Dragonback 03 Dragon and Slave (8 page)

Carefully, Draycos finished positioning himself across Jack's
back. He still wasn't sure what, if anything, the Dolom had seen, but
it now seemed unlikely she had seen anything too obvious. Surely she
would have screamed the hut awake if she had.

Wouldn't she?

On the other paw, she was an alien, of a type he had never met or
studied. Perhaps screaming simply wasn't in her species' makeup.

He gave up the effort. Whatever came of this, if anything, it
would probably wait until morning. He and Jack would deal with it then.

Nestling himself against Jack's skin, feeling the renewing energy
flowing from his host, he fell asleep.

"Listen up," Fleck said, glaring down at Jack. "I'm only going to
explain this once."

"Yes, sir," Jack said, using the meekest voice and manner in his
repertoire. Up close, Fleck was even uglier than he'd looked across the
sleeping hut. His tanned face had tiny pockmarks all across it like the
craters on an asteroid, his eyes were bulging and bloodshot, and his
beard seemed to be going bald in spots.

He was also bigger than he'd seemed. It would probably be smart to
stay on his good side.

"All right." Fleck waved along the line of bushes, which were
growing so close together that they were practically a hedge all by
themselves. "These are the rainbow berry bushes."

He reached to the nearest of the stubby branches and swung it up,
exposing the neat row of fingernail-sized berries clinging to its
underside. "And this," he said, pointing to one of them, "is a ripe
berry. You see the color pattern, the way the red at the stem blends
into yellow, and then into green and blue?"

"Yes," Jack said, trying hard not to be sarcastic. It was pretty
obvious, actually.

"Yeah, I know—it's obvious," Fleck growled. "But
this
part
isn't."

He turned the berry over in his thick fingers. "Look here in the
middle of the blue. See that little dot of purple? That's
very
important."

He turned the berry back around. "So is this ring of little bumps
right where it connects to the stem. You don't have both of those, you
don't have a ripe berry, and you leave it be. Got it?"

"Got it," Jack said, nodding. Okay; so it wasn't quite as simple
as it had first looked.

"I hope so," Fleck said warningly. "Because if you mess up, the
Brummgas
will
catch it. And then you'll be in trouble."

"Like I'm not already," Jack muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said I got it," Jack said aloud. "This isn't exactly brain
surgery, you know."

"And you're not exactly a brain surgeon, are you?" Fleck pointed
out. "Here's your bowl."

He handed Jack a container that looked like an extra-deep pie pan
with a long leather strap strung between two points on the rim. "You
want me to show you how to use it?"

"I think I can figure it out," Jack said. He looped the strap
around his neck, letting the container rest against his stomach. "Close
enough?"

"I guess maybe you
are
a brain surgeon," Fleck said
sarcastically. "Just one more thing."

He plucked the berry he'd identified as ripe and set it down
gently into Jack's bowl. "Don't just toss it into the bowl. You do
that, you're likely to crush the ones on the bottom. Damaged berries
get you in trouble with the Brummgas, too."

He took a step closer to Jack, looming over him like an especially
unfriendly rain cloud. "And if you're in trouble with the Brummgas,
you're in trouble with me. Got it?"

Jack grimaced. Staying on Fleck's good side might be harder than
he'd thought. "Got it."

"Then get to work."

Turning, he stalked away. "Don't worry about Fleck," Maerlynn
said, stepping over to Jack's side. "He talks grouchy, but mostly he's
all right. Go ahead and get started—I'll watch and see how you do."

She watched for ten minutes before she seemed convinced he did
indeed have the hang of it. "You're doing fine," she said. "I'll be
down the line over here. If you have any questions, just ask."

"I will," Jack said. "Thanks."

She headed away along the edge of the bushes, toward where Jack
could see Noy and Lisssa picking. "I still think you could build a
robot to do this," Jack muttered, turning back to his bush. "You could
at least make a scanner to help out."

"Perhaps it is a hammer problem," Draycos suggested from his
shoulder.

Jack turned one of the berries over. No purple spot. "What's a
hammer problem?" he asked, moving on to the next berry in line.

"It is from one of the sayings Uncle Virge has quoted to me," the
dragon said. " 'When the only tool you have is a hammer, every problem
looks like a nail.' "

"Yeah, he quotes that one to me, too," Jack said. This one had
both the purple spot and the bump pattern. Plucking it from its stem,
he put it in his bowl. "If you've got a whole bunch of slaves,
everything you're doing looks like it ought to be done by slave labor.
That's more or less what I said yesterday."

"I am merely confirming your reasoning," Draycos said. "I went out
and examined the wall last night."

"Great," Jack said. "I was going to suggest that, but I fell
asleep before I could talk to you. How's it look?"

"Every bit as dangerous as our examination from the
Essenay
indicated," the dragon said. "I do not believe we will be able to
escape that way."

Jack shrugged. "No problem," he said. "I was expecting we'd have
to go out through the gate anyway."

"True," Draycos said. "On the other hand, you also expected we
would be leaving by today at the latest."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Jack growled, glaring down
his freshly-washed shirt at the dragon's snout, draped across his
collarbone. "This is just a little setback."

"Of course," Draycos said.

"And sarcasm won't help, either."

"I was not being sarcastic," the dragon protested. "The good news
is that there do not seem to be any patrols in the slave area. That
means we will have freedom of movement."

"That could be handy," Jack agreed. "Anything else? Wait a
second," he interrupted himself softly. Out of the corner of his eye,
he had picked up movement.

"Hey, Jack," Noy's voice came from that direction. "How are you
doing?"

"Okay, I guess," Jack said, turning around. "It's not that hard."

"No," Noy said doubtfully, peering into Jack's bowl. "But you're
going to have to work faster than that if you want to eat tonight."

Jack frowned. "What?"

"You have to fill your bowl by dinnertime," Noy explained.
"Otherwise, no dinner. Didn't Fleck tell you?"

Jack looked off to the left. Fleck was off in the distance, pacing
back and forth behind a group of Jantris. "No, he didn't tell me," he
growled. "How full does it have to be?"

"Up to here," Noy said, pointing to a line about half an inch
below the rim of the container.

"Got it," Jack said, a sinking feeling swirling in the pit of his
stomach as he stared into the nearly empty bowl. "Then what?"

"You take your bowl over there," Noy said, pointing to a pair of
tables set up in the shade of a tall tree. "The Brummgas show up
between five thirty and six. You bring them a full bowl, and they give
you a meal ticket."

"A what?"

"A meal ticket," Noy repeated. "It's a little metal square you can
trade in for dinner in the meal hall."

"And no ticket, no dinner?"

"Right," Noy said. "So I'd better let you get back to work. I just
wanted to say hi."

"Thanks," Jack said. "And thanks for the warning."

"No problem," Noy said, moving away. "See you later."

He wandered off toward another spot in the tangle of bushes,
stopping every few feet to check the nearest branches. "That was
awfully nice of Fleck, wasn't that?" Jack muttered toward his shoulder
as he turned back to his work.

"Perhaps there was no malice intended," Draycos suggested. "He may
merely have forgotten to tell you."

"You don't even believe that one yourself," Jack said. "The guy
just thought it would be funny for me to listen to my stomach growl all
night."

He stopped short, a jolt of conscience suddenly hitting him.
"Which reminds me . . . I didn't save you any of my food last night. I'm
sorry."

"That is all right," Draycos assured him. "There was no practical
way you could have done so with Maerlynn and the others watching."

"I know, but . . ." Jack ran out of words.

"Do not worry about me, Jack," Draycos said into the awkward
silence. "I am a poet-warrior of the K'da. I am accustomed to hardship
in the line of duty. You must not worry about me, but keep your full
attention on the task at hand. Agreed?"

Jack sighed. "Agreed."

"Good," Draycos said. "I am working on a plan that I believe will
allow us to move undetected into the Chookoock family grounds. From
that point, it will be up to you."

"Okay," Jack said. He'd finished the upper branches of this
particular bush; kneeling down on the soft ground, he started checking
the lower ones. "From that I assume the hedge is wired?"

"Yes," Draycos said. "The gap we were brought through has many
sensors attached. How did you know?"

"Because an open gap like that is about as obvious as an elephant
at an anteaters' tea party," Jack said with sniff. "These Brummgas are
not exactly mental giants. I hope you aren't going to try to disarm
them by yourself."

"I am not going to disarm them at all," Draycos said. "I have
begun carving a tunnel through the base of the hedge at a secluded
location."

"There'll still be all the rest of the grounds to get though after
that," Jack pointed out.

"True," Draycos said. "As I said, that part is up to you."

Jack snorted. "Thanks. Loads."

There were two breaks that morning, each one a big fat five
minutes long. Most of the slaves took the opportunity to sit down and
stretch tired muscles. Jack, in contrast, worked straight through both.

A longer, twenty-minute break came at noon, accompanied by a cup
of what Maerlynn called nutrient broth. To Jack, it seemed more like
flavored water with delusions of souphood. But it tasted all right, and
he had to admit he felt better after drinking it.

He worked through most of that break, too, holding his soup cup
with one hand and sipping from it as he picked.

It was midafternoon, and Fleck had just called another five-minute
break, when he first heard the music.

He paused and looked around. It was a delicate sound, clear and
precise and clean. Ethereal, even, if he was remembering that word
right. The kind of music that would fit perfectly with a movie scene of
a tropical paradise.

Which made its presence in the middle of a slave colony like a
sweetly smiling kick in the teeth.

"Where is that music coming from?" Draycos murmured.

"I don't know," Jack said, straightening up and looking around.

And then, an old man came into view from around a curve in the
bushes. He walked slowly, as if his knees were tired or stiff or both,
and on his head he wore an amazingly wide-brimmed hat.

And in his hands he carried a musical instrument like nothing Jack
had ever seen before.

Jack blinked, wiping the sweat off his forehead. The instrument
was mostly metal; that much he could tell from the glints of sunlight
off its surface. Sections of it looked familiar, too, as if the old man
had put it together from pieces of a half dozen other instruments. The
part he was blowing into seemed to have come from a flute, but there
were also valves from a trumpet and possibly a tuba. Other parts Jack
didn't recognize at all.

He glanced around. The only other slave nearby was Lisssa, leaning
half into her bush as she strained to reach some berry deep inside the
tangle of branches. "Hey, Lisssa," Jack said, stepping over to her.
"What's with the musician?"

She made a sound like a horse snorting. "It's the Klezmer."

"What's a Klezmer?"

"I look like an encyclopedia to you?" she retorted. "That's just
what he calls himself."

"Okay, okay," Jack said soothingly. "I was just asking."

"And I'm just telling," Lisssa said sourly. "Probably means
'leach' in some human language."

Jack frowned. "Leach?"

Lisssa snorted again. "Take another look."

Jack turned back. The Klezmer was walking slowly along the line of
berry pickers now. Each of the working slaves turned toward him as he
passed.

And to Jack's surprise, each dropped some berries into the
container looped around the Klezmer's neck.

"Okay, I give up," Jack said. "What are they doing?"

"Like I said, he's a leach," Lisssa growled. "Story goes his eyes
have gone too bad for him to pick berries. My eyes so cry over him."

"But don't the Brummgas have some kind of . . .?" Jack floundered.

"What, retirement plan?" Lisssa asked scornfully. "Don't be
ridiculous. We don't work, we don't eat. Period."

She shrugged in the Klezmer's direction, the thick scales of her
shoulder scratching against the branches with the movement. "So he's
got this scam going. He plays music and pretends he's not begging. And
everyone else gives him berries and pretends it's not charity."

Jack studied her right ear, about all of her face he could see
through the branches and leaves. There had been an odd emphasis on the
last word. "You don't believe in charity?"

Reluctantly, he thought, she pulled back from the bush and turned
those dark eyes on him. "Are you that naïve?" she asked bitterly. "Or
are you just stupid? We're slaves.
Slaves
. The bottom of the
bottom of the stack. Charity is for people who have something extra to
give. Not us. Here, no one looks out for you but yourself."