"Yes," said Dumarest.

"You have chosen a hard life with much danger and small reward."

Dumarest smiled. Few lives could be as hard and as un shy;rewarding than that chosen by the monk. Living in poverty, surrounded by it, alleviating it as best they could, the servants of the Universal Church were to be found wherever men suffered most. In their portable churches they offered solace to tormented minds; the suppliants confessing their sins beneath the hypnotic glow of the benediction light, to be relieved of guilt and to suffer subjective penance before being given the bread of forgiveness.

And if most suppliants knelt as a prelude to obtaining the wafer of concentrate the monks did not mind. They considered it a fair exchange for the hypnotic conditioning they installed together with the penance. The command not to kill-the reason why Dumarest had never knelt before the glowing kaleidoscope of the benediction light.

At Phane they loaded synthetic fiber for Igar. From Igar to Landkis, to Oll, to Krieg: a scatter of insignificant worlds close to suns which burned like red hot embers in the dust. The Moray questing and probing as it rode from world to world, earning hardly enough to pay for the energy it used.

Claude brooded about it as he sat with the others, his nerves twitching with the need of alcohol. His supplies were exhausted; Krieg had been a temperate world without taverns. "We're going to end up owing money," he said. "A minus profit. A hell of a way for any trader to operate."

"The luck will change," said Lin. The steward had brought cups of basic from the salon. "You'll see. Nimino's working on it right now."

"Burning incense and mumbling incantations," said Claude.

"Praying to his gods and trying to bribe them to throw us a good cargo." He gulped half his meal and sat, scowling into the cup. A thread of vapor rose from it, the contents warmed by a heating element in the base. "How can a man with his brains be so stupid as to believe in such rubbish? And you're as bad," he added, glaring at Dumarest. "We should never have carried that monk. We were begging for trouble. The first rule of a trader is never to carry anything without profit. It's bad luck to break it."

"Now who's superstitious?" Dumarest sipped at his own cup. It contained enough energy to nourish a spaceman for a day and it was all they had been eating since entering the Web. "Luck has nothing to do with it. Sheyan moves on too fast. He should wait until the news of the Moray's arrival has had time to spread. My guess is that we are miss shy;ing cargoes because we're gone before they can be de shy;livered."

"No," said Claude. "It doesn't work like that. On other worlds, perhaps, but not in the Web. Cargoes are assembled and waiting for the first ship to arrive. We've been unlucky. On Argonilla and Landkis we arrived just too late. Oll had been stripped a week before we got there." He drank again, frowning. "Let's hope we have better luck on Candara."

Candara was an ancient world, great seas lapping a soli shy;tary land mass composed of low hills, boulders, leached and inferior soil. Straggling vines, olives, and other culti shy;vated crops surrounded the settlement with beasts grazing beyond on rough foliage. The foothills were crusted with trees, shining a dull brown in the light of a somber sun.

"Candara," said Nimino as he stood beside Dumarest in the open port. "Sheol would have been a better name. Look at it, Earl. Who do you think would ever choose to settle here?"

Dumarest could guess. The followers of a minor sect turning their backs on civilized comfort for the sake of imagined spiritual reward. Masochists who took a delight in physical hardship. Unfortunates who had had no choice. The dispossessed glad of any world to call their own.

"You were right the first time," said Nimino. "They are a hard people following a hard path towards the Ultimate. They may be right, but I would not like to emulate them." He lifted an arm, pointing. "You see that building? The one with the tower and walls of massive stone? That is their temple. I have seen the inside, a gloomy place devoid of color, the very air depresses with thoughts of the tomb."

"Do they have wine?" Dumarest was thinking of the en shy;gineer.

"Ceremonial vintage only. Twice a year they release their emotions in a great feast. They have the best food available and wallow in wine. There is singing and dancing and mar shy;riages take place. Fighting, too, as old scores are paid. For three days they enjoy civilized dissipation and then, ashamed, they spend the next six months in hard work and repentance." Nimino shook his head. "An odd way to live and yet they must find it to their liking. Never yet have we had any shy;one asking for passage."

"Perhaps they can't afford it."

"Or perhaps they are afraid to step outside their own nar shy;row world," said the navigator shrewdly. "There is a com shy;fort in recognized boundaries." He turned as Lin called from beyond the hold. "Sheyan is waiting for me to accompany him to the chief elder. Why don't you join us?"

"And Claude?"

"He remains behind. The last time we were here he drank too deeply of the guest-offering. Need I say more?"

Two men waited with the captain. They were stern, mid shy;dle-aged, dressed in plain garments of undyed wool; their hair long and held by a fillet of hammered steel. Each car shy;ried a staff as tall as himself and as thick as three fingers. Their faces were deeply scored and devoid of humor. The honor guard, thought Dumarest, or the escort to restrict the contaminating influence of the visitors. He fell into step behind the captain as they led the way towards a squat building built of stone and roofed with shells.

Inside was a long table, benches, and a rack to hold cloth shy;ing. All were roughly made of wood; the marks of the tools clearly visible. The floor was of tamped dirt polished until it shone like lambent glass. As they entered, the chief elder rose from the head of the table. He could have been the father of the guards.

"I am Herkam, the chief elder," he intoned. "I bid you welcome."

"I am Sheyan, captain of the Moray. These men are of my crew." Sheyan gestured, naming them. "I thank you for your welcome. Your hospitality will not be abused."

It was a ritual and belonged to the setting. An event to break the monotony and to add to the prestige of the chief elder. Dumarest sat when bidden and shared in the guest-offering of cakes and wine. The cakes were small, made of rough-ground flour with a nutty consistency and surprisingly sweet. The wine was better than he had antici shy;pated.

"The law of hospitality," whispered Nimino at his side. "Now we cannot be injured or detained."

The formalities dispensed with, the business then com shy;menced. Prepared skins of giant fish, soft and with a scaled gleam, ornaments of carven bone, unusual shells, giant crys shy;tals which sang when struck, and vials of oil which formed the base of costly perfume began to pile on the table. They were samples from the stocks held in the warehouse. Shey shy;an's hands quivered a little as he inspected them.

"The goods are of fine quality," he admitted. "I have seen better, but these are good. Yet, as good as they are, the market for such things is small. Have you nothing else?"

Necklets of amber, pieces of stone striated with luminous color, fronds of dried weed which gave off aromatic per shy;fumes when burned joined the other goods on the table.

Dumarest watched as the captain examined them. Al shy;ready he knew what really interested the man, the vials of costly oil, his other actions were to cover his real object which was to obtain the oils at the lowest possible price. But he was too transparent. Either the run of bad luck had affected his nerves or his eagerness had numbed his caution.