Dragonback 03 Dragon and Slave (24 page)

Again, the snout rose an inch out from his skin. "No," Draycos
said after a couple of sniffs. "It is clear water."

"Okay," Jack said, taking a sip. It tasted a little funny, but
that was probably his imagination. "I just hope there wasn't anything
in those pancake things Lisssa gave us."

"There was not," Draycos assured him. "I would have smelled it."

"I hope so," Jack said, taking another sip of the water. It still
tasted funny.

"The buyer will have to be told the proper poison and antidote,"
Draycos went on thoughtfully. "Perhaps we can overhear that
information, or else learn it from him later on."

"That's the second time you've mentioned a buyer," Jack said. "You
know something I don't?"

"We are expecting you to be sold, are we not?" Draycos reminded
him. "These precautions would indicate that time is near. And of
course, there are also those military transports to consider."

A sip of water tried to go down the wrong way. "Transports?" Jack
demanded when he stopped coughing. "Where?"

"On the west end of the grounds," Draycos said, sounding
surprised. "Near the vehicle parking area, between the mansion and the
main gate. Did you not see them as we were being brought to the
kitchen?"

"I missed it completely," Jack muttered, feeling thoroughly
disgusted with himself. "How many were there?"

"At least five," Draycos said. "Possibly more. I was only able to
see glimpses of them between the bushes and trees."

"That explains the nice clothes, anyway," Jack said, reaching down
and fastening his shirt the rest of the way up. "Looks like Gazen's got
a demonstration planned for this morning."

"But Uncle Virge said the auction would not be for three more
days," Draycos objected.

"Maybe Gazen got bored," Jack said. "Or maybe all the interested
buyers were able to get here early."

He grimaced. "In which case, he might end today's demo by calling
for bids."

"What is our plan, then?"

Jack hissed between his teeth, trying to think. "Okay. Step one is
to somehow shake ourselves loose long enough to get back to the
conference room where we stashed the recorder. Assuming we were lucky
enough to get a clear view of Gazen's startup sequence, the next step
is to get into his office and copy the Chookoock family mercenary data."

"And then?"

"We run like rabbits," Jack said, draining the rest of the water
glass. "I haven't quite got that part figured out yet."

Heetoorieef reappeared at the edge of Jack's vision. "What is
this?" he snapped. "You are not eating? You were ordered to eat."

"I'm not hungry," Jack told him. "I guess the sight of shredded
Wistawki spoiled my appetite."

Heetoorieef's ears twitched. "I see," he said in a more subdued
voice. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," Jack said. How sorry, Heetoorieef would never
know.

Or maybe he did. "Yes," Heetoorieef said, in a voice that seemed
all too knowing. "It's time. Come with me."

Gazen was alone in his office when Heetoorieef showed Jack in.
"There you are," the slavemaster said. "All rested and fed, I trust?"

"I'm fine," Jack said.

Apparently the tone hadn't been slavelike enough. Gazen's
expression didn't change, but in a single movement he scooped up the
extendible slapstick from his desk and flicked it at Jack.

Reflexively, Jack flinched back, banging his left elbow against
the wall in the process.

He needn't have bothered. With another wrist flick, Gazen stopped
the tip of the weapon a foot in front of his face. "Nervous this
morning, I see," he commented. "Not too nervous to perform, I hope."

Jack felt his eyes narrowing. So this was it. The slave auction
was indeed coming off early. "Perform?" he asked innocently.

"There are some men who have come to see what you can do," Gazen
said. "I trust you'll make it worth their trouble."

"I think I can manage that," Jack said.

"Good," Gazen said. "Because I'd hate to see you embarrass
yourself in front of such distinguished visitors."

"I understand," Jack said. "What are they, mercenaries? Other
slaveowners? Oversized rodents?"

Gazen smiled slightly. "Very good," he said. "Once again, you show
how quickly you grasp the realities of a situation. You've realized
that I can't twitch you the way I normally would at such a
disrespectful tone. After all, we can't afford to upset those delicate
finger muscles."

"Not if we want me to bring a good price," Jack agreed.

"Certainly not," Gazen said. "Still, it may be that no one wants
you. Tell me, did you happen to notice a group of slaves come through
the kitchen this morning?"

Someday, Jack promised himself darkly, he would find a way to
sandblast that bland expression off Gazen's face. "Yes."

"Good," Gazen said. "Then we can both hope that you bring a good
price. I trust I need say no more?"

Jack swallowed. No, the implications were as clear as two feet of
empty space. He could impress the stuffing out of Gazen's prospective
buyers, or he could end up with a shredded back himself. "No, sir."

"Good," Gazen said, standing up. "I do so like a quick learner."

Picking up his slapstick, he slid it into his belt pouch. "Come.
Your audience awaits your performance."

He led the way to the banquet hall where they'd held Her
Thumbleness's High Day celebration a few nights earlier. But the room
had been so rearranged that Jack hardly recognized it. The center had
been completely cleared out, with a rug laid down and the tables and
chairs arranged in concentric circles around it. Scattered through the
empty center were a dozen different types of safes, door locks, and
alarm systems. It was rather like a strange dinner theater set up to
host a home security show.

There was also a lot of open floor between the various stations,
far more than would be needed for each of the audience members to have
a clear view. That probably meant the rug was loaded with traps and
alarms that Jack was supposed to identify and avoid or disarm.

Fortunately, he wasn't going to have to do it bare-handed. An
assortment of tools had been spread out on one of the tables at the
edge of the circle, tools that ranged from standard-workman to
standard-burglar to extremely non-standard-burglar. Scattered in among
them, he saw, were the tools he'd used to break into the gatekeeper's
house.

And surrounding it all, seated silently at their tables, was the
audience.

There were at least two hundred of them, Jack noted, most of them
human but with a number of aliens scattered throughout their midst.
There were quite a few Brummgas present as well, mostly lounging around
the rear areas of the room chatting quietly to each other. Cynically,
he wondered if the auction's invitations had been slanted toward groups
who had already hired some of the Chookoock family's mercenaries. A few
of the guests were in expensive civilian suits—criminal bosses, most
likely, or else representatives of some of the Orion Arm's sleazier
governments. But most of the potential bidders were wearing military
uniforms.

All sorts of uniforms, too, running the range from very elegant to
just barely above shabby. Mercenaries, privateers, maybe a few pirate
gangs. All the various groups who might come into possession of other
people's safes in their lines of work.

All of them, apparently, looking for a way to get into those safes
without the risky use of high explosives.

"Good day to you all," Gazen said, waving Jack to a halt and
stepping alone to the edge of the circle. "As you know, the reason for
this auction . . ."

He launched into a glowing report of Jack's skills and history,
every bit of the latter completely made up. He was going for a high
price, all right.

"Jack!" Draycos murmured at Jack's ear.

"Shh," Jack hissed back, glancing at Gazen. The man might be busy
spinning a castle out of cobwebs, but that didn't mean he'd gone deaf.
And he was only five feet away.

"To your left," Draycos whispered, a note of urgency in his voice.
"Four tables back, wearing green clothing."

Casually, Jack shifted his feet and turned leisurely to look that
direction. There were four tables' worth of soldiers in green combat
fatigues back there. "Which one?" he murmured.

"Behind the three in ordinary clothing," the dragon said.

Jack had already noticed that particular group of civilians. Two
of the three men were young and alert and dangerous looking. Obvious
bodyguard types. The third man, the one in the middle, was something
quite different. He was late-middle-aged, with black-streaked silver
hair, a nose like a hawk's beak, and a mouth set in tight and bitter
lines. "Where?" Jack asked again, shifting his attention to the group
of mercenaries behind the civilians, trying to figure out which one
Draycos had found so interesting.

"Fourth from the left," Draycos murmured.

Jack focused on him. The man was reasonably big, strongly built,
with dark hair and craggy features. There didn't seem to be anything
special about him.

And then, suddenly, the face clicked.

It was Dumbarton. The man who'd grabbed Jack as he and Draycos had
escaped from the wreckage of Draycos's ship on Iota Klestis. The man
Draycos had zapped unconscious with his own slapstick, then insisted on
propping up against a tree so that he wouldn't burn to death.

Jack turned away, faking a quiet cough into his right fist. His
lungs were suddenly aching, his heart feeling like it was trying to
batter its way out of his chest. It was over, then. Any minute now
Dumbarton would recognize him, and blow the whistle—

"He attacked you from behind," Draycos murmured in his ear. "I do
not believe he ever saw your face."

Jack frowned, running the memory through his mind. The dragon was
right. Dumbarton had hidden behind a tree, grabbing Jack as he ran
past. Before he'd had a chance to turn his prisoner around, Draycos had
knocked him out.

Of course, he must have seen Jack coming toward him before the
grab. But that whole ridge had been thick with smoke from the crash and
its aftermath, and the man had been careful to duck out of sight before
his prey got too close.

Jack coughed again, just for show, then straightened up again and
looked casually back at Dumbarton. There was indeed no sign of
recognition in the man's face.

He turned back to Gazen, his heartbeat beginning to calm down
again. So if Dumbarton wasn't a threat, why had Draycos bothered to
point him out? Merely to show that, despite Jack's earlier prediction,
they had indeed bumped into him again?

And then it hit him. Dumbarton hadn't been wearing any insignia
during the looting of the K'da ship. Neither had the Brummga they'd
also tangled with. Neither, for that matter, had the Djinn-90 fighters
they'd had to fight their way past. Whoever had set up that attack had
taken pains to make sure any potential witnesses couldn't identify them.

But here, there was no need for such caution.

And there was indeed a small red-and-yellow insignia attached to
the top left of Dumbarton's green shirt. Squinting slightly, Jack could
just make out the two words circling around it.

Malison Ring
.

He took a deep breath. Finally. After two months of trying to dig
through spacecraft records, mercenary records, and now even slave
records, they had finally done it. They had found the mercenary group
who had joined with the Valahgua.

And after all that work and sweat, the answer had practically
dropped into their laps. All because Dumbarton had come to Gazen's
slave auction.

Because he hadn't burned to death on Iota Klestis. Because Draycos
had taken the time to perform a very minor act of mercy.

Mentally, Jack shook his head. Uncle Virge, he knew, wasn't going
to believe this.

Gazen finished his presentation and gestured Jack toward the tool
table. "All right, Jack," he said, smiling as always. But Jack could
see a hint of the earlier warning in his eyes. "There are the locks.
Open them."

Jack smiled back. The first smile he'd really felt since arriving
on Brum-a-dum.

And it felt good. It felt really good. "Certainly," he said.

Four hours later, Gazen called a break for lunch. By that time,
Jack had managed to open three of the door lock systems and four of the
safes. He had also, just for good measure, disarmed three hidden floor
alarms without a peep out of any of them.

He had hoped he might be able to con Gazen into allowing him to
eat with the rest of the group. Mingling with them would increase the
risk that Dumbarton would suddenly recognize him, but it would also
give him a chance for a decent and unpoisoned meal.

But no such luck. The minute the Wistawki waiters appeared, Jack
was whisked off under Brummgan guard back to the kitchen.

There, Heetoorieef had another meal ready for him. It contained
the same poison as the breakfast stew.

Jack spent part of the lunch break moving the food around on his
plate and pretending to eat. Occasionally, when no one was looking, he
forked a few bites down behind one of the cabinets. If he could
convince them that he'd swallowed enough of the poison, they might quit
spiking his food.

On the other hand, at that point they would presumably also start
feeding him the antidote. That could be just as dangerous; and there
was no guarantee that his resident K'da could sniff it out the way he
could a straight poison. All the more reason to wrap this up and get
off this planet.

An hour later, with the buyers well fed and Jack's own stomach
still growling unhappily, he was taken back into the banquet hall.

The afternoon session went as well as the morning one had. Jack
finished opening the safes, popped the rest of the door locks, and
disarmed the security alarms.