Eye of the Zodiac - E.C Tubb

A man turned as Dumarest touched his shoulder. His face was flushed, annoyed.

"Earl, thank God you're here. The kid's in trouble."

"Leon? What happened? Why did he play?"

"Nygas caught him dozing on duty. He broke a couple of ribs, I think. Anyway, he kicked him off the job. We strapped him up but he's unfit to work. I guess he hoped to make a stake." The man scowled. "Against Elg Sonef that's asking for a miracle. The kid doesn't stand a chance."

Leon sat at the board, sweating, his face strained, his eyes distraught as he stared at the small heap of coins remaining in his pile. Sonef's voice was a rasping purr.

"You lose again, son. Too bad. Better luck the next time. What'll you take, high, low or man-in-between?"

"I-" Leon broke off as Dumarest reached down and covered his few coins. "Earl!"

"You want in?" The gambler was unruffled. Big, unrestrained in his violence, he was fearless. "You!" He pointed at one of the players. "Move over. Make room for a real man. Cash down, Earl. Let's go!" He poised the cards.

"No."

"You don't want to play?"

"Not this game. It's for kids. Let's try something else. Poker."

"House dealing?"

"Do I look stupid?" Dumarest met the other's eyes. "We deal in turn, no limit, five card draw."

Sonef said, dangerously, "Are you saying there's something wrong with the deal?"

"Did I say that?" Dumarest shrugged. "Of course, if you're scared-"

"Like hell I'm scared!" The big man bristled. "You name it and I'll play it."

He'd been pressured and must have known it, but was unable to refuse the challenge. Big and tough though he was, previous losers could bear grudges and it took little strength to slip a blade into a sleeping man. He grunted as Dumarest sat, heaping coins before him, the glitter of his accumulated bonuses.

"Anyone else want to sit in?"

Two men accepted the invitation followed by a third, a pale man with slender hands who rarely played. Dumarest gave him one glance, recognized him for what he was and made his own, mental reservations. The two would play in partnership, operating a squeeze and manipulating the deal. Against them a normal player would have no chance.

Dumarest was not a normal player. Too often during the tedious journeys between the stars he had run the tables in the salons, providing a means to beguile the passengers traveling on High passage. These were the men and women drugged with quicktime, the magic compound which slowed their metabolisms so that, to them, hours passed as quickly as minutes. And there had been others, gamblers who had become friends and who had taught him the tricks of their trade.

Even so, it took time. The cards had to be stacked, the backs marked with slight indentations of a nail, a trick which if noticed by the others would be put down to each other. And the system of play had to be recognized and used against those who employed it.

Sonef was the lesser of the two, Lekard dangerously skillful. The other men were padding, caught up by the excitement, limited as to resources and quickly disposed of. Dumarest used them, adding to his pile, throwing in good hands when he knew that Sonef or Lekard would have given themselves better. Cautious play, as he waited for the moment he knew was sure to come.

Sonef grunted as the three were left in sole possession of the table. "Now we can really get down to it Your deal, Lekard."

The moment, Dumarest was certain of it. He watched as the cards fell, picked up his hand and looked at it. Three aces, a nine, and a deuce.

"I'll open."

Sonef was to his left. "I'll just double that, Earl. Lekard?"

"I'll stay."

Not an obvious squeeze play, then, but that would come later. Dumarest met the raise and raised in turn. Sonef doubled, Lekard stayed, Dumarest raised again and was raised by Sonef. Lekard dropped out.

It was between the two of them, and Dumarest knew exactly what was intended. He frowned at his cards, apparently uncertain, a man tempted but a little afraid.

"Earl?"

Dumarest looked at his money. "I'll raise," he said. "All of it. Table stakes, right?"

"No limit, Earl, that was what we agreed."

From the circle of watchers a man growled, "What the hell, Sonef, aren't you ever satisfied? You trying to buy the pot or what?"

Draw poker, no limit. A man with enough money would always win because he could put down more than his opponent could match. A risk Dumarest had taken, one lessened now that Lekard had dropped out. He could match the other's bet, but after? He knew what would happen after.

"Table stakes," said another man from among the watchers. "We always play that way. No limit, but you can't beat a man into the ground. I say meet his pile, draw, and show."

"You're not playing," snapped the gambler. "So you just shut your mouth. Earl, if you want I'll accept your paper. Good enough?"

I.O.U's which would carry a high rate of interest. Registered with the company cashier, Dumarest would be working for the gambler until the debt was paid. Again he pretended to hesitate.

"Any amount?"

"As high as you want. And I'll meet it with cash." Sonef, certain he would win, could afford to be generous. "Hell, Earl, shove in the cash and I'll match it. Then we can draw. Fair enough?"

Dumarest nodded, waited until the money was placed, and looked again at his hand. Three aces. No normal player would do other than draw two cards hoping for a pair, or a fourth ace.

He said, "Put down the deck, Lekard."

"What?"

"Put it down." Steel flashed as Dumarest lifted his knife and slammed the point through the pasteboards into the table beneath. To a man standing at his side he said, "Pull them from the top. I want no seconds or bottoms-just deal them as they come."

The man was uncertain. "Elg?"

"Do it." Sonef was confident. "Just deal them as he says. How many do you want, Earl?"

Dumarest dropped the nine, the deuce and one of the aces. "I'll take three."

He heard the incredulous suck of breath from a man behind him, a kibitzer who had seen his hand, saw the sudden hardening of Sonefs face, the accentuated pallor on Lekard's thin features.

He didn't have to look at his cards, he knew what they had to be. An ace followed by two cards of the same suit, either of which would have completed Sonefs running flush. If he had taken one card or two, he would have held four aces against a winning hand.

He said, flatly, "I bet a hundred. You want to see me? No? Then I've won."

He rose, dropping his cards face upwards, sweeping the money into his pocket. To Leon he said, "Get your gear. It's time for us to go."

Chapter Three

They reached the city at mid-afternoon, dropping from the raft which had carried them, the driver waving a casual farewell as he drifted away. The area was bleak, a mass of warehouses and rugged ground, huts and offices showing hasty construction. An extension of the old town which lay in a hollow, at the head of a strait leading to the sea.

The field lay beyond on a stretch of leveled ground, ringed with a high perimeter fence topped with floodlights. On Tradum the authorities maintained a check on all arrivals and departures, a policy backed by the Zur-Sekulich as a precaution against contract-workers leaving before their time.

Leon said, "What now, Earl?"

"We find somewhere to stay. Then we eat, then I'll look around."

"Can't I come with you?"

"No, you'd better rest those ribs."

"Nygas!" The boy scowled. "That animal! He had no right-"

"You were warned," said Dumarest curtly. "You knew what to expect."

He glanced at the sky. Walking would save money, but be costly in time. He waved as a pedcar came into sight, the operator a slender man with grotesquely developed thighs. Leon sighed with relief as he slumped into the open compartment at the rear. His face was pinched, the nostrils livid, dark shadows around his eyes. He clutched a small bag, the sum total of his possessions, a cheap thing of soiled fabric which he rested on his lap. Dumarest had nothing aside from what he carried on his person.

"Peddling," the operator asked, "You from the workings? I ask because I was thinking of getting a job up there. A friend of mine, my sister's second cousin, he reckons a man could do real well. You think it's worth me trying?"

"No harm in that."

"I could handle a machine given the chance. And I can take orders-hell, in this job you do it all the time. Say, you boys looking for a little excitement?"

Dumarest said, dryly. "What had you in mind?"

"There's a new joint opened on Condor Avenue. Young girls, sensatapes, analogues, all the drinks you can handle, and all the games you can use. Fights too, if you're interested. Real stuff, no messing about, naked blades and no stopping. Interested?"

They were from the workings. Men from a long bout of hard, relentless labor would be interested.

"Condor Avenue," said Dumarest. "What's it called?"

"The Effulvium. Crelk Sugari runs it. If you want, mister, I'll take you straight there. Why waste time?" His chuckle was suggestive. "Get in while the fruit is unspoiled, eh?"

"We'll drop in later."

"You do that." The operator handed back a card. "Hand this in when you arrive. It'll get you a free drink. A big one, and you won't have to pay entry. Don't forget now."

Dumarest took the slip of pasteboard. Handed in, it would ensure the man his commission.

"You know a good hotel? Something not too high and with available service?"

"Service?" The man twisted his head, grinning. "I get it. Sure, Madam Brandt runs a nice, clean, interesting place. Just don't make too much noise and everything will be fine. You want me to take you there?"

"Just drop us close by. You got a card for me to give her? Thanks."

Leon staggered a little as he left the pedcar, leaning on Dumarest for support as the vehicle moved away, the operator waving and pointing to the front of a house with shuttered windows and gaudy streaks of paint on the walls.

Dumarest watched him go, then turned and headed in the other direction.

"Aren't we going in there, Earl?"

"No."

"But I thought-" Leon frowned. "That man thinks we'll stay there."

"Which is why we won't." Dumarest stared at the pale face. "Can you hold up until we find somewhere else?"

"I guess so." Leon made an effort to stand upright. "I guess I'll have to."

"That's right," said Dumarest. "You do."

He settled for a small place in a quiet street, run by a woman long past her prime. The room had twin beds, a washbasin and faucet, a faded carpet on the floor, frayed curtains at the window. The panes were barred and faced a narrow alley. The walls were cracked and the ceiling stained. From a room lower down the passage came the sound of empty coughing:

"Chell Arlept," she explained. "He worked with my husband up at the site. They got caught in an explosion. Chell ruined his lungs. My husband-" She broke off, swallowing.

"It happens," said Dumarest. "I'm sorry."

"They just left him there," she said bleakly. "Piled dirt over the place where he fell. I didn't even get compensation."

Dumarest said nothing.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tell you, but you did ask about Chell. If there's anything you need?"

"I'll let you know," said Dumarest. "There's a bath at the end of the passage? Good." He looked pointedly at the door. As the woman left he said to the boy. "Get stripped. I want to look at those ribs."

Nygas had been savage, or perhaps he had misjudged his victim. Leon winced as Dumarest's fingers probed his side, the strappings that had been hastily applied lying to one side on the bed. One rib was broken, others cracked, the flesh ugly with bruises.

"How bad is it, Earl?"

"Bad enough." Dumarest picked up the bandages, soaked them in water from the faucet, bound them tightly around the slender torso. "Just lie there and get some sleep. Don't move unless you have to and, when you do, don't bend. Hungry?"

"I could eat."

"I'll get the woman to bring you a meal. If she wants to feed you, don't argue."

"You leaving, Earl?"

Dumarest smiled at the look of concern. "Don't worry, Leon. I'll be back."

* * * * *

Finding the hotel had taken time, taking care of the boy still more. It was dusk as Dumarest neared the heart of the city, the square where the market was located. Beyond it lay the wharves from which boats were already putting out to fish the turbulent seas. Around it, running along the avenues to either side, were the palaces of pleasure, the casinos, dream parlors, brothels, the places in which men could pander to their inclinations. Establishments for the rich, or those with money to burn. The market was for the poor.

Beggars were prominent, men with crippled limbs and scarred faces, discarded veterans of mercenary wars. They jostled women selling dubious pleasures, others offering lucky charms, vials of aphrodisiacs, pods of narcotic seeds. In the market proper, traders displayed their wares on stalls illuminated by brightly colored lanterns which fought the encroaching darkness with pools of red and green, yellow and amber, pale blue and nacreous white.

In the kaleidoscope of brilliance heaps of tawdry jewelry, gaudy fabrics, and cheap adornments looked like rare treasure stolen from fabled temples.

A crone called out as Dumarest passed where she sat before a table brilliant with cabalistic symbols.

"Your fortune, my lord? Told with skills won from an ancient race and passed down through seventeen generations. Learn of the dangers which may lie in your path, perils which can be avoided."

Another swung a small bag suspended from a gilded chain which, she assured him, would give full protection against the diseases of love, poisoned waters, and wild radiation.

A man sat like a brooding idol over an assembly of finger rings holding vibrant darts, needles tipped with venom, artificial fingernails of razor-sharp steel, brooches which could blast a stunning gas; subtle mechanisms for dealing death and pain, things much used by the harlots who needed such protection.

Dumarest paused at a stall from which rose tantalizing odors, buying a skewer of meat and vegetables seared over a flame. The food was hot, pungent with spice, crisp to the tongue. The woman who served him was tall, darkly attractive, the cleft in her blouse doing little to hide the swell of her breasts.

She watched as he ate with the fastidious neatness of a cat, her eyes roving over his face, his body, noting the tall hardness of him, the instinctive wariness. A man who had learned to survive the hard way, she decided. One without the protection and benefit of Guild, House or Organization. His face was somber, the planes and contours revealing an inner determination, the mouth hovering on the edge of becoming cruel. He met her eyes as he dropped the empty skewer on a tray.

"You like it?"

"It was good," he admitted. "How's trade?"

"It's early yet." She turned to stare at the Hyead who worked at the back of the stall. "Better start another batch, Kiasong. Set them up and leave them to soak." To Dumarest she said, "He's willing but he has to be watched."

"And comes cheap?"

She shrugged, quivers manifest beneath the thin material of her blouse, the breasts, unbound, moving like oiled balloons.