Betancore was waiting for us on a walkway in the Tersegold Quarter, a part of Dorsay famous for its taverns and clubs. I left Aemos and Bequin in the skiff.
'In there/ he said, indicating an old, bow-fronted establishment. 'I followed it inside. It delivered to the fifth table from the left. Tanokbrey is the tall man in the rose-red jacket. He has two men with him by my count.'
'Stay back and be ready/1 said.
The tavern was dark and crowded. Music and lights pulsed from the low roof, and the air was rank with the smells of sweat, smoke, hops and the unmistakable fumes of obscura.
My vox-drone was coming out through the door as I entered. It paused, delivered its message and then drifted away. A curt text informed me that the Scaveleur was not for hire.
Moving through the packed clientele, I located Tanokbrey. His rose-red jacket was of finest silk and his frizzy black hair was raked back into twists and tied with ribbons at the back of his head. He had a craggy, singularly unwelcoming face. His drinking companions were a pair of common crewmen in studded leather bodygloves.
'Master Tanokbrey?'
He looked round at me slowly and said nothing. His comrades fixed me with grim stares.
'Perhaps we could talk privately?' I suggested.
'Perhaps you could piss off/
I sat down anyway. His men seemed astonished at my action, and stiffened. All Tanokbrey had to do was nod, I realised.
'Let me start with an easy question/ I began.
'Start by pissing off/ he replied. He was now fixing me with a caustic gaze. Without breaking eye contact, I noted that his left hand was inside his coat.
'You seem anxious. Why is that?'
No answer. His men stirred nervously.
'Something to hide?'
'I'm having a quiet drink. I don't want interruptions. Now sod off/
'So unfriendly. Well, if these gentlemen aren't going to give us privacy, I'll press on regardless. I do hope I don't embarrass you/
'Who the hell are you?'
Now I didn't reply. My eyes never left his. 'Your high-anchor fees are delinquent/1 said at last.
'That's a lie!'
It was, and so was what I said next. It didn't matter. The purpose was to undermine him. 'And your manifest papers are incomplete. Gudran control may wish to impound your ship until the irregularities are cleared up/
'Lying bastard-'
'It's an easy matter. You made a run to Hubris that is not logged, nor is any cargo list filed. How will they calculate import duties?'
His chair scraped back a centimetre or two.
'Why were you on Hubris?'
'I wasn't! Who says I was?'
Take your pick. Saemon Crotes. Namber Wylk/