"Is that why you saved it, my lady?"

"No," she spoke without thinking, but it was true enough. At first she had obeyed the promptings of a whim and the desires of her body. But then had come the interview with Brekla, the thinly disguised threats, the knowledge that she stood alone against Vargas and his ambition.

Shergan, Alica, Marmot, Dehnar, all had turned against her. The Supreme Council were rats each scuttling for safety. Or, perhaps, they had formed a cabal from which she was excluded. With the Technarch dead they would think again, and at least she would have time to secure her position.

Dumarest had to agree!

Leaning forward she spoke quickly before he could refuse. "Vargas is an old man, terrified of his shadow. He trusts only a single guard. I can arm you and guide you to his chamber. Two shots and the thing is done. In return I will give you money and arrange a passage." Her voice rose, grew thin and querulous. "Why do you hesitate? What have you to lose? Your mind carries the knowledge of violence. You have killed before so why not again? It is such a little thing I ask. Two shots and you will have repaid your debt. Do it, Earl. For me. Please!"

A little thing! To kill the head of a state! And afterward would she keep her part of the bargain or would she arrange to have him killed so as to close his mouth? And when he refused, what then? Poison in the wine?

Slowly he said, "My lady, you are distraught. You cannot realize what you ask."

"I ask you to kill a man," she said. "A mad dog who will drag us all to ruin. An ambitious fool blind to everything but his own lust for power. Kill him and Technos will have cause to be grateful."

"I have little cause to trust the gratitude of princes," he said dryly. "And less to rely on the thanks of a nation. What you propose, my lady, is unwise."

"You refuse?"

"To kill a man I have never seen? Yes, my lady. As I said, I am no assassin."

Dumarest rose, stiffening as a sudden knocking came from the door, seeing by the woman's eyes that the interruption was unexpected. It came again, sharp, imperious.

"Hide," she said quickly. "In there." She gestured toward the bedroom. "Make no sound."

The knocking increased as he stepped into the room, closing the door all but a crack. Through it he saw Mada cross the chamber and open the door. A flood of light from the corridor beyond lined her figure with a halo of brilliance.

"Your pardon, madam," said a familiar voice. "I crave your indulgence on a matter of planetary security. Have I your permission to enter?"

Keron! And from the sound of his voice, he would brook no refusal. Dumarest turned and ran toward the bathroom. Inside he scanned the walls. They were solid, broken only by grilles too small to allow the passage of his body. A disposal chute opened at his touch and he stared into darkness. It would lead to a shaft, dropping to the lower levels and ending, perhaps, in a furnace. As he hesitated he heard the sudden rise of Mada's voice.

"How dare you! To burst into my apartments! Have the members of the Supreme Council no rights?"

Keren's answer was firm. "Not when planetary security is at risk, madam. I must insist that you allow me to search your rooms."

The chute bent at a sharp angle two feet from the opening. Dumarest felt the scrape of the rim against his back as he wriggled around the bend, elbows extended to brake his passage. His legs dangled free and he followed them, hanging by his hands at the lower edge of the bend, reaching back with one foot to find the extent of the shaft. It was about four feet wide, narrow enough for him to press his feet against one side, his back against the other, lowering himself with cautious motions.

From above he caught a flash of light and heard a muffled voice.

"Nothing here, Major."

The light vanished and the darkness was complete. Cramped in the chimney Dumarest cautiously eased his way down. To return to the woman's apartment was to take an unnecessary risk. Keron would have stationed a guard in the corridor if nowhere else and the man would probably have orders to shoot on sight. And the woman was another problem. His refusal would not have endeared him to her, and if she was wise she would kill him to close his mouth.

He frowned, remembering the youth of her body, the childish solution she had found to social problems. Kill the Technarch and everything would be wonderful! It was the answer a primitive would think of, not an educated and sophisticated woman. And she was a member of the ruling council. An infant prodigy, perhaps? In such a society he guessed it was possible.

His foot slipped and he strained against his other leg, sweat beading his face at the thought of the emptiness below. He concentrated on the pressure of steel against the soles of his feet and the area of his back. He seemed lower than before, his body less cramped, and he realized that the shaft was widening as it descended. Soon it would be too wide for him to support his weight.

His foot slipped and met emptiness. A joining shaft or the mouth of a chute? He could have passed a dozen of them, missing them all in the thick darkness and he could miss a dozen more. But the lower he went the harder it became to straddle the shaft. Halting, feet and back pressed against the metal, he felt to either side with his hands.

Nothing. The shaft was unbroken. Crablike he moved in a circle, hands testing the metal, pausing as he felt the upper edge of an opening. It was smooth, rounded and slick with some covering. Grease, perhaps, or a plastic film to protect the metal from corrosion. In any case, it was too wide for him to gain a strong purchase; if he tried to thrust his body into the opening he would slip and fall.

Grimly he began to climb back up the shaft. He had to reach a point where it was narrow enough for him to enter one of the openings without losing his balance. His shoulders met the lower rim of a chute and he moved away from it, climbing still higher. When the shaft had narrowed so that his knees were pressed against his chest he searched for another opening.

Sweat oozed from his skin as he fought a mounting fatigue, the strain on his muscles turning them into fire. A foot met no resistance and he circled, back scraping the wall. Reaching the opening he positioned himself, hooking his left elbow into the chute. Tensing his muscles he kicked out, turning at the same time, the pressure forcing his head and shoulders into the opening before he could fall. Desperately he rammed both elbows against the sides, fighting the pull of gravity as his legs fell from the support of the wall. He kicked, meeting the upward bend, using elbows, chest and chin to gain traction. A knee caught the lower edge of the chute and he thrust upward, back arched and head rising toward the mouth of the chute.

His face bumped into hardness and he reached upward, fumbling at the smooth surface, pressing, feeling resistance and knowing that the door was locked. He tensed, ramming the sides of his legs against the walls of the chute, his back, one arm and hand. With the other he pressed against the top of the door, gritting his teeth as he felt himself begin to slip. Drawing back his hand he slammed the palm hard against the upper edge and, as something yielded, lunged forward and gripped both sides of the mouth of the chute.

A heave and he was through the opening and falling into darkness.

Chapter Ten

IT WAS A bathroom. He could tell by the scent of soap and lotions, the touch of tile and humid warmth. Carefully he felt along the walls, finding a switch and narrowing his eyes against a flood of light. From a wall a mirror threw back his reflection.

He was filthy, covered with greasy dirt, his face streaked, his hands grimed and his clothes a ruin. If he hoped to escape the building he would have to wash and change. As he was, he would be arrested on sight.