“Absolewtly. Yew can trust me now. I’ve learned my lesson.” Grizz eyed the knife as Chester tossed it aside and put out his hand.
“We’ll shake on that, Grizz.”
Grizz came to his feet, reaching for Chester’s hand, and with a tremendous surge spun him around, threw a whistling left at the back of Chester’s neck that somehow failed to connect solidly, followed up with a right cross that Chester somehow managed to avoid. Chester went down and Grizz was on him, his two hundred and forty pounds of muscle and bone crushing Chester flat, while two thumbs like bolt-cutters probed Chester’s Adam’s apple.
“Now, Swamp-walker,” Grizz breathed, “what was vat about lettin’ blood out of me? Cut my froat, would yew? Feels cool, hey? How dew yew reckon it’s gonna be when I put the fumbs in hard?”
“You gave me your word,” Chester wheezed. “I kept my part of the bargain.” He groped, found the loop of clothesline he had prepared and flipped it into position.
“I don’t bargain wif Downlander spies. I tear ’em intew strips, barehanded.”
“I let you go when I could have killed you,” Chester got out. “Now let me up and give me my escort.” With a quick flip, he dropped the loop over Grizz’s head.
Grizz hardly noticed in his enthusiasm. “Yew fink I’m stupid? I’ve got plans for yew, Swamp-runner,” he said, releasing his grip with one hand to tug at the loose noose. “Ever felt a bone break—slow?”
“You mean you’re breaking your promise?”
“Yew catch on quick.”
Chester looked up at Grizz’s puffed face, the wide mouth among the wiry whiskers, the small eyes. He tugged on the line. An expression of surprise crept over Grizz’s face. His back straightened, his head rising. He dug in his thumbs frantically, but Chester twisted away. Then Grizz was struggling to get his legs under him, his hands raking at the wire that was hoisting him up neck first.
Chester slid back, keeping pressure on the wire which ran over a rafter to the loop on Grizz’s throat. Grizz scrambled to get his feet under him. “You’re a very slow pupil, Grizz.” Chester jerked the wire. Grizz’s head bobbed. Chester hauled on the wire, then twisted it around a stout peg set in a massive post. Grizz stood on tiptoes, breathing rapidly, his eyes bulging, his head tilted sideways by the taut wire, his fingers groping fruitlessly at the noose buried in the fleshy neck.
Chester stood before him, hands on hips. “I guess I’ll just hang you, Grizz,” he said. “Less messy than cutting your throat.”
“Please,” Grizz whispered past the constricting wire. “Give me another chance.”
“Have you learned your lesson?”
“Yeah, cut me down.”
“Remember, it’s no use trying to double-cross me. Now just give me an escort like a good fellow . . . ” Chester released the wire. Grizz clawed the noose free, threw it aside, stood rubbing his throat and staring at Chester. Chester stood six feet from him, hands empty, looking at him casually. “Well, you’re free now, Grizz. What about your promise?”
Grizz felt carefully about his head and neck, ran his hands over his arms, leaned to check his ankles, his eyes fixed on Chester.
“Oh, it’s quite all right now, Grizz. There are no more wires attached to you.”
Grizz glanced down, pushed out a foot to check for trap wires. He licked his lips.
“Don’t do anything foolish, Grizz. I’ve warned you. I’m in control of you, not the other way around. The sooner you accept that . . . ”
Grizz leaped, caught a tight-stretched wire square in the mouth and did a complete back flip.
“Get up!” Chester snapped. Grizz got to his feet, hands hanging at his sides, staring at Chester.
“Yours is the typical bully attitude,” said Chester. “Anyone you consider to be stronger than you is your master; anyone who seems to be at your mercy becomes your victim. You’ve had a little trouble classifying me: I seemed to be a victim but repeatedly demonstrated that it was you who was being victimized. Are you ready now to accept reality?”
Grizz stood dumbly. Chester reached out, gripped the other’s nose and twisted hard. Grizz gulped. Chester prodded him in the stomach, thumped his chest, kicked him lightly in the shin. “Well, care to try again?” Grizz swallowed hard, mouth opening and closing.
“I think perhaps you’re properly oriented now, Grizz. You may go. Tell everyone that the attack has been postponed and that they’re to stay clear of the palace. Don’t tell anyone what happened here. Understand?”
Grizz nodded.
“And, Grizz, don’t try to cheat on me.”
There was a sound. Bandon stepped into view, the arrow aimed at Grizz’s chest. “You intend to let this traitor walk out of here and warn ’em?”
“Hold on, Bandon. He won’t give any trouble.”
“Not if I can help it.” Bandon made a sudden move and Chester whirled, snapped a hand out—
And stood gripping the shaft of the arrow, caught in mid-flight.
“You—you grabbed my Blue-Tooth’s dart out of the air!” Bandon stared at Chester incredulously. “It’s not possible!”
“Accept reality,” Chester said. “It’s simply a matter of trained reflexes and self-hypnotic alert conditioning.”
“But then—when I brought you in—you could have . . . ”
“That’s right—but I wanted to see what was going on up here. Now we both know. We’d better move out now—fast. Grizz will snap out of his daze in a few minutes, and you’ll discover how loyal your boys are.”
“But . . . why should they want to turn on me? All I’ve done’s been for their own good.”
“Maybe—but the one thing your little group has in common is a yearning for more free goodies and less work. All anybody has to do to enlist their enthusiasm is promise them some easy loot.”
“Hold on; I don’t know what Grizz has said to them, but I can—”
“Promise them more,” Chester finished. “But can you deliver? This is a dead end, Bandon. Come on with me.”
“I’m still boss here,” Bandon said. “Come on; you’ll see.” He started for the door.
“Do me a small favor,” Chester said, tucking the rusted hatchet into his waistband. “Sneak out the back way and look the situation over before you do anything foolish. I’m leaving now. I have a trail of unfinished business to see to. I hope you won’t try to interfere.”
Bandon hesitated. “I guess I owe you something,” he said. “Grizz was out to get me, sure. But you’re makin’ a mistake. The free life is the only way.”
Chester coiled the clothesline and looped it in his belt. “If you were smart, you’d head for the nearest Center and get used to clean clothes and a good bed again. You don’t belong here with these wood lice. Leave this routine to Grizz and the other wild life.”
“I’m safe enough. Come on with me. I’ll give you a safe-conduct through the lines.”
“Sorry, Bandon; I don’t think you could guarantee that. I’m taking the back way.”
“There’s nothin’ back there but the cliff face. You can’t get through my sentry lines. There’s too many men out there. You can’t catch five arrows at once—and some of the boys have powder guns.”
“I know—so that just leaves me one way out.”
“Up the escarpment? You can’t climb that—it’s straight up.”
“I don’t have a lot of choice. Sorry you’re not going with me. But if you change your mind, there’s a cleft just behind the third house from the corner. I’ll start from there.”
“Got it all figured out, eh? You Downlanders beat me. Well, suit yourself.”
“Thanks. And keep your head down until you see which way the wind is blowing.”
10
In the blackness of Bandon’s back yard, Chester paused, listening. A soft wind moved in the tall pines. Small frogs called; a bird shrilled again and again. Chester moved across the weed-choked garden, worked his way through a wild-grown hedge and over a fallen fence, started up a gravelly slope. Starlight gave a faint illumination. Behind him there was a sudden voice in the street, an angry retort. Chester recognized Bandon’s voice. He reached the base of the cleft, found handholds, started up. Yells sounded from below now and Grizz’s bull roar. Chester pulled himself up to a ledge and turned, waiting. The voices went on; then the thump of running feet sounded, coming nearer.
“Over here,” Chester called softly. He picked up a fist-sized rock, hefted it. Hoarse breathing sounded below, the scrabble of feet on gravel.
“Bandon?” Chester said softly.
“It’s me,” a choked voice came back. “Why, those lousy, miserable, ungrateful skunks!”
“Uh-huh,” Chester said. “Hurry up.” He tossed the rock aside, unlimbered the coil of tough clothesline. Other feet sounded now. A torch flared behind Bandon’s house.
Grizz’s voice bellowed commands: “Beat vat brush, boys. Ve turncoat can’t be far off!”
There was a sound of sliding, followed by a thump. Below, Bandon cursed in a strained whisper. “How in the name of the Kez-father do you get up there?”