Read The Gripping Hand for Free Online Page B

among the houses.
     
     

    Here: four huge rock slabs leaned against each other at the tops, with window glass in narrow triangles where the rock didn't meet. The boutique was a block from the Pitchfork River, in a neighborhood that had once been fashionable and was now getting to be again. Kevin Renner glanced in and saw a squarish chunk of white rock glittering with opal colors.
     
     

    He walked in. Chimes sounded above his head.
     
     

    He paid little attention to the cookware, lamps, rifles. Here was a row of glittering white pipes with amber bits, and one, isolated, that was fiery opal in a black matrix. Some were carved in intricate fashion: faces, animals, and one flattened tube shaped like an Imperial skip-glide fighter.
     
     

    A short, muscular, balding man emerged from somewhere aft. His eyes scanned Renner in genial fashion. He said, "The pipes."
     
     

    "Too right. What kind of prices do these things carry? The black one, for instance."
     
     

    "Oh, no, sir. That's a used pipe. Mine. After I close up, then it comes out of the case. It's there for display."
     
     

    "Um. How long . . ."
     
     

    The old man had it out on the counter. It had been carved into a face, a lovely woman's face. Long, wavy hair ran down the bit. "I've been smoking Giselle here for twenty-six years. But it doesn't take that long. A year, year and a half, the matrix will blacken up nicely. Longer for the larger pipes."
     
     

    "Longer if I like switching pipes, too. How—"
     
     

    "You'll find you smoke just the one pipe at home, sir. Opal meerschaum doesn't go stale after a few thousand puffs. Briar is what you'll take on trips."
     
     

    Interesting. You took the cheaper pipes on trips, of course, and the little ones. Big pipes were more awkward but smoked better. But most of the pipes in view were pocket-size.
     
     

    "Do you keep the bigger ones somewhere else?"
     
     

    "No, sir, this is all we have."
     
     

    "Mmm. That big one?"
     
     

    "Nine hundred crowns." The proprietor moved it to the counter. It was an animal's head, vaguely elephantine.
     
     

    "That's high. I've seen better carving," Renner said.
     
     

    "On opal meerschaum?"
     
     

    "Well, no. Is it difficult to carve?"
     
     

    The old man smiled. "Not really. Local talent. It may be you'd want to buy a blank, like this." It was bigger yet, with a bowl bigger than Renner's fist and a long shank and short bit. "Take it to another world. Give it to a better carver."
     
     

    "How much?"
     
     

    "Thirteen fifty."
     
     

    It wasn't Kevin's money. Very little of what passed through his fingers was Kevin's money. There would be a Navy pension, and he might be in Bury's will . . . but this would be charged to expenses. Nonetheless Kevin shook his head and said, "Wow."
     
     

    "Higher on other worlds. Much higher. And the value goes up as you smoke it." The man hesitated, then said, "Twelve hundred."
     
     

    "Would you go a thousand?"
     
     

    "No. Look into some other stores. Come back if you change your mind."
     
     

    "Rape it. Sell me that. Do you have tobacco, too?" Kevin handed over his pocket computer and waited while the proprietor verified the transfer, wrapped the pipe, handed it across. And added a tin of local tobacco, gratis.
     
     

    Kevin knew what he wanted to ask next . . . and suddenly knew that he didn't have to. He just grinned and let silence stretch until the old man grinned back and said, "Nobody knows."
     
     

    "Well, how does it come in?"
     
     

    "Private fliers. Men go out and come back with the stone. Are you thinking that they could be made to talk?"
     
     

    "Well . . . ?"
     
     

    "There are criminal elements in Pitchfork River. They don't control the opal meerschaum and never have. My suppliers say they don't know where it comes from; they always bought it from somewhere else. I've heard it so often I'm beginning to believe it. I helped finance some geologists once, when I was younger.