Finally, the monk looked up. “No break, Father. Current’s flowing through the whole beast.”
“Then you’ve got a grain that’s passing current, but not doing anything with it. May I try?”
Brother Chard stared at him; then, reluctantly, he moved back. “Certain you know what you’re doing, Father?”
“Enough to know how to find out which grain is gone.” Father Al slipped the probes out of his sleeve pocket. “We just test each pair of terminals, and when the needle goes into the red, we’ve found the trouble-spot, haven’t we?”
“Yes, that’s all,” Brother Chard said drily. “Check your chronometer, Father; I think we’ll have to go back for a recharged air cycler in about an hour.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’ll take us that long.” Father Al started probing.
Brother Chard was silent; when his voice came over the headphones, it was strained. “I hope you’re right, of course, Father—but it could take a week. If only we had a diagnostic computer aboard!”
“Well, a pinnace can’t carry everything,” Father Al said philosophically. “Besides, Brother Chard, I have a certain faith in the perversity of electronic circuitry.”
“You mean a faith in perversity, period, don’t you, Father? I’ve heard some of the stories you Cathodeans tell about Finagle; sometimes I think you’ve fallen into heresy, and made a god of him!”
“Scarcely a god—but we might promote him to the status of demon, if he were real—which, fortunately, he’s not. But the perversity he personifies is real enough, Brother.”
“True,” Brother Chard admitted. “But the perversity’s in us, Father, not in the Universe.”
“But so much of our universe is man-made, Brother, so many of the things around us, the things that keep us alive! And it’s so easy for us to build our own perversity into them—especially really complicated pieces of electronics!”
“Such as an isomorpher?”
“Well, yes. But computers, too, and 3DT cameras, and any number of other gadgets. Have you ever noticed, Brother, how they’ll sometimes stop working for no apparent reason, then suddenly start again?”
“Now and then. But when you dig into them, Father, you can always find a reason.”
“When you dig into them, perhaps. Not when I do. But then, I seem to have an anti-mechanical personality; any chronometer I carry, starts gaining about five minutes a day as soon as I touch it. On the other hand, there’re people machines seem to like; let one of them walk in and lay his hand on the widget, and it works perfectly.”
“A little far-fetched, isn’t that, Father?”
“Perhaps. But I’m fetching as far as I can, right now.” Fetching aid from my patron, I hope. St. Vidicon, no matter how far away you may be, please come to my aid now! Intercede with the Almighty for me, that this isomorpher may begin working again, long enough to get us to Gramarye and to get Brother Chard safely home again! “That might do it.” Father Al withdrew his probes. “By the way, Brother Chard, you did disengage the isomorpher before we came out here, didn’t you?”
“Of course, Father. There’s just a trickle of current flowing through it now.”
“Good. Can you fire it up fully from in here?”
“I could.” The ghost of a smile tugged at Brother Chard’s lips. “But I wouldn’t recommend it. The ship might not go into H-space, but we might.”
“Hm.” Father Al turned away toward the access hatch. “Then let’s go back to the bridge, shall we? We’ll try it from there.”
“But you can’t think it’ll work again, Father! We haven’t even found the trouble yet.”
“Perhaps not.” Father Al turned back with a smile. “But I think we may have fixed it.”
“That’s impossible!”
“Brother Chard, you should be ashamed of yourself! All things are possible—with God.”
“And St. Vidicon of Cathode,” Brother Chard muttered; but he closed the isomorpher’s shell, anyway, and followed Father Al.
On the way back to the airlock, Father Al finally let himself feel the dread at what might happen if the isomorpher couldn’t be fixed. They’d be stranded light-years away from any inhabitable planet, with only a month’s supply of food and water. The air cycler would keep working for several years and, with strict rationing, the food might last an extra month; but no matter how you looked at it, even if they accelerated the ship to nearly the speed of light, by the time it came near enough to civilization for its beacon to summon aid, it would be carrying only two mummies.
Dread clutched at Father Al’s belly; fear soured his throat. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes. Thy will, Father, not mine. If it suits Thy purpose that I die in this place, then let it be as Thou wilt have it.
Serenity filled him; the fear ebbed away. Smiling, he ducked into the airlock.
They loosened their helmets and webbed themselves into their couches. Brother Chard fed power into the engines, then engaged the isomorpher and fired it up.
The stars disappeared in a swirl of colors.
Father Al heaved out a huge sigh. “Praise Heaven!” And I thank you, St. Vidicon, for interceding with Him for me.
Brother Chard just sat staring at the viewscreen. “I don’t believe it. I see it, but I don’t believe it.”
“Faith, good Brother,” Father Al chided gently. “With faith, all things are possible.” He took out his breviary and began reading his Office.
CHAPTER NINE
The Duke’s Hall was huge, panelled in a grayish wood with silver highlights, and adorned with old weapons, bent and battered shields in a variety of coats-of-arms, and the skins of animals with the heads still on—not the most appetizing decoration in the world, Rod reflected, as he looked up into the eyes of a twelve-point stag while he chewed a mouthful of venison.
He noticed that Magnus was chewing his food very carefully, and wondered why. Have to ask him about that, later. Still, it seemed like a good idea. Seemed like a good idea to be careful about everything, with Duke Foidin for a host. In accordance with which thought, he made sure that he served himself only from platters that at least two other courtiers were eating from. He noticed Gwen was doing the same, and pointedly hadn’t sipped her wine.
The Duke noticed, too. “Do you not find my vintage sweet, Lord Gallowglass?”
Rod swallowed and smiled. “Religious rule, Duke. We never touch intoxicating spirits.” We have too many for friends.
That drew startled looks from the whole table. A low mutter of gossip started up.
“Be ye paynim, then?” the Duke inquired, a little too carelessly.
“ ‘Paynim?’…Oh, Moslems! No, not at all. Are you?”
“Sir!” The Duke drew himself up, affronted, and all the courtiers stared, aghast. “What mockery is this? Are we not in Christendom?”
Okay, so they were. At least Rod knew what the local religion was. “No offense, Milord. But as you know, we’re far-travellers; I honestly did not know that you’re of the same religion as ourselves.”
Foidin relaxed. “Ah, then, ye do be Christian folk. Yet how’s this? I’ve never heard of a Christian would refuse wine.”
Rod smiled. “ ‘Other lands, other rules,’ m’lord. At least, in our land, the Church allows wine at Mass. I’ve heard of some Christians who won’t even go that far.”
“Strange, most truly strange,” Foidin murmured. “Are many of your folk warlocks, like yourself?”
Careful, boy. “Not too many. It requires the Gift, the talent, and a great deal of study and training.”
“Ah.” The Duke nodded. “Even as it doth here. I’ truth, there be not four warlocks of any power in this land—and one of them’s a vile recreant, who seeks to steal the person of the King, and usurp my regency!”
“No!” Now was the time to keep him talking—but Foidin wasn’t the type to give any information away. What was he trying to pull?
Elidor nerved himself up. “Nay, Uncle! Lord Kern…”
“Hush; b
e still, Majesty.” Foidin patted Elidor’s hand with a paternal touch and gave him a steely glance. “Thou’st had time a-plenty to speak with these good folk; do now allow your old Uncle a modicum of conversation.”
Elidor met that steely gaze, and subsided.
“Well, I can’t say I’m terribly surprised.” Rod turned back to his food. “Wherever there’s wizardry, there’ll always be warlocks who misuse their power.”
“Aye, and so he doth!” Foidin fairly jumped on it. “Indeed, his villainy surpasseth all imagining; he would seek to lay the whole of the land under the rule of magic!”
The table was noticeably silent. Elidor was reddening like a volcano, about to erupt.
Gwen caught his eyes and moved her hand, just a little, in a calming gesture. He stared at her, surprised; then he glanced up at his uncle, and back to his food.
“Indeed,” Gwen cooed, “Tir Chlis is fortunate to have so goodly a man as thyself, to defend it from such a knave.”
Nice try, Rod thought, but he was sure the Duke knew about flattery.
He did; he battened on it. He fairly expanded. “Why, gently said, sweet lady—and true, quite true! Aye, the greater part of this land now dwells in peace and prosperity, under in… His Majesty’s beneficent rule.”
“Mmf!” A courtier across the table suddenly pressed a napkin to his mouth; bit his tongue, probably.
The Duke noticed, and frowned.
“Then thou must presently free the unhappy remainder,” Gwen said quickly.
“Ah, but ‘tis not easily done, fair lady.” The Duke waved a forefinger sadly. “Knowest thou that vasty range of mountains, in the northeast?”
“Nay; we came by magic.” Gwen smiled sweetly. “We know only the meadow where thou didst find us, and the stretch of riverbank that curls on northward to the spot where we appeared.”
Northward? Rod could’ve sworn they’d hiked northward—which meant their entry-point lay southward!
“So newly-come as that!” The Duke was too surprised. Who was pumping whom, here? “Yet let me assure thee, the mountains lie there, in the northeast, blocking off a poor eighth-part of this land; and ‘tis there Lord Kern hath fled, to try to build a robber-force to steal the King away. I cannot go against him through those mountains, for he’s blocked the only pass that’s large enough for armies, with foul sorcery.”
“Yet he is thereby blocked himself!” Gwen crowed, delighted.
The Duke looked surprised, but he hid it quickly. “Ye-e-e-s, there is that, sweet lady—for if he lifts his sorcery, my armies would be upon him in a moment!”
The courtier across the table was having trouble swallowing again.
“Yet there is coastline near him,” the Duke went on, “and he hath attempted to land a force within our safe domain.”
“Thou hast repulsed him, then?”
“I have.” The Duke preened a little. “My ships are of the best, most especially when I command ‘em.”
The courtier grabbed for his wine-cup.
“Thus have matters stood for three long years.” The Duke spread his hands. “He cannot come out, nor can I go in, to free those miserable wretches who live beneath his yoke. Yet time will ripen my good designs, and rot his fell ones; my armies daily increase, as do my ships; and, when the time hath come, I’ll strike at him by sea and grind him to the dust! Then will this land be whole again, to deliver up to Elidor when he doth come of age.”
The boy-King looked frightened at that last remark. Gwen caught his eyes briefly, then looked back at the Duke. “Simply planned, but nobly, Milord. And thou art wise to bide thy time; disaster visits he who strikes before the iron’s hot!”
“Well said, well said.” The Duke sat back, nodding, pleased. “Thou art most rare of ladies. I am not accustomed to such intelligence in one so beautiful.”
Rod felt his hackles rising; but Gwen’s foot touched his under the table, and he forced a smile. “And we are fortunate to have so wise and prudent a host—and one who sets so goodly a table, as well!”
The Duke waved carelessly. “My table’s yours, whenever thou dost wish it. Yet dost thou wish to dine at my most noble banquet?”
Rod stared, caught short.
“Come, sir.” Gwen smiled roguishly. “Wouldst thou have us think thou hast not laid forth thy finest for the rescuers of thy King?”
“Assuredly, I have,” the Duke said heartily. “Yet I spoke not of game and pasties, but of battle.”
“Oh.” Rod nodded slowly. “You speak of this gallant expedition to free the northeast corner of Tir Chlis.”
“Aye, indeed.” The Duke’s eyelids drooped, and tension seemed to emanate from him, as from a lion who sees the antelope step near. “As I have told thee, in that broil I’ll face magics as well as spears. ‘Twould soothe me, then, to have stout warlocks by my side. How say you, Lord Gallowglass? Wilt thou dine at my table, and aid King Elidor?”
“That’s… a most attractive offer.” Rod found Gwen’s eyes. “To tell you the truth, nothing of the sort had occurred to me. We had been planning to get back home as fast as we could.”
“ ‘Tis a long and weary journey, I doubt not,” Gwen pointed out. “And, to tell the truth, we know not even where our homeland lies, nor how far it is.”
“We could use a rest,” Rod agreed, “and some time to find out where we are.” He glanced back at the Duke, and saw Elidor staring at him, suddenly tense.
But Magnus was sitting next to Rod, looking absolutely chirpy. Elidor noticed him, and relaxed a little.
“It is a very attractive offer,” Rod said to the Duke. “But you’ll understand, Milord, that w… I must consider it fully. I’ll give you my answer over breakfast.”
“I shall await it eagerly,” the Duke said, smiling. “Yet we have lingered long at table, and the hour doth grow late. No doubt thou’rt wearied.”
“Kind of,” Rod admitted. “A soft bed would feel good.”
“Then let us have no more of talk.” The Duke clapped his hands, and a functionary in a glittering tunic stepped forward. “Show these good people to their chambers!” The Duke stood. “Myself am minded also of my rest; the day has been demanding. Elidor—Majesty! Wilt thou come with me?”
Elidor rose slowly, still wary—and almost, Rod would have said, hopefully.
His uncle seized his shoulder; Elidor winced, and bit back a cry. “To bed, to bed!” the Duke sang jovially. “Good night to all!”
CHAPTER TEN
Amphibians?” Father Al stared at the screen of the electron-telescope, unbelieving.
“I’ve noticed a couple of true lizards, but they’re small.” Brother Chard shook his head. “I’m sorry, Father. We’ve been around this planet four times in four separate orbits, and that’s the highest form of life on any of the continents.”
“So there’s only that one large island with humans; the rest of the planet is carboniferous.” Father Al shook his head. “Well, if we needed anything to assure us that we’re dealing with a colony instead of native sentients, we’ve found it. Could you call up the recordings of that island, Brother Chard?”
The monk pushed buttons, and a large island appeared in the main viewscreen, a huge, uncut emerald floating in a blue sea. “Close in on that one large town, if you please,” Father Al murmured. A tiny hole in the greenery, a little north and west of the center of the island, began to grow; the shorelines disappeared beyond the edges of the screen. The dot swelled into an irregular, circular clearing, and other dots began to appear around it.
“Really the only settlement large enough to be called a town,” Father Al mused.
The roofs filled the screen now, with the spire of a church and the turrets of a castle reaching up toward them, from the crest of a hill off to the eastern edge of the town.
“It’s medieval architecture, Father—early Tudor, I’d guess.”
“Yes, but the castle’s got to be Thirteenth Century; I’d swear it was almost a reproduction of Château Gaillard. And
the church is late Gothic; Fourteenth Century at the earliest.”
“Church! It’s a cathedral! Why does it look so familiar?”
“Possibly because you’ve seen pictures of the cathedral of Chartes. The original colonists don’t seem to have been terribly original; do they?”
Brother Chard frowned. “But if they were going to copy famous buildings from Terra, why didn’t they make them all from the same period?”
Father Al shrugged. “Why should they? Each century had its own beauties. No doubt some liked the Fifteenth Century, some the Fourteenth, some the Thirteenth… If we kept looking, Brother, I’m sure we’d find something Romanesque.”
Brother Chard peered at the screen as the camera zoomed in to fill it with an overhead view of a single street. “Apparently they applied the same principle to their clothing; there’s a bell-sleeved tunic next to a doublet!”
“And there’s a doublet with bell-sleeves.” Father Al shook his head. “I can almost hear their ancestors saying, ‘It’s my world, and I’ll do what I want with it!’ ”
Brother Chard turned to him with a sympathetic smile. “You’re going to have a bit of a problem with transportation, aren’t you?”
“I never did learn to ride a horse.” Father Al felt his stomach sink. “Appalling great brutes, aren’t they?”
Brother Chard turned back to the viewscreen. “Are you searching for just one man down there, Father? Or a community? ”
“One lone individual,” Father Al said grimly. “I can’t just punch up a directory and scan for his name, can I?” He thought of Yorick and had to fight down a slow swell of anger; the grinning jester could’ve prepared him for this!
“Under the circumstances,” Brother Chard said slowly, “I don’t really suppose there’s much point in following the usual protocol about landing.”
“Better try it, anyway, Brother,” Father Al sighed. “You wouldn’t want to be imprisoned on a technicality, now would you?”
“Especially not by all the King’s horses and all the King’s men.” Brother Chard shrugged. “Well, it can’t do any harm. Who could hear our transmission down there, anyway?” He set the communicator to “broadband” and keyed the microphone. “This is Spacecraft H394P02173 Beta Cass 19, the Diocese of Beta Casseiopeia’s St. lago, calling Gramarye Control. Come in, Gramarye Control.”
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