Here There Be Dragons Part 6

As Nayfack had claimed, Graebel obviously dealt in wines and spices. The room they were in was some forty feet across. Heavy racks lined the walls, and barrels filled most of the racks. Tall stone pillars provided support for the ceiling. Through the rows of barrels, they made their way to a flight of stairs leading to the second floor. The scent of spices filled the air-thyme, anise, cinnamon, and others Picard couldn't immediately identify. Lighting in the ware house was spa.r.s.e. Under his feet the earth had been packed hard, then lined with straw.

For this day and age it was clearly a wealthy establishment. In the twenty-fourth century on Earth, it would be considered a hovel.

The guard stomped up the creaking stairs. Picard, Miles, and Ro followed with a lighter tread. They emerged onto a short landing, with three doors, all closed, blocking their way. The guard rapped on the center one. "Herr Graebel-visitors."

"Come," called a voice from inside. The guard opened the door and gestured for the captain and his two companions to enter. Picard did so.

This room was much smaller than the main warehouse. It was also brighter and more comfortable. Lamps on the table and in the window alcove burned brightly, with the slight scent of oil. The room was lined with tapestries that showed various courtly scenes of knights on horseback and hunters and falconers after their prey. In the center of the room was a table and four chairs. All were well carved and probably cost a good deal of money. In the far corner was a tall chest, covered with some kind of runner. By the door was a tall desk, and on a high stool was perched Graebel.

The man was obviously well-to-do. His tunic and breeches were simple, but the material was clearly of fine workmans.h.i.+p. His boots were knee-length and without scuffs or marks of wear. There was a bracelet of gold about his right wrist, and a large signet ring on his right hand. He was slightly running to fat, and the veins in his nose were flushed a light purple. He obviously sampled his own wares fairly frequently. His dark hair hung to his shoulders and was neatly cut and styled. On his head-possible to cover a bald spot-was a small cap.

As Picard studied Graebel, the merchant surveyed him. His disappointment that they were clearly not wealthy customers was hard to miss. "Herr Graebel," Picard said, bowing slightly. "My apologies for disturbing you, but I have a few questions to ask, if you have a moment?"

"Questions?" Graebel's eyes narrowed. "About what?"

"About a man named Castor Nayfack."

Graebel considered. "The name doesn't sound familiar. But"-he stood from the desk with a sigh and put down the quill pen he had been holding-"to be honest, I'll be glad of the break. Keeping records always makes my eyes ache." He looked up at the guard. "Fetch my guests and myself some wine."

Having grown up in a wine-making family, Picard was naturally intrigued at the opportunity of sampling the local wines. Since Graebel was to share a gla.s.s with them, he rather expected it would be of an interesting vintage. It would certainly enliven the process of interogating Graebel to see if he was connected to the criminals. Picard was more and more certain that he, Miles, and Ro were off chasing a red herring, but he reasoned that he might as well enjoy as much of it as he could while Riker finished off the mission. So when Graebel waved them to seats, he accepted. Ro sat beside him, and Miles by her side. Graebel eased himself into the chair facing Picard.

"So, Lukas," Graebel asked amiably. "What does this Herr Nayfack do for a living?"

"I understand that he's a hunter."

Graebel laughed and slapped his thigh. "Well, in that case I should most likely not know him at all. Given my own weight, it is difficult to find a horse brave enough to attempt to carry me!"

Picard smiled politely. "I suspect you overstate the case, sir. I must confess, though, that I had thought that Herr Nayfack mentioned your name to me merely because you are a solid citizen of some renown in this town and he believed it would impress me."

The guard returned, bearing a silver tray. He placed this on the table, and Graebel waved him out. Grasping the pottery jar on the tray, Graebel poured a little into all four pewter goblets that were with it. He handed Ro and then Picard and Miles goblets, taking the last for himself. Miles stared at his drink without making a move to touch it.

Graebel wasn't insulted. "A suspicious one, eh?" he asked Picard. He held up his own goblet and took a good drain. "Ah, Gustaf brought the good wine." He nodded at Ro. "Is she your wife, Lukas?"

"I can speak for myself," Ro said. "Yes, we're married." She gave Picard a wicked smile. "Very happily."

Picard managed not to loose his smile. Trust Ro to stir things up! "Very," he agreed dryly.

Graebel nodded thoughtfully. "You are perhaps a little too gentle with her, Lukas. It is not a woman's place to speak out like that."

Picard was grateful that Ro kept her temper in check. "We're travelling musicians, sir," he said carefully. "Perhaps our customs are not as ... civilized as those of this town." He took a sip of the wine. As he had expected, it was excellent. "Ah! A n.o.ble vintage, sir." He tasted a little, rolling it on his tongue. "A good body, mellow and not too sweet. There's a hint of rosemary and just a touch of apple, I fancy."

Graebel looked impressed. "You know your wines, my friend."

"My family owns a vineyard," Picard explained. "I spent my youth among the vines."

"Ah. Perhaps I know the family?"

"I doubt it," Picard replied. "I'm from Drakar." This was the name of the farthest city on the continent. "We never exported this distance."

"You've come a long way, then." Graebel smiled. "And you do not look like a vintner now."

Picard sipped his wine again. "No, I decided that while I enjoy drinking good wines, I was not cut out to produce them. I prefer to wander, I'm afraid."

"With your companions?" the merchant asked, nodding at Ro and Miles. She smiled sweetly and took a deep gulp of her wine. Picard winced. It was not the right way to savor a good vintage. Miles was cautiously sipping at his own.

"Yes, that's right. We're newly arrived in Diesen. We did meet up with this Nayfack, and he suggested we speak to you."

Graebel nodded. "Well, if you aim to stay a while, perhaps I can find you a few places where you might be able to make money with your music. Does the lady play or sing?"

"She sings," Picard replied.

"Excellent. There's a great demand for good singing." Graebel smiled widely. "It does explain her brash manner. She is no doubt used to much flattery and attention."

Nodding, Picard had to catch himself. He felt slightly giddy. It was his own fault, really, for taking wine on an empty stomach. He should have known better. He moved to put his goblet down, to avoid the temptation of indulging in any more of the excellent drink. His hand didn't seem to want to find the table, and he sloshed some wine on the floor. "I do beg your pardon," he muttered, leaning forward to see how much he'd spilt.

He was unable to stop his body. He pitched forward, slamming onto the edge of the table, then rolling to the floor. The room was swaying about him. He felt as if he were falling backward into a long, bright tunnel. He vaguely heard Ro stumble to her feet. Her goblet fell to the floor and bounced. Miles muttered something as he staggered upright.

"You-" Picard said in a very strained voice. "Drugged ..."

Then Ro fell down, on top of Picard.

"Steady on, Ro," he muttered. "What will the crew think?" Then he dropped into the tunnel, and everything went blank.

Graebel glanced down at his drugged guests with satisfaction. There had been a hairy moment when the leader had shown some knowledge of the wine and its contents, but thankfully he'd been too preoccupied to notice the knockout juice in with the rest. The merchant had no idea why Nayfack had sent the two men and the woman to him. Presumably they were problems he wanted removed. Well, that was Graebel's specialty... .

He called for the guard, then bent to examine his captives. The older man was past his prime by the looks of him, but his life as a wandering player had left him with a good, muscular body. He could get a nice price for such a slave. The younger man was perfect for the mines. And the girl ...

Graebel considered himself a fine judge of feminine pulchritude. He turned the girl's face in his hand. Flawless skin! He pried her mouth open. Even better-she had all her own teeth, and no sour breath to spoil a kiss. An excellent specimen!

The guard and his companion arrived. Graebel gestured for them to take Lukas out. Without effort they hauled him to his feet and dragged him from the room. Graebel's gaze returned to the girl. Grasping the hem of her skirt, he pulled it up to get a good, lingering look at her legs. For a moment he was tempted to have her sent up to his bedroom before he sold her. Then, regretfully, he realized he had better not. This one was good enough for the duke himself, and His Lords.h.i.+p hated his inferiors playing with his toys. Much as his body protested the decision, Graebel knew he'd better not touch this girl. He'd have to make do with his wife.

With a real sigh of regret, he let the skirt fall back into place. The sacrifices he made for his clients!

Chapter Ten.

"MIND IF I JOIN YOU?"

Worf glared up from his gla.s.s of body-temperature tagaak milk. "I wish to be alone." The scowl with which he accompanied this statement would have sent almost anyone on the s.h.i.+p running for a good place to hide. Guinan simply slid into the booth beside the Klingon. "I wish to be alone," he repeated, this time showing his fangs.

"I heard you the first time," Guinan replied. "And, normally, I'd love to let you sit here and sulk by yourself." She gestured around the almost-empty Ten-Forward cabin. "But you're scaring off my customers, and that's bad for business."

"I am not sulking," Worf snarled.

"You want to talk about it?" Guinan gave him one of her I'm-ready-to-listen-to-whatever-you-say looks.

Worf shook his head curtly. "Since I am not sulking, there is nothing to discuss, is there?"

Guinan looked at him quizzically. "Alexander's showing great signs of maturity nowadays," she remarked. "Sometimes more than his father. You are sulking. I know that look. Now-do you want to talk about it, or shall I get six or seven people over here to evict you?"

Worf stared at her, wondering if she was really serious. He felt like a good fight. When it was obvious that she was merely using verbal force, he gave in. "It is not fair!"

"Now you're sounding even more like your son. What's not fair?"

Worf gestured at the planet that hung in s.p.a.ce outside the huge viewport. "That is not." Gripping his drink almost hard enough to crush the unbreakable gla.s.s, he said: "This is the first human world we have ever found that appeals to me. They believe in the force of arms, ritual combat, honor and glory. And, because of the Prime Directive, I am the only one on the s.h.i.+p forbidden to visit the planet!"

"You're not the only one," Guinan told him mildly. "Geordi can't go down, for one."

"That is not the point," he snapped. "This is a world I would give almost anything to visit! A planet where humans understand the pa.s.sion for combat!"

Guinan looked at the cheery world. It reminded her that she had no home-an old wound, but one barely healed. "Most of us grow out of that kind of pa.s.sion," she remarked. "The humans almost have. My race did."

"Then you do not comprehend the true meaning of the word pa.s.sion, "he told her. "And there is good reason to remain combat ready. Your people lost the understanding. They were destroyed by the Borg without a fight."

"With the Borg," Guinan countered, "even a fight would have been useless. You can't defeat an enemy like that with weapons."

"You cannot defeat them any other way." Worf gave her a long, hard look. "We Klingons have a proverb. 'It takes two to make peace, but only one to declare war.' As long as there is one foe ready to declare war, we must be prepared to fight for peace. It is the Klingon way. It is the way of life." He gestured at the planet below the s.h.i.+p again. "The humans down there understand this. I would give anything to be able to visit them."

Guinan shook her head wearily. She should have known better than to argue with Worf. She could have had a lot more fun instead banging her head against the cabin wall. "The humans have a proverb as well: 'Be careful what you wish for. It may come true.' " She rose to her feet. "Can I make a suggestion, then?"

"If you must."

"Go and see Barclay in Engineering."

"Barclay?" Worf frowned. "What about?"

Guinan patted his arm. "Just do it," she said. "Explain your problem to him. Mr. Barclay has a very good understanding of frustrations. I really think he could help you."

"I will consider it," Worf promised. He looked a little more cheerful now. Well, Guinan amended, at least less likely to rip someone's arm off and beat them to death with it.

Riker strode through the backstreets of Diesen, trying to breath through his mouth. The earlier session in the holodeck had almost prepared him for the stench of this place, at least. Checking the homing detector that Smolinske had built into the pommel of his sword, he called over his shoulder: "He seems to be heading for the docks."

Behind him, Deanna Troi tried to muster as much grace as she could while holding the hem of her skirts a couple of inches out of the noxious mud. She was dressed as a fairly wealthy woman, wearing a long blue dress with lace trim and a small cap of similar color. Smolinske had a.s.sured her that this was all the rage, and Deanna had to admit that she didn't look at all out of place in the town. But the skirt was uncomfortable and impractical, given the terrible conditions of the street, and the cap was at once too small for protection against the rain and too large to forget she was wearing it. "Did you somehow bribe Smolinske into making me wear this torturous outfit?" she asked.

Riker grinned at her. He had come out slightly better, dressed in boots, trousers, and a tunic belted at his waist. He was supposed to be her man-at-arms, protecting her as she ventured forth on a shopping expedition. It gave him an excuse to wear the sword and to keep his hand on the hilt. It also meant that he was expected to clear the way through the crowds for her-by force, if necessary. He was grateful that the locals clearly understood the system and gave way before them. "No," he replied. "It was all her own idea."

"And I thought she liked me," Deanna muttered.

"Just be thankful she didn't suggest you pose as a harlot."

Deanna gave him a frosty glare. "Well, at least then I'd have gotten some practical clothes to wear."

Riker grinned and gestured at the indicator in the pommel once more. "Our target seems to have reached his destination. Not much farther."

"I couldn't go much farther." Deanna sighed. "Why do we get all the good jobs?"

"Because the captain likes us."

"If everyone likes us so much, why do I have to wear this stupid outfit?"

Riker grinned again. "Because it would look really silly on me. Come on."

Nayfack glanced over his shoulder for the hundredth time. There was still no sign at all of the gullible Picard-or Ro, or the android. As he'd suspected, those Starfleet types were all reputation and no brains. They'd fallen right into his trap. Now all that was left for him to do was to close the jaws around the Enterprise, and he was home free.

The booth in the side street near the docks was hardly conspicuous. Given its nature, it hardly wanted to be. Many of the locals, when they pa.s.sed it, crossed themselves to ward off evil. It was known locally and shunned by all but the desperate. Nayfack sneered at the local superst.i.tions. For all their Christian faith, the locals believed just as firmly in the Devil and the Black Arts.

And Dr. Hagan played up to it. A little imported technology, some hocus-pocus, and a good deal of intimidation worked wonders on the stupid yokels. Hagan was good at that. The whole town was convinced he consorted with demons, but they were too terrified of his powers to report him to the local officers of the church. Because of this reputation, any slips the gang made were easily covered up as witchcraft.

There was another advantage to the role. The local duke was a fervent believer in the powers of astrology and called Hagan to the castle frequently to consult with him. Hagan had the lecherous old goat eating out of his hand.

Nayfack slipped into the small shop. The room he entered was small and dark. Shelves lined the walls, all filled with bottles. The air was heavy with the sharp stink of preservatives, barely masked by the burning incense in the lamp on the small table. The bottles contained various chemicals, drugs, and body parts of numerous animals. They came in very handy for Hagan when he was supposed to be making magic. By the rear door, on a tall lectern, was a large globe of crystal, currently covered with a velvet cloth. This was his crystal ball, in the depths of which Hagan supposedly glimpsed the future. Tiny lights rigged inside it made some of the readings rather spectacular indeed.

Entering the shop had triggered a signal in the living quarters above the store. As Nayfack's eyes adjusted to the gloom, the curtain covering the door to the stairs was flung back, and Hagan swept into the room.

Nayfack had to admit that the man was very impressive. He wore long, pure black robes and a dark cap. In his right hand he carried a cane of twisted ash, the silver head molded in the shape of a snarling wolf, the eyes twin rubies that appeared to burn in the light of the lamp. On his left hand he wore a large ring on his forefinger. It was solid silver, in the shape of a skull. The eye sockets held small glowing emeralds.

Hagan was tall and well built. His skin was pale, and the black beard he sported for his role looked appropriately sinister. His dark eyes glittered angrily as he saw who his caller was. "Nayfack! You were supposed to have left with the s.h.i.+p. What's wrong? Did you get drunk again and miss the launch time?"

"No." Nayfack wasn't impressed with all this mumbo-jumbo. He knew that Hagan disliked him. Hagan disliked everyone. Well, see how snide and superior he'd be when he knew what was going on. "The s.h.i.+p has been destroyed."

The dark man stared sharply at him. "What do you mean? If you're concocting another of your stupid lies, I swear you'll end up in pieces in these jars of mine. You're the most miserable excuse for a first officer that I've ever had the misfortune to work with."

"Save the threats. I'm not impressed." Nayfack was enjoying himself. It wasn't often he had a chance to humiliate Hagan like this and show their boss how smart he was. Maybe the chain of command would change as a result of Nayfack's actions. He'd love to end up giving Hagan orders for a change. "The s.h.i.+p's gone. When we left the cloud, we ran into a Federation stars.h.i.+p."

"You incompetent oaf!" Hagan glared at him, then shook his staff. "If you'd been intercepted by a stars.h.i.+p, then you'd be dead by now."

"Oh, we ran into one all right. A science s.h.i.+p, mapping the cloud, I gather. The Enterprise herself." Nayfack was addicted to the popular press and had seen enough vids that mentioned the famous exploration vessel. It had helped him to hoodwink the captain. "O'Leary triggered the self-destruct."

Hagan glowered at him in disgust. "You lying t.u.r.d," he snapped. "If he had, you'd be dead by now. So why aren't you dead?"

"Because I didn't see any point in dying. I knifed O'Leary and Tanaka and got out in the survival pod."

"You couldn't have got back here in that," Hagan observed. He was making an effort to restrain his temper.

"Of course not. I came back in the Enterprise."

As he had antic.i.p.ated, this news almost gave the old fake a heart attack. "You did what?"

"Brought the stars.h.i.+p in here."

The magician stared at him in open hatred. "You stupid, blundering imbecile! Aside from your natural idiocy, whatever possessed you to bring the Enterprise here?" His hand holding the staff was twitching furiously.

"I stopped them reporting in to Starfleet," Nayfack replied. "Right now they are the only ones who know about this place outside of us."