Bibs.tucked her arm through mine, which felt very cheering, as we strolled along the busy avenue. Anywhere else our gray prison clothes, tastefully decorated with bloodred broad arrows, would have certainly drawn attention—and apprehension. Not among the motley throngs crowding these streets, dressed in every manner possible. There were bearded men in fringed buckskins, women in layers of colored gauze,. armed warriors in leather and steel; robes, gowns, chainmail, cuirasses, sashes—everything imaginable. Plus a few that defied the imagination. We drew no attention at all.
"Do you have any money?" Bibs asked.
"Just a few Arghans I lifted from one of my guards. Like you, I have just escaped,"
Her eyebrows lifted at this—very attractive eyebrows arched above even more attractive eyes I noticed.
"Is that why you helped me out? What were you in prison for? All I know is that you and the old boy were left behind on Spiovente. Scuttlebutt had it that Garth sold you into slavery."
"He did, and my friend is dead because of that. I am a little bitter about Garth for a lot of reasons. I liked The Bishop. He helped me, taught me a lot, and I am happy to say that I was able to help him in return. We left our home world in a hurry, as you will remember, and paid Captain Garth a lot of money to get us away. But that wasn't enough for him. He earned more by selling us into slavery. I lived—but The Bishop died because of being a slave. As you can imagine I am not wildly pleased by his death. A number of loathsome things happened on that planet, the least of which was my being caught by the League Navy. They were returning me to my home planet to stand trial."
"On what charges?" There was keen interest in her voice.
"Bank robbery, criminal abduction, jailbreak. Things like that."
"Wonderful!" she said, laughing aloud with joy; she had very neat white teeth. "You did yourself an immense favor when you came to little Bibs's aid. I know this planet well, know where the money is. Know how to buy our way ofiplanet when we are done. You steal it, I'll spend it—and our troubles are over."
"Sounds reasonable. Could we talk about it over some food? It's been a long time since breakfast."
"Of course—I know just the place."
And she did too. The restaurant was small and discreet while the felyon ha kyk mogh tasted a lot better than it sounded. We washed it down with a great bowl of ru'th gwyn which turned out to be a satisfactory red wine: I memorized the name for future use. When we had eaten our fill l took one of the wood splinters from the jar on the table and worried bits of gristle from between my teeth.
"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" I asked, asking a question. Bibs sipped at her wine and waved permission. "You know why I was imprisoned. Would you consider it rude if I asked the reason for your incarceration?" She slammed her mug down so hard that it cracked and oozed a carmine trickle. She was unaware of it; her face twisted with anger and I could hear her teeth grate together.
"He did it, I'm sure, it had to be him, the bastarda Sfitllo!" Which is about the worst name you can call anyone in Esperanto. "Captain Garth, he's the one. He knew the
League Navy was after us for gunrunning. He paid us off here—and the next day I was arrested. He tipped them off and planted the kewarghen in my bag. With that evidence they busted me on a drugs charge, selling to the natives and all that. I want to kill him."
"So do I—for causing the death of my friend. But why did he want you arrested?"
"Revenge. I lacked him out of bed. He was too kinky for my liking."
I gulped and coughed and took a long slug of wine and hoped that she wouldn't notice that I was blushing. She didn't. Her eyes, still glazed with anger, stared past me into space. "Kill him, I really would like to kill him. I know that it's impossible but, oh how he deserves it,"
"Why impossible?" I asked with some relief, glad to have the conversation back on comfortable topics like murder and revenge.
"Why? What do you know about this planet, Jim?"
"Nothing. Other than its name, Steren-Gwandra." -"Urhich means planet in the local lingo. They are not a linguistically imaginative lot. At least those here in Brastyr aren't. Like many other settled planets this one was cut off from galactic contact during the breakdown years. Brastyr, this continent, has few natural resources and over the centuries they managed to lose all of the old technology. They are so dim that most of them forgot Esperanto. Not the traders though, they had to deal with the offshore island. By the time that galactic contact was reestablished the locals had sunk into a sort of agricultural semi-feudalism."
"Like Spiovente?"
