Belkner had sworn otherwise-but Belkner could have been wrong.

To Batrun he said, "Andre, find Vosper and have him tell Belkner to be here an hour after dusk with Ysanne. He shows or the deal is off."

"Trouble?"

"Maybe. After you've seen Vesper go to Eunice of the Yekatania. Get her to come to the ship. Use me as an excuse. And make sure everyone knows she's aboard."

Batrun said dryly, "Everyone? Including Urich Sheiner?"

"Especially him. Vruya too." Dumarest added, "Remember she's interested in witchcraft-that should make it easy."

The guard at the gate stepped forward, gun rising, the weapon lowering as he recognized Urich. "Sir!" His free hand snapped a salute. "I didn't-"

"Report on the field!"

"As normal, sir. Intense activity around the Erce but they've had trouble loading and-"

"A woman!" Urich swallowed, fighting for calm. "Has a woman arrived for the Erce?" He knew he was being imprecise. More calmly he said, "Did you see my fiancee enter the field? A lady of the Quelen? She could have been with a captain."

"Captain Batrun, sir. Yes. About an hour ago."

Long enough for who knew what damage to be done? Lies and promises, tales she yearned to hear, romance which would further corrode his influence. Dumarest! Anger flooded him as he ran across the field. An adventurer-why had he been such a fool to trust the man?

The ramp was down, the area heaped with a litter of boxes, laborers milling in undirected motion. One bumped into him, falling at his shove, turning as he hit the dirt to curse, breaking off the words as he recognised the uniform. Within the port was more apparent chaos.

"Dumarest!" A tall figure turned from a stack of boxes. "Dumarest, damn you! Where is she?"

"Resting." Dumarest came toward Urich, smiling, casual. "She was upset and I thought it best to sedate her. Don't worry," he soothed. "She is perfectly all right."

She lay on a bunk in a cabin, her eyes closed, face smoothed into the likeness of a doll. The heavy lashes rested on rounded cheeks and golden hair made an aureole on the pillow. She wore scarlet touched with gold.

"She came because I was ill," said Dumarest. "Needing her. I tried to get to her but was unable to move. Some evil spell had me in its power. One strong enough to resist her command. Her summons."

"You mock!"

"I guessed," corrected Dumarest. "The trick had worked once so why not again? And how best to reinforce the conviction of her own power? Even if she hadn't been summoning me the concept of a binding spell was valid enough for her to come and break it. A further demonstration of her own ability." Shrugging he ended, "She came-does it matter why?"

"To me, yes!" Urich glanced at the woman then back at Dumarest. He was armed. To snatch the gun from his belt and fire would be to end the threat of losing her. One move and… He looked down, saw the fingers gripping the hand resting on the butt, felt the pain. "Why?" he demanded. "Why did you bring her here?"

"Because I wanted you to come after her." Dumarest moved his grip, lifted the gun from the holster and stepped back with it hanging at his side. "Shall we go?"

Belkner was in the salon, Ysanne at his side. He drew in his breath as Urich entered and glared at Dumarest.

"You fool! You-"

"Shut up and listen!" Dumarest glanced at Ysanne. "Go and help Andre in the hold. Keep things moving." He handed her the gun. "Any trouble let me know."

As she left, he stood listening, one hand resting on a bulkhead, sensing the activity within the vessel, the interplay of vibrations. A man in command of his environment, thought Urich. He was so confident he needed no weapons. Then he saw the hilt of the knife riding above the right boot, remembered the speed he had seen it used and knew that Dumarest was far from vulnerable. Even if the room had been filled with enemies he could still have been in command.

Turning from the bulkhead Dumarest said, "You made a mistake, Leo. The worst mistake possible to make. You underestimated your enemy. I almost did the same."

"An enemy?" Belkner was incredulous. "Urich? But he's a friend."

"Because he was bora to the Ypsheim?" Dumarest heard Urich's indrawn breath, a harsh, ugly sound. "What a person learns in their youth stays with them; the way they talk, walk, act and react. Give a beggar a fortune and you don't have a prince. Strip a rich man and he still has the arrogance of wealth bred into his bone. Those born to servitude may escape and change their lives but, always, something remains. The movement of the eyes, the hands, even the tilt of the head. And the Ypsheim have served the Quelen for centuries."

"So?"

"Krantz isn't escape-proof." Dumarest kept his eyes on Urich. "If a man has drive enough and money enough and is willing to take a chance he can get away. In a box of cargo, for example, with the handler bribed and money enough to pay for passage once in space. On another world he can learn and improve his position and pay for a minor operation." His hand lifted to touch his forehead. "A scar can easily be removed and, once gone, who is to tell if it was ever there?"

Urich said, "If a man went to all that trouble to escape why should he come back?"

A question Dumarest had heard in a different context-why look for Earth when other worlds had so much to offer? But a man had only one home planet and Urich could only have one people.

A thing Belkner recognized. He said, "Perhaps because he couldn't help himself. Or, maybe, he thought he could do something to help those he's left behind."

By marrying into the Quelen and then finding, when the dream approached reality, that the marriage itself offered all he could ever hope to achieve.

"The weakness," said Dumarest. "The mistake you made, Leo. Somehow you discovered Urich's secret and held it to use against him when the time was ripe. The ace up your sleeve-and you never imagined the ace could turn into a deuce."

"What?"

"You misjudged your man. Urich broke the pattern. He escaped and that took guts. He still has them. Guts enough to fight for what he wants." Something he had discovered almost too late. Dumarest remembered the interview, the talk, the messages broadcast by the set of the lips, the hands, the eyes, the very odor of Urich's body. Signals he had learned to read in the arena when facing a man intent on taking his life. Recognizing the change from desperation to determination. The fatalistic acceptance of no alternative but to fight and kill or die. "A ship loaded with a proscribed cargo," he said. "One lifting to be blasted from the sky. Who would blame him? And who would believe that one of the Ypsheim had destroyed his own?"

And who would dare to make the accusation? Dumarest saw realization dawn in Belkner's eyes. A man fighting to survive and with the added bonus of ridding himself of a rival. Even if Vruya guessed the truth he could do nothing. Or perhaps he knew it already and, with cynical detachment, was waiting for the chosen mate to prove himself.

"A trap," said Belkner. "We walked into it-God, what can we do?"

"It's done," said Dumarest. "That's why-" He broke off as Ysanne's voice came over the intercom.

"Earl, there's trouble. You'd better get down here!"

Chapter Eight

The officer was the one who had come to check before, but now he was not alone. A half-dozen guards stood at his back, armed, spread in a familiar pattern, Dumarest glanced at them, at the boxes lying around, the laborers who had been ordered away from the port and the line of fire.

To Urich he said, "Make no mistakes. You know what needs to be done."

These instructions were given on the way to the port and Urich had no doubt as to what would happen unless he cooperated. He stiffened as the officer approached and returned the man's sharp salute.