Now he had been mortally careless—and was about to pay dearly for his own foolish imprudence....
On a patio not ten irals distant, the figure of a man was illuminated from the side by the lights of two van skimmers. He was pointing a blaster directly at Brim's face, but for some reason had not yet fired. As the Carescrian trembled in terrified fascination, the man slowly lowered his powerful weapon, almost as if he had changed his mind.
Still staring at Brim from a masked face, he slowly leaned forward and crumpled onto his knees, the blaster clattering heavily to the flagstones. After moments that passed like years, he noisily struggled for breath, then leaned forward again, this time going to his hands. Slowly—in utter silence—he bowed his head, no longer showing any interest in Brim at all. There came a sound of wet gagging, and finally the man's arms gave out. He slumped forward on his face and lay quite still, as if he had gone to sleep. A throwing knife protruded from between his shoulder blades, just to the right of center, buried nearly to its hilt. At least twenty irals beyond, the huge silhouette of Utrillo Barbousse stood motionless against the lamplight, arms folded, legs akimbo.
Out in the park, guarded by two of Barbousse's tough replacement Chiefs and Nadia Tissaurd, six more bodies sprawled on the grass in awkward attitudes of violent death. Miraculously, the furious little skirmish had taken place without disturbing anyone in the Palmerston, no more than four or five hundred irals distant. Brim found himself trembling as he looked at the bodies, mouths agape as if they were gasping for air. One of them could have easily been him! Then—abruptly—he blundered to his senses. "Great thraggling Universe!" he exclaimed. "Where's Margot?"
"Yes," Tissaurd said, peering around the park as she bolstered her blaster, "where is that LaKarn woman?"
Brim sprinted for the bushes where he had pushed her, but she was gone, only an indentation in the grass remained to prove that anyone had been there at all. "Have you seen her, Chief?" he demanded.
"No, Cap'm," Barbousse said. "When we arrived in the vans, all we could see was the crowd of Agnords—and a lot of quiet blastin'."
"Sweet mother of Voot," Brim swore, suddenly terrified for her life, "we've got to find her."
"You bet we've got to find her," Tissaurd growled again, her eyes hard with anger. Putting her fingertips to the bridge of her nose, she closed her eyes, and began to turn slowly this way and that. She continued in silence until, after some moments, she stopped abruptly. "There," she said, pointing her arm unequivocally toward a small maintenance building beside the far bridge approach wall. She took two steps forward. "Bring her to me," she said as if her eyes were open, "from the shed!"
Immediately, the two Chiefs set off at a trot, covering the distance in a matter of clicks. Together, they dove into the little building and emerged moments later, supporting a figure between them that could only be Margot LaKarn. She was stumbling along between them as if she were drunk.
Stunned—as much by Tissaurd's feat as by the sight of Margot in the hands of the Chiefs—Brim could only shake his head. "How did you manage that, Number One?" he whispered.
"I... ah... just happened to see her move in the doorway," the tiny officer said, clearly at pains to avoid his eyes.
"Gorksroar," Brim said quietly. "Your eyes were closed."
"Begging the Captain's pardon," she said, "but that's my explanation. Take it or leave it—sir, this is a bad time for a disagreement."
Brim frowned, then nodded. "For now, Number One," he said, "I'll take it." He had to.
While they waited for Margot and her captors to arrive, three more of Barbousse's Chiefs reappeared from the trees nearby. Two were half carrying a clearly wounded assassin; the third was dragging still another corpse by its feet. Without a word, Brim and Barbousse took charge of the wounded man, holding him erect by throwing his arms over their shoulders. "What do you think, Cap'm?" the big rating asked as he peeled the man's mask from his face. "Looks like an Agnord to me."
"That's the only thing I could think of," Brim said, struggling to steady his voice.
The man groaned when Barbousse lifted his chin to the light, and a thick bubble of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth. "I'll make sure," Barbousse said, then quietly mumbled a few unintelligible phrases into a blood-smeared ear.
These seemed to momentarily revive the prisoner, who croaked out a weak reply before his head fell limply to his chest again.
"Definitely an Agnord, Cap'm," Barbousse said in a matter-of-fact voice. "I ran into plenty of them during my tours on the Governor's ship. I slipped him the 'First Precept'—in his own language."
"The 'First Precept'?"
" 'Death before capture,' " Barbousse explained. "Assassination's sort of a religion with them. The worst humiliation they know is being taken prisoner. The ones I've run into so far really would rather die."
"So what did he say?" Brim demanded as the three Chiefs began to dump bodies off the bridge and into the millrace.
"He begged me to kill him," Barbousse said matter-of-factly.
"Maybe he's trying to protect secret information," Tissaurd said, keeping a weather eye on the hesitant approach of Margot and her captors.
Barbousse shook his head. "I rather doubt if he has much information to protect. Lieutenant," he said deferentially. "From what I've been able to learn, Agnords mostly take other people's orders and carry them out."
"Then, y-you'd actually... kill him?" she asked with a look of horror.
"Aye, ma'am," Barbousse said calmly, "unless you or the Commander has objections. We'll have to do something with him, no matter what we decide about anything else. The Leaguers won't admit they've seen him before. And it'll be dicey getting him back to Varnholm the way he is right now.
Somebody'll sure want to know how he got hurt—right before they demand the ID he doesn't have."
"Why can't we just leave him here?" Brim asked as the two Chiefs brought Margot to an unsteady halt directly in front of Tissaurd.
"Well," Barbousse answered with perfect logic, "if we leave him here and he does die, then there's another body that should have been thrown off the bridge. With the millrace spreadin' 'em around the neighborhood a bit, there'll be less cause for a big investigation...."
"... And if he doesn't die," Brim finished with a nod, "then he can cause a pile of trouble for us with assault charges. Even if we could manage to explain the whole thing away. Just getting involved would be bad for the IVG. They take stuff like this seriously here in Fluvanna."
"That's the way I see the situation, Cap'm," Barbousse seconded. "And since this Leaguer gentleman really does want to cash in, I can't see any reason to ignore his wishes."
Brim was suddenly aware of Margot, who seemed to be avoiding everyone's eyes—including his own. Her hair was disheveled and she fairly reeked of TimeWeed. No wonder she'd looked the way she did. Forcing back a rising gorge, he nodded to Barbousse. "Kill him," he said.
"Aye, Cap'm," Barbousse replied, knuckling his forehead. Gently lifting the wounded Agnord in his arms, he headed for the stand of young trees nearby.
Brim turned as Tissaurd began to speak. "What were you doing in that building, LaKarn?" she demanded. "You didn't lift a finger to help the Captain. Why?"
"I—I did everything I could," Margot said in a dull voice, still avoiding Brim's eyes. "But I wasn't armed," she slurred, weaving back and forth on her feet. "I... er... ran for the inn to call for the police."
"Interesting," Tissaurd said. "I wonder where those police are. You'd think even Fluvannians would have shown up by now."