In a moment, several persons entered, following a huge and hairy man clad in a rough robe. He strode to the couch and bent over the boy, speaking soothingly in the Russian tongue. As he passed us, I got a whiff of a rank odor, which, taken together with his appearance, suggested that he had somehow been prevented from washing for some time.
The Czar stood back, relief evident in his expression. Valmis, looking alert for once, drifted over near the couch and stood by as the hairy man, presumably the Grigori called for, continued to speak to the boy, at the same time stroking his forehead and gazing at him intently.
In a moment the trickle of blood stopped. Grigori wiped the stains from the boy's face with the Czar's handkerchief, which he crumpled into a ball and dropped, took him in his arms, and walked from the room, followed by the attendants who had come in with him. The Czar, sighing deeply, sank back into his chair.
"What was that all about?" Dark asked. "Wasn't it rather a lot of fuss over a kid's nosebleed?"
The Czar looked at him somberly. "I must ask you," he said, "to keep secret what you have just seen. It must not be known that the Czarevitch, who will one day rule in my stead, suffers from . . ." He sighed. "My son . . . there is something wrong with his blood. The slightest injury or cut is dangerous to him; the blood flows and will not stop, or it seeps under the skin, causing huge, inflamed bruises. The doctors can do nothing—only that holy man, Grigori, who has been sent from God to help us, can preserve him. It's a pity," he went on, with a return to his former querulous manner, "that he's got to create such a fuss wherever he goes, though. What he gets up to with the ladies of the Court is something shocking—and, worse, some of them don't seem to mind it! But the Empress turns a blind eye to it all, and so must I. It's upsetting having Rasputin here, but it would be unthinkable for Alexei to be without him."
"He's quite good at it," Valmis said. "From what I could see, it looked as though he were getting the boy to relax his consciousness enough to take control of the small veins and get them to tighten up and stop the blood. Very sound Perception of the Patterns involved, I have to say; I've seen nothing like it here."
The Czar looked at him in bewilderment. "Nobody knows how Grigori exercises his healing effect. It is a holy mystery."
"Not especially," Valmis said. "It's seeing what the Patterns are, you know, and acting with them.
Every sort of organization of matter has its Pattern, whether it's a single cell or a galaxy, or anything in between. Once you sense the Patterns fully, you're able to Integrate. That's my specialty, Integration, you see."
"Valmis," Ari broke in, "I cannot think that His Majesty cares to—"
"One moment." The Czar held up his hand and looked gravely at Valmis. "I don't understand you, but you seem to be claiming some knowledge of my boy's illness. That is hard to believe, but . . ."
"Well, it follows. It's part of the Pattern of blood to clot when there's a flow of it out of a puncture of some sort, so as to seal the wound off. And if it's not doing it, then the Pattern is off in some way. Your Grigori's work is most impressive, but I don't think he's getting at it directly enough. Where the Pattern's gone wrong would be in the blood itself, I should say, something extra or missing in the cells."
"The doctors have said something like that," the Czar replied wearily, "but what good does it do to know this? And in any case, they can't identify just what it is that is wrong."
"Perhaps I ought to have a look, then," Valmis suggested. "I'm not a medical technician or anything like that, but I should hope I haven't lost my touch at getting hold of a simple cellular Pattern! Dark, would you let me have the use of your kit for a bit? I'll want to use that viewer thing you've got in it to get a good look at the cells."
Though plainly at a loss to comprehend what was going on, the Czar gave orders for Dark's gear to be fetched. When it had come and Valmis had extracted the instrument he required, he pushed aside some papers to make a clear spot on the Czar's desk and spread out the crumpled bloodstained handkerchief Rasputin had left behind. Adjusting the viewer from Dark's medical kit, he inspected this closely for some time, muttering to himself. When he had done, he straightened up and said, "I believe that's it. There's a sort of—is it 'protein' you call it here?—anyhow, something the cell's Pattern seems to call for, and it's not there. I'd like to make sure of that, though. Do you have a clean pin or something like that about you, Your Majesty? Ah—" He went to a wall map and pulled out a pin with a brightly colored head, one of many inserted there.
"That's the Twenty-third Regiment!" the Czar cried in some agitation. "You can't—"
"Don't worry, I'll put it back in the right place," Valmis said. "I've got the Pattern of all those pins clear in my mind—though it's not a very good one; I should think you'd want a lot more of them over on the left side, near Germany. Now, put your hand on the desk, palm up, please . . . there!"
The Czar gave a start and a sharp cry as Valmis jabbed a fingertip with the pin and blotted up the resulting spot of blood with a piece of paper. This he also inspected with the viewer.
"As I thought," he said after a moment. "It's here"—he pointed at the blood spot in the paper—"and not here." He indicated the handkerchief.
"You have found the cause of my son's disease?" the Czar-asked wonderingly.
"Well, yes," Valmis replied.
"Amazing! But . . . what good does it do to know this? The fault is in the blood; very well, we have learned that. But it is still there, and . . ."
Valmis, ignoring him, was rummaging through the medical kit. "Dark, where is that synthesizer thing? I've forgotten what it looks like. . . . Say, is this it, the one with the yellow bands near the top?" He held up a complex-looking object.
"That's it," Dark told him. "Look, you shouldn't be fooling around with—"
"Don't nag," Valmis retorted. "It puts me off when I'm Integrating. You don't seem to understand that Integration's not just a matter of sitting about and Perceiving things, though that's a lot of it, but there are times when you've got to get your hands dirty, too, and that's Integrating just as much as the other is, so I'd be obliged if you'd refrain from putting me off my stride."
It was not only the Czar who was gaping at Valmis now; Ari, Dark and I were almost equally perplexed. We had rarely, if ever, seen Valmis so energized, and certainly not since our precipitous arrival on this planet. His mystical, melancholy obsession with his fancied distortion of reality seemed to have vanished.
He looked up from a further inspection of the paper and the handkerchief and caught our gaze. He grinned and remarked, "A very pretty problem, this. I must say it does me no end of good to have something to sink my teeth into. There's a lot of Integrators who don't think it's worthwhile bothering with anything this size, but I always say a Pattern's a Pattern, no matter where you find it, and it doesn't do anybody credit to ignore even the smallest ones. Either snobbery or laziness, that's what it is."
He turned to the Czar. "Look here, do you think you could let me have some blood? About a . . . what are your measures, now? As much as would go into this cup here?" He held up a moderate-sized vessel from Dark's kit. "It won't hurt, I assure you, and I don't believe you'll miss it at all—your system'll replace it in no time. All you have to do is take off that jacket and roll up your shirt-sleeve."
"I don't understand," the Czar whispered. "What are you . . . what would you do with it?"
"Well, it's obvious," Valmis answered. "I'll put it through the synthesizer, to activate those protein things you've got and your son hasn't, so they can make replicas of themselves. Then we inject some of it into the boy, and the protein things start grabbing onto his blood cells, so that in a while they've all got them, and the new cells he produces are the way they're supposed to be. It's a clumsy way of doing it, I grant you, but it'll do the job well enough. Now, if you'd rather we got someone else in to let us have the blood, I suppose—"
"No!" The Czar spoke more firmly than I had yet heard him do. Staring wid
e-eyed at Valmis, he began undoing his tunic. "If this thing is to be, then my son shall have my blood!"
20
To my disappointment, and I suppose to the Czar's, Valmis said his process would not be immediately effective, and we should have to wait until the next morning to test its results. As a result, we were obliged to spend a most tense afternoon and evening. The Palace was in an uproar, with the Czar, pale and defiant, overriding all argument and insisting on Valmis being allowed to treat the boy Alexei; the Czarina, a very excitable lady, alternating between tearful hopefulness and angry objection (also tearful); the doctors and Rasputin, for once in agreement, bellowing and railing against the whole idea; and the general run of other people, from equerries and generals to the men who drove the carriages, arguing, expostulating, calling out, singing, praying, weeping, rushing about, whispering in corners, flinging themselves onto couches and off again, drinking quantities of a very warming stuff called vodka, and, in short, carrying on as though demented.
By common agreement, they left our party strictly alone, whether because of the Czar's decision to trust us or because they regarded us as possibly supernatural and dangerous beings, I could not be sure. Rasputin gave us some quite ugly looks when he chanced to stride by us, but did not make any approach. I was glad of this, as he had not yet found occasion to wash, and his presence in a place could be detected for some time after he had left it.
We contrived to get something to eat from the obviously reluctant and apprehensive servants. The meal was accompanied by some of the vodka, which I welcomed, as I found that its warming properties relieved much of the unease and tension which surrounded us.
"You people have got us in the soup properly if this business doesn't work," Wells predicted gloomily as we ate. "Whatever possessed you to meddle with the boy?"
"Well," Valmis returned defensively, "I saw the Pattern of it, and it just sort of came to me that I should do something about it. I've been keeping myself pretty much unaware here, as it's upsetting to see so many distorted Patterns and not be able to set them right—it's not all that easy, being an Integrator, don't think that for a minute—but there this one was, wasn't it? Besides," he added, "the Czar was awfully sulky, and I thought that doing something about this might cheer him up so we could get on with . . . with what we were talking about."
Wells breathed heavily. "I daresay it might. And if it doesn't work out, sulky won't be the word for the way he'll be feeling! That man doesn't have a great supply of backbone, but he is a near-absolute monarch, and if he's badly disappointed, we're going to find that out, and quite unpleasantly, too. My will's up to date, thank goodness."
"Oh, it'll work, all right," Dark assured him. "Look how nicely the Kaiser's arm worked out."
"Ah, yes, the Kaiser's arm," Wells repeated distantly. "You do get into the way of doing these things, don't you? I don't suppose," he went on, "that you had a chance to do anything drastic to the King, did you? He, at least, has not been . . ."He stopped what he was saying and looked at Ari, who had suddenly developed an intense interest in the contents of his plate. "Oh, no," Wells said softly.
"Well, the man was choking," Ari said. "Be reasonable, can't you? I mean, it would have gone awfully hard with us if they'd come in and found Raf and me there, and the King dead on the floor; surely you can see that? And we didn't do anything drastic, the way you said. Just gave him a little something I take myself to keep the system working properly, so he won't have to be bothered again, worrying about his heart."
Wells rose from the table. "You people are too much for me," he said. "The Martians I invented aren't anything like as odd as you are, tentacles and all. I could never write you up properly, though Shaw might perhaps be able to do you justice. I believe I shall find my way to my bedroom now and try to get some rest. I find I'm quite tired."
As there was nothing much to do, with the Palace in such a turmoil, and as dinner had been given us very late, the rest of us repaired to our assigned rooms as well.
I composed myself for sleep, but found it evaded me. It seemed clear that our mission to Europe was not going as we had hoped. Ari's theory about hereditary monarchs being, as it were, the summit of rationality was not, in my view, being borne out by experience. They seemed quite as prone to confusion and emotion as other humans, if not more so. And, if that were the case, it was understandable that they were not properly impressed by the inexorable logic of his Metahistorical arguments and would therefore not be likely to see the advantages of accelerating their inevitable war. So it appeared that our venture might well turn out to be fruitless, and our wait for the planet's technological improvement as protracted as we had feared. Still, the war, whether it came quickly or in a few years, would be the needed first step; once it was going, we ought to be able to do a few things that would help achieve our ends. . . .
This was fairly bleak comfort, and as I have said, I could not get to sleep at all easily. After some time, I rose and attempted to find the room in which we had dined. I recalled that there had been a bottle of the vodka there and believed its refreshing qualities might lighten my mood of worry sufficiently to allow a good night's rest.
I did not encounter anyone in the dimly lit corridors and hallways, the hour being advanced, although I could have done with some information, since after obtaining and sampling the bottle I had gone in search of, I discovered that I could not readily retrace my steps.
After a while, I found myself near what I recognized to be the Czar's study, the door of which was partially opened. I could see a dim light from inside; hearing a low murmur, I approached to see if I could be directed to my room.
When I peered in, I saw the Czar, his back to me, seated in front of a communications instrument, something like a telephone, into which he was speaking urgently, but in so low a tone that I could not catch any actual words. On a panel attached to it, I could see a flickering black-and-white image, which, by squinting, I could make out as that of King Edward; His Majesty's lips moved, but I could hear none of his words, which were evidently being transmitted into the earpiece the Czar held. I had not seen this particular sort of instrument before; I supposed that they must be quite expensive and therefore used only by the wealthy.
As the Czar seemed intent on his conversation, I did not disturb him, but left, taking a thoughtful pull on the bottle. I wondered what he might be discussing with King Edward, and I hoped that it might bode well for our aims. I took some comfort from this thought and from the vodka, and, upon regaining my room after some wandering, fell quickly asleep.
21
It seemed to me curious that when, after an hour of exhaustive tests the next morning, the physicians normally charged with the care of the Czarevitch wonderingly informed the Czar that his son bore no traces of his disease, the reaction was hardly to be distinguished from that which the decision to embark on his untried treatment had occasioned on the previous day. There was quite as much running, praying, crying, and so on; in addition, someone caused a number of cannons to be let off at intervals throughout the day and several loud bells to be rung very nearly continually. The Russians appeared to be an alarmingly volatile people, given to expressing joy as well as consternation in an extreme manner.
Although the bottle of vodka had aided me to attain a healthful night's slumber, I had somehow acquired a severe pain in the upper and rear portions of my head, and this ominous suggestion of malfunction on the part of my implants led me to feel quite dispirited, as well as irritated at the constant volume of noise.
This was added to, somewhere toward the middle of the day, when, on the Czar's orders, Rasputin, yelling most horridly, was driven from the palace and dispatched to St. Petersburg. He had, it appeared, attempted to assault Valmis and to accuse him of being in league with ill-disposed supernatural entities, and of an unwholesome cleanliness of person; and, when diverted forcibly from this, he had tried to mate with one or more of the Czarina's female attendants, who raised objections to this course of ac
tion.
"He was a false prophet," the Czar said sternly, watching the struggling robed figure being escorted away by a considerable number of soldiers. "It is to my shame that I tolerated him here; now that I need not, my court is cleansed of a stain which I had not allowed myself to see. Thank God, we have seen the last of him!"
I agreed heartily with this sentiment, as he seemed to be the noisiest of a noisy crowd.
I did not follow the events of the next day or so at all closely, as I was attempting, with only indifferent success, to rid myself of my lingering malaise by a judicious administration of the vodka refreshment. This, while occasionally effective, was not always so, for many of the symptoms, such as sensitivity to noise, head pains and the like, would return in full force after a period, and increasing the dose seemed to do little or no good.
I gathered, though, that Ari was encouraged by the progress of his talks with the Czar. "He's cagey, no doubt about it," he told me, having come unbidden to my bedchamber. "He won't let on what he means to do, but he's been on that picture telephone thing a good deal, talking with the Kaiser and King Edward. It must be that they're working out what they want to do to arrange their war, though I'm not allowed to listen in, which seems unfair. But that's royalty for you."
On the third day after the results of Valmis's treatment of the Czarevitch had become apparent, we were summoned to the Czar's study. I was feeling somewhat better, in spite of the professed inability of the servants to supply me with any vodka for the preceding twenty-four hours, on the claim that somehow most of what had been on hand had unaccountably vanished, and was beginning to hope that my implants, after a period of malfunction, had started to operate properly once more.
And Having Writ . . . Page 17
