I knew now how we were to get off the repellent planet of Spiovente.

Through the clear wisdom of hindsight I could understand now what had happened the night before. The approach of our troops in the darkness had been observed carefully. With advanced technology of some kind. The hidden watchers must have also seen the track being constructed through the forest for the death-thrower and understood the significance of the operation. The loudspeaker had been placed in the tree directly above the site-then activated by radio. The gas that had felled us was sophisticated and had been delivered with pinpoint accuracy. All of this was well beyond the technology of this broken-down planet. Which meant only one thing.

There were off-worlders in the keep of Capo Dinobli. They were there in force and were up to something. And whatever it was had aroused the wrath of the Black Monks, so much so that they had planned this attack. Which had backfired completely. Good. Mine enemy’s enemy one more time. The monks had a stranglehold on what little technology there was on Spiovente-and from what I had seen, the technology was completely monopolized by the military. I cudgled my brain, remembering those long sessions with The Bishop on geopolitics and economics. I was getting the glimmer of a solution to our problems when there was a wild shouting from the ranks ahead.

I pushed forward with the others to seethe exhausted messenger sprawled in the grass beside the road. Capo Dimonte was turning away from him, shaking his fists skyward in ftiry.

“An attack-behind my back-on the keep! It is that sun of a worm, Doccia, that’s who it is! We move now, forced march. Back!” It was a march that I never want to repeat. We rested only when exhaustion dropped us to the ground. Drank some water, staggered to our feet, went on. There was no need to beat us or encourage because we were all involved now. The capo’s family, his worldly goods, they were all back in the keep. Guarded only by a skeleton force of soldiers. All of us were as cSncerned as he was, for what little we owned was there as well. The knaves watching our few possessions. Dreng, who I scarcely knew, yet felt responsibility for. And The Bishop. If the keep were taken what would happen to him? Nothing, he was an old man, harmless, no enemy of theirs.

Yet I knew this was a lie even as I tried to convince myself of its validity. He was an escaped slave. And I knew what they did with escaped slaves on Spiovente.

More water, a little food at sunset, then on through the night. At dawn I could see our forces straggling out in a ragged column as the stronger men pushed on ahead. I was young and fit and worried-and right up in the front. I could stop now for a rest, get my breath back. i Ahead on the road I saw the two men spring from the bushes and vanish over the hill.

“There!” I shouted. “Watchers-we’ve been seen.” The capo jumped from the war-wagon and ran to my side. I pointed. “Two men. In hiding there. They ran towards the keep.” He ground his teeth with impotent rage. “We can’t catch them, not in our condition. Doccia will be warned; he’ll escape.” He looked back at his straggling troops, then waved his officers forward.

“You, Barkus, stay here and rest them, then get in formation and follow me. I’m going on with all the fit men I can. They can take turns riding on the war-wagon. We’re pushing forward.” I climbed onto the roof of the cart as it started ahead. Men ran alongside, holding on, letting it pull them. The steam car wheezed and puffed smoke at a great rate as we clanked up the hill and onto the downslope beyond.

There were the towers of the keep in the distance, smoke rising from it. When we rattled around the next bend we found a line of men across the road, weapons raised, firing.

We did not slow down. The steam-whistle screeched loudly and we roared in answer, our anger taking us forward. The enemy fled. It had just been a holding party. We could see them joining the rest of the attackers who were now streaming away from the lake. When we reached the causeway it was empty of life. Beyond it was the broken gate of the keep with smoke rising slowly above it. I was right behind the capo when we stumbled forward. Long boards were still in place bridging the gap before the splintered and broken drawbridge, half raised and hanging from its chains. A soldier pushed out between the broken fragments and raised his sword in weary salute.

“We held them, capo,” he said, then slumped back against the splintered wood. “They broke through into the yard but we held them at the tower. They were firing the outer door when they left.” “The Lady Dimonte, the children...?” “All safe. The treasury untouched.” But the troops quarters were off the yard and not in the tower. I pushed ahead with the others, who had realized this, climbing through the ruined gate. There were bodies here, many of them. Unarmed knaves chopped down in the attack. The defenders were coming out of the tower now-and Dreng was among them, coming forward slowly. His clothing was spattered with blood, as was the ax he carried, but he seemed sound.

Then I looked into his face and read the sorrow there. He did not need to Speak, I knew. The words came from a distance.

“I am sorry. I could not stop them. He is dead, the old man. Dead.”

Chapter 26

He lay on the bunk, eyes closed as though he were sleeping. But never that stilt never. Dreng had drawn my blanket over him, up to his chin, combed his hair and cleaned his face.

“I could not move him when the attack came,” Dreng said. “He was too heavy, too ill. The wound in his back was bad, black, his skin hot. He told me to leave him, that he was dead in any case. He said if they didn’t kill him the ‘fection would. They didn’t have to stab him though...” My friend and my teacher. Murdered by these animals. He was worth more than the entire filthy population of this world gathered together. -Dreng took me by the arm and I shook him off, turned on him angrily. He was holding out a small packet.

“I stole the piece of paper for him,” Dreng said. “He wanted to write to you. I stole it. “ There was nothing to be said. I unwrapped it and a carved wooden key fell to the floor. I picked it up, then looked at the paper. There was a floor plan of the keep drawn on it, with an arrow pointing to a room carefully labled STRONGROOM. Below it was the message, and I read what was written there in a tight, clear hand.

I have been a bit poorly sol may not be able to give you this in person. Make a metal copy of the key-it opens the strongroom. Good luck, Jim, it has been my pleasure to knowyou. Be a good rat.

His signature was carefully written below. I read the 182 name-then read it again. It wasn’t The Bishop-or any of the other aliases he had ever used. He had left me a legacy of trust-knowing that I was probably the only person in the universe who would value this confidence. His real name.

I went and sat down outside in the sun, suddenly very weary. Dreng brought me a cup of water. I had not realized how thirsty I was; I drained it and sent him for more.

This was it, the end. He had felt the approach of darkness-but had worried about me. Thought of me when it was really his own death that was looming so close. What next? What should I do now?

Fatigue, pain, remorse-all overwhelmed me. Not realizing what was happening I fell asleep, sitting there in the sun, toppled over on my side. When I awoke it was late in the afternoon. Dreng had wadded his blanket and put it under my head, sat now at my side.

There was nothing more to be said. We put The Bishop’s body on one of the little carts and wheeled it along the causeway to the shore. We were not the only ones doing this. There was a small hill beside the road, a slope of grass with trees above it, a pleasant view across the water to the keep. We buried him there, tamping the soil down solidly and . leaving no marker. Not on this disgusting world. They had his body, that was enough. Any memorial I erected in his honor would be lightyears away. I would take care of that one day when the proper moment came.