An hour before dawn there was a noise in my room. I roused, my hand on
my skean. Someone or something was fumbling under the mattress where I
had thrust Evarin's bird. I struck out, encountered something warm and
breathing, and grappled with it in the darkness. A foul-smelling
something gripped over my mouth. I tore it away and struck hard with the
skean. There was a high shrilling. The gripping filth loosened and fell
away and something died on the floor.
I struck a light, retching in revulsion. It hadn't been human. There
wouldn't have been that much blood from a human. Not that color, either.
The _chak_ who ran the place came and gibbered at me. _Chaks_ have a
horror of blood and this one gave me to understand that my lease was up
then and there, no arguments, no refunds. He wouldn't even let me go
into his stone outbuilding to wash the foul stuff from my shirtcloak. I
gave up and fished under the mattress for Evarin's Toy.
The _chak_ got a glimpse of the embroideries on the silk in which it was
wrapped, and stood back, his loose furry lips hanging open, while I
gathered my few belongings together and strode out of the room. He would
not touch the coins I offered; I laid them on a chest and he let them
lie there, and as I went into the reddening morning they came flying
after me into the street.
I pulled the silk from the Toy and tried to make some sense from my
predicament. The little thing lay innocent and silent in my palm. It
wouldn't tell me whether it had been keyed to me, the real Cargill, some
time in the past, or to Rakhal, using my name and reputation in the
Terran Colony here at Charin.
If I pressed the stud it might play out this comedy of errors by hunting
down Rakhal, and all my troubles would be over. For a while, at least,
until Evarin found out what had happened. I didn't deceive myself that I
could carry the impersonation through another meeting.
On the other hand, if I pressed the stud, the bird might turn on me. And
then all my troubles would be over for good.
If I delayed past Evarin's deadline, and did nothing, the other bird in
his keeping would hunt down Juli and give her a swift and not too
painless death.
I spent most of the day in a _chak_ dive, juggling plans. Toys, innocent
and sinister. Spies, messengers. Toys which killed horribly. Toys which
could be controlled, perhaps, by the pliant mind of a child, and every
child hates its parents now and again!
Even in the Terran colony, who was safe? In Mack's very home, one of the
Magnusson youngsters had a shiny thing which might, or might not, be one
of Evarin's hellish Toys. Or was I beginning to think like a
superstitious Dry-towner?
Damn it, Evarin couldn't be infallible; he hadn't even recognized me as
Race Cargill! Or--suddenly the sweat broke out, again, on my
forehead--_or had he_? Had the whole thing been one of those sinister,
deadly and incomprehensible nonhuman jokes?
I kept coming to the same conclusion. Juli was in danger, but she was
half a world away. Rakhal was here in Charin. There was a child
involved--Juli's child. The first step was to get inside the Terran
colony and see how the land lay.
Charin is a city shaped like a crescent moon, encircling the small Trade
City: a miniature spaceport, a miniature skyscraper HQ, the clustered
dwellings of the Terrans who worked there, and those who lived with them
and supplied them with necessities, services and luxuries.
Entry from one to the other is through a guarded gateway, since this is
hostile territory, and Charin lies far beyond the impress of ordinary
Terran law. But the gate stood wide-open, and the guards looked lax and
bored. They had shockers, but they didn't look as if they'd used them
lately.
One raised an eyebrow at his companion as I shambled up. I could pretty
well guess the impression I made, dirty, unkempt and stained with
nonhuman blood. I asked permission to go into the Terran Zone.
They asked my name and business, and I toyed with the notion of giving
the name of the man I was inadvertently impersonating. Then I decided
that if Rakhal had passed himself off as Race Cargill, he'd expect
exactly that. And he was also capable of the masterstroke of
impudence--putting out a pickup order, through Spaceforce, for his own
name!
So I gave the name we'd used from Shainsa to Charin, and tacked one of
the Secret Service passwords on the end of it. They looked at each other
again and one said, "Rascar, eh? This is the guy, all right." He took me
into the little booth by the gate while the other used an intercom
device. Presently they took me along into the HQ building, and into an
office that said "Legate."
I tried not to panic, but it wasn't easy! Evidently I'd walked square
into another trap. One guard asked me, "All right, now, what exactly is
your business in the Trade City?"
I'd hoped to locate Rakhal first. Now I knew I'd have no chance and at
all costs I must straighten out this matter of identity before it went
any further.
"Put me straight through to Magnusson's office, Level 38 at Central HQ,
by visi," I demanded. I was trying to remember if Mack had ever even
heard the name we used in Shainsa. I decided I couldn't risk it. "Name
of Race Cargill."
The guard grinned without moving. He said to his partner, "That's the
one, all right." He put a hand on my shoulder, spinning me around.
"Haul off, man. Shake your boots."
There were two of them, and Spaceforce guards aren't picked for their
good looks. Just the same, I gave a pretty good account of myself until
the inner door opened and a man came storming out.
"What the devil is all this racket?"
One guard got a hammerlock on me. "This Dry-towner bum tried to talk us
into making a priority call to Magnusson, the Chief at Central. He knew
a couple of the S.S. passwords. That's what got him through the gate.
Remember, Cargill passed the word that somebody would turn up trying to
impersonate him."
"I remember." The strange man's eyes were wary and cold.
"You damned fools," I snarled. "Magnusson will identify me! Can't you
realize you're dealing with an impostor?"
One of the guards said to the legate in an undertone, "Maybe we ought to
hold him as a suspicious character." But the legate shook his head. "Not
worth the trouble. Cargill said it was a private affair. You might
search him, make sure he's not concealing contraband weapons," he added,
and talked softly to the wide-eyed clerk in the background while the
guards went through my shirtcloak and pockets.
When they started to unwrap the silk-shrouded Toy I yelled--if the thing
got set off accidentally, there'd be trouble. The legate turned and
rebuked, "Can't you see it's embroidered with the Toad God? It's a
religious amulet of some sort, let it alone."
They grumbled, but gave it back to me, and the legate commanded, "Don't
mess him up any more. Give him back his knife and take him to the gates.
But make sure he doesn't come back."
I found myself seized and frog-marched to the gate. One guard pushed my
skean back into its clasp. The other shoved me hard, and I stumbled,
fell sprawling in the dust of the cobbled street, to the accompaniment
of a profane statement about what I could expect if I came back. A
chorus of jeers from a cluster of _chak_ children and veiled women broke
across me.
I picked myself up, glowered so fiercely at the giggling spectators that
the laughter drained away into silence, and clenched my fists, half
inclined to turn back and bull my way through. Then I subsided. First
round to Rakhal. He had sprung the trap on me, very neatly.
The street was narrow and crooked, winding between doubled rows of
pebble-houses, and full of dark shadows even in the crimson noon. I
walked aimlessly, favoring the arm the guard had crushed. I was no
closer to settling things with Rakhal, and I had slammed at least one
gate behind me.
Why hadn't I had sense enough to walk up and demand to _see_ Race
Cargill? Why hadn't I insisted on a fingerprint check? I could prove my
identity, and Rakhal, using my name in my absence, to those who didn't
know me by sight, couldn't. I could at least have made him try. But he
had maneuvered it very cleverly, so I never had a chance to insist on
proofs.
I turned into a wineshop and ordered a dram of greenish mountainberry
liquor, sipping it slowly and fingering the few bills and coins in my
pockets. I'd better forget about warning Juli. I couldn't 'vise her from
Charin, except in the Terran zone. I had neither the money nor the time
to make the trip in person, even if I could get passage on a
Terran-dominated airline after today.
Miellyn. She had flirted with me, and like Dallisa, she might prove
vulnerable. It might be another trap, but I'd take the chance. At least
I could get hints about Evarin. And I needed information. I wasn't used
to this kind of intrigue any more. The smell of danger was foreign to me
now, and I found it unpleasant.
The small lump of the bird in my pocket tantalized me. I took it out
again. It was a temptation to press the stud and let it settle things,
or at least start them going, then and there.
After a while I noticed the proprietors of the shop staring at the silk
of the wrappings. They backed off, apprehensive. I held out a coin and
they shook their heads. "You are welcome to the drink," one of them
said. "All we have is at your service. Only please go. Go quickly."
They would not touch the coins I offered. I thrust the bird in my
pocket, swore and went. It was my second experience with being somehow
tabu, and I didn't like it.
It was dusk when I realized I was being followed.
At first it was a glimpse out of the corner of my eye, a head seen too
frequently for coincidence. It developed into a too-persistent footstep
in uneven rhythm.
Tap-_tap_-tap. Tap-_tap_-tap.
I had my skean handy, but I had a hunch this wasn't anything I could
settle with a skean. I ducked into a side street and waited.
Nothing.