The Price of Glory

He made his way on down Hogarth Street until he found its junction with Victory Way. Then he walked north for several blocks, back to where the crowds were thickest, not far from the Council House and the booth of Captain Biggs. The plaza known as the Condordiat joined Victory Way, and on the corner was the sign advertising the Skyway Travel Bureau.

Skyway Travel had been located on this corner for nearly seventy years. The manager was a respected Helmdown businessman named Wilkis Atkins. Atkins had been born and raised on Helm, though his parents had come to that world fifty standard years before from Robinson, in the Federated Suns. The same aide who had told Grayson of the owner of the Moragen Emporium had described Wilkis Atkins as Helm's resident agent for House Davion's Federated Suns.

It was less likely that House Davion would be willing to help an out-of-luck mercenary company on a world as far removed from Davion territory as Helm. Yet, without being immodest, Grayson knew that the Gray Death Legion had made a name for itself in the past three years, and the rich and powerful House Davion was bound to have noticed the Legion's rise. If Grayson could make contact with someone well-placed on a Federated Suns world, perhaps the Gray Death Legion could win a mercenary ticket serving Hanse Davion. It was reputed among mercenaries that House Davion did not pay as well as the other Great Houses, but were fair in dealing with those in their employ. Certainly, it would be worthwhile to talk with Atkins.

That was not to be, however. Skyway Travel had the same "CLOSED BY ORDER OF THE MILITARY GOVERNOR" sign that had been posted over the Moragen Emporium. This was too much to be coincidence.

The words of the old man in the park came back to him, and Grayson knew a moment of stark terror. The man had known, had known that Grayson was looking for Moragen or Atkins, had known that their businesses were closed down!

"Mebee I can help," the old man had said. Mebee, indeed!Grayson turned so sharply that he collided with a laborer in the crowd close behind him, mumbled apology, and made his way south again along Victory Way. The old man had said to go see him, and Grayson intended to do just that!

* * *

Alard King paused in front of the weathered, native stone building and looked both ways. The crowds had nearly vanished in this, a residential portion of Helm-down on the northern outskirts of town. The land here rose sharply, and King was breathing heavily after his stiff, fifteen-minute climb up the narrow streets. Behind him, the open street gave him a view of the town spread out below the hill, and of the spaceport beyond. He could make out the forms of all six DropShips there, glittering gray-silver in the sunlight.

King had removed his bulky tunic and traded it for an elegantly cut merchanter's blouse and cape from a canvas bag he had worn under the baggy tunic. With the tunic now in the bag, and the bag slung over his shoulder, he felt considerably less conspicuous than in the farmer's garb. Alard knew he looked the part of a good-looking young merchanter come to town on business.

The buildings in this hilltop district tended toward pastel colors and open architecture rather than the unrelieved whites and browns and blocky facades of the city proper. By Helman standards, most of these residents were wealthy. The area, known as Gresshaven, was largely reserved for the owners of businesses, members of the professional elite, and the wealthy merchants of Helmdown.

King touched the door a

"Dare desu ka?"the voice behind the speaker said.

"King desu ga. "

"Wait."

There was a long stillness, and then an electronic lock clicked and the door slid open. A young man with hair so blond it was almost white looked out, glanced past King into the street, then looked back at the Tech.

"You are here on . . . business, you said?"

"Please. I need to see the mistress of the house."

The blond man's eyes narrowed. "Things are . . . difficult, just now."

King smiled. "You don't believe I have business here?"

"Oh, your use of Japanese, your mention of the word 'business'—they were perfectly correct. But there has been some trouble. The military occupation forces have been rounding up all foreign agents in Helmdown, real and suspected. Madame's house in town has already been closed down."

King's face showed alarm. "Is Deirdre all right?"

"The Mistress is well. As yet, they do not seem to have made the co

"Understood," King paused, considering. Then he removed a ring from his pouch, one he had kept hidden from his Gray Death comrades. It was a heavy, ornate gold ring with a raised relief of a dagger set against a fleur-de-lis. "Then give her this. Tell her that Alard King, special personal representative of Duke Ricol, of the Draconis Combine, mustsee her."

The servant's eyes widened when he saw the ring.

"Immediately, sir."

"Tell her it-is a matter of life and death," King added.

16

Grayson followed his guide down the winding stairway. The old man walked slowly, but the light here was so dim that even with a far younger and more nimble guide, Grayson would have had to move with caution. The ceiling was low enough that he had to stoop to keep from hitting his head. The stone walls were dank with moisture.

It had not, after all, been luck that had brought Grayson together with Victor Wallenby on the stone wall along the statue garden. Wallenby had seen Grayson making his way from the alley where he had escaped the Marik soldiers, and had been sufficiently intrigued by the younger man's appearance to decide to investigate more closely.

"Of course, I knew you were needin' help," Wallenby had explained when Grayson found him again in the park. "I could tell you weren't from around here."

"But how did you know?"Grayson had asked in exasperation. He'd looked around the plaza area at the other civilians, most wearing shapeless, homemade clothes identical to his own. "I'm dressed just like a farmer . . ."

"Ah!" Wallenby's eyes had twinkled. "But that's just it, young feller. You obviously weren'ta farmer. Look at those hands! Not a callous on 'em."

'Oh, come on! You couldn't have checked my callouses from across the street, when you said you first saw me!"

"Nope. But I could see a young guy dressedlike a farmer. And I asks m'self . . . why's a young buck come to town wearin' his everyday work clothes from the farm?

An old guy like me . .-. sure! I wear this because it's comfortable . . . and I'm too old to play dress-up! Your father, forty standard years old and hands calloused like these"—he held up his own gnarled hands—"Who does he have to impress with his clothes? But you? I could see as the farmer's son, maybe . . . but not in thatoutfit. No, the farmer's son would wear his good clothes to come to town. Impress the girls! Show off to the other farmers' sons how much money he has in his pockets! You? You don't even havepockets in those baggy things!"

"So, how did you know I was looking for the Steiner . . . ah . . . representative?"

"The Steiner spy? I didn'tknow, for sure. But I figured it had to be either the Davion or Steiner folks. They both have their businesses here, in the central part o' town. I didn't figure you were lookin' for the Liao spy. He's clear over by the spaceport. And the Kurita spy, well, she does her business out in the well-to-do part of town . . . and if you was to wander in over there wearing hick clothes like those, I'd figure you were a lot crazier than you looked! Course, she's got a place in town—or had one, until yesterday afternoon—but she still mostly caters to the rich folks. I doubt that you could get past her front door looking like that."