Dragonback 05 Dragon and Judge (21 page)

"Or at least some very good equipment," Frost said.

"Either serves our purposes." Neverlin turned to the old Brummga.
"Patri?"

For a long moment the Patri continued to stare at Alison, as he'd
done pretty much nonstop the entire day. "It may try."

"Excellent," Neverlin said. "Colonel?"

Frost gestured, and Dumbarton and Mrishpaw detached themselves
from a section of the wall near the door. "Escort her back to her
room," he ordered them. "Instruct the slaves to give her whatever she
wants for dinner." He shifted his attention to Alison. "You'll start
first thing in the morning," he added. "I suggest you go to bed early
and get yourself a good night's sleep."

His eyes narrowed in silent warning. "You'll need it."

With their entire day having been spent in the testing room,
Taneem hadn't had a chance to eat anything since the previous evening.
Alison made sure to order a large dinner, then left the K'da hiding
under the bed while she had herself a quick bath to soothe away her
tension.

She was dried and dressed by the time the meal arrived, brought in
again by Shoofteelee. The young Wistawk was polite enough, but there
was none of the simmering hope and enthusiasm he'd shown the previous
evening. He accepted her thanks for the food, told her he'd overheard
nothing new from Neverlin or Frost, and left.

After they'd eaten—with Taneem reluctantly but gratefully taking
most of the food—Alison settled down for that good night's sleep
Neverlin had recommended.

She'd been asleep just over two hours when a sudden hissing roar
in her ear jerked her awake.

"What is it?" Taneem whispered anxiously.

"It's all right," Alison whispered back, forcing her muscles to
relax. Ever since Neverlin had taken Virgil Morgan's shoulder bag from
her she'd been waiting for him to open it. She'd therefore gone to bed
each of the past two nights with the receiver from the bugged picture
nestled in her ear.

Apparently, the moment had come.

The brief roar of paper rubbing against paper faded away, to be
replaced by the sound of familiar human voices. "—know what you expect
to find in there," Frost was saying. "Or why you even care about Morgan
anymore. We've got the girl, and she's at least as good as he is."

"The question is whether
we
have her, or whether
she
has us," Neverlin said pointedly. "I don't like the fact that we can't
pull up a single clue as to who she really is."

"Which argues that she's exactly what she claims to be," Frost
countered. "Only an especially good professional thief would be able to
keep her data and stats out of the system."

There was a tickling on Alison's neck as Taneem slid around her
skin, angling for a spot where she could hear better. She ended up with
her triangular dragon's head stretched partway across Alison's own
face, her ear just below the receiver.

"Maybe," Neverlin said. "Well, well, well."

"What is it?" Frost asked.

"It seems our master safecracker Virgil Morgan has been thinking
about changing specialties."

"To what?"

There was a faint crinkling of paper. "To blackmail."

"Yes, I saw those pictures," Frost said. "I couldn't quite make
out what was happening."

"Obviously, neither could Morgan," Neverlin said. "Or else he was
smart enough to know the police wouldn't be able to figure them out
either. I wonder where he got them."

"What are they?" Frost asked.

"Pictures placing me at a little problem we had a few years back
on—well, as a matter of fact, right there on Semaline," Neverlin said.
There was another shuffling of papers. "All these other papers are from
the same thing. Interesting."

"Just how little
was
this problem?" Frost asked.
"Specifically, can Morgan call the cops down on us?"

"The cops would first have to find us," Neverlin said. "Assuming
you hid the
Advocatus Diaboli
properly that's not likely to
happen. Besides"—there was a rustling of papers—"we've got all his
evidence."

"Unless he has more."

"Unlikely," Neverlin said. "It's clear that he's been adding to
his collection over the years. No, I think everything's probably here
in this one nice neat package."

Alison nodded to herself. So that was the reason for the
Essenay
's
occasional visits to Semaline. Jack's uncle hadn't been taking money
out
of the lockbox, as Jack had thought. He'd instead been putting new
blackmail material
in
.

"And if he has copies?" Frost persisted.

"I suppose that's possible," Neverlin conceded, a hint of doubt
creeping into his tone. "Though these are definitely the originals."

"You'd better hope so," Frost warned. "Because the fact that after
eleven years a Judge-Paladin has suddenly shown up and tripped your
alarms ought to make you pause for thought."

"I suppose you're right," Neverlin said in a voice that sent a
shiver up Alison's back. "There's no point in taking chances,
especially not now. The next time Bolo checks in, I'll order him to
wreck the mine."

"Will that be enough?" Frost asked.

"It'll bury any evidence of motive," Neverlin said. "That, plus
the fact that Morgan doesn't have his original documents anymore ought
to do it."

"I meant do you think you should also do something about the
Judge-Paladin," Frost said. "Braxton's making enough noise out there
without the Judge-Paladins' Office letting itself in on the act."

"I suppose you're right there, too," Neverlin conceded. "And it's
not like Bolo hasn't killed a Judge-Paladin before. He can handle the
job."

There was another hiss of papers sliding over each other.
"Meanwhile, we have a busy day tomorrow," Neverlin's voice continued,
sounding more distant. Apparently, he'd put the papers back into the
shoulder bag. "I think I'll check once more on the girl's record
search, then get to bed."

"Good idea," Frost said, and there was a subtle double creaking of
leather as both men stood up. "Because I've seen her before," he added,
his voice fading away. "I
know
I have."

"You'd better figure out where," Neverlin warned, his voice fading
the same way. "And fast."

There was the sound of a door closing, and then silence.

Alison waited another minute to make sure they weren't coming
back. Then, grimacing, she pulled the receiver from her ear. "You get
all that?" she whispered.

"Yes," Taneem said, sliding back to her usual place across
Alison's back, legs, and arms. "This sounds very bad."

"It'll be all right," Alison said, forcing a confidence she didn't
especially feel. So far Neverlin seemed to be concentrating his search
on Internos and alien databases, official as well as criminal. If he
stayed with those, she should be fine.

But if it occurred to Frost to dig into the Malison Ring's own
database . . .

"What was that?" Taneem whispered suddenly.

Alison froze. Straining her ears, she could just make out a faint
sound that might possibly be distant human speech. Someone coming down
the hallway toward their room?

And then suddenly she understood. Mouthing a silent curse at her
own stupidity, she jammed the receiver back into her ear.

It was indeed where the voice was coming from. To her dismay,
though, while the sound became louder it didn't become any more
understandable. Only random and disconnected syllables seemed to be
getting through the soft but persistent hiss of background noise.

There wasn't even enough for her to identify the voice, though she
was pretty sure it wasn't Frost or Neverlin. She turned her head back
and forth, trying to adjust the receiver's position for better
reception. But nothing seemed to help.

"It's Uncle Virge," Taneem said abruptly.

Alison frowned, straining her ears even harder. The K'da was
right, she realized abruptly.

Which meant the
Essenay
was somewhere nearby, probably
just outside the Chookoock family grounds. "Can you understand him?"
she whispered.

"No," Taneem whispered back. "It's too faint. Too . . ."

"Too broken," Alison finished for her. Throwing off the blankets,
she grabbed for her clothes. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Taneem asked anxiously.

"We're two floors underground," Alison reminded her, pulling on
her jeans and shirt. "We should get better reception outside."

"But are you allowed to leave the house?"

Alison stuffed her feet into her low-topped boots. "Let's find
out."

The hallway was deserted, as was the stairway leading up toward
the foyer. Somewhere along the way the faint voice sputtering in her
ear fell silent. She continued on anyway, crossing toward the archway
leading into the grand entry foyer.

And stopped short as two armed Brummgas stepped into her path.
"Stand," one of them ordered quietly.

"I'm not one of the slaves," Alison told him, trying to sound like
she actually belonged here. "I'm Alison Kayna, working with the Patri
Chookoock and Colonel Frost and Mr. Arthur. I just want to go outside
for a few minutes to get some fresh air."

"Slaves are not allowed outside the slave quarters," the first
Brummga insisted.

"I'm not a slave," Alison repeated. "I came with Colonel Frost.
You can check with him if you don't believe me."

The two guards exchanged stares, their typically molasses Brummgan
minds apparently working overtime on this one. "Not here," the first
said at last, pointing to Alison's left. "Through the kitchen—door that
way."

The kitchen was large and well stocked, though not as impressive
as some Alison had seen. Threading her way between work stations, she
made her way to the door at the far end.

It opened easily enough from the inside, but a quick check showed
the outside handle was locked. Digging under the left cuff of her shirt
sleeve, she pulled out one of the strips of tape hidden there. She
pulled off its backing and carefully flattened the tape over the door
latch to hold it open.

A moment later she was outside in the crisp night air, the door
closed behind her. "Can you call him?" Taneem murmured as Alison headed
toward one of the formal garden areas she'd spotted on the drive in.

"No, this is only a receiver," Alison murmured back. "I was hoping
he might repeat whatever it was he was saying. I guess

he's given up."

"But how would Jack know to come here to look for us?"

Taneem asked.

"No idea," Alison said, looking around. "Let's try getting a
little closer to the wall. No more talking—there might be patrols
around."

The estate was deathly quiet at this hour of the night. The only
sounds Alison could hear as she walked were the rustling of the wind
through the bushes and her own softly crunching footsteps. She passed
through the near edge of the garden area, its vibrant colors muted
beneath the dim starlight, and continued on across a stretch of
aromatic grass. Ahead and to the right she could see what seemed to be
some kind of sports area.

"Freeze," a voice said quietly from her left.

Alison stopped in midstep. "I'm not a slave," she said. "My name's
Alison—"

"I know who you are, little girl," the voice said.

With a soft rustling, a muscular man with wide shoulders stepped
out from concealment between a pair of sculpted bushes fifteen feet
away. In the moonlight Alison could see his short, military-style hair
and a hint of deep lines in his face.

She had no trouble at all seeing the snub-nosed laser rifle
pointed at her stomach.

"Oh, yes, I know who you are," the man repeated. "My name's Gazen."

Alison tensed, Jack's stories about Gazen flooding over her like a
wave of arctic water. Gazen was the Chookoock family's slavemaster, a
vicious, brutal man who had made Jack's brief time here a living hell.
"I've heard of you," she managed.

"From Jack Morgan?"

"Who? No, from some of the other slaves," Alison said, feeling a
cold sweat break out on her forehead. Too late, she realized she should
instead have denied all knowledge of the man. If he bothered to check
with the slaves, he could expose her lie within half an hour. "But I
see you came out here for some solitude," she went on, taking a careful
sideways step back toward the house. "Sorry to have bothered you."

"I didn't come here for solitude," Gazen corrected mildly. "I came
here to kill people."

Alison's mouth felt dry. "Anyone in particular?"

"Yes." Gazen lifted the laser to his shoulder. "You."

For an eternity Alison just stood there, her knees locked, her
feet rooted to the ground, her mind sorting desperately through her
options.

But there weren't any. She was in the middle of open ground, with
no access to weapons or cover or escape. Gazen's weapon was already up
and aimed, and he was too far away for her to try jumping him.

Her luck had finally run out. She was going to die.

Or was she?

She frowned. There was something odd about Gazen as he stood
there. Something in his eyes or stance that she couldn't quite put her
finger on.

And then, against her skin, she felt Taneem preparing to leap.

"No," she muttered urgently, putting a hand on her shoulder. The
gap was too wide even for a K'da to cover. Gazen would shoot Taneem,
then he would shoot Alison—

And then, abruptly, Alison's conscious mind caught up to what her
subconscious had already noticed.

Gazen wasn't looking at her. He was still facing her, and his
laser was still pointed at her chest. But his eyes were darting around,
probing the starlit yard and the darker shadows of bushes and trees and
flower beds around them.

He was waiting for something to happen. In fact, from the
expression on his face, he was
hoping
for something to happen.