by E. C. Tubb
Cyber Broge, his face like a skull, bone which smiled.
"There's no escape, Dumarest. We are too powerful. You can never hope to elude us for long. We shall find you and, when we do, you will pay." The even tones echoed as if rolling down a corridor. "Pay… pay… pay…"
His arm lifted and Dumarest sprang to one side, hand dropping to his boot, the hilt of the knife carried there, rising with it gleaming naked in his hand, lunging forward to send the steel whining through the air in a vicious cut which drew sparks from stone, ripped at fabric-and sent Roland Acrae falling back with a rip on the sleeve of his blouse.
"Earl! No!" Lavinia came running towards him as again the blade rose. It halted in its driving lunge to fall inches from the ruined blouse, light turning the steel into a purple shimmer, luminescent blurs riding the honed edge and point.
"A mistake." Dumarest lowered the knife. "I thought-it was a mistake. I apologize, my lord."
"So fast." Roland lifted fingers to the ripped sleeve. "You moved like the wind."
"A mistake."
"The mistake was mine." Incredibly he was calm. "I should have known, have warned you, at least. Look at the suns."
They were very close, edges almost touching, flares of magenta and violet filling the air with a purple haze.
"I could have killed you," said Dumarest. And would have done if something, instinct perhaps, had not stayed his hand. Lavinia added to the strangeness of the moment with her smile.
"You could have done, I suppose, and if you had I would have regretted it. But it would not have been the tragedy you seem to think."
"My lady?"
"He would have moved on but he wouldn't have wholly gone. At times of delusia he would have returned. We could have spoken to him and he to us."
"Delusia?" Dumarest looked again at the suns beginning to understand. "Is that when the dead come back to life?"
"We can see them and talk to them and they to us. Is that what disturbed you? The presence of an old enemy who threatened you? One who wanted to hurt?"
"One who wanted to kill."
"And so you tried to kill him." Slowly she nodded, her eyes wide, the lift of her breasts prominent beneath her gown as she drew in her breath. "Do you find it easy to kill, Earl?"
He thought of Chagney. "No."
"But, if you are threatened, you will?"
"It is the way of life." Dumarest looked at the knife and thrust it back into his boot. "You breed animals and must know that. The strongest are those who perpetuate their line. To do that they will fight and win. They have to win."
"Animals are not men."
"Perhaps not, my lady, but the same rule applies. A man is nothing if he is not alive-dead he can only feed the ground."
"On Zakym men do not truly die," said Lavinia swiftly. "No human dies. They are changed. Delusia is proof of that."
"Proof?"
"You have seen it, Earl. You know."
He said, dryly, "You believe the dead return to confer with you. That, at certain times, you break some barrier or that some barrier is broken. But always those you see are those you remember. Always, am I right?"
"Yes, but-what has that to do with it? They are real. They talk and smile and listen. You have seen them for yourself. That man you tried to kill-proof, Earl! Proof!"
He heard the conviction in her voice, saw it in her eyes, the stance of her body. To argue against faith was to try and blow out a sun. The evidence was there, to her beyond question, a comfort she could not reject.
"Earl?"
"My lady, I am a stranger to this world, alive only because of your hospitality. Who am I to question your ways?"
"But-"
"Lavinia!" Roland rested his hand on her arm. "You upset yourself without cause. Not all worlds know what we know. Delusia is unique to Zakym. It takes time to understand."
The man had traveled and would know more than he said. Dumarest glanced at the sky, at the twin suns with their tremendous energy-potential, solar furnaces blasting radiation into space. A flood which was subtly altered when the suns merged to become a pattern of forces which distorted the micro-currents of the brain and so create hallucinations. Fragments of memory, revived, projected, given attributes which existed only in the minds of the beholder.
Delusions which would form the basis of a religion, a faith, a way of life.
"Earl?" Lavinia took a step towards him, her eyes searching his face. "You understand?"
A person who communed with the dead. A tall and lovely woman whose hair glowed with the lambent sheen of purple light from the setting suns. One who flushed a little as she felt her body respond to his masculinity.
Roland, watching, said abruptly, "It's getting late. We had best go below."
Chapter Twelve
The room was similar to others he had known; the walls of stone softened with hanging fabrics, the floor of polished wood, the bed soft and the covers delicately embroidered with a variety of hues and patterns. Dumarest lifted one and let it run through his fingers. It held an engaging primitiveness and, on more sophisticated worlds, would have commanded a high price.
Letting it fall Dumarest crossed to the window. It was small, fitted with hexagonal panes, looking on to a shaft faced with white stone. Reflected light from one side and above revealed another chamber, more lay to the sides and lower down. No window faced another. The panes, locked in their frame, were impossible to open.
A knock, and a servant entered bearing a lighted lamp. Setting it on a small table the girl curtsied.
"My lord, your bath is ready and soon it will be curfew."
"Thank you." Dumarest had heard the throb of the gong before. "Does it always sound at night?"
"At dark, yes, my lord. The castle is sealed then."
"Totally?" He smiled at her blank expression. "If I wanted to go out could I?"
"Out, my lord?" the concept was beyond her comprehension. "Go out? But why?"
"To take a walk, maybe. Could I? Is there a gate?"
"No." She shuddered a little. "Not open, my lord. But it would be madness to go out after dark. Madness!"
"Why?"
"The-my lord, you must excuse me. I have duties to attend to. Things to be done before curfew."
He gestured dismissal and returned to the window. Leaning against the panes he stared up at the sky. Only a little was visible, a deep indigo in which shone fitful gleams, the patch edged with a rim of stone. As he watched shapes appeared; men who lifted something to let it fall and block the opening. A seal of some kind which shut out the world beyond.
The throb of the gong came as he entered the bath. It thrummed through the building, creating tintinnabulations on all sides so that the very air quivered to the solemn beat.
Dumarest ducked his head, felt the vibration through the water and rose to see Roland standing beside the tub. He handed Dumarest a towel, watched with envious eyes as he dried himself, the fabric rasping over the firm muscles of shoulders and back, the lean lines of hips and waist.
Without preamble he said, "On the promenade, when you tried to kill me, what did you see?"
"An enemy."
"And you struck out like that? Without thought or hesitation?"
"Should I have waited for him to kill me first?"
"Perhaps not." Roland found a chair and sat, thoughtful. "As you may have noticed, Earl, we are a peaceful race. The thought of violence is strange to us. We live now as we have lived for centuries-in common harmony. There are minor frictions, of course, we are individuals and that is inevitable, but the turning to violence which is so common on other worlds is not in our nature. You-" He broke off, looking at his hands. "You are a stranger among us-do you understand what I am trying to say?"
"Tell me."
"Lavinia is a very beautiful woman as you must have noticed. She is, however, on the edge of marrying one of our number."
"You?"
"The Lord Gydapen Prabang. He has a great influence and the marriage must take pl
ace if certain unpleasant effects are to be avoided. You are an intelligent man, Earl. You must have noticed how attracted Lavinia is to you. I can understand that. Against the rest of us you are-unusual. But you have no roots here, no responsibilities. Perhaps you consider you are in debt towards us?"
Dumarest nodded, saying nothing.
"It is something I regret having to mention but I am left with little choice. You could, if you wished, cause great damage. Lavinia-"
"Is a woman old enough to make up her own mind."
"True, but, against your experience, she is little more than a child. I saw your expression when on the promenade. You said nothing but I knew what you were thinking. Lavinia believes in delusia, you do not. Think of the gap which that alone forms between you. And there are others."
As he paused Dumarest said, knowing the answer, "What do you want me to do?"
"Be cold. Turn her away from you. Save her marriage and, at the same time, save this world."
"Is the marriage as important as that?"
"Yes." Roland shook his head as he saw Dumarest's incredulity. "You cannot understand, but take my word for it, please. If you accept that you are in debt then settle it this way. Do as I ask."
And if he refused? On other worlds the answer would have been direct; a stab in the back, an assassin hired, poison slipped into food or wine. Death or maiming delivered with merciless precision. Great Families knew how to take care of their own.
But here?
The fact that Roland was pleading was answer enough. Proof of his fear and proof of more than he realized.
Dumarest said, evenly, "I am a traveler. If I had money enough I would take passage on the first ship to leave."
"That can be arranged!" The man's relief was obvious. "Money can be found!"
"Then we are agreed?"
"Yes, Earl, we are agreed." Roland stepped towards the door. "Dinner will be in thirty minutes. A servant will guide you when you are ready."
It was a long and leisurely affair; dishes rich in protein served in a variety of ways; little morsels of meat wrapped in leaves, fruits, dusted with crushed nuts, dipped in astringent sauces, charred in flame, steeped in compotes of a dozen kinds. Salvers held items of pastry, blends of creams and pastes, miniature figures of succulent crispness, oozing semi-liquid delights. There were wines; some tart and refreshing which cleansed the palate, others warm and tantalizing, chilled and spiced, tasting of fruit and bitter roots. One holding within its purple depths the taste of effulgent bubbles.
"We make it only once each year," Lavinia explained. "From pods delivered to us in exchange for various other items. It is brewed in ancient caskets to an old recipe and sealed in bottles of black glass. A little lifts the spirit but more will open doors and give you glimpses of the unknown which you may regret. It is wise to be moderate."
"In all things." Dumarest had barely touched the variety of dishes, eating only from those selected by Roland. The man could be genuine-but to take precautions would do no harm.
"Yes, Earl, in all things." Lavinia clapped her hands. "In love, in life and in entertainment."
Music rose from a shadowed alcove where a small group sat with their instruments. The throb of drums merged with the thin, high wailing of pipes, the steady thrumming of plucked strings. It softened into a steady beat as an old man stepped forward to chant an involved saga dealing with an incredible journey through tremendous perils with final success. He bowed as coins showered at his feet to be followed by a troupe of young girls who danced with agile abandon.
Lavinia watched them, glancing at Dumarest, noting his attention. Beneath her fingers a morsel of bread crumbled to an untidy litter of crumbs.
"You like them, Earl?"
"They seem accomplished."
"You would like one? The one with the big mouth, for example? Or the one with the blonde hair?"
"Are they yours to give, my lady?"
"I-"
"Are they slaves?"
"There are no slaves on Zakym." Roland leaned forward, quick to soothe, aware of tension. "Lavinia was joking, Earl. She is a little jealous, I think."
"Of the dancers?" Dumarest was deliberately obtuse. "They are very skilled and it no doubt takes years of training to achieve such perfection, but, even so, I think you could hold your own with them, my lady."
"It is gracious of you to say so." Her tone was chill. "I, the Mistress of the Family, a common dancer. Well, I suppose there are worse fates. But assuming they were slaves and you desired one and I gave her to you, what then?"
"I would set her free."
"As a reward for pleasing you?"
Dumarest said, flatly, "Have you ever been a slave, my lady? Have you ever felt the weight of the collar of servitude? To know that disobedience means torment and could mean your life? No. Of course you haven't. If you had you would never talk so lightly of slaves. They are people, not things. Men and women with feelings, not items to be bought and used and sold."
"Earl. Lavinia was joking."
Dumarest looked at the hand Roland had rested on his arm. A small hand, the fingers thin, delicate, like the limbs of a spider-no, like the helpless appendages of a child. But a gesture from them could rob him of freedom. He was alone in a sealed castle, one against the servants and retainers, trapped in a place from which there could be no escape.
It was a time to be cautious.
"You spoke with feeling, Earl." Lavinia lifted a hand to the column of her throat as if feeling for the metal caress of a collar. "You have a hatred of those who would make slaves of others."
"Yes, my lady."
"Because you have worn the collar yourself, perhaps?" She gave him no time to answer. "No matter. If you have it is no doubt an experience you never wish to repeat. So many experiences, Earl. You must tell me more about them later."
"As you wish, my lady." Dumarest felt the impact of Roland's eyes. "But would it be wise?"
"What do you mean?"
"I understood that you were betrothed. Wouldn't your future husband object?"
"Gydapen? The Lord of Prabang?" Her laugh was brittle. "Who cares about him?"
"I do, my lady. He could be jealous and none could blame him for that. He has influence on this world and I have none. It would be best for me to take a room in a hotel in town. Then when a ship arrives, I can arrange passage."
"No!" Her rejection was too sharp and she realized it, making an effort to control her tone before she spoke again. "That is unnecessary, Earl. You are a welcome guest. Tell him so, Roland. Tell him he is welcome. What must I do in order to persuade him to stay?"
"Lavinia, Earl is being wise."
"No!"
"It is best that he should go. Here there could be danger and we must not expose him to unnecessary risks. He-"
"Roland, you talk like a fool!" She was impatient, taking his words at their face value, not realizing their true intent. Gentle at heart she would never force another to remain at risk. "What danger could threaten Earl? Who would dare to challenge him? He is no stranger to violence but here we are a peaceful people. We-"
"Peaceful?" Dumarest was curt in his interruption. The thing had been decided-it was time to end the useless argument. "I think you are mistaken, my lady. If they are so peaceful then why are they importing guns?"
"Guns?" Roland was incredulous. "Earl, are you sure?"
"How can he be sure?" Lavinia was equally as disbelieving. "How?"
"I've seen them." Dumarest looked from one to the other, remembering the story he had told to account for his being in the crate. "I was stranded on Harald as I've told you. I broke into a warehouse intending to hide in some cargo and so gain passage to another world. To become a stowaway. I had to be careful, the penalty if discovered is eviction."
"And?"
"I checked the crates. One of them was filled with guns. I resealed the crate and opened another-and the rest you know."
"Were the crates bound for Zakym?" Roland pressed the point. "Were the
y?"
"Yes."
"Was it marked in any way? The crate holding the guns, I mean?"
"A symbol," said Dumarest, slowly. "The sign of an axe crossed with a scythe."
"The whole enclosed in a circle?" Roland glanced at the woman as Dumarest nodded. "Gydapen's mark."
"Gydapen." Her finger traced a random pattern in the litter of crumbs. "But what use would he have for guns? Mining machinery, yes, that would be expected, but guns? Why guns?"
"They are usually needed in order to fight a war," said Dumarest, dryly. "But wouldn't you know about his intentions? As his proposed wife wouldn't he have confided in you?"
"They all ask that," she snapped. "The answer is no. The marriage, if ever it takes place, will be a political one. I know nothing about his guns, his sheds, his men out marching. Nothing about his ambitions. Only his threats."
"Sheds?" Dumarest glanced at Roland, listened as he explained. The journey over the wastelands, what had been spotted from the raft. "Long sheds like extended huts?"
"Yes."
"And were the men marching in line or column? Did they act oddly at times-all moving in unison for example? Were others standing to one side?"
Roland nodded and said, "You suspect something, Earl. What?"
"In my experience guns and sheds and marching men usually add up to one thing. Someone is training a group of men to follow orders. The sheds are to house them and the guns are to arm them when they are ready to fight."
"To fight?" Lavinia looked from one to the other. "To kill, you mean? No! It's unthinkable. You must have made a mistake. Not even Gydapen could get his men to kill others."
"You would be surprised at what men can be persuaded to do," said Dumarest, dryly. "And it takes little to point a weapon and pull the trigger. To many it isn't killing at all. It is just a sport and their victims moving targets. After the first time it comes easy. The more so if a bonus is paid to every good shot."
"It's disgusting!"
"Yes, but it happens."
Roland said, "I was talking to the agent. Gydapen had a score of crates delivered. If they all contained guns he would have enough to arm every man on his estates. But why?" He found an answer as he voiced the question. "To stop us preventing his mining operation. He's determined to break the Pact no matter what the Council may decide. The others must be warned-but how to stop him? What to do?"
