dextor shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe it was just a patrol who happened to stumble on to us.”

Brandyjack shook his head. “I doubt that. They were ready to burn us out; they were prepared.”

“I’ve heard,” Thoruso said slowly, “that there is a great deal of competition among the enforcers. They all want to look good in Star’s eyes, and if a small number of them could manage to get rid of the only thorn in Star’s side, promotions might be in order.”

“Greed?” asked Dextor.

“Exactly,” Thoruso told him.

Brandyjack noticed that Bell, Moore and Chall had retreated from the crude circle and were sleeping on the hay. It seemed like a good idea to him, but sunrise would bring activity, and there was no telling who might own this stable, or when the owner would come.

“The question now, though, is what are we going to do?” Brandyjack stated.

“It’ll be too dangerous to move about the streets in daylight,” Thoruso told them, “so we’ve little choice but to remain here for the time being.”

“We’ll have to be bloody careful,” said Brandyjack. “If anyone sees us, we’ll be trapped up here.”

“Brandyjack and I aren’t known too well yet,” Snake pointed out, surprising everyone. “Perhaps we could try to find another place.”

“That might be our only hope,” Thoruso agreed, “for all our clothes and dyes and makeup were in the cellar. Until we can relocate and obtain more, we’re too easy to spot.”

“If that’s the case,” Brandyjack said, “we should leave now, before too many people are about to see us.”

Thoruso agreed and gave them a substantial amount of money to buy or rent whatever was available and suitable in the way of lodging. Substantial though it was, he admitted it was the last of his money; from this point on they would have to fight without benefit of currency.

It was decided that if anyone entered the loft, he was to be held captive by the others until Brandyjack and Snake returned. At this point they could afford to trust no one. Brandyjack and Snake left the stable, hoping they could find a place quickly.

It occurred to Brandyjack, as the sun began to rise in the eastern sky, that he’d gone several days without liquid refreshment. Well, he chuckled to himself, he certainly had enough money with him to remedy that little oversight.

The streets were almost deserted, but neither Brandyjack nor Snake mourned the lack of people.

Brandyjack had walked through the four small rooms of the shack—no better word could apply—examining the strength of the structure, making his displeasure known to the Merchant owner. Upon their arrival they’d had to forcibly remove three beggars, and the Merchant assured them the stench could be removed with a good airing.

The shack was in the west end of Toronew, in an area thick with beggars and thieves and less than half a kilometer from the westerly wall. It had only two windows, both in the front wall overlooking the street outside, which gave a lengthy view in both directions. A cracked, cement-walled basement, something relatively uncommon in most buildings, gave an added advantage. And, Brandyjack noted with pleasure, there was a back entrance, as well as one that opened into a very narrow alleyway separating the shack from the nearest building to the east.

Although Brandyjack found he was quite satisfied with the dwelling, he never once smiled, nor did he voice any appreciation to either the silent Snake or the over-eager Merchant whose name he’d forgotten immediately after being told.

“I plan to open a small trading shop,” Brandyjack informed the Merchant, “but I’m not sure the floors will stand the constant wear of continuous business.”

“I assure you, kind sir, that the floors are solidly constructed, and that it will be at least 100 years before there is any sign of deterioration,” the Merchant stated, his mouth smiling, but his eyes darting suspiciously from Brandyjack to Snake and back again.

“Well, let me discuss it with my associate,” Brandyjack said haughtily as he turned and walked with Snake to the far wall. The Merchant watched them, his beady eyes following their every move, the weight of their money already felt in his pocket.

“What do you think?” Brandyjack asked Snake in a whisper.

Snake shrugged.

“Life’s blood!” Brandyjack hissed, and his tone made it a curse. “Can’t you give me a simple yes or no?”

Snake glanced at the Merchant who continued to eye them. Then, in his coarse, rough voice, said, “Take it.”

“How much should I pay?”

Snake shrugged.

“Mouthy creep,” Brandyjack muttered as he walked back toward the Merchant, followed by a not-quite-grinning Snake.

“We’ve decided at least to hear your asking price,” Brandyjack informed the Merchant, “but we don’t promise we’ll accept it.”

The Merchant’s eyes glinted in the dimness of the unlit room, and Brandyjack could see the man’s brain making rapid calculations as to exactly how much he could soak the pair for. “Although it grieves me considerably to let the place go for so little,” he started, “I’m asking a mere 2,000 Star Rule Currency Notes.”

“What!” Brandyjack bellowed. “Two thousand… I wouldn’t pay 2,000 notes for my mother! To Hades with you, crooked Merchant!”

Two thousand was still less than Thoruso’s limit, but there was the matter of ale yet to consider. He started for the door.

“Perhaps I could lower it a little,” the Merchant whined quickly, holding his thumb and finger a fraction of a centimeter apart. “Shall we say 1,700?”

“Seventeen hundred!” Brandyjack roared. “What do you take me for?”

“Sixteen fifty?”

“Sixteen fifty!” Brandyjack boomed.

“Sixteen twenty-five?”

“Sixteen twenty-five!” Brandyjack snorted.

“Sixteen hundred?”

“Sold!” Brandyjack said, smiling benevolently.

He counted the currency notes into the Merchant’s hand, received a scribbled bill of sale and promptly ordered the Merchant to quit trespassing on private property or suffer the consequences.

“It’s worth 2,200, easy,” Brandyjack said to Snake, leaning against the wall after the Merchant’s hurried departure, “but a little righteous anger always seems to devalue things.”

Brandyjack gave most of the balance of the currency notes to Snake, requesting that he return to Thoruso and, under cover of night, bring everyone to the newly purchased shack. He would return later himself.

They parted company outside the front entrance to the shack; then Snake made his way quickly back to the stable, and Brandyjack followed his unerring sense of direction to locate a tavern. The one he found was, as he knew it would be, from the class of people living in that end of Toronew, dim and dark—obviously a place that had seen many violent disagreements in its time.

The bar was kept by a well-muscled man in his early 30s, who appeared quite capable of looking after himself as far as fisticuffs were concerned. He wore his long hair tied back much like Brandyjack’s, and his eyes held a penetrating quality. He was a handsome man, but exposure to a difficult and wearisome life had added a touch of ennui to his overall appearance. He filled Brandyjack’s order—a large pitcher of ale—and took the wayfarer’s money with scant interest.

Brandyjack found a table near the door, sat down and immediately poured himself a frothy mug of his personal nectar, taking a long, deep swallow before plunking the mug back on the table. A female assistant to the bartender busied herself sweeping the floor along the opposite wall. Several tables away from her two men enjoyed a quiet mug, and back in a far corner another man, who seemed to have already had his fill, rested his head on the table, his empty mug fallen on its side.

The wayfarer wondered if anyone might be interested in a game of peg, but finally decided no one would be, for they all seemed quite content. Just as well, he decided.

Peg, while not strictly illegal, was frowned upon by the authorities, and if they happened by just as he was making a drop, there could be some difficulties. Which he really didn’t need, he reflected, surprised that he preferred, at the moment, to relax and sit alone. He took another long, deep drink, sighed and settled back in the chair. Placing his feet on the table he resembled a man much more prosperous than he was.

For want of anything better to do, he eyed the barmaid still sweeping the floor along the opposite wall. She was barely older than 25, the wayfarer decided, and looked enough like the bartender to be his sister. Her face, while pretty, reflected the same sense of boredom, though her eyes had the same penetrating quality. Her brown hair hung loosely, reaching a point midway down her back. Something in the way she moved reminded him of Lotus, even though her physical appearance was vastly different. It was the same graceful motion, the same calculated way she approached her tasks, Brandyjack decided.

Thinking about Lotus, he wondered if he really didn’t miss her, or if the presence of activity and diversity merely clouded the issue. Relaxing contentedly in the quiet bar on a quiet afternoon, he wasn’t sure.

Finished with her sweeping, the woman took the thick-bristled broom to a storage closet behind the bar. She walked to the bartender, spoke with him briefly and began polishing the hardwood bartop with a cloth. She looked at Brandyjack only once, but it was enough for him to gain her attention and wave her over to the table. Without a word she accepted the chair he offered her.

“My name’s Brandyjack,” he said. “And yours?”

“Mandy,” she told him, and her soft voice was as weary and as bored as her expression.

“Would you care to share this pitcher with me?” He raised the mug to his lips.

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t drink.”

Brandyjack was in midswallow; the startling revelation that someone in the world didn’t enjoy the limitless pleasures of ale caused him to choke and sputter. “You don’t drink?”

She smiled at his surprise. “No, I don’t,” she sighed.

“I’ve never heard of such a deviation,” Brandyjack told her, wiping from the table top the bits of ale he had sputtered about. “And deviation it is, too. The thought that such a creature might exist never occurred to me.”

She laughed.

“Is that your brother?” the wayfarer asked.

Mandy nodded. “Caron. We own this place. Our parents died a couple years ago, and we had nothing better to do, so….”

“But you’re quickly discovering there are better things?” Brandyjack asked, reading her expression perfectly.

“I suppose so. Life here is rather tedious.”

“And what would you do to liven it up?”

She scanned his face briefly, saw none of the leer she had become accustomed to and could detect no implications in his voice. “I don’t know, really,” she told him. “I’d like to travel a bit, I suppose. See Canav or Moneral. I’ve never been out of Toronew.”

“That is tedious,” Brandyjack agreed. “But I can assure you the beggars in Moneral are every bit as repulsive as they are here, regardless of whether or not they are at fault for their position. The streets are equally as cracked, the rats equally as large, and the taverns equally supplied.”

“But that’s the point,” she went on. “You know from experience, while I know only because you’ve told me so.”

“But look at the time and trouble I’ve saved you,” Brandyjack said.

She smiled at him. “You mean to say that if I told you of a tavern serving better ale, you’d find no need to discover for yourself?”

Brandyjack chuckled. “Ale is quite a different matter. There have been times when I’d’ve traded both legs and an arm of anyone’s choosing for just a swallow of this golden delight.”

“You build your life around ale?”

Brandyjack shrugged. “It’s as good as anything else, but it has a greater advantage than most: I can build my life around it so much that I don’t know I’m doing it, and in that lies the enjoyment.”

“You talk and reason in circles,” she informed him. “Are you ever serious?”

“Once,” he told her, “but that was before I sampled the delights of good ale.”

She sighed. “No, I guess you’re not.”

They talked for a few moments more, but as the afternoon began to drag on, patrons trickled into the tavern and Mandy assisted her brother, occasionally returning to the wayfarer’s table to be sure he had enough to keep himself properly occupied.

Six hours after he’d entered the tavern, he found himself ready to stagger out, but couldn’t remember for the life of him where he should stagger to. Something in the back of his mind told him he should be meeting someone somewhere, but he couldn’t remember. After asking a highly amused Mandy where he should be going, he tried to make his way across the crowded floor, barely able to see in the smoky, muggy confines of the room. He stumbled once, fell against someone and suddenly found himself sitting on the floor. He thought he heard someone speak over the hubbub of voices, but wasn’t sure until strong, thick arms reached down and hauled him to his feet. Yes, he thought as the blurry face of a man pressed close to him, someone was definitely yelling, and it appeared to be the man who had such a tight grip on the neckline of his tunic. The noises of the bar diminished considerably just about then, and he could almost hear clearly. He picked up snatches of whatever the man was yelling, but not enough to construct a complete sentence or even form an idea. Finally, he was shoved violently backward to crash onto the top of a table and slide across it, landing with a thud on the floor. Mugs on the table had fallen to the floor, cracking and breaking, and ale made the floor slippery beneath his feet as he tried to stand, failed, then tried again. From somewhere behind the bar, beyond the man who had shoved him, he thought he could see Mandy’s face, and he thought it held concern. What she might be concerned for, he couldn’t imagine.

He was still standing, still trying to see through the haze that had descended over his eyes. And, he discovered, he was having no small amount of trouble hearing: a steady buzz rang in his ears.

A large, indistinct form moved toward him then, grabbed him by the upper portion of his tunic, and started to shove him forcefully. Again he was thrown in the direction of a table, and again his weight shattered it, scattering the various patrons who had been sitting around it. He cracked his head violently on the floor, and stars shimmered before his eyes.

He thought he heard someone yell, “Enough of that!” but wasn’t entirely sure. Due to slippery ale on the polished floor beneath his feet, again he had some trouble standing. Once more a blurred form moved toward him. He held out an arm, had it batted aside, and was thrust against the wall. Once more he cracked his head; lances of pain shot through his skull and made him wince.

Finally his vision cleared.

The man approaching him was in his late 30s, easily five centimeters taller than Brandyjack and certainly 20 kilos heavier. His face was contorted with rage, and his massive shoulders shook with anger.

Brandyjack lashed out with such suddenness that his attacker gasped in surprise, racked, a moment later, with a pain that suddenly cut through his stomach like a knife. The wayfarer’s cloak was unbuttoned, and as his left leg arched upward, he thrust it behind him. His boot connected squarely with the other man’s chin whose head snapped back. The man started to fall, but before his massive frame had touched the floor, Brandyjack’s clenched hands had come down on the attacker’s throat. The man moaned in agony, writhing on the floor, while Brandyjack stepped over him and headed for the door. His skull pounded with a throbbing pain he tried to ignore.

Just then three enforcers made their appearance, led by a white-faced Mandy whose shock at seeing him mobile and even alive was great. She looked beyond him to the still moaning, still writhing form of the larger man, then back to his face.

The pain at the back of his skull increased, pounding, throbbing and sharp fingers of it knifed through his mind. Even as the first of the enforcers stepped forward to grasp his arm, he collapsed to the floor.

CHAPTER 5

He wasn’t sure if the voices he heard were male or female, nor was he entirely positive there were voices at all. He opened his eyes, but could see nothing other than a blinding white light. All he knew for sure was that his head throbbed, throbbed and pounded with a greater ferocity than he’d ever suffered before.

He tried to remember what had happened to make his head hurt so much. He could recall nothing clearly. There had been a man—a big brute if the fuzzy memories in his brain were any indication—and they’d fought. His head had been banged on the floor—was it the floor?—when he’d been thrown across a table… and against a wall. Slowly it all came back to him. He’d tried to leave, but suddenly there were three enforcers in front of him. Mandy had brought them and…

Mandy!

He remembered the shock on her face when she’d seen him standing, remembered that something had flashed quickly through those brown eyes—admiration?—and he’d fallen to the floor before he could identify it.

Now that his head was a bit clearer—though the throbbing persisted—he realized he was alone and considered opening his eyes again. Wondering if the bright light would send stabbing slivers of pain into his eyes and back to his brain, he decided to risk one eye.

There was a momentary sting of light, but it passed quickly and he saw that he was in a room, a small room with walls painted a brilliant white. On a small table near the far wall was a lantern, its light high and bright, small wisps of black smoke rising from the wick and contrasting with the white of the wall. There were two chairs by the small table, but no one sat in them.

He opened his other eye, experienced the brief sting of light and saw that, other than the essential furniture, nothing else was in the room save for himself and the blankets he was sprawled on. He tried to sit up, but experienced a sharp pain in his skull and lay back slowly.

He wanted to get up and find out where he was, but he knew the moment he tried to stand, he would collapse. So he remained on the blankets, wondering.

When he turned his head slowly to his left, Brandyjack saw the outline of a door. There didn’t appear to be any way to open it, and he realized it must be barred from the outside. Which meant he was a prisoner. The question was, whose prisoner? It wasn’t much of a question, he realized, but there was little sense in assuming the worst until it was proven.

After what seemed to be a long time, he tried again to sit up, this time managing to pull himself slowly erect. He leaned weakly against the wall behind. Then he realized he was not lying on blankets, but on his cloak. He searched through its pockets quickly and discovered that his knife was missing. What little money he’d had after his drunk was still there, however, but without a weapon of some description, the money was small consolation.

His cloak was caked in blood, and he needed no reminders to know whose it was. It was on his tunic as well, dried and rusty brown; the sight of it caused his head to throb a little more than he wished it would; constricting, expanding, then constricting again.

He became aware of a tightness about his head and lifted a hand to discover bandages wrapped tightly about his skull. Slowly, cautiously, he pulled one circular wrap from his head, then another, until the bandages were off his skull and lying in a pile beside him. The only pain from their removal had resulted from pulling the last wrap from matted blood stuck to his hair. He felt a bit better now for some of the throbbing had ceased with the removed bandages; he realized they had probably been wrapped too tightly. The bandages, too, were blood-soaked.

He sat very still, knowing any quick movements might start his head throbbing again, a possibility not particularly appealing.

Much later he thought he heard a soft scud of boot leather outside the door; he listened closely. Just when he decided the noise had been his imagination, he heard another sound followed by the wrench of a bar being lifted from its supports. Almost immediately the door swung open, and he saw that indeed the door was barred from the outside by a sturdy two-by-four.

A man appeared in the doorway, followed by two more. The first and third were enforcers, their dark green tunics covering well-muscled frames. But it was the second man that interested Brandyjack most, for that one was dressed in robes of satin in a rich, deep purple hue. A small gold ‘S’ was emblazoned over the left breast, and a gold sash tied the robe to the man’s waist.

Star, Premier of all Merka.

Star was slightly more rotund than Brandyjack remembered, and his chubby features had taken on an almost rosy glow. His eyes were still beady, however, and looking into them Brandyjack gathered he was viewed as a strange and magical creature no one had ever seen before, and would not likely ever see again. Star smiled. Brandyjack nodded.

“We had some fears as to whether or not you would live,” Star said, his voice higher than the wayfarer remembered or expected.

“I hope the fears did not hamper your sleep,” Brandyjack replied diplomatically.

“No,” Star admitted, “I didn’t lose any sleep over it.” He smiled, then walked to one of the chairs by the table, where he sat and stared across the room at Brandyjack still leaning against the wall. The enforcers stood by the door, arms folded across their chests, handguns prominent on their hips.

Nothing was said for a few seconds, and Brandyjack decided not to break the silence. Unsure of what was planned for him, he was not eager to speed things up if the plans were anything but pleasing. Having had some dealings with Star, he had doubts as to their pleasantness.

“How long have you been in Toronew?” Star asked.

Brandyjack shrugged. “That depends on how long I’ve been in here.” He regarded Star expectantly.

Star nodded. “Three days.”

“Then I’ve been in Toronew for something like five days,” Brandyjack said agreeably.

“And you’ve sought out your friend, Thoruso?”

“I tried,” Brandyjack admitted, “but when I went to his last known address, he wasn’t there, and no one seemed to know where he’d gone, least of all the old man and old woman who lived there.”

“Urn. Why are you here, Brandyjack?”

The wayfarer sighed. “I’m a wanderer. I go wherever the urge, to travel tells me to go, regardless of where that might be.”

“You received no request from Thoruso to come?”

Brandyjack shook his head. “None. Why should he send for me?”

Star sighed and an expression of concern crossed his features. “The Merchant has run afoul of my government and, consequently, is trying to overthrow me by any means possible.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, it’s true. You remember, of course, Thoruso’s disappointment when he discovered we’d known all along about his travels to the stars, but had mistakenly adhered to the advice of a long-dead president? Well, as you know, I and my companions decided there need no longer be restrictions placed on technology and experimentation, and we returned to Toronew with that in mind.”

Star paused, and Brandyjack realized something was not right here. If he was in danger of physical harm, the Premier would surely not be taking this many pains to explain himself and his intentions. He decided that this was one of the few times he should keep his mouth shut and listen.

“A great rush on the part of anyone wishing to experiment and exploit his newfound freedom would, of course, have caused much confusion and possibly calamity, what with the unknown elements involved and all. Well, to make a long story short, I decided a state-controlled experimentation period must be temporarily introduced, so that certain safety precautions and procedures might be established. When I approached the Merchant to be my lieutenant in the matter, he refused, giving me no reasons whatsoever. Since then, he has been making a determined attempt to break down my government. I can only conclude that he feels bitter over the loss of certain of his aides, and that he holds against me the fact that I listened to what seemed like good advice from a man who should have known. As I’m sure you’ll agree, a man must be forgiven his mistakes when he admits them and attempts to make amends. Thoruso, however, has decided not to do this, and it is my opinion he is experiencing more than a touch of hunger for power.”

“He wants to rule in your place?” Brandyjack asked.

“Exactly! After his apparent concern for humanity and his desire that a technological state be introduced, I find it hard to accept; but it is true.”

Nodding slightly, Brandyjack considered the Premier’s words.

“As anyone can see,” Star went on, “an explosion of attempts by poorly trained and under-educated men and women would lead to far more harm than good. What I have tried to do is harness their various energies so that we proceed at an orderly pace, without causing ourselves any more damage than necessary. Moving slowly adds the extra advantage of weeding out unnecessary duplications of works already completed.”

The words were even and seemed to be spoken in truth. The Premier seemed honestly concerned that a profusion of technological exploration might result in more harm than good, and his statements made sense—from his point of view.

“Hearing all this, I would like your feelings on the matter,” Star said, studying Brandyjack carefully, almost analytically, his eyes were penetratingly intense.

Brandyjack shrugged. “I really don’t know. Remember what Thoruso said at the starship? He said that of all those present, I was the only representative of the type of men not driven by the lust for knowledge. He said I was there because everyone else was there, that if they hadn’t taken me along, I’d be somewhere else hiring out my services and getting drunk.” He chuckled. “Well, I guess those weren’t exactly the words, but they’re close enough and that’s what he meant. The point is, he’s right. Totally. What do I know about such things, and what do I care? I’m a wayfarer, a soldier of fortune, and that’s all. I see no sense in causes, but I see a lot of sense in men. Therefore, while I sometimes may not agree with a cause, I will fight with a man I respect who believes in that cause. I am concerned with men, Star, not their political motivations.”

“And do you have any respect for me, Brandyjack?” Star asked, and Brandyjack knew where the conversation was leading and had only to wait until the question was finally asked.

“Frankly,” Brandyjack told him, “how could I? I know very little about you, and most of that came from Thoruso while we were struggling toward the starship. If you must know, no, I do not have any respect for you.” He paused. “Of course, I’ll be the first to admit that’s because I don’t know you, haven’t had much time to get inside and around whatever motivates you.”

The answer seemed acceptable to Star. “And what of Thoruso?”

“Ah, now the important questions. At this moment, I have two impressions of the Merchant. The first is that he is an honest man, determined and fair, lusting after only those things that will make the life of every man a more fulfilling experience. Toward that end, he will use all his energies, all his resources, and nothing short of death could quell the desire that burns within him.”

“And the second?” Was there a cold tinge to the Premier’s voice?

“The second is that he is a misguided man, distrustful of you because he believes, however rightly or wrongly, that he can rule better than you. In his distrust, however, he may see power as a means of control, rather than freedom. If this impression of him is true, he will be a ruthless man. And, I must admit, I have little love for ruthless men.”

The coldness seemed to leave Star’s voice when he said, “I see. I realize you’ve just gained your second impression of the Merchant, but I believe you’ll agree that it will take more thought. Since you’re in no condition to do much traveling, it is my request that you stay here at least until you’ve recovered somewhat. I’ll send a doctor to examine you.”

The Premier rose, smiled benevolently at Brandyjack, who still sat on the floor, and left the room. The enforcers followed immediately, but backed out of the room so that they were able to watch the wayfarer. The sound of the two-by-four being dropped into place drifted to Brandyjack’s ears, then he heard the three walking away.

The big question had not been asked. But Brandyjack knew it was coming… eventually.

He considered what Star had told him. This was an interesting situation indeed. Thoruso claimed Star was a tyrant, lusting after power and control of the populace, while Star claimed Thoruso was determined to be a tyrant, but was hiding his true intentions under a cloak of concern for fairness and honesty. Interesting.

The wayfarer smiled to himself and continued to consider the differing impressions left by each man until the doctor arrived. The man was old, in his late 70s, feeble and shook far too much to instill confidence. He rose several points in Brandyjack’s estimation when he produced a pouch of tobacco and gave the wayfarer enough for several cigarettes.

“Won’t the guard outside mind?” Brandyjack asked.

“Guard?” the old doctor asked in his feeble, wheezing voice. “There’s no guard. The door is securely barred.”

“Um.” Brandyjack allowed himself a slight grin, then forced it away.

“You surprise me,” the doctor continued. “I thought when I first examined you that you’d be dead within a day. Your skull was fractured in two places.”

Brandyjack chuckled. “I’ve had a thick skull for many years.”

“A good thing too. A more intelligent man would have died.”

Brandyjack roared with laughter at that, but the doctor frowned, wondering what he’d said that the wayfarer found so humorous. Brandyjack’s mirth was shortlived, however, for the pain knifed through his head once more.

“What, exactly, did you do to insure my continuing stay in the world of the living?” Brandyjack asked the doctor.

“Hmm? Oh. I bandaged your head.”

Brandyjack sighed. The miracle of modern medicine…

The old man left then, and the door was barred after him. As Brandyjack sat on the floor, smoking a cigarette, he realized he’d have elevated the doctor to genius status if that worthy had only brought a keg of ale with him.

He waited for a few moments after finishing the cigarette, then moved slowly and softly across the floor, attempting to obtain a fingerhold in the crack of the door frame, Finding it impossible, he returned to his seat and started to plan an escape.

But he was so tired he knew he’d not yet recovered from the head injuries. He wished he knew what condition his assailant was in. If he wasn’t hurting at the moment— provided he wasn’t dead, of course—something was definitely not right, and he’d have to seek out his opponent to even things out.

He allowed himself the luxury of another cigarette, then settled down on his cloak to rest, the throbbing in his head beginning to return.

Just before he dropped off to sleep, he realized with a start that he had no idea where he was. Considering what Star had said, he supposed he was still in Toronew, but that might not be so. Wishing he was in possession of some ale, he decided he’d complain about room service when Star visited him again.

Brandyjack slept.

He’d eaten eight meals, slept twice and smoked all the tobacco given him by the doctor before Star returned with his two bodyguards, but this time the premier’s expression was one of delight, of self-satisfaction. He wasted no time on inquiries about the wayfarer’s condition, nor on anything else.

“We’ve captured the Merchant,” Star said, smiling widely.

“Oh?” Brandyjack felt a sinking feeling in his chest, but he said nothing, his expression calm and controlled.

“Yes. Less than two hours ago. He was spotted by a particularly alert enforcer whose observance shall not go unrewarded.”

So, as Thoruso had said, there was some element of competition among the enforcers; all were vying for favor in Star’s eyes. Of course, if the lucky enforcer was rewarded handsomely, such competition was completely understandable.

“So his opposition to your rule is now ended?”

“Partially,” Star said immediately, something resembling a frown crossing his features, “but not entirely. You see, we know the Merchant had others in his little band, four of whom you know.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Dextor, Thoruso’s adopted son; Virgil, the silent deformed; and Moore and Chall, two of the Merchant’s contacts on his earlier excursion.”

“Yes, right. I remember them all. Has the Merchant given you any clue as to their location?”

“No,” Star admitted, “but he hasn’t been delivered to me yet, so I’ve been unable to question him personally.”

Something was up, and Brandyjack knew it. He merely smiled at the Premier, attempting to force at least a touch of sympathy with the Premier’s plight into his expression.

“Have you given much thought to our last conversation?” Star asked.

“Being as there’s little else to do, yes,” Brandyjack answered.

“And?”

“I don’t believe the Merchant is as I first suspected.” Which was true, for, having met the man several months earlier, Brandyjack had thought him a villain.

Star smiled. “So. Perhaps you could consider working for me, so that we can build instead of destroying as Thoruso wishes to do?”

“Well,” Brandyjack told him, “I could consider that “

“And?”

“Considered!” Brandyjack said with finality, rising from the floor where he’d been sitting. “And decided! How might I serve you?”

A self-assured smile planted itself on Star’s lips, and he extended a hand to the wayfarer.

“Of course,” Brandyjack went on quickly, making no move to take the Premier’s hand, “there’s still the fact that I’m a soldier of fortune, working not for pleasure but for enough monetary consideration to keep this poor body functioning.”

“Of course, of course,” Star agreed hastily. “The matter of a fee had slipped my mind momentarily. What would you consider fair?”

Brandyjack made a show of appearing thoughtful, then, “Considering the fact that the majority of Thoruso’s rebels remain at large and could conceivably be of some annoyance, and also considering that Thoruso just might tell me where they are while refusing to open his mouth to you, I’d think 500 of your best currency notes per week would be a fair price.”

“Five hundred!” Star exploded. “Why, the highest paid enforcer only gets—”

“Of course,” Brandyjack interrupted, “I forgot to add expenses. That would bring the total to somewhere around 650.”

Star’s mouth opened, but no words emerged. He was flabbergasted, unable to speak. His mouth closed, opened, closed again.

“Unless,” the wayfarer continued, “you think the Merchant might have a change of heart and tell you everything.”

“Six hundred and fifty?” Star squeaked.

“Let’s say an even 700,” Brandyjack suggested, beaming.

Star nodded, having no great wish to see the price continue to increase.

“Fine! Fine!” Brandyjack exclaimed, picking up his cloak from the floor and fastening it around his neck.

An enforcer breathlessly entered the room and whispered something into Star’s ear. The whiteness that had covered the Premier’s face slowly dissipated, and he nodded at the enforcer.

“Thoruso has been delivered,” Star said, turning to Brandyjack and forcing a smile to his face. “Shall we go?”

They left the room, walking into a corridor lit by only one lantern. At its far end, Brandyjack saw a single, small window, and beyond it the rooftop of another building. Star had recovered his composure now, and was requesting advice on the best methods of approaching the Merchant.

“I would think,” Brandyjack began, conspiratorily lowering his voice so the enforcers would not hear, “that the best method by far would be to treat me as a captive as well. We can suppose I heard about his struggle and came to Toronew to help, but was taken by your men before I could locate him.”

“Excellent,” Star agreed.

“We must remember, however,” Brandyjack said, “that he hasn’t seen me in several months and might not wish to divulge too much upon first meeting me again. It may take time.”

“Of course, of course.”

They had reached the end of a corridor and were walking down a flight of stairs. Brandyjack was still unaware of his exact location. At the bottom of six flights of stairs, which ended at a corridor stretching from left to right, they turned left and walked for almost 50 meters before the Premier stopped.

“His cell is only a little farther on,” Star hissed. “Perhaps I should have my bodyguards toss you into the cell to give a better impression?”

“Perhaps, but I think not. Their escorting me into the cell will be sufficient.”

They marched to the cell door, which was barred with a sturdy two-by-four. When it was removed, the door was opened, and Brandyjack walked in to see the Merchant chained to a wall.

“Well, Thoruso,” Star began smugly, “it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Thoruso, a thin trickle of blood running down the side of his forehead, said nothing. His clothes were torn and bloodied, an indication that he had not been captured easily.

“As you can see,” Star went on, “we’ve managed to find one of your friends.” He indicated Brandyjack. “He came to Toronew looking for you, but he didn’t have quite the luck he’d hoped.”

Thoruso looked at Brandyjack in obvious puzzlement. It disappeared quickly however, as he realized something was up.

“And we’re not finished yet,” Star continued. “I imagine it’ll only be another few days before we catch up with the rest of your rebels.”

The premier left with his bodyguards, and the door was barred. Brandyjack looked sheepishly at Thoruso and shrugged.

“Don’t tell me,” Thoruso started. “After buying the shack you got drunk and did something stupid.”

Brandyjack sighed, “Thoruso, would I do something like that?”

Thoruso shook his head sadly. “Nothing you do would surprise me.”

“Including working for Star?”

“What?” The Merchant was incredulous.

“Shh! Not so bloody loud.”

“Brandyjack! What have you done now?”

The wayfarer explained what had happened from the time he’d lost consciousness in Caron’s tavern. “And so, I’m now the highest paid man in Merka. Seven hundred Star Rule Currency Notes. Bloody bluebeards!”

Thoruso sighed.

“Which is a considerable amount more than you ever paid me,” Brandyjack reminded the Merchant.

“Brandyjack, do you realize what you’ve done? When Star realizes you’re playing with him, he’ll execute you.”

“So I’ll make sure he doesn’t realize it. I told him it would probably take time to get all the information he needs out of you, so I have plenty of time to come up with something.”

“What?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe get you out of here.”

Thoruso groaned. “Do you know where we are?”

“No.”

“We’re in the most heavily guarded building in Merka. This is Enforcer Headquarters. At any given moment there are no less than 500 enforcers on duty in this building, each one armed and able to get more from the arsenal.”

“Oh.”

Thoruso groaned again.

“Well, look, don’t worry. I’ll think of something. By the way, would everyone still be at the shack?”

Thoruso regarded the wayfarer closely for several seconds, his eyes penetrating.

“Damn!” Brandyjack muttered. “Thoruso, what do you think I’m going to do? Turn them in?”

“I’m sorry, Brandyjack. I just never know with you.”

“Look, if I had turned, I’d already have told them where the shack was.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Yes, they’re probably still there.” He paused. “Are you really going to try something to get me out of here?”

“I have to,” Brandyjack replied seriously, then smiled, “because Dextor promised me 800 notes to try!”

Thoruso sighed and shook his head resignedly. “How are you going to proceed from here?”

“Oh, Star will be back to get me out, and then I imagine after a few days I’ll be given enough freedom to wander about on my own. I’ll talk it over with Dextor and the others. We’ll come up with something.”

“I can imagine!” Thoruso snorted, unconvinced. Then, “Listen, Brandyjack. Whatever you do, be careful. There’s no sense in everyone else getting killed trying to get me out. They can carry on without me.”

“I tried to tell them that,” Brandyjack chuckled.

They sat in silence for a while, Brandyjack waiting for Star or an enforcer to return and free him, Thoruso wondering how Brandyjack had managed to live as long as he had. Eventually, came the sounds of the door being unbarred, and three enforcers appeared. They pointed to Brandyjack, indicating that he was to rise and follow them.

The wayfarer left the cell, taking one last look at the chained, bleeding Thoruso. There was a curious expression on the Merchant’s face, and an equally curious emotion lay behind the eyes. Brandyjack winked, and the door was closed, barred.

After walking through a maze of corridors and descending countless flights of stairs, Brandyjack was finally in the presence of the Premier of Merka. Star’s eager expression was one of expectancy.

“Nothing,” Brandyjack said with a frown, shaking his head. “I think he’s just making sure I’m on his side before he tells me anything. It’ll pass, I’m sure it will.”

“How soon?”

Brandyjack shrugged. “A few days anyway.”

“But you’re sure he’ll open up?”

“Positive.”

“Fine, fine,” Star said, rubbing his hands together. He nodded at the enforcers who’d taken the wayfarer from Thoruso’s cell. They stepped forward.

“What kind of trick is this?” Brandyjack demanded loudly as each of his arms was grabbed. The third enforcer stood behind him.

Star merely shrugged. “Surely you didn’t think we were going to let you walk out of here?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Star laughed. “Brandyjack, use your head. How can I be sure you won’t warn Thoruso’s band?”

“Because I’m getting 700 currency notes a week.”

“And money buys loyalty?”

“It buys mine.”

“For how long?”

“As long as it keeps coming in. Which reminds me… I want the first week’s salary in advance.” He pulled his arms from the enforcers’ grasp and scowled at all of them.

Star remonstrated. “Brandyjack, be reasonable. I can’t let you leave.”

“Fine! Fine!” Brandyjack snarled. “You talk to Thoruso from now on.”

“We have an agreement, Brandyjack, and I have to be sure you honor it.”

“If I don’t have free run of Toronew, the agreement is canceled.”

“Brandyjack, you try my patience. Believe me, I wouldn’t want to force you to hold up your end of the bargain.”

‘That’s quite all right. You can’t force me.”

“No? Brandyjack, have you ever been burned? No, not by a carelessly held cigarette or by sitting too near a fire. What I mean is, have you been burned slowly? Have you ever felt the heat near you and realized you were slowly cooking? Roasting? Hmm?”

“If torture’s in your arsenal, why aren’t you using it on Thoruso?” Brandyjack retorted.

Star sighed. “You know as well as I that he’s an old man. Hundreds of years old. To be frank, I’m not entirely sure he could last under the mildest of tortures. But you, you’re young and strong, you’d last for hours. Maybe even days.”

Brandyjack’s eyes were alight with determination, but his smile did not disappear, nor even waver. “If you think I’d agree under torture to help you, you’re out of your mind,” he said firmly, “because I’d rather roast. I don’t like being ordered about, Star, not by you, not by anyone!”

“Then perhaps it would be best if you merely agreed to the conditions of our arrangement and lived up to them.”

“There were no conditions, and perhaps it would be best if you advanced me my first week’s salary and let me go find a bar in which to spend it.”

“I think not.”

“I think so. I swear, Star, you’ll get no cooperation from me, regardless. You’re beginning to sound exactly like you think Thoruso would act in your position.”

The words had their effect, for some of Star’s resolution left his face. He considered the wayfarer carefully for several seconds before he spoke. “And just where do you intend to go?”

“I intend to find some place to stay and some place to drink, not necessarily in that order.”

“Both can be provided here.”

“Look, Star, if you’d feel any safer, you can detail two of your goons to follow me. Or don’t you have enough faith in them?”

“Oh, I have faith in them. It’s your loyalty I’m concerned about.”

“I’m getting awfully sick of this conversation, Star. We’re ending up at the same point with every word. Either I go free, or you get what you want from Thoruso by yourself. There’s no other choice.”

Star could not fail to note the resolve in Brandyjack’s face and tone of voice. He considered the proposition for several more seconds. “Very well, Brandyjack, you have your freedom. But I warn you, you’ll not be unobserved. At the first sign of disloyalty or betrayal, I’ll have you shot.”

“Marvelous. Now, my first week’s wages?”

“I’ll give you half.”

“Snake’s blood you will! All of it, or you can take the entire agreement and shove—”

“Okay, okay!” Star interrupted. He nodded to an enforcer who left the chamber and returned with the currency. He handed the notes to Brandyjack, and the wayfarer made a point of counting them on the spot.

“Now,” he said when he had finished counting, “how do I get out of here?”

“A word of caution, Brandyjack,” Star said coldly. “You’ll not die an easy or a short death if you’ve any dishonorable intentions. By all the powers at my command, I swear it!”

“I assure you my intentions are honorable,” Brandyjack replied, smiling.

Star nodded to one of the enforcers, who turned to lead Brandyjack from the room. Brandyjack gave Star a crisp little salute, then turned to follow the enforcer. He was whistling before he left the room.

CHAPTER 6

The tavern run by Caron and his sister, Mandy, was completely empty when Brandyjack entered. The owners standing behind the bar appeared less stimulated than before. Mandy’s surprise registered clearly when the big man strode to the bar and tossed down a few notes to purchase two pitchers of ale.

“You look like you just fought a sandlizard with your feet,” Brandyjack chuckled, commenting on Mandy’s whiteness. Even Caron seemed amazed to see him standing there.

“Few people ever return after the enforcers take them away,” Mandy asserted.

“Now why would they have any quarrel with me?” Brandyjack asked as the first of the pitchers and a mug were placed in front of him.

“That seldom means much,” confided Caron, looking from the wayfarer to the tavern door where two enforcers had entered.

“Pay them no mind,” Brandyjack said, just loudly enough for his voice to carry to the newcomers, “they’re very loyal and it doesn’t cost much to feed them.”

An expression of intense dislike crossed the faces of the two insulted men, but they said nothing, taking seats at a table near the door and waving Mandy away as she started toward them to take their orders.

“Ignore them,” said Brandyjack, “and maybe they’ll go away.”

Mandy and Caron both smiled.

“Care to join me over there?” Brandyjack asked Mandy, pointing to the most isolated table in the room, one far back in a corner near an unlit lamp.

Mandy threw one glance at the enforcers, nodded and walked around the end of the bar to accompany him to the table. The enforcers watched carefully.

“I need a favor of you,” Brandyjack said immediately upon sitting down, “and while I don’t think you’ll come to any harm, there is an element of danger.”

“What is it?”

“You didn’t take much time to consider the possible danger.”

“You don’t remember our last conversation.”

The wayfarer laughed. “Okay, then, but listen closely. First of all, I must have your word that anything I tell you is secret, and that includes your brother. Agreed? Fine. Using this tavern as a starting point, I want you to turn right outside, go three blocks, turn left, and walk another seven blocks. You know the area? Fine. Four buildings down, on the eighth block, there’s a shack painted a dull green. It looks like it might collapse any minute. I’m sure you’ll recognize it when you get there.”

“If it’s so close, why can’t you go?” Mandy interrupted.

“The gentlemen in green aren’t likely to allow me many more moments of life if I try such a thing. Being fully aware of this, I have no intention of calling their brutalities to the fore.”

“Oh. Well, I’ve lived in this end of the city all my life, so I shouldn’t have any trouble.”

“Good. Okay, then, at the house I want you to ask for a man named Dextor. If he’s not there, ask for Snake, and if he’s not there, ask for Virgil. Virgil’s a mute, but he has no trouble hearing. Tell them about me, where I am, and about the two enforcers. Tell them I’ll be three blocks north of the Computers square at 02:00 hours two days from now. That’s not this coming morning, but the next. Got that?”

Mandy nodded.

“Good. Tell them they’re not to approach me, but when they see me they’re to take appropriate action as far as the enforcers are concerned. Okay?”

Mandy nodded again. Then, when nothing else was said, asked, “Is that all? Just take appropriate action?”

“That’s it,” Brandyjack assured her. “Don’t worry, they’ll know exactly what I mean.”

“What if none of the people you named are there?”

“Good question. There should be someone around, but if none of the three I named are at the shack, tell them you’ll come back later.”

“Should I go now?”

“Sweet golden nectar, no!” Brandyjack said quickly. “Go tonight, any time after I leave. After you and your brother close the bar if you’d like. The point is, you have to get there without anyone knowing you’re going. If you left now, you can bet one of those worthy fellows near the door would go after you. For the remainder of the time I’m here, go about your duties as you normally would, and it might be best if we didn’t talk too much longer.”

Mandy nodded and started to rise. “Will you explain it all to me later?”

“I promise I will, Mandy. Remember, now, don’t tell anyone, not even your brother.”

She nodded and walked back to the bar, polishing it vigorously and unnecessarily, for Caron had been busying himself with that task. Brandyjack saw Caron question her, but she told him nothing.

That was that. He leaned back in the chair, placed his feet on the table top and waved to the enforcers, a huge smile plastered on his face. He took a drink, belched and sighed. He would have to watch himself tonight, for if he became too drunk, there was no telling what he might do. It would be difficult, he knew, but it had to be done. He sighed. So much ale, but if he wanted to remain alive to drink it, he’d have to drink slowly and in moderation. What a fate for a confirmed drunk! He wondered if Thoruso would appreciate the exceptional sacrifice made on his behalf this evening, but decided the Merchant hadn’t the sensitivity to understand the agony involved.

He drank the two pitchers slowly, and when the second was empty he removed his feet from the table and rose to his feet. He strode across the floor to where the enforcers sat, pulled an empty chair from under the table and sat.

“Star and you two seem to have it in your heads that I’m not all I claim to be,” he began right away, carefully regarding their expressions. “Well, there’s nothing I can do to change that, but if we have to live with each other, I suggest the imposition be as pleasant as possible. What do the pair of you say to a game of peg?”

Darkness in the west end of Toronew was almost total, there being few functioning lamps. Brandyjack cast a furtive glance over his shoulder to make sure the two enforcers were still following him and grinned. When the three of them had left Caron and Mandy’s bar the previous evening, his watchdogs had dropped back several meters, followed him until he found a suitable lodging, took turns sleeping outside his door and resumed their duties when he finally pulled himself from his warm bed at three in the afternoon. They’d lost every note they had to Brandyjack at peg; indeed, they owed him a quarter of their salaries for the next month and were little mollified by his generous assertion that no interest would be charged. Brandyjack wished it weren’t so, but he believed they were angry at him. Be that as it may, they wouldn’t be angry for long.

Provided Mandy had found the shack and talked to one of Thoruso’s band of rebels.

He’d decided against visiting her at the tavern, not wishing to give the enforcers cause to suspect anything might be amiss. If she hadn’t, another method of disposing of his unwanted shadows would have to be found, but again it would have to result from an outside force, and not come from his direct involvement. No telling who might see it, and he had planned that someone should, for the designated meeting place was the center of Toronew, and there was almost always activity there.

Gradually they left the darkened areas of the west end for the better lit sections closer to the Computers. The enforcers were never more than half a block behind the big man, and whenever he turned a corner they were quick to advance to it so that they would not lose sight of him. Once, he had turned a corner and just stood there, leaning against the wall. When the enforcers had come running around it he had stepped out, boomed, “Surprise!” and continued down the street, chuckling merrily as the enforcers cursed him.

As minute after minute ticked by and the meeting place drew nearer, Brandyjack again wondered about Mandy’s success. A lot depended on her, he realized.

He reached the Computers square, looked at the huge building for a few minutes and recalled the one and only time he had been inside. Then he turned north and began walking briskly. The enforcers sped up to keep him in sight.

After the first block, Brandyjack began looking for telltale signs of Dextor and the others. As far as he could see, there were none.

After the second block, when he could see nothing out of the ordinary, he began to worry.

Halfway up the third block, after he had just passed an alleyway, he heard scuffling noises behind him and knew someone had left the alleyway. Far ahead of him he could see a solitary figure, but was unable to determine even its sex.

He whirled, just as Dextor, Snake and Virgil opened fire on the enforcers. Both fell without so much as a cry. Brandyjack turned again, saw the figure running toward them, still a block away. He turned back to Dextor.

“Hey!” he boomed as he ran toward them. ”What’s going on?”

Dextor’s expression was one of surprise and puzzlement, and he brought his handgun halfway up. Brandyjack continued running toward them, and when he was close enough, whispered loudly, “Hit me!”

Dextor remained inert.

“Dammit, hit me!” Brandyjack hissed.

Dextor cocked his arm and swung at Brandyjack’s chin, catching it squarely and forcefully. Brandyjack made a show of resistance as Dextor started to swing again. Brandyjack fell to the cracked, heaved pavement when the second blow landed. His fall was quite real.

“Okay, get your tails out of here!” he hissed, hearing footsteps approach at a good speed.

Dextor, Snake and Virgil were dumbfounded, but made an immediate departure, disappearing into the darkness of the alleyway from which they had appeared. Then, suddenly, the running footsteps ceased, and Brandyjack looked up into the eyes of an enforcer. He groaned, pretended unconsciousness and dropped his head to the pavement. The enforcer checked on his fellows, then peered into the alleyway.

Brandyjack kept his face straight as the enforcer strained and grunted and finally managed to lift him from the street.

“I was too late,” Brandyjack told Star, “but I tried to stop them anyway.”

Star turned from the window of the room in Enforcer Headquarters where he’d stood, absently staring at people passing by. The sun shone brightly on this, the warmest day of a still-young summer.

“Let me get this straight,” the premier drawled, as he regarded Brandyjack’s face carefully. “You were being followed by my men. You passed an alleyway near the Computers square, and three rebels jumped out and killed both enforcers. You then tried to stop them from running away and received that cut on the chin and that nice black eye. The question is, why didn’t they shoot you as well?”

“For blood’s sake!” Brandyjack replied immediately. “Two of them were Dextor and Virgil. How were they to know I’d made a deal with you? They probably thought they were helping me when they saw I was being followed, and the shock of my turning against them didn’t have time to register.”

“Um.”

“He saw the whole thing,” Brandyjack said, indicating the third man in the room. It was the enforcer who had come upon the scene and had carried the “unconscious” Brandyjack a distance of several blocks before collapsing in a wheezing, puffing heap, at which time the wayfarer had taken pity on the man and recovered his senses.

“Well?” the premier asked.

“It happened exactly as he said, Sir,” the enforcer spoke up immediately. “The rebels rushed from the alleyway, shot the officers, and Brandyjack here, tried to stop them. I saw the whole thing.”

Brandyjack nodded at the enforcer, barely able to refrain from smiling. It couldn’t have worked out better if he’d paid the man to stroll along that street at just the proper moment.

“I’d tried to make friends with them the night before,” Brandyjack said, his voice soft and sad, “but they told me their orders were to follow me, not be friendly. It’s too bad; if I’d been closer to them when it happened, I might have managed either to stop Dextor and his men from shooting, or maybe collared one or two of them.”

“Yes,” Star agreed. “Most unfortunate ” He considered the situation for a moment, then asked in a quizzical tone, “There’s only one thing that bothers me: why were you there at that time of the night?”

“I was acting on a hunch,” Brandyjack said. “As you remember, Thoruso’s base of operations was in that area once, and he paid a great deal of attention to the Computers building. It occurred to me Thoruso might have planned some sort of attack against the building-—possibly for information as before—and perhaps ordered it before he was captured, in which case Dextor would carry out the plan. Besides, they used to feel safe in that area, and I thought it might be possible that they’d managed to find lodging there. It appears they are at least partially based in that area, for they had, as far as I can see, no real purpose in being there at that time of night.”

“Um,” Star murmured, “yes. Perhaps you’re right. You think a thorough check of that entire section surrounding the Computers square might turn up anything of use?”

“It’s possible,” Brandyjack admitted, “but don’t count on it now. Realizing I’m against them, they might figure it’ll be safer to pull up their roots and try to hide elsewhere.”

There seemed to be no suspicion from Star. The attack on Brandyjack, witnessed by one of Star’s trusted enforcers, confirmed the wayfarer’s loyalty, and Star’s immediate concern had shifted from the question of Brandyjack’s possible betrayal to the capture of Thoruso’s band.

“You lost two good men because you didn’t trust me,” Brandyjack said to Star. “If I’d been alone, I might have been accepted and taken into their fold. It would have been a bloody sight easier to end their little revolution.”

Star nodded. Then, “If both enforcers were dead, why didn’t you play along with Thoruso’s crew?”

“Instinct,” Brandyjack answered evenly. “My loyalty was with you and your men, even though they were following me, and I reacted naturally. If I’d had time to think, I probably would have seen the opportunity. As it was…”

“Okay, then,” sighed Star, “there’s little sense in worrying about it now. We’ll take you to Thoruso’s cell, and maybe you can get something out of him. Your injuries should help us there. You can tell him they were administered under interrogation. It might even scare him.”

“It might at that,” Brandyjack smiled.

A querulous stare was all Thoruso could manage when Brandyjack returned to the cell. The damage wasn’t major as far as pain was concerned, but the wayfarer’s left eye was swollen and a nauseating shade of purplish yellow, stretching out for some distance below the eye itself. At a quick glance, it appeared a major beating had been inflicted.

Brandyjack sat beside the still-chained Thoruso, waited until he heard the door being barred and the subsequent footsteps of the retreating enforcer. He smiled at the Merchant.

“You seem relatively content for a man with a face in such an uncomplimentary state,” Thoruso offered.

“Your pride and joy delivered both blows,” Brandyjack told him.

“Will you ever start making sense when you speak?”

Brandyjack chuckled. “Dextor has one of the meanest right jabs I’ve ever seen. And he’s got a bloody nice left hook to follow up with.”

“Dextor did that?”

“Yes. Of course,” Brandyjack went on, “I didn’t make any attempt to defend myself.”

“Brandyjack, what has happened!”

Brandyjack explained, dwelling for some time on his tremendous sacrifice with regard to the ale, and when he finished, Thoruso said nothing for several seconds, confirming the wayfarer’s assumption that the sacrifice was in vain.

“Well?” Brandyjack asked.

“You continue to amaze me,” Thoruso said in a voice that was not at all amazed. “Most men would be halfway to Moneral by now. Of course, most of them would be educated and would understand how senseless any other action would be. They’d see the recklessness of their actions.”

“Oh? It almost sounds as though you disapprove.”

“No, I don’t disapprove; you’re trusted by Star now, and can move freely without anyone watching you. The point is, you took a great risk with your life and the lives of Dextor and the others. I think the risks far outweighed the advantages.”

“And we must not forget,” Brandyjack started immediately, “that the cool calculator of risks and advantages is chained to a stone wall, while the man who does what he thinks is necessary when the opportunities arise is as free as a bird with free run of Toronew.”

“You remain as subtle as a knife in the stomach.”

Brandyjack shrugged.

“Are you still planning a rescue attempt?” Thoruso asked.

“No.”

“At last! Some sense!”

“I’m planning a rescue! There’ll be no attempt, just a completed task.”

Thoruso sighed. “Mind if I ask how you plan to do it?”

“Not at all, but I can’t answer that yet; I haven’t decided.”

Thoruso groaned.

“But not to fear,” Brandyjack assured him. “Once I am fortified with several frothy mugs of golden nectar, my brain will be working overtime to come up with a solution.”

“I’m still unconvinced you have a brain.”

Brandyjack snickered, then regarded the Merchant’s face carefully. For all his pessimism and doubts concerning any type of rescue attempt, Brandyjack was sure Thoruso realized the near necessity of it. Granted, Dextor could carry on alone, but Thoruso had become a figurehead as well as a leader; he could not be allowed to remain incarcerated. And the old man appreciated the risks that would be taken on his behalf; of that the wayfarer was certain. No amount of negative outbursts could hide the affection behind his eyes.

“Don’t worry, Thoruso,” the big man said softly, “we’ll get you out of here, and as soon as possible.”

Thoruso nodded.

They talked for a while longer, Brandyjack explaining to the Merchant that his injuries were supposed to have been inflicted under interrogation, and that when he left it was assumed to be for additional interrogation. Thoruso seemed concerned with Brandyjack’s flippancy, undoubtedly fearful that Star would discover the deception, and the interrogation would become a reality. Nonetheless, the old man knew his release depended almost solely on Brandyjack; who else was reckless and foolish enough to try it? And, probably because of those two questionable qualities, he might just pull it off. Only time would tell, and Thoruso realized time was a commodity he had plenty of.

Just to be sure, beyond any shadow of a doubt, he was not being followed, Brandyjack took immediate evasive maneuvers upon leaving Enforcer Headquarters, doubling back to seek out familiar faces. There was no one, but had there been, he felt sure he could have lost him within a short period of time. Which was what he’d wanted to do with the first two enforcers assigned to him, but he’d had to get Star’s trust first, and the plan he’d devised seemed to be the quickest and most convincing. Of course, as Thoruso had pointed out, there were risks but those risks only added to the realism of the-entire affair.

He made his way through Toronew as quickly as possible, deciding that for the moment, at least, he should speak with Dextor and the others before seeking out Mandy and explaining everything to her. Nothing, as far as he was concerned, could be accomplished before Thoruso’s rescue, and once effected, it would demoralize Star and the enforcers. Conversely, the members of Thoruso’s band would be buoyed by their success.

Afternoon passed and early evening had settled upon the city when Brandyjack finally reached the house he’d purchased with the Merchant’s money, realizing absently that this was the first time he’d been back since the transaction.

He was met at the door by a smiling Snake, the grin unable to displace the deep grimness that was always present. His red hair and mustache added, in a way Brandyjack could not quite understand, to the grimness.

“What? No rose petals to herald my arrival?” he asked Snake.

Snake just shook his head.

They walked from the darkened outer room—thick canvas coverings hung over the windows—into the second chamber where Dextor and Virgil were seated on furniture they had brought in earlier. A lantern burned brightly from the middle of the floor, and Dextor, when he caught sight of Brandyjack, nearly kicked it down as he jumped up.

“Okay, Brandyjack! Mind explaining just what the hell’s going on?”

Brandyjack chuckled. “I’ve been asked that with increasing frequency lately. But first, a favor. If I ever ask you to do me harm again, please don’t do quite such a thorough job.”

“Agreed. Now?”

Brandyjack sat on the floor and explained all that had transpired since he’d left Snake almost a week earlier; and Dextor’s pleasure at finally having one of their own trusted by Star was obvious. Also apparent was his great concern for Thoruso, and when told of the struggle the Merchant had evidently put up before his capture, his eyes lit up with pride. But no amount of pride would free the old man.

“And that brings us to his rescue,” Brandyjack said, finishing his oratory of past events. “I don’t know quite how, but we’ve got to do something to get him out of there.”

“Enforcer Headquarters is heavily guarded.”

“So I’ve been told,” Brandyjack agreed, “but I think the risks are worth taking.”

“We can’t just waltz up and open fire,” Dextor told him with a grim smile.

“True, true. We don’t have the force. But there must be some way of gaining entrance to the building without charging the front entrance like a bunch of demented sandlizards.”

“Should we bring Moore and Bell in on this?” Dextor asked.

“Where are they?”

“They’re in the back, working on something or other. Inventors! When they discovered their work had similarities, they started babbling away, and they haven’t let up once.”

“No, forget them,” Brandyjack said. “They’d probably come up with a giant steam-driven mole to burrow….”

The wayfarer stopped in midsentence, a blank expression on his face. Then, slowly, he began to smile at Dextor. Dextor was puzzled, but knew well enough that if he was to ask a question he’d get a flippant reply. So he waited until Brandyjack was ready to speak.

“I don’t suppose you’d happen to recall a certain night several months ago,” Brandyjack began smugly, “when you and I found ourselves in a tunnel searching for a piece of celluloid, would you?”

Dextor frowned. “Yes, of course. I was shot and you carried me out.”

“Correct. But I seem to remember either you or Thoruso informing me at the time that the tunnels beneath the Catacombs were not limited to that area, but extended throughout the city to almost every government building of any importance.”

“I’d forgotten!” Dextor said, snapping his fingers. “Of course! Thoruso had a map…” His voice trailed off as he rose from his chair and disappeared into an adjoining room, followed immediately by Brandyjack, Snake and Virgil.

When Dextor lit a lantern, Brandyjack saw a table in the third room with three chairs pushed near it. Spread out on the table and piled in a far corner were some of the documents and books they had managed to salvage from the underground headquarters.

It took them 20 minutes, but they found the city map of the underground maze, neatly folded and stuck between the pages of an old, yellowed book, whose cover had long since been ripped off.

When they cleared a space on the table and unfolded the map, Dextor was able to point out their present position. The tunnels were numerous, and as Brandyjack had remembered, reached to almost all government buildings of any consequence. The tunnel leading to Enforcer Headquarters should still be there, for the building was a major one; it was doubtful the government would allow it to collapse—or, if it did collapse, permit it to remain filled.

Thoruso had marked most of the major buildings of Toronew on the map, including the Catacombs, the Computers building—which, it was known, was so strongly sealed by the technicians and scientists who died within its walls that it could not be opened from below—and Enforcer Headquarters.

The immediate problem was gaining access to the tunnels, for obviously the only entrances were at important buildings and therefore heavily guarded. They could simply force their way in, but that would be pointless and self-defeating, for once the enforcers knew where they were, they’d be able to launch counterassault units from each and every entrance trapping rebels quickly. If they could make it to Enforcer Headquarters without being discovered, half the battle was already won, for they could either leave the way they came—if still possible—or fight their way out topside.

“It’ll take some time to decide upon the most suitable entrance,” Brandyjack conceded, “but we’ll be able to plan it properly. Dextor, what about the 20 or so people Thoruso told me were with him in this? Can you get them here over the course of the next couple of days?”

“At various intervals, yes, I suppose so.”

“Okay, good. Get in touch with them. We’re going to need everyone we’ve got, even if we have no trouble getting in. Can you supply them all with handguns?”

Dextor shrugged. “Almost, but some will have to be unarmed.”

“Okay, if it can’t be helped, there’s nothing we can do. Maybe we could get the first few here tonight. And let them know they’re going to be here a while.”

Dextor nodded, then left the room, realizing that nothing else could be done at the moment.

“Now,” Brandyjack said, chuckling at Snake and Virgil, “do either of you have any tobacco?”

Throughout the night and the next day, Brandyjack and Dextor studied the map, checking off each point of entry for its possibilities of providing adequate safety. There were, they discovered, very few entrances that offered little risk, and those were located some distance from Enforcer Headquarters.

As Brandyjack and Dextor schemed, the first of Thoruso’s rebels appeared at the shack. They kept trickling in, some alone, some in pairs, until, by sundown of the next day, all were present and awaiting orders. It struck Brandyjack as ludicrous that some of those newcomers had not even known Thoruso was a captive. They’d expressed surprise when the knowledge was relayed to them, but did not seem to be afraid of the danger involved in freeing him.

Finally, after evaluating the advantages and hazards of each and every entrance to the underground maze, they were able to decide on a course of action. The chosen entrance was directly beneath a building, which according to Thoruso’s scribbled handwriting, had once been called the Bureau of Motor Vehicles—whatever that was—but now served as an enforcer outpost, a distant precinct station. It was manned, to the best of Dextor’s knowledge, by a contingent of ten enforcers on each of three shifts, changing at eight-hour intervals. Here they had another decision to make. They could either force entry near the end of a shift when the enforcers might be tired and risk being caught by the shift reporting for duty—if they chose to make their escape via the underground tunnels; or they could attack an alert enforcer contingent at the beginning of its shift and provide enough time for tunnel flight. They finally came to the conclusion that an attack would be more successful if launched in the middle of a shift, after the enforcers had settled in for what would appear to be a quiet night. They would still have enough time to return via the tunnels.

Having settled that—although Brandyjack had a slight variation in his mind that he hadn’t told the others—they briefed the remainder of the band, receiving no queries from anyone.

In groups of twos and threes, they began moving out.

CHAPTER 7

The precinct station was located in a relatively calm, crime-free area. It had been experiencing an untroubled night, the customary two-man patrols leaving at regular intervals and returning on time, just as the next patrol left to make its rounds. The enforcers expected no disturbance, of that Brandyjack was sure, for his rebels were hidden in shadows around the building and had not once been seen. Shortly after 04:00, according to Dextor’s ancient timepiece, an enforcer patrol returned and another left the precinct. Somewhere in the area, an hour away, was one two-man patrol, and the one that had just left accounted for four men. Six remained inside, and Brandyjack had no doubt he could use the advantage of surprise to good effect, possibly taking the station without losing any of his men. The three who would stay behind to take care of the returning patrols had been briefed, and would, once the final patrol had been captured and bound, take to their heels. It was this wrinkle in the original plan that had occurred to Brandyjack, and now he planned to have an additional surprise for the Merchant if they managed to free him.

Brandyjack stepped out of the alleyway in which he. Snake, Dextor and Virgil had been hiding and walked across the narrow, cracked pavement of the street toward the station. It was a crumbling, dilapidated building, which, according to Dextor, would soon be abandoned. The other three followed, their handguns unholstered and ready.

Seeing Brandyjack’s massive form and knowing the time had come, the rest of the force emerged from alleyways and deserted buildings. Within seconds, more than 20 silent figures had crossed the cracked street and stood on the broken pavement outside the station.

The windows of the double doors were covered with thin cloth to prevent bugs from entering, and Brandyjack could barely see shadowed figures moving about inside. Three were visible, and there was no way of judging where the others might be. They couldn’t afford to rip the doors from their rusting hinges, for the returning patrols would be alerted and the alarm sounded.

He waited until everyone in the group crowded around him, almost in front of the cloth-covered openings, then quickly opened the door and raced inside. He had only a split second to see the room—the desks, chairs, and various documents common to all enforcer stations—before he leaped at the nearest officer, bringing him down immediately. He’d noticed that all six were in this single room; that, at least, was a break.

The enforcers had been taken completely by surprise, and except for the one Brandyjack wrestled to the floor, offered no resistance. Facing a dozen gun barrels, none were brave or foolhardy enough to attempt to fight.

Within seconds, Brandyjack’s opponent was unconscious, and the wayfarer stood up to see Dextor grinning at him, slowly shaking his head. Brandyjack shrugged, then walked quickly to the other five enforcers, removing their handguns and tossing them to the few unarmed members of his force. A few moments later all six enforcers were securely bound and placed in a room adjacent to the main chamber.

No words were spoken as the station doors were closed and the three who were to remain took their places. The main force, led by Dextor, ran down a short corridor, opened its final door and entered a very small room, empty save for a few pieces of broken furniture.

In the middle of the wooden floor was a trapdoor, and Dextor pried it loose from its supports. The dark, yawning passageway stretched out before them. They wasted no time thrusting themselves into it. Brandyjack led the way, discovering ladder rungs inside the rim of the entrance. He climbed down about 20 rungs before touching solid ground, and then, finding his bearings in the darkness, darted to his left, toward Enforcer Headquarters. Behind him he could hear the scuffling of boots on dirt, and he patted his tunic pocket to be sure the map was still there; they’d need it if they were to find their way through this dank, black maze.

The tunnel eventually widened from its original, small diameter, and now four of them were able to walk abreast. It was no longer dirt shored by planks and beams, but concrete, cracked in places, but not enough to cause a collapse. At numerous places there had been adjoining passageways, and Dextor pointed out arteries leading to other buildings when the map had been unfolded and a match struck. Some of the passageways that branched off the main artery did so to such a slight degree that Brandyjack found himself appreciative of Dextor’s talents in determining just which one was the correct route. Sections of the corridor had luminescent panels implanted in the ceiling of the walls, but mostly there was darkness, engulfing and complete.

Occasionally they had heard voices, and Brandyjack remembered that rooms were built into the walls in some places. But Dextor, displaying an excellent sense of hearing, had managed to guide them through alternate passageways, or, when it appeared the speakers were moving in their direction, into hiding places from which they emerged when the danger had passed.

They had twisted and turned so often now that Brandyjack no longer knew where he was going; he had to trust Dextor’s sense of direction entirely. Ordinarily he might have had some reservations, but Dextor moved with such certainty that Brandyjack was forced to believe the man knew exactly where he was leading.

At one point they heard a distant rumbling that increased in volume until it seemed over their very heads. Brandyjack first feared that sections of the tunnel were collapsing, and slight vibrations in the tunnel seemed to bear this out. Finally the noise reached a certain volume and remained constant for several seconds before slowly diminishing. Because of the tunnel’s acoustics, no one spoke, but there were many questions in their minds, nonetheless.

“This is it,” Dextor whispered at last, as he stopped and stood beside one of the many ladders they’d passed. “Right above us should be an empty room, but it’s probably guarded from the outside. Perhaps not, but it’s best to act on that assumption.”

Brandyjack nodded in the darkness and grasped one of the rungs to pull himself up. He climbed slowly, cautiously, making no noise and reaching above his head as he advanced up the ladder. After 20 rungs that seemed like 100, his outstretched hand touched the trap door covering the exit. This, he realized, might be the most important move of the night. If there happened to be someone in the room, he would hardly be able to extricate himself from the hole before he was seen. If there was no one in the room, he still had to be careful, for the sound of the trapdoor, if it slid from his grasp and fell to the floor, would promptly bring investigating guards. Still, the passageways were here for a reason, and they must be used occasionally, so perhaps his sudden appearance would not cause as much concern as he thought.

He pushed gently on the trapdoor, felt it give somewhat, then pushed it a couple of centimeters farther. Dim light illuminated the panel above him, but he realized immediately it was moonlight streaming through windows, not lantern light.

He climbed another rung, pushed the trapdoor higher and scrambled up through the hole, his boots making a scarcely audible thud on the floor. Behind were the rest, and less than a minute later they gathered in the chamber. Brandyjack stood near the only door, carefully pondering his next move, and considering the light that framed the door. He could hear no voices outside, but he decided to take no chances, unsure whether he would be walking into an empty corridor or a room full of armed enforcers.

He opened the door quickly, crouched and ready to spring at anyone who might be present. The door opened on an empty corridor. Dim light from wall lanterns provided the necessary illumination. He carefully surveyed the scene before him.

The corridor stretched for a distance of 50 meters on either side; at each end was a stairway and apparently another corridor, intersecting it so that the bottom floor of the building was squared, with the corridor in which they stood dividing it down the center.

They heard footsteps and laughing voices, and the choice of direction was made. The sounds came from the right; Brandyjack and his group hurried to the left. They bounded up the steps, no longer trying to be silent, trying to go as far as possible without being sighted. Luck was with them in this initial encounter, for each member of the group was out of view before the first enforcer appeared at the opposite end of the corridor.

Dextor took the lead then, apparently familiar with the inside of the building, and Brandyjack was surprised until he remembered the situation in Toronew had not always been as it was at present. Dextor had obviously been here before. Or, perhaps Thoruso had explained the inner construction as part of another plan from another time. Brandyjack had learned that almost anything was possible with Thoruso and the members of his tiny band.

On the second floor their luck deserted them, as Dextor had known it must, for the second level was the main administrative section, and it was here that most of the enforcers would be gathered, expending their energies on the mundane aspects of maintaining order; handling complaints, charging the petty thieves and whatnot. Nonetheless, they continued up the outside stairway, and it was several seconds before enforcers beyond the doorway leading to the steps recovered their wits enough to even yell.

Brandyjack and Dextor were on the third floor before the first gunshot was heard. The crash of returning fire followed immediately; then shouts and cries of pain could be heard.

Brandyjack, recognizing the floor he now found himself on, took over from Dextor and led the group from the stairway into the hallway. Here, too, there were offices and various detention rooms, but Brandyjack rushed past them. When they had first entered the corridor it was empty, but the hallway quickly rilled near their destination, and gunshots from behind the wayfarer signaled the end of unimpeded passage.

The first three enforcers who faced the charging group fell, victims of sharpshooters directly behind Brandyjack. However those in the second wave managed to draw their weapons and return fire, and it was only through excellent timing and exceptional physical ability that Brandyjack avoided being shot several times.

He’d been running down the hallway at full speed. When the first gunshots had sounded, he continued to run for a few seconds, then dove, headlong, with his arms by his sides and in such a manner that his shoulders would hit the floor first. His body in a circular formation, he rolled the remaining five meters to the enforcers’ position. So quick were his reflexes and movements that none of the officers managed to draw a bead on him, and he crashed into their midst, knocking down several before leaping to his feet in a flurry of well-aimed blows. These in turn knocked still more enforcers to the hallway floor. As he moved, dancing about, kicking, punching, his cloak whirled around him, obscuring vision and making it even more difficult for the enforcers to achieve proper aim.

He’d removed 10 officers from the fray before being joined by his companions; several of those 10 would never draw breath again. With quarters too close to allow the use of firearms, the conflict became a physical one, and the inept enforcers had little chance against the charging rebels. Less than 30 seconds after Brandyjack had crashed into them, no resistance remained at the end of the corridor. Behind them, however, came defenders from the second floor; bullets thudded into wood around the rebels and ricocheted from the stone walls beyond.

The hallway ended in another corridor, lit by wall lanterns. Brandyjack led the group down it, leaving three of their number behind to hold off the pursuing enforcers. The building, from this point on, was a maze of corridors and stairs, but Brandyjack hurried through them as quickly as possible, ignoring the shouts and gunfire behind.

Sections of the building were almost completely constructed of stone, while still other sections were of wood; the echoes of their travels varied accordingly.

At intervals, Brandyjack ordered members of the band to remain behind to hold off the enforcers should the officers break through the previous defenses. When they reached the section of Enforcer Headquarters used for purposes of incarceration, only Brandyjack, Snake, Dextor, Virgil and Moore made up the main unit.

When they were at Thoruso’s cell door, Brandyjack heaved the thick two-by-four aside, wrenching the solid wooden door almost from its hinges. Thoruso, puzzlement on his features, simply looked at them. Upon recognition his expression was one of hope, frantic in its intensity.

Dextor fired three shots from his handgun before managing to destroy the chains that held Thoruso to the stone wall, but they made up for the lost time by beating a hasty retreat from the cell, just as the first of their number began to run down the corridor, obviously unable to hold back the horde of enforcers any longer.

A thought occurred to Brandyjack. Gesturing to the others to follow him, he bolted down the corridor, racing through the maze of hallways and chambers until he arrived at stairs. He took them four at a time, his long legs reaching each foothold almost effortlessly. Behind him, unable to move as quickly, came Thoruso and Dextor, and behind them the remnants of their force, those who had not been killed or captured.

None of those racing behind Brandyjack had any idea what his plan was, and it seemed to them that they were lessening their chances for escape by ascending, rather than trying to fight their way out before the enforcers became organized in their pursuit.

Fortunately, the stairs were seldom used, and only one enforcer, attracted by the incredible din from below, was encountered, but Brandyjack was moving with such speed that he bowled the man over, knocking him senseless.

Six flights up from the floor where Thoruso had been imprisoned, Brandyjack abandoned the stairs and headed down a long corridor, recognizing it immediately as the one that contained the room he had been held captive in. And at the end of the corridor was the window he had seen upon release.

He reached it, smashed the glass, then tore the frame out of the wall, enlarging the squared area just enough to permit escape. He waited until Dextor and Thoruso had reached the end of the corridor, helped them through the window onto the rooftop, then waited for Snake to appear. After Snake came Virgil, then Moore and Chall, followed by the remnants of the group. Brandyjack helped each through the barely adequate opening, and not until he was sure all who were coming had arrived, did he make any move to follow them. Even so, he was only halfway out the window when the first enforcer appeared at the top of the stairway and charged down the corridor. The officer managed one shot—which ricocheted harmlessly off stone—before Brandyjack disappeared into the darkness outside.

By then, Dextor had taken Thoruso across the rooftop of the adjoining building, and beyond that to yet another rooftop. Most of the rebels had already reached the third rooftop, and Brandyjack wasted no time catching up with them.

A wooden ladder, provided as a temporary fire escape for anyone caught above the fire-swept floor, had been attached to one wall of the building. Dextor was first over the ledge and was followed immediately by Thoruso.

They moved as quickly as they could, but even so a few officers from Enforcer Headquarters had succeeded in getting onto the roof of the second building and were now charging across it toward the rebels. Those of Thoruso’s group still on the rooftop fired at them, cutting down two enforcers, but losing two of their own in the process.

Then, suddenly, Brandyjack was the only rebel remaining on the roof, and he scampered over the edge and down the ladder, counting on those below to cover him should the enforcers appear at the edge of the roof.

He slid the last 10 feet down the ladder, his hands cut and bleeding and pierced with slivers. As the first shot from an enforcer handgun spanged off the cracked pavement below him, he spun around to follow the others, who had just reached the safety of an alleyway.

They raced through the alley, ignoring the shrieks of startled rats, emerged on another street and dashed across it, entering still another alleyway directly opposite the one they’d just left. For several minutes they continued to run. Not until they were more than 10 blocks from Enforcer Headquarters did they pause for a few seconds of much needed rest.

“I didn’t think you could do it,” Thoruso told Brandyjack between gasps.

“It’s not done yet,” Brandyjack told the Merchant, himself panting for breath. “We have to get out of the city, and fast! If the enforcers took any captives, our shack won’t be a private concern any longer. Besides, in a few minutes enforcers will be swarming all through this area.”

“So we can’t go back to the shack?” Dextor asked.

“Nope, no time,” Brandyjack told him.

“But my books” Thoruso started.

“I’ve already taken care of that,” Brandyjack interrupted.

Thoruso looked to Dextor for an explanation, but Dextor, as puzzled as the Merchant, could only shrug. Brandyjack gave them no more time to ask questions, but immediately indicated they were to follow him.

Dawn had come; pink orange fingers of light had spread themselves across the sky when the wayfarer finally called a halt to the procession. They stood in a shadowed alleyway; and while the others waited, Brandyjack made his way to the end, glancing furtively around the corner before returning with a smile on his face.

“They’re out there,” he said.

“Who’s out there?” Thoruso asked.

“The three men we left at the tunnel entrance, at the precinct station,” Brandyjack explained patiently. “They returned to the shack, loaded up everything I assumed you’d want to take with you and are waiting out in the street. There’s someone else with them, but I can’t tell who it is.”

“How do you plan to get out of the city?” Dextor asked, realizing they were less than haft a kilometer from the wall.

“A little bit quicker and a lot more exciting than the last time,” Brandyjack replied, “although the basic premise is almost identical.” He headed for the end of the alleyway, beckoning to the others. “There should be enough oil in 10 or 20 lanterns to start one beautiful orange fire at the wall.”

He peered around the corner again, then led the group into the street. Less than 10 meters away stood three wagons, each hitched to a team of horses. Hurriedly, they climbed into the wagons; it was rather crowded but no one was in danger of falling out. The wayfarer nodded to the drivers, and they began to guide the horses through the narrow street. The street’s state of disrepair made it an uncomfortable ride.

There were, as Brandyjack had said, a considerable number of oil-filled lanterns in one wagon—the lead—and as they approached the end of the block where they would turn right and be in sight of the wall, Brandyjack began lighting each and every one of them. Snake and Dextor assisted though neither knew exactly what Brandyjack had planned.

The fourth person waiting for him, Brandyjack was pleased to discover, was Mandy. Smiling at him, she perched on the seat of the wagon obviously afraid and uncertain as to what she had gotten herself into.

When they reached the end of the street, Brandyjack nodded to the man holding the reins, and held up his palms in a gesture of halting toward the other two drivers. The lead wagon turned the corner, the man at the reins yelling at the horses and slapping their backs with a long switch.

They were within 20 meters of the western wall and the barred gate when Brandyjack tossed the first lantern, not bothering to observe its flight to see where it landed. Dextor and Snake began throwing others as well, and almost immediately the wall became a sheet of solid flame; the oil spread across the wall and quickly ignited other sections.

From a guardhouse near the gate rushed three frightened guards, but they had no time to draw their weapons before Virgil fired twice, killing two of them; Moore’s marksmanship accounted for the third. Over the roar of flame and the crash of the stampeding wagon, the gunshots were only faint sounds.

When only seven or eight meters from the wall, the driver of the wagon yanked on the reins, and the horses began sliding, trying to stop and maintain their balance. The wagon fishtailed, back and forth, but before it had stopped completely, Brandyjack was on the ground and running through the thick, black smoke toward the gate. He heaved on the thick bar that held the gates closed, and with a mighty wrench, lifted it from its resting place and heaved it aside. The heat from the blazing walls was almost unbearable, and perspiration covered his face.

They heard shouts from behind them, and the second and third wagons appeared, stampeding toward the gate. Brandyjack pushed open the gates, and the driver of the lead wagon thrashed his horses, forcing them toward the single opening in the wall of flame. The beasts were terrified, neighing and leaping in horror but they progressed, slowly at first, then picking up speed as the driver continued to slash at their flanks. As the wagon roared toward him, Brandyjack tensed himself. As it swept past, he grabbed hold of the side and swung himself up, landing heavily on Snake.

The heat and smoke were thick, but in seconds they were beyond the flames. In the fresher air outside, the still-terrified horses pounded forward as quickly as their powerful muscles would carry them.

This early in the morning there were no guards on the walls, but even if there had been they would have been of little use, for the western wall was blazing fiercely, huge clouds of black smoke and orange flame rising into the sky.

It would be some time before anyone could even reach the blaze, let alone attempt to extinguish it, and as Brandyjack looked back at it, he smiled. “Now there,” he said, turning to Thoruso and Dextor, “wasn’t that a little faster and a lot more exciting? Eh?”

He laughed aloud, the wind whipping his hair back over his shoulders as the wagons raced toward the west. Thoruso and Dextor regarded him for several seconds, shaking their heads, but neither was able to keep admiration from their eyes.

The wayfarer laughed again.

CHAPTER 8

An hour after they pulled out of sight of Toronew, Thoruso decided they should turn due south, more in an effort to lose any pursuers than because he had formed any concrete plans. Brandyjack’s reckless bid to free him had closed Toronew as a base of operations, for while there had been a government clampdown, the oppression would be much more severe now. Star would realize he’d had both Brandyjack and Thoruso, only to be duped by the former who freed the latter. No, Toronew was closed, for Star would be ruthless now, and for the time being they would have to use all the evasive tactics they could devise to stay out of his grasp.

To the south was Canav, which was as good a city as any to scheme against Star’s government; perhaps better than most, for though it was only a three-day journey from Toronew, it was far enough from Star to give the rebels a slight sense of security. And if those who followed him became discouraged or depressed, he might lose what little support he had. If they could be made to believe all was well he’d be able to keep them with him.

Other than those who had always been with Thoruso, there were still eight of the original 20 who’d entered Enforcer Headquarters. They were, Brandyjack assumed, simply people Thoruso had known for some time who had supported his cause. Doubtless they had little love for Star, but had needed a catalyst to get them moving.

The land between Toronew and Canav was blessedly free of deserts and forests; thus travel across it, even though they would have to remain a goodly distance from the main route, would be unhampered. They would have to cross the occasional farmer’s field of crops, but little sleep would be lost over that.

They journeyed the entire day, camping shortly after sunset and arranging the wagons in a rough circle. They had no need to fear predatory animals, for there were none, but such a formation would be both comforting and reassuring.

Brandyjack had been unable to speak with Mandy earlier, but after the wagons were arranged, and Dextor took Virgil to hunt for food, he went for a walk with her, fulfilling his promise to explain everything. She was startled to learn of the events of the past few days but seemed to accept his occupation as necessary to his well-being and peace of mind. To her way of thinking he was a strange man; perhaps the strangest she’d ever met. And she told him so.

“Perhaps, perhaps,” the wayfarer chuckled. “Does Caron know where you are or where you were going? He might begin to worry about you.”

“No,” she admitted, somewhat ruefully.

“Well, how did you happen to be in the wagon?”

“After Caron and I closed down the tavern my curiosity got the best of me, so I went back to the shack to talk to you. No one was there, so I waited until those three men came. They were surprised to see me there and almost shot me. I told them I was looking for you, so they invited me to come along. I helped them load the wagon, and so, here I am.”

“Urn. And is your curiosity satisfied?”

“Almost.”

“Oh? And what puzzles you now?”

“You.”

“Well, I think we’ll just leave me out of this,” Brandyjack grinned. “It’s enough for you to know what I do; I’ve never tried to rationalize it to anyone.”

“Why?”

“Because… look, I said we’d leave me out of this, didn’t I?” He felt uneasy. Her voice held undertones he found complimentary, but in the back of his mind there was a vision of Lotus; and he found himself shocked and made uneasy by that as well. “Perhaps we’d better go back,” he said.

She was a pretty woman, Brandyjack decided, and she was pleasant enough for company, but he’d recognized in her manner certain invitations he didn’t particularly want to act upon. Not yet, anyway.

Virgil and Dextor had succeeded in shooting a deer, which was roasting when Brandyjack and Mandy returned to camp. Brandyjack kept to himself for most of the remainder of the evening, discovering with pleasure that one of the newcomers to the band had tobacco. He managed to buy enough to content himself for the evening, and as he lay back on his cloak, a gentle summer breeze blew loose strands of hair across his face. He wished only for a full mug of frothy golden nectar.

Shortly before sundown of the third day they were within sight of Canav, and an hour later, they reached the city outskirts. Passing by the dilapidated huts and shacks, the group tried to ignore the pitiful beggars who held up their bowls and cups, some unable to stand because of diseased legs; others unable to stand because they had no legs. Small children ran after the wagons, and they, too, begged for whatever the travelers might wish to give. These dirty, ragged children had hard lines etched into their young faces; they lived wretched lives that would never change, never improve. Of all the cities and towns in Merka, Canav was the most destitute and squalid; its poverty the crudest and most crushing. And Canav also contained one of the most complete selections of service shops and housed some who were so rich they no longer found any excitement or pleasure in life. It was a city of restrictions, where beggars were not allowed on the better streets, where the poor kept to themselves, and the rich did likewise. Nowhere in Merka was there such a contrast as in Canav.

Here on the outskirts, in addition to the seemingly endless hordes of deformed, beggars and diseased, the majority of the criminal elements lived. It was for just this reason that no member cf Thoruso’s small group dropped coins into outstretched cups or bowls. Were it known they enjoyed wealth, however small, their lives might well be forfeit, their currency notes lining the pocket of someone not at all taken aback by the prospect of murder.

Brandyjack had seen these sights many times and managed to effect an expression of indifference on his face. But he had never grown accustomed to them and his heart contracted with pity for the unfortunates who lived here. Mandy was shocked by the squalor she witnessed, at once horrified and sickened.

The stench was overpowering at times, and Brandyjack knew that behind the flimsy doors of some of the shacks, or perhaps in the garbage-strewn alleyways behind and to the side of them, someone had died and was being ignored. In all likelihood, such unfortunates would never be missed, and in the case of families, such a death meant only that one less mouth need be fed.

Thoruso felt for these people, too. It was for these cast-offs that he struggled against Star’s regime, and it was for their welfare that he placed his head on the block. They would probably never know what the Merchant was attempting to do for them, and even if they had known, they would not have had the intelligence to comprehend. Such was the life of the poor; such had it always been.

Traveling through the outskirts seemed to take considerable time, but Brandyjack knew it was a sensory illusion. Canav’s destitute had such an effect on the mind, an effect far greater than that of any other city. The only benefit of remaining in the outskirts was to avoid enforcers, for unless a crime of heinous and far-reaching proportions had been committed, the officials seldom ventured here. It was small compensation.

Eventually the stench diminished and the general quality of dwelling structures improved; the former greatly, the latter at a somewhat less dramatic rate. Buildings, it seemed, were the same in every city; only government buildings—and not all of those—and the homes of the rich were in a state of decent repair.

They found an alehouse to Brandyjack’s liking. It had rooms for lease, and the rebels rented as many as they needed, which just happened to coincide with the number of rooms available. Being as close to the outskirts as this tavern was, a rough clientele could not—and did not— come as a surprise. The men who drank here were not gentlemen, were not accustomed to the finer qualities of life; few would have qualms if it were necessary to slit someone’s throat. Or, for that matter, if it wasn’t exactly necessary, merely desirable. Brandyjack had been in this tavern on earlier occasions and indulged in brawls here, but fortunately was not generally known. None of the men present would think twice about reporting his whereabouts to the authorities if a reward—of any size—was involved.

Dextor was given the task of locating a stable where the horses might be properly cared for and the wagons stored until needed. The obvious dangers of the locale encouraged Virgil to accompany him.

Leers and a few coarse shouts were directed at Mandy and Chall as they accompanied the men through the tavern and upstairs to the rooms, but none of the drinkers made any motion toward them; the presence of both Brandyjack and Snake was enough to discourage any casual assault.

They carried Thoruso’s papers into the Merchant’s room and set them carefully in one corner. The rooms were identical, boasting a single bed barely large enough for one, a chair, a small table and lanterns with enough oil to last no more than an hour. Two rooms had the almost unheard of luxury, a mirror—cracked and offering a vastly imperfect reflection to be sure—and their presence caused Brandyjack to reflect briefly on the contrasts and contradictions of the place, on the paradoxes of life.

As in many taverns offering lodging in addition to their brew, no records were kept of lodgers; and in an establishment such as this, the mere thought of records was laughable. Paid in advance, no one cared who slept in their beds, or even if they were harboring desperately wanted fugitives. Ironically, the lack of records was an excuse tavern owners clung to if anything should come in the way of pressure from the authorities—another minor benefit in an area where danger was plentiful, but less cause for concern than the danger of capture by authorities.

Brandyjack, discovering he would share a room with Snake, made several comments to the effect that he wanted no oral outbursts from the man, and that if he continued to shoot off his mouth as he had on previous occasions, a sound thrashing would be in order. Snake made his usual grimace, his face twisting into a grotesque parody of humor.

They decided they’d enjoy a few drinks; let the others rest if they wished. Brandyjack counted out what he assumed to be sufficient money to get him roaring drunk and left the rest of the advance he’d received from Star tucked securely in a hole in the wall beneath the window ledge. His only worry was that a mouse might come across it before he returned. But he reckoned even if he discovered that a mouse had nibbled it to bits, he’d not be too concerned when roaring drunk.

As Brandyjack and Snake descended the rickety stairs that led to the barroom, several glances that bespoke anything but friendliness and hospitality were cast their way. Neither man paid much heed to the hostility.

The tavern was nearly full, but a few unoccupied tables stood in one corner, and it was toward these that Brandyjack headed. He ignored the stares directed his way, finally settling down in a chair and smiling at Snake. When the bartender, a thin rake of a man with a gleaming bald head, made his way to the table, he frowned. Brandyjack had the distinct impression that the man could receive all the wealth in Merka and still be able to grouch about something.

“A pitcher of your best,” Brandyjack proclaimed. Then, grinning at Snake, “For me, anyway.”

For a moment the wayfarer thought Snake would speak, but the man merely nodded at the bartender, signifying he wished the same. Brandyjack chuckled, wondering what Snake would have done if a keg had been ordered.

Two or three peg games were in progress, but Brandyjack had little desire to join them, his financial reserves being adequate and desire to brawl limited. In a place like this it wouldn’t matter if you cheated or not, for if you won you’d be promptly released from the obligation of spending it and more than likely come to in a pile of garbage with a head the size of a wagon wheel… if you were lucky!

The ale arrived, and Brandyjack generously paid for both orders, waving off Snake’s wordless objection with a sarcastic, “But remember, if you so much as open your mouth you’ll lose the bet and have to pay me back.”

The bartender regarded Brandyjack as if the wayfarer had just given birth to a barstool, but said nothing; he took the money—carefully, Brandyjack thought—and made his way back to the bar, kicking at any legs that obstructed his route. With some admiration, Brandyjack noted the thin man’s boldness and apparent disregard for his own life but also noticed that although those who had been kicked grumbled and transfixed the bartender with menacing stares, not one moved to avenge the affront to pride. Which was strange, for some of the drinkers gave the distinct impression they would attack a sandlizard with a spoon. So why shy from beating the skinny bartender to a pulp? Ah well, it was none of his concern, and if the bartender had a secret weapon up his scrawny sleeve, that, also, was none of his concern.

Shortly after nine o’clock, during Brandyjack’s third pitcher of ale, he suddenly realized Dextor and Virgil had not yet returned from locating a stable for the horses and the wagons. His brain somewhat fuzzy, and his step not entirely steady, Brandyjack pulled himself up from the table and lurched across the floor toward the stairs. Curious and concerned that some sickness had forced Brandyjack away from the table and the ale he loved so much, Snake followed immediately, leaving his own first pitcher with at least a mugful remaining in the bottom. As before, hostile glances were directed at them.

Brandyjack knocked on the door of each room and discovered that neither Virgil nor Dextor had been seen since they’d left to locate a stable; but only when he’d finished his quick search did the full implications of their absence hit him. As in all times of crisis, he sobered right away and decided on an immediate search. Snake followed him down the stairs, his own expression as grim as ever, and strangely enough, less grotesque than when he smiled.

Brandyjack was only vaguely familiar with this area of Canav, so he stopped at the bar to ask directions to the nearest stable. The bartender didn’t know quite what to make of the man who had been rosily drunk a few moments before but who now demanded directions with cold, hard urgency. He directed them to the nearest stable.

They left the aleroom immediately, Brandyjack in the lead. As far as they could see there was but one street lantern lit. The darkness that had settled was ominous, more threatening because of the absence of their companions and the danger lurking about.

Brandyjack walked down the street, his long strides covering almost twice the distance managed by Snake’s. They turned onto a graveled street, walked another few blocks and located the stable, a dull flickering light emanating from within.

The stableman, piling hay so that the horses could reach it, looked up suspiciously as Brandyjack and Snake entered; he made no move to drop the three-pronged fork he held. The stable was large, and near the back stood three wagons. Brandyjack recognized them instantly, and saw the horses in a stall farther back.

“What can I do for you?” the stableman inquired. He was a tall, thick-chested man, naked from his waist up, and his bulging muscles were an indication of superior strength. His hair was black, cropped close to his skull, and his face was clean-shaven. He wore tunic leggings, and the leather apron usually associated with stablemen.

“We’re looking for the two men who brought those wagons in,” Brandyjack stated, pointing to the rear of the stable.

Something flashed quickly through the stableman’s eyes, but Brandyjack couldn’t be sure in the dim light if it was fear or something else.

“What do you want with them?” the stableman asked.

“They’re friends of ours, and they didn’t return to our place of lodging,” Brandyjack said, the urgency in his voice not lost on the stableman.

“Men die for telling tales,” the stableman said slowly, lowering the pitchfork a little, but still gripping it tightly, obviously not convinced he wouldn’t need it.

“And sometimes they die if they don’t!” Brandyjack threatened. “These are perilous times.” Then, more restrained, “Look, we mean you no harm; we’re only interested in finding our friends. If you know that something has happened to them, and you’re not involved, I assure you no one will ever know you told us anything.”

Snake pulled from his tunic pocket a roll of low denomination currency notes, and held out the entire amount. The stableman looked at them for a minute, then shook his head.

“No, keep your money. Yes, they came here, but only briefly. When they left they looked up and down the street and talked for a bit. Then one of them pointed to the left, and they started running to the right. Maybe half a minute later, an enforcer patrol ran by.”

“Did you go to the door to see if anything happened?” Brandyjack asked.

“Smart men who don’t stick their noses into enforcer business tend to remain alive and healthy for longer times,” the stableman said, though there was a note of something close to shame in his voice.

“Our promise will be kept,” Brandyjack said as he turned and started out of the stable, Snake directly behind. “No one will know we spoke with you; you can count on it.”

They went immediately to their right, but had little hope that they would be able to find any clues as to the whereabouts of Dextor and Virgil. Had they run because they’d seen the enforcers, thinking it wise to draw the officers away from the stable and the tavern? Or had they been recognized and pursued by the enforcers? News traveled slowly in Merka, but Brandyjack supposed it was possible that descriptions of them had been brought to Canav. He thought not, hoped not, but couldn’t ignore the possibility.

All they could do, he realized hopelessly, was trek along street after street, search each and every alleyway and hope to encounter the missing pair or at least a clue. The chances of that were slim. Nonetheless, they split up after a few minutes, agreeing to meet back at the alehouse at midnight.

CHAPTER 9

The wayfarer knew it was shortly after 22:00. He’d hunted street after street, alleyway after alleyway but found no trace of the missing Dextor and Virgil. He’d questioned several people, giving them careful descriptions, but no one had seen them; or, if they had, they weren’t admitting it. Brandyjack doubted the latter, for most of those he talked to had seemed honest enough and had promised to tell the two men they were being sought if they should appear. It offered little hope, but it was something.

Now he stood near the outskirts of Canav, in the midst of rundown shacks, trying to ignore the incredible stench of rot and death. He doubted if they’d come here, but he couldn’t afford to overlook the possibility, and so resigned himself to making at least a perfunctory search of the area before going back into the less squalid areas and the tavern.

It was dark in this section of town, with an ominous quality due to the knowledge that many evils were perpetrated here. Not that the big man doubted his abilities; it was just that 15 or 20 desperate men were usually more than a match for one man alone, regardless of how strong that one might be.

Rats scurried away from him as he approached alleyways; he had to fight back the nausea that swept over him from time to time. From somewhere he heard a baby crying, a fearsome shriek and wailing that sent shivers through his blood. What if, merely for the sake of conjecture, the father of that baby was drunk and in no mood to listen to squalling brats? The child might end up with a split skull before its first birthday. The horror of the thought was that such things did happen… often.

He’d walked through the alleyway and had now almost reached its end. He thought he detected a noise behind him, but it was soft and furtive and some distance away.

He did not turn, but continued to the end of the alleyway. Just as he was about to emerge, the moon appeared from behind clouds and faintly illuminated the area. He saw a shadow around the corner of the hut that bordered the end of the alley; someone was waiting for him. From behind him came a noise similar to the first, and he recognized it as a footfall. So… one in front and one behind; more than likely both were armed with knives. He chuckled softly, the sound echoing faintly in the confines of the alleyway.

“Show yourself,” Brandyjack said softly but grimly, as he heard another footstep from behind.

From around the corner of the hut stepped a man armed, as Brandyjack had suspected, with a knife. His eyes were cold and cruel slits as they focused on the big man. The face was thin and high-boned, with a sneer about the lips. He was crouched slightly, the knife held in position by a hand not unused to such situations.

“Just give me any money you got,” the man said menacingly. He reminded Brandyjack more of the rats he’d frightened this evening than of anything human.

Brandyjack heard another footfall from behind and judged the position of his unseen stalker. He wasn’t about to commit himself to either man. Instead, he would wait…

“The money!” the man before him hissed.

“These are perilous times,” Brandyjack said with a smile, listening intently to the sounds behind him, “and a man who gives up his money has little hope for survival. You want my wealth? I’m afraid you’ll have to come and take—”

Before Brandyjack had a chance to finish his sentence, the second man sprung. But Brandyjack did remain where he was. When he’d heard the sound of a final positioning footstep, he’d moved quickly to his left, and the knife meant for his back cut through air. Brandyjack whirled, his unbuttoned cloak flying about in circular fashion, and kicked the stomach of the leaping, vulnerable man. The attacker groaned and, even though already off the ground when he’d been hit, was raised still higher by Brandyjack’s kick. He slid across the dirt, face first, coming to an abrupt halt when he smashed into his partner’s legs. The other man went down, and the wayfarer was on them immediately, a massive left hand around the throat of the first, a knee pinning the second to the ground. After exerting just enough pressure to make both think they’d finally bought it, he added a bit more for good measure. They writhed in pain, and Brandyjack let them endure it a few seconds more before standing and freeing them.

They got up quickly, backing away from him with fear and hatred in their eyes. Only when they were sure he would not pursue them did they turn and run. He picked up their knives, broke both by thrusting them into the ground and snapping off the handles.

Brandyjack was on the verge of straightening up when he heard the scream, a high, female shriek, that stopped suddenly as if a hand had been clamped over her mouth. But he’d heard enough to tell him it came from nearby.

He raced across the cracked pavement, ignoring the night vermin that scampered from his path. He continued down the garbage-strewn street, passing two alleyways, until he found the source of the scream. Halfway down the third alleyway, four darkened forms struggled to subdue a fifth, and as the sound of garments being ripped reached Brandyjack’s ears, the big man raced into the alleyway, seeing not four men outnumbering him, but four human scum, vermin of a type far worse than the four-legged kind that fled from his advance.

They heard his charge, but only two of them turned from their activity to meet him, assured that their superior numbers could vanquish any threat.

Brandyjack did not slow his charge and did not even see the long, wicked blades in the hands of the two men until he was too close to stop. Instead of attempting to avoid the men, he leaped, his left arm forcing one knife away from him, his right hand clamping onto the wrist of the second man, snapping it easily. The man screamed. He whirled, his cloak swirling behind him, as the two men hovered, then jerked their heads together and brought his knee up. One fell lifeless to the ground. The other dragged himself off, moaning.

The last two men attacking the woman could only gape at what the wayfarer had done to their cohorts, and before those worthies had fallen to the ground they had leaped to their feet and started to run, leaving behind the half-clothed woman.

The wayfarer turned to her. She had managed to patch her garments together with deft hands so that her dignity was partially restored. She stood near the man Brandyjack had killed, her eyes rigidly fixed on his face.

She looked up as the wayfarer approached, her eyes blank and dull. She nodded at him, then turned and walked out of the alleyway without a single word, giving the impression that she needed no help and wanted none. Brandyjack stared after her, wondering many things he was actually just as happy not to know. He took one last look at the men who’d attacked the woman, then, satisfied that the three who lived would forever regret what they’d attempted this night, he left the alleyway to continue his search for Dextor and Virgil.

He found nothing and realized time was running out. Soon, now, he’d have to abandon the search to return to the alehouse. Under ordinary circumstances, of course, he’d have been overjoyed at the prospect, but in this case…

As he crossed a section of the street where there was no pavement, he saw a figure move out of the shadows toward him. He prepared himself for another bout, but this man did not seem the kind who engaged regularly in large amounts of physical activity. He was old, bent and used a cane to support himself. He had a smile on his lips, but it was even uglier than any flashed by Snake. He held up an arm to indicate to Brandyjack that he was to wait a moment—although the wayfarer stood stock still and was making no move to leave—and hobbled slowly across the dirt, kicking bits of garbage from his path.

Up close, Brandyjack could see that the old man was in dire need of a shave, or perhaps more whiskers on bald patches of facial skin. He was completely bald, and the only two teeth that showed between his lips were black.

“You’ve got some money?” the old man asked, and his voice was guttural, almost a croak.

Brandyjack was amused. If this was an attempt at robbery, it was certainly straightforward enough. “A bit,” he said, seeing no reason to deny it.

“I knew that after I ast ya,” the old man cackled in what Brandyjack assumed was a laugh. He pointed a gnarled finger at Brandyjack’s face, shook it slightly, and said, “I’d be willin’ ta egcep some of it for services rendered.”

“And what services did you have in mind?” Brandyjack asked, already having decided to give the old man a currency note or two.

“Yer frens,” the old man croaked.

Brandyjack’s smile disappeared, and an urgency crept into his voice when he asked, “You’ve seen them? Where are they?”

The old man cackled again, turned, and started hobbling away. “C’mon… I’ll show ya.”

How, Brandyjack asked himself as he started after the bent, withered old man, had the old geezer known he was searching for his friends? And what had he meant by saying he’d known the wayfarer had money after asking him? These were strange times, he decided, sighing inwardly.

The gnarled old man led him through the alleyway he’d appeared from, down the street on the other side, and into a second alleyway three blocks farther along. Here he stopped, turned, and held a finger to his lips. Brandyjack nodded, and the old man began to move through the garbage that cluttered the ground, stopping just short of the end of the alleyway. He motioned Brandyjack to stand beside him.

“Take a peek aroun’ the corner,” the old man whispered in his cracked voice, “but be careful you ain’t seen.”

Brandyjack complied with the order, striding along the last couple of meters of the alleyway and peeking around the corner of the last building. Halfway down the street, on the far side, he saw two enforcers standing in front of a small building, their arms folded across their chests, their posture straight and tall. The building was scarcely as tall as Brandyjack and less than two meters wide, stretching back from the cracked sidewalk a distance of less than three meters.

“They’re in there?” he asked, unconvinced.

“Yep.”

“Did you see them taken in?”

“Nope.”

Brandyjack frowned. “How do you know they’re inside?”

“I ast the guards.”

Brandyjack’s frown became more prominent. “You asked them what? If they’d captured two men?”

“Nope. I ast them if they was busy tonight, and they thought of yer two frens.”

It dawned on Brandyjack then, and his frown became a smile. The old man was able to pick men’s minds, the only stipulation being that a question had to be asked. Well, he decided, it shouldn’t have surprised him; mutants and deformed were everywhere, and their powers were sometimes strange ones. Thoruso, for instance, was hundreds of years old; Virgil’s mutation was that he couldn’t speak. Why not a man who could read minds?

“Old man,” Brandyjack said, bringing from his tunic pocket the entire amount of currency notes remaining from those he’d counted out in his room, “it gives me great pleasure to offer you this money for services rendered.”

“An’ it gives me great pleasure to egcep it,” came the cackled reply.

Brandyjack watched with a smile as the old man stuffed the currency notes into the pocket of his dirty, patched tunic, turned and without a word hobbled down the alleyway, his body shaking somewhat and his cane serving to keep him erect. Brandyjack shook his head and turned back to take another look at the building where Virgil and Dextor were apparently being held captive.

As he considered the building, he found himself wondering if he’d been had. The entire thing might have been an elaborate setup by the crone. Well, if it had been, it was unique, and he didn’t begrudge the old man a single note for devising it. A few more people as creatively inclined as the old man would make the world a better place.

Now, he had to find a way into the building, and he doubted very much there’d be a back entrance. He would have to enter from the front and get past the two enforcers, who looked as though they could do themselves proud in any fisticuff action that developed. And even if they couldn’t, they had handguns.

Never one to plan an intricate maneuver if a direct one would serve as well, Brandyjack staggered from the alleyway, singing at the top of his lungs, slurring his words and appearing to be, even to the most astute eye, rip-roaring drunk. Of course, he’d had plenty of practice, and no man could have been faulted for not realizing he was stone sober.

He fell to the street, laughed like a lunatic and rose to his feet once more, whistling a few bars of the song he’d begun to sing. He stole a glance at the enforcers, saw that they were amused and started staggering down the middle of the street, swaying back and forth and gradually heading toward the two officers.

He’d walked, counting every centimeter of his elaborate staggering, a distance equivalent to almost two blocks by the time he reached the enforcers, and even then he staggered backward about a meter or so for good measure. The enforcers believed him to be drunk so were not alarmed at his presence; they smiled and occasionally sniggered at his antics, insulting him good naturedly.

Brandyjack looked at them, smiled as drunken a grin as he could manage, and resumed his staggering, almost falling when he’d reached them again. Then he began to fall at their feet, and as he’d expected, both men moved immediately in an effort to grab his shoulders and support him. It had been a natural reaction on their part; they were totally unprepared and off guard when Brandyjack suddenly straightened and lashed out with both fists. They fell to the cracked pavement without a whimper.

He took a quick look up and down the length of the street, then dragged their unconscious bodies into the narrow alleyway to the left of the tiny building. He kicked some garbage over them, then walked back onto the street, satisfied to see that no one had appeared in his absence.

He opened the door of the building and saw immediately that the enclosure merely covered steps leading down into the ground. They were dirt steps, packed hard and shored in places with lengths of timber. The stairway was lit by torches stuck into the walls.

He closed the door behind him; uncertain as to what he’d find at the bottom, he cautiously began his descent. Thirty steps down, the stairway twisted to the left, and Brandyjack waited, straining to hear any sounds, before continuing, still cautious, still alert. Briefly, he wondered if it might have been wiser to take the handguns strapped to the enforcers’ waists, but almost immediately dismissed the notion. He had disliked using the weapons since first firing one. While fighting with only his body placed him at a distinct disadvantage, he preferred it that way, for he knew his body and could use it in almost any manner in virtually any situation.

As he turned the bend in the stairway, the last steps came into view, seeming to open on to a long ramp or platform. Making scarcely a sound, he reached the bottom and peered around the entranceway before stepping out.

A platform stretched for a length of no more than eight meters, its rear edge built into the dirt of the man-made cavern. Its front ended abruptly at the side of a dark, black tunnel that seemed to stretch forever in each direction.

Now he knew what this was: a way station of the underground pneumatic tubes system of travel! As he had in the alehouse rooms when he’d seen mirrors in the midst of squalor, he reflected on the contrasts of a society without technology, the tubes a remnant of a long-gone era, and although not in any way understood by Star, used by him for his own ends. Undoubtedly, Brandyjack knew, there were still other functioning devices created by the ancients, but they were few and difficult to find, and even more difficult—if not impossible—to understand.

That, however, was a question of intelligence and philosophies, and Brandyjack had little time to ponder either. His immediate concern was locating Dextor and Virgil, but how? He had no idea where they’d been taken, or even where the tunnels led. And, in the back of his mind, he knew he was supposed to meet smiling Snake at the alehouse. He considered his predicament, wondering if he should stay here and hope a tube stopped so that he might commandeer it, or if he should depart immediately and meet Snake as had been argreed upon.

He’d been about to choose the latter, if only because he didn’t even know where Dextor and Virgil were, when he heard a loud whooshing sound; something was traveling incredibly fast. The walls of the cavern shook, and tiny particles of dirt fell from the ceiling and walls. For a second Brandyjack thought he might be buried alive, but then remembered this was an active tunnel, probably used often, and the tubes hadn’t caused the place to collapse yet.

He threw himself to the back of the platform, belly down, and positioned himself in the farthest corner, unable to determine from which direction the tube was coming. Then, as the volume of sound increased until the wayfarer had to clamp his hands over his tortured ears, the tube whisked through the cavern and continued on its journey into the blackness.

When Brandyjack climbed slowly to his feet, the shudder of earth around him ceased, and he suddenly recalled the same experience during Thoruso’s rescue from Enforcer Headquarters. That quaking had undoubtedly been caused by a pneumatic tube.

The whine and roar of another tube hurtling through the darkness reached his ears. This time, however, he was able to determine its direction and realized it was following the first. When it occurred to him that anything else would be ridiculous, he cursed himself for being an idiot. Return journeys must be made by another route.

As the rumble increased, Brandyjack once again clamped his hands over his ears, until he suddenly realized the volume was decreasing as the tube approached. This one was stopping!

The tube whooshed to a halt, a long, gleaming metal contraption that filled almost the whole of the tunnel, a diameter of more than six meters. It was substantially larger than the one he’d seen several months earlier at the starship location. There was a soft whisper of air like someone unable to whistle properly, and Brandyjack knew a door was about to open. He scampered to his feet, raced across the platform and stood to the left of the door-panel outline. The panel slid open quickly, and two enforcers stepped out, before they could see Brandyjack leap at them.

The metal panel was beginning to slide shut again as Brandyjack grappled with the enforcers. He punched one and shoved him backward, saw the sliding door almost shut, then catch the fallen enforcer. The man lay there, unconscious and holding the door ajar, while Brandyjack battled with the second enforcer. He acted quickly, landing two solid blows on the remaining enforcer’s face, hard enough to stun the man. The man fell back against the tube and slid to the platform, blinking.

Brandyjack wrenched at the half-closed panel, felt it give a little and then hold. After kicking the unconscious enforcer out of the way, he tugged at the panel again. The door whooshed open, remained so for only a second, then closed. The wayfarer had just enough time to leap through the opening.

Then, from somewhere behind a metal wall, he heard a noise and realized the tube was not moving. He bounded across the empty metal room just as a panel in the wall lifted to reveal a third enforcer. The enforcer’s expression had been one of puzzlement, but it changed to shock at the sight of Brandyjack. Before the officer could move, Brandyjack had wrapped two massive hands around his throat.

The man struggled, but was no match for the wayfarer, and just as the enforcer was about to lose consciousness, Brandyjack released his grip, reaching quickly and deftly to remove the man’s handgun from its holster. The enforcer collapsed in a panting, heaving pile at Brandyjack’s feet, and the wayfarer waited for the officer’s breath to return before dragging him to his feet.

The chamber in which they stood was circular, large enough for only nine or ten enforcers. Obviously, the two Brandyjack had first encountered had been riding in this section, while the third worked controls beyond the metal wall.

Brandyjack shoved the man roughly through the open panel, then followed. At the sight his eyes widened in surprise, but he kept a close grip on the enforcer. The chamber they had entered was small but filled with machinery and flashing lights; Brandyjack had never seen such metallic intricacy before. At one side was a stool, and in front of it a sort of keyboard, apparently the means of controlling the tube’s speed, direction, and destination.

The enforcer, terrified of the huge man who’d forced his way onto the tube, stood near the control panel, not moving, not speaking. When the outer panel had not closed he had been puzzled and had gone to investigate; now that he knew its cause, it was evident he wished he didn’t.

“I hope there’s no charge for riding this contraption,” Brandyjack said, his face widening into a grin. “Okay, down to business. I’m going to ask you a couple of questions, and I’m going to ask you to do a few things. If you don’t tell me what I want to hear, and don’t do what I want done, I’m going to roll you up into a little ball and break every bone in your body. Do you understand that?”

The enforcer nodded, obviously convinced that he was confronted by a madman.

“Very well,” continued Brandyjack. “First, I’m looking for two friends of mine who were taken prisoner earlier this evening. They were brought here. I realize this tunnel probably leads to a lot of different places, but what I want to know is where would captives have been taken?”

The enforcer swallowed loudly. “If they were wanted by Premier Star, they would either be taken directly to Enforcer Headquarters, or to the colony until he was ready to see them.”

“What’s the colony?”

“Premier Star has set up a camp for dissident elements opposed to his rule, and it’s called the colony.”

“I see. This… colony would house such dissident elements as inventors, say, or just about anybody who gets on the wrong side of Star the Moron, am I correct?”

It was obvious the enforcer did not agree with the terminology, but he nodded.

“And where is it?”

“In the desert past Toronew.”

“In the desert? How could you build anything out there? Sandlizards would rip the builders apart in record time. How many people are presently captive at this colony?”

The enforcer, realizing no immediate harm was about to befall him, relaxed slightly. “Three, maybe four hundred.”

Brandyjack whistled. “And how many guards?”

The enforcer smiled thinly. “Two.”

“Two?” Brandyjack asked incredulously. “How… I see. Those two guards look after the tube entrance, because there’s no need to watch over people who’ll be killed by sandlizards if they escape. Very clever. I’m sure Star didn’t think of it.”

Again the enforcer seemed to disapprove of the slurs on Star’s intelligence. But taking careful note of the big man’s massive shoulders and the blood on his boots and his hands, a good deal of which had come from other people, he said nothing.

“You’ve passed the first half of the test,” Brandyjack told the enforcer, “so now we’ll see how you are at doing what you’re told. We’re on our way to the colony. Oh, and just in case you have any plans to warn the guards at the colony somehow, I can promise you right now I’ll manage to get my hands on you before I die, and I won’t be gentle.”

Brandyjack was smiling, but it was a humorless grin. Once more the enforcer believed he’d had the misfortune to be placed in the hands of a lunatic. He nodded stupidly at the wayfarer, then walked two paces to the stool, where he sat down, flicked several switches and turned a dial. Lights on the control panel came to life, and the tube began to move, rapidly picking up speed.

Brandyjack was pleased to notice that inside the tube the noise was nothing more than a faint hum. He stood over the enforcer menacingly, his cut and bloody hands wrapped around the man’s neck with a grip that could tighten at any second.

“Just to let you know I’m still here,” the wayfarer warned. He kept his hands around the man’s neck, satisfied that the officer continued to tremble with fright.

The tube came to a slow, gentle halt, and Brandyjack ordered the outer panel opened. When assured that it had been done, he ordered the inner door raised, then, one hand still around the enforcer’s neck and the man’s handgun in his other hand, the pair marched out of the tube into a cavern similar to the one where he’d commandeered the contraption in the first place. Two enforcers stood near the back of the ramp, and they had started forward before they realized all was not right. They could do nothing, however, for the barrel of the handgun Brandyjack held was pointed directly at them.

As ordered, they stripped off the upper portions of their tunics, then stretched out on the platform, stomach down. Brandyjack ordered his captive to do likewise, and while they lay helpless, he removed the weapons of the other two enforcers from their holsters. Quickly and efficiently, he bound their feet together and their wrists behind their backs with their own tunics, then rolled them across the platform—none too gently—into the farthest corner.

He left the cavern area, bounding up stairs till he found himself in a small stone structure barely two meters long and a little more than one meter wide. There were windows on two of the four walls, barred with thick metal rods. Through these he could see, vaguely, the outlines of buildings the driver of the tube had referred to as the colony. Chain-link fencing, held up by thick metal poles, surrounded the buildings. Beyond the enclosure was sand, illuminated by moonlight so that it appeared silver in color.

Brandyjack scanned the surrounding area as keenly as possible, looking for any movement, any sign that the creatures inhabiting this desert—sandlizards—were about. He could see nothing that was not sand or rock, but knew from past experience that they might be directly in his line of vision and still remain unseen; such was their ability to blend in with the color of the sand.

He had no choice but to leave the stone enclosure and attempt to reach the chain-link fence some 50 meters away. Once there he could easily shoot the locks off the gates; it was the getting there that presented the major problem.

He felt small beads of sweat break out on his forehead, and he knew a tinge of fear. He was no coward, but he had faced the sandlizards before, knew with painful certainty how quickly they could appear and how viciously they attacked. He opened the sheet metal door of the stone building, scanned the surrounding desert once more, then darted for the chain-link fence.

He felt vulnerable as he raced across the sand, defenseless and alone. In the buildings within the enclosure were 300 or 400 men, but they would be of little help if he were caught before he reached the fence.

The last 20 meters of his run seemed more like 20 kilometers, but suddenly he was at the fence. He wasted no time firing the handgun once, twice, to shatter the ancient locks holding the gates closed. He opened them just enough to allow entry, then closed them, hoping they would stay that way, or at least appear secure.

He raced toward the nearest building, noting the poor quality of its construction. They were hardly more than huge shacks, each housing more than 50, if the number of prisoners given by the enforcer was correct.

He’d not quite made it to the first building when someone appeared at the doorway. The man was lean and haggard; he looked sickly and seemed puzzled to see the wayfarer, apparently not understanding what was happening.

Soon others, awakened by the commotion, emerged from the confines of the building, and most of them were apparently in the same poor state of health as the first. Brandyjack ignored their half-garbled queries, searching the growing sea of faces for Virgil and Dextor. By the time all had left the first building, doors of the remaining buildings had been flung open, and prisoners from them were walking sleepily out onto the sand.

When he finally spotted his friends, he hurried to them, smiling at the unbelieving expressions on their faces. He made no effort to answer their questions, but rushed back to the gate with them in tow. Once there he stopped, turned to face the still-growing crowd of prisoners and held up his hands for silence.

“The gate is unlocked!” he called out to them. “You’re free to go. You’ve probably all seen the sandlizards, so if you want to risk it, that’s your business.”

Not wishing to waste any more time, he ran through the enclosure with Dextor and Virgil right behind, both of whom had faced the sandlizards with Brandyjack on one earlier occasion; now all experienced the same fear felt by the wayfarer.

For a few seconds no one from the enclosure followed suit, but when it appeared Brandyjack and his companions would make it to safety, the gates were opened fully, and a horde of prisoners streamed out.

There was too much noise, Brandyjack realized. The fools were shouting and laughing; he himself had already made too much noise. The only thing that attracted sandlizards more than noise was movement, and a solid line of cheering, laughing men was now racing across the desert sands to reach the small stone building that led to the pneumatic tubes and freedom.

Brandyjack heard the first scream just as he wrenched open the metal door of the stone building. Letting Dextor and Virgil pass, he turned and tried to see exactly where the sandlizard was, but there were too many men between him and the victim, and he could see nothing but a suddenly terrified mass of humanity racing in his direction. He bounded down the steps after Virgil and Dextor.

More screams from above reached them, causing a sinking feeling in the pits of their stomachs. There must have been more than one sandlizard—almost definitely, for the things seldom traveled alone—and they were discovering a feast unlike any other. Helpless and weak, many of the freed prisoners could put up little resistance.

Brandyjack unbound the enforcer who’d piloted the pneumatic tube to the colony and dragged him roughly across the platform as the first of those fortunate enough to reach safety staggered down the stairs and looked about in bewilderment.

Inside the tube, Brandyjack left Dextor and Virgil to guard the enforcer and hurried back to the platform to supervise loading of the tube. When only room for himself remained, he spoke briefly to the few who stood about, instructing them to wait until the next tube stopped and, using the two remaining enforcers as hostages, they could force their way to freedom. He left two handguns with them.

As the outer panel closed with a soft hiss, Brandyjack wondered how many would make it across the sand to safety. There’d been no time to execute the escape properly, the possibility of more enforcers arriving by pneumatic tube a risk too great to be ignored. Still, with surprise on their side, those left on the platform might easily overpower the crews of at least the next three tubes.

He elbowed his way through the outer room, which was crammed with almost 20 men. Once in the control room, with Dextor, Virgil and an increasingly terrified enforcer, he ordered the driver to return them to the point where he had first commandeered the tube.

The pale light of dawn was beginning to spread across the sky as Brandyjack and his companions finally succeeded in making enough noise to raise the bartender of the alehouse where they were staying. The man said nothing to them, but his displeasure was obvious.

They ignored him, hurrying up the stairs to find they’d also awakened Thoruso’s band. Snake, who smiled with something close to relief when he set eyes on Brandyjack, shook his head slowly and returned to his room. Thoruso considered their story, then glared at Brandyjack. It was not until the wayfarer was almost asleep that he realized the Merchant had considered the inventors’ loss of lives needless. Still, what else could he have done? Regular journeys back and forth from the colony would have taken far too long, and it was undoubtedly true that he’d have been discovered long before the first 50 men were taken to safety. And besides, he’d been concerned only for his friends, Dextor and Virgil. To hell with the Merchant, Brandyjack decided. He’d done the best he could under the circumstances, and more could not be expected of any man. He slept.

CHAPTER 10

Brandyjack, hearing the door to his room creak open slowly, could tell that whoever was entering did not wish to wake him. Obligingly, he continued to breathe deeply, giving no indication to his silent visitor that he was not asleep. Soft footfalls could be heard shortly after the door closed, and had they come toward his back, he might not have remained still. Instead, they went around to the other side of the small bed, and Brandyjack knew someone was now standing there watching him.

Without opening his eyes, without moving anything but his lips, he said, “You made enough noise to wake the dead.”

His voice, loud in the stillness of the room, caused a sharp intake of breath.

“Oh!”

He opened his eyes to see Mandy standing beside his bed, a hand over her mouth. He smiled.

“You startled me,” she told him. “Why did you just lie there?”

“Testing my powers of recollection,” Brandyjack told her, “by trying to determine just whose footfalls I heard.”

“And?”

“You’ve changed, Snake.”

She gave a little laugh, but there was something much more serious behind her eyes that Brandyjack did not wish to discuss, or even admit was there.

“What time is it?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Late afternoon,” she told him, moving a bit closer to the bed.

“Urn. How are Dextor and Virgil?”

“Fine, I guess. Everyone is meeting in Thoruso’s room at the moment.”

“Oh? Well, be a good girl and toss my tunic over here, would you?”

She found the tunic and cloak where he had tossed them when he’d prepared for bed and carried these to him. He slipped on his leggings beneath the quilts, then stood and donned the upper portion of his clothing, finally tying the cloak around his neck and fastening the top two buttons.

“Thanks for waking me,” he said as he started for the door.

She nodded, followed him to the door and stood in the doorway while he walked down the unlit hallway and entered Thoruso’s room without so much as a knock. As she had said, all were assembled in Thoruso’s room, and they looked at Brandyjack as he entered. Brandyjack paid particular attention to Thoruso’s expression, but saw that the regret from the evening before had passed. Evidently, he’d come to realize the rescue of Dextor and Virgil was more important than the virtually impossible task of making certain each man imprisoned at the colony reached safety.

Thoruso was sitting on the edge of his bed, Dextor to his right. Except for Snake and three others whose names Brandyjack had forgotten, the others sat in chairs, some from Thoruso’s room, others they’d carried from their own. Brandyjack sat on the floor beside Snake.

“Brandyjack,” Thoruso said immediately, “I wish to apologize for my reactions this morning. I didn’t appreciate the enormity of what you’d accomplished. I realize now that anything else would have been close to impossible. I agree that it was more important for you to get back here than to risk discovery and capture. I do, however, wish you’d brought some 20 or so inventors back here with you, but that’s over and not to be mourned.”

Brandyjack only nodded, unable to think of much to say in response. He knew of few other men who would admit before such a large gathering that they’d been wrong, and even fewer who’d apologize for it. When it counted, the Merchant was a big man.

“We’d decided to let you sleep,” Thoruso went on, “but since you’re here now I’ll explain what’s gone before. Looking at the remnants of my original group from Toronew, I’ve come to the conclusion that we were ineffectual; we were so because I compared our size to the size of Star’s forces and had acted accordingly, tackling only those subversive maneuvers where I knew we would be successful. Your accomplishment in freeing me from Enforcer Headquarters, and your success in rescuing both Dextor and Virgil, have proven to me that we need not continue to think small. Granted, both efforts on your part were reckless and foolhardy, lacking a good deal of common sense, but the important thing is, they worked. Why did they work? That, I’m afraid, is simple, and I should have seen it before. Star and his enforcers simply don’t expect us to attempt such things. They know we’re small in numbers, so they assume we can only annoy them, becoming an unpleasant fact of life and little more. A concerted effort, aimed at the important aspects of bringing Star’s government to its knees, should succeed far more than our present trifling activities.”

“So what do we do next?” Brandyjack asked. “March on Toronew?”

Thoruso sighed. “Your facetiousness is matched only by your ill manners,” he said. “No, we do not march on Toronew. The purpose of this gathering is to arrive at some sort of overall plan. Brandyjack, sometime ago, you mentioned the destruction of the pneumatic tubes and Star’s underground travel network. Do you still think it’s a good idea?”

“More than ever,” Brandyjack assured him. “Look at it this way. Up to now, Star’s been able to go anywhere he wants, with no interference, provided there’s a station at his destination, of course. Obviously, at one time or another, the ancients had something built in the desert that served some purpose for them, thus the station there. And who knows how many other stations exist in remote places, any one of which can be used for any purpose Star wants.”

“You’re not making much sense,” Thoruso told him.

“What I’m trying to say is this: if Star can’t get from point ‘A’ to point ‘B’ via the tubes, he’ll have to travel aboveground, and we all know how inefficient that process is. News travels very slowly, simply because there’s no suitable travel network. I think part of Star’s grip on Merka is his efficient travel system and the fact that he can go anywhere a station has been built. That might be everywhere in Merka. If we can destroy the system, his orders and his plans will be impeded to the point where we can act to stop them before we’re trapped by them. You see, I found Dextor and Virgil only through an incredible stroke of luck. They could have been taken to any station of the tubes, and I believe, because there’s one in the desert beyond Toronew, that there are a bloody good many others.”

“Now you’re making a bit more sense,” Thoruso said. “You think if we destroy the underground routes, he’ll have to operate in a manner that leaves him at least partially exposed to us.”

Brandyjack chuckled. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“I agree that such an act would be exceptionally important and useful to us.” Thoruso added slowly, “But I’m not sure we could do it. And that’s not a case of thinking small. I’m not sure we could gain access to the tubes, or if we did, that we could destroy them. Have you given that any thought, Brandyjack?”

“No,” the wayfarer admitted, “but I think I know a way to do it. When I was in the caverns, I noticed the incredible rumbling produced by passage of the tubes. If we could commandeer a tube, with an operator, we could visit each station the operator knows exists, and backtrack from the station, loosening supports so that the next tube to come through causes the tunnel to collapse.”

Thoruso’s face became a mask of concentration as he considered Brandyjack’s idea. When he spoke, his words were uncertain. “I’ve never been in the pneumatic tunnels, except for the return from the starship, so I don’t know what the network looks like. Is what you’re proposing enough to render the tunnels inoperable?”

“Almost beyond a doubt,” Brandyjack told him. “Every time a tube goes through those tunnels, the ground shakes. If the supports were loosened and the concrete cracked, and the metal shoring partially destroyed, there’s no way the next tube could ever get through without causing a collapse. Granted, the tube itself might make it, but the tunnel behind would fill immediately. I’m sure of it!”

Thoruso considered this for some time, and when he finally spoke, his voice held new confidence. “I think the destruction of the tunnels might be all that’s needed to start the end of Star’s government. If it’s as important to his rule as we believe, he and his forces would be thrown into considerable confusion. What about your point of entry last night, Brandyjack? Could it serve us again?”

Brandyjack frowned. “Maybe. Depends on whether or not someone sees the connection between the colony escape and the dead enforcers I left in the alleyway.”

“Which reminds me,” Thoruso turned to Dextor, “you said the enforcer that Brandyjack forced to operate the tube was taken by the others you brought back to Canav?”

“We thought they might have a better chance,” Dextor said. “Some of them were from this city, but they needed the extra advantage of a hostage if they were seen.”

“Hmm. That’s too bad,” Thoruso said, “for we could have used him. It appears the risk of finding another operator will have to be undertaken.”

“That’s no problem,” Brandyjack put in. “Just have to be ready for them and take ‘em by surprise.”

There was a knock at the door, loud and firm. In an instant, before anyone else had moved, Brandyjack was on his feet and crossing the floor. He stood by the door for a second then, tensed in readiness, opened the door to see the owner of the building standing there, his thin face as bored and dissatisfied as ever.

“I ain’t runnin’ no giveaway enterprise,” the thin man said in a monotone, “and you people have already been here past the end of the day. Do I get paid for another night, or do I chuck the lot of ya out?”

Brandyjack found the prospect of being tossed out amusing as he considered the substantial lack of muscle on the thin man’s arms. For some reason, however, the man looked like he might try it. Brandyjack remembered the disrespect the owner had shown to men twice his size the previous evening and wondered again about him.

“Well? I ain’t got all day, you overstuffed blowhard!” the bartender continued sharply, a touch of querulousness in his voice.

Brandyjack tried to remember what he’d said the evening before to give the impression he was a blowhard. “I’ll pay you,” the wayfarer said, leaving the room and heading for his own.

In the room he located the money he’d stuffed into the hole in the wall beneath the window ledge and counted out enough currency notes to cover another night, adding a few extra as a means of mollifying the bartender’s obvious dislike for everyone and everything. He held the money out to the man.

“Toss it on the bed,” the bartender said disinterestedly.

Brandyjack shrugged, recalled the care with which the man had taken his ale money the previous night and did as he’d been told, watching the bartender remove it from the rumpled quilts. He rolled it up and placed it in his pocket, then turned and started for the door.

“Mind telling me why you wouldn’t take it from my hand?” Brandyjack asked.

The bartender turned, annoyed. ” ‘Cause I’d rattle your skull 13 ways from tomorrow, that’s why ya big turkey.”

“Mind explaining that?” Brandyjack asked, crossing the floor to stand beside the man.

The bartender groaned. “Yes, I do, but it’s obvious I ain’t gonna get outta here until I tell ya what I meant. I’m a deformed. You unnerstan’ the word, or ya want me to explain it to ya? Oh, you’ve heard about deformed? Good for you. Now listen close, ‘cause I ain’t gonna repeat it. Whenever I touch someone, they start shakin’ like they was freezin’ to death, ‘cept it ain’t cold. There ain’t nobody can take too much, ‘cause they turn black and die after a while of it. Burns ‘em right to crisps. Fella told me it was called… lekcity or some fool thing like that. All I know is that if I touched yer hand, you’d prob’ly pass out, and if I kept ahold of ya, you’d prob’ly die. Now kin I git back to my business? I ain’t so rich that I kin afford to have people takin’ whatever they want when I ain’t aroun’.”

Without waiting for a reply, the bartender abruptly left the room, and Brandyjack heard him mutter something like, “Nosy damned strangers.”

Well, that certainly answered the question of why no one was willing to avenge any disrespects shown by the man, thought Brandyjack.

In his absence, Thoruso and the others had decided to return to the station of entry from the night before, their reasoning being that even if the connection the wayfarer had mentioned earlier was made, there would not likely be much expectation of a second attack at the same point.

Now that something had been decided, the meeting was over. People began leaving the room. As far as Thoruso was concerned, however, the meeting was not over for all of them. He asked Brandyjack, Dextor, Virgil and Snake to remain behind, closing the door behind Chall, who was the last to leave.

“I think,” the Merchant said, “we can agree that those who have just left the room are the rank and file of the organization. I mean no disrespect to them, of course, but it’s my belief that we are the ones who must plan and make preparations.”

Thoruso returned to the bed, sat on it and sighed while Brandyjack stretched out on the floor. The others sat in the chairs still remaining in the room.

“If the destruction of the tunnels goes as planned, we might find ourselves on even footing with Star, with the exception of manpower. Even that, I think, can be overcome if we act quickly. I believe our scheme is a good one, but I don’t think it’s enough. Therefore, I have another proposition, and I want each of you to consider it carefully and inform me of any doubts you might have.”

The Merchant stared at each in turn to allow the full meaning of his words to sink in. “I think we should destroy the tunnels in a systematic manner, leaving as our last act the station directly beneath Enforcer Headquarters. While I can’t be positive such a station exists, I cannot see why not, as Star appears to have located his foundations of power near his access routes, which is only good sense. I am proposing that we go for everything when we move to destroy the tunnels, that we attempt a takeover of Enforcer Headquarters and capture of Star at the same time.”

Snake whistled softly, but said nothing. His expression, however, showed that he considered the proposal a worthy one, and that he admired Thoruso’s courage in planning it.

“With Star in our grasp,” Thoruso continued, “he can be forced to issue an immediate order disbanding the enforcers. He can also be forced to reveal the locations of any constructions similar to the colony and to order the guards at his forges to cease their duties. Or, if we decide it might be best, we can merely inform the populace that Star is our captive and that we are taking over. We would inherit everything Star has built and gradually change those policies he has established.”

“Would the enforcers obey us?” Dextor asked.

“I don’t think they have any particular allegiance to Star with regard to his policies,” Thoruso said. “They follow him because he is Premier of Merka, and they are his employees. Would they revolt? I doubt it. As long as they were paid for their work, I am confident they would act as instructed by virtually any leader. Also, I am positive they have no control in the making of policy, and only a handful, perhaps the Chief Enforcer, have any power under him. They are loyal as far as they believe they are acting properly, in accordance with the wishes cf their employer, but that’s as far as it goes.”

“This all sounds good,” Brandyjack said slowly, “but how do we make certain Star is at Enforcer Headquarters and not at the colony teasing sandlizards?”

Thoruso seemed surprised, but then sighed. “First of all,” he said, “I am shocked that such an intelligent question has come from you.”

Brandyjack grinned.

“Secondly—” the Merchant’s voice became more serious “—I haven’t forgotten the possibility that Star could be absent from Enforcer Headquarters, and I was about to get to my means of insuring his presence.”

Thoruso’s voice was such that all present knew the next words would be hard to voice.

“There has occurred to me,” Thoruso said carefully, “only one method of insuring that Star is at Enforcer Headquarters, and that method is dangerous; it might prove fatal. Simply, one of us in this room, excluding Brandyjack and possibly Snake, must surrender himself under the pretense of switching allegiance.”

Thoruso gazed at each man in turn, and none looked away.

“Are you asking for a volunteer?” Dextor asked, seeing the question on the silent Virgil’s face and asking it for him.

“Not yet,” Thoruso said, “not until all the dangers are known. First, there’s a very good chance that we’ll be caught before we’ve managed to destroy a single section of tunnel, and that would mean only that the ‘traitor’ had placed himself needlessly into Star’s hands. Of course, there’s also the slight advantage that Star would already have accepted the switch, and the ‘traitor’ would remain free. Agreed, that’s slight, but it would certainly be ironic. Secondly, and this danger is much more likely, there’s an excellent chance Star won’t believe the story but will have the informer put to death immediately. As we are all aware, Brandyjack fooled Star once, and I know the Premier well enough to realize he’ll never forget that and will be doubly cautious before trusting anyone again. It’s a great risk, and I won’t ask anyone to do it. As well, if no one wishes to place himself in such a situation, I won’t think any less of you for it. We’ll just have to come up with an alternate plan.”

“I’ll go,” Brandyjack volunteered.

Thoruso frowned at him. “You’d be shot before you got to the front steps. No, I think it’s best if someone else goes.”

“And I think it’s best if I go,” Brandyjack repeated.

“I think Thoruso is right,” Dextor said to the wayfarer. “You wouldn’t have a chance, whereas one of us—”

“Whereas one of you wouldn’t have a chance any better than mine,” said Brandyjack determinedly. “Just hear me out for a minute. Whether Thoruso wants to admit it or not, I sometimes make a bit of sense. I think there’s an advantage in my surrendering, simply because it was me the first time. All logic says I shouldn’t, but that’s how Star will feel too. Oh, sure, he’ll be suspicious, but he’ll eventually try to see why I’d surrender knowing full well he’d kill me; I think he’ll decide I’m telling the truth this time.”

“I still don’t believe you should go,” Thoruso said with finality.

“And I still believe I should!” said Brandyjack with equal finality.

“We’ll put it to a vote,” Thoruso said.

“Like hell you will,” Brandyjack laughed, knowing full well all in the room would vote against him.

“Dextor?” Thoruso asked, ignoring Brandyjack.

“No.”

“Virgil?”

The silent deformed looked at Brandyjack, smiled and duplicated perfectly Brandyjack’s habitual shrug before he shook his head.

“Snake?”

Snake’s response was negative.

“And my vote makes four against,” Thoruso said.

“Wonderful,” Brandyjack said, “but I’m voting that I go.”

“Is there anyone else who’d care to volunteer?” Thoruso asked, still ignoring Brandyjack.

“I will,” Dextor said.

“Look!” Brandyjack exclaimed. “I’m going and that’s final. I’m warning you, Thoruso, if you send Dextor, I’ll tag along anyway. I’m going, whether you order me to stay or not. And even if the four of you could hold me long enough to tie me up, I’d refuse to help you destroy the tunnels. I’d head for Toronew at the first opportunity, and that’s a promise. Do you really think you can spare enough people to watch me?”

Thoruso sighed. “Brandyjack, listen to reason. Star will kill you before he even asks you what you’re doing.”

“No he won’t,” argued Brandyjack. “He’ll want to gloat a bit, threaten me, make me afraid. He’ll want to tell me how smart he is and how easily he’s going to be able to destroy you. But after that, he’ll still have to listen to me, because I’m going to be telling him I’m on his side. Thoruso, I can be as stubborn as a mule when I want to be, and at this moment, I want to be. I’m going to surrender to Star whether you like it or not!”

Thoruso threw up his hands in disgust and fixed Brandyjack with a stare that was close to hate. “Why won’t you listen to reason?” he shrieked, his face becoming red.

Brandyjack chuckled. “Face it, Thoruso. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“This is a time of war! You’re disobeying a direct order!”

“That’s right. You ordering me shot?”

“That’s not such a bad idea!” Thoruso roared.

“Simmer down, Thoruso. You’re getting yourself in an uproar for no good reason. I’m going.”

Thoruso seemed ready to explode, but he kept himself in check, saying nothing as he got off the bed and stalked furiously around the room. He strode briskly back and forth for almost a minute before he calmed down enough to sit once more.

“Okay,” the Merchant said, glaring at Brandyjack and pointing a finger at him, “we’ll do it your way. But if anything goes wrong because Star didn’t trust you, I’ll make an extra effort to get past the enforcers, and I’ll kill you myself!”

“Fair enough,” Brandyjack said. As an added ribbing, “If Star doesn’t beat you to it.”

Thoruso locked ready to burst again, before he realized Brandyjack would derive pleasure from it. He said nothing.

“The entire thing will have to be very well planned,” Dextor put in, in an attempt to ease the tension, “and the timing will have to be almost perfect.”

“That it will,” Thoruso agreed, looking at Dextor. “Slips at any point might be fatal.”

“I’d like to know why we don’t just go to Toronew and take Star,” Snake said. Everyone turned to face him. “It seems pointless to waste time destroying the tunnels if they might be useful to you later.”

“Suppose we don’t manage to capture Star,” Thoruso explained, “we’ll have struck a serious blow anyway. Or, suppose his few trusted advisers are not in Toronew, but in other cities. They won’t be able to get back to Toronew to plot against us. If they are in Toronew, then they can’t escape too easily.”

“Now I know why you so seldom speak,” Brandyjack said to Snake, smiling as he spoke. “You don’t make any sense.”

Snake took no offense at the remark, knowing that Brandyjack’s words had been intended as much for Thoruso as himself. Thoruso ignored them both.

“But your question does have some merit,” the Merchant said, “and perhaps an alteration in the plan might be in order. Suppose we cause only those tunnels leading into and out of Toronew to collapse? That would take much less time, and serve our purposes equally well.” He paused for a moment. “Timing, then, is all that remains. Our moment of entry into Enforcer Headquarters must coincide with a moment Brandyjack and Star are together. We must also take into consideration the various rooms where Brandyjack might be imprisoned and be ready to search certain sections in a limited period of time.

“I suggest we plan to enter Enforcer Headquarters shortly after midnight, five days from now. That will give Brandyjack enough time to reach Toronew and get himself slaughtered and will allow us time to locate the necessary tools to do our damage to the tunnels. Any objections?”

Brandyjack was amused by the Merchant’s choice of words concerning his part of the mission, but said nothing. There were no objections.

“Very well,” Thoruso went on. “Brandyjack, you should leave in the morning. That’ll give you ample opportunity to reach Toronew and locate Star; and it will give Star time enough to return to interrogate you if he happens to be out of the city. Just remember that Star must be with you when we enter Enforcer Headquarters. You’ll undoubtedly hear gunfire, so if you’re at all able, restrain him and prevent him from leaving you. And be as low in the building as possible so we’re not decimated before Star can be forced to surrender.”

That was the plan, and little more remained to be said. In five days Star’s government would fall. Or it would crush its opposition.

Evening found the wayfarer downstairs in the tavern, sitting with Dextor, Snake and Virgil, all of whom regarded him with increasing amusement as his drunkenness intensified. Snake was told several times to shut up and quit hogging the conversation, or informed that his manners could use some improvement, and that if he stuck around for a while, Brandyjack would take time out from his busy schedule to effect that improvement.

As the evening wore on, and more and more ale was consumed, Brandyjack became even sillier, but with the restraining influences of his three friends, did not manage to blunder into someone and start a brawl, as was his usual habit.

At one table, however, two men were having an argument that was becoming increasingly heated. The bartender, his bored and disgusted expression firmly in place, made a special trip to the table to inform them that if they didn’t keep quiet he had every intention of wrapping them around a ceiling support. His intervention irked both, and they stood as one to let him know they didn’t appreciate his interference. Still bored, he told them to sit down and shut up, at which point one of them jumped him. They fell to the floor, but it was immediately obvious that something was wrong with the attacker, for his body was shaking uncontrollably. The bartender rolled the man off him and grabbed his second attacker’s wrist firmly. The attacker’s eyes rolled back in his head, and his face began to turn a sickly yellow. The bartender released the hand, and his victim fell to the floor. Still incredibly bored, the bartender ordered the still-dazed second man to carry the first from the tavern, and continue in whatever direction he wished. The order was not disobeyed. The bartender returned to the bar, smoothing his apron as if nothing had happened.

“Lekcity,” Brandyjack said stupidly.

No one understood him, but they asked no questions and started a long convincing argument that finally resulted in the wayfarer being led up the stairs to his room to sleep. He fumbled about in the darkness, attempting to undo his cloak. The sounds of his friends echoed softly as they went to their own rooms. He’d finally succeeded in removing the cloak and tossing it into the nearest corner, and was working on his tunic when his door opened. He turned to see Mandy. She closed the door, and again the room was in darkness.

Brandyjack could see little, more because of the drunken haze that had settled over his eyes than because of the darkness, and it was not until Mandy stood before him, reaching to put her arms around his neck, that he saw her. She kissed him lightly.

“I didn’t think you were ever going to get tired of drinking,” she said softly.

“I didn’t,” he told her. “The others talked me into coming to bed so I could get a good start tomorrow.”

“Oh? Where are you going?” There seemed to be a touch of regret in her voice as she stood there, her arms still around Brandyjack’s neck, and her breath warm and fragrant in his nostrils.

“Toronew.”

“Why?”

He told her, and she listened without speaking, her arms still around his neck. When he’d finished, he pushed her back just a bit and began fumbling with his tunic. He felt her hands undoing the buttons for him, and he sighed.

He sat down on the bed and she joined him immediately, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder. He sighed again and looked at her hair as it fell onto his own shoulder.

“Mandy,” he started, and his voice was soft, gentle, “I don’t think you should… be here.”

“And why not?” she asked, lifting her head to kiss him again.

Bloody good question, he thought to himself, fighting back the drunken fogginess that had settled on his brain some time earlier. He decided to try and give himself one good reason why they shouldn’t be there at that moment, and it took him very little time to find one.

Lotus.

“I have a woman,” he started slowly, the fog beginning to lift from his mind, “who loves me very much, and I really believe she’s been sleeping alone since I left her.”

Mandy kissed him again. “But do you love her?”

Brandyjack sighed. “Yes,” he said softly, “I do.”

“You won’t,” Mandy whispered and started to push him down.

“I’m sorry, Mandy,” the wayfarer said and straightened so that he still sat erect on the edge of the bed.

Her arms fell from around his neck. “I didn’t come here just to sleep with you,” she said slowly. “I came because—”

“Mandy,” Brandyjack interrupted, “I think I know exactly why you came, but I’m sorry. It’s just out of the question, and I don’t think I could face myself if… well, you understand what I’m trying to say.”

“But—”

“No, Mandy. I won’t even consider it.” His voice was harsher than he wished, but he wanted to leave her with no misunderstandings, to remove any thoughts she might be entertaining.

“Very well,” she said as she rose from beside him, her voice taking on a cold, hard tone. She walked to the door and left, saying nothing more.

He regretted having hurt her, but there had been no other way. As much as he might have liked to avail himself of her physical charms, he could never justify it as long as he cared for Lotus.

He realized then that he really did love Lotus, of that there was no doubt. He lay back on the bed, his thoughts on her, and he wondered what she was doing with her time. Was she managing without him all right? Suddenly, with a pang of longing, he wished to be with her. In a few days, perhaps he would, he told himself.

He removed his tunic leggings and climbed into bed, sleeping soundly once blackness settled over him.

CHAPTER 11

Rough shoves pulled him from slumber, and he half-straightened in bed before he saw Dextor standing over him, his face revealing concern in the early dawn light that came through the window.

“What’s the matter?” Brandyjack asked, climbing out of bed and searching the floor for his tunic leggings. “Are we out of ale?”

Dextor ignored the joke, as he did much of Brandyjack’s facetiousness. “Bell’s been stabbed,” he said quickly. “He was up about two this morning, working out some problem or other with his steam-propelled devices, and he saw Mandy leaving her room. He asked her where she was going, and she just up and stabbed him. I found him about ten minutes ago. He’s still alive, but he’s been lying in the hallway for about three hours, and he’s almost bled to death. He could hardly tell me what happened to him.”

Brandyjack had been dressing as Dextor spoke, and now he tied his cloak around his throat, fastened the first two buttons and followed Dextor from the room. Bell lay on the floor, not three meters from Brandyjack’s door. Two knife wounds, one in his chest and one in his stomach, oozed blood that stained his clothes and spilled on the floor. A long trail of scarlet indicated he had crawled a fair distance trying to get help before becoming too weak.

They carried him carefully from the hallway into his room, then placed him gently on his bed. Dextor left to wake Thoruso, for the old man’s many skills included a smattering of medicine, and they thought Bell might yet have a chance. Dextor and a sleepy-eyed Thoruso had just entered the room when Bell’s eyes closed for the final time.

“Mandy did this?” Brandyjack asked Dextor.

“That’s what he told me,” Dextor asserted, indicating Bell, “but his voice was very weak, and I might have misunderstood him.”

“No,” Brandyjack said quickly, “the only name that’s even close to sounding like hers is my own, and I bloody well didn’t kill him.”

“Did she say anything out of the ordinary last night?” Dextor asked. “I saw her going into your room after we left.”

“No, nothing that… oh, damn!” Brandyjack cursed when he realized what may have driven Mandy to act as she had. Hurriedly, he told Thoruso and Dextor what had happened; they concluded that she might plan to get back at him by informing Star of the upcoming attack on his government. It didn’t account for her killing Bell, but it was the only explanation that made any sense at all.

Thoruso considered the problem for several minutes. “You’d better leave now, Brandyjack. From what Dextor told me, she’s already got a four-hour head start on you.”

Brandyjack nodded. “I only hope she was angry enough to want to tell Star personally, because if she decided to tell the first enforcer she met, Canav will be crawling with enforcers shortly.”

He left then, bounding down the stairs of the bar, noting with a touch of regret that all the ale had been removed and locked up elsewhere for the night. Brandyjack unbarred the door and rushed out into the street, racing toward the stable where their horses and wagons had been left.

It all made sense to him, but he wished it didn’t. A rejected Mandy had wanted only to see him hurt and had decided the only way to do it would be to turn him in to Star. It was regrettable, and he felt badly about it, but had he to make the decision over again, he knew in his heart it would be the same; as long as Lotus lived, it could be no different.

At the stable he discovered that Mandy had bought a horse from the stableman. The man did not grumble at being awakened again that night but wished Brandyjack luck on whatever he was so eager to undertake. He was pleased to learn the wayfarer and Snake had met with success in their quest of two nights earlier. The man’s pleasure was almost an atonement for his earlier non-involvement, Brandyjack realized. Undoubtedly he had been plagued with thoughts of his own cowardice.

It took him considerably less time to leave Canav than it had to enter it only two short days ago, and before long open space stretched before him, unblemished by even so much as a farmer’s shack. He checked the ground only twice, finding fresh tracks he assumed were made by Mandy’s horse. She didn’t appear to be moving too quickly, but four hours was a sizable head start, and he had no choice but to catch her before she reached Toronew.

It was unfortunate that Bell’s death had to be forgotten for the moment, while the less serious crime of future betrayal became all important. But Brandyjack had no doubts that life had always been thus, the “isms” more important than the people who suffered for them. After all, look what had happened to the ancients.

But none of that changed the fact that he had to catch Mandy; so forcing the unpleasantries from his mind, he continued to ride hard after her.

Mandy had apparently realized it would take Brandyjack little time to figure out her scheme, for she was less than 15 kilometers from Toronew and riding fast, when the wayfarer finally caught her two days later. Hatred for him burned in her eyes; when Brandyjack finally forced her horse to a halt, and they dismounted, she pulled her knife on him. With a deft pirouette that sent his cloak billowing behind and around him, Brandyjack kicked out, catching her wrist and causing her to drop the weapon. So swift and accurate had he been, that she sustained no injury to her wrist and was able to make one last effort to hurt him by attempting to claw out his eyes. She finally spent her energies and sat by the side of the road, refusing to move. He tried to reason with her, but she remained indifferent to his logic, and the hate in her eyes did not die. Unable to convince her that she should not report his planned deceit to Star, he was forced to bind her securely to a tree two kilometers from the road and gag her as well so that she could not yell out. He tethered her horse a short distance away. She would be there for at least two or three days, but the time spent without food and water would not kill, just inconvenience, her. There was the risk of some kind of animal discovering her and deciding she would make a dandy meal, or that a hunter would come across her and free her; but they were necessary risks, and the wayfarer did not feel exceptionally guilty in view of what she had planned for him. When it had become apparent to her what he planned to do, she’d sworn she’d keep mum on the subject of his mission, but he knew he could not trust her, and this was confirmed—in his eyes anyway—when she bit him as he gagged her. He did, however, apologize to her before he left and promised someone would be by to release her in a couple of days, regardless of whether or not Thoruso’s plan succeeded. He was sure she drew little comfort from that.

Thoruso and his lieutenants would have finalized their plans for destruction of the tunnels around Toronew by this time; most likely they had enlisted the aid of whatever dissident elements the Merchant knew were in Canav. As well, the necessary equipment for the work to be done should have been procured.

If their efforts were to gain any importance, it would be only if Brandyjack succeeded in his part of the plan. And if Thoruso, rather than the wayfarer, had been correct in his assessment of Star’s reactions to this new betrayal, Brandyjack would net live to know whether Thoruso’s plan met with failure or success.

Coming from the southwest, rather than directly toward the western wall, Brandyjack could see only a portion of the damage done by the fire some days earlier, but that portion was great indeed. For almost a kilometer there was no western wall, charred black ruins testifying to the length and ferocity of the blaze before anyone had been able to stop it. Moreover, not a single guard or enforcer could be seen at the intact portions of the wall; Brandyjack pondered this very carefully as he sat astride his mount less than three kilometers from the city. The wall had proved totally ineffectual on at least two different occasions; or the enforcers guarding the wall had proved ineffectual, and with part of the wall destroyed, Star may have abandoned any hope of keeping it manned. Toronew housed the premier, and Brandyjack wondered if Star drew any conclusions from his inability to defend the capital.

He urged his mount from the grassy knoll and down to the main southerly road leading into the city.

The gates proved to be unprotected, undoubtedly for the first time since the wall had first been built hundreds of years earlier by a premier very similar to Star.

As he passed through the unmanned gates, he wondered if it might be wise to surrender himself just yet. His pursuit of Mandy meant he was a day ahead of schedule. An ale, after the long ride, would certainly sit well, but he knew such luxuries could not have any weight in his decision. It was strictly a matter of timing and must be thought of as such.

He considered the problem for several moments, weighing the benefits of an early arrival in case Star was so far away from Toronew that it would take him three days to return against the disadvantages of appearing too soon and having to answer too many questions to keep Star nearby. It was, he decided, better that he not appear too soon, but lead Star into the false assumption that this was an honest betrayal of Thoruso—if such a thing could be said to exist.

He passed the first few ramshackle huts with more than a little apprehension, still not completely accepting the idea that no one guarded the walls or searched visitors to the city. At any other city, the change would not have given him more than a moment’s thought, but Toronew was different, and he had learned that one must always keep abreast of recent developments here.

Be that as it may, no enforcers appeared to ask him questions or search him, and he continued at a leisurely pace until a few service shops began to dot the narrow streets. He found a stable, made arrangements for his horse to. be cared for and paid the stableman for the services. While conducting business with the man, a two-man enforcer patrol strolled by outside, but did not enter.

“There are no guards on the gates,” Brandyjack said nonchalantly, using the tone of voice a casual traveler who had become accustomed to Toronew’s guards would use.

“From what I hear,” the dark-haired, swarthy stableman said, “the gates don’t keep anybody out or anybody in anyway. Guess some criminals made an escape a few days ago and burned down most of the western wall.”

It was an exaggeration, for most of the western wall was not destroyed, but if the residents of the city wished to believe otherwise, that was perfectly all right with Brandyjack. It gave Thoruso’s group a power and ability not really possessed and made a subtle comment about Star’s strength.

“None of the gates guarded?” Brandyjack asked.

“None of ‘em. The premier figured the manpower could be better used in patrols, and be damned if I don’t agree with ‘im for a change. My stable’s been broken into about six times in the past year; maybe now it’ll stop and I can start to make a decent living.”

“Maybe,” Brandyjack agreed. As a subtle dig he added, “Unless the enforcers are as bad at protecting private dwellings and businesses as they were at guarding the wall.”

“That’s what I didn’t want to think about,” the stableman grumbled, and Brandyjack realized the other wasn’t completely convinced that his stable would remain unmolested from this point on.

“Well, is there anyone who could rule better than Star?” Brandyjack asked with raised eyebrows.

“Your horse could.”

Brandyjack chuckled. “Why doesn’t somebody try to get rid of him?”

“Because someone else might be able to rule better, or fairer, but would they? People change when they find out they’re able to order other people around. We might even end up with someone who’s worse than Star. Nope, there’s no sense in trying to find somebody else to take his place. Me, I’m just going to let everybody do what they want. If we had a new premier tomorrow, it wouldn’t matter to me one way or the other. As long as they leave my stable alone and let me make a living, what difference does it make?”

“A man after my own heart!” Brandyjack shot quickly and realized there was a good deal of truth in his agreement. It really didn’t matter to him who ruled. But somehow, Thoruso had convinced him it did matter. He knew he’d be glad when it was all over, regardless of who the victor was. But that didn’t change the fact that he had to finish his role in an effort to determine the victor.

“Many people feel like you do?” the wayfarer asked.

“Who knows?” the stableman replied with a shrug. “Every day I hear people complainin’ about something, but I never see them doin’ anything. Yeah, I guess they’re the same as me and don’t really care, but you’d never get them to admit it. They think they have to have an opinion, but the whole lot’s a little bit dumber than they want everyone else to think.”

Another man entered the stable then, so Brandyjack paid the stableman for a week’s lodging and feed for the horse and took his leave. If he returned to pick it up before the week was over, the stableman could keep any refund that might be due. If he didn’t return, the stableman would be well within his rights to sell the creature and that, Brandyjack reflected, would be fine too.

It was late afternoon, and with the heat, the few people Brandyjack saw seemed to be doing very little in the way of constructive activity. It was just one of those days when any effort seemed like too much effort.

What better place to spend a hot afternoon than in a muggy tavern drinking cool ale? With an unerring sense of direction that had never failed him, he sought out the nearest tavern and ordered two pitchers of ale.

The tavern was busy for an afternoon, but no one paid any particular attention to Brandyjack, and he did not go out of his way to make new acquaintances, satisfied for the moment to alleviate his thirst and rest bones that were wearier than they’d been for some time.

By the time he’d finished the ale, dusk was beginning to settle on Toronew. He left the tavern and walked about the streets for a time, doling out small-denomination currency notes to the beggars who approached him.

Some time tomorrow, he would have to get in to see Star, but the chances of his even making it through the front doors were slim. A great number of enforcers had seen him at one time or another, and they had undoubtedly been told to shoot him if he ever appeared again. He sighed. That would appear to be the problem, then: getting inside… alive.

He wondered about it as he walked the darkening streets, absently handing out currency notes to beggars of all ages and physical conditions. How could he make sure he even got to see the premier, let alone attempt to deceive him a second time? He began to see just how right Thoruso had been in arguing the impossibility of success for his efforts and wondered if he did indeed lack common sense.

It occurred to him that his sudden appearance at Enforcer Headquarters would indeed be more than suspicious; it would be a sure sign that he meant to practice his deception again. So how did he get Star’s attention?

He began to recognize buildings and soon discovered he was in the westerly section of the city, a considerable distance from the tavern he’d been in some time earlier, or the stable where he’d left his mount. This end of Toronew held the shack he’d bought with Thoruso’s money, as well as Caron’s bar. When he recalled asking Mandy to deliver the message for him, he suddenly realized Caron still had no idea where his sister was. He felt an obligation to put the man’s worries, if there were any, at rest, and so went toward the tavern.

Evening was as hot and muggy as the afternoon had been, so the tavern was doing a brisk business when Brandyjack entered. Caron worked alone, and it was obvious he missed Mandy’s assistance. When he saw Brandyjack, he finished serving a table, then hurried over to where the wayfarer stood by the door.

“Where’s my sister?” he demanded suspiciously, wasting no time on greetings.

“She’s quite safe,” Brandyjack assured him. “She came to see me one night after closing down here and went on to Canav with me.”

“She’s there now?” Caron asked.

Brandyjack nodded. “She’s with some friends of mine; lovely couple. I’ve got some business to attend to here, and she asked me to drop by and tell you she’ll be coming back in about a week.”

“Why didn’t she tell me she was leaving?”

“I told her we should have come over to tell you just that, but it was about 05:00 hours when we left, and she didn’t want to wake you. She didn’t know then that I’d be going to Canav, so it was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

Caron had his doubts, but did not express them at the moment. He returned to the bar, Brandyjack following, and when he served the big man he was still not sure everything he’d been told was the truth. He went about his business for several minutes; and when there was a lull, returned to speak with the wayfarer.

“I don’t believe you. What’s the name of the couple you claim she’s staying with?”

“Moore and Chall,” Brandyjack answered immediately. Then, “Look, Caron, just simmer down and think for a minute. Would I have come by to tell you about her if I wasn’t telling the truth? I know what’s going through your mind, but you’re wrong. Just think it through, and you’ll see I’m telling the truth when I claim she’s in perfect health and will be back in about a week.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Caron agreed grudgingly, seeing the sense in Brandyjack’s words, but not totally convinced. “Okay, Brandyjack. But if she’s not back in one week, I’m going to report her missing, and your name will be at the top of the list of probable reasons why.”

“Fair enough. Now, would you fill this up again?”

Caron took the mug, filled it and accepted Brandyjack’s money without a word, leaving to attend to other business.

The wayfarer continued to ponder a suitable method of getting to Star and assuring the premier that his relations with Thoruso were severed. While he was watching Caron scurrying about filling orders, a plan occurred to him. He chuckled when he thought of it, counted his currency notes and waited until Caron was once again inactive before waving the bartender over to him.

“Could I convince you to do me a favor?” he asked Caron.

Caron regarded him suspiciously for several seconds. “What is it?”

“Delivery of a note.”

“To whom?”

“Someone in Toronew, but I have to be sure you’ll do it before I give you any names. I’ll give you an even hundred Star Rule Currency Notes to deliver the message without reading the note. Even better, I’ll also promise to do the balance of my drinking in Toronew right here in your establishment. And that’s a considerable amount of drinking!”

“Does this have anything to do with Mandy?” Caron asked, still suspicious.

“Bloody bluebeards!” Brandyjack snorted, shaking his head and frowning.

“Okay, okay,” Caron said quickly. “When do you want it delivered?”

“Any time between your usual closing hour and your usual opening hour, but it must be before you open tomorrow.”

“Agreed.”

“And remember, part of the hundred is for a promise not to read it, or even consider reading it.”

“Promise.”

Brandyjack chuckled. “Fine, fine. Now, be a good man. Find me some parchment and something to write with.”

Caron disappeared into an adjacent chamber. A few moments later he returned with a piece of crumpled parchment, a quill and a small bottle of ink, which he set before Brandyjack. Brandyjack chuckled as he composed the note, and when it was finished he stuffed it into an inner pocket of his cloak, pushing the ink and quill back so Caron could retrieve them later.

He sat at the bar for the remainder of the evening, drinking only enough to become somewhat silly. When only he and Caron remained, he handed the parchment and money to the bartender, once again explaining the conditions of the agreement, only to be assured all would be carried out according to his wishes.

In an exceptionally good frame of mind, he staggered down the darkened streets of Toronew.

CHAPTER 12

He awoke shortly before midday in the alleyway he’d chosen as sufficiently free of rats and garbage to permit some semblance of sleep. He yawned, pulled his cloak from the ground and wrapped it around him. Although no rats had decided to take a chance on sampling his slumbering form, he saw that a few of them were making their way through some edible garbage. He threw a rock at them, watched them scurry away and stretched.

Any time now, Thoruso’s band would be making their way to some point of entry where they could gain access to the tunnels and the exhausting work of destroying those around Toronew would be started. If they hadn’t already made their move.

He walked from the alleyway and out onto a sidestreet, receiving questioning stares from the few people about. He only smiled at them, preferring to let them draw their own conclusions as to what type of man stepped from an alleyway at noon, his clothes rumpled and dirty with bits of clinging garbage, his eyes full of sleep.

He was hungry, but that could wait until he found Caron and inquired as to the success of the mission. He wasn’t far from the tavern, but dim recollections from the evening before told him he should be considerably farther. Of course, there’d been a lot of movement from side to side, not necessarily always forward.

The tavern virtually empty, Caron was seated on a stool behind the bar. He looked up immediately when Brandyjack entered, and his face became a single question. Brandyjack, as he walked across the floor to the bar, held up his hands to stave off Caron’s words.

“I’ll ask the questions,” he said as he leaned on the bartop. “First of all, did you read the message?”

“No.”

“Remarkable. Okay, secondly, did you deliver it?”

“Yes, and—”

“Good. To whom did you deliver it?”

“To an enforcer of something like Lieutenant rank.”

“Good. I really didn’t expect you to get to Star right off, but there was no harm in trying. What questions did he ask you?”

“He wanted to know who’d given me the note, and what was in it.”

“And you told him?”

“I told him it was given to me by a man I’d never seen before, and that I’d been paid to deliver it without reading its contents. But—”

“And how far did you get before someone came after you?”

Caron smiled. “About two blocks.”

“Okay, fine, now you can tell me the rest.”

“Well, apparently Star was in the building, and the note was delivered immediately even though it was so late. He read it and sent someone after me, and when I got back, Star spent almost an hour questioning me. He wanted to know where you were, what you were doing, everything.”

“And you told him you didn’t know, because I was a stranger who’d paid you to do a job.”

“That’s right. He believed me, because no one followed me from Enforcer Headquarters, and I checked on that several times just to be sure.” Caron paused for a moment, and a thin smile crossed his lips, while his eyes sparkled with some little gem of intelligence. “I told him my name was Moore, and that I was from Canav.”

Brandyjack chuckled. “Very good. Sneaky, but acceptable. If I was lying about Mandy, my friends get it, right?”

Caron nodded. “Star wanted me to take a message to you, but I told him again I didn’t even know you. He seemed satisfied. Now answer some questions for me. What in hell have you done? I’ve never in my life seen a man as upset as Star was, and he was quite intent on finding you.”

“We used to peddle flesh together in Moneral,” Brandyjack said matter-of-factly, “and I’ve offered him his old job back.” He chuckled.

Caron frowned and sighed, realizing he’d get nothing from the wayfarer. “So you won’t tell me what was in the note?”

“Nope.”

Caron sighed again. “I don’t know what you’ve done, but it must have been serious, because Star was livid.”

“Which eating house is the best in this area?”

“They’re all lousy,” Caron confided.

“Then I bid you farewell,” Brandyjack said, straightening and pushing stray locks back into place behind his ears. “Give my best to Mandy when she comes back.”

He turned and left the tavern, surprised to find that the sky had clouded over and rain was threatening. Also, a gentle wind had appeared from nowhere.

He found a cookery that seemed partly scrubbed and cared for, so he sat down at one end of a very long table. He ordered his meal and consumed it slowly, deciding that Caron had been correct in his assessment of the area’s eating establishments. Nevertheless, on an empty stomach the food did not sit too badly, and when he left he felt much better than when he’d awakened.

In a short time, now, his part of the overthrow of Star’s government would begin. He hoped he’d be alive to see the results.

Rain had begun to fall shortly after he’d eaten, continuing until the present. It showed little sign of letting up any time soon. He stood in an alleyway two blocks from the shack he’d purchased for Thoruso, cold, wet and impatient, his cloak pulled around his shoulders and offering no warmth or shelter from the incessant rain.

The street before him was empty, and if Star had decided to act according to the note Caron had delivered, the premier would soon be walking down this street, with no more than two unarmed enforcers. Brandyjack, from the alleyway, would be able to see if the conditions of the note had been met, and if so, he’d meet the contingent at the shack. If the conditions weren’t met, he’d still meet them, but he’d had to insist on something to make the note and what would follow appear less suspicious, and two unarmed enforcers had seemed reasonable at the time. What would follow his initial meeting with Star, and what had been explicit in the note, was a deal between the two men. Brandyjack, in return for a pardon for his earlier deception, would give Star all the information he knew concerning Thoruso’s whereabouts and those places he was likely to frequent. The information, Brandyjack knew, would be too tempting for Star to pass up.

He could have waited at Thoruso’s shack, he knew, but that would not fit well with his own supposed suspicions and would make it seem as though it hadn’t mattered how many enforcers accompanied the Premier. Besides, after learning the whereabouts of the shack, Star would send a force to check it out in case the note was leading him into a trap. Brandyjack had no great desire to be apprehended by the security force and made to look rather foolish.

He peeked around the corner of a candlemaker’s shop; several blocks away were several figures moving toward him. He couldn’t determine through the rain and the darkness whether or not the three figures were Star and the enforcers. He pulled his head back into the alleyway and moved farther back into deeper shadows.

It took them almost five minutes to reach the alleyway and continue past, but Brandyjack saw that they were indeed the three for whom he waited. Almost on cue, the rain began to fall more heavily, driven by a wind that transformed the falling water into a sheet of liquid. Still clutching his drenched cloak about him in a futile effort to keep the water from his skin, the wayfarer moved silently out of the alleyway and began to follow Star and his bodyguards, half a block behind them. They slowed their pace, unfamiliar with the western end of the city and unsure of just which shack they were to enter. When Star indicated to them that they were to continue, they began to move more quickly. Brandyjack, still half a block behind them, followed.

They turned from the street, and the wayfarer knew they’d located the shack: Star had recognized it from the description given him in the note. Brandyjack stopped where he was, ignored the driving wall of water before him for a few seconds. This had to be convincing, and he’d stand in the cold, hard fury of the storm for an hour if necessary for the proper frame of mind to settle upon him. He took a deep breath, then started forward, hurrying down the last block to the shack and stepping into the darkness of the doorway without hesitation.

It was dark inside the first room, but when a brilliant flicker of lightning lit the sky outside, light streamed through the window, and he could see Star and his bodyguards standing near the far wall. But they weren’t alone. Standing near the Premier, handguns levelled, were at least ten enforcers. Brandyjack cursed to himself, realizing an advance force had checked out the shack, but they’d stayed. The wayfarer cursed his foolishness for not having known such a thing would happen, shrugged mentally and took a deep breath. For a few moments, while the noise of the storm outside echoed throughout the room, no one spoke.

Brandyjack moved then, indicating to Star and his bodyguards that they were to follow him into an adjoining room. The furniture was as it had been left, and on a table stood a lantern. Brandyjack found some matches beside the lantern and lit the device, waiting until the room was bathed in flickering light before he sat down to face the others.

“Sit down,” the wayfarer indicated the bench across from the one on which he sat.

For a moment no one moved, then Star sat and two enforcers followed, the others remaining erect. Brandyjack smiled, keeping his hands in plain sight.

Star’s face was cold, hard, and behind the eyes Brandyjack could see hatred, which he didn’t blame Star for feeling. The man had been outwitted, and few men enjoyed that knowledge; even fewer leaders.

“You are a fool, Brandyjack,” Star said coldly.

“Perhaps,” the wayfarer said, “and perhaps not.” He was careful not to smile now, forcing himself to be serious. “As I mentioned in the note, I’ve come back to make a deal with you, Star.”

“I’ve dealt with you once, Brandyjack and found you cannot be trusted. There will be no deals this evening, and when we leave, you will be with us as my prisoner.”

Brandyjack regarded the stone-faced enforcers for a moment. “At least hear me out,” he said quickly, sensing that Star was about to signal the meeting was at an end.

“The words of a liar seldom mean much,” Star said, as coldly as before.

“I cannot disagree with that,” Brandyjack said slowly, “but even the most confirmed liar sometimes speaks the truth, and I want you to hear everything I have to say before you judge me.”

Star’s eyes did not blink, and the ice behind them did not soften. “I’ll listen.”

“That’s all I ask,” Brandyjack told him slowly. “I won’t dwell on our past dealings, for we both know that I was lying and using you, and I admit it here before witnesses. But I am doing neither this time, Star, and when I’m finished, perhaps you’ll understand, although I won’t ask you to accept.

“When I freed Thoruso from Enforcer Headquarters, I was acting out of friendship and a set of values partially instilled in me by the Merchant. We’d made a long, hazardous journey together, fought off death 100 times and lived through it, together and side by side. We had a spiritual bond few who have never experienced hardships together can understand. That’s why, when I returned to Toronew, I believed him when he said you were a tyrant and that he wished to create a new government more lenient and responsive to the needs of the people. I thought he would be able to do it, and I thought he would be true to himself.”

He paused, regarded Star closely, but the coldness was still there, the hate still solid.

“But over the course of the past week, I began to see the Merchant for what he is. Thoughts of power have corrupted him, Star, have turned him nearly mad with belief in his own worth. He is becoming convinced only he can rule Merka, and I know now that his rule would be even more oppressive than yours.

“No, I am not being complimentary,” Brandyjack went on, seeing Star’s expression harden even more, “but I am telling the truth. Thoruso would see everyone not in chains as a threat to his supremacy, and while I admit I do not agree with certain aspects of your rule, I know for a fact that the power of your office has not corrupted you to that extent; you are intelligent enough to realize that the majority of people need not be in chains to insure your rule. Most of them are sheep and can be led around by the nose, provided those things that mean most to them are not destroyed. Thus far, you have had the intelligence to understand and act on such knowledge, and as a result you are still premier and probably will be until you wish to turn the reins over to someone else.”

The coldness had dropped a bit, and the hardness of the eyes had softened in the premier’s face, but not a great deal. It was a start.

“Having believed in Thoruso as much as I did,” Brandyjack went on, “the realization that he could not rule hit me hard, and for some time after I did realize it, I refused to believe it. When I forced myself to look at things as they really were, I came to the conclusion that no one, regardless of how high his ideals and intent, could rule without oppression and control. Not Thoruso, not me, not you. When that became obvious, I went one step further and wondered if anyone might be able to rule less strictly than you. I came to the conclusion it would be virtually impossible to do. Control is necessary, for without it we crumble.”

Brandyjack paused, again regarded Star’s face, then continued. “I admit I would like to see a more open government, but I realize it is impossible at this stage; so I am choosing the course that will benefit the most people. That course seems to be the one you have chosen. Oh, sure, you have imprisoned discontented rebels and forced inventors to work for you, but the rebels would tear down the government, and the inventors would cause more trouble than they’re worth, unless properly supervised. Some of the benefits of increasing technology will filter down to the people under your hand, but under Thoruso’s, the advances would be used only for furthering his own glory. He would not hesitate to use them against the people in a far harsher manner than you might. Thus, as I said, I have chosen the better of two evils. Again, I am not being complimentary, but honest and rational, seeing situations as they are and not covering them with fancy words and double-meaning phrases. And again, I wish to help you, and not for the outrageous sum of seven hundred currency notes I requested last time. I would prefer to become an enforcer, drawing basic pay and working under you to further your government.”

“You are a liar and cannot be trusted,” Star said coldly when it became apparent Brandyjack had finished speaking. “The moment someone appeared who seemed to be like Thoruso, you would leave my ranks and join his cause.”

“And there you are wrong,” Brandyjack said quickly, “for I don’t believe anyone can rule Merka without becoming corrupt to some degree. You, it appears, have become less corrupted than most, and I have learned a bitter lesson by throwing in my lot with Thoruso. I believed in him, Star, but if the mere thoughts of gaining power could drive him near madness, what would the actuality of it do? No, there are no others who can rule Merka.”

“I have never trusted liars,” Star said, “and I see no reason to begin now.”

“You cannot be faulted for that,” Brandyjack said slowly, “but surely you realize the difference between acting in belief of a cause and acting out of malice. When I agreed to help you, I was acting in belief of Thoruso’s cause, and as such, cannot be faulted for my actions. Now, at this moment, I continue to act in belief, and should Thoruso somehow get his hands on me, he will feel as you do and will believe me even less.”

“How did you come to realize Thoruso was mad?”

“We had several conversations on the changes he would make in government, and I slowly began to see what he had in mind. When I suggested this, he would fly into fits of rage and question my judgment and right to accuse him.” Brandyjack sighed. “He’s quite mad, Star. If he were misguided, I would have remained with him, but madness is final, and only fools rally behind a madman. Perhaps Dextor and the others are misguided, but they continue to believe in the Merchant, so I have begun to wonder about even them.”

“You have finished your confessions and shifts of alliance?”

Brandyjack nodded.

“Bring him with us,” Star said to the enforcers, rising as he spoke.

“Star!” Brandyjack said loudly, his voice hard, cold.

The premier, who had turned and started away, stopped and turned back.

“You haven’t given me enough time to convince you of my honesty. You haven’t even asked of Thoruso’s whereabouts. You haven’t—”

“I haven’t listened to the words of a liar!” Star yelled back, and his eyes blazed with hatred. “You think I would believe you? Bah! Why ask questions when I won’t believe the answers? Bring him along.”

Star turned and walked out of the room. Under the watchful eyes of the enforcers, Brandyjack rose from the table and followed the premier. In the first room, Star stood in the doorway. He turned to look at Brandyjack, then drew his cloak about him and started into the rain.

“If he makes any move to escape, shoot him,” Star called back to the enforcers.

They left the shack, walking out into the rain that seemed to Brandyjack to be even harder and more depressing than it had been earlier. He said nothing as they walked. At least they hadn’t killed him. Yet.

He was taken to a dungeon. There was no other word for it, and the wayfarer did not try to find one. Cold stone walls filmed with slime and moisture surrounded him and he shivered in the dampness, his tunic wet, his cloak wet, his hair wet. Star had wasted no time imprisoning him once they’d reached Enforcer Headquarters. From the ground floor they marched to the underground floor— where the wayfarer had entered the building when leading Dextor and the others in his attempt to free Thoruso. Then, to Brandyjack’s surprise, they’d descended one more floor to the dungeons. He wondered if Thoruso or Dextor knew about the dungeons. He hoped so. Well, anyway, Thoruso had said he should be as low in the building as possible; he couldn’t get much lower.

His wrists were shackled, and he was chained to the stone walls, with barely enough room to stand and none to move more than one meter in any direction. A thick, wooden door was securely barred from the outside, and an enforcer stood guard in the hallway beside it. All these things Brandyjack knew, although he could see virtually nothing in the darkness, for there were no torches or lanterns in the cell. His single glimpse of the chamber had lasted as long as it had taken the enforcers to chain him to the wall, and when the thick door had banged shut, the light cast from torches in the hallway disappeared.

He’d not spoken on the long ride back to Enforcer Headquarters, and when he’d climbed into the wagon Star and the enforcers had secreted several blocks from the shack he did not even grunt with exertion, for it was obvious the enforcers were waiting for any opportunity to kill him.

The only sound in the cell was the trickle of water as it entered, splashed across the walls and floor and gurgled out the drain in one corner.

As he considered the possibility of remaining here, forgotten by Star, he knew brief fear. He wondered if this was his fate, if the premier had decided to shackle him and leave him to starve and rot. It wasn’t beyond Star’s capabilities, he decided.

He’d tried to estimate the length of time he’d been imprisoned, but found himself unsure. With no distractions save for the trickling water, he had no idea. It was shortly after midnight, he thought, but was not at all sure of that. He had another full day to wait before Thoruso’s group was to arrive, and some time between now and then, he had to get Star back here.

He recalled his orders to detain Star, wrestle him down and hold him so he could not escape; but chained like this, the possibility seemed remote. He had a bit of room, but not much, and it was unlikely Star would move close enough to be grabbed.

And, of course, there was the possibility Thoruso’s band had never gotten into the tunnels in the first place. He’d considered this before, but as he sat in the dampness of the cell, the possibility of such a thing happening seemed much greater and the prospects much grimmer.

Eventually, cold and shivering in the darkness, he managed to fall asleep, but it was not a pleasant slumber.

The kick, hard and brutal, woke him. A lance of pain shot through his ribs as he sat up and opened his eyes. He blinked several times to clear his eyes, shivered a bit and finally managed to focus on the three forms who stood before him… Star and his enforcer bodyguards.

“I’ve given some consideration to your offer,” Star began, and in such a tone that Brandyjack knew all was not as it appeared, “and have reached a conclusion. While I trust you no more than I did last night, I have come to realize a bargain might be struck.”

Brandyjack shivered and tried to stand. Before he was erect, the enforcers moved forward and shoved him down. He glared at them, unable to release his wrath, but willing to let them see it in his eyes.

“What kind of bargain?” he asked the premier.

“That will depend,” Star began slowly, his eyes glinting, “on your feelings toward a young woman named Lotus.”

“Lotus? She’s here? Where?”

“Ahh,” Star said softly, smiling as he spoke, smug and self-assured, “I see by your expression and your eyes that she does indeed mean something to you. I had thought, at first, she was merely a woman you’d left behind when you tired of her, but I see such is not the case.”

“If you’ve hurt her—” Brandyjack started, venom in his voice.

“Not at all,” Star assured him, “not at all. She has come to me, and I, not wishing to see such a pretty woman dismayed, promised to do all I could to locate you.”

“Get to the point,” Brandyjack growled.

“The point,” Star began smugly, “is that you seem to care for this Lotus woman, and she is at this moment in my hands, enjoying the hospitality of a room I have provided her. Now, keeping in mind your apparent decision to betray Thoruso and help me, I find it appropriate that I take this opportunity to insure your loyalty to me. I have decided to accept your application for the position of enforcer, Brandyjack, but not without reservation. Should you decide to shift loyalties once more, the life of Lotus will be forfeit.”

The intensity of raw, naked hatred that passed through the wayfarer’s eyes gave even Star a moment’s pause, and his smile momentarily wavered.

“Do I make myself clear, Brandyjack?” the premier asked, and his smile returned, full-force.

“She’s a prisoner, then?” Brandyjack asked.

“Although she isn’t aware of it, yes.”

“I want to see her before I make any agreement with you, Star.”

“I suppose that can be arranged. Would you prefer to go to her, or would you rather she came here?”

“I’ll go to her.”

The guard was called in, and the lock that held the wall chain and the manacles together was removed. The wayfarer stood, slowly, as the enforcers drew handguns and held them steadily, aimed in Brandyjack’s direction. A bit of chain dangled beneath the wristlets as Brandyjack held his hands together and allowed himself to be shoved out of the cell into the corridor. Star was smug in his triumph, happy to be able to prove to Brandyjack that Lotus was, indeed, his captive. The wayfarer had needed no proof, however, for Star was unaware of Lotus’s existence; the only way he could know would be if she made herself known to him. But his request to see her meant he could leave the cell for a short time, and he found himself excited about seeing her once more.

It took the group almost 20 minutes to walk from the dungeons to the room where Lotus was staying, an administrative office on the eighth floor that had apparently been cleared of furniture expressly for her. Star opened the door, and Brandyjack saw Lotus standing near a window. She turned immediately.

Brandyjack smiled, but could find no words as she ran toward him, then stopped as she noticed the manacles on his wrists. Brandyjack moved forward, the enforcers behind him with their weapons covering his motion.

He placed his arms over her head and slid them down so he could embrace her, and suddertly she was crying, painfully aware of the circumstances in which she had found her man. Brandyjack held her tightly, half wanting to cry himself.

“What’s happened?” she asked when her sobs were under control.

“Star and I have come to an agreement,” Brandyjack said. “I’m going to become an enforcer.”

“Although not in the strictest sense,” Star said, stepping forward and smiling. “While I hate to intrude upon this touching scene, I feel the lady should know what is about to happen. My dear, your rambunctious Brandyjack has deceived me, and when he tried to do so a second time, I had him imprisoned. Until such time as certain rebels are apprehended and punished, Brandyjack will serve as my ally. I feel he’ll be indispensable in his knowledge of the ways and thoughts of the aforementioned rebels, and he should be able to anticipate them quite nicely. The length of his incarceration, and consequently yours as well, will depend on just how accurate his predictions turn out. With luck, both of you might be free in a relatively short time. Should, however, Brandyjack prove worthless to the cause of destroying Merka’s enemies, you’ll both be here a very long time indeed.”

Brandyjack shook his head slowly, ignoring Star. “You shouldn’t have come, Lotus,” he sighed. “Why did you?”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, as Star moved back toward the doorway. “I didn’t know… Brandyjack, I’m with child.” She looked up at him and Brandyjack could feel the love she had for him inside her. He smiled and held her tightly.

“Separate them,” Star said from the doorway.

Brandyjack pressed her close to him for another second, then lifted his arms from around her so that the enforcers would have no reason to touch her.

“I’ll bring him back when his work for me is ended,” Star said. Then, in a tone of voice Brandyjack found unnerving, “Provided he doesn’t attempt anything foolish and force me to have him beheaded or shot.”

The door was closed then, and Brandyjack wondered what kind of man could leave a woman with the fearful impressions Star had just left with Lotus. He wanted to spit at the premier, but held the urge back and allowed himself to be led down the hallway.

“Well, Brandyjack?” Star asked. “Do we have an agreement?”

Brandyjack glared at Star. “We do,” he said bitterly.

“Then perhaps we can get started.”

They were on the main administrative floor of Enforcer Headquarters, and Star led Brandyjack to the end of a long hallway before opening the door of a small room that contained a table and six chairs. Star entered the room, took a seat and waved Brandyjack across from him. One enforcer was dispatched to find parchment and ink, and the other sat at the end of the table, his handgun still unholstered, held unwaveringly at the wayfarer’s chest.

“She’s a lovely girl,” Star said, smiling at Brandyjack.

The wayfarer said nothing.

“Be a pity to have her man executed,” the Premier went on, “or perhaps an even greater pity if she was to lose her other hand.”

“Star,” Brandyjack began coldly, “I came here to help you, and your threats against Lotus aren’t making any difference. But I just want you to know that if you hurt her in any way, I’ll make a point of killing you. That’s a promise.”

“You’re hardly in any position to make threats of that nature,” Star observed, pointing at the manacles on the wayfarer’s wrists. “In any case, if all goes well, you’ll be reunited in a few short days.”

Nothing else was said until the enforcer returned with the necessary writing implements. Then began the long interrogation process: Thoruso’s last-known hideout—the bar in Canav—and the most likely places to which the Merchant would lead the group. Brandyjack spiced up the tale somewhat, and it soon became obvious to him that Star believed Thoruso had attempted to kill the wayfarer, but had only narrowly been thwarted.

Brandyjack had briefly considered turning on Thoruso in fact when he’d seen Lotus was a government captive, but such a move would only have sealed both his and Lotus’s deaths. Star would never release them, even if he caught Thoruso and the others. His only hope, then, was to mislead Star for the remainder of the day and night; hopefully he could find some way to detain him later at night when the planned attack was due to start. He hoped it came too fast for Star to be able to issue any severe orders regarding Lotus, for the premier would not hesitate to have her killed; indeed, he might even enjoy it.

He was returned to his cell by early evening, once more chained to the wall and left alone in the darkness, hearing only the steady trickle of water as it ran into the chamber and the gurgling as it drained.

Star had asked him a great many questions, several repeatedly with different phrasing, as if he was trying to catch the wayfarer on some minor discrepancy that would justify additional threats against the two prisoners. However he seemed satisfied that Brandyjack had come to see Thoruso as a madman; that the wayfarer had informed the Merchant of his intentions to leave the group, whereupon Thoruso had flown into a rage and ordered Brandyjack killed. He told Star of his stabbing the inventor, Bell, then escaping via a window at the end of a corridor. The premier also wanted to know about the group’s activities since Thoruso’s escape from Enforcer Headquarters, and before they had finished, had received a great amount of information, most of it factual, but in no way helpful to Star’s cause.

Right this moment, Brandyjack knew, there were several tubes full of enforcers on their way to Canav, each officer armed to the teeth and hoping to surprise the rebels at the tavern where they had last been seen, but willing to search for clues should it turn out the rebels had relocated. With luck, those tubes would never reach Canav, Brandyjack thought, for the tunnels leading into and out of Toronew should be sufficiently sabotaged by this time and would come crashing down on the pneumatic devices, burying them beneath tons of rock and rubble.

If Thoruso’s group had even made it into the tunnels…

If they’d managed to do their work as quickly as expected…

If they weren’t stopped before they got past the first floor of Enforcer Headquarters…

If, if, if, and every one loomed large in the wayfarer’s mind as he sat on cold stone, seeing nothing and hearing only the steady stream of trickling water.

CHAPTER 13

“We’ve decided to move you,” Star told the wayfarer.

The premier stood before him, faintly illuminated by the flickering torchlight of the corridor outside, and there was a faint smile on his features. Beside him stood his two bodyguards, and as he finished speaking, one of them stepped forward to unlock the chains that held the wayfarer to the wall.

“Why?” Brandyjack asked before the chains had been separated.

“Let’s just say we’re not going to put all our eggs in one basket,” Star said, and Brandyjack recalled the ancient saying, deciding that he didn’t care too much for it at the moment.

“Lotus is also being moved,” Star continued as the chains holding Brandyjack to the wall were unlocked and the wayfarer stood, “and I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until we catch Thoruso before I can tell you just where she is.”

Brandyjack said nothing. More than likely, Lotus was not being moved, but would be kept where she was. As for himself, he had no idea why Star thought it might be a good idea to move him. If, however, his new point of incarceration was outside Enforcer Headquarters, he would be of little use to Thoruso when the attack finally came.

“What time is it?” Brandyjack asked.

“Now why would you want to know that?” Star replied, smiling.

“Because I’d like to know what bloody time it is!” Brandyjack growled, becoming increasingly agitated. The coldness of his cell had entered his bones, and he was stiff as he walked through corridors and hallways, in no mood to play little games with Star. And he’d been unable to come up with a reasonable plan to get Star back to the cell so that he would be in position for the assault.

“There’s no need to get angry,” Star replied smugly. “It’s near midnight.”

So close! Here he’d been cursing himself for being unable to get Star’s attention, and the premier had been delivered almost as if planned. Perhaps, if he could slow his pace somewhat, he might delay them until the first gunshot was heard. In the building, he would be a part of the assault; outside, he would be useless. The hours had passed slowly in his cell, and he had thought several times that many hours had passed, but had forced himself to remember just how slowly time really went; now that he knew, he began to feel excitement, anticipation of the first sounds of battle. Conversation, he decided, was his only means of keeping Star and the enforcers occupied and in the lower reaches of the building.

“Where are you taking me?”

“It might be worth the trouble,” Star said, “for Thoruso to send an assassin here to kill you. Provided, of course, you’ve been telling the truth and really have deserted him. As you do have some knowledge of the Merchant’s mind and his little idiosyncracies, you may continue to prove useful. Regardless of how little, we’re not in any position to refuse or ignore help, and this is a simple precaution so that we can hold what we have.”

“How could an assassin get by all your guards?” Brandyjack asked, slowing his rate of speed as he talked so that it was hardly noticed. In any case the difference was too slight to be of much concern, easily attributable to a man in thought, unaware of his actions.

“You got by them once, Brandyjack.”

“True, but I had a lot of help, and there was surprise on my side. I also knew exactly where Thoruso was. Who would know where I was?”

“I’d prefer not to take the risk,” Star replied with finality.

How close to midnight was it wondered the wayfarer. He couldn’t make his move just yet, for the enforcers’ handguns were still aimed at him, and there would be no distractions to take the guns off him for even a second. Star seemed to believe him, but wasn’t taking any chances.

“I’m flattered, of course,” he said, chuckling as he spoke, having made the decision to go along with Star as long as possible, to accept the necessity of relocation. “I don’t really think it’s necessary, but if you feel there might be some attempt made, well, I’m quite sure I’d much rather be moved to a safer place.”

“There is no safer place than this building,” Star said, “but a shack giving the appearances of being totally unguarded might be best, because your whereabouts will be unknown.”

“Have you heard anything from the men you sent to Canav?” Brandyjack asked, knowing they would never reach the city and were probably buried alive this very moment.

“Not enough time for that,” Star informed him, “but they’ll be quick in filing reports if they don’t find the Merchant immediately.”

They ascended the stairs in silence. Ten paces behind were the enforcers, and while he would be taking the risk of getting shot, he knew there was only one way to slow their progress. The group was almost at the top of the stairs when Brandyjack appeared to trip, and he crashed headlong down the stairs. Both enforcers were taken by surprise, but neither fired. One moved to the side to avoid being hit, while the second made a grab for the wayfarer as he tumbled past, but succeeded only in being pulled along.

The stairs seemed endless as Brandyjack fell and rolled to the bottom. He was tangled up with the enforcer, but made no move against the man. Instead, he lay on the floor, groaning with a fair approximation of pain throbbing through his skull. To add a touch of realism to the fall, he had intentionally banged his head against the last stair as he tumbled over it, and a small trickle of blood ran from his forehead.

Star and the other bodyguard hurried down the stairs, and the wayfarer noticed the second officer had holstered his handgun. The first enforcer’s gun was barely two meters from Brandyjack’s hand, but he made no move for it. He groaned a bit, then started to rise and fell back to the floor.

While the enforcer who’d moved on the stairway to avoid being hit attended to his fellow, Star bent over the wayfarer, and there was a small amount of concern in his eyes. Brandyjack managed to seem dazed and confused for several seconds, then looked at Star. When it became apparent to the premier that Brandyjack was not seriously injured, the concern left his eyes.

“Tried to grab hold of the railing,” Brandyjack mumbled as Star helped him to his feet, “but these bloody chains got in the way. How’s he?”

The fall had been nothing more than a ploy for time, but the enforcer who’d fallen with Brandyjack had died, his skull cracked in two places. His eyes were open and his mouth twisted into a grimace of pain. Blood ran to the floor from his head to a red puddle.

“Damn!” Brandyjack muttered in mock sorrow, wondering immediately if another fall would take care of the second enforcer as easily. But two falls in succession was stretching the probabilities a bit; he’d probably be shot.

Star, Brandyjack noticed with a touch of interest, was visibly upset at the death of his bodyguard. The premier looked at Brandyjack, shook his head slowly and frowned.

“I’m sorry,” Brandyjack muttered.

“We’ll leave him here for the moment,” Star sighed, “and send someone to get him when we reach the upper floors.” He paused. “He was a good man. Been with me for eight years.”

Star looked at the manacles on Brandyjack’s wrists, and for a second the wayfarer thought they might be removed; perhaps they would be blamed for his being unable to grasp the stairway railing. Then Star bent over and picked up the dead enforcer’s gun, stuffing it into the single pocket of his purple tunic. As the second enforcer went to unholster his handgun again, Star shook his head once, and Brandyjack forced back a smile as he started up the stairs once again.

He’d been a bit too authentic in his tumble, Brandyjack realized, for his head was beginning to throb and he saw everything as a blur that cleared for a second, then blurred again. It reminded him of his previous head injury, and he knew he’d not fully recovered from that one yet. He felt dizzy, and without knowing it, started to stagger slightly, bumping gently into Star. He looked at the premier, discovered he could not make out the man’s face through the haze, and his knees began to weaken. Then they gave out completely, and he fell to the floor, conscious, but just barely.

From somewhere—he couldn’t tell exactly where—he thought he heard a gunshot, and he wondered absently if the enforcer had shot at him. He could feel no pain from a bullet wound and could barely see the form of Star as the premier bent over him. He thought Star was speaking amid the noise of further gunshots, and then made out only one word of the garbled phrases that seemed to be coming from Star’s mouth. That one word was “Lotus.”

He realized, then, that Thoruso and his group had gained entrance to Enforcer Headquarters; the gunfire was theirs. He tried to get up, but his head swam and he fell back to the floor, seeing patterns and designs of light and color, unable to focus on anything. He groaned, hearing more gunshots, some closer, some farther away.

He became aware of a hand on his forehead, and thought it was Star’s wiping blood from the cut. Then the hand was gone, and he was being partially lifted, and dragged along the corridor. Part of his mind told him Star was attempting to take him to safety, but another part told him Star wouldn’t waste time if it meant placing his own life in jeopardy.

The gunshots were closer now, and he could hear yelling, curses and screams, at once fearful and frantic. And still he was being dragged along the hallway, unable to see and unsure of who was dragging him.

Suddenly he was dropped and fell heavily to the floor, the sound of running footsteps barely audible over the sound of gunfire and slowly fading into nothing. His head continued to whirl, and he wanted nothing more than to lay where he was, die if need be to alleviate the throbbing pain in his head. He groaned softly and tried not to move.

And then he remembered the single word he’d heard from Star, and he struggled to get to his feet, vainly attempting to ignore the pain that knifed through his head.

His vision cleared for a moment, and he saw the hallway stretching out before him, but the lines and corners began to waver, and he saw only swirling, shimmering patterns. He started to fall again, but the wall was nearby and he crashed against it, barely able to remain standing on legs that threatened to collapse at any second.

He held his hands to his eyes, tried to wipe away the blurred visions, then squinted and could see for a few seconds before the patterns and colors returned. He heard a scream, more gunshots and continued to stand, helpless, against the wall.

He forced himself to concentrate on Lotus and the unborn child she carried within her as he lurched down the corridor, driven by an urgency he couldn’t understand.

The haze before him turned red from his exertion, and he tried to blink it away. It was like a wall, solid, stone. But still he staggered and reeled down the hallway, leaning against the wall every few seconds, pushing himself away with an arm that seemed dull and lifeless to stagger a few more meters before having to rest.

How long he staggered and stumbled down the hallway he did not know, but all the time he heard hoarse shouts and cursing, harsh gunfire barking continuously, and both added urgency to his own concern for Lotus and his child.

At the end of the corridor he tripped on the first step, unable to see it, aware that it was a step only because of the bizarre connection in his mind between this fall and the one that had made him as he was.

He found himself unable to stand, his knees refusing to lock once he’d straightened. But there was Lotus to find, Lotus to care for, and the unborn child of which he was father. Nothing could happen to them, and his urgency grew, dread seeping into those parts of his mind not numbed by pain.

He began to crawl up the stairs, his fingers digging into wooden steps, his knees scraped raw from being rasped against unmoving wood. Still he moved upward, hearing the gunfire, listening to the shouts, and dreadfully aware that Lotus needed him, was waiting for him.

The stairs seemed endless, and only when he reached for another and found there were no more did he realize they had ended. He hauled himself erect, and his head swam again, trying to force him down. There was fighting on this floor, and a bullet ripped into wood scarcely centimeters above his head. He could see no one, could only hear the sounds of conflict and so continued staggering until he found the next stairway. He managed to stand as he ascended them, but the burning pain in his head gradually seeped down to his neck and shoulders. His left arm was numb, but he used it to steady himself, his right hand rubbing his eyes in a futile gesture to clear his vision. The chain that dangled between the wristlets went unseen.

There were voices close to him, but the words were garbled and made no sense. Someone had him by the arm, he realized dimly, but he couldn’t focus his eyes to see who it was. He kept walking, lurching back and forth, and whoever held him kept pace with him.

How long had it taken him to get to Lotus’s room he wondered. He did not know, could not remember she was on the eighth floor, but knew instinctively that she was there.

Suddenly he knew he was on the proper floor, that less than half the length of the corridor away was Lotus. He started down the hallway, his vision clearing for a second, then becoming a haze for seconds, clearing for a second, fading…

The sounds of the fighting were dim and faraway now; the conflict had lost all importance in his eyes; all that mattered was Lotus.

Unable to see the door properly, he broke free of the supporting arm and wrenched the door open. He had to force his vision to clear, but he did it long enough to see Lotus lying on the floor, a pool of blood staining the fabric of her tunic and still widening. He forced his legs to remain strong beneath him and lurched across the floor to her, collapsing to his knees by her side.

There was life in her yet, but only a bit, and her eyes fluttered when she realized someone was near. They opened quickly, and Brandyjack forced back the red haze that threatened to settle over his eyes, forced it back with a strain that left his face contorted in agony.

Her mouth opened to speak, and for long seconds no words came. Then, in a choked, barely audible voice, she managed to say, “Brandyjack… I…” and nothing more. A spasm of pain shot through her body, and she trembled for only a second in its aftermath. She smiled once more at him, and her eyes closed in death. The smile remained for a second, then disappeared.

His vision left him again, but not from pain. His eyes clouded with tears, and he slipped his manacled arms under her to hold her lifeless body close to him for a long time, rocking back and forth on his knees, sobbing with a sorrow that could not be checked.

The pain in his skull was as nothing compared to the pain of his heart, and when he finally looked up from his rocking he saw the grim-faced Snake standing beside him, looking down at him with a pity so deep it reached out and touched him.

He placed her head gently on the floor and looked over the length of her body, seeing for the first time the deep knife wound that had killed her. A coldness began to form around his heart, and a hard rage began to build in his mind. The numbness of his head and shoulders had spread almost to his waist, but he paid it no heed, did not even acknowledge the fingers of pain that ripped through him when he stood. Snake was by his side immediately, but he raised his numbed hands and shoved the other man away as if he were made of parchment.

Star did this was his only thought as he strode from the room, legs covering two meters with each powerful stride. Somewhere in Enforcer Headquarters, Star, Premier of all Merka, was to be found, and Brandyjack vowed he would find him. If he was not in Enforcer Headquarters, he would still be found, would be made to pay for what he had done this day.

There were no more gunshots now, but even had the building been echoing with their frequency, Brandyjack would not have halted his determined search for Star. He strode to the end of the hallway, moved quickly down the flights of stairs that had taken him eternities to climb. Only when he saw enforcers who did not attempt to stop him did he realize the battle was over and he had played no part in it. He had failed Thoruso as surely as he had failed Lotus. But he would make up for those failures; he would crush the life from Star with his own hands!

He reached the main administrative floor, and at the end of the hallway saw Dextor and Virgil. They were smiling, walking toward him, but when they saw his twisted features they stopped dead in their tracks and could only stare at him as he passed.

He was at the end of the corridor and had turned a corner when he heard Dextor yelling from behind him. He did not wait, did not slow his pace at all, and when Dextor caught up from behind, did not speak.

“Brandyjack,” Dextor started and laid a hand on the wayfarer’s shoulder.

Brandyjack brushed the hand aside and kept walking, knowing that somewhere on this floor, the Merchant, Thoruso, would have his captive Premier.

“Brandyjack, wait a minute,” Dextor said, once again placing a hand on the wayfarer’s shoulder.

Brandyjack stopped, glared at Dextor, but said nothing. The intensity of his gaze made Dextor pause for a second before he spoke, and he had to avert his own eyes.

“Thoruso’s on the floor below.”

Brandyjack found another stairway leading to the floor below and took the stairs so quickly that he almost fell. Two enforcers walking up were brushed aside and fell several meters before managing to regain their balance, but they did not retaliate.

He saw nothing until Thoruso stepped from one of the rooms. The Merchant’s eyes lit up with satisfaction, but as had Dextor and Virgil’s, his smile disappeared and was replaced by apprehension.

Behind him trailed Snake, Dextor and Virgil, and they called something to Thoruso. Thoruso stepped in front of the wayfarer, but was pushed aside roughly.

He did not open the door Thoruso had closed, but kicked it from its hinges with a force that cracked the wood and turned it into splinters. There were but two persons in the room; one was Star. Brandyjack roared and charged across the room.

Star knew. Brandyjack could see it in his eyes, could feel the horror the premier felt, and Star rose quickly from where he had been seated, turned and tried to run to a corner. He had taken one step, but no more, when Brandyjack’s manacled arms dropped over his head and started to squeeze.

Then Snake and Dextor were pounding him, joined in an instant by Virgil and Thoruso and finally Moore, each man punching at him and trying to force apart the massive arms that had wrapped the chain around Star’s neck and were crushing the life out of him. Star gagged, choked, his windpipe crushed, and still the wayfarer strained.

Then he felt a solid blow on his skull; lights exploded and the room faded. All the strength in his arms and legs seemed to dissipate, and he crumpled to the floor in a sweaty, bloody heap. Beside him, although he could not see it, Star writhed in agony and tried to scream through a throat crushed to barely half its original size.

CHAPTER 14

Awareness returned slowly, fading and clearing. His head ached as if sharp, hot knives had slashed away at his skull, and his arms were numb, but the pain in his mind, in his heart, was greater than any other.

His first thought was of Lotus—a dead Lotus—and he tried to get up. He fell back, realizing for the first time that he had no sight, and in the faraway reaches of his mind, he wondered if he had lost the use of his eyes as well as everything else.

He heard a voice—female it seemed—telling him to lie still, and because there was no strength left in his body, he obeyed. But his thoughts continued, and he could not wipe from his mind the vision of Lotus spread on the floor, the knife buried in her, killing both her and the unborn life inside her.

A hand was on his cheek.

“Brandyjack,” he heard, the voice soft and finally recognized, “can you hear me?”

He had to exert a tremendous amount of will, but he managed, “Yes, Thoruso.”

“Good. Good.”

There was a great relief in the old man’s voice, and Brandyjack smiled. Then, “Why can’t I see?”

“The upper part of your body is still numb,” Thoruso said, “and because of wounds you sustained, we’ve bandaged your entire head. Just lie still for a moment, and I’ll remove the cloth.”

He was relieved to discover he was not blind. He could feel nothing from his neck to his waist, but the pain in his head more than made up for it.

Thoruso was gentle as he removed the bandages, and when the wayfarer opened his eyes he saw the old man standing before him, a smile playing about the corners of his thin gray lips. He smiled back.

“Welcome back,” Thoruso said. “There were a few days when we thought we were going to lose you.”

“It might have been best,” Brandyjack replied quietly, the smile disappearing from his face and the memory of Lotus flooding his mind.

“Quite uncharacteristic of you,” Thoruso said, still smiling, “and I must admit I’m at a loss as to why you would say such a thing.” He started toward the door, and when he reached it, flung it wide. “Especially since so many people have been waiting for you to speak to them.”

Dextor led the parade into the room, and behind him came Snake and Virgil, Moore and Chall, and the others of the Merchant’s band who’d never become close to the wayfarer. There were others, recruited in Canav after his departure. He saw all of them, but their presence did not register with him, meant nothing. For immediately behind Dextor, supported by Snake and Virgil, was Lotus.

His head exploded when he tried to sit up. He dimly realized he’d used his arms and the numbness of his torso had gone, but it meant nothing to him.

They crowded around the bed, which was high off the floor, and he reached out to take his woman’s hand, unable to speak, unable to hide his shock and surprise.

It seemed ages before Thoruso said, “Perhaps we’d better leave for a moment, eh?”

“No, wait,” Brandyjack said immediately, the old man’s voice snapping him out of his reverie. He grasped Lotus’s hand tightly. “How long was I out?”

“About five days,” Thoruso told him.

“How did Lotus… I thought she was—”

“You thought she was dead,” Dextor interrupted, the tone of his voice softening the roughness of his words. “When Snake told me what he’d seen in the room where you found her, I knew right away who the woman was. We hurried up, and she was still breathing. You, in your condition, weren’t able to realize she’d lost consciousness; you thought she was gone. As you can see, she’s very much, alive.”

Brandyjack could see that, and he smiled at her again. There was something behind her eyes he hadn’t noticed at first, but he didn’t need to ask to realize the baby was gone.

Almost as if reading his thoughts, Lotus said, “The baby died. Thoruso couldn’t save us both.”

Brandyjack regarded Thoruso carefully for several seconds, realizing the skill the old man must have had to call to the fore to save even Lotus, and when he said, “Thank you,” his voice was soft and barely audible.

“I assure you,” the old man said, moving to take Snake’s position and wrapping an arm around Lotus’s shoulders, “it was a pleasure.”

“What of Star?” Brandyjack asked, and his voice was back to normal; although a bit harder and colder than usual.

“He’s still alive,” Dextor told him, “but he wishes he wasn’t. His throat is crushed beyond all repair, and when he tries to talk he can only squeak. Nothing he says can be understood.”

“But that’s not why he wishes he was dead,” Thoruso added. “Since we took over, he’s been forced to issue written orders to the effect that he’s abdicated the reins of power and has named me as his successor. That was a formality, of course, for when we got him, he yelled to the nearest enforcers not to oppose us. The word spread quickly through Enforcer Headquarters, and that was that. Of course, Virgil’s tight grip on Star at the time might have aided him in making his verbal orders. In any case it appears the enforcers really don’t care who they work for. We’ve had little trouble with them.”

“How did you get Star?” Brandyjack asked, almost sheepishly. “I’m afraid I didn’t fulfill my part of the agreement.”

“You managed,” Thoruso told him. “He had nowhere to go but up when we entered the building, and he ran right into our arms before the enforcers could stop either him or us. Fortunately we met little resistance as we ascended. Star had a gun, but he was too scared to use it. No, Brandyjack, you did your job. A bit roundabout, perhaps, but acceptable.”

“Where is he now?” the wayfarer asked.

“For the time being, in one of his dungeon cells,” Dextor answered. “We think it’ll give him a different perspective on life.”

Brandyjack chuckled. “Say, which one of you is responsible for stopping me from murdering the slimy little lizard?”

Virgil grinned, and shrugged.

“He decided that would be best,” Dextor said, smiling.

“That was best all right,” Brandyjack replied. “Damn near killed me!”

Virgil shrugged again, and Brandyjack smiled.

“Enough of the past,” Thoruso said quickly. “Brandyjack, I’ve an offer to make to you.”

“No,” Brandyjack told him.

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“Doesn’t matter what it is.”

“Enforcer Chief?”

“No.”

“But—”

“No, Thoruso, no. I have no intention of staying in Toronew. As soon as I’m able to move, I’m leaving. Don’t look at me like that; I won’t be settling down. If I can convince a certain woman,” he smiled at Lotus, “to give up her ideas of settling down somewhere, I’d like to see a bit more of the world. I can’t do it here.”

“But aside from needing you, I could give you a lot of security here,” Thoruso argued.

“Security I need like another nose,” Brandyjack replied quickly, shaking his head. “No, Thoruso, I refuse. I appreciate the offer, of course, but there’s too much for me to do. I’ve never seen the sea, for instance. Perhaps I’ll get a job as a deckhand. Regardless, I don’t want to be Enforcer Chief.”

“Not even for 500 currency notes a week?”

“Star paid me 700 for doing nothing.”

“Okay. Seven hundred.”

“Thoruso, you could offer me 10,000 an hour, and the answer would still be the same. I’m leaving this cesspool of a city, and I’m going to do some traveling. I’ve got enough skills to get by, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

Thoruso sighed.

“And now,” Brandyjack said, “you can take your leave as you were going to earlier.”

Only Thoruso remained in the room, and he was closing the door when Brandyjack looked into Lotus’s eyes. This, he knew, was the woman for him. Sure, people like Mandy were…

Mandy!

“Thoruso!” the wayfarer called.

Thoruso, the door almost closed, looked up.

“I forgot about Mandy! She’s—”

“She’s languishing in a cell below this very room,” Thoruso said, “complaining about the many and varied injustices of life. Regardless of how much she may have aided us by delivering your message, I’m afraid that one act doesn’t balance out for Bell’s murder.”

“How did you find her?” Brandyjack asked.

“Her brother came to see me after Star surrendered, and I ordered a search. She was not happy, and I advise you not to go down to see her.”

Brandyjack chuckled as the Merchant closed the door— Merchant? No, Thoruso was Premier now. He looked at Lotus again, and the sorrow they both felt at the loss of their child was great, but less intense than their joy at having each other.

“Well?” Brandyjack asked. “Will you become a wanderer?”

She smiled. “I might as well. Thoruso didn’t offer me a job.”

He held her close, more than willing to accept the pain in his head to balance out the joy in his heart. “If he does, I’ll kill him,” he said.

Only when he remembered her own physical pain did he loosen his hold on her. Side by side they smiled at each other for a long time, words unnecessary and useless.

“I wonder if Snake would like to come along?” he mused aloud at last.

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