Deathworld Vol2 Part 10

"Freedom for me, a position as your personal adviser, slaves, jewels, girls, good food-all the usual things that go with the job. In return I will build for you all of the devices I have mentioned, and a good many more. There is nothing I cannot do! And all of this will be yours. . ."

"I will destroy them all-I will rule Appsala!"

"That's sort of what I had in mind. And the better things are for you, the better they will be for me. I ask no more than a comfortable life and the chance to work on my inventions, being a man of small ambition. I'll be happy puttering about in the lab-while you will rule the world."

"You ask much. . ."

"I'll supply much. I'll tell you what-take a day or two to make up your mind, while I produce one more invention for your instruction and edification."

Jason remembered the spark that had struck down the old man, and it gave him fresh hope. It might be the way off this planet.

12.

"When will this be completed?" the Hertug asked, poking at the parts spread over Jason's workbench.

"Tomorrow morning, though I work all night, oh Hertug. But even before it is finished I have another gift for you, a way to improve your telegraph system."

"It needs no improvement! It is as it was in our forefathers' days, and-"

"I'm not going to change anything; forefathers always know best, I agree.

I'll just give you a new operating technique. Look at this-" and he held out one of the metal strips with the scribed wax coating. "Can you read the message?"

"Of course, but it takes great powers of concentration, for it is a deep mystery."

"Not that deep; in one look I divined all its horrible simplicity."

"You blaspheme!"

"Not really. Look here: that's a B, isn't it-two jiggles from the magic pendulum?"

The Hertug counted on his fingers. "It is a B, you are correct. But how can you tell?"

Jason concealed his scorn. "It was hard to figure out, but all things are as an open book to me. B is the second letter in the alphabet, so it is coded by two strokes. C is three-still easy; but you end up with Z, needing twenty-six bashes at the sending key, which is just a nonsensical waste of time. When all you have to do is modify your equipment slightly in order to send two different signals-let's be original and call one a 'dot' and the other a 'dash.' Now, using these two signals, a short and a long impulse, we can transcribe every letter of the alphabet in a maximum of four increments. Understand?"

"There is a buzzing in my head, and it is difficult to follow. . ."

"Sleep on it. In the morning my invention will be finished, and at that time I will demonstrate my code."

The Hertug left, muttering to himself, and Jason finished the last windings on the armature for his new generator.

"What do you call it?" the Hertug asked, walking around the tall, ornate wooden box.

"This is an All Hail the Hertug Maker, a new source of worship, respect, and finance for Your Excellency. It is to be placed in the temple, or your local equivalent, where the public will pay for the privilege of doing you homage.

Observe: I am a loyal subject who enters the temple. I give a donation to the priest and grasp this handle that projects from the side, and turn." He began cranking l.u.s.tily and the sound of turning gears and a growing whine came from the cabinet. "Now watch the top."

Projecting from the upper surface of the cabinet were two curved metal arms that ended in copper spheres separated by an air s.p.a.ce. The Hertug gasped and recoiled as a blue spark snapped across the gap.

"That will impress the peasants, won't it?" Jason said. "Now-observe the sparks and notice their sequence. First three short sparks, then three long ones, then three short ones again."

He stopped cranking and handed the Hertug a clearly inscribed sheet of vellum, a doctored version of the standard interstellar code. "Notice. Three dots stand for H and three dashes signify A. Therefore as long as this handle is turned the machine sends out H.A.H. in code, signifying Huraoj al Heriug, All hail the Hertug! An impressive device that will keep the priests busy and out of mischief and your loyal followers entertained. While at the same time it will cry your praises with the voice of electricity, over and over, night and day."

The Hertug turned the handle and watched the sparks with glowing eyes.

"It shall be unveiled in the temple tomorrow. But there are sacred designs that must be inscribed on it first. Perhaps some gold. .

"Jewels too, the richer-looking the better. People aren't going to pay to work a holy hand-organ unless it looks impressive."

Jason listened happily as the sparks crackled out. They might be saying H.A.H. in the local code, but it would be S.O.S. to an offworlder. And any s.p.a.ceship with a decent receiver that entered the atmosphere of this planet should pick up the broad-spectrum radio waves from the spark gap. There might even be one hearing the message now, turning the loop of the direction finder, zeroing in on the signal. If he only had a receiver he could hear their answering message, but it didn't matter, for shortly he would hear the roar of their rockets as they dropped on Appsala. .

Nothing happened. Jason had sent out the first S.O.S. over twelve hours earlier, but now he reluctantly abandoned any hope of immediate rescue. The best thing to do now was to get established soundly and comfortably while he waited for a ship to arrive. He did not let himself dwell on the possibility that a s.p.a.cer might not approach this backwater planet during his lifetime.

"I have been considering your requests," the Hertug said, turning away from the spark-gap transmitter. "You might have a small apartment of your own, perhaps a slave or two, enough food to satisfy, and on holy days wine and beer. . .

"Nothing stronger?"

"You cannot obtain anything stronger; the Perssonoj wines from our fields on the slopes of Mount Malvigla are well known for their potency."

"They'll be even better known once I run them through a still. I can see a number of small improvements that will have to be made if I am to stay around here for any length of time. I may even have to invent the water closet before I get rheumatism from the drafts in your primitive jakes. There is a lot to be done.

What we will have to do first is draw up a list of priorities, at the top of which will be money. Some of the things I plan to build for your greater glory will be a little expensive, so it would be best if we allowed for that by filling the treasury beforehand. I suppose you have no religious principles that forbid your getting richer?"

"None," the Hertug answered, very positively.

"Then we can let it rest there for now. With Your Excellency's permission, I shall repair to my new quarters and get some sleep, after which I shall prepare a list of projects for your edification and selection."

"That is satisfactory to me. And do not forget the things to make money."

"Top of the list."

Though Jason had the liberty of the sealed and holy workrooms, he had four bodyguard jailers who stayed very close to him the rest of the time, treading on his heels and breathing kreno fumes down the back of his neck.

"Do you know where my new quarters are?" Jason asked the captain of this guard, a surly brute named Benn't.

"Unnh," Benn't answered, and led the way into the drafty Perssonoj keep.

They went up a tortuous stone staircase that led to the higher floors, then down a dark hail to a solid door where another guard was stationed. Benn't opened it with a heavy key that hung from his belt.

"This yours," he spat, with a jerk of his black-nailed thumb. "Complete with slaves," Jason said, looking in and seeing Mikah and Ijale chained to the wall. "I'm not going to get much work out of those two if they are just being used as decorations. Do you have the key?"

With even less grace, Benn't dug a smaller key from his wallet and pa.s.sed it to Jason; then he went out and locked the door behind him.

"I knew you would do something so they would not hurt you," Ijale said as Jason unlocked her iron collar. "I only feared a little bit."

Mikah maintained a stony silence until Jason began an inspection round of the rooms with Ijale, then he said coldly, "You have neglected to free me from these chains."

"I'm glad you noticed that," Jason said. "It saves my bringing it to your attention. Can you think of a better way to keep you Out of trouble?"

"You are insulting!"

"I'm truthful. You lost me my steady job with the d'zertanoj and had me locked up as a slave. When I escaped I took you with me, and you repaid my generosity by allowing Snarbi to betray us to my present employer-and this position I obtained with no thanks to you."

"I did only what I thought was best."

"You thought wrong."

"You are a vindictive and petty man, Jason dinAlt!"

"You're d.a.m.ned right. You stay chained to that wall."

Jason put his arm through Ijale's and took her on a guided tour of the apartment. "In the most modern fashion the entrance opens directly into the main chamber, furnished with rustic split-log furniture and walls decorated with a fine variety of molds. A great place to make cheese, but unfit for human habitation. We'll let Mikah have it." He opened a connecting door. "This is more like it, a southern exposure, a view of the grand ca.n.a.l, and a bit of light. Windows of the best cracked horn, admitting both sunshine and fresh air. I'll have to put some gla.s.s in here. But right now a fire in that ox-roasting fireplace will have to do."

"Krenoj!" Ijale squealed, and ran to a basket set in an alcove. Jason shuddered. She smelled a few, pinching them between her fingers. "Not too old, ten days, maybe fifteen. Good for soup."

"Just what the old stomach yearns for," Jason said unenthusiastically.

Mikah bellowed from the other room. Jason started the fire before he went to see what he wanted.

"This is criminal!" Mikah said, rattling his chains.

"I'm a criminal." Jason turned to leave.

'Wait! You cannot leave me like this. We are civilized men. Release me and I will give you my word that I bear you no ill will."

"That's very nice of you, Mikah old son, but all the trust is gone from my previously trusting soul. I am a convert to the native ethos, and I now trust you just as far as I can see you. I'll give you that much. You can have the run of the place just to stop your bellowing."

Jason unlocked the chain that secured Mikali's iron collar to the wall, then turned away.

"You have forgotten the collar," Mikah said.

"Have I?" Jason answered, and his grin was more predatory than humorous. "I haven't forgotten how you betrayed me to Edipon, nor have I forgotten the collar. As long as you are a slave you cannot betray me again-so a slave you stay."

"I should have expected this of you." There was cold fury in Mikah's voice.

"You are a dog, not a civilized man. I will not give you my word to a.s.sist you in any way; I am ashamed of myself for my weakness in even considering such a course. You are evil, and my life is dedicated to fighting evil-therefore I fight you."

Jason had his arm half-raised to strike, but instead he burst out laughing.

"You never cease to amaze me, Mikah. It seems impossible that one man could be so insensitive to facts, logic, reality, or what used to be called plain common sense. I'm glad you admitted that you are fighting me-it will make it easier to guard my back. And just so you won't forget and start acting chummy again, I'm keeping you a slave and treating you like a slave. So grab that stoneware crock over there and hammer for the guard and go fill it with water wherever slaves like you go to fetch water."

He turned on his heel and left the room, still seething with anger, but he tried to work up some enthusiasm for the meal Ijale had so carefully prepared.

With a full stomach and his feet toasting by the fire, Jason was almost comfortable. Ijale was crouched by the hearth doing a slow and clumsy job of repairing some skins with a large iron needle, while from the other room came the angry rattle of Mikah's chains. It was late and Jason was tired, but he had promised the Hertug a list of possible wonders and he wanted to finish it before he went to sleep. He looked up as the locks on the front entrance rattled open and the guard officer Benn't stamped in, followed by one of his soldiers, who carried a spluttering torch.

"Come," Benn't said, and pointed to the door.

"Where and why?" Jason asked, reluctant to face the damp discomfort of the keep.

"Come," Benn't repeated in the same unpleasant tone, and pulled his short stabbing sword from his belt.

"I'm learning to loathe you," Jason said, dragging himself reluctantly to his feet. He slipped his fur vest back on and went out past Mikah's brooding form.

The guard at the door was gone and there was a dark shape on the floor just visible in the torchlight. Was it the guard? Jason started to turn when the door slammed behind them and the point of Benn't's sword jammed through his leather clothes and pinked the skin over his kidneys.

"Talk or move, you die," the soldier's voice grated in his ear.

Jason thought about it and decided not to move. Not that the threat disturbed him, for he was sure he could disarm Benn't and reach the other soldier before he could draw his sword, but he was interested in this new development.

He had more than a strong suspicion that what was happening was unknown to the Hertug, and he wondered just where it would lead.

He regretted his decision instantly. A foul-tasting rag was stuffed into his mouth and tied in place with straps that cut into his neck and jaws. His arms were tied at the same moment and a second sword was pressed into his side.

Resistance was impossible now, without serious risk, so he marched humbly up the stairs when prodded, and out onto the flat roof of the building.

The soldier put out his torch and they were in the black night, cold sleet blowing about them. They stumbled across the slippery tiles. The parapet was invisible in the darkness and when it hit Jason's legs just below the knees he tottered and would have gone over if the soldiers hadn't dragged him back.

Working silently and swiftly, they knotted a rope under his arms and lowered him over the edge. Jason cursed inside the gag as he b.u.mped painfully down the rough outer facing of the building, then recoiled as he went up to his knees in icy water. This side of the Perssonoj keep dropped sheer to the ca.n.a.l and Jason hung there, immersed to his waist, as the barely visible shape of a boat loomed out of the sleet-filled darkness. Rough hands pulled him in and dumped him down, and a few moments later the boat rocked as his kidnapers descended the rope and dropped in beside him. Oars squeaked and they moved off. No alarm had been raised.

The men in the boat ignored him; in fact, they used him for a footrest until he squirmed away. There was little enough to see, lying flat as he was, until more flares appeared and he saw that they were rowing through a large sea gate, much like the one at the entrance to the Perssonoj keep. It did not take much deliberation to realize that he had been picked up by one of the competing organizations. When the boat stopped he was thrown onto the dock, then hauled through damp stone halls to face a high, rusty iron portal. Benn't had vanished- probably after receiving his thirty pieces of silver-and the new guards were silent.

They untied him, pulled the gag from his mouth, pushed him through the iron door, and slammed it shut behind him. He was left alone to face the spine- chilling terrors of the chamber.

There were seven figures seated on a high dais, robed, armored, and fearfully masked. Each leaned on a meter-long broadsword. Oddly shaped lamps burned and smoked about them and the air was thick with the reek of hydrogen sulphide.

Jason laughed coldly and looked around for a chair. None was visible, so he took a sputtering lamp, shaped like a snake with a flame in its mouth, from a nearby table and put it on the floor, and then sat on the table. He turned a contemptuous eye on the horrors before him.

"Stand, mortal!" the central figure said. "To sit before the Mastreguloj is death!"

"I Sit," Jason said, making himself comfortable. "You didn't kidnap me just to kill me, and the sooner you realize that horror-comic outfits don't bother me, the quicker we will be able to get down to business."

"Silence! Death is at hand!"

"Ekskrementol" Jason sneered. "Your masks and threats are of about the same quality as those of the desert slavers. Let's get down to facts. You have been collecting rumors about me and they have got you interested. You have heard about the supercharged caro, and spies have told you about the electronic prayer wheel in the temple-maybe more.

It all sounded so good that you wanted me for yourselves, and you tried the foolproof Appsalan dodge of a little money in the right places. And here I am."

"Do you know to whom you talk?" the masked figure on the far right asked in a high-pitched, shaking voice. Jason examined the speaker carefully.

"The Mastreguloj? I've heard about you. You are supposed to be the witches and warlocks of this town, with fire that burns in water, smoke that will burn the lungs, water that will burn the flesh, and so forth. My guess is that you are the local equivalents of chemists; and though there aren't supposed to be very many of you, you are nasty enough to keep the other tribes frightened."

"Do you know what this contains?" the man asked, holding up a gla.s.s sphere with some yellowish liquid in it.