by Andre Norton
There was no door at the end of the hall, only an archway, elaborately trimmed with gilding over a smooth, brown-red surface. This opened upon a stairway. There he met his first guard. But Ramsay did not alter his stride, which was that of a man who knew exactly where he was going and expected no trouble in reaching his goal.
When he had passed and was climbing the stairs, Ramsay gave a sigh of relief. The man had saluted him with raised hand, which Ramsay, after a fraction of a second, had replied to with a flick of his own fingers in what Yurk had impressed upon him was the acknowledgment of Tolcarne between one class and another.
He had to restrain his desire to hurry. Something about roaming these corridors gave him a naked, exposed feeling. He would have to get over that if he was to go hunting his split-bird door panel. Now he wanted most of all to see Thecla.
A second guard stood before her door. Set there to do her honor, Ramsay hoped, and not as a barrier to any meeting with her kinsman from overseas. It seemed that his hopes were sustained, for the man saluted and then himself rapped at the door.
Grishilda opened it. Seeing Ramsay, she gestured a greeting, stood aside to let him in. But her face was expressive, and though he could not quite understand what she was trying to signal, he guessed that wariness on his part was needful.
Thecla stood rather demurely beside that same long divan on which he had had his first language lesson. Facing her was Berthal, the splendor of his person somehow too ostentatious when matched to either Thecla’s quiet elegance or the good taste of the room’s furnishings.
“Ah, kinsman!” Thecla smiled. Ramsay might have been the one person above all now in Lom whom she was wishful to see. “What fortune that you have come at this moment, Arluth. Prince Berthal, this is my blood-kin out of Tolcarne, the Master-in-Chief of the House of Olyatt. Arluth, this is Prince Berthal.”
Yurk had schooled Ramsay well. No Master of a House in Tolcarne considered an Imperial Prince, heir or not, more than his equal. He would acknowledge such an introduction with a salute only slightly more deep than he had that of the guardsmen. Ramsay performed exactly as Yurk had taught him.
Berthal frowned. Thecla, in spite of the sober set of her lips, watched them with amused eyes. Ramsay decided that she was enjoying the reaction of the Prince to such offhand familiarity as he seldom met.
“We give you welcome, Master.” Berthal’s voice was cold. He was already using the royal “we,” though he had not been proclaimed, Ramsay noted. “It is indeed fortunate that you have arrived in so timely a fashion that you may serve Lady Duchess Thecla as kin-witness.”
“It is always fitting,” Ramsay replied carefully, wanting no slip of word or accent to betray him now, “for kin to stand by kin in any matter.”
“Just so.” Berthal was frankly staring at him. “My lady says you are new come out of Tolcarne.”
“Yes.” Ramsay kept his assent as curt as he could.
“Then you must have been highly fortunate, Master, to find a ship. Few take the western sea roads these days.”
He was probing, Ramsay knew.
“Few. But some still want the trade in sea-ivory and gold. All merchants are not timid of heart where there is a profit to be reaped. The fewer the ships, the higher the reward in the markets of Olyroun.”
“Yes.” Thecla stuck in. “My people bid high on any such cargo nowadays. Were there less unrest in Tolcarne, there could be much trade between us, benefiting both. Perhaps someday a man with the wisdom and spirit of your own reverend grandfather will rise there and the turbulence be quenched. But, Berthal, greatly do I thank you for your pleasant welcome—” She waved her hand to indicate a bowl of deep green in which were arranged a thick cluster of lilies of the valley which gave off a sweet perfume. “And assure Her Splendor Enthroned that I shall indeed be honored to attend her at the fourth hour afternoon.”
This was so evidently a dismissal that Berthal could not linger now without seeming rudeness. But he shot Ramsay a glance as he passed which suggested that he had no desire to leave the Outlander here. Thecla waited until the door closed behind him. Grishilda came swiftly then from the next room and stood with her ear against the panel, listening.
Ramsay wasted no time.
“How well do you know this palace, lady?” he asked.
“Not as well as that of Irtysh, yet it is not new to me. When I was small, my mother brought me hither on visits. The old Empress is her great-aunt. Why?”
“Is there a corridor you remember where the wall panels are painted with the badge of the Imperial House—laid on in gold?”
“Yes, such leads to the private apartments of the Empress. There are ten such panels, five to a side. What are you seeking?”
“The way to what Melkolf hides. I remember it from one of the dreams through which they caught me.”
She bit at her knuckles, her eyes still on him, but as if she did not really see him at all, rather considered some thought.
“And if you find this place? Then what can you do if Melkolf refuses to use his machine to return you?”
Ramsay shrugged. “How do I know? But perhaps there is something to be learned if I can reach there. Lady, do you think Osythes would back me?”
“I do not know. It depends upon what the Enlightened Ones’ policy is concerning the future of Ulad. I know that the seeress Adise of my own land has a foretelling that your presence here will make a difference. If it is such a difference as will defeat Osythes’s plans, then he may be brought to consider such support.”
“And could he in turn influence Melkolf?”
“If he wishes. A true Enlightened One can use his mind as a weapon, to bring about any result he chooses. However, very few are the times they will do so. There must be a very powerful and compelling reason. I do not know what your presence will mean to Osythes. And I warn you about hunting out Melkolf without being sure you do have such backing.”
Ramsay shook his head with determination. “I am not going to just sit and wait,” he declared. “Let me find this lab, then perhaps I can make terms with Melkolf myself. It is a secret—therefore, he is vulnerable—”
“So are you,” Thecla pointed out swiftly. “Inconvenient people, who know more than they should, might—and sometimes do—vanish. Of course, I do not think he would move while my betrothal is not yet carried through. They dare not openly meddle with my avowed kinsman, whose presence is needed to make such a ceremony legal. Yes, perhaps you are right in your daring. This may be the time that you should discover whatever there is to be found. Perhaps the more you know the more you can impress Osythes.”
It seemed she had argued herself from her first hostile position to a reluctant agreement.
“I shall give you reason to go there. Grishilda, bring me the casket of gifts for Her Splendor Enthroned.
“It is customary,” Thecla continued, speaking to Ramsay, “for the betrothed-to-be to bring a gift to the eldest woman kin of the House. Since Her Splendor Enthroned holds that position, I shall send you with it. Carry it openly, and all will pass you according to custom. Now—you will descend the stair without to the level of your own chamber, but, where the corridor forks just beyond your room, take the right-hand way and keep straight ahead. This reaches across the length of the castle between the Yellow Tower and the Red, in which Her Splendor Enthroned resides. There you should find your wall.”
She handed him the silver box Grishilda had brought, waved away his thanks. However, she followed him to the door of the chamber, and, before he went out, laid her hand upon his arm.
“Take care, Kinsman Arluth,” she said softly. “You walk between enemies who are very lightly tethered, and your path is rough.”
“That I know. But for your good wishes, lady, I thank you—”
“Perhaps you may have little to thank me for. Wait until you are safe and then speak so. For only then will such return have meaning.”
The note in her voice suggested that she was far more uneasy than her words
might suggest.
Ramsay found his way easily, holding the casket plain to see in his hands as she had ordered. So it was very little time before, with his heart beating faster, he came into a short length of hall with the panels he remembered from his dream. He strode swiftly along it, delivered the casket to the lady-in-waiting who answered his rap on the Empress’s door. She did not ask him to enter and, relieved that he so easily escaped the scrutiny of one of those he had to fear, he hurried back to the panels. Judging by his dream, the one he wanted was the third from the other end of the corridor, on the left-hand side as one approached the Empress’s tower. He halted before that, glanced up and down much as Osythes had on that other occasion. There seemed to be no one in sight. And though he listened for several long moments, Ramsay caught nothing but the sound of his own rather fast breathing.
He raised his hands to set his thumbs against the tips of those upheld wings, exerting pressure as he had watched the Shaman do. For a long moment he feared he had counted wrong, or else this way was sealed. Then, with a small, rusty rasp, which sounded as loud as a gunshot in his ears, the panel parted.
Quickly Ramsay forced his way into the space beyond, before the hidden door could snap together again.
SEVEN
He stood on a small platform above a flight of steep stairs, but he was not in the dark. At regular intervals along the wall were blocks that glowed with a bluish-tinged light he had seen nowhere else in the palace. Under that radiance Ramsay’s own hands took on an oddly unpleasant look, as if the dark skin were shriveled and age-touched.
For a long moment he did not move, striving to use his ears to learn whether he had any guard to fear at the foot of those stairs. For they turned at a landing about ten steps down, and he could not get a glimpse of what lay below.
Not only was Ramsay now enwrapped by silence, but the feeling grew upon him that he had taken a step away from the world of the living into one of preserved and awesome age. He shivered—not from any chill, but because the very walls here radiated an alienness that was counter to all he had met in this world. All had been strange, yes, but there was also a human cast to that strangeness. Here he felt as if he had invaded a place never meant for his species.
Ramsay tried to shrug off his uneasiness. When he had come into Ulad, he had certainly suspended logic. But to allow his imagination full rein was to lead into sheer superstition. Cautiously he began the descent, one step at a time, wondering, as he planted each foot firm, if he might be so alerting some system of alarms which he himself could not hear. However, he had to take that chance.
He had reached the landing now, made the right-angled turn, and he could see the foot of the stairway. It was lighter down there. The glow was not the blue of these wall lights but that of the normal globes. And certainly no one was in sight. What or who might lurk in hiding he could not guess; no sound reached him at present.
As he went, he flexed his hands, wondering if, when faced by an attack, his Kaskar muscles could respond to his Ramsay mind fast enough to aid him. If he had only had more time to discipline this new body into his service!
From the bottom of the stairs he looked through an open doorway into a room, where there was no sight or sound of any occupant and which his first glimpse told him was what he sought, the lab of his dream visits. Yet as Ramsay edged within, he kept his back to the wall, facing outward into the center of the area, trying to be alert to any sudden rush and yet study the massed machines.
Even in his own time and space, he knew very little of such establishments. How could he judge now whether this was all of Melkolf’s own devising, or some legacy from that higher civilization of the past? For the aura of age clung here. What drew most of his attention was that huge metal cube into which his dream self had watched Melkolf fit the rod-on-box equipment. With a darting glance right and left, Ramsay assured himself that he must indeed be alone here. He left his defensive half-crouch by the wall and sought a closer look at that mass of burnished metal.
It was easy enough to find the slit near the top where Melkolf had inserted his hand instrument. That, with its upward-pointing finger of stiff wire (or else another like it), was still within the socket.
Ramsay put out his hands toward it and then drew back. No, he wanted to know more before he tried anything. He began to circle the cube. The top was on a level with his shoulder, and it was about six feet long on a side. The one that had been turned toward him as he entered had only one break in its surface— the gap into which what Ramsay now termed to himself “the finder” had been fitted.
The next side was totally smooth. However, when he reached the one directly opposed to the finder, he discovered a row of dials, below them levers on which one might comfortably rest a fingertip. Two of those, at the far end, were illuminated from within, as if to prove that the apparatus was in working order. Ramsay wondered what would happen if he suddenly pushed down all the levers, but he was not fool enough to try.
All right—so this, according to what information he had been able to gather, was what had transported the personality and memories of one Ramsay Kimble into the waiting body of Prince Kaskar. Only it had not been meant to be used that way—at least Melkolf had not intended to do so.
Suppose the Uladian scientist had been working with some device which he had discovered, one which had been built by an entirely different race? What purpose had the thing served for them? Ramsay had a momentary fantastic flash of suspicion— suppose it was intended for some medical use, to transfer a personality from a dying body into a fresh young one? But there was no point in speculating about what it might do—he must concentrate on what it had done, with him as unwilling victim.
He had found this machine, was sure that he had discovered the medium of his exchange. Only that did him little good, unless he could learn how to manipulate it (and he was very doubtful of that), or unless he could force Melkolf himself to reverse the process.
The atmosphere here in the lab was stuffy; there were strange and unpleasant odors that made him cough. Ramsay fumbled with the buckle of his hood and jerked it, and, the mask off, shook his head to enjoy the sudden feeling of freedom that gave him. He continued his trip around the square, finding the fourth side to be as smooth of surface as the second.
Was it the finder that controlled his presence here in this world? Suppose he worked it loose—then what would happen?
“Stand still!”
Ramsay’s hand, reaching toward the finder, froze in midair. He had heard no one approach, but he had been criminally reckless in not being alert. The puzzle of the cube had taken him off guard. And he had no doubt that whoever had given him that order and now stood behind him was armed.
“Rabalt, take him!”
A line snaked out of the air, flickered within Ramsay’s range of vision, and settled on his outstretched arm, immediately tightening in a painful grip. At the second that one end of it closed upon his flesh and held him prisoner, there was a jerk on its end, a pull sharp as to nearly drag him from his feet to sprawl backward. But he managed to turn and yet keep his balance.
The man who drew the line so taut wore the uniform of a guardsman. Behind him was Melkolf. In the scientist’s hand was a glass tube ending in a bulb about which his fingers were curled. That this was a weapon, and a powerful one, Ramsay had no doubt. Quickly the man who held the line flipped the other end at Ramsay, holding by the center of its length. As if the cord were a living thing with instinct or intelligence, it swung directly through the air to clasp Ramsay’s left wrist as effectively as it had already caught his right.
The guardsman might have been more intent upon making the proper throw than he was on the identity of his prisoner. Now when he looked directly at Ramsay’s face, his own eyes went wide.
“The—Prince!” He cried out.
“Not so!” Melkolf snapped. “He is a creature of Ochall’s under illusion to make us think so. Now he is powerless. You may go, Rabalt. This I shall handle. But tell my L
ord Councillor Urswic and the Prince Heir that this one has been found here. That is of utmost importance.”
He reached out his hand, and the guardsman, if a little reluctantly, gave the loop of the cord into his grasp, though never did Melkolf allow that other weapon to waver from its aim on Ramsay. Without looking again at the captive, Rabalt disappeared up the stairs in haste, either agog to carry out his orders or because he found the lab itself an intimidating place to be. Melkolf waited, apparently wishing to make sure that the other was gone. Then he spoke again.
“You are very wise to surrender—” With the glass tube he executed a small movement, as if to be sure Ramsay was aware of it. “This will destroy a man far quicker than any steel blade or air bullet. Those who went before us had weapons making ours as clumsy-seeming as stone and wood spears. Kaskar is safely dead, He is not going to rise from the tomb again.”
Ramsay found his tongue. “You can make sure of that in another way. Send me back!”
Melkolf smiled slightly. “But that is just it. I would, with every good wish, if I could. But I cannot.”
Ramsay nodded to the machine. “Then this will work only one way? You cannot reverse it?”
“Oh, it could be reversed easily enough. But the fact remains that Kaskar is dead and buried. Do you not understand, you barbarian fool? Kaskar was in your body when it died, and that body is safely buried!”
