I went over to where Cagu was laid out on the floor. Shocked people stood staring. Torbu was beside the body. A tear ran down his nose, dripped on Cagu's face. Torbu wiped it away with a big scarred hand.
"I'm sorry, old friend," he said. "I didn't mean it."
I picked Cagu up and got him over my shoulder, and all the way to the far exit it was so quiet in the Palace of Merrymaking that I could hear my own heavy breathing and the tinkle of fountains and the squeak of my fancy yellow plastic shoes.
In the bodyguards' quarters I laid Cagu out on a bunk, then faced the dozen scowling bruisers who stared down at the still body.
"Cagu was a good man," I said. "Now he's dead. He died like an animal ... for nothing. That ended all his lives, didn't it, boys? How do you like it?"
Mull glowered at me. "You talk like we was to blame," he said. "Cagu was my compeer too."
"Whose pal was he a thousand years ago?" I snapped. "What was he—once? What were you? Vallon wasn't always like this. There was a time when every man was his own Owner—"
"Look, you ain't of the Brotherhood—" one thug started.
"So that's what you call it? But it's just another name for an old racket. A big shot sets himself up as dictator—"