"I wouldn't let him," interrupted Arbush. "Not until we had everything ready. It's good to see you, Earl. Success?"
"Of a kind." Dumarest looked at the clothes, then pushed the woman towards the bathroom. "Strip and get washed. Dirt is a poor insulator against the cold."
"You'll join me, Earl?"
He ignored the invitation, turning to stare at the minstrel where he sat, his face hard.
"Why didn't you get the units?"
"We tried, Earl. Three times. Once we managed to get a wedge started against the lock, but a Monitor arrived and brushed us away. I tried to distract it with fire, but it was no good. The damned thing was still there when we left." Arbush shrugged, glancing at Adara. "So I thought it best to do what we could."
"I failed," said Adara. "I did my best, but it wasn't good enough. Arbush is being kind."
"What are you doing?"
"Ordering food." The minstrel waved to where bundles stood close to the door. "Meats, pastes, oils, food and things to provide fuel. Some wine; they didn't have brandy."
"The means to start a fire?"
Arbush lifted a can tied to a thong, smoke oozing from ragged holes punched in the metal.
"Burning rag," he explained. "Give it a swing and it will flare to life. A thing I learned on Falfard."
As Dumarest had learned it long ago; a primitive method of transporting fire, simple, cheap, effective.
"We'd better carry one each," he said. "And ropes? Did you make some rope?"
Arbush had been thorough. Strips of fabric had been plaited into tough cords, the cords again plaited to form lengths of rope. Dumarest tested one, frowning. They were too short to give real aid if they had to climb, but they would serve to join one to the other. An essential piece of equipment in case of emergency. And a length of rope had many uses.
Adara said, wonderingly, "Earl, all these preparations. I thought we were going to fly over the ice, not walk."
"We may have to do both."
"But the units-"
"We haven't got them yet." Dumarest softened his tone a little; the man couldn't help being what he was. "We've traveled over the ice, you haven't. The units could fail, anything; and only a fool doesn't plan for an emergency. Eloise!"
"Coming, Earl!"
She was naked, unabashed, her skin dusted with powder, fresh paint on her lips and nails; the upper lids of her eyes thick with a blue shadow flecked with silver. More silver bound her hair.
Arbush sucked in his breath. "My lady, you are beautiful!"
She smiled at the compliment, her eyes on Dumarest.
"You wanted me, darling?"
"Get dressed." He was curt, seeing the look in Adara's eyes, knowing the danger of a man who could have lost the wish and will to live. "Adara, help her. Plenty of layers, topped with the thickest furs you can find. Never mind about appearance. Just cover her up so as to keep her warm. Yourself also. We must all get ready."
When finished they looked grotesque; shapes padded and tied almost beyond recognition, faces narrowed beneath enclosing hoods.
Sweating, Arbush distributed the bundles; tying his own, with the neck of the gilyre protruding, to his belt. They were ready to go, but one thing remained to be done.
"Adara, listen to me." Dumarest faced the man, holding his eyes. "There's one thing you've got to remember. You can't lose. Always bear that in mind. If you haven't realized it yet, you're as good as dead. No matter what you do now you can't make things worse. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Earl. Arbush has already explained all that."
"I'm not asking if you know it. I want to know if you accept it. In here." Dumarest rested a finger over the man's heart. "In your guts. You've got to want to survive."
The instinct which in him was so strong, in others so unaccountably weak. He had seen it on a dozen worlds; men sentenced to execution, waiting patiently while watched by a handful of guards. They could have attacked, snatched weapons, died doing it, perhaps; but at least they would have tried. And they would have lost nothing.
"Adara?"
"Yes, Earl. I understand."
Dumarest wasn't so sure. The eyes were still dull, the face lax, resigned. A man moving because of external influences, not because of internal decision. A weakness which could cost them all their lives.
And then, seeing the shift of his eyes as the woman moved, Dumarest knew both the reason and the answer.
"You love her," he said quietly. "You cannot imagine life without her. And you think you have lost her. You haven't. Once we reach safety, she will be yours. I promise that I will not take her with me. She will be yours."
A lie, perhaps; no one could demand that another subjugate personal desires, but at least a part of it was the truth. He repeated it, watching Adara's eyes.
"I shall not take her with me. If you live, you will have all you think necessary for happiness."
Adara brightened, a man in love eager to hear reassurance. "You promise, Earl? You will not take her from me?"
"I promise."
It had to be enough, there was no time for more; already they had lingered too long.
* * * * *
The air at the north gate was clear; the area deserted, aside from a Monitor which stood close to the store which was their target. Too close to suit Dumarest's plan. He walked towards it, hands behind him, the hammers gripped in his fingers, halting well beyond reach of the arms.
"Move!" he snapped. "You're wanted on the upper levels."
"Man Dumarest, you will leave this place." The head turned, glowing lenses registering the presence of the others. "None of you should be here. You will leave immediately."
"No." Dumarest edged forward, moving sidewise, occupying the thing's attention, "You will obey. Go at once to the upper level."
Behind the Monitor he caught sight of movement. Arbush creeping close, one end of the length of rope in his hands; the other held by Adara, the strand taut between them. The Monitor had turned, but was still too close to the store, the locked door they had to force open. Barely three feet of space between its shoulder and the wall-it had to be enough.
"Now!"
Eloise screamed; a high, nerve-stopping sound, shocking in its raw implication of agony. The Monitor glanced towards her, taking one step in her direction and, as the gap widened, Arbush moved.
He lunged like a furred ball, the rope in his hands; thrusting his bulk between the Monitor and the wall, past the tall, metallic figure. As the rope tightened Dumarest sprang, taking three steps forward; lifting his feet as he flung himself at the Monitor, his boots slamming with the full weight of his body against the upper torso. Thrown back by the impact the thing hit the rope, blow and drag working in opposite directions, levers which sent it off-balance to crash to the ground.
Then Dumarest was on it, hammers lifting, falling; smashing the lenses, the elbows, the joints of the legs.
"Quick!" Eloise was at the door, a wedge rammed into the point above the lock. "Hurry, Earl!"
He was already at work, the hammer a blur as he slammed it down, a tool too light for the job; its lack of mass having to be compensated by the muscles of his arms, back and shoulders. Above the sound of the blows, he heard the minstrel's snarl.
"Another of the damned things. Remember, Adara; hold the rope tight, catch its legs and pull."
A plan hastily improvised, depending on shrewd teamwork, the will to survive.
A crash and another Monitor was down; Arbush yelling as he wielded the other hammer, aiming for the electronic eyes.
"Earl!"
"The bar." He threw the hammer into her hands and snatched the strip of metal. The flattened end slipped into the gap he had made with the wedge, now knocked free. Gripping the far end, he heaved.