The Garments of Caean

The elevator in which they rode could not be commandeered by anyone seeking to enter the club uninvited. To raid the Mantis, or any of an unknown number of other clubs and hideouts clandestinely slotted among the legitimate installations beneath Gridira, the police would have had to bore their own tunnel. The cylinder slid to a stop. To the strains of soothing music they stepped into the underground club. It was a markedly different place from the all-night eatery, smelling of grease and sour wine, which they had left behind. The décor was plush, utilizing soft lighting effects, glowing carpets and embossed murals on the walls. Here food of good quality was served by pleasant young women, and the air was never foul or fuggish as it generally was above. Here those members of Gridira’s fringe society who could afford it, and who met the owner’s favour – rich fences, top racketeers, professional embezzlers, shady self-styled entrepreneurs (into which category Mast fell) and numbers of their associates and providers of technical services – could relax in their own special milieu.

Peder and Mast settled at a small table and ordered a dinner of spiced Protvian grasshoper legs, a delicacy Peder promised himself he would enjoy more often in future. Several people greeted Mast or came to exchange words with him. Peder did not really understand why Mast wanted to bring him here – a privilege never extended to Castor or Grawn. Perhaps it was because so much business was conducted here. It was here that Mast had conceived and planned the Kyre junket. The owner of the Costa was also a habitué of the Mantis. Here Mast had learned of the crashed Caeanic ship, buying the information together with the co-ordinates of the infra-sound planet.

He had also purchased certain technical assistance here. A short scrawny man with a wizened face, completely naked from head to toe, flung himself into a chair at their table. ‘Hi, Realto, the suit work all right?’

Devilishly handsome in his Caeanic titfer, Mast tapped the end of his nose and gave a saturnine smile. ‘Well enough, Moil. You should ask Peder here. He was our brave “infranaut”.’ He chuckled.

Since Moil had manufactured the infra-sound baffled suit, in a sense Peder’s life had been in his hands. The sartorial felt uncomfortable as the technician’s eyes flicked to him, not knowing how much Mast had told him of the purpose behind the project.

‘It was a bit hairy, but I survived,’ he said.

‘Any of the stuff get through?’ Moil asked him. ‘Got the recorder box on you? I’d like to look it over.’

‘No, sorry, I haven’t,’ Peder said, not realizing until now that there had been a recorder.

‘We dumped the suit, I’m afraid, Moil,’ Mast explained apologetically. ‘We didn’t keep anything.’

Moil nodded absently. ‘Well, let me know if you need anything else,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Always glad to do business.’

‘Likewise.’ After he had gone Mast refilled Peder’s glass. ‘Fancy a game, Peder? Cards, or some shuffle? Luck’s with you, I can see.’

‘No,’ said Peder, certain by now that Mast was a barefaced, accomplished, habitual cheat.

One large table in the corner of the diner was separated from the rest of the room by cloth screens. Mast kept glancing at it from time to time, a speculative look crossing his features. Eventually he leaned across to Peder, speaking in a confidential tone. ‘See that screen table, Peder? That’s the permanent booking of the most powerful fence on Harlos. There’s no saying whether he’s here tonight, of course, until you get behind the curtain.’

‘Who cares?’ Peder responded desperately, gulping down his wine. But Mast was already on his feet, and oblivious of Peder’s look of ineffectual anxiety, he made his way across the saloon to the tented table. A tall, cadaverous man appeared suddenly from behind the screen and held a brief conversation with him, punctuated by vigorous gestures.

Mast returned looking excited. ‘Jadper is there, Peder. I haven’t managed to obtain an interview with him yet – but there’s a definite possibility that later in the evening … if so, I want you to come with me. You understand the merchandise; you’ll be able to talk to him.’

He slurped his wine, unaware of Peder’s nervous strain. ‘You realize what this means? Jadper won’t be interested in bits and pieces. He’ll take the whole load in one go! By this time tomorrow you may be rich!’

‘No, no,’ Peder protested in anguish. ‘That’s not how to do it at all. I must sell them slowly, piece by piece over a period of years, through my contacts in the trade. That way they’ll enhance their value. This is already agreed, Realto.’