to his face. He stared at it for a long while without thinking. The pain in his head was enormous, and he was not used to pain, not any kind of pain. The whiskey men drank nowadays left no hangovers, and for a normal headache there were instantaneously acting pills, so Travis on the floor was unused to pain. And though he was by nature a courageous man it took him a while to be able to think at all, much less clearly.
Eventually he realized that he was lying on a very hard floor. His arms and legs were tightly bound. He investigated the floor. It was brick. It was wet. The dark ceiling dripped water in the flickering light from some source beyond the girl. The brick, the dripping water, the girl, all combined to make it completely unbelievable. If it wasn’t for the pain he would have rolled over and gone to sleep. But the pain. Yes the pain. He closed his eyes and lay still, hurting.
When he opened his eyes again he was better. By jing, this was ridiculous. Not a full day yet on Mert and in addition to his other troubles, now this. He did not feel alarmed, only downright angry. This business of the flickering light and being tied hand and foot was too impossible to be dangerous. He grunted feebly at the back of the girl.
“Ho,” he said. “Now what in the sweet name of Billy H. Culpepper is this?”
The girl turned and looked down at him. She swiveled around on her hips and a rag-bound foot kicked him unconcernedly in the side. For the first time he saw the other two men behind her. There were two of them. The look of them was ridiculous.
The girl said something. It was a moment before he realized she was speaking in Mert, which he had to translate out of the Langkit behind his ear.
“The scourge awakes,” one of the men said.
“A joy. It was my thought that in the conjunction was done perhaps murder.”
“Poot. One overworries. And if death comes to this one, observe, will the money be paid? Of a surety. But this is bizarre.”
“Truly bizarre,” the girl nodded. Then to make her point, “also curious, unique, unusual. My thought: from what land he comes?”
“The cloth is rare,” one of the men said, “observe with tight eyes the object on his wrist. A many-symboled engine—”
“My engine,” the girl said positively. She reached down for his watch.
Travis jerked back. “Lay off there,” he bawled in English, “you hipless—” The girl recoiled. He could not see her face but her tone was puzzled.
“What language is this? He speaks with liquid.”
The larger of the two men arose and came over to him.
“Speak again scourge. But first empty the mouth.”
Travis glared at the man’s feet, which were wrapped in dirty cloth and smelt like the breezes blowing softly over fresh manure.
“Speak again? Speak again? Untie my hands, you maggoty slob, and I’ll speak your bloody—” he went on at great length, but the man ignored him.
“Truly, he speaks as with a full mouth. But this is not Bilken talk.”
“Nor is he, of clarity and also profundity, a hill man,” the girl observed.
“Poot. Pootpoot,” the young man stuttered, “the light! He is of Them!”
It took the other two a moment to understand what he meant, but Travis caught on immediately. May the Saints preserve us, he thought, they figured I was from Mert. He chuckled happily to himself. A natural mistake. Only one Earthman on this whole blinking planet, puts up at a good hotel, best in town, these boys put the snatch on me thinking I’m a visiting VIP, loaded, have no idea I’m just poor common trash like the rest of us Earthmen. Haw! His face split in a wide grin. He gathered his words from the Langkit and began to speak in Mert.
“Exactly, friends. With clarity one sees that you have been misled. I am not of Mert. I am from a far world, come here to deal with your Senate in peace. Untie me, then, and let us erase this sad but eraseable mistake with a good handshake all around, and a speedy farewell.”
It did not have the effect he desired. The girl stepped back from him, a dark frown on her face, and the large man above him spoke mournfully.
“Where now is the ransom?”
“And the risk,” the girl said. “Was not there great risk?”
“Unhappily,” the tall man observed. “One risks. One should be repaid. It is in the nature of things that one is repaid.”
“Well now, boys,” Travis put in from the floor, “you see it yourselves. I’m flat as a—” he paused. Apparently the Merts had no word for pancake. “My pockets are—windy. No money is held therein.”
“Still,” the tall man mused absently, “this must have friends. On the great ships lie things of value. Doubt?”
“Not,” the girl said firmly. “But I see over the hills coming a problem.”
“How does it appear?”
“In the shape of disposal. See thee. Such as will come from the great ships, of value though it be, can it not be clarifiably identified by such pootian authorities as presently seek our intestines?”
“Ha!” the tall man snorted in anger. “So. Truth shapes itself.”
“Will we not, then,” continued the girl, “risk sunlight on our intestines in pursuing this affair?”
“We will,” the young man spoke up emphatically. “We will of inevitability. Navel. Our risk is unpaid. So passes the cloud.”
“But in freedom for this,” the girl warily indicated Travis, “lies risk in great measure. Which way lie his ribs? Can we with profit slice his binds? He is of Them. What coils in his head? What strikes?”
They were all silent. Travis, having caught but not deciphered most of the conversation, glanced quickly from face to face. The girl had backed out into the light and he could see her now clearly, and his mouth fell open. She was thickly coated with dirt but she was absolutely beautiful. The features were perfect, lovely, the mouth was promising and full. Under the ragged skirt and the torn sooty blouse roamed surfaces of imaginable perfection. He had difficulty getting back to the question at hand. All the while he was thinking other voices inside him were whispering. “By jing, by jing, she’s absolutely . . . .”
The two men were completely unlike. One was huge, from this angle he was enormous. He had what looked like a dirty scarf on his head, madonna-like, which would have been ridiculous except for the mountainous shoulders below it and the glittering knife stuck in his wide leather belt. The shaft of the knife flickered wickedly in the light. It was the only clean thing about him.
The other man was young, probably still in his teens. Curly-haired and blond and much cleaner than the other two, with a softness in his face the others lacked. But in his belt he carried what appeared to be—what was, a well-oiled and yawning barreled blunderbuss.
So they sat for a long moment of silence. He had time to observe that what they were sitting in was in all likelihood a sewer. It ran off into darkness but there was a dim light in the distance and other voices far away, and he gathered that this was not all of the—gang—that had abducted him. But it was beginning to penetrate, now, as he began to understand their words, that they were unhappy about letting him go. He was about to argue the point when the big man stepped suddenly forward and knelt beside him. He shut out the light, Travis could not see. The last thing he heard was the big man grunting as he threw the blow, like a rooting pig.
*
When he awoke this time the pain had moved over to the side of his neck. There was no light at all and he lay wearily for a long while in the blackness. He had no idea how much time had passed. He could tell from the brick wet below him that he was still in the sewer, or at least some other part of it, and, considering the last turn of the conversation, he thought he could call himself lucky to be alive.
But