"They might," I said, wondering what kompri was. Some Craean drink, probably.
"What about you, Ixil?"
"I want to get the fuelers started first," he said. "I'll try to join youlater."
"Okay," I said, pretending to believe him as I swung around and started downthe ladder. He most certainly would not be joining us; he would be staying hereand watching Everett and Shawn like an iguana-faced hawk. "We won't be long."
It was an eerie walk down the deserted access walkway, our footsteps soundingunnaturally loud in the silence. I looked into each doorway and alley as wepassed it, half expecting to see dark men or aliens waiting in the darkness toambush us. But the doorways were just as deserted as the rest of the place.
We reached the taverno without incident, to find it was indeed the Baker'sDozen. The others close behind me, I pulled open the door and looked inside.
The place was quite large, a bit on the dark side, but otherwise surprisinglyhomey, with heavy wooden tables and chairs, a traditional Earth-style woodenbar running the length of the left-hand wall, and even a sunken fireplace, currentlyunlit, in the center of the room. It was also severely underpopulated. Therewas a group of a dozen scruffy-looking aliens gathered around three of the tablesnear the bar, a pirate gang if ever I'd seen one; a pair of young humanfemales sitting together at a table near the right-hand wall; and three robed andhooded figures with faces hidden hunched over a table in the far back corner. Andthat was it. Behind the bar, a furry-faced Ulkomaal was leaning on the countertopgazing morosely at the dead fireplace. He looked up as I walked into the room, his bony eyebrow crest turning a faint purple with surprise. "So that wasanother ship I heard," he said, straightening up. "Welcome, patronae, welcome."
"Thanks," I said, glancing around at the other customers. The pirates hadlooked up as we entered, but after a quick assessment had turned back to theirdrinks.
The two women were still eyeing us; the robed threesome in the back hadn'teven bothered to turn around. Maybe they were already too drunk to care, though thecollection of empty glasses traditionally associated with sleeping drunkswasn't in evidence. On the other hand, I could see that none of the tables had menuselectors, which meant the barkeep also doubled as a waiter, and from thelooks of things he certainly wasn't too busy to keep the place tidy. "You stillserving?"
He sighed. "For what good it does," he said. "Everyone else has already fled."
"Fled from what?" Tera asked from behind me. The barkeep sighed again. "TheBalthee," he said in a tone that managed to be both angry and resigned at thesame time. "We received a report late this afternoon that they were on theirwayfor another spraymarker raid."
"A what?" Tera asked.
"It is an example of Balthee guilt-by-association law," Chort spoke up as Iled them to a table near the door and away from the other patrons. I took thechair that put my back to the wall, where I could watch the entrance and also keepthe rest of the customers at least within peripheral vision. Nicabar chose thechair to my left, which would put the pirates in his direct line of sight, whileTera took the seat to my right, where she couldn't see much of anything except thedoor and me. If the two of them had been deliberately planning to corral me, they couldn't have done a better job of it. "Consorting with known criminalsis itself a crime under Balthee law," Chort continued, easing himself delicatelyinto the remaining chair.
"You are very knowledgeable," the barkeep complimented him. "Knowing MorshPon's reputation—which is wholly unjustified, I assure you—they periodically comeand spray a molecularly bonded dye over all ships on our landing pads. Any such marked ship that enters a Balthee-run spaceport is immediately impounded andsearched and its crew held for questioning."
"I can see why your clientele wouldn't want that," I agreed, nodding towardthe pirate gang at their tables. "They not get the message?"
"Their captain tells me they do not fear the Balthee," he said, lowering hisvoice as he glanced their direction. "However, another crew member confidedthat they plan to have all their hull plates replaced soon anyway."
He gestured to the other two occupied tables. "As to the females, they areemployees of one of the guesthouses, Shick Place. And, when the word came, thegentlebeings in back were already too inebriated to try to leave."
He straightened up and cocked his head at me. "And what is your story?"
I frowned up at him. "What do you mean?"
"You are here," he said, waving a hand at us. "Yet there is word of animpendingraid."
"Which we obviously didn't know about, did we?" I said.
"Were no other ships leaving as you arrived?" the barkeep countered. "Somemust still have been on their way out. Did no one transmit a warning to you?"
"Yes, there were other ships leaving," I said, putting some impatience into myvoice even as a quiet warning bell went off in my ear. I'd never been on MorshPon before; but the criminal hangouts I had had occasion to visit had not beenknown for overly inquisitive waiters. This kind of interrogation was way outof character, even given that the barkeep was probably bored out of his skull.
"And no, none of them bothered to give us a warning. Why do you think this is anyof your business?"
"Don't mind him," a soprano voice came from my side.
I turned. One of the two women at the far table had gotten to her feet and wascoming toward us. She was medium height and slender, and her step was just abit unsteady. I wondered briefly if she could be Uncle Arthur's informationcourier, but the skintight outfit she was wearing couldn't have concealed a spare pokerchip. At least, I thought incongruously, that also meant we didn't have toworryabout her being an assassin. "I'm sorry?" I said.
"I said don't mind him," she repeated, flipping her hand toward the Ulkomaalin the more or less universal gesture of contemptuous dismissal, the dim roomlightglinting momentarily off the large gaudy rings she was wearing. Now that shewas facing us, I could see she was wearing the display scarf of a bar girl knottedaround her neck, the particular tartan pattern advertising what services sheoffered and the charge for them. I wondered distantly whether Tera would knowabout such things; I rather hoped she didn't. "Nurptric the Nosy, they callhim," the woman continued. "Mind if I sit down?"
"Business slow?" Tera asked, her voice frosty. Apparently, she knew all aboutthe scarf.
The woman gave her a smile that was a good eighty percent smirk. "Yours too?" she asked sweetly, snagging a chair from the next table and hauling it over.
With a hip she deftly shoved Tera over, to Tera's obvious consternation, and planted her chair squarely between the two of us. "I'm just being sociable, youbeing strangers here and all," she added, dropping into the seat and swivelingto put her face to me and her back to Tera. "Any law against that?"
"Not too many laws against anything here," Tera countered pointedly.
"Obviously."
"And like you say, business is slow," the woman added, wiggling her hips andshoulders to carve a bit more room for herself. "I'm sure not going to get anydecent conversation out of anyone else in here. My name's Jennifer. How aboutbuying me a drink?"
"How about you going somewhere else?" Tera said, starting to sound angry.
"This is a private conversation."
"Noisy, isn't she?" Jennifer commented, an amused smile playing around herlips.
"Unfriendly, too. You come here often?"
Tera half rose to her feet, sank reluctantly back into her seat as Chort put agentle hand on her arm. "I'm afraid we're pretty much broke, Jennifer," I saiddiplomatically. "We've got barely enough money for the fuel we need. Nothingleft over for incidentals."