"Kerrel. You go fight it out with him. I've got nothing against you,
Trehearne. Kerrel explained to me that it wasn't murder to put you out
of the way, but a service to the whole Vardda community, and this was
the only way he could do it. But I'm not interested in politics. This
was just a business deal for me. One life, one ship."
"Kerrel isn't rich. Where was he going to get hold of a ship to give
away?"
"I guess he had a deal in mind. Maybe that depended, too, on your not
coming back. I don't know. Anyway, I can prove it was Kerrel. Here,
I've got the whole business in writing. I'm no fool. Agent of the
Council or not, a man's a man...." Still talking, still scowling, Yann
dug into his tunic pocket. An instant later, an instant too late,
Trehearne realized that by no possibility would Kerrel ever put such
things in writing. He moved, fast.
The shocker came out of Yann's pocket, the weapon he wouldn't carry
openly because Kurat would be offended, the weapon he had not left
behind in the compound. Trehearne hit him just before the business end,
the prism, cleared the silk cloth of Yann's tunic. He hit him with both
hands, and he hadn't exactly forgotten the hunting knife with the razor
edge, but he didn't care now, he didn't want to be laid out stunned
and senseless by the shock-beam so that Yann could have his ship and
Kerrel could have Shairn and the hounds could have their bellies full
of meat. He hit him hard and rolled him over and rolled over with him.
The shocker went skittering away, hitting the wall with a sharp click.
Trehearne scrambled frantically to get to his feet first, but he didn't
need to hurry. Yann was not going to get up any more. The shining haft
of the knife was standing out of Yann's chest. It rose and fell a
couple of times, and then it stopped. There was not much blood around
it.
Torin broke the silence. "Will you kill the other one, too?" He jerked
his head toward the door. Beyond it in the clearing Kurat was bawling
at his yapping hounds.
Trehearne thought. He thought rapidly and clearly, and that was odd
because there was a sickness in his belly, and a kind of shaking on
him. After a moment he said, "No. There's a better way."
He went and picked up the shocker that had belonged to Yann. Then
he leaned over and took the slack of Yann's collar in his free hand
and dragged him outside. He was very heavy, and his head lolled back
against Trehearne's wrist.
Kurat turned and came toward the hut. There was a happy look on his
face. He was a happy man. He had done a good job, for good pay. And
then he saw Trehearne, and the shocker, and Yann lying on the ground
where Trehearne had dropped him. Something queer and ludicrous happened
to the face of Kurat.
Trehearne pointed. "There's a native hunter's knife in his heart. You
killed him, Kurat. I saw you do it."
Kurat made a sound like something that has stepped into a snare and
feels it closing. "I didn't. You lie, you know I...."
"You killed a Vardda," Trehearne said. "You were quarrelling over the
wine, and you put the knife into him, so. That was wrong of you, Kurat.
I don't think the other Vardda will like it. I would go away, if I were
you. I would take my hounds and my family and go a long way off into
the forest."
Kurat stared for a moment into Trehearne's eyes. Then he looked at
Yann. Then he turned and shouted up his bleeding hounds, saying no word
but shouting with a curious raw edge to his voice, and went with them
into the forest, running.
He was, Trehearne thought, no fool. He knew what Vardda vengeance could
be, and he knew what his word would be worth against a Vardda. He did
not think the factory would see Kurat again for many years. And he was
glad. Kurat's disappearance would save Trehearne many explanations. He
did not want to tell to anyone now the truth of how and why Yann had
died.
He did not want to talk about it except to one man.