Ties Of Blood And Silver Part 9

Not to mention that I didn't have anything to trade to Benno for enough tweecies for a ticket.

But this was interesting; this door blocked the tunnel. Not a side room-either there was a cul-de-sac beyond, or, just conceivably, a large section of tunnel, with something in it worth protecting. Possibly something worth stealing.

I shone my flash around the door frame and smiled. Good-there was a pressure latch at the top of the door. When someone opened the door, the latch would spring open. And something would happen.

Most likely a deadfall would drop. Anyone who set up an explosive b.o.o.bytrap would require some way of turning it off, and I couldn't find anything that indicated a keyhole.

That, combined with the height of the door, suggested that the resident of whatever was beyond was a schrift. With its great strength, a schrift would find a deadfall that could crush me flat as a flimsy no problem; the creature could just catch it as it fell, then lift it back into place.

I snapped my blade into my hand and wedged it into the doorframe, just under the catch, working it well into the wood. That would keep the catch closed, and the deadfall from falling.

I turned off my flash, and slowly, carefully, swung the door open. It moved silently.

I stepped inside, feeling my way with my toes, listening intently for any sound.

Nothing. Which was good. But I couldn't stumble around in the dark; I'd have to risk a light for a moment.

I dialed my flash to low and took a quick look around. It was a rough-hewn, three-meter-high room, the walls and ceiling above the tunnel's normal two-meter height smooth, as though it had been chiseled out by someone taking more care than would be normal for a mining tunnel. Against the right-hand wall, an elaborate wooden workbench stood, tools lined neatly in carved recesses, three large piles of metal sc.r.a.ps. The left-hand wall held cabinets and a cookstove. The back wall was covered by a beaded curtain.

This was it. I'd found a schrift jeweler's home.

I doused my light. Perhaps I was being overcautious, but quite possibly the schrift was sleeping beyond that beaded curtain.

No problem; I had the location of the table marked in my mind. Moving with exquisite slowness, I worked my way across the stone floor, reached out over the table, and scooped the sc.r.a.ps of metal into my bag.

I crouched there, hefting my bag and debating whether or not to risk a light again, feeling like a hunted animal.

Which wasn't far from the truth.

If it was really silver sc.r.a.p that I'd taken from the table, if the schrift had enough confidence in its deadfall to leave silver-or even gold-lying around, if there had been a valuable jewel or two in the pile-if, if, if.But I had to know. If I had enough in the bag, I could take my haul to Benno, trade it for enough tweecies to buy a ticket off the planet.

For where? I really didn't know. It really didn't matter. Anywhere there wasn't a bounty on my skin would do. That would be enough for now. Later, I would find somewhere where there was a lot to steal.

I had much stealing ahead of me, over the next few years; it would cost a lot to hire enough mercenaries to be sure of killing Amos van Ingstrand.

Slowly. Very slowly. Worse than he'd done to Marie.

I shook my head. That wasn't for now; no point in even thinking about it. For now, I had to see if I had enough to get off Oroga. If I didn't have enough, maybe I could hunt around, find the schrift's main cache.

It had to have one-possibly in the room, possibly outside. This couldn't be all the metal and gems that a schrift jeweler would have.

To h.e.l.l with it. I set the bag on the floor and pulled my flash out of my pocket, covering the glowplate with my fingers, trying to keep them from shaking.

I thumbed it on and spread my first two fingers, careful to keep the narrow beam of light from flickering around the room. If the schrift was sleeping beyond the curtain, I didn't want to wake it. If it wasn't, but was heading back toward its burrow, I wanted to be sure that I saw it before it saw me. Anyone-well, almost anyone-would turn me in for the reward that van Ingstrand was offering. He wanted me badly; a hundred thousand pesos is a lot of money.

I spread the mouth of the bag and shined the light in. There were dozens of oddly shaped sc.r.a.ps of some whitish metal that could have been silver, or iridium, or platinum-I'd be able to tell better when I got it in the sunlight-and there was gold. b.u.t.tery, yellow, wonderful gold.

Enough to take to Benno. He wouldn't turn me in. An exchanger can't betray a customer; it's bad for business.

I forced myself to calm down. Just because what I had was valuable didn't mean that it was enough.

Hmm... the gold was worth maybe five thousand pesos; the silver, perhaps twice as much, altogether.

The brooch in my sleeve pocket was worth a h.e.l.l of a lot more, but Benno wouldn't pay me more than a couple of thousand for it, under the circ.u.mstances. Figure he'd give me ten thousand pesos for the lot.

I ran a rapid series of calculations. The official peso/tweecie exchange rate was a little more than forty to one. A Gate ticket to anywhere was just over two hundred tweecies; a.s.suming standard conversion rates, this was more than enough. But it wouldn't be safe to take the money to the preserve for conversion; van Ingstrand's people would be watching.

That left Benno again. And he was known for discretion, not generosity. I'd be lucky to get one hundred fifty from him.

No, I'd have to look for more. And if not here, then elsewhere. But it wasn't likely I'd run into another bonanza like this one; best to strip the schrift's lair of everything valuable that I could carry.

As I raised my light to look around the room, it bounced out of my trembling hands. Too much fear in the past couple of days; too little food.

The flash rolled noisily across the stone floor, coming to rest in a rut.

The light sprayed across the wall next to the door. In the middle of the circle of light, like a b.u.t.terflypinned to a plate, was a wooden shelf, set in a roughly hewn niche.

And on the shelf was the silver pitcher, the one that I'd seen in the marketplace.

It was still beautiful. Despite everything, I stood still for a moment, drinking it in.

There was a voice behind me. "No, little one, it is as I told you. It is my chrost.i.th. It is not for sale. Or for thieving."

Carlos One-Hand had once explained that the main difference between lifting and burglary is that in the first case, if you're caught, there may be some benefit in pretending to be innocent; in the second, the only chance is to run.

I didn't look behind as I leaped toward the door. Once out, I could lose whoever it was in the tunnels.

All I had to do was get past the- The world exploded into fire, and heat, and then black.

Carlos used to train both of us to come awake quickly by sneaking up on either of us while we were sleeping and resting the point of a knife against his chosen victim's throat. If we grabbed his hand before he touched us with the knife, we'd get a reward: not having to sleep with him for five days, sometimes longer. Little Marie was good at it; eventually, he gave up on giving her the chance.

I was horrible. I can never seem to wake suddenly; always, it's been a slow swim back up to the real world. Sometimes I'm tempted to drown in my dreams; they're always nicer.

This time was as bad as it's ever been. I was dreaming about my mother again, I think. All I remember was soft hands and gentle voices. Then again, that's all I've ever remembered about her.

And then there were other voices, in a strange language. Not too strange; Carlos had made me learn some Schrift. At one point, it was the height of style for Elweries to address each other in Schrift. I guess he figured that when the same fad rolled around again, I'd be ready for Elwere.

'-so why do you keep it, Eschteef? The human, Amos van Ingstrand, does offer whoever turns it in a hundred thousand of Elwere pesos, two thousand frusst of silver, or a hundred of gold.'

The other voice whistled nasally: a schrift chuckle. 'I keep it because it may be of the schtann.'

'That is foolishness. We have discussed this before.'

'No, Hrotisft, we have not discussed this before. I have reported a strange event to you, and you have mocked me. There was a moment just now, and another one, days ago. I felt something. Perhaps cherat, perhaps not. It will cost little to find out. A bit of time, a few bowls of food.'

'I still say that this is-'

'And there is another reason to keep the little human, at least for a while. The reward may go still higher; it may be possible to negotiate through the Exchanger for both child and the brooch that it had in its sleeve; we may be able to get more silver and gold.'

The brooch! I pressed my left arm against the stone. My sleeve was empty.

' Eschteef, do not be greedy. 'Another nasal whistle. 'Hrotisft, my teacher, first you accuse me of foolishness; now, of greed. If you accuse me falsely, your age is getting the better of you; if truly, it does not speak well for you, that you sponsored such a greedy fool into the schtann.'

This time, the other whistled back. 'My age? You say that-very well; do it your way.'

I'd waited long enough, trying to get my bearings back. It was tough; a clout on the head hard enough to knock you out leaves you aching, nauseous, and disoriented at best; it can easily leave you brain-damaged, or dead.

The stone floor was hard under my cheek. All it would take would be a quick leap to my feet, then a dash for the door. I'd pull my blade from the deadfall's latch as I pa.s.sed, blocking the way behind me.

I opened one eye. All I could see was rock; the schrift had left me facing the wall.

I sprang to my feet, forcing them to stay underneath me. As I did, I heard metal sc.r.a.ping on stone.

Three steps toward the door, and my right leg was jerked out from underneath me. I slammed hard against the ground, half blind with pain, my shin aching horribly. I reached down to rub it.

No wonder I couldn't run; my right ankle was clamped in a metal cuff, the cuff connected to a chain, the chain bolted to the wall.

The larger of the two schrift leaned over me as I lay on the floor, painfully pulling air into my lungs. I'd known that the schrift was a huge creature, but it seemed even larger close up.

The head was a ma.s.s of gray skin, with two deeply set eyes that seemed to burn from an internal fire.

There was no hair on its head; only two widely s.p.a.ced nasal slits on its face, earholes to the side.

Nothing of interest except a cavernous mouth, with sharply pointed teeth. I wasn't sure if I believed that schrift actually ate human flesh; I wasn't sure if I cared.

Maybe that would be better than being turned over to van Ingstrand, having him flay the skin- Tears welled up as I remembered Marie, begging me to make it stop hurting, please, David, make it stop hurting, please, please...

'Do you hurt?' it asked in Schrift, then shook me and hissed the question in Basic when I didn't answer.

"Do you hurt?"

Blunt fingers reached down and felt at my ankle, easily brushing my hands out of the way as I tried to protect myself. "Don't worry, little human. Not yet." The hot, dry fingers were strong, but the schrift touched my sc.r.a.pes gently. "A bruise or two, but you are not badly damaged. I may have some valda oil-"

'And what use have you for valda oil, Eschteef?' The other schrift hissed. 'Have you changed into a human without my knowledge ?'

'No, Hrotisft, it was the thief who tried to steal from my stall. ' This one-Eschteef, that was its name-rose, and rummaged through a bin near where I lay. 'It had a small vial on it; I have not bothered to take the time to sell it, yet. I think it is-ah.'

The schrift dripped a few drops of the cool oil onto my shin, then rubbed it in, the pain receding as though I had had never been hurt. The sc.r.a.pe was still there, and the bruises soon would be, but not the pain. That was the value of properly treated valda oil: the molecules wrapped themselves around freenerve endings only; it eased pain, without doing any damage to nerves or other tissues.

Eschteef raised its head. 'Go now, Hrotisft. You seem to frighten the human child.'

'Easily solved.' Hrotisft snapped its jaws. 'Eat it, or sell it to Amos van Ingstrand-'

'Hrotisft... the matter is closed. For the time being, at least. '

'Very well. I will return in a few days. Or sooner, if needed. '

'Of course. '

Hrotisft lifted the stone deadfall with one six-fingered hand, slipped the bar into place to secure it then closed the door behind itself.

Eschteef lifted me to a sitting position and crouched down in front of me, in an awkward-looking squat.

Schrift always looked funny to me. Their forearms and lower legs are disproportionately large for the limbs, and the limbs themselves are too thick. Of all the sapient races, they're the most disturbing to look at; they're shaped too much like humans.

'Do you understand me?' it asked.

"I don't know what you're saying," I answered in Basic. No point in letting the schrift know that I understood its language.

Eschteef stood and moved swiftly but gracefully to the niche near the door. That's another disturbing thing about the schrift: the way they go from stillness to quick movement, and then back to motionlessness, as though they have no inertia.

Carefully, gently, it lifted the pitcher from the niche, cradling it in its fingertips as it brought the pitcher back to me. "This is my chrost.i.th, my... master-work-so-far. I have had two other chrost.i.ths, two other creations that deserved to be called the best that I, Eschteef of the metal-and-jewel-worker's schtann, could accomplish. And this is better than the second, as the second was better than the first. And someday, there may be a fourth, if my hands are steady enough, my mind clever enough, my... heart worthy." Its eyes didn't move from my face as it spoke. "Almost always, a member of my schtann creates one chrost.i.th; frequently, two; rarely, three; four or five, almost never."

I could understand that. How could any creature be able to top something as beautiful as this?

Eschteef held the pitcher half a meter away from me, as though it wanted it close enough for me to appreciate, but far enough away that it could easily prevent me from touching it, if I tried to.

But I wouldn't have. It was beautiful. Not beautiful as in "I can make a lot of money with this." Just beautiful. Perfect.

Even with all the pain in my head, all the tired aching that made the tendons in my shoulders burn like hot wires, I sat back, and let the wonder of it wash over me.

Just as had happened in the marketplace, I felt something. A little twitch in my head, like an electric warmth in my brain. And then it was gone.

'Yes,' the schrift said, bringing the pitcher closer, 'perhaps the human child belongs in the schtann. It's not unknown. There have been human members of other schtanns, and other alien members of our schtann. There was a brace of poncharaire many years ago, as I recall. Perhaps the human child is simplyr.e.t.a.r.ded-'

"I am not r.e.t.a.r.ded. Carlos One-Hand said that I was the best lifter he had ever seen, except for himself and..."

and Marie. I wept.

Eschteef rose and took the pitcher back to its niche, setting it down as though it were a priceless piece of gla.s.s.

' Since it is apparent that you speak my language, we shall cease the pretense, keh?'

With a nasal whistle, Eschteef drew the curtains back from a cupboard and brought out an earthenware pitcher and two stone mugs, each half the size of my head.

After filling the cups, it set the earthenware pitcher on the table that I'd taken the silver and gold from before, and brought both cups back to where I still sat, chained to the wall.

It squatted in front of me. 'You see, little one, I have a problem. If you are not destined to be part of my schtann-and I am by no means certain that you are...' It took a sc.r.a.p of cloth from its pouch and wiped my eyes and nose. ' Humans. ' A hoa.r.s.e tick issued from its throat. 'More different kinds of bodily fluids, than I can see a reason for. They drip at every orifice, I do swear-if you are not of my schtann, then I should-and I will-turn you over to Amos van Ingstrand, and claim the rewards It gestured toward my now empty sleeve pocket. 'And sell the brooch back to it, as well.'

It handed me a cup; I drank deeply. Mannafruit juice; it washed the blood and dust from my throat.

Eschteef tilted its head back, until its mouth pointed toward the low ceiling, and poured the liquid in.

'More? Good. But if you are of the schtann, if you can become of the schtann, then I must aid you and train you. Of course. '

I shook my head. It didn't make any sense. "I don't understand. A schtann is like a family to you, right?"