"No, Earl, Manito."

"What's in a name?"

Nothing that couldn't be forgotten in a woman's arms, the warmth of her kiss. Tonight she wore a different perfume and it filled his nostrils with an intoxicating scent, made him acutely aware of her femininity, the demanding heat of her body beneath the leather gown which felt like skin under his hands. In the soft light her eyes were pools of midnight, her lips parted, darker than blood, her teeth small glimmers in the open cavern of her mouth.

"Earl!" she whispered. "Earl!" She caught his hand and lifted it to her lips, their softness warm against his flesh, a gentle caress followed by one less than gentle as her teeth nibbled at the skin. A gesture betraying her mounting passion, induced by the mood created by the night. The mood shattered as footsteps echoed from the foot of the ramp. "Damn! Who's that?"

It was Ysolto Mbushia with bad news. He mounted the ramp at Dumarest's invitation, the silver light turning the cicatrices on his cheeks into a gleaming chiaroscuro. In the salon he said, "I'm sorry, Earl, but that note has been rejected."

"For what reason?"

"None was given. I didn't see the matriarch in person, naturally, I dealt with the treasury and saw only an official."

Ysanne snapped, "She could have lied!"

"No. Not to me. I know the woman." Ysolto took a sip of the wine Dumarest had poured for him. "I thought you'd like to know as soon as possible."

"The note?"

"Retained. I had to hand it in for verification. There was no trouble about that. No query as to its not being genuine. They just refused payment."

No money and no note-Dumarest's lips thinned with anger.

"What happens now?"

"About the note?" The Hausi shrugged. "I don't know. Usually the treasury is meticulous about settling accounts and it's obvious the matriarch intervened. At a guess I'd say you've lost out. Maybe you'd best forget it. Su Posta rules on Jourdan and you're hardly in a position to argue."

"Like hell I'm not!"

"As for the rest?" Ysolto Mbushia glanced at Ysanne then back at Dumarest. "The note was backing for the new generator you require. Without it the negotiations will have to be suspended. You realize my position? I cannot pledge myself to meet expenses without strong collateral. Now that the note has been denied you no longer have that. The goods you carry, the other things, they will meet the field charges, supplies and the cost of overhaul. There may be a little over for a certain quantity of fuel."

But there would be no generator and the ship was useless without that.

"The bitch!" Ysanne stormed in anger. "The old hag's doing this deliberately. Getting her own back for your having faced up to her. You saved her life and this is how she thanks you. So much for gratitude!"

"I don't want gratitude," said Dumarest. "I want what I've earned."

But how to get it? How to make a stubborn old woman keep her word? A woman who was the ruler of a world?

CHAPTER TWELVE

Could it have been Fydor? He had been on Jourdan when Sharon had died but so had Mikhail and Vasudeva and most of the others who would have any reason to have instigated her death. A dead end and she glared at the tablets lying on the desk before her, the small squares carrying names and dates and locations. Adjusted, placed in the right order, they should determine who had had the opportunity, the motive, the means.

Eliminate motive-they all had that. The means? She hesitated then decided all could have arranged for the thing to be done. Which left opportunity and that was no help at all because if they had the means their personal presence was unnecessary.

She'd come to a blank wall but stubbornly refused to recognize it. A computer could have handled the problem but then she would have had to confide in the technicians who would program it and they, in turn, could talk and so warn the one person she needed to catch unawares.

Again she manipulated the tablets. Fydor had been on the southern coast when Sharon had crashed and had been busy with a fishing project. Could he be eliminated? If so then Vasudeva was equally innocent and Mikhail had been too young for such devious machinations. Perhaps the accident had been exactly that and she was chasing shadows.

But Sonia?

The infection that had taken her life-could it have been deliberately administered? The suspicion had caused her to send Lucita to Lomund and now it sent her hands flying over the scattered tablets, assembling them in various heaps, the highest of which should yield the answer to her search.

She had played this game as a child but now it held a serious intent Lucita's life could depend on her skill and, with sick realization, Su Posta knew that her skill was not great enough.

"My lady?" Venicia was at her side. "The man Dumarest asks audience."

"Earl Dumarest?"

"From the field, my lady. He refused to be specific as to the nature of his business but hinted at a matter of the greatest delicacy,-which could touch your reputation."

"How?"

Su Posta hid her smile as the woman tried to be both knowledgeable and diplomatic. Any reason she gave would be a guess and it was simple to anticipate what one would be. A tall, strong man confined in a ship with a woman known for her tastes-did Venicia think her such a fool as to form an association with a blabbermouth? And yet even the possibility held a certain flattery, which she savored before putting the woman out of her misery.

"I will see him. The garden-in an hour."

She had always liked the garden with its winding paths and beds of flowers, its scented shrubs and the high walls which trapped the warmth of the sun so that the profusion of blooms which filled the air with their perfume seemed gifted with a special appeal. Here she had walked with her consort, now long dead, and here she, had played with her children when they had been small. A haven of peace and one which held the tender memory of years long past. The residence of ghosts-one of which seemed to have taken form as Dumarest walked toward her.

A trick of the light-it had to be that. An illusion born of shadows and fading gleams but for a moment she thought Donal had come to her as he had so long ago, tall and strong and radiating a firm comfort. Then, as he stepped nearer, she saw the small, telltale signs which set Dumarest apart from all other men she had ever known. The hardness, the almost feral determination, the aura of power, the stubborn independence which had brought him to her as she had guessed it would.

"My lady!" He bowed as, coming close, he halted before her. "You are gracious to have granted me an audience."

"It would have been ungracious to have refused. Your business?"

"A small matter, my lady, yet one of importance to me. The question of a certain promise which-"

"You hinted of damage to my reputation," she interrupted. "Do you dare to threaten the Matriarch of Jourdan?"

"I would be a fool if I did."

"And you are not a fool. I understand your meaning. I still fail to understand your words as reported to me. Just what could you do to hurt my reputation?"

"Nothing." He was blunt in his honesty. "The words were used only to gain your attention. Now that I have it the real nature of my business can be mentioned. The matter of a promise, my lady. One you were kind enough to put in writing."

"The promissory note?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Which as yet I have refused to pay?"

"An oversight, I'm sure. If you will give orders to your treasury the matter could be settled without further delay."

"And if I refuse?" She waited as the question hung in the air. "If I deny payment?"

Dumarest said, coldly, "As you have reminded me, my lady, you are the Matriarch of Jourdan. If you refuse to honor the note there is nothing I can do. Of course the incident will be known and questions may be asked and, later, perhaps, your word will have lost some of its value. You may even feel a sense of-not guilt, for how can a ruler feel guilty?-but, shall we say, regret?"