CHAPTER TWO
“Now,” said the High Seeker, “you had a question for me at the end of our last meeting.”
They were standing in Layle’s sitting room. Elsdon had awaited Layle for a half hour outside his cell, not yet having the courage to try his key. Though the doors leading to the inner and outer dungeon were closed now, the High Seeker had not raised his hood, and his head was turned away.
Upon their first meeting, Elsdon had thought this a manner in which Seekers distanced themselves from their prisoners. He had since come to realize that the head-turning was a gesture of withdrawal that Layle was prone to use at intervals, like a man stepping back from danger.
“Yes,” said Elsdon. “You told me the Codifier must be notified if I took a love-mate. I was wondering whether you needed to be notified as well.”
For a moment, the High Seeker did not speak or move; then he turned his head and threw back his face-cloth. A faint smile touched his lips.
“What is it?” Elsdon asked uneasily.
“Nothing,” Layle replied, gesturing him into a seat. “That simply wasn’t the question I expected you to ask. The answer is no, there is no need for you to inform me.” His voice turned dry. “Once you have learned how efficient the gossip circuit is in this dungeon, you’ll understand how unlikely it is that you’ll need to inform anyone of your love-bonds. . . . Well, then, we were discussing the inhabitants of the inner dungeon.”
He paused to allow Elsdon time to slip into his usual seat. The chair fit the shape of Elsdon’s body precisely; no one had sat upon the cushions since his last arrival. He curled up in a relaxed manner, marvelling again at the efficient engineering that allowed a wet underground cavern to be transformed into a dry warren of homey rooms. It was hard sometimes for Elsdon to remember that this was his prison.
Layle waited till he was well settled before saying, “You’ll be spending a fair amount of time with the Record-keeper. Aside from assigning Seekers to prisoners, Mr. Aaron’s unenviable job is to archive the records of every inhabitant of the Eternal Dungeon. Those documents date back from the time the dungeon began keeping records five generations ago. All of the records Mr. Aaron keeps are open, though certain sealed documents are maintained by the Codifier. I’d encourage you to browse through the open records of the inner dungeon’s permanent residents when you have leisure. We’ve found that allowing inner dungeon inhabitants to know one another’s pasts cuts down on the amount of unpleasant gossip that takes place.”
Elsdon nodded. “And the sealed records?”
“May only be viewed at the discretion of the Codifier or with written permission from the person whose record it is. You may occasionally find the need to examine sealed portions of past prisoners’ records. Don’t feel afraid to apply to the Codifier in such cases.”
Elsdon gave a half-hearted laugh. “If I can get up the courage to enter his domain.”
Layle smiled as he reached over to pick up a cup of water that had been awaiting him. “Mr. Daniels is somewhat formidable in his formality, I’ll agree. However, keep in mind that he holds the most important title in this dungeon – far more important than my own. If you ever have a question as to whether the Code has been broken, whether by yourself or by any other person, you must take your concern directly to him. He has the authority to overrule the commands of everyone in this dungeon, including myself, and he has similar power to discipline anyone.”
“A dangerous power,” observed Elsdon quietly.
“He must answer to the Queen and the magistrates for his actions, but he provides a welcome oversight on the Seekers. He, more than any other man, protects the rights of the prisoners.”
“The prisoners.” Elsdon voice grew hushed as he settled further back in his seat. “You haven’t mentioned them yet.”
“That’s because it will be some time before you’re permitted contact with them.”
“Because I might identify with them?” With his fingers gripping the armchair tighter, Elsdon tried to smile.
“Partly.” Layle set down his cup carefully. “Not many prisoners survive the Eternal Dungeon, Elsdon, and those who do survive it require time for their healing. You know how close you came to joining the other prisoners in being placed under execution; that wound is still fresh for you. This is a delicate period for you – far more delicate than I think you realize. But even if that were not the case, you would need time to be trained before being allowed to stand in the same room as a prisoner. You will need to be taught the rules of conduct toward prisoners, the methods of searching, the techniques of inducing pain where necessary—”
“The experiencing of that pain.” Elsdon’s voice remained low.
Layle lifted his eyebrows. “So you’ve heard about that.”
“You told me yourself, when you had me whip you to test my response. You said that all Seekers are required to undergo whatever the prisoners undergo.”
Layle nodded. “The punishment you underwent as a prisoner will count toward that experience, you will be glad to hear. As for the rest . . . I don’t want to discount how difficult it will be, but it will not be as hard as you imagine. The worst that a prisoner must undergo is fear, a fear we deliberately cultivate in many cases, since it permits us to keep the physical pain at as low a level as possible. A prisoner receiving, say, sixty hard lashes will not know, as you will, that he will emerge from the experience alive and in a condition capable of being healed.”
“And the rack?” Elsdon’s voice was tight.
“Will be most difficult of all. But you will not need to spend more than an hour there.”
Elsdon lowered his brow in puzzlement. “Why? You told me that most prisoners spend three to five days on the rack – some up to seven days.”
“Because,” Layle said, his voice turning light once more, “if you were a prisoner, and any Seeker placed you on the rack, it would take them less than an hour to break you.”
The room was still; with the door closed, only the faintest sound could be heard of people walking through the corridors of the outer dungeon. It was daytime, and the laborers who kept the Eternal Dungeon alive were busy at their work.
Elsdon said, “It must be frightening to have the power to know something like that.”
Layle’s lips bent in a smile, though his eyes remained sober. “As you’ll realize, when you reach that level of skill. Which brings me to the most important inhabitant of the Eternal Dungeon.”
With a flick of his wrist, he pulled a book from the shelf and tossed it to Elsdon. Elsdon caught it with the quick reflexes that, he had already realized, helped to qualify him for his work; then he stared down at the black cover. “The Code,” he breathed.
Layle nodded. “I know that you read the Code of Seeking before you were hooded. But now you will eat with it, sleep with it, and above all, work with it. It must become as familiar to you as the refrain of a nursery lullaby. You should never have to ask yourself, ‘What shall I do in a situation like this?’ The answer should be obvious to you, from your knowledge of the Code.”
Elsdon opened the book at random. The words spun before his eyes: “‘. . . A guard may touch the prisoner only under the circumstances outlined above. A Seeker may never touch the prisoner, unless to save a life that is in immediate danger, or unless he has received prior written permission from the Codifier. Penalties for violation of this rule . . .’”
He looked up from the book. “I wondered when I was a prisoner why you never touched me, not even when I was crying. I thought you didn’t care about my pain.”
“We must sometimes appear cold to the prisoner,” Layle said, still standing against the bookcase. “We have found that violation of this particular rule leads to the worst abuses – perhaps especially when the Seeker has feelings of warmth toward the prisoner. . . . Which reminds me. I trust that you have read the section of the Code concerning rape?”
Startled at the change of topic, Elsdon stumbled through his reply. “Well, I’ve skimmed it. I didn�
��t think it necessary to read it word by word. I mean, I’m not likely to pin a prisoner to the wall and begin pounding myself into him—”
“Read it.” The High Seeker’s voice was never stern; when he was disappointed with Elsdon, his voice instead grew so chill as to cause shivers to ripple across Elsdon’s skin. “You need to understand that the Code regards rape—”
A soft knock came upon the door leading to the outer dungeon. Layle’s face twisted with annoyance, an expression quickly hidden as the High Seeker flipped down the flap of his hood.
Elsdon was still fumbling with his face-cloth as the door opened; he turned his back quickly. Behind him, a familiar voice said, “I hope you’ll forgive me for interrupting, sir. Mr. Chapman asked that this message be delivered.”
“Thank you.” Paper rustled, and Elsdon turned to see that the High Seeker was examining a note in his hands. Layle said, without looking up, “How comes it that you are delivering notes for other guards’ Seekers during your off-duty hours, Mr. Sobel?”
The High Seeker’s senior night guard gave a quick smile. “I was passing this way. Another guard was going off duty, and he asked me to deliver the note, because he was in a hurry.”
“That other guard would be Mr. Gerson.” Layle’s voice was flat, requiring no answer, and Mr. Sobel gave him none. After a moment, Layle looked up from the note and said, “I’ll speak to Mr. Chapman about this myself, when I see him next. . . . I understand that you’ve asked the Codifier for a leave of duties.”
“Only for a day, sir,” Mr. Sobel replied. “My day off is coming at the end of this fortnight, and I was wondering whether it could be doubled. If you aren’t busy with a difficult prisoner, that is.”
“Hmm.” Layle seemed to consider this as he turned aside to rummage amongst some papers lying upon a table next to the door. The muscles in Mr. Sobel’s neck suddenly stood out, but he said nothing.
Layle found the piece of paper he was looking for and handed it to Mr. Sobel, who glanced at it, then turned startled eyes toward the High Seeker.
“A gift from the Codifier and myself,” said Layle in a matter-of-fact manner. “You’ve worked in the Eternal Dungeon for twenty-two years; we decided it was time that you had a month off. May I express the selfish hope that you’ll be continuing your work at this dungeon?”
Mr. Sobel gave a long sigh and slipped the paper into the inner pocket of his jacket. “Yes, Mr. Smith. My fiancée has already applied for work in the outer dungeon, and I believe that she has a good chance of being accepted. Sir, it is most gracious of you—”
“I’ll speak to the Codifier about your rooming situation.” Layle spoke as though he had not heard his guard’s final words. “And if you should have the wish to raise children within the dungeon, speak to me about that; I think that we would be able to accommodate you. We can’t afford to lose you.” His voice was cool, as though he were discussing shift changes.
“I’ll do that, sir.” Mr. Sobel made no effort to renew his thanks. Elsdon guessed, from having witnessed exchanges like this before, that the guard knew how unlikely it was that the High Seeker would allow the emotional level of the conversation to rise high enough to permit such warmth. Instead, the guard looked over at Elsdon and said, “Good evening, Mr. Taylor. I trust you are well?”
Elsdon smiled, then remembered that the guard could not see his smile, and offered his greetings and congratulations.
When the door had closed again and both Seekers’ face-cloths were raised, Elsdon said, “I didn’t know that Mr. Sobel was to be wed – how did you learn of this?”
Layle raised an eyebrow. “With the gossip circuit in this dungeon as lively as it is? My surprise is that you didn’t know already. I was under the impression that you and Mr. Sobel were on the way to establishing a friendship at the time of your imprisonment.”
“Oh.” Elsdon stared a moment at his boots, which he carefully polished each morning to present a professional appearance, though few dungeon residents had seen him as yet. “Yes, I suppose I should get to know Mr. Sobel better. It’s just that I’ve been spending a lot of time with Garrett . . .”
Layle was wearing an expression that even a fellow Seeker could not read. “I do not want to interfere in your privacy, Elsdon,” he said in a colorless voice, “but I do believe that confining oneself to a single friend is not wise—”
“Did you reach this conclusion after befriending me?”
For a moment, Layle was still. Then he gave a deep chuckle, which for him was the equivalent of a shout of laughter. Elsdon grinned at him.
“You’re right,” Layle said in an easy voice. “I’m not the proper person to be delivering lectures about restricted social lives. What lecture was I giving before we were interrupted?”
“I can’t remember.”
Layle sighed. “Let’s flee this cell,” he said. “If we remain here, we’re likely to be interrupted again, and perhaps the walk to our destination will refresh my mind.” He gave a small frown, as though trying to ascertain something important, and then his hood hid his face.
o—o—o
Thousands of black-winged beasts dove toward Elsdon. He stood motionless as they curved their path around him, like water around a stream-rock. Above him, atop the passage leading to the lighted world, someone shouted, and Elsdon heard a creak as the great gates above were opened to allow the beasts their nightly exit. It was a tradition, he knew, that was far older than the Eternal Dungeon – as old as the dungeon that had preceded the Eternal Dungeon, that primitive, barbaric place where prisoners had found no friends or allies, only endless, unjust pain.
Those days were over, but the bat ritual remained. Elsdon watched with awe as the creatures who lived in the heights of the cavern housing the Eternal Dungeon streaked out into the lighted world. For a moment Elsdon caught a glimpse of the palace corridor that led, eventually, to the world he had forever left behind, and he felt a hard pain in his chest. Then he turned deliberately away, in time to see that the High Seeker was also watching the bats.
He remembered then that, while his own imprisonment had been but three months long, the High Seeker had taken his oath of eternal commitment while still in his youth. This remembrance provided Elsdon with the measure of proportion he needed. His momentary twinge of self-pity was replaced by compassion for the man whose choices in life had been far greater than Elsdon’s, and who had picked the narrow path.
And with that compassion came the other emotion he strove so hard to hide. He tried to school his face, knowing how much the High Seeker could read from Elsdon’s eyes alone. In private, such a disclosure would have been horrendous enough, but here in public it was unthinkable.
Indeed, the High Seeker was now holding himself in the formal pose he reserved for his on-duty moments. The bats, not the dungeon water-clocks, were the signal for the arrival of the night shift, and though Layle’s prisoner would have to wait a few hours more for the High Seeker’s arrival in his breaking cell, the High Seeker was now as much on duty as though he were standing in that cell.
Elsdon looked around at the entry hall, whose main inhabitants, the guards, sat at tables on the edges of the room, chatting and doing documentwork. He was surprised that the High Seeker had brought him here; this was his first visit to the inner dungeon since the day he had been offered the opportunity to train as a Seeker. Since that time, all of his excursions had been to the outer dungeon or to the corridor where the Seekers’ cells lay, and then only when in the company of Layle or Garrett, for he still felt shy appearing before others in the uniform that, not so long ago, he had looked upon with terror. When he rounded a corner in the outer dungeon one day and ran into a small girl who screamed and rushed behind the skirt of her mother, he had realized, with a descent of the heart, what his donning of a Seeker’s hood would mean for his life.
But not so long ago he had thought to spend his life confined within a cell, or lying in cold ashes within a burial pit. This transition could not be as hard
a sacrifice for him as it must have been for Layle. He looked again at the High Seeker, but Layle’s gaze travelled past him toward a black-hooded figure approaching them.
“Mr. Chapman,” Layle said with cool formality. “You allowed your junior day guard early release. I trust this means you will not be working overduty once more.”
The other Seeker raised his fingers to the eye-holes of his hood and rubbed his eyelids. “I wish that were the case. Alas, no, I need to do more research into my prisoner’s case.”
“And Mr. Gerson?” The High Seeker’s voice remained uninformative.
“Had me stretched on the rack with his complaints about working late.” The Seeker sounded wry, if somewhat weary. “Today, I told him that he could go off-duty early, once he’d delivered my message to you.”
“He gave Mr. Sobel your message.”
Mr. Chapman released his breath slowly, as though his lungs were a pair of bellows blowing at a faint spark. “I’ll speak to him of it tomorrow. If I have the time and energy.” He rubbed his eyelids again.
“I understand from your note that your prisoner has been of trouble to you.” The High Seeker’s voice remained formal.
Mr. Chapman gave a slight shrug. “Less so than your prisoner. I’m sorry yours has been causing you such grief.”
Elsdon was surprised by the warmth in the Seeker’s voice, less so by the coolness of Layle’s response. “He has reason to hold out, if my surmises are correct. Mr. Chapman, I don’t believe you’ve yet met our new Seeker-in-Training. Mr. Taylor, Mr. Chapman is the senior Seeker who has charge over this dungeon during the day shift.”
Elsdon stiffened, as he might have done if his schoolmaster were presenting him to a distinguished visitor. Something made him relax again as Mr. Chapman turned to look at him.
“Ah, yes,” Mr. Chapman said. “Some of our prisoners aren’t satisfied with holding out on us; some of them demand room and board and a chance to dress up like us. Mr. Taylor, the weary figure you behold before you is what the High Seeker looked like when he was searching you. If you could frustrate Mr. Smith so thoroughly, I’ve no doubt you’ll have the skills needed to search prisoners. Would you mind taking mine?”
Elsdon grinned, forgetting that the Seeker could not see his face. Layle said, “We should speak of your case. Mr. Taylor, if you will excuse me a minute . . .”
Elsdon heard the official dismissal in the High Seeker’s voice and withdrew hastily, making his way toward the front of the dungeon’s entry hall. His footsteps echoed above him, nearly lost in the chatter of the guards. The entry hall, unlike the remainder of the Eternal Dungeon, had no ceiling and only one man-made wall; the remainder of the hall was open to the natural curve of the cavern walls, creating an eerie reverberation of sounds. The guards’ voices were tossed into the air and bounced about as though they were balls being thrown back and forth by small children. Amidst all the light conversation, Elsdon’s progress went unnoticed.
The edges of the entry hall shone with lamplight. He looked for a shadowy place where he could hide himself and found it by a door along the broad wall behind the Record-keeper’s desk. He stood in front of the closed door, gazing at the bright tables around the hall and listening to the equally bright chatter, as he wondered why this place – the first portion of the dungeon he had seen three months before – looked so unfamiliar.
“Excuse me, sir.”
He recognized the firm voice of the Record-keeper and looked about to see which Seeker Mr. Aaron was addressing. Then he remembered, and he turned round.
The Record-keeper was standing in the doorway, his arms filled with ledger books. Beyond him, through the open doorway, Elsdon could see row upon row of books and document boxes. He withdrew hastily, with a low-voiced apology. The Record-keeper said, “Not at all, sir,” in his brisk manner and moved over to his desk, where he placed the books with as much gentleness as his voice lacked.
Elsdon took a few steps back from the doorway, searching for another hiding place, but his attention was arrested by the tablet on the wall behind him. Nestled between the door he had been standing in front of and another door further down the wall, the tablet soared to the ceiling, as though it were the school-slateboard of a giant’s child. Chalked upon the tablet were hundreds of names.
They were neatly divided into columns, each column headed with the number of a breaking cell. Elsdon knew by now that only one of the names in each column, the name at the top, represented a prisoner presently being searched. The rest of the names were of past prisoners, and most of the names were crossed out.
He felt a heaviness, staring at all of the names lined out, and his heaviness increased in the next moment as the Record-keeper, walking over to the tablet, casually erased a name in one of the columns.
He bit his lip, watching as the Record-keeper climbed a ladder and transferred a name from the top of the column to the empty space, then placed a line through that name. After a while, Elsdon became aware that someone was standing beside him.
He turned his head. Layle was watching, not the tablet, but Elsdon; he said nothing. Elsdon swallowed around the hardness in his throat and said, “I hate seeing that. Names crossed out, and then erased. It’s as though we’ve forgotten they existed.”
Layle made no protest at this bit of sentimentality. Instead he said, in a low voice that did not carry to any of the guards around them, “We keep the names there as long as possible – in many cases, prisoners who are executed have no friends or family mourning them, so we try to do our part in remembering them. And even after their names are erased, their records are kept eternally within this dungeon.” He pointed at the tablet and said, “I trust that you have noticed that name.”
Elsdon had to bend his body to see. Toward the bottom of the column marked 4 was a name, remarkable only because it was one of the few that was circled rather than lined out. It read, “E. Taylor.”
He straightened his back, smiling, and then his smile faded as he felt the chillness of the entry hall touch his blood again. “I’m not sure that’s any better,” he said. “We call ourselves prisoners, because we took an oath of eternal commitment, but we’re better off than most of the prisoners who pass through here – not only are we allowed to live, but we’re free to walk about the dungeon. We aren’t confined to our cells, like the prisoners who are searched. We’re more privileged than they are.”
The High Seeker made no reply, but turned and beckoned toward a guard who was just entering the entry hall from the door leading to the Seekers’ cells and the outer dungeon. Layle put out his hand, and the guard, seemingly needing no further instruction, unfastened his coiled whip from his belt and handed it to the High Seeker.
“Thank you, Mr. Urman,” Layle murmured. He began to uncurl the whip, saying to Elsdon, “Look at the top of the tablet.”
Elsdon raised his eyes. There, above the column numbers, were the names of all the Seekers, familiar to him through study, if not always through acquaintance. Layle’s name was there in his own handwriting, as was Mr. Chapman’s in a different handwriting, but Elsdon could not see his own name.
Then he noticed what lay beside the names, and his breath whistled in. He looked over at Layle, who nodded. The High Seeker said, “If I should ever break the rules of the Code of Seeking in so serious a fashion as to warrant my arrest, I will be placed in this breaking cell—”
With a suddenness that made Elsdon jump, Layle moved the whip in his hand, apparently without effort, and the line flew upward, its tip striking the number 1 beside Layle’s name.
Layle said, in the same calm voice as before, “And if I should compound my error by breaking the Code while I am being searched, and if my Seeker should deem such a measure necessary, I will then be placed in this room—”
Again the whip leapt, like a lithe stallion raising its forefeet and striking, this time touching the letter A beside Layle’s name.
In the next moment, Layle had coiled the whip and was handing it back t
o the guard, who appeared unsurprised by this display; he moved over to join the other guards. The guards’ conversation had stilled momentarily. Elsdon could see several of the senior guards watching Layle with envy.
It was in Elsdon’s mind to ask Layle where he had learned to use a whip like that. Elsdon knew that Seekers were given only minimal training with a whip, since they were forbidden from touching prisoners with hand or weapon unless the prisoners made a murderous attack on a prison worker. But Elsdon’s mind turned back to what Layle had shown him; he found that he was staring at the tiny number and letter beside the High Seeker’s name.
“We are privileged, as you said,” the High Seeker told him in a low voice. “But our privileges exist only as long as we adhere to the Code of this dungeon. If we fail to behave in a manner worthy of the honors that have been bestowed upon us, we are treated no differently from any other prisoner.” He turned toward the Record-keeper’s desk, scooped up a piece of chalk lying there, and silently offered it to Elsdon.
Elsdon took it without speaking. He sucked in a deep breath and then, amidst the renewed chatter of the guards, walked forward to climb the ladder beside the tablet.
He had just finished writing under Layle’s name, “E. Taylor – 4, A,” when a groaning creak behind him alerted him to a new arrival. And with the arrival came an immediate transformation.
All around the entry hall, the guards fell silent. Those who were closest to the lamps reached forward and pulled down the shutters around the lights, causing the edges of the room to turn black, hiding the tables and guards. The Record-keeper, who had been heading toward his documents library, quickly turned and seated himself behind his desk, folded his hands, and waited.
Above, in the passage leading down from the gates, walked three figures. The figure in the middle was bound.
Elsdon made his way down the stepladder as quickly and quietly as he could. Already Layle was beckoning him, and as he reached the ground, the High Seeker put his hand against the area of Elsdon’s back between his shoulder-blades and propelled him into the room to the right of the tablet. Elsdon could guess why – he knew that he was not yet authorized to be in the same room as a prisoner – but he still had to catch his breath a moment from this sudden abduction.
The door closed behind him, shutting out light and sound. He heard Layle stepping nearby and had a moment to reflect that one thing had not changed in three months’ time: Elsdon still feared being alone in the dark with the High Seeker. Then a match scratched, and a second later an oil lamp flickered dim light about the room.
o—o—o
Layle moved about silently, lighting all the lamps, which gave Elsdon time to take in his surroundings. There was little to see: the room was no larger than a breaking cell, and it was furnished with nothing except a desk, two chairs, and a shelf holding document boxes and books. Elsdon bent down to look at the titles, expecting more of the gory subject matter with which Layle dutifully filled his private quarters, but to his surprise the books here were of the ordinary sort: language dictionaries, atlases, and even an occasional light novel like the ones that the boys at Elsdon’s school had been fond of.
“This is odd,” Elsdon said, straightening his back. “It’s as though your leisure activities have become part of your duties, while your work has become your leisure.”
“You’re not the first to remark that.”
Elsdon looked over at the High Seeker, who had seated himself behind his desk, his face still hood-dark. “Who else said that?” Elsdon asked.
A pause ensued before Layle replied, “Mr. Zinner, who trained as a Seeker a number of years ago. Please have a seat, Mr. Taylor.”
Elsdon accepted the hint, not only from Layle’s words, but also from the fact that the High Seeker had not raised his face-cloth. Perching himself on the edge of the chair opposite Layle’s desk, Elsdon tried to hold himself in the formal pose he had used on the days when, as a schoolboy, he was called into the head schoolmaster’s office.
Layle pulled from his inner shirt-pocket a cloth, extracted from it a chain whose keys had been wrapped so as to avoid clanging against one another, and placed one of the keys in the lock of his desk drawer. Presently he drew forth a loosely bound ledger and laid it open upon the table.
“‘Elsdon Auburn Taylor,’” he read aloud. “‘Born the 1st month of 337. 355 (fourth month): Arrested for murder. Transferred from Parkside Prison—’” He stopped, looked up at Elsdon, and said in a voice that sounded amused, “Your records start like mine.”
“Only you came here as a prison worker rather than as a prisoner.” Elsdon tried to keep his voice light, though his fists were beginning to clench.
Layle looked down at the records again. “‘Request for transfer to Park Lane Youth Prison denied—’”
Startled, Elsdon leaned forward. “I didn’t know of that.”
“I requested the transfer upon your arrival here,” Layle said without looking up. “It would have saved you from facing a death sentence. You were only three months over your birthday of adulthood, so the youth prison was willing to take you. However, your father’s permission was needed for the transfer, and he denied it.”
Elsdon felt the tension return to his body. Layle read aloud, “‘Assigned to Breaking Cell 4, under the searching of the High Seeker. Given three light lashes upon the first day, as the result of the High Seeker’s mistaken belief that the prisoner had violated the Code.’” Layle glanced briefly at Elsdon before looking back down at the paper. “‘Confessed on the fifth day to murdering his sister, Sara Eleanor Taylor. Sentenced to be hanged by the magistrates’ court. Offered eternal confinement within the Eternal Dungeon by recommendation of the High Seeker. Voluntarily took the oath of eternal commitment—’”
“What would have happened if I had refused to take the oath?” Elsdon asked.
“You would have remained eternally confined,” Layle said, his gaze still fixed to the records, “but you would not have been offered the opportunity to train as a Seeker. ‘Recommended for training as a Seeker by the High Seeker. Recommendation accepted by the Codifier, the Magisterial Guild, and the Queen. Training delayed in order to permit Mr. Taylor to heal from his searching.’”
Layle pushed back the records, contemplated for a moment the silver inkwell on his desk, and then looked steadily at Elsdon. Through the closed door of the office, Elsdon could hear the dim sound of a voice speaking stiffly – one of the visiting prison guards, he guessed, giving the Record-keeper the information needed for the transfer of the prisoner. All else was quiet; the High Seeker’s office contained no water-clock.
“You understand,” said Layle, “that even with your oath given, being a Seeker is a privilege, one that can be withdrawn at any time. We wield great power over the men and women we search, and unless we demonstrate ourselves to be worthy of that power, we are not permitted to remain hooded.”
Elsdon nodded. “So if I broke the Queen’s laws again . . .”
“You are no longer governed by the Queen’s laws but by the Code. However, we treat the Code as seriously as the magistrates treat the Queen’s laws. If, for example, you were to permit an unauthorized person access to a prisoner’s records or a Seeker’s writings, you would find yourself in much the same position a murderer or rapist faces in the magistrates’ court—”
He stopped abruptly, and Elsdon saw the skin around his eyes tighten, as though a thought had come to him. Elsdon did not wait for the voicing of that thought, though. He said in a strained tone, “Is that why you won’t let me train? Because you believe I’ll break the Code?”
The High Seeker leaned back in his chair, the closest he had come to informality since he entered his office. “What makes you think I won’t let you train?”
“I’ve been here for three months.” Elsdon found that he was having a hard time speaking; it took little effort to keep his voice quiet, so that the prisoner outside would not hear this conversation. “I’ve long since healed from my i
mprisonment. I thought – I thought perhaps you’ve been waiting to see whether I could be trusted to keep the Code.”
Layle remained in the same position, leaning back in the chair. “No,” he said, “I have no doubt that you have as much ability to keep the Code as any of the rest of us. The question is whether beginning your training now would bring harm, given your continued anger toward your father.”
Elsdon stared at Layle, his eyes wide in the dim light of the office. Several of the lamps, low in oil, were beginning to sputter, casting up dark clouds of smoke which travelled up toward the room’s ventilated ceiling. Layle’s black figure seemed dimmer than before.
“I don’t understand,” said Elsdon. “You encouraged me to realize the truth about my father. When I first arrived here, I hated myself – I blamed myself for all that had occurred between my father and me. You released me from that.”
Amidst the dusky smoke, Layle said, “If I have released you from one hate, only to imprison you in another, the matter is not improved. Mr. Taylor, your father is a criminal – unimprisoned because we lack sufficient evidence to arrest him. But he is as much a criminal as the men and women you will search as a Seeker. If your anger continues against him, it is likely that you will eventually transfer that anger onto one of the prisoners in this dungeon.”
Elsdon said, “You mean the way I did to Sara.”
He forgot to keep his voice low; Layle jerked his head in a warning manner toward the door. Elsdon tried to relax, but it was of no use. He found himself rising from his chair, so that he was looking down upon the High Seeker.
“Sir,” he said in a tight voice, “my father was a sadist – a cold, brutal man who had a twisted notion of love. So vicious was he that he taught me to blame myself for his cruelty. I blamed myself for everything, including Sara’s murder.”
The High Seeker said quietly, “I am glad that you have come to realize that you are not entirely to blame for what happened.”
“I’m not to blame at all!”
The High Seeker leaned forward then, placing his arms upon the table. “I thought that you had not yet regained your memory of what happened.”
“I remember enough to know that my hand killed Sara.” Elsdon felt the familiar ache begin in his throat. “It was my hand, but it was my father’s doing. I’m sure of that now. I was merely the instrument he used to abuse Sara, as he abused me. How can I forgive a man like that, High Seeker? Forgiving him for what he did to me would be hard enough, but to forgive him for killing my sweet sister, who never harmed anyone in her life . . .”
Tears were travelling hot down his face now; he struggled to bar their escape from his eyes. Layle opened his mouth, but at that moment there came a bang from the back of the room.
Elsdon turned to see that Garrett had flung the door open. Several yards behind him, staring into the High Seeker’s office, was the newly arrived prisoner.
He was about Layle’s age, in his mid-thirties, and he had a scar across his cheek that would have made him look dangerous under ordinary circumstances. Now, though, with his arms pinioned behind his back by leather straps, he looked as defenseless as a small child. His eyes were wide as he stared at the hooded Seeker next to the door. Elsdon saw the prisoner’s throat move as he swallowed.
Elsdon felt as though someone had flung open a door while he was undressing. Then he remembered that, thanks to Layle’s foresight, his tear-stained face was covered with a Seeker’s hood. The prisoner could not see the angry, hurt child that had spoken moments before. All he saw was the man who might be his torturer.
Feeling a dizziness overcome him, Elsdon was only dimly aware of Garrett moving toward Layle. The guard slapped a paper onto the table before the High Seeker, saying, “The Codifier told me I need your signature on this request for an extra day off each month.”
Layle did not move from where he sat, his hands folded upon Elsdon’s records, which he had closed some time during the past few seconds. “Tell me, Mr. Gerson,” he said in a conversational manner, “where you come from, are people in the habit of knocking upon doors?”
Garrett’s face drained of color within the next breath, and Elsdon had a moment to reflect that the High Seeker never lacked skill at pinpointing a person’s most vulnerable aspect. Then Garrett said stiffly, “Yes, sir.”
“And did your childhood training extend as far as closing doors through which you have walked?”
Garrett’s lips thinned. Without a word he spun and strode over to the door, which he slammed shut, cutting off sight of the bound prisoner, who had been watching Elsdon all this while.
Layle made no further remark. He picked up the paper Garrett had placed before him and began to read it, as carefully as though it were the Code of Seeking. Garrett moved over to his side and pointed to the bottom of the paper, saying, “I just need your signature there.”
Layle nodded silently, continuing to read. Garrett moved a few steps behind him, looked over at Elsdon, and suddenly grinned. His hand moved to his dagger.
Elsdon, who knew Garrett well enough to guess what would come next, bit his lip to keep quiet, which caused Garrett’s grin to broaden. He eased the dagger out soundlessly while Layle pulled the inkwell toward him, tipping it as he dipped his pen into the ink. As the High Seeker began to write at the bottom of the paper, Garrett raised his blade-clutching hand and pretended to stab the High Seeker several times.
Elsdon nearly laughed. In a dungeon where everyone walked in tiptoes around the much-feared High Seeker, Elsdon found Garrett’s irreverent attitude to be remarkably refreshing. It was the main reason he endured Garrett’s perennial grumbles and cynicism; Elsdon could always count on the guard to pinpoint the humorous aspects of Layle’s dark reputation. Even so, Elsdon cast a worried glance at Layle.
The High Seeker did not pause in his writing; his eyes remained fixed on the page as he said, “Mr. Gerson.”
“Yes, Mr. Smith?” Garrett stabbed the air above Layle several more times, his eyes dancing as he looked over at Elsdon.
Layle still did not look up. “Do you wish for me to demonstrate to you one of the methods by which Seekers are trained to disable prisoners who threaten their lives?”
Garrett stood frozen, his arm raised in mid-stab. “No, sir,” he said after a moment.
“Then I suggest that you sheathe your blade.” Layle pushed aside the paper, adding, “Request denied. You may tell the Codifier that I have changed your schedule. Until you are notified by me, you will work from the beginning of the day shift until two hours after the beginning of the night shift.”
“What?” Garrett’s voice was sharp as he sheathed his dagger. He rushed over to the front of the table to confront the High Seeker. “You can’t do that! It’s summertime! I already work a fifteen-hour day at this time of year. I’m not going to give up all my leisure time for—”
“Mr. Gerson.” The High Seeker’s voice remained conversational. “Will you hand me your whip, please?”
Silence followed. Outside the office, the dungeon guards were chatting again; Elsdon guessed that the prisoner had been taken to his breaking cell, and that the entry hall was once more lit and cheerful. Garrett, his face expressionless, placed his whip upon the table.
Layle took the black coil into his hands, then leaned back in his chair, drawing the leather lash through his fingers as though it were the sleek stem of a flower. “Mr. Taylor,” he said, turning his head toward Elsdon, “you may occasionally encounter the problem of impertinent and disrespectful prisoners. You will not want the matter to proceed so far that you must invoke the Code’s penalties against such discourtesy, so it is best to impress upon the prisoner what power you hold over him. Different Seekers have different methods of doing this—”
In an instant, without turning his head toward Garrett or moving from his lazy position of leaning back in the chair, Layle struck the whip in the air twice. Elsdon caught only a blur of the movement as the lash cracked on both sides of Garrett’s face. A
sound escaped the guard’s throat, but he stood as immobile as Elsdon had been when the bats dove at him.
“I find that symbolic imagery usually serves best to impress the truth upon the prisoner.” Layle curled the whip into a circle and tossed it lightly onto the desk. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Gerson. You may go now.”
Garrett leaned forward slowly to take both the whip and the paper he had given the High Seeker. From where Elsdon stood, he could see Garrett’s face clearly: it was white and covered with sweat, but the whip had not marked him. The guard left the office without a word, closing the door softly behind him.
Elsdon looked over at Layle, who had leaned forward and slipped his hands underneath his hood, so as to cover his face. Elsdon asked, “Is that the darkness?”
Layle’s hands retreated as he looked up at Elsdon questioningly.
“Mr. Sobel told me once that I hadn’t seen the darkest part of you,” Elsdon explained. “He said that it emerged only when you were with the worst prisoners.”
Layle gave a humorless chuckle. “Mr. Gerson is hardly on the same level as the worst prisoners we deal with. —Thank you.” This as Elsdon came forward and handed Layle the pen that he was groping for.
“How did you know what he was doing behind you?” Elsdon asked as Layle put the pen aside. “Does that hood of yours hide a second pair of eyes?”
“Come behind me and see.”
Hesitantly, Elsdon did so; his heart was racing by the time he reached the spot where Garrett had stood. Layle reached forward to the inkwell. As the High Seeker tilted it, Elsdon could see his own reflection upon its silver face.
“You’ll learn tricks like that during your training,” Layle said as Elsdon returned to the front of the table. “The safest course, though, is never to turn your back on a prisoner. Never trust a prisoner – for that matter, be wary of offering your trust to any person in this dungeon, whether they be an outer dungeon laborer or a guard or even a fellow Seeker. You’re in a position of power now, and you’re surrounded by people who will take advantage of that power if they can.”
Elsdon frowned. “Trust no one? Sir, that can’t be right. I thought that Seekers were supposed to establish trust between themselves and the prisoners.”
Layle stood, his posture returned to stiff formality. “Establish trust, yes, but not give it unearned. We have a saying about that in the dungeon, but I doubt that you’ll understand it till the first time you trust someone and they take advantage of your trust.” He picked up Elsdon’s records, slipped them into the drawer, and locked the drawer. “It seems that even here we cannot converse without interruption. It is of no matter. I know where we can go where we will not be disturbed.”
Elsdon did not speak as Layle extinguished the lamps. It had come to him, like the crack of a lash, that all the words Layle had spoken during the past few minutes were words of training, and that Elsdon had finally been granted the privilege to see the High Seeker at his work. He felt excitement build within him. As Layle reached the door and opened it, Elsdon said, “Sir! What is the dungeon’s saying about trust? I’m sure I could understand it now.”
Layle looked back at Elsdon. Under the dim light, his eyes hid within the holes of the hood. He said softly, “The saying goes: To be a Seeker is to know betrayal.”
The Eternal Dungeon: a Turn-of-the-Century Toughs omnibus Page 14
