E. C. Tubb - Dumarest 10 - Jondelle.pdf

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Jondelle
#10 in the Dumarest series
E.C. Tubb
CHAPTER ONE
Akon Batik was an old man with a seamed face and slanting
eyes flecked with motes of amber. His lobeless ears were set close
to his rounded skull and his thin mouth curved downward as if
he had tasted the universe and found it not to his liking. He wore
an embroidered robe of black and yellow, the wide sleeves falling
low over his hands. A round cap of matching color was adorned
by a single jewel which caught the light and reflected it in
splinters of lambent ruby. Casually he stirred the heap of crystals
lying before him on the solid desk of inlaid woods. His finger was
thin, hooked, the nail long and sharply pointed. At its touch the
crystals made a dry rustling as they shifted over the sheet of
paper on which they lay.
"From Estale?"
"Yes," said Dumarest. "From Estale."
"A hard world," mused the jeweler. "A bleak place with little
to commend it aside from the workings which produce its
 
wealth. A single vein of lerad in which are to be found the
chorismite crystals." He touched them again, watching as they
turned, his eyes remote. "I understood the company mining
them was jealous of its monopoly."
"It is."
"And yet you have a score of them."
It was more of a question than a statement but one which
Dumarest had no intention of answering. He leaned back in his
chair looking again at the paneled walls, the painted ceiling, the
rugs of price which lay scattered on the floor. Light shone in a
yellow flood from recessed lanterns, soft, gentle, lulling with
implied warmth and comfort. It was hard to remember that this
room lay within a fortress of stone, harder still to bear in mind
that not all the defenses were outside. There would be men,
perhaps, watching, electronic devices certainly, means to protect
and to kill if the need arose. Akon Batik had not grown old in his
trade by neglecting elementary precautions.
He said, "Why did you bring them to me?"
"You have a reputation," said Dumarest. "You will buy what is
offered. Of course, if you are not interested in the crystals I will
waste no more of your time."
"Did I say that?" Again the long nail touched the little heap.
"But it is in my nature to be curious. I wonder how a man could
manage to elude the guards and the inspection at the field on
Estale. A man working the vein could no doubt manage to retain
a few crystals—but to leave with them?"
"They are genuine."
"I believe you, but my eyes are not as young as they were and
it would be well to make certain." The jeweler switched on a
lamp and bathed the surface of his desk with invisible ultraviolet
The crystals blazed with a shimmering kaleidoscope of color,
rainbows painting the seamed cheeks, the slanted eyes, glowing
from the dark wood of the paneled walls. For a long moment he
stared at them, then switched off the lamp. "Chorismite," he
 
said. "There can be no doubt."
Dumarest said, "You will buy them?"
The crux of the matter, but Akon Batik was not to be hurried.
He leaned back, eyes thoughtful as he studied his visitor. A hard
man, he decided, tall, lean, somber in his clothing. Pants tucked
into high boots, the hilt of a knife riding above the right. A tunic
with long sleeves caught at the wrists and high about the throat.
Clothing of a neutral gray and all of it showing the marks of hard
usage, the plastic scratched and scuffed with minor attritions.
His eyes lifted to the face, studying the deep-set eyes, the
determined set of the jaw, the firm mouth which could easily
become cruel. The face of a man who had early learned to survive
without the protection of House or Guild or Organization.
A traveler. A man who moved from world to world in search of
something, or perhaps because he was unable to rest. A
wanderer who had seen a hundred worlds and found none he
could call his own.
Quietly he said, "Estale is a bad world and not one a traveler
should visit. There would be little opportunity for such a man to
work and collect the price of a passage. You agree?"
There were many such, dead-end planets, end-of-the-line
worlds devoid of industry, poverty-stricken cultures in which a
stranded traveler stood no chance of making an escape.
Dumarest had seen too many of them. Bleakly he nodded.
"On Estale you work in the mine or you do not work,"
continued the jeweler. "And, once you sign the contract, escape
is rare. The pay is low, prices high, a worker remains constantly
in debt. Yet a shrewd man could beat the system. A man who
saved every coin, who indulged in no pleasures, and who wasted
no opportunity in order to build his stake. A man who would
bide his time, work out his contract, and leave without
suspicion." He paused and added, softly, "And who would
suspect that a man riding Low would have a fortune hidden
within his person."
And his visitor had ridden Low; the signs were plain. No body
 
fat, a drawn appearance about the eyes, the hands thinner than
nature intended. The result of riding doped, frozen, and ninety
percent dead in caskets designed for the transportation of
beasts. Risking the fifteen percent death rate for the sake of
cheap travel.
"Will you buy the crystals?"
"I will give you one thousand stergals for them," said Akon
Batik flatly, and translated the sum into more recognizable
terms. "That is the cost of two High passages."
Dumarest frowned. "They are worth more."
"Far more," agreed the jeweler. "But commissions will have to
be paid and you are selling, not buying. My profit will be little
more than what I pay you—but you need have no fears once you
leave my house. A thousand stergals. You agree?"
He smiled as Dumarest nodded, a quirk of the lips, more a
grimace than an expression of amusement. Yet his voice held
satisfaction as he said, "The money will be given to you as you
leave. And now, a glass of wine to seal the bargain. You have no
objection?"
It was tradition, Dumarest guessed, a ritual which politeness
dictated he should share. And, perhaps, things could be learned
over the wine.
It was dark, thick, and heavy with a cloying sweetness,
pungent with the scent of spice which warmed throat and
stomach. Cautiously he sipped and then said, casually, "You have
lived long and are wise. Tell me: have you ever heard of a planet
called Earth?"
"Earth?" Akon Batik stared thoughtfully at his wine.
"An odd name for a world, but no, I have not. A place you
seek?"
"A world I intend to find."
 
"May good fortune attend you. Do you intend to remain long
on Ourelle?"
"I don't know," said Dumarest cautiously. "It depends."
"On whether or not you find things to attract you?" The
jeweler sipped at his wine. "I asked because it is barely possible
that I may be able to find you suitable employment. Men who
can acquire chorismite are rare. It could be that I will have a
proposition to make you at some later time. Naturally, it will be
of a profitable kind. You would not be averse?"
"I would be interested," said Dumarest flatly. He sipped again
at his wine, wondering at the other's interest A man like Akon
Batik would not have a need for men to do his bidding; certainly
he would not have to rely on strangers no matter how skillful
they appeared to be. Setting down the goblet, he said, "I thank
you for the wine and your courtesy. And now, the money?"
"It's waiting for you at the door." The jeweler pursed his thin
mouth. "You are a stranger on Ourelle, am I correct?"
"Yes."
"It is a strange world and perhaps I could save you
misfortune. If you are tempted to seek games of chance, do not
play in the Stewpot the Pavilion of Many Delights, or the Purple
Flower. You may win, but you will not live to count your gains.
The House of the Gong is as fair as any and you will be safe from
violence."
Dumarest said, "You own it?"
"Naturally, and if you are eager to lose your money, I may as
well regain what I have paid. Another thing: Ourelle is not as
other worlds. If you remain in the city, that need not concern
you; but if you wish to explore, take nothing for granted. You
have plans?"
"To look around. To see that is to be seen. You have a
museum? A scientific institute?"
 

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