"That's right." The man nodded. "Go around to the receiving room. Drop
your pack, and come back--say in about an hour." He glanced upward as
footsteps sounded on the stairs.
"Oh, oh," he added softly. "Keep quiet and let me handle this."
A heavy-set man came down the stairs. He looked sharply at Don, taking
in his appearance and the details of his pack.
"What's this, Mora?" he demanded.
The timekeeper shrugged casually. "Just some porter," he said
negligently. "Can't read too well, I guess. Got in the wrong door. I
was telling him where to drop his pack."
"Oh?" The other looked at Don more closely. "Looks like another load of
those mats from the Morek. Look, Fellow, you wouldn't be from one of
those clans, would you now?"
Don shook his head. "I am Kalo," he said, "of the mountains. I have no
clan. I make mats. And twice a year I come here to Riandar to sell
them."
"Been here before?"
"I have been in Riandar many times."
"That's not what I mean. Have you been here--to this store--before?"
Don shook his head. "Not to this store, no. But they told me the Blue
Mountain was paying better than some others. I thought I'd try----"
[Illustration]
"Yeah," the other said coldly. "Sure. Now, suppose we take a little
walk, you and I? Some people down the street would like to talk to
you."
Don shook his head. "I merely came here to sell mats," he insisted. "I
make good mats."
The heavy man frowned. "Maybe," he snapped. "We'll see about that after
we've had a talk with you." He stepped closer. "If you're just a mat
maker, nothing will happen to you. If you really have good mats, you
might even get a nice price for some of your stuff. Come on."
He reached out to take Don's sleeve. Don stepped back, his face
suddenly losing its vague, apologetic expression. His features
sharpened, to become hard, uncompromising.
"Get over to that wall, Fellow," he ordered sharply. "Move!"
The man's hand dropped. For a moment, he stared slackly at Don.
"Come on!" Don's voice raised a little. "Get over to that wall. And
then stand still." He started to shuck off the straps of his pack.
The man before him sobbed helplessly, then shuffled away. Don knelt
down and stripped the pack off. Then he stepped aside and raised a hand
in a beckoning gesture.
"Now get over here," he snapped. "Pick up that pack and take it up to
Mr. Tona's office. I'll follow you."
The man in the cubby rubbed his head for a moment, then picked up the
phone. Don swung toward him. "Put that phone back," he ordered, "and
come out of there. You're coming with us."
* * * * *
Korentona looked up as the small procession entered his office.
"What's happened now?"
Don nodded at him, then faced the man with the pack.
"Put that pack down," he commanded. "Now, stand over there." He
pointed. "And be very quiet." He glanced at the doorman.
"You can stay where you are." He looked at Korentona.
"My apologies," he said, "for being so informal. But I come from the
Kor-en, and I had a little trouble. There's a message for you in the
pack. You know, of course, where to find it. Who are these two?"
Korentona looked worried. "This one," he pointed at the doorman, "is a
trusted employee. He's been with me for years."
He paused, looking at the other man. "But this one, I have never
trusted. I'm sure he reports to the police."
Don glanced at the doorman. "My apologies," he said. "You are free to
go as you will." He looked closely at the other.
"Is this correct?" he demanded. "Are you a police agent?"
The man nodded. "That's right," he said reluctantly. "I'm supposed to
watch this place and report on its visitors."
"Here," Don told him, "is one visitor you won't report." He stopped,
considering, then impaled the man with a cold stare.
"Have you ever seen a man bitten by a gersal?"