“He is just gone,” said another.
“Disappeared,” whispered another, frightened. I could have reached out and touched him. To be sure, it would have given him quite a start.
“Let us to our quarters,” said one of the fellows.
“Are you not going to join the search?” asked another.
“There are many others who may do that,” said the man.
“You are right,” said another. They then left.
The illusion, of course, must be carefully constructed. The mirrors must be most judiciously placed. The principle involved is that certain surfaces are reflected in such a way that the observer is led to misinterpret his visual data; for example, he is led to take a reflected surface, a mirrored surface, in a given location, for an actual or real surface in a different location; he normally does not expect mirrors, and does not think in terms of them; and even if he does expect mirrors and understands, in general, the principles involved, he will still “see,” so to speak, or seem to see, precisely what the illusionist desires. In this fashion, such illusions can be delights not only to uninformed observers but even to more critical, more informed observers, even, it seems, if carried off with showmanship and flair, to fellow illusionists. To be sure, and I had counted on this, no one was even suspecting such a trick in the hall at Brundisium. If they had been, it could have been found out very quickly by a close, detailed examination of surfaces. But by the time it might occur to someone, recollecting my connections with the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit, that a trick of so devious a nature might be not only practical but, given the peculiar circumstances of my escape, likely, I did not expect to require the eccentric premises of my unusual hiding place.
I was, of course, behind mirrored surfaces, indeed, within an intersection of such surfaces, in one of the niches. The joining of the mirrors, facing outwards, was concealed by a narrow freestanding decorative pole, from which plantings might be hung, which pole, thanks to Boots, was now somewhat recessed in the niche. The casual observer would take the mirrored surfaces of the two opposite walls for a single, solid surface, that well behind the pole, at the back of the niche. The recessing of the pole, with the joining of the mirrors behind it, made it impossible, because of the angles involved, for an observer to see his own reflection in the mirrors unless, of course, he were to come into the niche himself.
The hallway now seemed quiet. I could hear shouting in the distance. I slipped from the robes I wore. Those in the search parties would presumably be looking for a fellow in merchants’ robes, yellow and white, perhaps even of a Turian cut or fashion, and sewn with silver. Beneath the merchants’ robes I wore that uniform seemingly of an officer of Brundisium. In a city the size of Brundisium, in an hour of confusion and tumult, with soldiers rushing about, coming and going with orders and reports, with agents sometimes in uniform and sometimes not, I did not expect to be easily recognized. Too, I had gathered that many of the courtiers, scions of an ilk not signally noted for its valor, those who had seen me in the hall, had perhaps managed to resist the temptation to join heartily in a search which might be not without its dangers. Better, perhaps, they might reason, to hold themselves boldly in reserve, in their own quarters, sternly readying themselves to sally forth if needed, immediately upon the behest of their ubar. In the meantime, of course, they could keep themselves abreast of the latest news. I prepared to step forth into the hall. With luck I might even be able to commandeer a few soldiers, to form my own search party. That seemed a good way to go almost anywhere. Who knew where that rascal, Bosk, of Port Kar, might be?
I poked my head warily out of my hiding place. The corridor was empty. I stepped boldly forth. I did pause long enough to move the mirrors about a bit, setting them apart from one another. In this fashion a supervisor of cleaning slaves tidying the hall, his whip on his wrist, puzzled by them, by their presence in this place, might have them removed to various individuals’ quarters or have them stored somewhere. In a moment or two I was striding boldly along the hall. I could still hear the shouting in the distance. Too, from outside the palace, from the prison area, and from various parts of the city, I could hear the ringing of alarm bars.
19
A Lattice Has Been Forced in, from the Outside
“Hold!” cried a guardsman, one of two, at his post on one of the long, arching, graceful, railless, narrow bridges interlaced among the towers of Brundisium. Such bridges are a feature of many Gorean cities. They are easy to defend and serve to link various towers at various levels, towers which in a time of attack or siege may serve on given levels or in isolation, if the defenders choose to block or destroy the bridges, as independent keeps, each an almost impregnable, well-stocked fortress in its own right. In Brundisium there were eleven such towers.
In many of the high cities there are many more. In Ar, for example, there are hundreds. Other than in their military significance, of course, such bridges tend to be quite beautiful and, functionally, serve to divide the cities into a number of convenient levels. Many Gorean cities, in effect, are tiered cities. Gorean urban architecture, in the high cities, tends to be not so much a matter of flat, spreading, concentric horizontal rings, as in many cities, as a matter of towers and tiered levels, linked by soaring, ascendant traceries. The security-mindedness of Brundisium, incidentally, was manifested also in the tarn wire strung among its towers, extending down in many cases to lower rooftops and even the walls. Such wire can be quite dangerous. It can cut the head or wings from a descending tarn. It is usually strung only in times of clear municipal peril, as when, for example, the city may be expecting an attack or is under siege. If all went well I hoped to be able to use it in my plans.
“Out of the way, fellow!” I said.
“You cannot pass,” said he. “This is the bridge to the private apartments of Belnar!”
“We search for Bosk of Port Kar,” I informed him.
“I have not seen him,” said the man.
“Do not be too sure of that,” I said.
“You cannot pass,” he said.
“Surely you are aware of the urgency of this search?” I said.
“Of course,” said he.
“Step aside,” I said.
“I may not do so,” he protested.
“Surely you have heard of the fellow’s mysterious escape from the palace below?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Who knows where he might be?” I asked.
“He is right,” volunteered the fellow’s companion.
“But this bridge leads to the private apartments of Belnar,” said the man.
“And is not that the last place one would expect to find Bosk of Port Kar?” I inquired.
“Perhaps,” said the man.
“What better place then for such a cunning rascal to take refuge?” I asked.
“He is perhaps right,” said the fellow’s companion.
The man’s face turned white.
“It is there then that I intend to search,” I said.
“Pass,” he said. I then trod meaningfully past him, followed, single file, by some five foot soldiers I had ordered to accompany me, fellows I had found mustered within the palace walls, near the east gate, awaiting orders. I saw some fires below, off to the right in the city. I did not know if these had been precipitated in the possible confusion attendant on the ringing of the alarm bars or if they might have been set by escaped prisoners, perhaps as a diversion, perhaps to cover their flight or to distract men from their pursuit, perhaps even turning them to more pressing tasks.
“Wait here,” I said to my men, near the entrance to the balcony garden outside the apartments of Belnar. I then proceeded to the palings of the gate outside the garden. “I have information for the ubar,” I said.
“He is not to be disturbed,” said the man. “He is in seclusion.”
“I know the location of Bosk of Port Kar,” I said.
“Enter,” he said, “swiftly!”
I was ushered thr
ough the garden now, the foliage black in the shadows, silvery in the moonlight. It occurred to me that in such a garden there would be many places to hide. It might be reached, too, I supposed, by climbing the ornate exterior of the tower. I myself, however, would not have cared to do so. The bridges served very well for me, and I had a simpler exit in mind. Also, of course, it would be patrolled. “Tidings of Bosk of Port Kar,” said my guide to the fellows at the household door.
I waited there while these fellows consulted further guards within. Moonlight glinted on swaying tarn wire overhead. “You may return to your post,” I told my guide. He withdrew. I then signaled to my men, a few yards beyond the gate, raising my arm. They entered the area. “Examine the garden,” I said. It would not hurt, I speculated, to keep them busy. Too, it might make me seem a more efficient officer. Too, my men might expect this sort of thing. As far as they knew, not the fellow at the gate, they were supposed to be looking for Bosk of Port Kar, a fellow in the yellow and white robes of the merchants. The fellow at the gate was free to suppose that they might be scouting about for some other reason, doubtless escaped prisoners. Some, after all, might be about, though, to be sure, up here, it was not very likely.
“Enter,” said a man within.
I stepped within. “I have tidings for Belnar,” I said. “They pertain to the fellow, Bosk, of Port Kar.”
“Belnar is not here,” he said.
“That is impossible,” I said. “He must be here, though perhaps in seclusion.”
“It is to be thought that he is here,” said the man, “that he is here in seclusion, but he is not. He was here, but he left. When you leave, pretend that you have seen him here. All are to believe that he is here, in his compartments.”
“He could not have left,” I said. “Surely, had he done so, he would have passed me on the bridges.”
“Do not be naive,” said the man.
“I understand,” I said. I had clearly underestimated this Belnar. How naive, in particular, I had been, to suppose that I might locate him this simply. Probably even the men outside thought him within. How could I find him, if even the majority of his men did not know where he was? He might be anywhere in the city. I was furious. But he had come here earlier, it seemed. I had a good idea why. He had thought to guarantee the safekeeping of something of great importance. Doubtless he had taken it with him. He had not passed me, with a retinue, on the bridges. There was, of course, another exit, another way out.
“Where is Belnar?” I asked.
“I do not know,” said the man.
I supposed he might be telling the truth. Doubtless few knew the location of the Ubar.
“What of my report?” I asked.
“Deliver it to Flaminius, the confidant of the ubar,” suggested the man.
“Of course,” I said, preparing to withdraw. I was extremely angry. That would be all I needed, I thought, to report myself in to Flaminius. There was suddenly a shouting outside. One of the door guards, accompanied by two of the men I had brought with me, were at the door.
“What is wrong?” demanded the fellow with me.
The men were shuddering. Others were behind them. One of those in the background turned aside and threw up into the grass. “Lysimachus is dead,” said the door guard.
The fellow from within, who seemed to be chief among those on the premises, and myself, followed men through the garden. In a moment we had come to an open space. “I found it there,” said one of the men who had come with me, indicating a place in some bushes. “I pulled it out here.”
“Aiii,” said a man, looking down.
“It is Lysimachus,” confirmed a man.
“It was Lysimachus,” said a man.
“It was part of him,” said another.
Most of the throat was gone.
I crouched beside the body. I touched the tissues, the stained darknesses on the body. “This was done perhaps an Ahn ago,” I said.
“What could have done this?” whispered the officer with me.
“Can you not guess?” I asked.
“I dare not,” he whispered.
“Such a thing is loose in the city?” asked a man.
“Obviously,” I said.
“Why should it come here?” asked a man.
“Because,” I said, “like a man, it is more than a beast.”
“I do not understand,” said the man.
“It is looking for something,” I said.
I looked down grimly at the body.
“Poor Lysimachus,” said a man.
“Horrible,” said a man.
The kill, as these fellows would have had difficulty realizing, had actually, given the usual manner of such attacks, been rather neatly done. Its manner, considering the sort of entity which had been involved, had almost suggested refinement. It had wanted to do little more than silence a man. Indeed, only part of an arm had been fed upon and that, I suspected, had been only to generate the strength to pursue a less material objective. The whole business, in its manner of accomplishment, suggested an almost terrifying patience and restraint, given the size and needs, the ferocity and energy, of the entity involved. The thing had not been after Lysimachus. It had been after something else. I sensed incredible menace and purpose. I shuddered.
The officer beside me stood up. “What did this may still be about,” he said. “Search the garden. Search the house. Find it! Kill it!”
Men hurried about, frightened. Torches were lit. I stood up, beside the body. I did not hasten to join the search. They would not find the assailant. It would no longer be here.
“Shall we join the search, Sir?” asked one of the men who had come with me.
“Yes,” I said, wearily.
I, too, after a time, entered the house, making my way through the rooms. In one place, in a far room, I found an iron gate, of heavy bars, in my path. It had apparently, some time ago, been lowered from the ceiling. Apparently it could be dropped suddenly. It sealed off the room behind it. I smiled. Such a gate might have dropped between Belnar and myself, doubtless, at a moment’s notice. It would have served to protect him from anything, from almost anything. In the light of a torch lifted behind me, I could see a coffer, apparently, from the lock thrown beside it, hastily opened. That for which I searched had probably been extracted from that coffer even before I had begun to climb the high bridges. He had then apparently taken his swift leave. That, as it had turned out, had been very fortunate for him. In this fashion, he had not been on hand to welcome his dark guest. In this fashion, he had doubtless managed to save his life. Somewhere now, he was doubtless safe.
“What is that?” I asked the officer, pointing to a dark aperture at one side of the room.
“It is nothing,” he said, evasively.
It would be, of course, the opened trap through which Belnar had taken his leave, a passage leading down through the tower.
“Lift the torch higher,” I said to my man nearby. I looked about the room, from the other side of the gate.
“The search is complete,” said a guardsman, reporting to the officer. “We have made a thorough examination of the premises, both inside and outside. They are clear. There is no sign of a beast.”
“There is at least one sign,” I said.
“What?” asked the officer.
“Look,” I said. I pointed to a defensive, opened iron lattice on one of the windows in the room behind the barred gate.
“It is opened, of course,” said the officer, puzzled.
“Examine, as you can, at the distance, in the light, the latch clasps,” I said.
“They appear to be broken,” he said.
“They are broken,” I said.
“The lattice seems to have been forced open,” he said.
“From the outside,” I said.
“Impossible,” he said.
“Does it not seem so to you?” I asked.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Search out Belnar,” I said. “He is in g
rave danger.”
Men hurried away, those with them, by my leave, who had come with me. Again I was alone. I remained there, for a time, looking through the bars. I strained to test the air. Then, after a time, I detected it, a lingering, residual, faint odor. I was not unfamiliar with the odor. I had smelled such an odor before, and knew it well. I was bitter. I was not the first to have come to the compartments of Belnar. I myself would have had great difficulty locating him in Brundisium, but I, on the other hand, could not follow him softly, swiftly, silently, through numerous passages, with the tenacity of a sleen, with the menace of a larl, intent upon his tracks.
I shook the bars violently, in fury. I had no idea where Belnar might have gone. Then suddenly it seemed I felt chilled, grasping the bars.
I turned about and sped from the room.
20
The Baiting Pit;
I Make the Acquaintance of a Gentleman;
I Will Return to the Apartments of Belnar
“Stop!” I cried, from the height of the tiers surrounding the baiting pit. “Stop!” But I was too late. Already was the chained ubar screaming under the teeth of sleen. I looked to the ubar’s box. There, in the moonlight, sitting back on its haunches, was the Kur.
I descended swiftly to the level of the sand. The Kur, with that agility seemingly so unnatural and surprising in a beast of its size, descended from the ubar’s box and interposed itself between me and the pathetic figure, now staring wildly upward, fallen, twisting and shuddering, moved this way and that, being pulled and shaken, being torn by the sleen. The Kur bared its fangs at me. I did not think it would attack. It was I who had earlier released it, with the other prisoners. I sheathed my sword. I was not sure if Belnar was dead or not. Five sleen were gnawing at the body. Its eyes were still open. Belnar, I thought, in spite of his size, and his ponderous bulk, had fought well. Two sleen, their blood dark in the silverish moonlit sand, lay dead near him. The Kur had given him an ax. That was more than it had had to defend itself in its own ordeals. Still one would have bet upon the sleen.
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