“Be still,” commanded Sumu.
He lay back in his chair, thinking furiously. In the end: “Perhaps your luck has turned, Dominic. I have some small savings of my own, and am always ready to venture what I can afford in the hope of an honest profit”
“Oh, my lord!”
“You need not kiss my feet yet. I have made no promises. But let us take our ease and share a midday meal. Afterward we can talk further.”
The talk stretched on. Sumu had learned caution. But Dominic had answers for all questions; “I have had two years now, largest of masters, to think this out.”
An expedition into the mountains would be costly. It should not be outfitted here in Kompong Timur. That would not only add the expense of transporting equipment across the ocean, but would attract far too much notice. Sumu agreed. Some palace-dwelling sanvin like Nias Warouw would hear about it, investigate, and claim a major share of the loot.) Nor was it a good idea to use the primitive banking facilities of Unan Besar: too traceable. No, the cash itself must be smuggled out of town, across the lake and down the Ukong River to Tandjung, where Sumu’s trusty men would take it across the ocean in their baggage. Once arrived in Pegunungan Gradjugang, they would pose as entrepreneurs hoping to establish a hardwood trade with the Selatan Islands, a market which the local bigwigs had neglected. They would buy a few experienced slaves as assistants, who would just happen to include Djordju. Then in secret, Djordju would guide Sumu’s representatives to the ship.
The new hardwood company would buy some thousands of hectares from the immense Kepuluk holdings, and also acquire the flyers, junglecats, and similar machinery needed to exploit a forest. That would be expensive, but it couldn’t be helped; any other way, Kepuluk would smell a rat. But thereafter, under cover of their logging operations, the expedition could plunder the ship at leisure. Doubtless its cargo should be sold very gradually, over a period of years, so as to avoid undue attention and to keep up the price of such exotic stuffs.
“I see.” Sumu wiped curry from his chins, belched, and called for a girl to pick his teeth. “Yes. Good.”
“George is a very resolute man,” said Dominic. “His hope was always to lift our family out of tenantdom. He would die before telling anyone where the ship lies, unless I persuade him first.” Slyly: “If Proprietor Kepuluk does not remember his face, I alone could identify my dear brother among all the plantation slaves.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” snapped Sumu. “I am a fair man. Ask anyone if I am not fair. You and Djordju shall have proper shares in the loot. Enough to go into business, under my protection. But now, about the cost—”
That night Dominic stayed in the house of Sumu. He was, in fact, a guest for several days. His chamber was pleasant, though it lacked windows, and he had enough company, for it opened directly on a barrackroom where the bachelor daggermen lived. No one got past that room without a key to the automatic lock, which Dominic didn’t ask for. He messed with the daggermen, traded jokes, told them stories, and gambled. Cards on Unan Besar had changed faces, but were still essentially the same old pack of fifty-two. Dominic taught the boys a game called poker. They seized on it avidly, even though he won large amounts from them. Not that he cheated-that would have been fatal, under so many experienced eyes. He simply understood the game better. The daggermen accepted the fact, and were willing to pay for instruction. It would take many years to get back from neophytes elsewhere all that Dominic eventually won, but the Pulaoic mentality was patient.
Sumu shared that patience. He did not rush into Dominic’s project, but made inquiries. A thornfruit dealer was located who had bought occasional shipments originating on Proprietor Kepuluk’s holdings in Pegunungan Gradjugang. Hm, yes, they were mountaineers and forest dwellers there mostly, weren’t they? The climate made them pale-skinned, if that hadn’t simply been genetic drift. Sumu had no idea what genetic drift might be: the term impressed him enough that he didn’t stop to ask exactly how light a complexion was meant. He was shrewd, but no intellecutal heavyweight. He was convinced.
The investment was considerable, a hundred thousand silvers to start with. Two men were needed to lift the chest holding it. Those were Pradjung and a butcher boy named Mandau, both tough and strong and utterly reliable-especially since Pradjung still spat at Dominic’s name. They would accompany the chest and the storyteller to Tandjung, where several others traveling by more open routes would meet them on the ship Sekaju.
About this time, when Dominic was again interviewed, he voiced a mild complaint at his detention and said he was due for his pill. Also, was it fitting that a loyal (however humble) servant of the famous Sumu went about in these dirty old clothes? Sumu shrugged and allowed Dominic to go, accompanied by a daggennan just in case. Dominic was in a happy mood. He spent a long time shopping for garments, while the daggerman yawned and sweated. Dominic made up for it by buying them both large quantities of wine. Afterward the luckless daggerman admitted he’d been too tired and drunk when Dominic went off to get his pill. He stayed in the tavern and never actually saw the storyteller go to the district dispensary. But Dominic soon came back to him and the fun resumed.
The next night had been set for departure. Dominic whiled the hours away with a new game. As the bravos came into the bunkroom for their naps, one by one during the course of the day, Dominic bet them he could make five pat five-card poker hands out of any twenty-five cards. He let his incredulous friends provide the pack, shuffle, and deal. Once or twice he lost, but the net sum he tucked away in several already fat purses was rather fantastic. Next day a bully who had once studied some arithmetic figured out that the odds in Dominic’s favor had been about fifty to one. By then Dominic was gone.
He left the house after sunset. Rain sluiced from a hidden sky, roaring on the canal surface and drowning distant lamps. A speedboat waited with Pradjung, Mandau, and the chest of silvers. Dominic kissed Sumu’s undipped toenails and embarked. The boat slipped into darkness.
Several days previously, Dominic had proposed a route of his own as the least dangerous way out of town. Sumu had grinned and told him to stick to his storytelling. Dominic became so insistent that Sumu was forced to explain in detail precisely why a route down Burning Torch Canal and so out into the lake would attract less notice.
Now, when the boat planed close to the Bridge Where Amahai Wept, Dominic said a polite, “Excuse me.” He reached across the cockpit and switched off motor and headlights.
“What in all hells-!” Pradjung leaped to his feet. Dominic slid back the canopy. Rain cataracted hot and heavy upon them. The boat glided toward a halt.
Pradjung snatched for the revolver Sumu had lent him. Dominic, timid spinner of yarns, failed to cower as expected. The chopping motion of his hand was instantaneous. A hard edge smacked on Pradjung’s wrist. The gun clattered free.
The boat went slowly under the Bridge Where Amahai Wept. Someone leaped from the span. The deck thundered beneath that gorilla impact.
Mandau snarled and tried to grapple. Kemul the mugger brushed his arms aside, put Mandau across one knee, broke his back, and threw him overboard.
Pradjung had drawn a knife. He stabbed underhanded at Dominic’s belly. But Dominic wasn’t there any more. He was a few centimeters to one side. His left wrist struck out, deflecting the blade. His right hand took Pradjung’s free arm and spun the daggerman around. They fell together, but Dominic had the choking hold. After a few seconds, Pradjung turned blue and lay quietly.