Part 6 (1/2)
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?”