Sooner or later the
Cargo-master would find a key to unlock the Salariki.
As if the thought of Dane's chief had summoned him, Van Rycke, his
scented tunic sealed to his bull's neck in unaccustomed trimness, his
cap on his blond head, strode down the ramp, broadcasting waves of
fragrance as he moved. He sniffed vigorously as he approached his
assistant and then nodded in approval.
"So you're all greased and ready--"
"Is the Captain coming too, sir?"
Van Rycke shook his head. "This is our headache. Patience, my boy,
patience--" He led the way through a thin screen of the grass on the
other side of the scorched landing field to a well-packed earth road.
Again Dane felt eyes, knew that they were being watched. But no Salarik
stepped out of concealment. At least they had nothing to fear in the way
of attack. Traders were immune, taboo, and the trading stations were set
up under the white diamond shield of peace, a peace guaranteed on blood
oath by every clan chieftain in the district. Even in the midst of
interclan feuding deadly enemies met in amity under that shield and would
not turn claw knife against each other within a two mile radius of its
protection.
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