together to indicate «thin,» then ran his fingers down his own face and held out his hand.
«They're handsomer. And some of them have five fingers, like mine.» Keff waggled his forefinger. «Why do the ones in the valley have only four?» He bent the finger under his palm.
«Oh,» Chaumel said, laughing. He stated something in a friendly, off handed way that the IT couldn't translate, scissors-chopping his own forefinger with his other hand to demonstrate what he meant. «. . . when of few days—babies. Low mind . . . no curiosity . . . worker.» He made the scissors motion again.
«What?» Carialle shrieked in Keff's ear. «Its not a mutation. Its mutilation. There aren't two brands of humanoids, just one, with most of the poor things exploited by a lucky few.»
Keff was shocked into silence. Fortunately, Chaumel seemed to expect no reply. Carialle continued to speak in a low voice while Keff nodded and smiled at the magiman.
«Moreover, he's been referring to the Noble Primitives as property. When he mentioned his possessions, IT went back and translated his term for the villagers as 'chattel.' I do not like these people. Evil wizards, indeed!»
«Er, very nice,» Keff said in Ozran, for lack of any good reply. Chaumel beamed.
«We care for them, we who commune with the Core of Ozran. We lead our weaker brothers. We guard as they working hard in the valleys to raise food for us all.»
«Enslave them, you mean,» Carialle sniffed. «And they live up here in comfort while Brannel's people freeze. He looks so warm and friendly—for a slave trader. Look at his eyes. Dead as microchips.»
«Weaker? Do you mean feeble-minded? The people down in the valleys have strong bodies but, er, they don't seem very bright,» Keff said. «These, your servants, are much more intelligent than any of the ones we met.» He didn't mention Brannel.
«Ah,» Chaumel said, guardedly casual, «the workers eat stupid, not question . . . who know better, overlords.»
«You mean you put something in the food to keep them stupid and docile so they won't question their servitude? That's monstrous,» Keff said, but he kept smiling.
Chaumel didn't understand the last word. He bowed deeply. «Thank you. Use talent, over many years gone, we give them,» he pantomimed over his own wrist and arm, showed it growing thicker, «more skin, hair, grow dense flesh . . .»
IT riffled through a list of synonyms. Keff seized upon one. «Muscles?» he asked. IT repeated Chaumel's last word, evidently satisfied with Keff's definition.
«Yes,» Chaumel said. «Good for living . . . cold valleys. Hard work!»
«You mean you can skimp on the central heat if you give them greater endurance,» Carialle said, contemptuously. «You bloodsucker.»
Chaumel frowned, almost as if he had heard Carialle's tone.
«Hush! Er, I don't know if this is a taboo question, Chaumel,» Keff began, rubbing his chin with thumb and forefinger, «but you interbreed with the servant class, too, don't you? Bare-skins with fur-skins, make babies?»
«Not I,» the silver magiman explained hastily. «But yes. Some lower . . . mages and magesses have faces with hair. Never make their places as mages of . . . but not everyone is . . . sent for mightiness.»
«Destined for greatness,» Keff corrected IT. IT repeated the word. «So why are you not great? I mean,» he rephrased his statement for tact, «not one of the mages of—IT, put in that phrase he used?»
«Oh, I am good—satisfied to be what I am,» Chaumel said, complacently folding his fingers over his well- padded rib cage.
«If they're already being drugged, why amputate their fingers?» Carialle wanted to know.
«What do fingers have to do with the magic?» Keff asked, making a hey-presto gesture.
«Ah,» Chaumel said. Taking Keff's arm firmly under his own, he escorted him down the hall to a low door set deeply into the stone walls. Servants passing by showed Keff the whites of their eyes as Chaumel slipped the silver wand out of his belt and pointed at the lock. Some of the fur-skins hurried faster as the red fire lanced laserlike into the keyhole. One or two, wearing the same keen expression as Brannel, peered in as the door opened. Shooting a cold glance to speed the nosy ones on their way, Chaumel urged Keff inside.
The darkness lifted as soon as they stepped over the threshold, a milky glow coming directly from the substance of the walls.
«Cari, is that radioactive?» Keff asked. His whisper was amplified in a ghostly rush of sound by the rough stone.
«No. In fact, I'm getting no readings on the light at all. Strange.»
«Magic!»
«Cut that out,» Carialle said sulkily. «I say its a form of energy with which I am unacquainted.»
In contrast to all the other chambers Keff had seen in Chaumel's eyrie, this room had a low, unadorned ceiling of rough granite less than an arms length above their heads. Keff felt as though he needed to stoop to avoid hitting the roof.
Chaumel moved across me floor like a man in a chapel. The furnishings of the narrow room carried out that impression. At the end opposite the door was a molded, silver table not unlike an altar, upon which rested five objects arranged in a circle on an embroidered cloth. Keff tiptoed forward behind Chaumel.
The items themselves were not particularly impressive: a metal bangle about twelve centimeters across, a silver tube, a flattened disk pierced with half-moon shapes all around the edge, a wedge of clear crystal with a piece of dull metal fused to the blunt end, and a hollow cylinder like an empty jelly jar.
«What are they?» Keff asked.
«Objects of power,» Chaumel replied. One by one he lifted them and displayed them for Keff. Returning to the bangle, Chaumel turned it over so Keff could see its inner arc. Five depressions about two centimeters apart were molded into its otherwise smooth curve. In turn, he showed the markings on each one. With the last, he inserted the tips of his fingers into the depressions and wielded it away from Keff.
«Ah,» Keff said, enlightened. «You need five digits to use these.»
«So the amputation is to keep the servers from organizing a palace revolt,» Carialle said. «Any uppity server just wouldn't have the physical dexterity to use them.»
«Mmm,» Keff said. «How old are they?» He moved closer to the altar and bent over the cloth.
«Old, old,» Chaumel said, patting the jelly jar.
«Old Ones,» Carialle verified, running a scan through Keff's ocular implants. «So is the bangle. The other three are Ancient, with some subsequent modifications by the Old Ones. All of them have five pressure plates incorporated into the design. That's why Brannel tried to take my palette. It has five depressions, just like these items. He probably thought it was a power piece, like these.»
«There's coincidence for you: both the alien races here were pentadactyl, like humans. I wonder if that's a recurring trait throughout the galaxy for technologically capable races,» Keff said. «Five-fingered hands.»
Chaumel certainly seemed proud of his. Setting down the jelly jar, he rubbed his hands together, then flicked invisible dust motes off his nails, taking time to admire both fronts and backs.
«Well, they are shapely hands,» Carialle said. «They wouldn't be out of place in Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel frescoes except for the bizarre proportions.»
Keff took a good look at Chaumel's hands. For the first time he noticed that the thumbs, which he had noted as being rather long, bore lifelike prostheses, complete with nails and tiny wisps of hair, that made the tips fan out to the same distance as the forefingers. The little fingers were of equal length to the ring fingers, jarring the eye, making the fingers look like a thick fringe cut straight across.
Absently conscious of Keff's stare, Chaumel pulled at his little fingers.
«Is he trying to make them longer by doing that?» Carialle asked. «It's physically impossible, but I suppose telling him that won't make him stop. Superstitions are superstitions.»
«That's er, grotesque, Chaumel,» Keff said, smiling with what he hoped was an expression of admiration.
«Thank you, Keff.» The silver magiman bowed.
«Show me how the objects of power work,» Keff said, pointing at the table. «I'd welcome a chance to watch without being the target.»
Chaumel was all too happy to oblige.
