Kurland opened his eyes dizzily, then shut them again. The thick voice of Gion purred through the spinning darkness.
"You might as well, Kurland. It's real."
He opened them again, fixing his unsteady regard upon the heavy, impassive countenance of the Jovian Marward. Gion sat across the table, his hands folded upon the polished surface. The leaden boxes were stacked neatly beside his arm. A thinly wavering smile touched Kurland's lips as he glanced back at Gion.
"Your arm is longer than I thought, Gion."
"You had your warning," shrugged the Marward.
"How did she do it?"
Gion smiled, a gross caricature of mirth. "It would be amusing to let you go in that misapprehension, I suppose. Perhaps profitable. But you've earned the right to know. The girl wasn't my agent. So much the worse for her. While you were reviling her, the man who wrecked the Plutonian walked up behind you. Heywood isn't one to take chances, as your head probably indicates."
"Heywood?"
Gion waved a casual hand at a slight, elegant figure seated at his right, and the evil little jackal permitted himself a tight-lipped grin at Kurland, the chained lion. The outlaw studied him without affection.
"And what do you have on him?"