Restoree

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Then the Tanes are behind this,” someone blurted out.

  “No,” Stannall replied with such calm assurance that the rising hysteria in that quarter was calmed. “But I have good reason to believe that the Tane Revolution masks some intention other than meets the eye.”

  Stannall smiled slyly at the anxious requests for explanation.

  “We have already sent a . . . ah . . . qualified observer,” and Stannall glanced quickly at Harlan with an accusatory expression, “to Tane to bring us back a firsthand report of the situation. I have not been satisfied with the all too reassuring official reports.”

  “Neither have I,” Lesatin asserted loudly. “They’ve been . . . ah . . . em . . . too vague.”

  Maxil muttered in my ear, “Jokan took off on his own last night. Harlan was fit to tie him to a Mil Rock. So was Stannall but not for the same reason.”

  “But Jokan was supposed to wait for me,” I said inanely.

  “That’s why Harlan was mad. That Jokan!” Maxil chuckled with delight.

  Stannall was continuing smoothly. “He will return as soon as he has properly assessed the problem. In the meantime, it is essential that we delve into every corner of Gorlot’s administration and bring up from the depths of each cave those inconsistencies which can bring the majority of council to its senses with regard to this tyrant.”

  “I should think poisoning Ferrill would be sufficient,” remarked a wiry, black-headed man later named to me as Estoder.

  Stannall pointed a finger at him, punctuating his words, “If we had proof of it, which not even Cordan can find . . . except by the process of eliminating other factors. Indeed, without Harlan’s miraculous escape and return, we would not even be possessed of the suspicion. The action of that new drug is comparatively unknown, you realize.”

  “Just how did Harlan escape, if he’d been so heavily drugged? No one’s clarified that point,” Lesatin remarked, pointedly staring at me.

  Harlan shot me a quick encouraging smile but allowed Stannall to speak first.

  “The . . . ah . . . Lady Sara,” Stannall had difficulty for some reason in deciding on my title, “managed to penetrate the sanitarium and became assigned as Harlan’s attendant.”

  “We are doubly indebted to the Lady Sara,” Lesatin remarked, bowing in my direction.

  Lesatin seemed to me to be the sort of person who dotes on being possessed of the fullest information on any given subject that attracts his attention. He reminded me unpleasantly of an officious junior executive at the agency library who had plagued me unnecessarily for infinite details about this or that. I steeled myself for the questions Lesatin, if he bore out the resemblance, might throw at me.

  “Can it be possible to assume,” Estoder spoke before Lesatin could, “that Socto, Effra and Cheret were removed from Hospitals, War Records and Supplies more by Gorlot’s intervention than the normal course of events?”

  “Possible, probable and entirely feasible,” Stannall agreed, “and I suggest we begin our checking immediately with these offices with the thoroughness of the ancient priesthood in examining a novice.”

  Everyone now had a question or an opinion or a suggestion. The breakfast broke up into little groups of debaters, calling to Harlan or Stannall for approval. Men departed in pairs or singly. Finally there were only four of us left. Harlan reached for a heavy surcoat. I tried to catch his eye so I could tell him about Monsorlit’s visit to the asylum. I was also afraid of being left alone with Stannall after his remark about restoration.

  Harlan spared time only to grip my arm and mumble about seeing me later. As the door swung shut behind him, I felt awfully alone and vulnerable.

  “Maxil,” Stannall said, “I think you had better present yourself to your brother’s quarters.”

  “Fernan?” Maxil countered, distastefully.

  “No,” Stannall frowned, “Ferrill. The morning’s report is reassuring. The paralysis of his right side continues. But last night’s examination contradicts the theory of a heart seizure. It will look well that you have been to see him. And take the Lady Sara with you. I have assigned four men as your bodyguard. Absolutely trustworthy,” and the First Councilman’s face relaxed into a reassuring smile for Maxil. “You two,” and he flicked his eyes to me, “are not to be left unguarded for a moment. Oh, and when you’ve seen Ferrill, your new quarters should be ready. I’ll see you at dinner. Lady Sara,” and he bowed punctiliously in my direction.

  “He doesn’t like me, Maxil,” I said when the First Councilman had left.

  “Aw,” Maxil shrugged it off. “He will. Harlan’ll see to that and when Fara gets here,” and Maxil blushed furiously, “I mean, aw,” and Maxil rolled his eyes to the ceiling in adolescent embarrassment.

  “I know what you mean, Maxil,” I laughed, patting his arm consolingly. “It will be a great pleasure to step aside for my competition.”

  Maxil’s face screwed up even more. “Oh, Sara.”

  “Oh, Maxil,” I teased back, trying to reassure him.

  A knock at the door disclosed Sinnall, in resplendent Palace Guard uniform, at rigid attention. Behind him I could see an equally rigid Cire and two huge guardsmen. Sober-faced and taking his new position very seriously, Sinnall saluted.

  “My orders, Warlord, are to guard, guide and defend you and the Lady Sara. May I present Second-Leader Cire, and Patrolmen Farn and Regel!”

  “Second-Leader Cire,” Maxil said, grinning broadly at Cire’s good fortune. Then he hastily cleared his throat and recalled his new position in life. “My compliments, Group Leader,” and his voice underlined Sinnall’s double promotion, “and my thanks for your loyalty. I wish to see my brother, Ferrill.”

  Saluting smartly, Sinnall backed out into the hall with his men, waiting at attention until Maxil and I started before he signaled his men to fall in behind us.

  There was a vastly different atmosphere in the hallways this morning. Perhaps it was the green sunlight that flooded the hall from the skylights and balconied alcoves. Perhaps it was the crisp snapping to of the guards who saluted as we passed where last night they had insolently glanced our way. Perhaps it was the obsequious salutations of the men and women who paused to greet Maxil, openly eyeing me. Several would have engaged Maxil in conversation, but he was too nervous to give them any encouragement and, to my relief, they tactfully withdrew.

  There was a marked difference in Maxil’s bearing as we continued. Last night he had come close to cringing away from passers-by. Today, his shoulders were erect. He held his head high and his eyes lost their apologetic furtiveness. He was beginning to accept the fact that he was Warlord-elect; that this good fortune was his and that he could no longer expect ridicule. No longer was he Samoth’s whipping boy; nor the “younger brother” of a promising Warlord, but the heir himself. And I was proud, too, to see him conducting himself in what he considered the proper manner.

  Leaving our escort outside, we were immediately passed through to the inner rooms of Ferrill’s suite. At the door of the bedroom, a double guard was posted to whom Maxil issued his request with new-found imperiousness. One guard excused himself and entered the darkened room. He returned immediately, holding the door respectfully for the man who entered.

  Maxil’s confidence disappeared instantly and he muttered a halting request. I was in no position to bolster Maxil because I was staring straight at Monsorlit. I trembled with fear and apprehension. Round and round in my mind whirled Stannall’s words, and the volume of his revulsion and contempt seemed to grow with each cycle. I looked frantically around for some exit or something I could do that would remove me from Monsorlit’s notice.

  “Certainly you may see Ferrill, Lord Maxil,” Monsorlit assented smoothly. He stood courteously aside to let the boy pass. “I must, however, caution you to keep your visit short so as not to tire him.”

  “He’ll be all right, I mean . . . that is, he’s not going to die or anything is he?” Maxil asked anxiously.

  Monsorlit s
hook his head, smiling enigmatically. I turned toward the outer rooms.

  “No, Sara, stay with me,” said Maxil pleadingly.

  Monsorlit turned, curious, to me.

  He started to incline his head in an acknowledgment, stopped, stared puzzled for a split second and then straightened. There was nothing in his expressionless face to indicate whether he recognized me as Harlan’s whilom attendant or not. I was certain it would be only a matter of time before he pulled my identity from storage in his orderly mind. Maxil, saw all this, but his interpretation of Monsorlit’s stare made him flush. I wrenched myself around and escaped into the darkened bedroom.

  A greenish glow, pleasant, restful, fell on the book-piled desk, the panel of communications screens, shelves of souvenirs and slates that covered the inward walls of the room. Against a side wall was Ferrill’s wide bed, flanked by chairs and an austere hospital table with its neat array of medicines.

  “Greetings, Maxil,” said a low voice from the shadowy heaps of pillows. “Come to view the departed?”

  “Aw, Ferrill,” Maxil groaned, dropping on to the bed.

  “My lord,” I heard the low hoarse chuckle, “I couldn’t be more pleased at this turn of events. In all truth, it’s been hard to play Warlord. No idealist, no dreamer like myself should have to come to grips with the realities of ruling a world. His heart is not sufficiently armored against sentiment and suffering for the strict impartiality essential for the domination of millions. I would soon have failed Harlan, my father’s memory . . . and Lothar.”

  The voice trailed off into a cough. Maxil, a gangling awkward shape, shook his head in denial.

  “Ferrill, if I’d only known how awfully sick you were, I’d never have let Sara tell you about Harlan. Stannall says that’s what made you collapse,” Maxil confessed brokenly.

  “Good thing she did,” the sick man stoutly reassured his brother. “The only thing that saved my life, believe me, was fainting last night. Otherwise you would really be gazing on the departed.”

  “What do you mean?” cried Maxil aghast.

  “Simply that I’m positive Trenor would have administered a lethal dose of his palliative last night. The moment Sara told me Harlan was free I could feel the prick of that final fatal needle in my arm. As it is, I’m extraordinarily lucky to come out of this with just a mild paralysis. Cerol is dangerous stuff. I’d’ve died a lot sooner did I not come of stout-hearted stock. That heart attack rumor is false.”

  “You mean, you knew you were being poisoned and never told anyone?” Maxil cried out.

  Ferrill snorted. “Who would have believed me? ‘The boy’s delirious,’ ” he quipped in an elderly voice.

  Cerol, he had said and that was what they had used on Harlan but the results were so different. On Ferrill they caused debilitation . . . on Harlan only a senseless stupor.

  “Stannall believes you were poisoned.”

  “Certainly he believes . . . now. Who is that lurking in the shadows? Come here,” Ferrill commanded. “Ah, the Lady Sara. My harbinger of good news. Again thanks.”

  “I’m relieved to know that last night’s message was good news to someone,” I said gratefully. “Even if Stannall objects.”

  “My dear girl, you ruffled his feelings. Stannall has been thwarted of late, both personally and politically. He dislikes most of all being uninformed on curious happenings. A failing of his, but it makes him an extraordinarily capable First Councilman. Almost too capable. Gorlot must have had a paragraph in his plans for him, too.”

  “Have you any idea what Gorlot was building up to?” I asked curiously.

  “Apart from complete domination of Lothar,” Ferrill said with a nasty laugh, “I have only vague suspicions.” As I looked down on the gaunt-faced man who had still been a boy a few weeks ago, it was difficult to realize that there were only four years between Maxil and Ferrill. It looked more like forty. “I suspect he gave the Tane planets away to those who have backed him. After Harlan’s convenient sick-leave had been arranged, Gorlot descended on us like a Mil ship that didn’t bother to orbit. Everyone had a good word for him. Took me a while to come to my senses, I want to tell you. Then it was already too late. His men were in strategic positions. The Tane war was under way and I was kept almost too sick to care. After that, patient optimism and intestinal fortitude seemed my only alternatives.”

  “Is Monsorlit really helping you now?” I asked, speaking my fears. “He isn’t just another Trenor for you?”

  Ferrill’s smile was very knowing and wise. He waggled a weak finger at me.

  “Don’t doubt our leading authority on nervous diseases, sweet lady.”

  “But he’s the one who was drugging Harlan in the asylum. And I know there were others in there just as unwilling as Harlan. And Trenor was physician.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “And you still let Monsorlit treat you?” Maxil quavered.

  “Yes. For the simple reason that I trust the man.”

  I stared at him.

  “Why he is allied with Gorlot, I don’t know,” Ferrill continued. “He is an oblique fellow but it will be a sorry day for Lotharian medicine when he is gone.”

  “But . . . but . . .” I stammered.

  “Monsorlit is not a proper cave-mate with Gorlot, no matter what the appearances show,” Ferrill said with more vigor than you would expect from so frail a person. Then he frowned at me. “You are certain that he drugged Harlan? Monsorlit was not at Maritha’s the night Harlan was taken ill.”

  “But I saw Monsorlit give Harlan an injection and he called it cerol. They thought I was a moronic attendant. And I know that there are nine other men in that sanitarium, drugged by Trenor, with the same stuff Monsorlit used on Harlan.”

  Ferrill raised a thoughtful eyebrow and pursed his lips, a gesture imitating Stannall.

  “That’s when you decided to help Harlan?”

  I nodded. Ferrill shook his head, frowning as he tried to correlate this information with his picture of Monsorlit.

  “You must retire now, my lord and lady,” said the soft, respectful voice of Monsorlit.

  I jumped and Maxil got to his feet, for none of us had heard the door open. I waited breathlessly for Monsorlit to denounce me. “You will tire the young patient,” was all he said.

  But as we passed him on the way out, his eyes glittered at me and I wished passionately I knew how much he had overheard.

  Maxil turned frantically to me once the door was shut.

  “We’ve got to tell Stannall, Sara,” he said breathlessly.

  I shook my head violently. At the moment I didn’t know which of the two men I feared more, the physician or the statesman.

  “Stannall will find out all he needs to know by himself, I’m sure. You know his opinion of Monsorlit. And if Ferrill is to recover from this poisoning, Monsorlit is undoubtedly the only man who can do it. We can’t take away Ferrill’s chance of recovery. Let’s forget, right now, what we said in there. Completely.”

  Before he could object, I pulled him into the filled entrance room. We were greeted by queries after Ferrill’s health. Twice Maxil was importuned with unveiled hints for patronage. At first I thought Maxil didn’t catch them. Once we had reached the quiet of the corridor, he snorted out a bitter remark.

  “You should have seen them all laughing yesterday when Samoth dragged me back with you over Varnan’s shoulder.”

  Our guards filed behind us as Maxil led me down the corridor beyond Ferrill’s suite.

  “We have the rooms my father and mother had, I think. They’re the only ones vacant I could use.”

  There were guards at that doorway, too. Sinnall received the salutes and replaced them with his own men. He then opened the door wide, stepped inside and quickly checked each of the doors leading into the reception hall. Evidently reassured no assassins or Mils lurked anywhere, Sinnall threw open both of the big doors leading into the main room of the suite.

  Stannall’s charming rooms see
med barren, cramped and cold in comparison with the spacious splendor of this four-balconied living room with its various levels. A wide window overlooked the riotously blooming gardens, backed by the towers of the city, magically iridescent in the green sunlight, sparkling in an incredible panorama to my alien eyes.

  Linnana and a white-tuniced young man approached and both bowed.

  “My Lord Maxil, I’ve checked Ittlo’s credentials and Stannall has already approved Linnana,” Sinnall said with stiff formality. “Subject, of course, to your approval.”

  Whatever comment Maxil may have had was drowned by an uproar outside. I had heard that bull bellow only once before, but it had been indelibly engrooved on my eardrum.

  My reaction was annoyance. Maxil turned white, his shoulders resumed their slump and he crouched as if to hide. I caught him by the arm and gave him a shake. He didn’t see or hear me. Sinnall expressed his annoyance actively by opening the door with an angry jerk.

  “What is the meaning of this disturbance outside the Warlord’s suite? Get rid of that man.”

  I doubt that Samoth would ever have passed the guards for all his burly strength. He was at the moment impotently raging against their crossed weapons. He quieted a moment as he saw Maxil and then began bellowing.

  “I’m the Warlord’s appointed guardian,” he yowled.

  “The Warlord’s appointed guardian is the Council, not an individual,” Sinnall answered with a snort at such ignorance. “Remove this nuisance,” and he beckoned to two guards farther down the hallway. “Hold him in custody. The only reason he was permitted to remain free was the generosity of Lord Maxil. This has been exhausted. Off with him.”

  The guards promptly took over and there was a certain overzealousness to the restraints they applied. Sinnall cut off the indignant mouthings of Samoth by slamming the door. He apologized to the stupefied Maxil for the unwarranted interruption.

  “Maxil,” I said in a wicked way, for the boy still looked scared stiff, “think up something juicy for Samoth to do. Like decontaminating Mil ships.”

  Maxil’s eyes began to gleam. Sinnall had difficulty retaining his official face as the boy’s unguarded expressions showed his reflections on suitable vengeance.