Read The Chalice of Death for Free Online Page A

growled. “Planet of origin, Jorus.”
    The official indicated Carso’s stubbly scalp. “I wish you Earthmen would show some consistency. One says he’s from Earth, the other—or are you not an Earthman, but merely prematurely bald?”
    â€œI’m of Earth descent,” Carso said stolidly. “But I’m from Jorus, and you can put it down. I’m Navarre’s traveling companion.”
    The customs officer riffled perfunctorily through their papers a moment, then handed them back. “Very well. You may both pass.”
    Navarre and Carso moved off the field and into the spaceport itself.
    â€œI could use a beer,” Carso said.
    â€œI guess you’ve never been on Kariad, then. They must brew their beer from sewer-flushings here.”
    â€œI’ll drink sewer-flushings when I must,” Carso said. He pointed to a glowing tricolored sign. “There’s a bar. Shall we go in?”
    As Navarre had expected, the beer was vile. He stared unhappily at the mug of green, brackish liquid, stirring it with a quiver of his wrist and watching the oily patterns forming and re-forming on its surface.
    Across the table, Carso was showing no such qualms. The half-breed tilted the bottle into his mug, raised the big mug to his lips, drank. Navarre shuddered.
    Grinning, Carso crashed the mug down and wiped his beard clean.
    â€œIt’s not the best I’ve ever had,” he commented finally. “But it’ll do in a pinch.” Shrugging cheerfully, he filled his mug a second time.
    Very quietly, Navarre said, “Do you see those men sitting at the far table?”
    Carso squinted and looked at them without seeming to do so. “Aye. They were on board the ship with us.”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œBut so were at least five of the other people in this bar! Surely you don’t think—”
    â€œI don’t intend to take any chances,” Navarre said flatly. “Finish your drink. I want to make a tour of the spaceport.”
    â€œWell enough, if you say so.” Carso drained the drink and left one of Overlord Joroiran’s bills on the table to pay for it. Casually, the pair left the bar.
    Their first stop was a tape shop. There, Navarre made a great business over ordering a symphony.
    The effusive, apologetic proprietor did his best. “ The Anvils of Juno ? I don’t think I have that number in stock. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of it. Could it be The Hammer of Drolon you seek?”
    â€œI’m fairly sure it was the Juno ,” said Navarre, who had invented the work a moment before. “But perhaps I’m wrong. Is there any place here I can listen to the Drolon ?”
    â€œSurely; we have a booth back here where you can experience full audiovisual effect. If you’d step this way, please …”
    They spent fifteen minutes sampling the tape, Carso with a prevailing expression of utter boredom, Navarre with a scowl for the work’s total insipidity. The symphony was banal and obvious—a typical Kariadi hack product, churned out by some weary tone-artist to meet the popular demand. At the end of the first fifteen-minute movement Navarre snapped off the playback and rose.
    The proprietor came bustling up to the booth. “Well?”
    â€œSorry,” Navarre said. “This isn’t the one I want.”
    Gathering his cloak about him, he swept out of the shop, followed by Carso. As they re-entered the main concourse of the terminal arcade, Navarre saw two figures glide swiftly into the shadows—but not swiftly enough.
    â€œI do believe you’re right,” Carso muttered. “We’re being followed.”
    â€œKausirn’s men, no doubt. The Lyrellan must be curious to see which way we’re heading. Or possibly he’s ordered my assassination, now that I’m away from the Court. But let’s give it one more test before we take