Dumarest - The Terridae Part 10

"Nice? Try this, Earl." She lifted a decorated pot containing an aspic tinted a delicate pink and filled with segments of some sea creature. "Mordon," she explained. "An eel which lurks in deep water among fissured rocks. Its bite can kill."

"So you have oceans on Zabul?"

"We have everything the universe can provide on Zabul."

Again he caught her watchful, calculating glance. "Everything but the most important. That can only come from one place.""Earth."

"Of course." She ate a portion of eel with the neat fastidiousness of a feline and waited until he had finished his own. "More? No? You are wise. To gain maximum enjoyment it is best to sample as wide a variety as possible and not to become replete on a single item." She moved down the table, looking, touching, finally selecting a small cone which, when broken, emitted an acrid perfume. "Ghanga buds," she explained. "Their perfume cleans the palate and sharpens the appet.i.te." She proffered the bowl and set it down as Dumarest shook his head.

"Do I bore you?"

"No."

"You mean that?"

He said, "Novelty is never boring and, to me, you are novel."

"As you are to me, Earl. There is so much I want to ask you.

So many things I want to talk about. Later perhaps?"

"Why not now?"

"There isn't time." She echoed a genuine regret. "I have to take you before the Council."

Chapter Nine.

They sat around a table in a long, low chamber decorated with a frieze of running animals, all in softly glowing colors.

Diffused lighting softened their faces, blurring the sharply etched lines of age, the sunken eyes, the mouths grown taut with the pa.s.sing of years. Among them Urich Volodya looked young, Althea little more than a child. Dumarest could almost smell the dust of antiquity.

Vole opened the proceedings. He sat hunched in his chair, theplate resting before him bearing his name. One name, and the plate was matched by others, each before a figure in a chair.

Dumarest wondered at the need-had their memories grown so unreliable? Or did they, as did so many others exercising authority, believe that to be harsh and Spartan was to be efficient?

"We the Council of Zabul and the Guardians of the Terridae are a.s.sembled to determine the truth of your claim to be of Earth." Vole had a voice which matched his face: thin, dry, the words sharply delineated. "Althea Hesford will act as your adviser and explain any points of which you may be in doubt.

You know the penalty should we not be satisfied."

Dumarest said flatly, "Why do you think I am lying?"

"That charge has not been made."

"Yet it is implied. This a.s.sembly is proof of that." Dumarest glanced from one to the other. "You believe in the existence of Earth but I have no need of belief. I know it is no legend. I know it is real. I know-you understand? I know!"

Gouzh said dryly, "We of the Guardians are not as inexperienced as our charges. We know that attack is often the best form of defense."

"I was not making an attack but stating my position."

"Even so, flat statements mean little. It is best to examine the evidence piece by piece. Tell us of the Original People."

A test-they must know the answer; Volodya's forbearance was proof of that.

Without hesitation Dumarest said, "They are a sect of minor importance to be found on various planets. They cultivate secrecy and neither seek nor welcome converts. The main tenet of their belief is that Mankind originated on a single world, Earth, and that after cleansing by tribulation the race will return to the world of its origin." He added, "I could give you greater detail but would prefer not to.""Why? Are you of them?"

"I was accepted by them."

"And wish to respect their confidence." A woman, Logan, spoke from where she sat. "Do you follow their belief?" Her voice sharpened as he made no answer. "Do you?"

A trap? Did they adhere to the same faith? On the face of it, even to surmise that all the widespread branches of the human race could have originated on one, single world was ridiculous.

Environment governed appearance, together with genetic mutation, and how could black and brown, yellow and copper and white, all have shared the same air, the same sun?

Althea came to his rescue. She said, "Earl Dumarest is not being tested as to his beliefs but for the truth of his claim regarding his planet of origin."

"A good point." Haren backed her objection. "We must be fair." To Dumarest he said, "What proof have you that you were born on Earth, as you claim?"

"What proof will you accept? The verdict of a lie-detector? If so I am willing to cooperate in such interrogation."

Logan said quietly, "The results may not be conclusive. A man convinced he is telling the truth will register as truthful. That is not to say the truth is what he claims."

"Conditioning? Delusion?" Haren frowned and glanced at Volodya. "Is it possible?"

Gouzh spoke before Volodya could reply. "Of course it is!

Logan is right-and remember it was Dumarest himself who suggested the test. To me this is indicative of the fact he knows he must pa.s.s it. In turn this could mean he has been prepared for such an examination. My vote is-"

"There will be no vote!" Volodya spoke for the first time. "This a.s.sembly will be conducted according to established precedent.

Only after a full investigation has been made will a decision bereached." He added coldly, "I suggest that certain members of the Council should strive for greater objectivity."

They accepted that rebuke but Dumarest wondered if there had been more. A warning? Subtle advice for him to be careful?

Already he had sensed the hostility where he had antic.i.p.ated interest. The woman's objection to a lie-detector examination-sophistry, but why? Why?

"A point baffles me." Another woman from lower down the table broke the silence. Tilsey-younger than Logan but with eyes as hard, lips as set, mind as unyielding. "You claim to have been born on Earth, left it when young and now wish to return. I fail to see the difficulty. Surely, if you left it, you must know where it is."

An obvious question but one holding undertones, and Dumarest hesitated before answering. To lie? To claim he possessed the coordinates? On the face of it they should welcome him for having ushered in the Event, but he felt the old, familiar tension preceding danger. A warning he had long since learned never to ignore. It would be safer to tell the truth.

"My lady, I know it exists."

"That is not answering the question."

"No," admitted Dumarest. "I find it hard to answer."

"Try," whispered Althea. "Try!"

He took the advice, knowing his life hung in the balance.

"I was very young," he said. "A mere boy, little more than a child. My parents were dead and I'd been taken in by others. We argued and I left home. After a long journey I stumbled on a ship with strange markings. I stowed away."

To crouch cold and terrified in a darkened corner, afraid to move, afraid even to breathe, waiting as he forced trembling limbs to be still, fighting cramps and the pains of hunger.

Tasting bile from nausea and blood from his bitten lips. Thingshe didn't mention, as he had glossed over the rest. Leaving out the blood, the death and pain, the savage violence of his childhood world.

"I was lucky," he continued. "The captain was old and kind, in his fashion. He could have evicted me but he let me work my pa.s.sage. I stayed with him until he died."

To be stranded on a hostile world. A stranger bereft of the protection of House or Guild or Family. To survive as best he could and to move on. To plunge deeper into the heart of the galaxy where suns were close and worlds plentiful. To where Earth was nothing but the stuff of legend.

"Is that all?" Haren cleared his throat. "Is that all you care to tell us?"

"There has to be more." Vole was emphatic. "There has to be.

Why are you so reticent?"

Dumarest said, "When I tried to find Earth again it was impossible to discover the coordinates. The old captain would have known them but he was dead and his log lost or destroyed.

No almanac lists them, no navigational tables-but you know this!"

"Yes," said Vole. "We know. The location of Earth is a mystery yet to be resolved. But one thing is clear beyond question-you do not come from Earth."

"You say I lie?"

"Did you see the soaring towers of crystal? The floating cities?

The tremendous waterfalls which contain all the colors of the universe and shake the air with celestial music? The trees on which grow a score of various fruits and nuts and flowers together with scented and succulent leaves? The pools in which, once immersed, a man grows younger again and a woman more beautiful? Did you talk with the Shining Ones and learn of their esoteric lore? Walk in endless caverns of awesome majesty?

Know the end of pain and hunger and need? The cessation of fear?" He leaned forward, eyes burning with a febrile light. "Areyou immortal?"

"No," said Dumarest. "I am not that."

"Then you cannot be of Earth. Not the Earth we seek and the finding of which will herald the Event. You come from some small backward planet, perhaps. One aspiring to greatness by the local use of a hallowed name, but that can be all." Vole raised a hand to still any protest. "The Council has heard enough.

Leave. When we have decided your fate you will be notified."

As usual the room had been tidied, the beds made, fresh wine set together with a tray of delicacies on the table. Acts performed by invisible servants or by those who watched his every move.

Dumarest closed the door behind him and leaned back against it as he looked at the furnishings. They, like the beds, the cushions and carpet on the floor, were soft and luxurious but, even so, the place was a cell.

One he was, as yet, permitted to leave, but how long would that freedom last?

The door was a smooth panel broken only by the orifice of a thumb-operated latch. It could be locked only from the outside.

Dumarest stooped, lifted the knife from his boot and rammed the blade beneath the lower edge. Acting as a wedge it would hold the door against intrusion. Rising, he again examined the room.

The beds stood on short legs, the pneumatic mattresses covered with light sheets of gaily decorated plastic. His own was nearest to the door and he moved forward to stand beside the other. Nubar Kusche was absent, engaged in business of his own, maintaining a low profile as he sheltered beneath Dumarest's wing.

Quickly Dumarest searched his bed, turning over the mattress, the stand itself, running his fingers over every inch. He found nothing and moved on, checking his own bed, the table, the chairs, probing the cushions and examining the underside of the carpet. In the bathroom he continued the search. The door tothe room in which he had wakened was still locked and he examined the panel. Back in the other room he knelt and checked the position of his knife. None seemed to have tried the door. Jerking free the blade, he sheathed it and lay supine on his bed.

And heard again the music of dreams.

He turned, listening, trying to localize the sounds. They were small, a susurration which held within itself a medley of notes and chords and sequences all pitched in a close-to-subaudible murmur. Ghosts whispering in nighted graveyards as they bewailed lost opportunities and vain regrets. The unborn whimpering as they feared the harsh expulsion from the snug comfort of the womb. The thin echoes of fear and the shadows of joy.

Against the tips of his fingers the wall felt hard and cold.

He turned again to look at the ceiling, which spread like a nacreous cloud from wall to wall. A seemingly unbroken expanse but if Volodya had spoken the truth it would mask watching eyes and things which could do more than watch- an electronic guard system with lasers following the radiated heat of his body or directed jets of nerve gas which could drop him in screaming agony.

What would the Council decide?

Vole was easy to predict, Logan too; both had revealed a bigoted mind. Had he argued, they would have destroyed him for his heresy in threatening their faith in an idealized concept of Earth. The others? He looked at their faces, delineated by memory against the expanse of the ceiling. Gouzh, Haren, Volodya, others. Tilsey might be an ally, though a weak one, yet her vote could soften the verdict. Volodya had seemed sympathetic, and Demich, who had said nothing, had nodded encouragement. Individuals who could be swayed by a majority, but who, in turn, could force that majority to be less adamant.

And he had not lied-none could accuse him of that.Had Kusche?

Dumarest, of necessity, traveled light. The entrepreneur had no such pressure, yet he had no baggage, nothing but his clothes and the deck of cards and the jewelry on his person: the heavy-stoned ring, a thin chain of gold rings carried around his neck, a bracelet on his left wrist. Portable wealth, a part of any mercenary's normal garb and an elementary precaution for anyone who lived by his wits on the edge of danger.

A man who had left a safe world on the thin chance of gain.

How much did he know?

Dumarest turned again, restless, feeling the p.r.i.c.kle which warned of danger. The room was a trap, as was the building, the situation into which he had been thrown. One compounded by those who ruled Zabul and who even now could have condemned him to death. Yet this trap held an irresistible bait-here, if anywhere, he must surely find the clues which would guide him to Earth.

The sound of the door brought him to his feet, carried him to the panel, the knife in his hand, steel gleaming as it rose to come to rest. "Earl?" Kusche swallowed, moving back from the blade which had halted against his throat. "What the h.e.l.l's come over you?"

"Nothing. Forget it. Where have you been?"

"Moving around, talking, learning what I could. It was little enough. What did the Council decide?"

"They're still deciding. They'll let us know."

"You, Earl, not me. I abrogated my responsibility. What they decide for you will apply to me also." Kusche moved deeper into the room and stood looking down at the table with its wine and delicacies. "They're mad, all of them. Living in this maze like rats in a warren. A pity we learned too late. The chance of a lifetime and we didn't know." He poured himself wine as if yielding to an inward struggle. "And it would have been so easy."Dumarest watched the entrepreneur as he drank. The man seemed to have shrunken a little, lost some of his oozing confidence, his easy bonhomie. Now, as he swallowed the wine, little points of reflected brilliance danced from the stone of his heavy ring.

"A chance," he said again as he set down the goblet. "You to make the claim and me to back you. You know the game as well as I do. Tell them what they want to hear. Embroider it as much as the traffic will stand and arouse their hope and greed. Sell them something you haven't got, then make them afraid of losing what they never had. Promises, speculations, hints-there would have been no need of lies. You could have given them what they wanted and named your own price."

The location of Earth. The thing he didn't have. Dryly, Dumarest mentioned it.

"You could have invented something, Earl. Fed them a line.

h.e.l.l, this is no time to grow a conscience. Not when our lives are at stake."

A man in character, putting the question of easy profit first, the regret at a lost opportunity, mentioning personal danger only at the end. An act? If so he performed well-but light sparkled from the quiver of his ring as he poured himself more wine.

Dumarest left him to it, stepping from the room into the pa.s.sage outside, to stand for a moment with his fingers resting on the wall, to turn finally to his right where stairs rose in sweeping curves to the upper galleries.