He sat down and picked up his book. He held it in one hand as he stared at the cover, but he did not see the stained and crumbling material beneath the plastic seal. He was thinking of other things. Jellag Haig for one. The trader was hovering on the brink of decision, a little more pressure and he would surely yield.

Thoughtfully, Jocelyn leaned back in his chair.

It would be best to make him a baron, he decided, to begin with, at least. Later, if he proved himself, he could be elevated to an earl or even a duke, but first he would be a baron.

Baron Jellag Haig of Jest.

It made a satisfying mouthful and would please his family. He would have an armored crest together with a residence and an estate, a small residence and a big estate.

Land was cheap on Jest.

Chapter Five

Ewan sat at his table, deft hands busy as he manipulated his shells. The little ball bounded from one to the other, vanishing only to reappear and vanish again.

"A test of skill," he droned in his flat, emotionless voice. "Now you see it, now you don't. Pick the shell it is under and I will double your money. The more you put down the more you pick up. Why risk your neck when you can get rich the easy way? Hurry, hurry, hurry. Hit while the game is hot."

Like the room, he thought, the station, the whole stinking planet. Late summer on Scar was the anteroom of hell. He glanced around beneath hooded eyes, his hand moving mechanically and his voice droning its attention-getting chant. No one took any notice; business was bad.

Business had been bad all through the season. There had been the usual flurry at the end of spring when those in deep sleep had awakened eager for a little excitement, but lack of a reliable protector had made him cautious. He'd been forced to play carefully, letting too many win too often, hoping to recoup later in the season.

Later could be too late. Those who had been lucky would be in a hurry to leave the planet, and those that hadn't would be conserving their money in order to pay for deep sleep or, if they lacked enough for that, hugging every coin to see them through to the next summer. A few would be desperate enough to take a risk, but they would have little to lose.

"Hurry, hurry, hurry," he droned. "Pick the shell with the ball and double your money. Step up and match the quickness of your eye against the swiftness of my hand." He scowled at the continuing lack of attention,

"You're getting good," said Dumarest. He walked from behind the gambler and sat down facing him. "Real good. You could almost pass for an honest man."

"I am an honest man," said Ewan. "I am exactly what I appear to be." He looked up, studying the other man. "You've been out a long time, Earl. Find anything good?"

Dumarest shrugged. "The usual. A few clumps which might pay enough to keep us going."

"You and Clemdish?"

"That's right."

Ewan nodded and then abruptly pushed away his shells. "I saw you when you came in," he said. "The pair of you. You both looked all in, but Clemdish was up and about some time ago. My guess is that you carried him, did all the work."

"You guess wrong," said Dumarest. "I'm not that stupid. If I take a partner, he does his full share." He changed the subject. "How's business?"

"Not so good. Ewan pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. I've had to work under a handicap. No protection," he explained. "And money seems to be tighter than ever. Have you heard the gossip?"

"About the ship with the joker?" Dumarest nodded. "I heard."

"A weird character," summed up the gambler. "But he isn't the only one." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Listen, if you've found anything really good, be careful; I mean extra careful. There's something odd going on, too many men hanging about for no obvious reason. I've seen it happen before. A lot of good men seemed to vanish about that time."

"Jumpers?"

"I don't know. But when a man comes back from harvesting what he's found, he's liable to be tired and a little careless. If someone was waiting for him, he wouldn't stand much of a chance."

"That's obvious," said Dumarest.

"Sure, it is, but if I can think of it, then so can others." Ewan reached out and touched his shells, moving them casually with the tips of his fingers. "There's a few of them in here right now."

Dumarest didn't move.."Where?"

"Over at the bar, the group in the far corner. And there's something else: I overheard someone talking about a ring." The shells made a little sliding sound as Ewan moved them from side to side. "A ring like the one you're wearing."

Dumarest frowned. "I don't get it. Why should they be interested in my ring?"

"I didn't say they were," corrected the gambler. "But there's one sure way to find out."

"Sometimes," said Dumarest, "you make pretty good sense."

He rose, smiling as if at a joke, and casually turned. Three men stood engaged in conversation, one of them looking in his direction. The man was a stranger. He crossed to where Zegun stood before his wares, and managed to catch a glimpse of the other two. Both were unfamiliar. None of the three bore any resemblance to the cat-man or his companion. They could have been entrepreneurs, minor traders, or belated prospectors, but Ewan knew his people.

"Hello, Earl." The vendor smiled his pleasure. "Glad to see you back. I was beginning to wonder if you'd had an accident. You were both out a long time."

"We took a good look around," said Dumarest. "One thing I'll say for Clemdish, he certainly knows how to live off the land. He even found some drinkable water."

"I know," said Zegun. "He's got a nose for it. He told me that you'd covered quite an area."

"Told you?"

"When he ordered your supplies," explained the vendor, "a few hours ago."

Dumarest kept his voice casual. "Maybe I'd better check his list."

"You're the boss." Zegun found a slip of paper. "Here It is: suits, spare filters, power cells, a couple of machetes, tent, collection sacks and storage containers, the usual equipment, rope too." Zegun looked curious. "I wondered about that. What the hell do you need rope for, Earl?"

Dumarest was bland. "We're going fishing," he said, "from a raft."

Zegun laughed. "Now I know you're joking. Every raft on the planet is booked solid. Even the tourist transport's locked up tight." He scowled, suddenly annoyed. "Something should be done about those fat slobs taking a man's living. They get a yen to go hunting, buy a suit and hire a guide and hope to find something to help pay expenses. But they've got to do it the easy way, they've got to ride."

"Why not?" said Dumarest. "Wouldn't you?"

"Sure," admitted Zegun. "But that doesn't make it right."

* * *

Clemdish looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry, Earl. I was only trying to help."

"By tipping our hand?" Dumarest walked three paces to the end of the cubicle, turned and walked back again. He halted, staring down at the man sitting on the edge of the bed. "Rope," he said. "Any idiot would guess from that that we'd found something in the hills. Why didn't you leave it to me to order the equipment?"

Clemdish met his eyes. "What difference would it have made? We still need rope."

"Maybe," said Dumarest. "I'm not so sure."

"Earl?"

"The golden spore is in a place almost impossible to reach. We've got to find it, harvest it and bring it back. The chances are that we won't even be able to get near it unless we've got a raft. Even if we do manage to collect it, our troubles won't be over."

"Jumpers?" Clemdish frowned. "We can take care of those."

"There's another way," said Dumarest, "a better way, perhaps. We sell the location to one of the traders, Zopolis, even. He has the men and equipment to handle it. While he's doing that, we can take care of our other finds."