They materialised in the dark alley Avon had chosen, the wind whipping up dust and rubbish around their feet. At the end, they could see the colourful, flashing lights of The Rink, the entertainment district around the casino.
"This looks more like it," said Vila as they emerged into the brightness and noise. "Smells a lot better, too." He looked around, grinning with the eager anticipation of a child at a carnival.
"The casino," said Avon, "and no diversions on the way."
"Oh all right," Vila said reluctantly, and pointed to his right. "It's that way."
"I am impressed with the revelation of a hitherto unknown talent."
"Eh?"
"You can read."
"Oh, ha ha." Vila strode off. "I've had it up to here with your snide remarks. What d'you think I was doing with those datacubes I nicked from your novel collection? Juggling them? Sticking dots on them and using them as dice? Building little forts and—" Avon should have fired off a return shot by now. Vila looked back, puzzled.
Avon was standing still with a look on his face that Vila only identified with difficulty: pleasure. He retraced his steps. "What is it?"
"That." Avon was staring, almost mesmerised, at a sign which read 'Mitzi Rizzo's Palazzo of Ice Cream: 67 flavours'.
"So? I've had ice cream back on Earth."
"No, you haven't."
"Look, before you run down the stuff they give Deltas to eat, I used to get the best, I'll have you know. My favourite birthday dessert was Jorjo's premium toffee-caramel over my mum's jam roly-poly pudding."
"Vila. Two words. Ice cream."
Vila looked blank.
"A frozen confection made of cream." Avon said patiently. "Cream, Vila. Not whatever it was we had on Earth."
"Oh."
"And a vegetarian like you was probably wise not to enquire into just what Jorjo's full-fat varieties were made of."
"Oh, thanks. I'd rather not think about that, but now I'll have to. You've ruined some of my best memories."
"Then acquire some more. Blake is unlikely to find this Docholli person in a hurry, and besides," Avon patted min-Orac under his arm, "as soon as he asks for teleport, Orac will get us back to the Liberator in time to oblige."
"Hope it's not in the middle of anything good." Vila followed Avon into Mitzi Rizzo's Palazzo.
It had faux marble walls, artistically cracked columns with ivy climbing up them, statues of people clutching at what looked like towels, and, bizarrely, painted bullet-holes in random places. Mitzi herself was dressed in a parody of the original Terra Nostra uniform from before they expanded beyond Earth: black jacket, shirt, trousers, and fedora—perched jauntily on her short spiky back hair—with only a white tie as contrast. It was all cut to fit her pronounced curves, and Vila quite forgot why they'd come in.
Avon hadn't. He wasn't looking at Mitzi at all, but at the ice cream varieties displayed under the clear top of the counter Mitzi was leaning on. He looked... stunned, and more than a little confused.
"Don't mind him," Vila had his elbows on the counter, his chin in his hands, and a besotted and dreamy smile on his face. "I'm Vila."
Mitzi looked from one to the other and closed her eyes briefly before giving them a dazzling professional smile. "Would you care for a sample?"
Vila blinked. "Of what?"
Mitzi sighed. "My ice cream. One free taste." She offered Vila a small spoon.
"Vanilla? That's not a flavour!"
"It is," said Avon, putting Orac on the counter, "although the removal of three letters renders it tasteless in the extreme."
"Oh, very funny."
"However, true vanilla ice cream has ground vanilla pods. See the little flecks?" Avon took the spoon. "Mmm, mmmm, mmmmm!" He shut his eyes in ecstasy.
"All right, give me some." Vila tried his sample. "Oh. If that's vanilla, then we were robbed."
"You must be from the Federation," said Mitzi, scenting a large sale. "Welcome to Freedom City. Serving sizes and prices are on the board."
Avon opened his eyes, swaying a little. "Then I'll have..." he ran his eyes over the blackboard menu, "the Seventh Heaven selection."
"Which flavours, sir?"
Avon looked confused. Vila leapt in. "I'll have the same thing in caramel, crunchy toffee, ginger and brandy, rum and raisin, coffee liqueur, chilli and white chocolate, and halva, please," he said rapidly and eagerly.
"Nice to see a man who knows his own mind." Mitzi started make up his order. "And what about you, sir?" she asked Avon.
Avon shook his head as if to clear it. "Well, I..."
"You can always come back for seconds, you know," said Vila.
"Very true. In that case, I'll have... dark chocolate, coconut and wild cherry, champagne and strawberries, crème brulée, orange and spice, almond biscotti, and mangon."
Vila screwed up his face. "Um, don't you mean mango?"
"I meant what I said. It looks interesting. Oh and with butterscotch sauce." Avon watched avidly as his order was made up.
"You two must be from Earth," a man beside Vila said with the rolled R of the Scottish domes.
Vila turned to look at him. "Why should we be?" he said defensively. "We could just like ice cream a lot. Which we do."
The man grinned, his eyes crinkling. "Because one of ye is Kerr Avon."
Unlike that oily git, Tynus, he pronounced it as 'care'. "He doesn’t much, as a rule," Vila said, wondering if it was time to call for a quick teleport. Just in case, he grabbed his bowl, balancing it on top of Orac.
"Duncan Jarriere." Avon said. "And if you're meant to be a pirate, I believe parrots are customary."
"Ye mean the dove? Och, it's part of my employer's costume. She had a fancy to be the scarlet woman with freedom captive, but once it crapped on her shoulder..." Jarriere shrugged.
Avon smiled. "A cautionary tale I must relate to Blake."
"Mind if I join ye?"
"Provided you keep that creature well away from me, why not?" Avon paid for his ice cream and, with an audible sigh, Vila's.
"Bring me a haggis, porridge, and whisky 'n' cream triple sundae, will ye, lassie." Jarriere flipped Mitzi a coin and led them to a table. "So, ye're here on business with yer Blake? Not planning to blow up the place, I hope?" His bright eyes looked watchful.
"He is not my Blake. And we're not here with him. Vila—" Avon nodded in Vila's direction, "—and I are involved in a private venture."
"Ah, ye would be Vila Restal, then. A pleasure to meet a consummate professional like yeself."
"Really?" Vila sat up straighter and grinned. "Thanks!" This fellow seemed to be an improvement on Tynus who had ignored him, then added injury to insult by trying to turn him and Avon in. All the same, he'd keep an eye on him. He savoured some ginger and brandy ice cream and decided that all was right with the universe. For a little while, anyway.
"What're ye planning to do?"
Avon raised his eyebrows in appreciation of the dark chocolate. "Play a game of chance at the casino."
"Is that right? I'll try to pop in at some point. Ah, here's my order."
Vila looked at it askance.
"Three courses on one plate," said Jarriere, seeing his expression. "It reminds me of Edindome and it keeps me regular. So what're ye supposed to be dressed as?"
Freedom City had a special gimmick to help it compete for the tourist credit against such rivals as Space City—creative anachronism. The décor of each bar, restaurant, club, and casino had to be from some past Terran period before space travel, as did the costumes of the staff—the more flamboyant the better—whether or not they matched their setting. The tourists were expected to enter into the spirit too, either wearing their own costume or hiring one from the extensive selection provided.
"Uh..." Vila thought quickly. "Avon here is a choir boy—" he ignored the glare Avon gave him, "—and I'm one of Robin Hood's merry men. Robin's around somewhere, actually, with Maid Marian and, um, Athena. What're you?"
"I'm a Man in Black, watching out for invading aliens. A Black Watch, ye might say." Jarriere cocked his head on one side, his eyes twinkling.
Vila had the distinct impression he knew Vila had made his story up on the spur of the moment, and had done just the same himself, and, what is more, knew that Vila knew it; Vila grinned back.
Jarriere nodded, satisfied. "Och, but this is a grand haggis ice cream, and the porridge is a masterpiece. There aren't many who can pull that off. Yon Mitzi is an artist. Want to try some?"
"Just the whisky one if it's all the same to you," said Vila. "How d'you and Avon know each other."
"Ah." Jarriere and Avon looked at each other. "I'm a technician," said Jarriere. "We worked together."
Just another nerd, then. Vila lost interest and started on his chilli and white chocolate. Mmm, sweet at the start and a pleasant kick on the way down.
"On that fraud job with that fellow Tynus."
Vila pricked up his ears. "You're a hacker too?"
"Och, no. I specialise in wee custom explosions."
"Oh. Y'mean blowing the locks out of doors and safes? I've always thought of that as cheating, myself."
Avon looked pained. "I never saw the point of removing physical currency when one can transfer extremely large quantities electronically."
Vila considered pointing out that Avon hadn't actually succeeded in doing so, then recalled that he himself had ended up on the London even if it was due to dodgy wiring. People's failures shouldn't be held against them. "Did it work, then, that job?"
"My part went extremely well." Jarriere tucked into his ice cream. "It was just a wee diversion near the entrance to the vault to draw security's attention away so that Avon and his friend could get in elsewhere and do whatever it was they did." He shrugged and turned to Avon. "They picked you up later, didn't they?"
"Just because I was the only one who could have broken their encryption, yes. There wasn't any evidence; they couldn't hold me." Avon frowned at his spoon of mangon-flavoured ice cream. "I think they mixed my order up with yours."
"Away with ye, that's no' real porridge. There's nay oatmeal in it."
"Hmph." Avon pushed the mangon to one side.
Vila sniggered, then, when Avon glared at him, cleared his throat and said to Jarriere, "So, you're in the profession?"
"Laddie, I work for anyone who employs me." Jarriere gave Vila a meaningful look.
What was he getting at? "You mean you've blown things up for rebels, people like the Freedom Party?"
"I may have done. I'm open to all offers." Jarriere laid a finger beside his bulbous nose.
"I don't think we need anyone at the moment, thanks," said Vila.
Avon narrowed his eyes at Jarriere. "And who would be your employer right now?"
"Ye know I can't tell ye that! It's professional confidentiality." He leaned forward and the dove up hopped into his head and began pecking desultorily at his wiry hair. "I've got no idea what it's all aboot though. Makes me head spin, some of it. Och, but I'll just do what I'm contracted to do and that's it." He spooned up the last of his whiskey and cream. "Nothing to do with ye, though." He stood up. "Reet, I'd better get back; my employer may be wanting me." He gently unhooked the bird from his hair, stroked it, set it back on his shoulder, and gave Avon and Vila a birdlike look of his own. "Enjoy yeselves. And watch it."
"You too." Vila watched him go. "Wonder if they make good pets?"
"Jarrieres or birds? Either way, you're not bringing one back to the Liberator. They're messy, mischievous, poke their beaks and claws into everything, and we already have one pet like that."
From the description, Vila doubted Avon meant Cally's moon disc. He looked hurt.
"However, I shall take your advice, possibly for the first and last time in my life, and get a second helping." Avon stood up.
"Me too. I could go for a return on all of these."
Avon looked down his nose. "When there are so many others to try?"
"Yeah, but I know I like them, see? I might hit something like that stuff you ordered." Vila shrugged. "I may order a couple of new ones though."
***
Vila sat back. "That was good."
"You do have a habit of stating the obvious." Avon got up and looked over at the board.
"You're not going back for more!"
"As I said..."
"Oh now look, I'm not one for restraint, but how can you possibly fit more in?"
"Well now, I won't know until I try, will I?"
"You can't work your way through 67 flavours, you know."
"Not all of them appeal. I can try most of those which do."
"What about the casino?"
"It will keep. How often will we have a chance to eat ice cream of this quality?"
"They probably serve it there too."
"I shall keep it in mind."
"I've been thinking," said Vila when Avon got back with a new bowl. He continued hastily to get in before the inevitable insult. "Jarriere's here to blow something up."
"What of it?" Avon let his belt out a notch in preparation. "He specialises in small delicate jobs so he's hardly likely to take out a building. Besides, he said it wasn't anything to do with us."
"Well—"
"And it couldn't be anyway; no one knew we were coming here."
"Well, what I was thinking is that we might still be in danger here but we mightn't know. He did say to watch it. I mean, we've got bounties on our heads, anyone could be out to get us. Look, you said you ordered Orac to teleport us back if Blake asked to come back up, so why not get him to do it if we're in danger as well?"
"Hmm." Avon thought about it as he savoured a spoonful of hazelnut truffle. "There's an idea in that ill-thought-out verbiage. Very well." He looked at Orac, whose now tiny key head been left in. "Did you hear that, Orac? You will also teleport us back to the Liberator should we be in any physical danger."
"Very well," Orac said in a strange tinny little voice. "Then I assume I am to do that now."
"What? Why?" Vila looked around, alarmed.
"The amount of saturated fats and sugar that you have both consumed is very—"
Avon glared as he loaded his spoon with mango (though he hated to admit Vila was right) and macadamia. "Imminent danger of our lives, Orac. If either of us is about to be killed, injured, or captured, then you will teleport us back to the Liberator immediately. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly." Orac sounded sulky. "Your instructions are quite unambiguous."
"Perhaps he thinks he's missing out," said Vila. "Never mind, Orac. You'll have some fun in the casino."
***
"We got away with it. Blake doesn't know a thing."
"He suspects though," said Vila. "He knows we were up to something; he just doesn't know what."
"He probably prefers to remain ignorant." Avon flashed one of his rare and brilliant smiles. "What he doesn't know can't outrage his particular sense of ethics." He poured Vila a drink from the bottle of brandy he kept in his cabin (and which Vila couldn't nick because he'd be the only suspect) and lifted his glass. "To us and our successful venture."
"And to Jarriere!"
Avon paused. "Why Jarriere?"
"Because he made us think of telling Orac to teleport us if one of us was in danger. If he hadn't, we'd have lost all the money we won because we wouldn't have risked playing the Klute." Vila looked at Avon, suddenly worried. Would Avon have? Nah, he hadn't turned Tynus in, had he? Avon was a friend even if neither of them would admit it, but then again, Vila wasn't quite certain how anyone, let alone him, would stack up against five million credits.
Avon must have read his thoughts—or more likely his face—because he looked surprised. "Of course we wouldn't have. Besides," he added lightly, "why should I when I could acquire a lot more money using Orac than we made today, and in fact have. The fun was in the game, Vila, just as it is for you when you beat a security system."
Relieved, Vila grinned.
Avon clinked his glass against Vila's. "To Jarriere."
They both drank.
The end