E.C Tubb
World of Promise
Chapter One
Against the tawdry velvet the dolls were things of enchantment: bright shapes of tinsel and glitter with hair of various hues formed into elaborate coiffures, eyes like gems, limbs and bodies traced with glowing colors, sparkling with sequins, stuffed with aromatic herbs.
'Mummy!' The voice was thin, high, crackling with childish longing. 'Look, Mummyl Please may I have one?'
'No, child.'
'Please, Mummy! Please!'
'No, Lavinia! Don't ask again!'
Dumarest turned, seeing the small figure at his side, the mane of hair which formed an ebon waterfall over the narrow shoulders-a frame for the rounded, piquant face, the widely spaced eyes now filled with a hopeless yearning. One which matched that of the woman who blinked as she forced herself to be harsh.
She said, as if conscious of his presence, 'You know we can't afford to buy such things, child. Later, when we get back home, I'll make you one. I promise.'
A promise she would keep at the cost of lost sleep and small comforts, but it wouldn't be the same. She lacked the skill to produce such false beauty and nothing could ever replace the magic of this special moment. Behind her a man, thick-set, dressed in rough and patched clothing, coughed and fumbled in a pocket.
'Maybe we could manage, Fiona, if-'
'No, Roy!' The need to refuse accentuated her sharpness. 'Bran needs all we can give him.' She looked at the robed figure standing at the man's side. 'He must be given his chance.'
Determination must have driven them for years and Dumarest could guess at the sacrifices they had made. The man, a farmer he guessed, was decades younger than he looked, the woman the same. The youth, shapeless in his dun-colored robe, stood with a listless detachment, the face masked by the raised cowl pale, the eyes bruised with chronic fatigue. A family cursed by endless study and endless economies so that one of them, at least, would gain the chance to better himself.
But must the girl also pay?
Dumarest stooped and closed his hands about the small waist and lifted the girl high to sit on his shoulder. As the man opened his mouth to protest, he said, quickly, 'With your permission, sir. I have my reasons. Allow me to buy your daughter a doll.'
'But-'
'Roy!' The woman closed her hand on his arm. 'No, husband!'
'He offers charity-'
'No!' With a woman's quick intuition she sensed it was more than that. Sensed too that Dumarest would not be denied. Her voice fell, became a whisper as, ignoring her, he concentrated on the child.
'Choose,' he urged. 'Take your time and pick which one you want.'
She needed no time-the decision had been made already. Her hand lifted, the finger steady as it aimed at the second largest.
'That one.' Her tone was wistful. 'Please, may I have that one?'
'A wise choice.' The vendor had remained silent knowing that to press too soon was to risk losing the sale. Now she came forward, smiling, smoothing the scarlet hair of the doll as she lifted it from its place. 'The finest materials and skills have gone into the fabrication of this product. Note the eyes and the way they seem to move as you turn them against the light. The hair can be washed and set in a variety of styles. The face is capable of slight alteration, see?' The cheeks developed hollows beneath the pressure of her fingers, smoothed as she manipulated the plastic. 'And the stuffing will retain its potency for years, bringing comfort and tranquility and restful sleep.'
Valued comforts on any world and to be envied on Podesta.
Dumarest nodded, swung the girl from his shoulder, straightened to face the vendor who still held the doll.
'How much?'
The price had been decided as the child had made her choice. The family were poor and Dumarest wore a student's robe to match that of the youth but their poverty need not be mutual. A man studying for a whim, a noble paying a forfeit, a rich man amusing himself-such were not uncommon at the fair. But the vendor had seen his face and had abandoned the hope of an inflated profit. Here was no gull to be cheated.
'Fifteen corlms, my lord.' As she picked up the coins she added, mechanically, 'Good luck attend your studies.'
'I'll echo that.' Roy cleared his throat, aware of his previous antagonism and embarrassed by it. 'I thought you were taking pity on us at first, but Fiona explained. A superstition, I understand. Well, I'm no man to deny another his search for luck. You're for Ascelius, I see. Just like Bran here.' He nodded at his son. 'I've got him passage on the Evidia-fifth class, hard but cheap.' Then, as Dumarest made no comment, he coughed and ended, 'Well, I just wanted to thank you. We all did.'
The woman, with her quick wit and the facile lie which had saved her husband's pride, now as Dumarest extended the doll to the child, said quickly, 'Don't snatch it, Lavinia. Thank the gentleman properly.'
'How can I, Mummy?'
'You'll have to kneel,' she said to Dumarest. 'Allow her to kiss you.'
For a moment he hesitated, looking at the woman, reading the understanding in her eyes. Then he knelt, the doll in one hand, arms extended as the child ran into their embrace.
'Thank you,' she whispered. 'Thank you for the doll.' Then she was warm and soft against him, the touch of her lips moist on his cheek, small hands at his shoulders. A timeless instant which shattered as he rose to stand above her, the silken smoothness of her hair a memory against his palm-a moment she had already forgotten, engrossed as she was with her new toy.
The wind had turned fitful, gusting from the town and blowing over the field, the clustered booths of the fair, catching the rising columns of colored smoke and stinging his eyes with drifting acridity.
Blinking, Dumarest took shelter in an open-fronted tent, buying a mug of spiced tisane, sipping it as he looked over the area. The crowds had thickened as had the noise, and both would increase as the night grew older, not easing until the dawn, not ending until the closing of the fair two days from now. A misnomer-the fair was only called that because of the entrepreneurs taking advantage of the occasion; the vendors and touts, the harlots and gamblers, clowns, tumblers, freaks, the sellers of dreams and builders of hope, the merchants and traders and caterers to vice and pleasure who moved from world to world adding color and gaiety to a host of gatherings, living like transient parasites on the events of time.
'A word in your ear, sir.' The man standing beside Dumarest looked cautiously from side to side. 'But first your promise that our discourse will remain confidential. I have it?'
Dumarest sipped at his tisane.
'A man of discretion,' applauded the stranger. 'One who knows that silence is a message within itself. Now, sir, to be frank, I find myself in an invidious position. My client-I am an investigator-has died. The assignment he gave me was to obtain for him certain information regarding an examination held before the granting of a degree of special merit on a world which need not be named at this time. Passing the examination and gaining the degree offers great financial and academic advantages. The cost of obtaining the information-to be frank, the answers to the questions-was considerable and, as I mentioned, my client died before I could be recompensed. You understand the situation?'
'I think so.' Dumarest looked into his mug. 'You want to sell me the answers to the examination questions?'
'You put it bluntly, sir, but you have grasped the point. Such an intelligence does not shame the robe you
