The Questor sat on the edge of the bath and told Thribble all he could about the Quest. He spoke of what he knew of General Q; how he, Grimm, had ransomed Drexelica; his subsequent, fulminating argument with Xylox and the trip to Haven. In truth, he found that telling the demon about his actions was a blessed catharsis and release, and he felt surprised at his growing eagerness to recount every detail.
As he finished his account, he heard a sharp rap at the door to the chamber. "Quickly; inside, now, Thribble," he said, opening wide a pocket in his robe. Obligingly, the demon hopped inside and lay still.
Grimm opened the door to see a sour-faced Xylox. "So, Questor Grimm, you think my summons beneath you? Let me remind you that you have sworn to commit yourself to my authority for the remainder of this Quest in return for simple dismissal from the Guild. Have you forgotten that the alternative is banishment to the nether regions of the House for an unspecified period? You seem determined on the latter course."
Grimm felt his anger at Xylox's didactic manner rise within him, like lava welling up inside a volcano, but he held it in check. "Questor Xylox; on my honour, I have received no summons of any kind from you. My aura will reveal to your Sight that I speak the truth."
Xylox's gaze bore down into Grimm's eyes, but the younger man did not flinch. "I have been competent in Telepathy for some fifteen years now," the senior Questor growled. "Are you trying to tell me that my efforts to contact you for the last ten minutes have been to no avail?"
Grimm fought to contain his fierce, roiling emotions, but a hot tinge of ire licked though his body at Xylox's contemptuous, dismissive tone.
"Xylox the Mighty," Grimm said, his eyes narrowed, "you may be proficient in a thousand spells, but the simple truth of the matter is that I have received no contact from you. You may well decide to call me irresponsible and feckless, unfit to bear the Guild Ring; indeed, you have already done so. But I will accept from you no imputation of deceit. I have never lied to you or any other Guildbrother, and I will never do so. My offer remains. Look within my soul, and you will see within me emotions aplenty, but no deception."
His voice rose to an impassioned shout. "You have destroyed me, Questor Xylox; I may not find that palatable, but I must accept it. Thoughtless I may be, but a teller of falsehoods I am not, and I resent the implication with all my heart."
Grimm folded his arms across his chest, and his eyes remained locked upon those of Xylox. For a few moments more, the older man stood impassive before his junior, but he then looked away and nodded.
"I apologise for doubting your word, Questor Grimm," the senior mage said. "I shall not inspect your aura, since you have never given me the slightest cause for doubting your veracity, despite all your other faults.
"However, I admit to grave misgivings. If my comments caused offence, I withdraw them. However, I have sent you several telepathic messages over the last few minutes, and I know they were well sent; some aspect of this hell-spawned hotbed of accursed Technology must have prevented them from reaching you."
Grimm rubbed his chin. "Perhaps these metal walls prevent the free passage of Telepathy," he said. "Magemaster Crohn once told me that iron absorbs magic from the outside, but blocks it from the inside. Until now, I have never quite understood what he meant, but I think these homogeneous metal cells must act as some kind of prison for magical energies. When I was callow enough to study the art of Technology, I read of a mysterious construct the ancients called a 'Faraday Cage', which somehow preserved secrecy by blocking the passage of energy to the outside; perhaps these rooms are such cages."
Xylox nodded slowly. "This smacks of intrigue, Questor Grimm; we must all be on our guard. I was already suspicious of our welcome here. Such an isolated place can know little of thaumaturgic ways, and yet Armitage seemed to be well aware of the existence of Guild Mages such as you and me. Perhaps the 'Pacification' of mages that was mentioned during our encounter outside Griven is carried out here. What could persuade a group of Guild Mages to ally themselves to the forces of this General Quelgrum other than Technology?
"I wished to tell you that I have a magical gem that can detect the presence of noxious, pernicious or narcotic substances, and that I will use this to assay all food or drink offered to us at Armitage's table. I suspect incipient treachery, and I believe that Haven may well be in league with General Quelgrum. You will allow me to appraise each kind of refreshment or sustenance offered before partaking of it. If I should say that any such matter is forbidden to us, then you must refuse it; my gem will have signalled to me that it is poisoned. Kindly summon our companions from their rooms, for I wish to ensure that nobody is befuddled or enslaved by the ingestion of strange substances."
Grimm could not help but note the stress Xylox laid on his last few words; perhaps the older man had heard of his earlier narcotic addiction. The haughty mage had not preserved his amicable mood for long.
****
"Dear friends, I welcome you once more to the bounteous haven of Haven," intoned Armitage, raising a glass of wine to the adventurers, as they sat at a large, round table, on which was laid a bewildering array of cutlery.
Crest and Tordun wore their customary simple clothes, but even they seemed to have taken great pains over their appearance. Even Xylox had chosen to wear lush velvet in place of his usual rough, homespun robes. However, the most startling change was in Drexelica's appearance. Her former tangled rat's-nest of hair now shone, hanging down her back like a long, silken snake. In place of the grubby rags she had worn before, she now wore an emerald-green satin dress that changed her aspect from that of a street urchin to a lady of the court.
In the corridor between their rooms, she had enthused to Grimm about the new-found elegance Haven had given her. Gleefully, she had told him of how three Haven women had worked on her hair, her clothes and her face; he had to acknowledge that their efforts and the subtlest application cosmetics had transformed her from a bedraggled waif into a true beauty. The effect was dazzling, and the young mage, who had led a cloistered life in the company of boys and old men, had had to make a conscious effort of will to direct his mind to the task at hand: the gathering of information concerning the General and his operations.
Xylox lifted the glass of ruby-coloured liquid before him, and regarded it with a critical eye. "Administrator Armitage, I believe this is an alcoholic brew. I regret to inform you that such beverages are forbidden to Guild Mages, and to the people of Drute. Pure water will be quite acceptable to us."
Armitage laughed. "How foolish of me; of course, I was quite unaware of your local customs. We have been isolated for so long from our cousins on the flatlands that we are ignorant of valley traditions."
Grimm sensed that the man was deceiving them: his Sight confirmed it. Regardless of protocol, regardless of Xylox's opinion of him, he chose to confront the Administrator directly. The smug, confident air of the man infuriated him.
"Armitage, you have made the mistake of offering us tainted wine," he growled. "You may now end your pathetic deception; you are discovered. You intend to keep us here, not as guests, but as prisoners or as experimental subjects. Know now that you have invited the wrath of a pair of Guild Questors who can sense your deception, and who can destroy your vile nest of Technology with a mere word. You are not the benign philanthrope you try to portray, but a worthless minion of General Quelgrum.
"Ha! You cannot deny it now; I have seen the change in your aura at my mention of the name. You are discovered. Tell us what you know and give us passage to the other side of the mountains, or die. The choice is yours."
Grimm looked towards Xylox, and the senior mage nodded vehemently. Enough of polite detente!
"Talk and live, Armitage, or resist and die," the senior Questor breathed. You have no idea of the destructive power of an angry Questor, and you do not wish to encounter it, I assure you."
Armitage raised his hands, as if in surrender to superior forces. "Very well, gentlemen, I am discovered. Your pale-fac
ed friend there looks as if he could tear my head off with a single gesture. Let him try. Come on, pink-eyes: attack me if you can."
The Administrator spat at the giant Tordun, who leapt to his feet, his huge fists balled, and Grimm expected carnage. However, after a few moments, the albino sat back in his chair and shrugged, his face breaking into an improbable, seraphic smile.
"Is there no spirit left in the world?" Armitage asked. "Hey, look at the pointy-eared freak! Are those daggers real weapons, or are you just posing as a dartboard? Perhaps you would like to attack me, scarecrow?"
Grimm knew well how Crest responded to either real or imagined insults, but the hot-tempered half-elf only shrugged at Armitage's slights.
The Questor knew at least that his mind was still his own, but he bided his time until the Haven Administrator might address him. The others might be ensorcelled, but he, at least, was free.
"What about you, Mr. High and Mighty Mage?"
Armitage pointed at Xylox and then leaned forward to flick the senior mage's lips with his index finger. Xylox's only reaction was to frown and brush Armitage's hand aside.
The Haven man stepped behind Drexelica and squeezed her left breast. Under normal circumstances, Grimm would have expected the fierce hellion to scratch his eyes out; however, she merely muttered, "Please don't do that, Armitage."
The master of Technology tickled the underside of the girl's chin.
"New, fresh genetic material is just what we need to survive. Soon you will be welcoming my touch, I assure you."
Grimm could feel the power building within him. His companions had succumbed to the Administrator's mysterious power like lambs going to the slaughter; it seemed to be up to him to resist and to prevail.
"Ah, the skinny kid; you have no idea of the effect of tight-beam ultrasonics, do you, boy?"
"I will defy you and defeat you." Grimm felt a cold shock as his voice emerged from his lips dull and listless. It sounded as if another man had spoken.
"Oh, very well then, Grimm," Armitage sneered. "You've beaten me. Strike while you can, by all means. I am undefended."
Grimm strained to find the words to turn his boiling inner power into action, but a deep ennui seeped through his soul. "I don't want to hurt you," was all he could say.
Armitage smiled. "They told me Questors were dangerous, but they seem as soft as butter to me; Technology can beat superstitious delusions any time. Gentlemen, and my dear, dear lady, you are all mine now. The General will be pleased."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 4: Armitage
"Now that we have settled our small differences, there is no reason why we cannot eat and drink together as good friends should, is there?"
Armitage, wearing a broad, cheery smile on his face, raised his glass.
"Allow me to raise a toast: to Haven."
Grimm felt his hand moving towards the glass in front of him. Something at the back of his mind, some distant, inchoate memory, warned him against drinking any of the red liquid, but it seemed unreasonable to refuse such a decent man as his host.
"To Haven," was the dull, insipid, chorused answer to Armitage's toast. The five adventurers lifted their glasses as one and drank deeply. The Administrator nodded in an approving fashion.
"That's much better." Armitage turned to his left and raised his voice, addressing somebody Grimm could not see. "Thank you, Terrence, we can lose the ultrasonics now, I think."
A muffled voice replied, "They're off, Administrator."
The head of Haven reached into his left ear and withdrew a small, white plug, repeating the operation on the right and drawing a sigh of relief. "These aural filters are quite uncomfortable, you know," he said.
Grimm had a vague wish to say something, but he found his mind slow and sluggish. It seemed much easier to sit and listen to Armitage than to talk. He felt a tug at his sleeve and heard a faint, familiar voice coming from the direction of his pocket.
"Grimm! You are drugged. Give me your power so that I may aid you."
"Shut up, Thribble," the young mage mumbled. "I'm all right."
Armitage leaned forward, a look of utter fascination on his face. "My goodness, is that an extra-dimensional imp? I believe it is!
"I have never seen the like before. We may learn a great deal from this little one. Give him to me, Grimm."
Grimm fished in his pocket and withdrew the minuscule demon.
"Do not accede to this monster's demands, Questor Grimm!" the demon piped, struggling in Grimm's grasp. "Where is the mighty will for which you Questors are supposed to be renowned?"
"Shut up, Thribble," Grimm repeated in a sleepy monotone. "I'm sure Armitage just wants to take a look at you."
"I imagine that he wants to take a look at my vitals, with the aid of a scalpel, human!" Thribble shrilled, but Grimm handed over his grey friend without the least flicker of concern.
As the Haven man reached out to clutch the tiny underworld being, Grimm saw a blue flash, and Thribble disappeared.
Armitage howled; an unearthly, animal sound of frustration. "Where's he gone? Bring him back at once, Grimm."
The Questor managed to summon up sufficient energy for even a listless shrug. His mouth moved, but he gave up the effort to speak. Dumb passivity was far easier.
Armitage pounded his fist on the table. "Damn it all! I've been trying to get hold of one of those creatures for ages, and a small specimen like that would have been so easy to handle.
"Ah, here come our meals, at least."
A squat, metal thing with spindly arms slid into the room on small wheels and proceeded to distribute plates of meat and vegetables to the diners. A second machine served Armitage alone, but the significance of this fact meant nothing to the befuddled Grimm.
"Do eat, dear friends," Armitage said. "You don't want your food to get cold, do you?"
As if possessed of no more free will than Armitage's strange, metallic servants, Grimm and his companions began to eat, as if it were a chore to be completed.
"Ultrasonics are all very well," the Administrator mumbled through a large mouthful of food, "but, of course, the effects soon wear off when you deactivate them. Drugs aren't much good either, but they keep the subject nice and placid while one carries out the main business of Pacification; studying a brace of Questors promises to be really interesting. If you're as good as you say you are, the experience could be quite edifying."
Armitage's words washed over Grimm like a warm, heavy stream, without meaning or import, but soothing and relaxing.
The Administrator seemed to like the sound of his own voice, as well as the taste of his food, and he carried on, despite his impassive audience, rubbing his hands in evident, unalloyed pleasure. "A new humanoid species and a hypomelanic giant to study," he enthused, "and a young, fresh girl to add variety to our tired, limited gene pool, to boot! Marvellous!"
Despite his complete lack of appetite, Grimm found he had cleared his plate as if he had been starving, although he could not remember what he had eaten, or what it had tasted like. His companions had also finished their meals, and they sat as if in deep meditation, their eyes glazed and lifeless. The young mage could not bring himself to feel concern for them, or to acknowledge that there was anything unusual in the tableau.
Having finished his own meal, Armitage sat back and stretched luxuriantly. "Perhaps you would like to hear something of the history of our happy little commune of Haven. You would? That's excellent.
"You might not believe it, but there has been a scientific mission here for fifteen hundred years, since before the Final War that destroyed most of the rest of the world. Protected as we are by the mountains, we avoided the worst of the devastation. I like to think there are similar enclaves of Technology in similar locations throughout the world, and that we may eventually pool our resources and our learning."
Armitage took a few minutes to clean between his teeth with a length of fine white cord. Apparently satisfied with his dental
hygiene, he continued, as if lecturing an attentive group of students rather than five drug-dulled semi-morons.
"At its inception, this establishment was set up as a criminal rehabilitation facility. Escape from this high, cold vantage point was all but impossible, and there were teams of devoted, dedicated psychologists and behavioural analysts on hand to counsel the inmates in an attempt to persuade them to see the clear light of pure reason.
"They failed, of course, despite their noble intentions. The criminals said what the analysts expected them to say, but not what they really believed or felt. Time and again, they broke the rules of the facility, and the members of the staff could do little but chide them or give them further sessions of futile counselling. Society was remarkably lax in those days: physical or mental punishment was forbidden, and the murderers and habitual thieves who found themselves here had known a lifetime of being cautioned and released. They had learnt that crime did pay, despite the contrary admonishment of a common adage of the time."
From the corner of his eye, Grimm saw that Drexelica had slumped face-first onto the table, but the urbane Armitage did not seem fazed in the least by this.
The Administrator took a large cigar from his pocket and lit it with a golden implement that produced flame without evident tinder or flint. He leaned back in his chair and took several serene puffs, his face a blissful mask of contentment.
"After a series of attempted insurrections and riots, the authorities of the time became desperate, and they gave the scientists here at Haven free rein to deal with their charges as they deemed fit; we became masters at manipulating the human mind. Crude initial experiments with mind-altering substances gave way to the use of ultrasonic bombardment, like the little burst you experienced earlier tonight. I'm sure you'd acknowledge the effectiveness of this technique if you weren't so heavily sedated."
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