The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection (32 page)

“So do I—for causing the death of my friend. But why did he want you arrested?”

“Revenge. I kicked him out
of bed. He was too kinky for my liking.”

I gulped and coughed and took a long slug of wine and hoped that she wouldn’t notice that I was blushing. She didn’t. Her eyes, still glazed with anger, stared past me into space. “Kill him, I really would like to kill him. I know that it’s impossible but, oh how he deserves it.”

“Why impossible?” I asked with some relief, glad to have the conversation
back on comfortable topics like murder and revenge.

“Why? What do you know about this planet, Jim?”

“Nothing. Other than its name, Steren-Gwandra.”

“Which means planet in the local lingo. They are not a linguistically imaginative lot. At least those here in Brastyr aren’t. Like many other settled planets this one was cut off from galactic contact during the breakdown years. Brastyr, this continent,
has few natural resources and over the centuries they managed to lose all of the old technology. They are so dim that most of them forgot Esperanto. Not the traders though, they had to deal with the offshore island. By the time that galactic contact was reestablished the locals had sunk into a sort of agricultural semi-feudalism.”

“Like Spiovente?”

“Not quite. Just offshore is this damned great
island I mentioned, separated from this mainland by a narrow strait. Almost all of the minerals, coal and oil in this hemisphere are located there. That’s why it was settled first and why it was well developed before the second wave of immigrants arrived during the diaspora ages. None of the newcomers were allowed to settle there. Not that they cared, this entire continent was wide-open and bountiful
and the arrangement suited all parties concerned. Industry and technology over there on Nevenkebla, farming and forestry here. I doubt if anything changed much during the breakdown years—I imagine the relationship was intensified if anything. That’s why we are never going to get close enough to Garth to kill him.”

“I don’t understand. What has this got to do with him?”

“He’s on the island. Unreachable.”
She sighed and rubbed her fingertip in circles in the pool of spilled wine. I was still puzzled.

“But Garth is a Venian, like you. The captain of a Venian ship. Why should they protect him?”

“Because he’s not Venian, that’s why. The Nevenkebla military bought the ship, he commanded it. We were happy to go along with the plan, they paid well. Venians are very flexible when it comes to money.
But he is really something big in the military there. They run the place. All those guns we were smuggling were made on the island. It was a good racket, plenty of offplanet currency. But when the League Navy got too close they paid us off and closed the operation down. There is just no way to get at him on that island.”

“I’ll find a way.”

“I hope that you do. I’ll give you all the help that
I can. But first things first, Jim. We will have to stay out of sight for a bit while they are looking for us—and that will take a pile of Arghans. How much do you have?”

She spread out the coins she had stolen and I added mine to the pile.

“Not enough. We need a lot for bribes, a safe place to get out of sight. I have contacts, a fence I used to peddle to. For the right price we can have him
find a safe house …”

“No. Avoid the criminal classes at all counts. Too expensive and the first place that the authorities will look. Do they have hotels here? Expensive, luxurious hotels?”

“Not as such. But there are
ostelyow
where traveling gentry put up. But offworlders never go there.”

“Even better. Can you pass as a native?”

“Yredy.
You could too with a little effort. There are so many
different accents and dialects here that no one will notice.”

“Ideal. Let us then instantly steal a lot of money, buy some expensive clothes and jewelry and check in at the best
ostel.
Agreed?”

“Agreed!” She laughed out loud and clapped her hands together. “I swear, Jim, you are a breath of fresh air on this
fetid planet. I like your style. But it won’t be easy. They don’t have banks here. All
the cash is held by moneylenders called
hoghas.
Their places are like small forts. Plenty of guards, always from the moneylender’s own family so they can’t be bribed.”

“Sounds good. Let’s go check one out. Then we will go back tonight and crack it.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Never more serious.”

“I’ve never met anyone like you. You look like a kid—but you can really take care of yourself.”

I did
not like that kid remark but I stayed shut up and tried not to pout while she made plans.

“We’ll take some of these Arghans, change them for Nevenkebla coins. This will take a lot of arguing over rate of exchange so you will have time to look around. I’ll do the talking. You just carry the money and keep your mouth shut. We’ll get you a bodyguard’s club first, then they’ll never even notice you.

“No time like the present. Let’s find a club shop.”

This was easily enough done. Most of the side streets were open markets, with stalls and tiny shops that sold an apparently endless variety of cloth, fruit, meals wrapped in leaves, knives, saddles, tents—and clubs. While the merchant extolled the value of his wares, muffledly and incomprehensively through the layers of cloth about his face
and neck, I hefted the samples and tested their swing. I finally settled on a meter length of tough wood that was bound about with iron bands.

“This looks like what we want,” I told Bibs. The weapon vendor nodded and took the coins and muttered some more. Bibs pointed inside.

“He insists that a year guarantee goes with every club and you must try it out before you leave.”

The testing block
proved to be a large upright stone that had been carved into human form, what might at one time have resembled a man in armor. But years of testing had taken their toll. Gouges, nicks and missing chunks defaced it; noseless, chinless with a single fragment of ear remaining. I hefted my club, tried a few practice swings—then stood with my back to the stone while I psyched up my muscles with some dynamic
tension contractions and a breathing mantra. I was chuffing as nicely as a Spiovente steam wagon, holding the club upright, when I felt ready.

Timed release, that’s the secret. Not a secret really, just technique and practice. A single shout contracted my body all in an instant. In time with the sound I swung about with all of my weight and strength focused on the iron band on the end of the
club. It whistled through a half-circle that terminated on the side of the rock head.

There was a ringing crack as the neck shattered and the stone head fell off. The club was still sound and the iron ring had a slight nick.

“This one will do,” I said, as offhandedly as I could.

They were both very impressed, let me tell you. I was impressed myself. It had been a good blow, better than I had
realized.

“Do you do that often?” Bibs asked in a hushed voice.

“If I have to,” I said with a calm I did not feel. “Now take me to your
hogh
.”

We found one just a few streets away, the identity of the business made known by a skeleton in an iron cage above the door.

“Some sign,” I said. “You would think they would hang out a painting of a money bag or a wooden Arghans.”

“This is more practical.
That is the last thief they caught trying to steal from them.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“It’s just a tradition, don’t let it disturb you.”

Easy enough for her to say—she wasn’t going to rob this place. Disturbed, I followed her past two ugly weightlifters who leaned on their spears and scowled at us.

“Hogh”
Bibs said, sniffing with disdain at the guards. They muttered something not too nice, but still
knocked on the iron-bound door until it creaked open. Inside were more guardians from the same mould. Except these had swords. The door slammed shut and was locked behind us as we passed through a dark room into the courtyard beyond. There were spikes—as well as more guards—on the surrounding wall. Not a wall, really,
but the roof of the buildings that surrounded the courtyard. The
hogh
himself
sat on a large chest, shielded from the sun by a canopy, guarded by two more men—this time armed with pikes. The chest had a flat top and was covered with pillows.

“I suppose he sleeps on it at night,” I said, a feeble joke to build the morale.

“Of course,” Bibs said and the morale slumped even lower.

The moneylender was all smarmy gestures and oily voice. Bibs jingled our money at him and
he smarmed even more. At the clap of his hands assistants cleared the pillows away and opened the lid of the chest. I looked in and the guards looked at me. It was neatly divided into sections and each section was filled with leather bags. More orders and handclapping produced a bag that was placed on top of the now reclosed chest. He sat back onto the lid with a happy sigh and cradled the bag in
his lap, opened it and let a trickle of shining coins run through his fingers. The haggling began and I feigned boredom and looked around at the courtyard.

This was not going to be easy, not easy at all. The entrance door would certainly be sealed and guarded. If I came over the wall there were those spikes—and more guards as well. Then what? Sneak down into the courtyard and tip the old boy
off into the dust, grab the bag. And get speared, stabbed, clubbed and so forth. Not an attractive proposition at all. We were going to have to get a new plan to raise funds. I could see no way to get into this place; brute strength was far more efficient than technology in this setup. And say I got in, say I lifted the loot—there was the little matter of getting out with it. Though that might not
be too difficult …

I felt the glimmerings of an idea and held onto them and stirred them about. Keeping my expression as calm and stony as possible, with just a hint of a snarl, I looked at the guards, who snarled back. Negotiations were progressing well with plenty of wails of grief and snorts of disdain from both sides. I was only barely aware of this as I rough-fashioned my plan, ran it around
and polished it a bit, then took it through slowly, step by step, to see if it would work. Given a little bit of luck it would. Was it the only plan? I sighed inwardly. Yes, all things
considered, it was the only plan. I swung my club impatiently and called out to Bibs.

“Come on lady, don’t take all day.” She turned about and scowled.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me. You came to the bodyguard
hiring hall and promised good pay for a short day. But the pay ain’t that good and the day is too long.”

If the
hogh
didn’t understand Esperanto the plan would stop there. But I could see his ears perk up, listening and understanding everything we said. Bash on—no turning back now. Bibs didn’t know what I was doing, but she was smart enough to play along, taking umbrage at my insults.

“Listen
you muscle-bound moron—I can hire better than you for half the price. I don’t need the static from a
malbonulo
whose eyebrows meet in the middle!”

“That does it!” I shouted. “I don’t take that from no one!”

I swung my club at her in a wicked blow that just brushed her hair. It didn’t touch her—so I let the butt end follow through with a light tap on the forehead that dropped her to the ground.
With Bibs safely out of the picture I would now see if I could get away with what is usually referred to as a smash-and-grab.

My club swung again and knocked down one of the poles that held up the canopy. I stepped forward as it fell and chopped the
hogh
on the side of the neck as the cloth engulfed us.

Fast now, Jim. You have seconds—or less. I groped the bag of coins out of his lap and stuffed
them inside my shirt. It wouldn’t fit until I spilled some out. Seconds. Gone.

There was plenty of shouting now and struggling with the cloth. I pulled myself free—and walked away, calling back over my shoulder.

“I quit, lady. Get another bodyguard. Only poofters work for women anyway.”

Two paces, three, four. The armed men looking from me to the heaving canopy as the guards there pulled it
free. One of them emerged, dragging the unconscious
hogh,
shouting and screaming with anger. I did not need a translation. All of the other guards howled in rage and ran toward me.

I turned tail and ran in the opposite direction. Away from the only exit.

But toward the flight of wooden stairs that ran up to the roof.

The single guard there stabbed at me with his spear. I parried it with the
club and kicked him hard where it would make the best impression. Jumped his falling body and bounded up the stairs two at a time and almost impaled myself on the sword of the man standing at the top. All I could do was dive under it, roll, crash into his legs and bring him down.

Catching him on the head with the butt of the club as I scrambled to my feet, coins jingling down about me.

Three
other guards on the roof were screeching and lumbering toward me. I ran to the edge, looked at the drop, cursed aloud. The cobbled street was too far below. If I jumped I would break a leg. Turned and threw my club at the first of the attackers. It caught him nicely and the second man ran into him.

I saw no more because I was over the roof, holding onto the edge with both hands and letting myself
down. Looking up at the third guard who was bringing his sword down on my hands.

I let go. Dropped. Hit and rolled. My ankle hurt but I did not even think about it. Spears and clubs cracked to the ground around me as I hobbled away, around the first corner and into a market street. Hobbling slower and slower as the howls behind me faded in the distance.

Around another corner where I stopped
for breath, panting and wheezing. Then staggered on deeper into the city until I was sure I had lost my pursuers.

I dropped into a chair of the first bar and actually enjoyed drinking a mug of the terrible beer.

The bag of coins sat uncomfortably on my stomach, straining the fabric of my prison jacket. I looked at the drab cloth with the big red arrows on it and realized that I was being kind of stupid. By now my description would have gone out and all the
hogh
minions would be looking for me. I would not be that hard to find. As I hammered on the table with a coin I felt the sweat beginning
to form on my forehead.