Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [51]
“Somewhere in town? Or at his madraga’s estate?”
“The more I think about it, the more I’d say it’s in town—for Rhurig’s protection. Why keep the evidence where it might incriminate the whole madraga? In Kobar’s hands, it can hurt only him—a risk he’d probably assume for the sake of his kinsmen.”
“But Kobar’s their third official,” said Riker. “It will make for a considerable scandal if he’s caught with Fortune’s Light. Why not put some retainer in jeopardy instead?”
“Probably because a retainer would not be trusted with such an important task,” Lyneea told him, “even if he or she was capable of performing it. Obviously Rhurig has gone to great trouble to stop the merger. It is worth a certain amount of risk to make certain the seal stays hidden. And besides, Kobar may have insisted on handling this personally.”
“Then why is he out buying knives for his collection,” asked Riker, “instead of keeping watch over the seal?”
Lyneea turned to glance at him. “Because,” she said, “he is who he is. Even a madraga official may be governed by something other than logic.”
Remembering Norayan’s tale, he could hardly disagree. “Good point,” he muttered.
“Hold on,” said his partner. “Something’s wrong.”
Up ahead, Kobar and his companions had stopped. The third official was holding up his package, and one of the others was pointing to it. Remarks were exchanged, which Riker and Lyneea had no hope of overhearing. Kobar frowned.
“He’s not happy with his purchase,” observed Riker.
“Apparently,” said Lyneea. “Maybe they’ve decided it wasn’t such a good deal after all.”
“So we make ourselves scarce again.”
“You’re catching on,” she told him.
Kobar and his friends started back the way they’d come. Their discontent was increasing step by step, if the expansiveness of their gestures was any indication.
“Just one thing,” said Riker. “Let’s not find another pet dealer, all right?”
“It’s a deal,” agreed his partner.
She’d already started toward a nearby winemonger’s booth when they heard the first small cries of surprise. Then came the full-blown screams and the rush. And before Riker knew it, the crowd was carrying him back, separating him from Lyneea.
A moment later he got his first look at what prompted the riot: the isak cub that had been shown to him earlier. Apparently the damned thing had gotten out of its cage and was trying to make a meal out of somebody’s ankles—anybody’s ankles.
In their haste to avoid the snapping, snarling little beast, the marketgoers were leaping onto some tables and overturning others, while the merchants were doing their best to keep their booths intact and their wares from spilling to the ground. It was chaos such as the marketplace in Besidia had probably never seen—and might never see again.
Riker tried to work his way out of the press. He grabbed for one of the poles supporting a basket merchant’s display, missed. Someone fell, starting a domino effect, and by the time it got to him it had the weight of a half-dozen bodies behind it. Like a swimmer overtaken by a slow but inexorable wave, he went down, inadvertently taking a couple of others with him.
Nor could he easily get up again. Not with his legs pinned under an equally helpless Impriman, who was in turn pinned by somebody else. And to make matters worse, other marketgoers were trying to climb over him, in order to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the skittering isak. There were curses, grunts, even a couple of misplaced blows.
Twisting and squirming, Riker managed to pull his legs free—but there was still no place to stand. So he did the next best thing. He worked his way over to the first booth he saw and slithered underneath its leather-draped table.
Once he’d pulled his feet in after him and the heavy coverings had fallen back into place, Riker allowed himself a shudder of disgust. Crowds. He was grateful for the relative quiet,