Wildeblood's Empire Read online

  “I’ll get it,” he said. “Tomorrow night.”

  “How will you get it to me?”

  “You’ll have to meet me. Same time as before. Same place.”

  “The cemetery, after midnight.”

  “That’s right,” he growled. “You’ll have to get away again. It shouldn’t be difficult.”

  “How about you?” I asked. “Won’t this little operation stir up something of a fuss? They may not be looking for you, but they’ll be out searching for someone.”

  “I can look after myself,” he assured me. He didn’t sound worried. I was willing to bet that he could. He turned to the nearest of his compatriots. “Put the lamp back on the hood,” he said. Then, to me: “You should be able to bring the servant round. Drive him home and demand to know why you aren’t being properly protected.”

  “Are you sure there’s nothing more?” I asked, in a low, serious voice. “Anything at all that could help me.”

  He began to shake his head, then said: “All I can tell you is that the drug comes from this island. From the house itself, as far as we can tell. If it goes into the house before it comes out we’ve never been able to see it.”

  He was in shadow now, as the lantern was carried back to its rightful place. He didn’t say goodbye. All three—or maybe four—of them were lost in the trees in a matter of moments.

  I fingered the bump on my forehead yet again. Next time, I promised myself silently, I’ll try to look where I’m going.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I managed to bring Elkanah round without wasting too much time. He’d been turned over a time or two while they were presumably going through his pockets, and he was pretty comprehensively covered in mud. I was wet, but I’d fallen on grass when the tree had struck me down, and I wasn’t particularly dirty.

  It had almost stopped raining—there was just a fitful drizzle—but the sky was still overcast. I decided that driving wasn’t a good idea. I helped Elkanah, who was dazed and in no fit condition to talk, let alone act, into the carriage, and took down the lantern. Holding it high in my right hand to illuminate the road I took the horse’s halter in my left and began to lead it toward the house.

  It wasn’t far, but with my boots continually being gripped by the glutinous mud and my head throbbing dully I didn’t exactly approach the march with a spring in my step. It took time—time for me to get even wetter.

  By the time we arrived we were a sorry sight indeed—even the horse looked extremely sad and bedraggled.

  We were met at the gate by another servant, who roused the house in a matter of minutes. Commotion took over, and I was hustled indoors to a waiting crowd. It all seemed a bit too much, and I overacted my injury somewhat in order to be allowed to sit down and close my eyes against the dreadfulness of it all.

  I wasn’t really in a mood to study them closely, so I have no idea how much suspicion lay underneath all the concern. I told them the bare bones of the story and left them to it, not immediately caring whether they swallowed it utterly or not. But on the surface, at least, they were extraordinarily solicitous. Elkanah was spirited away to be attended in the servant’s quarters, but Alice herself applied the warm, damp cloth to my fevered brow.

  If anyone knew in his heart of hearts that the whole thing was as genuine as a papier-mâché credit card it was Nathan, and he did his best to protect me from cross-examination. He saw to it that I was taken upstairs and put to bed, given a drink and time to rest before they wanted any more detail from me. By that time, I was back in command of my faculties to such an extent that I was ready for the Spanish Inquisition.

  Nathan wouldn’t allow a crowd, and kept it down to Philip and Zarnecki. It was Zarnecki, naturally enough, who plied the questions. He was the front man. Philip stayed in the background and gave a silent imitation of a man wishing to get the reputation of being eminently sagacious.

  “They pulled Elkanah from his seat,” I said. “Because of the position of the lantern I couldn’t see any of their faces. I jumped down and tried to run away.”

  Zarnecki looked faintly disgusted by that. On Wildeblood, a man was supposed to stand and fight—weapon or no weapon and no matter what the odds. To hell with that, I thought. I’ll plead sanity. It’s the only part I can act convincingly.

  “You were hit from in front,” he pointed out.

  “By a tree,” I admitted. “I couldn’t see where I was running. It got in my way. If it hadn’t, they’d never have caught me.”

  He looked even more disgusted now. It wasn’t the attitude he expected, and it certainly wasn’t one he approved of.

  “How many of them were there?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “I got the impression of three or four, but I was semi-conscious at best. I didn’t actually see anything. They took my watch and a flashlight. Maybe there was only one going through my pockets, maybe two. I couldn’t tell. I was confused.”

  He realized that he wasn’t going to get much out of me. I presumed that he’d already interviewed Elkanah and got even less. I presumed that I was credible enough.

  “We’ll get them,” said Zarnecki. “If they’re on foot they can’t get far. We’ve sent the dogs into the wood with a dozen servants. And the gendarmes. At dawn, we’ll have another twenty, on horseback. They can’t get away, I assure you.”

  I didn’t pass comment. It didn’t seem necessary.

  “I find it difficult to understand,” put in Nathan, “how this happened in the first place. You have us under surveillance twenty-four hours a day, and seem to be sparing no effort in making sure that we’re never alone. What good is all that if a thing like this can happen?”

  In all probability, they were wondering the same thing themselves.

  “You must understand,” said Philip, smoothly, “that this kind of incident is not usual. There are thieves on the island, of course, but they do not make a habit of attacking people on the roads in so brutal a fashion. It has never happened in that particular wood, so close to the house.”

  He stroked his lip thoughtfully. He wasn’t a big man—no more than five seven. His head was rounded and the roundness was accentuated by the fact that he kept his hair cropped very short. If he’d had a little less spare flesh he might have been handsome. As it was, his little gestures looked slightly absurd. They didn’t do anything for his image at all.

  “Perhaps it was our presence here that drew them,” I suggested. “It’s possible they were under the impression that I would be carrying things which would be very valuable here.”

  “Yes,” said Philip, pensively. “That may be so.”

  Somehow, I didn’t like to see him so thoughtful. Maybe it was just part of the image. Maybe he was suspicious. Or maybe he was thinking that a precedent had been set.

  I returned my attention to Nathan and Zarnecki. They were standing a long way apart, not looking at one another. But they weren’t being too obvious about it. The duel, for the time being, was shelved. Zarnecki met my eye, and I didn’t like the expression on his face. I couldn’t evaluate it, but I knew it wasn’t friendly. He had taken a dislike to me...maybe for no better reason than the fact that I didn’t play the formal little games which were so de rigueur here, and didn’t even try. Perhaps it was more the fact that I didn’t even care.

  There was a further formal exchange of meaningless phrases, and then Philip and Zarnecki—apparently satisfied that there was nothing further to be done—left us alone.

  Nathan sat down on the bed. “What happened?” he asked, in a low voice.

  “My friend of the cemetery,” I murmured. “Making contact.” As I spoke the word “contact” I touched my forehead gingerly.

  He smiled.

  “And?” he prompted.

  “He was persuaded to part with what information he had in hand. The drug is distributed from here, and may be manufactured here. James Wildeblood wrote the coded message. Heaven only knows why—the spiel he gave me was a real farrago. He’ll get me the res
t tomorrow night. He isn’t happy.”

  “Threats?”

  “He did hint that I might run into more trees if we failed to come across with the information he wants. He gives the impression of being a mean man.”

  “Maybe you should turn him in.”

  “You sure as hell run a dirty racket,” I muttered. “Maybe we should give him what he wants.”

  “You know we can’t do that.”

  “Speaking personally,” I said. “I’m not going to rat on him either. Maybe it’s quixotic and downright stupid to leave him loose when I can’t deliver the goods, but there are limits.”

  He didn’t give me a lecture on common sense and looking after number one. It wasn’t the time or the place. “Have you seen any sign of a factory here at the house?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I was over in the west wing last night,” I offered, for what it was worth. “Looked dead and dusty to me. But there’s a lot of the place we haven’t been near. And there’s a miscellaneous collection of outbuildings that could be anything. The generators are out there.”

  He nodded. But his thoughts were somewhere else.

  “The thing that puzzles me,” I said, “is the raw material. Cyrano de Bergerac and his friends know nothing about it. If it gets in, they don’t see it. Or don’t recognize it. Could the stuff be refined from something as commonplace as fish or plankton paste? Or is there an acre of deadly weed somewhere in the kitchen garden, pretending to be runner beans?”

  He didn’t answer. He was hardly listening.

  “Something bothering you?” I asked.

  “I’m wondering,” he said. “I don’t know where the hell we’re up to in all this. I can’t help asking myself whether it’s wise to go into that duel tomorrow trying to win. Maybe it would be better in the long run if I just made it look as good as possible and took a dive.”

  “You better not let him see you do it,” I said. “Did you see the look in his eye when I cheerfully admitted to cowardice in the face of the enemy?”

  “He’s a dangerous man, Alex.”

  “So are we,” I said. “I hope.”

  “If only they believed us when we tell them we’re here to help and have no intention of upsetting their apple-cart. If only they’d just tell us how things are.”

  “Secrets that people are desperately keen to keep,” I commented, “are sometimes pretty nasty. Maybe things here are worse than we think.”

  “Maybe they distil the stuff from human blood,” he said, dourly. It was anything but serious, but it led straight on to a thought that almost was. I confronted it for a brief instant, then shook my head. “No,” I said. “It isn’t that.”

  He nodded agreement.

  “You’d better get some sleep,” he said. “It’s been another long day.”

  “And tomorrow,” I added, “will be even longer.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The next day was noticeably warmer, and it seemed as if spring had arrived at last. All the cloud and rain was gone. Nathan and I returned to the ship in the early morning in order to make what preparation we could for the big event. As the weapon to be used in the fight had not been issued to us beforehand Nathan had borrowed a saber of the appropriate size and weight in order to familiarize himself with it and practice a few flourishes. He didn’t say, exactly where he got it from, but I suspect that one of the younger members of Philip’s extended family had helped him out. I expect that Zarnecki was suitably amused.

  Owing to the lack of space inside the ship Nathan had to put on his exhibition in the open, and I have no doubt that the assorted watchers had a more enjoyable time that morning than ever before. We were at least discreet enough not to parade ourselves in view of the cottage where most of the surveillance team were holed up, but took our problems down to the dunes.

  Nathan did not have a good time. He found the weapon rather heavier than any stage sword he had ever handled, and complained about its design. It was also rather blunt and had more than a little rust near the hilt. I pointed out to him that it was probably a working weapon of purely functional aspect, and that the ones used in the duel would, in all likelihood, be clean and sharp with ornamental finger-guards. This didn’t seem to soothe him much, and I could see why. Whatever else it might be, the sword was serviceable. A man who received a solid clout from it would not be getting up to look for more. It had an approximate point but it was really built for slashing—not the kind of thing you’d use for a little fancy dancing and a token prick on the arm. Even if neither of the duelists wanted to hurt the other badly an accident could very easily happen. And if one or the other lost his temper....

  “It’s all to your advantage,” I told him. “The heavier the sword the slower the contest. The slower the contest the bigger the margin between his drug-induced torpor and your drug-induced vitality. He’s no bigger than you are, he’s no stronger than you are, he’s no fitter than you are.”

  “But he knows how to use a sword,” Nathan pointed out.

  “How does he know?” I replied, with a liberal helping of scorn. “He was taught to fence, maybe. He’s been in duels before. But has he ever learned to use the thing properly? He’s been taught an elaborate ritual—move and countermove—whose purpose is to make a point, draw blood with a touch. It’s almost as phony as the way you were taught. Probably very much the same. There’s nothing to worry about. Even if you did lose you’d only spill a little blood. And if I can get even money I’ll put my last two years back pay down.”

  Needless to say, I wasn’t wholly sincere in all of this, but it’s the plain duty of a gentleman’s second to keep up his morale with a little judicious exaggeration.

  “You’ll be pretty sick anyway,” I continued, “when the stimulant wears off. I’m not going to stint you on it. For a couple of hours it will turn you into greased lightning, then you’ll collapse and feel as sick as a parrot for a further couple of hours. You won’t notice a little scratch. And if you do insist on getting hit, try to intercept his blade with your head. You’ve got a skull like an armor-plated apple and dueling scars are so attractive. It will do wonders for your image back on Earth.”

  “Not,” he said, “in the circles I move in. I’d be a joke. The diplomat who couldn’t talk himself out of a swordfight.”

  “So okay,” I said, reasonably. “You’d better win, hadn’t you? It’s easy. You have about twenty percent on him as regards speed, maybe more. And he thinks he’s a racing certainty. He’ll be as cocky as hell...taking it easy. You can probably get in for a quick dab and out again while he’s still congratulating himself on how good he’s going to be.”

  “He’ll get one hell of a shock if he loses,” mused Nathan. “And he’s an important man. Not the kind of man to make into an enemy if you can help it.”

  “He already is,” I said, flatly. “There’s no point in going into this thing still wondering whether or not to chuck it. If you want to throw the fight, decide now. Otherwise, you’ll go in there in a hell of a tangle and you’ll lose anyway, probably while you’re deciding that it would be a good idea to win. Zarnecki is a self-appointed enemy and he won’t be any more generously disposed to you if you let him cut you. Whereas if you win....”

  “Sure,” he replied. “I saw all those old movies too. Where the hero fights the leader of the savages hand-to-hand, beats him, and wins his respect and undying friendship. It doesn’t work that way in real life, Alex.”

  “No,” I said, improvising, “Zarnecki is Philip’s number one boy. But he isn’t a son or a brother. There are half a dozen others who’d like his spot. You make a monkey out of Zarnecki and someone else gets the plum. Someone who could hardly be anything but better disposed towards us. And, since their methods of leaning on us will then have failed, maybe they’ll try a gentler tack next time. Philip, remember, is still uninvolved so far as appearances go. He can change horses in midstream without batting a regal eyelid. If you win, you could win co-operation and you’ll certainly win resp
ect. Maybe not from Zarnecki, if he gets bitter about it, but from Philip and from some of the others.”

  He nodded slowly, still giving the impression of someone enmeshed by tortuous doubts. Maybe the memories of acting school had brought out a latent longing to play Hamlet.

  “Look,” I said, getting a little tired. “Speak now or forever hold thy goddam trap shut. We have to go back to the ship so I can fill you full of firewater. If you want to jack it in say so now, because I tell you straight that once I’ve shot the elixir into your veins you’ll feel like going out to lick the entire world with one hand tied.”

  “For a peaceful man, Alex,” he said, “you’re taking an extremely aggressive line. What happened to your neo-Christian sympathies: avoid violence at all costs, always submit.”

  “I’m adaptable,” I told him. “I never was a devout neo-Christian. What they say makes a little sense...sometimes. But I haven’t forgotten that when I stood there and invited Arne Jason to blow my head off he bloody tried. I figure that if providence saves you once it isn’t just so’s you can make the same mistake a second time. I don’t like violence and I don’t like ritual violence even more. But I want you to beat Zarnecki because it’s the only answer the circumstances permit. Maybe the last couple of years have allowed you to pollute my soul. I’m not as scornful of expediency as I once was.”

  “I suppose I really have to win,” he said. “Otherwise you might find your newly lost faith in the value of rigid morality. Come on, let’s go.”

  And with that, we went.

  I gave him the shot while we still had half an hour in hand. That meant that he would be just a little over the top when the fight started, which was all to the good. I wanted to let him get used to his hyped-up condition and to lose just a little of the godlike arrogance that was likely to coincide with the first burst of superpower. I figured that Zarnecki would bring to the fight enough arrogance for two men.