"The gain will be in the juscar they collect," said Dumarest. "Your commission on that will more than cover any lost profits on the manna." He added, casually, "There will, of course, be a bonus."

  "Of course—and if no Juscar is found?" Mtouba shrugged without waiting for an answer. "A gamble but one which appeals to me. The loss of a small but certain profit against a potentially large commission. My friend, you are subtle. At no cost to yourself you have done your best to ensure a supply of labor. I salute you."

  Dumarest matched his smile, accepting the flattery and knowing just what it was worth. The agent would lose nothing—others could harvest the manna—but he stood to gain from any juscar which might be found. A bribe to tempt his further cooperation.

  As the man poured wine he said, "On checking the workings I find there is an old tunnel. It was cut with a machine. Do you know what happened to it?"

  "No." The agent handed Dumarest the small glass and lifted his own. "To a happy association!"

  "To mutual profit!"

  They drank and set down the glasses; a ceremony which Dumarest had experienced before and which Mtouba, on this backward world, had been eager to conduct. A salute to each other's commercial prowess and a bargain sealed. But Dumarest wasn't yet finished.

  "The tunnel," he said. "According to Isobel you've supplied hand tools and some explosives together with drilling modules and various other items such as lamps, testers, sonic probes—there's no need to go through the list. But no heavy mining machinery."

  "That is correct." Mtouba answered the unspoken question. "They couldn't pay for it. I tried to warn them of the local difficulties but, at first, the man wouldn't listen. Even so I managed to restrain his expenditure a little by working on the principle that more supplies should be paid for out of profits. A waste of time. As I had to remind Madam Boulaye the last load of supplies were all she could expect until her credit was replenished.

  "If she should choose to sell?"

  "Who would buy? The deed to the mine is worthless. Her house has some value, true, and I may be able to raise a little on the raft and other portable goods, but the total value will be small. On Elysius there are more houses than people—you have examined the town. Her only real chance is to find a buyer with no conception of local conditions."

  An optimistic fool as Rudi had been. One whom she would be willing to rob. Dumarest looked through the window toward the town, a dying place as the agent had said; the manna must contain a sterilizing agent. But they had wandered far enough from the point.

  He said, "Were you here when the mine was first opened?"

  "No, that was before my time."

  "So you've no idea what happened to the machinery." Dumarest looked thoughtful. "It's possible it could still be here. Tucked away in one of the warehouses, perhaps. Shall we take a look?"

  They found it beneath a bundle of scented reeds; stalks dried to a brittle fragility, crumbling to powder as Dumarest threw them to one side. Mtouba sneezed, the lamp he held throwing a dancing beam over the walls and interior struts of the warehouse. It settled on the shape Dumarest had revealed.

  It was dusty, neglected, metal dull where it should have been bright, edges blunt where they should have been sharp. Jagged metal showed broken components and protective paint had scabbed and peeled from joints and linkages.

  "I should employ you, Earl. It will be in the books, of course, but who would think to look?" The circle of brilliance moved as Mtouba shone his light on one point after another. "The original owners must have lost heart or run out of capital. This machine could have been held against outstanding debt. Maybe it was never even used."

  "It was used," said Dumarest. "Look at the wear."

  "Marginal."

  "And the condition."

  "To be expected after such storage. But a little paint and a weld or two and it will be as good as new. A bargain for a shrewd investor. Now, Earl, if you'll come back to my office we can discuss terms. You wished outright purchase or to hire? If you want to hire you must accept the equipment in the condition you see it." He moved the light so as to illuminate Dumarest's face. "No?"

  "No."

  "Then what do you suggest?"

  "Standing here the machine is useless. If you loan it to us we can get it working and open new tunnels to find the juscar."

  "Loan?"

  "What can you lose? At the worst you will have an operating machine instead of a piece of junk. And, once we find the juscar, your commission—need I go on?"

  "No," said the agent. "Another gamble. You know, Earl, you're giving me reason never to forget you."

  Chapter Eleven

  "Watch!" Sven Axilia held a bowl of oil in which floated a burning wick. Gently he set it down on the floor of the tunnel and retreated to stand beside Dumarest. "Watch," he said again.

  The tunnel was dark, external noises muffled by turns and distance, the tiny point of light throwing a clear, steady glow. Too steady as Dumarest knew.

  "No drafts," he said.

  "Which means no ventilation." Axilia kicked at the side of the tunnel. "Damned fools! They took out four times as much dirt as is necessary and forgot that men have to breathe. No shoring, either, you spotted that? The engineer must have been doped or stupid. See how the shaft widens then suddenly contracts?"

  Dumarest followed the movements of the miner's hand. "Impatience," he said. "They were in a hurry to find the juscar."

  "And maybe died doing it." Axilia moved on down the shaft to halt where it contracted into a bore barely a yard wide. Beyond lay darkness and loose debris. "Some of them could still be in there." He looked at the bowl of oil, now guttering. "Let's get out of here."

  The mouth of the shaft lay to one side of the present field of operations, the edges eroded, rounded, and dotted with sparse vegetation. The ground was rutted and Axilia stooped to examine it, rising to let dust plume from between his fingers. Turning he scowled back into the tunnel, lifting his head to stare at the summit of the hills, guessing, Dumarest knew, the weight and mass of the material above the opening.

  "It's solid, Sven. It should take a wide shaft."

  "An even one, maybe, but you saw what it was like in there. Irregular as hell. Drive a shaft like that and you're begging for trouble. The wide spaces set up stress regions and when you narrow the bore you create a destructive pattern. If you're lucky you can get away with it but if anything should happen, a tremor or a quake, it can't hold. Even a bad storm could do it or the vibrations set up by blasting too close." He dusted his hands. "All we can do with this is to forget it."

  The old, original shaft now long abandoned, but the ones dug by the Boulayes were little better. Axilia had made his examination and was now illustrating the problem as he saw it.

  "They ran wild," he said. "The man—Rudi?—had no real experience. Maybe he'd read a few books or something."

  "He taught geology," said Dumarest.

  "So he knew about rocks and strata and formations and expected mineral content and all the rest of it. But mining? I'd guess you've had more experience than he did. He worked on theory and that can be fatal."

  It had been fatal but Dumarest made no comment. It was better to let the man work in his own way and already he'd displayed knowledge and skill beyond that of an average miner. He must have been a shift boss at least, or an engineer.

  Now he said, "The shaft they're working now is a bust. It must cut across the perimeter of the main deposit but that doesn't tell us in which direction to head. I want to drive bores to the west and south at descent angles of thirty and forty degrees so as to check the concentration of jascar. If the findings are positive we can expand and divert as necessary."

  Wormholes bored into fruit to find the succulent seed at the heart. But Dumarest was interested in more than the juscar.

  "What about the shaft where Rudi is buried?"

  "Over here." Axilia led the way toward it, halting on a mound so as to point. "There isn't much to see."

  A shallow gully now filled at one end with a slope of detritus. A wide depression above it flattening into the upper reaches of the hills. Some vegetation, a few scattered rocks, a glitter of powdered manna. Rudi's grave.

  "He'll be far back," said Axilia. "Buried deep in the hill. The fall must have progressed to the mouth or maybe she instigated it. She took a nugget from his hand, you say?"

  "That's what she told me."

  "Then she was damned lucky not to have been caught. Once this stuff goes it runs all the way. Of course there could have been shoring which she jerked free afterwards."

  To bury the man or to hide the evidence of possible violence; Dumarest knew what the man was thinking. How often had he known it to happen before? An unwanted partner neatly disposed of—but what reason could Isobel have had for wanting to kill?

  He said, "She wanted to bury him. To save him from scavengers. Now she wants to take him back to his home world."

  "Some bones? A few scraps of clothing? You know what he must be like now, Earl."

  "It's her mine, Sven, and it's a part of the deal."

  Dumarest moved on and jumped to stand on the slope. Dirt shifted from beneath his boots, the gouge he made filling even as he raked the surface with his heel. A dozen men with shovels could labor for a month and make little impression on the loose material.

  Watching Axilia said, "You won't hold the men unless they find juscar."

  And there would be none where he was standing. Dumarest turned, looking at the hills, trying to judge the direction of the collapsed tunnel. It was impossible to determine with any real accuracy and it was more than just direction; he needed to know the angle of descent, any turns it had made, alterations in level.

  And exactly how far Rudi had been from the mouth when he'd died. Information only Isobel could give.

  She arrived at dusk with Zalman and the final part of the dismantled machine. Tocsaw was with them and he smiled as Dumarest helped unload the vehicle.

  "Surprised to see me?"

  "Pleased. The others?"

  "Fitz was interested and Jon could be persuaded." He dismissed them with a gesture. "Is this where you want to set up the machine?"

  He got to work at Dumarest's nod, Zalman helping, Axilia using his brawn while Chell adjusted the lights so as to lengthen the day. The local looked sullen, restless, and Dumarest guessed he would be off at the first opportunity.

  Isobel nodded agreement when he mentioned it. "I'll immobilize the raft, Earl, so if he wants to leave he'll have to walk."

  "Did you manage to find more labor?"

  "Not as yet but Mtouba told me some of the men you specified had been trying to sell him manna. He also mentioned how much he'd lost by refusing to buy it."

  "Anything else?"

  "Such as?" Her eyes searched his face. "A ship? You hope for a ship to arrive?"

  "He didn't know he had the tunneler," said Dumarest. "Or he said he didn't know. There could be other things which had slipped his memory. Explosives, for example, mining lasers, equipment we could use. When you go into town tomorrow ask if he has anything to freeze loose dirt." He saw her frown and explained, "Miners use it when dealing with moist sand and fine loams. Stuff which runs like water when you dig a hole. They freeze it with certain gases and cut into it like cake. Sven will give you the technical details."

  "Can't you?"

  "Sven is the expert around here. I know such gases are used but I don't know which would be the best for any particular situation."

  "And you want to leave the man his pride, is that it?" She smiled as he didn't answer. "Earl?"

  "I need his muscle." Dumarest was blunt. "I need his skill. I want him to be on my side. Have you made arrangements for the men to be fed?"

  "Yes. They can come back to the house and—"

  "No. Send the food out here."

  "Beds too?" She was joking but became serious when she saw his expression. "You mean you want them to work all night?"

  "They have lights," he reminded. "And they've been idle long enough. The quicker we get that machine working the sooner we can find the juscar." The metal and the dead man and the secret buried with him. "Now let's get back to the house. I need to study the drawings."

  He studied them after a meal of tisane, cold pudding, and a loaf made of reconstituted meats and vegetables. Quick, easily prepared fare which she sent out to the workers before coming into the chamber to stand at his shoulder.

  He said, "I have all the plans, Isobel? You haven't forgotten any?"

  "No, Earl, you have them all."

  Zalman could have told if she was lying but Dumarest was convinced she told the truth. The drawings were those he had studied before but now he went over them again with greater care. Rudi had not been a draftsman but, as a geologist, he'd had experience on field trips and knew the importance of careful notation. But his three-dimensional depiction had been poor.

  Dumarest frowned at one of the sheets. The lower levels? The upper? Did that shaft connect with another or did it just end in a blank wall? Which lines denoted ventilation? Blue flecks told of discovered nuggets of juscar but they were too evenly distributed to signal the position of the nexus. A maze in which he wandered to determine a single point.

  "Here?" His finger rested on the sheet. "Was it here?"

  "Earl, I can't be sure." There was no need to ask what he meant. "It was getting dark, I was confused—how can I be certain?"

  "Try!"

  "It was a long time ago now."

  "Try!"

  The lash of his voice was a whip which she obeyed. How had it been? How, exactly, had it been? Closing her eyes she again visualized the scene, every detail of the event. They had been outside and Rudi had been impatient to get to work. He had gone ahead and she, finally, had followed to hear the scream, the crash, to see the face, the half-buried body, the extended hand… the hand… the hand…

  "Isobel!" Dumarest had risen and was facing her, hands gripping her shoulders, eyes hard as they met her own. "Get hold of yourself, woman!"

  Had she been screaming? Crying? Shaking and acting the child?

  "Here!" He handed her wine. "Drink this and calm down." More gently he added, "It happened a long time ago, my dear. A long time ago."

  Too long and time had dulled the memory. Or was it something else?

  Did she now want to remember?

  Slowly she drank the wine, thinking, masking her thoughts in simple actions as she had so often done when Rudi had been so insistent. A trick to extend the seconds and gain time in order to compose herself. To recognize the problem she faced.

  To find the body was to lose Dumarest.

  Knowing that could she help him to find it?

  "Isobel?" His eyes were anxious. "Do you feel better now?"

  Had he guessed? It must surely be no secret to him how she felt; a woman in love betrayed herself every moment. Would he know if she lied? Could she bear to face him if she did?

  "Isobel?"

  "Nothing." She forced herself to smile, to shake her head as she set down the empty goblet. "I was thinking, remembering. Rudi was far down the shaft—no, the cutting leading to the shaft. He was within the tunnel, of course, but even though it was getting late the light showed him clearly. I can see his face now, all warm and smiling as if he were relishing the sight of a fire. He had his hand extended and was about to say something when it happened."

  "The collapse?"

  "There was no warning, Earl. None at all. One second he was standing there looking at me, the next he was down and dust was everywhere and I heard the scream. One scream and then nothing. No sound at all at first then only the rustle of falling dirt. I'd run forward and was touching him, holding his hand. It held that nugget and I must have taken it."

  "And then?"

  She shook her head and he didn't press. Dazed, shocked, deafened, stunned by the sudden catastrophe— how could she be expected to recall every small detail? She must have run, driven by instinct if nothing else, sensing danger as an animal would sense a waiting trap. An instinct which had saved her life as it had so often saved his own.

  Again he studied the map, remembering the gully he had seen. The cutting must have been filled and the shaft driven toward the east—if Rudi's face had been illuminated by the setting sun it had to be that way. The angle? Shallow, he guessed, if sharp the rays of sunlight wouldn't have penetrated. Had the gully faced directly toward the west? If not the deviation would give an angle to work on once he had established the exact time of year and position of the sun. But now, perhaps, he could establish how far back the man had been.

  "Isobel?" He touched the map as he gained her attention. "Just where was Rudi standing? Can you remember?"

  She stooped over him, the soft mound of her left breast touching his cheek. An accident, maybe, but the contact lingered and he could smell the perfume she wore, a scent accentuated by the febrile heat of her body.

  "Here, I think—no, here!" She placed her finger beside his own. "There was a place where we'd hung a lantern and he was standing just behind it." A memory she no longer wished to entertain. As Dumarest marked the spot she said, "Earl, I need some air. Let's go up to the roof."

  There was wind, a thin breeze coming from the sea which caught her hair and sent it to lie in a delicate tracery over her face as it pressed the thin fabric of her clothing against the contours of her body. Starlight painted the area a ghostly white, small gleams reflected from her nails as she neatened her hair, others finding life in the deep wells of her eyes.

  "Isn't it beautiful, Earl? I love the night. It takes away all the dirt and ugliness and replaces it with mystery and enchantment. Rudi and I used to come up here often when he was alive. We'd sit and talk and all our worries seemed to vanish. It was just as if we'd taken manna. Nothing mattered. Everything was wonderful. I never thought I'd ever feel that way again."

 

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