On the cot he stirred a little, a bubble of froth rising between his lips to break, to leave a ruby smear.

"Listen to me." Avorot leaned close. "Who was with you when you killed the bull? Who?"

"A ship… coming… a chance…" The words were faint, the rustle of dry leaves blown by the wind. "Move now before--God, the pain! The pain!"

"It will pass. Talk now and I'll order you the best treatment available. Who arranged it? Who led you?"

The lips parted to emit a thin stream of blood which traced a path over the pale cheek and stained the pillow. The eyes, open, grew suddenly clear, the moment of full consciousness the doctor had promised might occur.

Quickly Avorot said, "I can help you, but you must help me. Who led you on your trip to kill the animal? What is his name?"

"Help me?"

"The best of care. Food. Money for a High passage. I swear it. But the name. You must give me the name."

"I'm dying!" The man stared with glazing eyes. "Earl warned me, but I wouldn't listen. I was a fool."

"Earl?"

"Dumarest."

"What about him?"

"Fast!" The voice was slurring as the man slipped toward death. "The fastest thing I ever saw. Killed the beast with a knife. Cut its throat and drove steel into its heart. Earl, I…"

"Who else?" Avorot was sharp. "Who else was with you?"

It was too late, the man was dead, but he had heard enough. Avorot closed the staring eyes and straightened, conscious of the acrid odor of the woman, the stench of sickness.

"You heard?"

"A name," she admitted. "And an attribute."

It was enough. When the ship landed he would have the man.

Chapter Three

It was a small vessel carrying a score of sightseers. They disembarked at noon and would stay a few days, watching the sunsets and hunting selected beasts, returning with trophies of ears and tails, later to leave.

Dumarest watched them from the edge of the field, staying clear of the crowd, conscious of the attention the guards were paying to those pressing close. Only when the crew made an appearance did he move toward the gate.

Casually he fell into step behind a uniformed figure following the man into a tavern. He was big, with a hard, craggy face. He looked up in annoyance as Dumarest dropped into the seat at his side.

"Save your breath, the answer's no."

"The answer to what?"

"You asking for a free drink. You want charity, go to the monks."

"You move too fast, friend," said Dumarest mildly. "All I want is to talk. You the handler?"

"Yes."

"Where are you headed next?"

"Ephrine and then back to Homedale. I won't be sorry to get there." He glanced at the girl who had come to take his order, then at Dumarest. "You buying?"

"I'm buying." As the girl set down the goblets and took the money. Dumarest said, "A bad trip?"

"I've had better. The ship was chartered to the Manager of Ralech-that's on Homedale and he wants nothing but the best. Tourists are fine when it comes to tips but this bunch is something special. Complaints all the time and the stewards are run ragged trying to please them. You a traveler?"

"Yes."

"I thought so, you can always tell. And I'm betting you want passage, right?"

"Can it be arranged?"

"No." The man sipped at his wine. "I'm giving it to you straight. The caskets are full of trophies and other junk and we've no room for anyone traveling Low. Sorry, but there it is."

"How about a berth? I've worked on ships and can handle the job. A table too if I have to."

"We've got a gambler and he's good. You've money?" He emptied his goblet as Dumarest nodded. "Enough for a Low passage, right? Well, it's just possible I might be able to fix something. You any good with a knife?"

"I can fight if I have to."

"Some of the young sports have a yen for combat. On Homedale a few scars win a man respect and they like to think they're good. You'll have to use a practice blade, of course, and make sure you don't get yourself killed, but that's up to you. If you're good you can handle it. With luck you could win a little money as prizes and there's always the chance of tips. Some of the women could take a fancy to you." He looked at Dumarest's face. "In fact, I'd bet on it. Interested?"

"Yes."

The handler looked at his empty goblet and smiled as Dumarest ordered it to be refilled.

"We could get along. Tell you what, I'll speak to the Old Man. If he agrees I'll let you know. Be at the gate an hour before sunset."

A chance and he had to take it. As the sun lowered and the first traces of vibrant color began to tinge the sky Dumarest walked toward the field. The guards, he noticed, were behind the fence and the gate was closed. Before it stood a cluster of others, men who could have no hope of gaining a passage but who had been drawn by a hopeless longing. Cran Elem was among them.

"Earl!" He came forward, smiling. "Do you think we've got a chance?"

"At what?"

"A passage, what else? They need stewards, no pay but a chance to get away from here. The officer-" He broke off, frowning at Dumarest's expression. "Something wrong?"

"Who did you talk to?"

"The second engineer. He came out with the passengers. I took a chance and spoke to him."

"And he told you to be here an hour before sunset?"

"Yes." Cran was defensive. "I know you told us to stay hidden, but Aret came to town and I followed him. It's all right," he added. "A beggar told me what happened. He was shot by a guard."

"Killed?"

"He was dead when they took him to hospital. He didn't talk, Earl. He couldn't."

Or so the man believed. He wanted to believe as he wanted to hope in the chance of a passage, but on this ship, without money, that was impossible. Then why had the officer told him to be at the gate? Him and, perhaps, the others?

Dumarest remembered the handler, the man had seemed honest enough, but so would any actor playing a part. If he had lied-Dumarest's face tightened at the thought of it, but there would be time later for revenge. Now he sensed the closing jaws of a trap.

"Get away from here, Cran. Fast."

"Why?" Suspicion darkened the thin face. "You want to cut down the competition? Earl, I didn't think-"

"Shut up and move! I'm coming with you!"

There were more ways than one of getting on a field and, under cover of darkness, the fence could be scaled and the handler faced. Now he had to obey his instincts, the ingrained caution which had saved him so often before.

Casually he edged from the gate, his eyes searching the area. Men stood in casual attitudes in a wide semicircle all around, leaning on walls, apparently killing time, some talking, all dressed in civilian clothing. To one side a group were having trouble with a chelach, a bull, scraggy, the hide scarred, the tip of one horn broken. It snarled as it was driven with electronic probes, an animal being taken to slaughter-but why was it being driven toward the gate?

The trap closed before he had taken three strides.

Snarling, the animal reared, stung by electronic whips, goaded beyond the endurance of its savage temper. Turning, it was stung again, back hurting still more, only by running could it escape its tormentors. And before it rested the gate and the cluster of men.

They scattered as it came, some desperately trying to climb the fence, falling back from the mesh, which gave no hold for hands and feet. Dumarest dodged, feeling the blow of a horn, the plastic of his tunic slit as by a knife, only the metal mesh embedded with the material saving him from injury. Rolling where he fell he sprang to his feet, seeing Cran running, to be caught, gored, tossed high, to fall with his intestines trailing from his ripped stomach, dead before he hit the ground.