The Grand Ellipse Part 11

The internal uproar recommenced, infusing his voice with anguish both dramatically appropriate and perfectly genuine, as he replied, "Dead, Sire. Carried off by pestilence, famine, or misadventure. So many dead!"

"What, all all of them?" of them?"

"Alas, Sire, your servant is alone in the world."

"Well, that is remarkable. Almost unbelievable, in fact."

Miltzin didn't believe him. An iron fist gripped his innards and twisted. A gasp escaped Nevenskoi. He doubled, and his hands clamped on the arms of his chair. An empty bowl sat on the table before him. Not an hour earlier the bowl had brimmed with chili-oil eels and spiced devilswimmers. He should have left both alone. An iron fist gripped his innards and twisted. A gasp escaped Nevenskoi. He doubled, and his hands clamped on the arms of his chair. An empty bowl sat on the table before him. Not an hour earlier the bowl had brimmed with chili-oil eels and spiced devilswimmers. He should have left both alone.

"What's the matter with you? Come, what is it, man?" demanded the king.

"Nothing, Sire. A momentary weakness," the stricken savant managed to answer through clenched teeth. "The recollection of the lost loved ones never fails to affect me."

"Well-er-yes. You foreigners are emotional, aren't you? Come, what will cheer you? I know. We shall seek out a few of those survivors from Chtarnavaikul, and even if they aren't your own blood, at least they'll be-"

A pang of exquisite agony tore through Nevenskoi's middle, and he could not for the life of him contain a muted moan.

Ouch! Masterfire crackled and flickered in sympathetic unrest. Masterfire crackled and flickered in sympathetic unrest. What? What? What? What?

Nothing, my beauty, Nevenskoi answered in silence. Foolish human concerns, nothing to trouble you. Foolish human concerns, nothing to trouble you.

I can help, for I am strong, I am brave, I am big, big, BIG! So saying, Masterfire arose. So saying, Masterfire arose.

A twisting column of green flame reared itself from the pit-of-elements, thrusting powerfully for the ceiling. The crackle of the little blaze deepened to the purr of a great predator, opalescent green smoke billowed, while tentacular offshoots branching from the fiery pillar snaked experimentally in all directions.

"What is our friend doing?" Mad Miltzin's eyes expanded in childlike wonder.

Exactly. What are you doing? What are you doing? Nevenskoi telepathed from a mind filled with alarmed confusion. Nevenskoi telepathed from a mind filled with alarmed confusion.

I am big, I am strong, I am great, I am grand, I am MASTERFIRE, I am big, bigger, BIGGEST- No. Resume your former size.

NoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNo-!

I do not permit you to enlarge.

Big! Strong! Hungry! Eat! I am huge, I am wonderful, I am fine and lovely, I am the winner, I am everywhere, I am MASTERFIRE!

Nevenskoi felt the savage power within himself and it was glorious, triumphant, insatiable. He was huge, he was wonderful, he was master and destroyer, emperor and hungry G.o.d, hungry, and it was goodgoodgood, and he was magnificently BIG- But there was pain there inside him, ravening alongside delight, and the pain weakened his will, yet anch.o.r.ed his awareness to reality.

No. He could hardly form the denial, even within the sanctuary of his own mind. The effort required to produce that mental syllable was inordinate. And seemingly wasted, for Masterfire ignored it. He could hardly form the denial, even within the sanctuary of his own mind. The effort required to produce that mental syllable was inordinate. And seemingly wasted, for Masterfire ignored it.

I will make it right, I will eat this wet meat-stuff that makes badness. He is gone, EatEatEat, he is gone for good, eat.

"Splendid sight," admired His Majesty. "Our clever green friend seems so animated, so filled with enthusiasm."

His control had lapsed badly, to potentially disastrous effect, but the fear sweeping through him somehow focused Nevenskoi's intellect and his strength, superseding physical pain. He was master, he would rule. He must. He took a deep, calming breath and mutely exerted his concentrated force.

Subside. Resume your original size.

He expected instant obedience, but Masterfire resisted yet.

Big! Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!

Small. Now. Obey.

No fun.

Shooting reluctant sparks, the great blaze grudgingly subsided, dwindling and shrinking in upon itself, relinquishing tentacles and radiant streamers, height and whirling breadth, until it crouched once again within the confines of the pit-of-elements, for all the world like a disgruntled green hearth fire.

Another day, my treasure, and you will once again stand tall, Nevenskoi vowed.

The promise seemed to produce the desired effect, for the voice from the pit resumed its accustomed tone of contentment.

EatEatEatEatEatEatEatEatEat.

The savant breathed a sigh of profound relief. His creation and his internal organs were both submissive, for the moment. He would see that they stayed that way.

"Now, what was that little effusion all about?" inquired the king.

"A simple excess of inflammable enthusiasm, Sire," Nevenskoi explained. "No doubt stimulated by the honor of Your Majesty's presence." Determined to seize control before Mad Miltzin's capricious fancy wandered off again down undesirable paths, he added casually, "I have been meaning to ask, if I may, for the latest news of the Grand Ellipse racers."

"And well you may ask, my dear fellow! Ha, but what a surprise!" Miltzin's eyes lit up. "Which of them d'you suppose is leading the whole pack? Wouldn't you have placed your money on that Grewzian war hero fellow? If so, you'd lose your last copper! Believe it or not, there's a woman out in front. By all accounts, the Szarish scarecrow with the outlandish carriage has drawn so far ahead that the chances of overtaking her are near zero. Now that's what the mastery of technology can do! Of course," he mused, "the newspaper reports are always days behind foreign events. And in the interim I suppose there's no telling what may have happened, is there?"

DO SOMETHING. DO SOMETHING. But what? Hop across the room to the Overgeneral Brugloist's table, plop down on my knees, and beg his a.s.sistance? Weep buckets? Would it work, or would I just be thrown out of the restaurant?

Quick, before he gets away!

Even as she exhorted herself, Luzelle saw the Overgeneral Brugloist rise from his chair. His subordinates stood, and then they were all moving smartly toward the exit.

Jumping from her own chair, she scurried in pursuit, but had not advanced more than a few paces before an urgent Lanthian voice halted her.

"Madam-if you please-madam!"

She turned back reluctantly to discover a waiter holding her valise.

"I believe Madam has overlooked-"

"Oh. Thank you!" Extracting a couple of coins from the store of Lanthian currency furnished by the ministry, she tipped the waiter, took her bag, and hurried in the wake of the retreating overgeneral.

Brugloist and his officers had already exited the restaurant. Emerging into the foyer, Luzelle spotted her quarry leaving the hotel by way of the front door. She ran after him, straight out onto the spotless Prendivet moorings, and saw the overgeneral entering the sleek little vessel that his dignity required to carry him back to the Grewzian headquarters, all of a two minutes' walk distant.

"Overgeneral!" Luzelle let fly a shout. "Overgeneral Brugloist! Please, sir, one moment of your time!"

Certain that he'd heard her, she made for the boat at a quick trot. Long before she reached it, a couple of grey-clad soldiers intercepted her, materializing out of nowhere to block her path.

"Stay back," one of them commanded in Grewzian.

"I must with the Overgeneral Brugloist make to speak," she appealed in her own lame version of the same tongue.

"Not permitted."

"But I must-"

"He won't be interested. Maybe you'll have better luck in the alley behind the hotel."

"Please, you do not understand-"

"Yes I do, honeydugs. You think you're the first? Now run along, before you get yourself in trouble. Off with you."

A firm push punctuated the command, and Luzelle felt the alien hand close for an outrageous instant on her breast. She contained her impulse to slap the Grewzian's face. No point, no use. It would only make things worse. The Overgeneral Brugloist was already gone, and she had missed her chance.

"Do all Grewzian morons smell like goats, or is it only you?" she inquired of her molester, and backed off before he had time to formulate an answer.

Shouldn't have said that, only make him mad, if he happens to understand Vonahrish. So what? Disgusting filth.

She looked around. Behind her, the Prendivet Hotel. Ahead, the breathtaking panorama of the Lureis Ca.n.a.l, but she was in no fit state to appreciate the spectacle.

What now?

Railroad station? Livery stables? Train or carriage? Which best to carry her along the Dalyonic coast to some harbor free of the Grewzian stranglehold?

Railroad, most likely. And how to get to the station? Via dombulis, one of those famous Lanthian water-taxis, always available night and day.

And today was no exception. There were scores of them out there, cruising the Lureis like hopeful sharks. She moved toward the taxi stand at the edge of the moorings. As she went, some faceless boor jostled her roughly and then, to compound the offense, grabbed her elbow as she stumbled. Angrily she pulled back, felt his clasp slide down her arm to her wrist, and then to her hand, which he squeezed firmly. Something foreign tickled her palm. She wrenched herself free and turned, ready to loose a verbal blast, but she was too late, the oaf was already gone.

Luzelle scowled, then shrugged. She noticed then that her clenched fist contained a sc.r.a.p of paper, presumably pressed upon her by the anonymous lout. What now, some sort of advertis.e.m.e.nt? She was about to toss the thing aside when her eye caught the sweep of dark blue script, and she paused. The message, whatever it might be, was not printed, but handwritten. Interest snagged, she unfolded the paper and read: Fastest transportation to Aennorve.

Mauranyza Dome, top floor, today, three o'clock.

What in the world? She read it over twice again without enlightenment. No salutation, no signature. But the message addressed her most immediate need, and had been placed literally in her hand. It must have been meant for her, but she had no idea who had sent it, or why, or what it might actually mean. She also did not know just what she should do about it.

Answer the mysterious summons? A waste of valuable time, most likely. Perhaps even dangerous; no telling what she might be walking into. On the other hand-fastest transportation, the note offered, if indeed it was an offer. And she had the Khrennisov to protect her, should difficulties arise. Not that she knew how to use it, but surely no one would realize that. And finally there was the matter of her own curiosity. If she failed to investigate this matter, she would probably spend the rest of her life wondering about it.

A clock atop a nearby tower chimed the hour of two, and that decided her. It was already too late to make it by coach to the neighboring city of Hurba before sunset. She would end up spending the night at some inn along the road if she left now. The railroad might be a better bet, but not necessarily. Heavily dependent on its splendid harbor, accustomed to aqueous highways, the city of Lanthi Ume probably offered mediocre train service at best. For never in their worst dreams could the Lanthians have imagined that their access to the sea would be lost.

Nothing much to lose by gambling an hour or two on the intriguing message. She'd be positively remiss if she failed to investigate. Really, it was practically her duty.

She took a moment to strip the paper wrapping from the pistol reposing in her side pocket, then stepped to the watertaxi stand and waved. A fragile black dombulis with a high-curving prow was there in an instant. Declining the a.s.sistance of the liveried hotel attendant, she climbed in. The dombulman shot her a questioning glance, and she commanded without hesitation, "Mauranyza Dome."

SHE ARRIVED SOME QUARTER HOUR EARLY, and thus had time to inspect the building's exterior at leisure. Very old, she saw at a glance, and wondered just how long Mauranyza Dome had stood staring at its own reflection in the waters of the surrounding ca.n.a.ls. Centuries, most likely. And quite a reflection it was, with those rounded walls of heavy red gla.s.s and that endless spiral staircase hugging the inner curve. For a while she stood watching, but the silent structure told her nothing.

She bought a cone of ganzel puffs from a vendor and killed a few more minutes eating them. Then she heard the clock chimes tolling over the water, and knew it was time to go in. Touching her pocket to rea.s.sure herself of the loaded Khrennisov's presence, she squared her shoulders and walked into the Mauranyza Dome.

She stood in a hushed, empty foyer, which had probably once been impressive, but now seemed merely gloomy. To her right the great staircase spiraled its way along the curving gla.s.s wall. To the left stood a couple of doors, one of them ajar. She went to the open door and looked through into a big, dilapidated salon, currently unoccupied. A sad place.

She was procrastinating. She was a little uneasy, she realized; even a bit afraid. There was still time to retreat, but she did not seriously consider it. Touching her pocket once again, she began to climb the stairs.

The afternoon sun shone muted through the heavy red gla.s.s of the dome, washing the stairwell with strange light. Luzelle looked through the wall to behold Lanthi Ume spread out below, her palaces unnaturally incarnadined, her ca.n.a.ls apparently br.i.m.m.i.n.g with wine.

It was a long way up. She was breathing hard by the time she reached the top floor and the door she sought. She knocked, the door opened at once, and her eyes widened.

She had harbored no definite expectations, but was nonetheless surprised to confront a grizzled, crinkle-bearded man clad in long, voluminous black robes blazoned with a double-headed dragon at the shoulder. She had seen just such a robe decorated with just such an emblem only hours earlier, clothing the person of the luckless Preeminence Perif Neen Cezineen. The man before her had to be another Lanthian savant of the Select.

"Miss Devaire. Welcome," he said in good Vonahrish. "Please come in."

She hesitated a moment, then entered cautiously, to find herself in a gigantic chamber shaped like an inverted red bowl. Great panes of colorless gla.s.s set into the walls and ceiling admitted natural light. The sole furnishings consisted of a very large circular table edged with many chairs, some of which were occupied. The familiar faces jumped at her. Girays v'Alisante, whose expression was unreadable. Bav Tchornoi. The Festinette twins, looking unwontedly subdued. Mesq'r Zavune. There were several others that she didn't know-two more black-robed savants, and a couple of youngish men clad in ordinary street garb. Her trepidation vanished.

"Who are you?" she inquired of the crinkle-bearded savant. "And why have you asked me here?"

"Please be seated, and I will tell you what I can."

She eyed him levelly and then complied, choosing the vacant chair next to Zavune.

Crinkle-beard likewise seated himself and declared, "Custom and courtesy dictate mutual introductions at this time, but the circ.u.mstances are unusual and ordinary convention must lapse."

What in the world is he talking about? Luzelle wondered. Luzelle wondered.

"It is best for all," the savant continued, "that you travelers remain ignorant of our names. Enough for you to know and believe that we are Lanthian, that we oppose the Grewzian presence in our city, and that we will do all in our power to effect the restoration of Lanthian autonomy."

They were members of the resistance, Luzelle perceived; all of them subject to summary execution, should they fall into Grewzian hands. And their a.s.sociates and accomplices right along with them, foreign nationality notwithstanding. They were placing lives at risk by inviting the racers to their meeting, and what could they possibly hope to gain by it?

"You doubtless question our motives in bringing you here," Crinkle-beard continued. "I will answer that our intentions are simple and straightforward-we wish to discomfort, discredit, and generally plague the Grewzian invader to the greatest extent possible. In this particular case our aims happen to coincide with your own. As of today Lanthi Ume's harbor has been shut down by order of the Overgeneral Brugloist. The overgeneral has permitted, however, the departure by steamship of the sole Grewzian compet.i.tor in the Grand Ellipse-a concession all but a.s.suring Grewzian victory. It is our resolve that the Grewzians shall not turn the abuse of Lanthian liberties to such profitable use. Therefore we have invited you contestants here today in order to offer our a.s.sistance."

"How can you a.s.sist us?" demanded Bav Tchornoi, his eyes and voice unwontedly clear.

"Yes," chimed in Stesian Festinette. "You fellows are tremendously kind, and we appreciate the good will, but-"

"What can you actually do?" concluded his twin.

"You're not planning to sink the Inspiration Inspiration, or anything like that, are you?" asked Luzelle. "I mean, there are innocent people aboard-" Karsler. Karsler.

"And there are certain fairly striking omissions," Girays observed calmly. "Porb Jil Liskjil. Founne Hay-Frinl. Dr. Phineska. They reached Lanthi Ume aboard the Karavise Karavise along with the rest of us, but I don't see them here this afternoon. Jil Liskjil in particular is the sole Lanthian among the racers and, as such, the obvious beneficiary of your concern. If you are all that you claim, then why have you not summoned your own compatriot?" along with the rest of us, but I don't see them here this afternoon. Jil Liskjil in particular is the sole Lanthian among the racers and, as such, the obvious beneficiary of your concern. If you are all that you claim, then why have you not summoned your own compatriot?"

"Because we cannot find him or the others you speak of," one of the anonymous Lanthians clad in ordinary street wear answered in labored Vonahrish. "We search as best we may, but they are nowhere."

"It is more than probable that Master Jil Liskjil, possessing many resources here in his home city, has arranged his own affairs," suggested a hitherto silent savant.

"I see." Girays arched a skeptical brow.

"You've offered your help, and we thank you, gentlemen." Luzelle attempted diplomacy. "The note I received mentioned the fastest transportation to Aennorve. Would you please explain what that means?"

"Willingly, Miss Devaire." Crinkle-beard resumed his role as spokesman. "Your departure from Lanthi Ume by sea is prevented by the harbor blockade. You are now obliged to embark for Aennorve from an alternate port, the nearest of which is Hurba, a good two days' journey north overland from here."

"Two days!" echoed Luzelle, dismayed. She thought of the Inspiration Inspiration, already at sea, steaming full speed toward Aeshno. "That long?"

"The roads are poor at this time of year," came the discouraging reply. "As for the railroads, their service is not reliable. Two days to Hurba by land would be good time."

"We're dead, then," shrugged Trefian Festinette, without visible concern. "Let's be good sports about it. Why don't we all repair to one of these excellent local restaurants and console ourselves with Vonahrish champagne?"