energy for a day. He drank a pint, slowly, ignoring the growing agitation of the doctor. He wanted to be in condition for anything which might come, and an empty stomach was a poor ally.
'Are you ready?' The doctor moved toward the door, not waiting for an answer. 'Open,' he said through the grille, and then added, to Dumarest, 'The men outside will take you to where you are to go.'
There were eight of them, unarmed but strong, more than a match for anyone just risen from a sickbed. They led him down passages and up stairs to a room he remembered. A chamber graced with old books and faded maps. From behind his desk Aihult Chan Parect gestured toward a chair.
'Sit, Earl. Relax. You are well, I hope?'
'Thank you, yes.'
'A most distressing incident Zavor was a fool and has paid for his folly. The guard, too, the one who shot you, he has been disciplined.'
Dumarest said dryly, 'For almost missing?'
'For shooting at all. He claimed that his thumb tensed on the button-you know how it is. Fire, a man lying dead, another he thought was about to attack. Even so, he made a mistake and has paid for it. Debts, as I am sure you will agree, must be paid.'
'Yes,' said Dumarest. 'Debts must be paid. The five thousand cran you owe me, for example. And then there is the question of damages. An attack on my life by your grandson. As the head of the house you are naturally responsible for the actions of your people.' He added formally, 'I am sure you will admit that, my lord.'
Chan Parect laughed, the sound rising thin in the chamber, and Dumarest felt the prickling of caution. The man was not normal; never must he forget that. His grandson had been killed, and no matter what his personal feelings as head of the house, his duty was plain. To avenge the death and maintain his honor. Instead, he laughed; it was an ugly sound.
'You amuse me, Earl. I find it most entertaining to talk with you. You sit there with the blood of my grandson on your hands and you talk of moneys owing for the inconvenience. You do not deny killing him?'
'No, but I did not cause his death.'
'You blame your knife?' From a drawer Chan Parect produced it. The blade was bright, the hilt free of blood. 'It was a shrewd throw. The steel was buried in his brain. You could have wounded;, instead, you killed, why?'
'I was given no choice.'
'Instinct, perhaps?'
'I had no choice,' repeated Dumarest. 'And, with respect, my lord, his death was predetermined.'
'Fate, Earl? You believe in destiny?'
'In fact Had he been given slowtime, he would not have brooded over his injuries. And the weapon he carried, the laser. Someone had adjusted it for continuous fire. He dropped it and it exploded. A laser would not do that.'
'It did.'
'Because it was meant to,' said Dumarest harshly. 'Whoever adjusted it made certain that it would. A fuse set to the trigger to activate the entire charge after a lapse of time. Even had he killed me, Zavor would still have died. Murdered by someone in this citadel.'
For a long moment Chan Parect sat without speaking, toying with the knife, his eyes veiled. Then he reached for wine and poured and sat sipping until the glass was empty.
'Murdered,' he said at last. 'By whom? Lisa Conenda?'
'I don't know.'
'But you don't deny the possibility?'
'No.'
'I warned you of her and the others. They are all the same. Warped, twisted, mad with ambition. Did she ask you to kill me and to share her seat of power?' Chan Parect leaned forward a little, his eyes intent. 'Did she do that?'
'Yes, my lord.' It was a time to tread carefully, to be polite. And it was obvious the man knew what had happened in the room. How else could he have known that the knife had been thrown? Monitors, perhaps, or a reported conversation.
'Of course. She would. And you were clever in your answers, Earl. You did not agree, yet you did not refuse her. Instead, you were ambiguous. The trait of a cautious man. Some wine?'
The goblet was of crystal, carved and hued with the tints of a rainbow. The wine held the taste of mint.
'The last time we spoke in this room, I told you of a problem,' said Chan Parect. 'I also said something else. You remember what it was?'
'You intended to make it mine also.'
'You have a good memory. If you had the choice, whom would you marry, Lisa or Zenya? You can be frank.'
Dumarest pondered, trying to follow the abrupt shift in conversation, wondering what devious path the man now trod. Wondering too why he was here at all. A question yet to be answered.
'Zenya is the younger,' mused Parect. 'A little more vivacious, but perhaps the more tiring because of that. Lisa is older, and so more mature. And, as we both know, she has ambition. You wonder why I mention the subject? I will be plain. The house needs new blood. You could provide it. Work with me, do as I say, and you will be rewarded. One of the women as your wife. An estate. The right to wear the serpent. Comfort and a degree of command. All this can be yours if you will willingly do as I say.'
'And that is, my lord?'
'I spoke to you of a man who held a dream and who beggared himself looking for it. I said that he died on some lonely world. I lied, in part if not in all. I did know such a man-he is my son. He has beggared himself in the terms we use. But he is not dead. I want you to find him and bring him back to where he belongs.'
Dumarest sipped at his wine. Another lie? More deviousness? But why should there be need of lies, and what could deviousness hope to gain?
He said quietly, 'Do you know where he is?'
'Yes.'
'Then why not just send for him? Tell him of your need?'
'The obvious, Earl, is not always the answer. For example, take yourself. You have a dream of finding a mythical world. You claim to have been there. I know little of such matters, but one thing to me is obvious. What you have seen you always remember. There are men skilled in probing into the deepest recesses of the brain. Submit to them, and who knows what they could find? The coordinates, perhaps? The reading of the instruments on the ship in which you left? A fragment of conversation overheard but not understood because of your youth? The monk who was here could, perhaps, have done it. Yet you are not a member of the church. Beneath their benediction light you could find what you seek. And yet you will not sit beneath it.'
Because if he did, he would be instilled with the conditioning imposed by the monks. The command never to kill. It was a handicap Dumarest could not afford.
'I have wondered why, Earl,' continued Chan Parect softly. 'And I have thought of a reason. Perhaps you carry something else held deep within your mind. Or something not so deep. It doesn't matter. A secret you dare not divulge. You cannot do the one because you fear the other. And so the obvious no longer applies.' He poured himself more wine. 'My son refuses to answer my summons. He must be taken by force. That requires a very special type of man.'
Dumarest said dryly, 'One interested in ancient records?'
'In part, yes. Salek has a similar interest. I do not believe in the existence of this planet you call Earth. And neither do I believe in other myths. It was one of the reasons we quarreled and why he left. For years he searched for something he hoped to find. These books,'-he gestured at the walls, the faded maps-'are a part of his collection. There was a legend which intrigued him. Earth, perhaps? I will be honest with you, I cannot be certain. But I do know that he desperately wanted to find the Original People. I think that, perhaps, he found them.'
And perhaps not. The whole fabrication could be another lie designed to force him into a particular course of action. Yet it was a chance he could not ignore. And if Chan Parect had a hidden motivation, Dumarest could not guess what it was.
He said, 'You just want me to go and bring back your son, my lord. Is that it?'
