He would talk and to save his own reputation would enhance Dumarest's prowess. A beginning – on Kaldar a man made his mark or was held in small regard. A world of too many rulers and headed to a predictable end. Kings, princes, politicians, those who demanded taxes or tributes of any kind and by any name were parasites living on the effort of others. When their greed and numbers grew too large they would ruin the host which supported them.

"Earl!" Dumarest woke to a pounding at the door, Zehava fuming at her failure to open it. "Earl, let me in!"

"A moment!"

He rose from the water, taking his time drying and dressing himself. The bedroom was large as was the bed with its ornate decoration and richly embroidered cover. Tall windows gave a view of the plaza below and filled the chamber with mellow light. Zehava came to a halt before them.

"There was no need for you to have bolted the door. You're safe here."

"As I was when leaving the field?"

"Nigel's a fool." Irritably she shook her head. "Forget him. Pour me a drink."

She had brought a bottle with her and he opened it and poured lambent fluid into small glasses engraved with intricate decoration. Handing her one he lifted the other in the gesture of a toast.

"To luck, Zehava! All of it good!"

The pungent spirit filled his mouth with smoke and fire, turning into a sweet tartness as it slid down his throat to blossom into a flower of comfort as it reached his stomach.

"Peedham," she said, watching his reaction. "It's made from peedham. A herb which grows in the hills. You like it?"

"It's unusual." Dumarest took another sip, wondering why she had brought it, guessing at its probable effect. An aphrodisiac, perhaps, certainly a strong neural depressant. One which would erode caution, bring euphoria, and make the drinker less than wise. "Did you enjoy your reunion?"

"What do you mean?"

"I saw you head for the ship. The one which raided Arpagus. I recognized it. Toibin's vessel. Nigel told me his name." He added, "He also told me about his sister."

"She died." Zehava helped herself to more from the bottle. "Eight years ago now. On a raid she shouldn't have touched. She was my idol. I worshipped her. Loved her. Well, never mind, she's gone now." She emptied the glass at a swallow as if in salute to a tender ghost. Coughing, she dragged air into her lungs. "To hell with it. The past is dead. What made you tangle with Nigel, anyway?"

"He wanted to demonstrate how tough he is. To get himself known so as to gain a place with your friend. I promised to speak to you about it. Get you to use your influence."

"What influence?" She was bitter. "Lesse Toibin goes his own way and takes only the best. With his reputation he can pick and choose."

"So your visit was just a matter of business." Her glass was empty and Dumarest refilled it, watching as, more cautiously, she drank. 'To talk over what happened and to get his explanation as to why he abandoned you. Was it a good one?"

"I didn't see him," she admitted. "He's visiting a friend in the hills. He'll be back after the auction. We came in with the last of the dealers," she explained. "After the viewing we'll get down to business and sell the loot."

"What about Toibin?"

"Damn Toibin. Why keep talking about him?"

"Everyone thinks he's a hero. He made a successful raid and only lost two people. One now that you're returned to take the blame."

"Blame?"

"You selected the cargo," reminded Dumarest. "You assessed its value. If it brings a small return you won't be popular. You, not Toibin, he's the kind of hero you people love. He's done nothing wrong. He only abandoned you. Snatched what was to hand and ran like a scared rat. He didn't even check on his own men. All he wanted was to save his own skin."

"You can't say that!"

"Why not?" Dumarest shrugged. "I was there. I saw it. He had time and enough to spare. He could have waited for you. He could have sent out a search party. He must have known you'd be close to the towers. He could have guessed that you might be hurt. Comrades are supposed to look after each other. Did he you? My guess he wanted to dump you. Even if we hadn't met I doubt if you would have reached the ship. Maybe he wanted to save your share. Or maybe he's just grown tired of you." A shrewd guess and he saw the sudden tightening of her jaw. "You see what I'm getting at?"

"I see what you're trying to do." Zehava lifted her glass then paused with it barely touching her lips. Over the rim she said, "You're smart, Earl. Maybe too damned smart. Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm a fool."

"Like Toibin?" Dumarest met her eyes. "Or does he think you a coward? A woman who hasn't the guts to want revenge?"

Sunken in his chair Sung Pember looked half-asleep; an old man taking his rest, barely aware of what was going on around him. Casually he touched his nose.

"Five." Catching the signal the auctioneer voiced the bid. "I have five. Who offers six? I must ask you not to waste time. Who offers six?"

Reluctantly a man touched his ear.

The ring at work, bidding slow, bidding low and keeping down prices. Cameron had seen it too often before and fumed with inward rage at the prospect of seeing it again.

"Six. I have six. Who offers seven? The lot is five vats of rare perfume in high demand on a host of worlds. Who offers seven?"

Zinny Monteil lifted a finger.

"I have seven. I'm looking for eight. Who will offer eight?" An empty plea and the auctioneer knew it. Another victory for the ring. The lot would be almost given away but those who had won it were eager for their reward, meager though it would be. "The bid is seven. I have seven. Seven once. Seven twice." He lifted his gavel. "Sev -"

"Eight!" called Dumarest.

He sat to the rear, back to the wall, his voice deliberately loud, sending echoes through the warehouse in which the auction was being held. At his side Zehava drew in her breath.

"Careful, Earl. You could get stuck." She sighed her relief as someone raised the bid, frowned as Dumarest topped it. "Ten thousand! Do you know what happens to those who can't pay?"

"I know what I'm doing." Dumarest nodded, smiling, as Molo Bain twisted in his seats to stare at him. "The ring will buy or I'll split the lot among the independents. It's a safe gamble."

One he pursued as the bids mounted, raising his voice, making himself known to the auctioneer, the assistants, others in the warehouse. At twenty thousand he withdrew from the bidding but others, stimulated by the contest, ran the final price up another three.

Zehava said, "I' in going, Earl. This kind of excitement I can do without. Just remember the penalty if you buy what you can't pay for."

Stripped, flayed, impaled on a stake; Kaldar was not kind to outsiders who broke the rules. Dumarest took no further part in the bidding, once had been enough for his purpose. Only when a familiar carton was lifted on the display platform did he lean forward.

"Lot thirty-two. Two hundred units including the one on display." Cameron waited as assistants opened the carton and erected what it contained. Light glowed from the petals forming a mirror, creating a shimmering haze of rainbow brilliance. "A product of the Matsuki-Taru. Solar power units worth a fortune on any harsh world. The bidding will be in steps of five thousand. We start at thirty."

Low but a flurry of early bids would stimulate the sale and small units were more tempting than large. As the bidding commenced Dumarest rose, seated himself behind Sung Pember, leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

"Everything arranged?"

Pember nodded. "We'll get them dirt cheap."

"Don't be too greedy. Remember where you are."

"They need us."

"They need money," corrected Dumarest. "There are a dozen other dealers eager to take your place. Just remember how they got this stuff."