Prison of Night

by E. C. Tubb

  "You dream," said Embris as he entered the room. "Of past victories, perhaps?"

  "Of future gain, my lord." Rising Gartok bowed-those with titles liked them to be used and it cost nothing to be polite. "And I was admiring the room."

  A lie, decorative metal meant nothing to him, not even when it was fashioned into edged and pointed weapons gracing the black leather beneath in a host of chilling glitters.

  "A notion of my son's. He-" Embris broke off, shaking his head. "Never mind that. You have something to say to me?"

  "A matter of mutual interest, my lord, and perhaps one of common profit." Gartok helped himself to the wine. "I saw you and your lady in the church. The death of the monk obviously had affected you both. I too had attended to pay my respects-did you know that I was almost the last to see him alive?"

  "I did not." Embris looked at the decanter. "You appreciate the wine?"

  "And your generosity in offering it, my lord." Gartok lifted his goblet and drank. "And now to business. As you might expect a man such as myself often picks up items of information which could be converted into profitable enterprises. Your trade is in the supplying of men and arms-mine is using them. We have a common interest. So, if I hint that there is a world ripe for a little war, that there are those interested in seeing it takes place-well?"

  "Continue."

  "At the moment it is an aborted conflict. Apparently the instigator died. But what was once planned need not be ignored. Naturally an investigation needs to be made and so we come to the purpose of my visit." Gartok set down his goblet. "To be plain-would you be interested in backing me? In return you get the sole concession of the loot of a world."

  Embris said, flatly, "I have been made such promises before."

  "Am I making promises?" Gartok shook his head, smiling. "I am stating probable facts. I have your confidence? Then let me mention a name. Gydapen Prabang. It strikes a chord?" His eyes were hard, direct, gimlets searching the other's face. "Gydapen Prabang," he said again. "He bought some guns which were shipped via Harald. Perhaps they originated on Ilyard. You could even have handled the deal."

  "And if I did?"

  "Then surely all is plain. If not then others might be interested. Kuang Tao, perhaps, or Gin Peng? Both are always eager to make a small investment in the hope of vast returns." Taking up his goblet Gartok sipped at his wine. Then, casually, he said, "This room was decorated by your son, you say?"

  "It was his idea."

  "He must spend many happy hours here." Gartok blinked as if realizing he could have made a mistake. "I take it that he is well?"

  "He is-away just now."

  "Children." Gartok shrugged. "At times I thank God I have no need to acknowledge any I may have sired. A man has enough worry without adding to his burden. A wife, children-what need has a mercenary for such things? A fine son like yours leaves an aching void when he is absent. How would you feel if he should die? To love is to store grief for the future. None is immortal."

  "Tomir's a fine young man."

  "I know. I know. I've heard of him. Ambitious too so I understand. An eagle eager to spread his wings. With your help he could command his own corps and he wouldn't want for men to serve under his orders. A pity he isn't here. If he was we could have done business together."

  "Your business is with me."

  "Perhaps. You don't seem to be interested." Gartok was indifferent. "But it's worth investigating, don't you think? And quickly if at all. Others could be interested and might already be acting. A wise man would make certain he wasn't left out in the cold. An entire world-the dream of every mercenary. A whole planet waiting to be exploited-and you hesitate to spend a little to make it yours."

  Embris said, harshly, "I have men of my own should I need such work done."

  "True-and those men are known. How long would it take before a half-dozen others knew exactly what you intended? A world on the edge of war, nobles enraged, an offer made, troops employed and what should have been a minor operation engrossed with a change of power turns into a full-scale conflict. Who will be safe then? How to reap the rewards?" Gartok shrugged and drank the rest of his wine. "It seems I'm wasting my time."

  "Maybe not. Where is this world you speak of?"

  "Somewhere."

  "Its name?"

  Gartok smiled and lifted the decanter. "Shall we discuss terms?"

  Chapter Five

  Lavinia said, "Earl, this is a waste of time. We should be training men and getting ready to fight. To hold our own. Instead all you've done for days now is to take photographs. There will be time for sightseeing when we are safe."

  She sat at the controls of the raft, half-turned so as to display her profile, the swell of breasts and the glinting mane of her hair. The bar of silver which broke the raven cascade was a slash of reflected brilliance.

  A beautiful woman and a clever one in her fashion. Dumarest studied the lines and contours of the face, the eyes, deep-set beneath strong brows, the lips full, the lower pouted in betraying sensuality. The cheekbones were high, the jaw strong, the nose patrician. His eyes fell lower. Had the mounds of her breasts swollen? Was the waist a little thicker than it had been? The curve of her belly more prominent?

  Was she really pregnant or had she lied?

  "Earl?" She was impatient, wanting arguments or explanations or perhaps only his attention. For long hours she had done nothing but send the raft on a carefully plotted path at a carefully maintained height. Work for a machine but they had none sophisticated enough and Dumarest had not wanted to use anyone else. "How much longer must we do this?"

  "This is the last leg."

  "You've seen all you want?" Her tone was bitter. "Is the land worth holding? My ancestors thought so-some of them died for it."

  "And more have sweated for it," he said, dryly. "And gained just enough to hold their bodies when they died."

  "Serfs," she said. "Retainers."

  "People."

  He turned as the instrument mounted at the back of the vehicle gave a sharp, brittle sound. An automatic camera set on struts so as to allow the lens a clear field of view, a timing mechanism taking one frame after another at regular intervals. The signal had been to warn him the magazine was close to exhaustion.

  "Be ready to halt, Lavinia." He watched the counter, heard again the warning. "Now!"

  Dumarest changed the magazine as the raft ceased its forward progress then leaned over the side of the open-bodied craft to study the ground below. It was rough, the surface torn and savage, bare of vegetation aside from patches of scrub. Yellow rock and sand edged the rims of crevasses, the dim bulk of massive boulders showing at their bottoms, streaks of mineral brightness lying like a tracery of filigree in the murky shadows.

  A harsh place but beneath it could lie thick veins of minerals; rare metals, gems, valuable chemicals, fossil fuels, all things for which more sophisticated worlds would pay high prices to obtain. Refineries could be built and mines started. Men could be hired together with skilled technicians. The old ways would vanish as the retainers now bound to the great Families found economic independence. New towns would be built, new fields established. Traffic would fill the air, the deserts would bloom and ships would come streaming in from space with their holds stuffed with luxuries and essentials in exchange for the wealth torn from the bowels of this backward planet.

  It had happened before. He had seen it happen-but it wouldn't happen here. Not while the Sungari ruled over what lay beneath the surface and the Pact had to be maintained.

  "Earl!" Lavinia looked at him from where she sat. "Earl, I'm sorry. Can you forgive a stupid woman?"

  "No-not when she isn't really stupid but just chooses to act that way."

  "One day I'll get used to you," she said, softly. "I don't know when that day will be, maybe not for years, but it will come. When it does I'll understand why you do what you do. This raft, these photographs, why are they so necessary?"

  "You said we should fight, remember?"
>
  "With men and guns and courage."

  "There are more ways than one to fight," he said, flatly. "And the least efficient is to set one man against another. It's also the most expensive both in terms of money and human misery. You claim to love this land-do you want to see it destroyed?"

  "Of course not!"

  "What do you think would happen if armies met and heavy weapons were used? The castle is strong, but a single missile could reduce it to rubble. Your retainers might be brave, but what good is bravery when flesh and hair and bone are burning beneath chemical heat? In such a war there are no victors. Only the mercenaries stand to gain from loot and pay and even then too many of them will die."

  "Scum!"

  "Workers," he corrected. "Men willing to do a dirty job. They don't demand that you hire them."

  "Beasts! Predators!"

  "If you hire men to kill you don't expect them to act like a crowd of monks." Dumarest checked the camera, "Turn, move to the right for three hundred yards, head south and maintain course."

  "Due south?"

  "No. Run a course parallel to the other. Speed and height the same."

  He sat as she obeyed, leaning over the edge of the raft and watching as the ground streamed past below. Not all of Zakym was desert, much of it was fertile soil bearing a variety of crops; good, well-watered dirt which was the source of the majority of food. Other areas were less fertile but supported enough vegetation to provide grazing for beasts. There was a little mining in certain areas. A little fishing on the coast far to the west. A little industry-everything on the world was little. A bad place for any traveler to be stranded. In more ways than one he had been lucky.

  "Earl!"

  Dumarest hadn't needed the warning. He had seen the mote which came directly toward them; a raft, larger than their own and bearing pennants striped in gold and orange. In it, attended by a half-dozen men, Jait Elz, the young son of Alcorus, glared his annoyance.

  "What right have you to traverse these lands?" His tone was peevish despite his efforts to make it strong and commanding. A boy, barely a man, as yet unsuited for the exercise of authority. "Have you permission?"

  Lavinia said sharply, "Don't be a fool, Jait. Since when have I needed permission to cross this terrain?"

  "You should have asked."

  "Asked who? Alcorus? Who?" Her sneer was plain. "Your father has more sense. Perhaps, when next you want to fly your produce over the estates of Belamosk, you will gain as much. Certainly you will remember this stupidity. Your lands are bound by mine and those of Prabang."

  "We have no quarrel with you."

  "I see." She glanced at Dumarest. "You have no liking for the Lord Dumarest, is that it? Have you forgotten that he is a ruler of this world? That his estates are as large as those held by your Family?"

  "They-"

  "Are his!" she snapped. "Voted to him by the Council together with the title. You talk to the Lord Dumarest Prabang when you address him and it would be wise of you not to forget it." Her voice lowered, became a feral purr, "Or do you wish to challenge him? If so I am sure he will be pleased to accommodate you. It could be settled here before your friends. Or did you want to goad him into challenging you?"

  "No!" Jait had paled. "No!"

  "Then-?"

  "I came to intercept you. To bring you a message." Sweat beaded the young man's face. "The Council-"

  "I know about the Council. Is there anything else?"

  As the rafts parted and the larger dwindled she said, bitterly. "You know what all that was about, Earl?"

  "It's obvious. They're closing in."

  "Like animals eager for prey." The raft jerked a little under her hands. "Even that young fool thought he could bait you. How many others will have the same idea?" And then, quietly, as if speaking to herself, "How many of them will you have to kill before we are safe?"

  Suchong had the chair. He slammed down the gavel and as the noise died, said, "I pronounce this meeting of the Council of Zakym open. A quorum is present. What we decide will be binding as has been mutually agreed. The first item for discussion is-"

  A man rose, interrupting the chairman. He said, formally. "A question. Is this a public meeting?"

  "No. Of course not."

  "Then I protest at the presence of a stranger." The man glanced at Dumarest where he sat at Lavinia's side. "One among us had no right to be here."

  "Nonsense!" Lavinia rose to her feet. "You are talking about the new owner of Prabang, right? This Council voted him the lands and the title. At the time they had cause to be grateful."

  The protester ignored the sarcasm. "But not the seat. I was absent at the time but I have read the minutes. No mention was made of him taking Gydapen's place on the Council. He was not put up and accepted. If I have misinterpreted the intention then I apologize but the record is plain."

  "The bastard!" Lavinia sucked in her breath with a vicious hissing. "Earl-"

  "Leave it!" His voice was low but sharp. "Don't argue about it. This has been arranged. If you protest too strongly they could expel you for this session on the grounds of undue interest. Stay and do what you can but ride with the majority."

  "Agree with them?"

  "Lie to them. Smile and be gracious and delay things if you can. If you can't make friends at least avoid making enemies."

  Good advice if not easy to follow. She followed him with her eyes as Dumarest rose, bowed to the chair and left the room. With his leaving the place seemed suddenly colder, the carved heads adorning the fresco beneath the ceiling adopting a more hostile expression. A trick of fancy, she knew, wood could not change expression, but flesh and blood could and it was no fancy that, as Dumarest left, men settled and relaxed and yielded to a minor triumph.

  Alcorus for one and it proved again the brittleness of friendship. Had his son been sent to test the opposition or had the boy, listening to the words spoken by his father, felt safe in anticipating what was to come. Roland? He surely would remain loyal for her sake if for nothing else, but he too held a certain satisfaction. Dumarest could have told her why, but as yet she was ignorant of the true extent of his jealousy. Suchong was, she thought, neutral even though he backed the new heir. Navalok the same. Taiyuah, unexpectedly present, sat fumbling a carved box inset with a fine mesh. A container for one of his precious worms, perhaps, or a cocoon. To him the insects were more important than humans.

  Again Suchong slammed his gavel on the table.

  "Let us come to order if you please. Has anyone any further objection to the formation of this Council? No? Then I move that we decide the status of Earl Dumarest, the present Lord of Prabang. Do we admit him to the Council?"

  "Yes," said Lavinia. "He has earned the right."

  "Then let us vote on the matter. Those in favor?"

  "A moment!" Alcorus lifted a hand. "I am not arguing as to his right to be put up and will abide by the vote no matter which way it falls, but is there any need of such a vote at all? We have discussed with him the desirability of Gydapen's son taking over the estate and he has agreed to sell. As he will not be with us long what purpose can be served by taking him among us?"

  "The giving of honor and the recognition of his services." Taiyuah looked up from his box. "Are we so small-minded that we begrudge him that?"

  "Thank you, Khatya." Lavinia looked at the circle of faces. "At least one among you has the courage to admit what we owe to Earl. And he has agreed to accommodate you in your plan so why the hostility? Incidentally, has the land yet been assessed as to value?"

  Roland cleared his throat. "Not exactly," he admitted. "There are complications as I suspected there would be. How to gain a true figure? As yet the estimates vary between one sum and another eight times as much."

  "Strike a medium," said Navalok. "Give him a quarter of the average. He agreed to a quarter."

  "True, but-" Roland broke off, shaking his head.

  "Even a quarter of the average would be more than we could easily find."

&nb
sp; The reason for their hostility and Jait's stupid accosting of the raft. Men out of their depth and unsure of which way to turn. To them the world of finance was a mystery, business a closed book. Farmers, breeders, dealing in inter-family barter, buying what they needed with the profits of goods-money they never saw. And, if Gydapen's son was growing impatient?

  Lavinia said, loudly, "If it comes down to a question of money then why can't the proposed new heir meet the bill? After all it is he who stands to gain the most.. Surely he doesn't expect us to buy his land for him?"

  "We gave it away," snapped Alcorus. "It is up to us to regain it."

  Or tell the heir to go to hell, but Lavinia didn't suggest that, remembering Dumarest's advice. If you can't make friends at least don't make enemies.

  But, at times, it was hard.

  There were no beggars on Zakym. The streets of the town were clean; the houses neat, the people dressed in decent clothing adorned with the symbols of their Families. Things Dumarest had noticed before and noted again as he stepped from the Council Building and across the open space which occupied the center of the town. He had seen similar conditions on other worlds but here were no armed and watchful guards to maintain the facade, no stinking mass of hovels into which the poor were confined, no Lowtown to hold the stranded and desperate.

  A nice, clean, easy-going world in which a man could manage to survive if he was willing to fit in. One which resisted the exploiters and the things they would bring; the whores and touts and fighters and gamblers. The vice and degradation. The crime. The pain. The human parasites who would put the most blood-hungry of their natural counterparts to shame.

  A good world, but the field was empty of ships and the trading post seemed deserted. Dumarest halted within the doorway, smelling the combined scents of spices and leather, of oil, perfumes, fabrics, dried herbs, pounded meats-a blend of odors which always clung to such places and gave each a haunting familiarity.