Larry Niven - Destiny's Road

Jemmy began throwing.

Andrew got a little farther. But the rocks were hitting him, and he had to strike back. It was in his bones. He scrambled backward and reached bottom in a near landslide, crawled out from under, braced himself against a rock projection and started throwing.

It was not a fair contest.

Andrew gave up: turned his face to the rock and took the hits, and suddenly leapt up and threw three, and curled up again. Jemmy, with his arm hanging like a lead weight, started down.

He hadn't picked the quickest path this time, but the route that would keep Andrew in sight. Wherever he could stop he threw a rock. At the end he was walking toward Andrew, knowing that Andrew would uncurl and charge him with that great weed cutter they'd found in the outbuilding. He stopped out of knife's range and threw rocks from point blank until he knew that Andrew was dead.

The weed cutter was under him.

The pack wasn't on him. He pulled Andrew's body out of sight from the Road, rolled some rocks over it and left it there.

Jemmy found the pack when he'd nearly reached the Road. Andrew hadn't tried to hide it. He never expected Jemmy to live to find it, and he'd wanted to be rid of the weight.

Winnie and Amnon were doing nothing much at the bridge. Jemmy stopped in the middle and spilled the pack in front of them.

Winnie said “Yeep!” and covered her mouth. Amnon said, “What in isn't that Andrew's... no birdfucking allowed.”

“It's the law. I thought you'd better see this,” Jemmy said. “I don't recognize most of it. Is this what I think it is?” He held up a stack of thin paper printed with holograms: little windows into a composite view of Sol system, sun and planets and moons blazing against black.

“It's money,” Winnie said.

Jemmy fished among half-familiar things. A wide silver belt buckle. Handfuls of rings and ear crescents, jeweled and elaborately shaped. A tiny statue group: old men and a kibbitzer around a chess set, in inset jade. A malachite cube. “What's this? And this, and this?”

“I never actually saw-”

“That's a phone.”

“And I think that's a book, an old holy book. And that's a lighter.”

At a touch, a point on the lighter turned white hot. Jemmy kept it. “All right. We have to give the rest of this to Barda. Will you come with me?”

Amnon said, “We're supposed to be guarding-”

“I'll stay,” Winnie said. “You go, Amnon.”

“That's Andrew's pack,” Amnon said.

Jemmy repacked the pack, holding out the malachite cube and two ear crescents. He said, “Not anymore. Andrew tried to kill me. I won.”

“Andrew's dead?”

Jemmy looked at Amnon. He hadn't considered the big man a threat. “How do you feel about that?”

Amnon rubbed his jaw. “I guess we all knew he'd try to kill you. That stuff with the prole gun. You won?”

“Yeah. Winnie, here.” He gave her the ear crescent and helped her fit it. “You shouldn't wear it much. Maybe not at all. In Destiny Town they might know where it came from. Here, well, you know.”

“Thank you.” She kissed him.

Once upon a time... twelve days ago?... Amnon had handed a monstrous weapon back to Jemmy. And Jemmy had to trust someone.

“Amnon, I want to look uphill for... something, and then I want to talk to Barda. Will you come? I'm afraid to be alone.”

Jemmy stopped at the big outbuilding. He'd hidden the communal speckles and some personal stuff in the bushes around back. He collected them now, and picked up a shovel.

Then up toward the lake.

The fresh new outhouses were closer to the inn than the old ones. Jemmy wondered if that was a mistake. Today they were conveniently close. In a few years, when they got ripe... or when the pit began leaking into the groundwater... and so his mind was led to the old outhouse middens.

Here, the men's. Now, where had the fern's gotten to? His nose led him to a patch of bare earth. He called, “Amnon, did someone set you to filling this in?”

Amnon shook his head. He was standing well back.

Now, who would have done hard labor here without first trying to get Amnon to do it?

Jemmy dug. The smell drove Amnon farther back.

He hadn't dug far when he uncovered a hand. He cleared enough to find Duncan Nick's face. The shovel set the head flopping loose.

“Amnon, his throat's cut. Take my word?”

“Sure!”

“I want to cover this up and leave it alone, at least till we talk to Barda. Got a better idea?”

“Want help?”

“No. You do everything else around here.” He shoveled the dirt back. Not too deep. Now where was Amnon? Standing well back, maybe retching a little; trying to ignore the whole scene, stench and all.

Jemmy stooped over his pack. His back was to Amnon. He fished into the speckles bag and flung a handful of speckles over the mound; closed the bag and swung the pack onto his shoulders in a smooth turn that brought Amnon into view. Amnon had noticed nothing.

“Amnon?” He gave Amnon the malachite cube. “You heard what I told Winnie. Don't show it around.”

“Okay. What if I wanted the rest of what's in there?” Jemmy laughed. “Well, you've already got a shovel.” You had to trust somebody.

Barda was in the kitchen, and every cabinet was open. “Just wondering where to put things,” she said, and looked around. “Isn't that... ?”

Jemmy spilled the contents of the pack across the kitchen floor. “You tell me. Is that Duncan's loot?”

She stared. “No birdfucking allowed!”

''It's the law.''

“Yes. Yes, of course it must be... that birdfucker must have hidden it here, and then they took him off to the Windfarm. Of course he wanted us back here. With just the least of that we could have... Jemmy, tell me what happened.”

Jemmy told it. Barda listened with a face like stone. At one point she asked, “Andrew just strolled toward you and you scrambled up a cliff?”

“I did.”

“But why? I mean, yes, I remember you argued about the prole gun, but we all stopped him killing the ones who wouldn't go. Jemmy, what will we do without Andrew?” Barda wondered miserably.

She looked up. “Sorry.”

Jemmy said, “Here's how I saw it. Andrew can't kill the chef and still keep the Swan going. What would he have if he didn't have the Swan?”

He waved at the treasure heaped on the floor. “Every time you cried about not having the money for something to make the Swan a real inn, I saw Duncan Nick not saying anything. The rest of us all said something inane. Duncan Nick and his friends with no names hid out here after they robbed some houses. One of them might have it, or your proles might have the loot, or they gave it back to the owners. Or maybe Duncan Nick hid it at the Swan. And maybe Duncan told you in private... ?”

Barda shook her head.

“Or told Andrew? Then you'd have money and we'd all be set. But that isn't what happened. Duncan took seven days to get himself a little less pale, a little better fed.

“Now, Andrew knew Duncan much better than I do. If Icould see all that, Andrew might just wait for Duncan to grab the loot and run.

“I saw Duncan missing for a day. I saw Andrew set off for town to buy supplies. They'd have to come back in his pack, of course. So why was his pack already full of heavy stuff? And he'd set me up to join him, alone. He was clearing up a loose end, Barda.”

“So you lay in wait.”

“Barda, he was lying in wait, and I thought I knew where, and I still missed him. He must have been under the roots on the fisher tree.”

She studied him a little longer, then said, “You're rich now. You could why didn't you run?”

“Where?”

“All right. Thank you. Thank you for bringing it all back.”