Red Orc stood up from the table. “You will be kept prisoner here until I have captured the others and defeated Urthona. Then I’ll decide what to do with you.”
By this, Kickaha knew, he meant just what delicate tortures he could inflict upon him. For a moment, he thought about informing Orc of the Horn of Shambarimen’s presence on Earth in this area. Perhaps he could use it for a bargaining point. Then he decided against it. Once Orc knew that it was here, he would just get the information from his captive by torture or drugs.
“Have you killed the Beller yet?” he said.
Orc smiled and said, “No.”
He seemed very pleased with himself. “If it becomes necessary, I will threaten Urthona with him. I will tell Urthona that if he does not leave, I will let the Beller loose. That, you understand, is the most horrible thing a Lord could do.”
“You would do this? After what you said about getting rid of anybody that might interfere with the natural development?”
“If I knew that my own death was imminent, unavoidable, yes, I would! Why not? What do I care what happens to this world, to all the worlds, if I am dead? Serve them right!”
There were more questions to which Kickaha wanted answers, but he was not controlling the interview. Orc abruptly walked out, leaving by the other door. Kickaha strained at the end of the chain to see through it, but the door swung out toward him and so shut off his view.
He was left with only his thoughts, which were pessimistic. He had always boasted that he could get loose from any prison, but it was, after all, a boast. He had, so far, managed to escape from every place in which he had been imprisoned, but he knew that he would someday find himself in a room with no exit. This was probably it. He was being observed by monitors, electronic or human or both, the chain was unbreakable with bare hands, and it also could be the conductor for some disabling and punishing agent if he did not behave.
This did not prevent him from trying to break it and twist it apart, because he could not afford to take anything for granted. The chain was unharmed, and he supposed that any human monitors would be amused by his efforts.
He stopped struggling, and he used the toilet facilities. Then he lay down on the sofa and thought for a while about his predicament. Though he was naked, he was not uncomfortable. The air was just a few degrees below his body temperature and it moved slowly enough so that it did not chill him. He fell asleep after a while, having found no way out, having thought of no plan that could reasonably work.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When he awoke, the room was as before. The sourceless light still made it high noon, and the air had not changed temperature. However, on sitting up, he saw a tray with dishes and cups and table utensils on top of the small thin-legged wooden table at the end of the sofa. He did not think that anyone could have entered with it unless he had been drugged. It seemed more likely that a gate was embedded in the wooden top and that a tray had been gated through while he slept.
He ate hungrily. The utensils were made of wood, and the dishes and the cups were of pewter and bore stylized octopuses, dolphins, and lobsters. After he ate, he walked back and forth within the range of the chain for about an hour. He tried to think of what he could do with the gate, if there was a gate inside that wooden table top. At the end of the hour, as he turned back toward the table, he saw that the tray was gone. His suspicion was correct; the top did contain a gate.
There had been no sound. The Lords of the old days had solved the problems of noise caused by sudden disappearance of an object. The air did not rush into the vacuum created by the disappearance because the gate arrangement included a simultaneous exchange of air between the gate on one end and that at the other.
About an hour later, Orc entered through the door by which he had left. He was accompanied by two men, one of whom carried a hypodermic needle. They wore kilts. One kilt was striped red and black and the other was white with a stylized black octopus with large blue eyes. Other than the kilts, leather sandals, and beads, they wore nothing. Their skins were dark, their faces looked somewhat Mediterranean but also reminded him of Amerindians, and their straight black hair was twisted into two pigtails. One pigtail fell down the back and the other was coiled on the right side of the head.
Orc spoke to them in a language unknown to Kickaha. It did seem vaguely Hebrew or Arabic to him but that was only because of its sounds. He knew too little of either language to be able to identify them.
While the one with the crossbow stood to one side and aimed it at Kickaha, the other approached from the other side. Orc commanded him to submit to the injection, saying that if he resisted, the crossbow would shoot its hypodermic into him. And the pain that followed would be longlasting and intense. Kickaha obeyed, since there was nothing else he could do.
He felt nothing following the injection. But he answered all of Orc’s questions without hesitation. His brain did not feel clouded or bludgeoned. He was thinking as clearly as usual. It was just that he could not resist giving Orc all the information he asked for. But that was what kept him from mentioning the Horn of Shambarimen. Orc did not ask him about it nor was there any reason for him to do so. He had no knowledge that it had been in the posession of Wolff, or Jadawin, as Orc knew him.
Orc’s questions did, however, reveal to Kickaha almost everything else of value to him. He knew something of Kickaha’s life on Earth before that night in Bloomington when Paul Janus Finnegan had been accidentally catapulted out of this universe into the World of Tiers. He learned more about Finnegan’s life since then, when Finnegan had become Kickaha (and also Horst von Horstmann and a dozen other identities). He learned about Wolff-Jadawin and Chryseis and Anana, the invasion of the Black Bellers, and other matters pertinent. He learned much about Kickaha’s and Anana’s activities since they had gated into the cavern near Lake Arrowhead.
Orc said, “If I did allow you and Anana and Wolff and Chryseis to go back to your world, would you stay there and not try to get back here?”
“Yes,” Kickaha said. “Provided that I knew for sure that the Beller was dead.”
“Hmm. But your World of Tiers sounds fascinating. Jadawin always was very creative. I think that I would like to add it to my possessions.”
This was what Kickaha expected.
Orc smiled again and said “I wonder what you would have done if you had found out where I used to live and where Urthona now sits in the seat of power.”
“I would have gone into it and killed you or Urthona,” Kickaha said. “And I would have rescued Anana and Wolff and Chryseis and then searched for the Beller until I found him and killed him. And then we would have returned to my world, that is to Wolff’s, to be exact.”
Orc looked thoughtful and paced back and forth for a while. Suddenly, he stopped and looked at Kickaha. He was smiling as if a brilliant idea were shining through him. “You make yourself sound very tricky and resourceful,” he said. “So tricky that I could almost think you were a Lord, not just a leblabbiy Earthling.”
“Anana has the crazy idea that I could be the son of a Lord,” Kickaha said. “In fact, she thinks I could be your son.”
Orc said, “What?” and he looked closely at Kickaha and then began laughing. When he had recovered, he wiped his eyes and said, “That felt good! I haven’t laughed like that for … how long? Never mind. So you really think you could be my child?”
“Not me,” Kickaha said. “Anana. And she liked to speculate about it because she still needs some justification for falling in love with a leblabbiy. If I could be half-Lord, then I’d be more acceptable. But this idea is one hundred percent wishful thinking, of course.”
“I have no children because I want to interfere as little as possible with the natural development here, although a child or two could really make little difference,” Orc said. “But you could be the child of another Lord, I suppose. However, you’ve gotten me off the subject. I was saying that you were very tricky, if I am to believe your account of yourself. Perha
ps I could use you.”
He fell silent again and paced back and forth once more with his head bent and his hands clasped behind him. Then he stopped, looked at Kickaha, and smiled. “Why not? Let’s see how good you are. I can’t lose by it no matter what happens, and I may gain.”
Kickaha had guessed, correctly, what he was going to propose. He would tell him the address of Urthona, would take him there, in fact, provide him with some weapons, and allow him to attack Urthona as he wished. And if Kickaha failed, he still might so distract Urthona that Orc could take advantage of the distraction.
In any event, it would be amusing to watch a leblabbiy trying to invade the seat of power of a Lord.
“And if I do succeed?” Kickaha said.
“It’s not very likely, since I have not had any success yet. Though, of course, I haven’t really tried yet. But if you should succeed, and I’m not worried that you will, I will permit you and your lover and your friends to return to your world. Provided that the others also swear, while under the influence of the proper drugs, that they have no intention of returning to either Earth.”
Kickaha did not believe this, but he saw no profit in telling Orc so. Once he was out of this cell and had some freedom of action—though closely watched by Orc—he would have some chance against the Lords.
Orc spoke the unknown language into a wristband device, and a moment later a man entered. His kilt was red with a black stylized bird with a silver fish in its claws. He carried some papers which he gave to Orc, bowed, and withdrew.
Orc sat down by Kickaha.
The papers turned out to be maps of the central Los Angeles area and of Beverly Hills. Orc circled an area in Beverly Hills.
“That is the house where I lived and where Urthona now lives,” he said. “The house you were searching for and where Anana and the others are now undoubtedly held. Or, at least, where they were taken after being captured.”
Orc’s description of the defenses in the house made Kickaha feel very vulnerable. It was true that Urthona would have changed the defense setup in the house. But, though the configuration of the traps might be different, the traps would remain fundamentally the same.
“Why haven’t you tried to attack before this?”
“I have,” Red Orc replied, “Several times. My men got into the house, but I never saw them again. The last attempt was made about three years ago.
“If you don’t succeed,” Orc continued, “I will threaten Urthona with the Beller. I doubt, however, that that will do much good, since he will find it inconceivable that a Lord could do such a thing.”
His tone also made it evident that he did not think Kickaha would succeed.
He wanted to know Kickaha’s plans, but Kickaha could only tell him that to improvise. He wanted Orc to use his devices to ensure a minute’s distortion of Urthona’s detection devices.
Orc objected to loaning Kickaha an antigravity belt. What if it fell into the hands of the Earthlings?
“There’s not much chance of that,” Kickaha said. “Once I’m in Urthona’s territory, I’ll either succeed or fail. In either case, the belt isn’t going to get into any outsider’s hands. And if it did, whoever is Lord will have the influence to see that it is taken out of the hands of whoever has it. I’m sure that even if the FBI had it in their possession, the Lord of the Two Earths could find a way to get it from them. Right?”
“Right,” Orc said. “But do you plan on running away with it instead of attacking Urthona?”
“No. I won’t stop until I’m dead, or too incapacitated to fight, or have won,” Kickaha said.
Orc was satisfied, and by this Kickaha knew that the truth drug was still effective. Orc stood up and said, “I’ll prepare things for you. It will take some time, so you might as well rest or do whatever you think best. We’ll go into action at midnight tonight.”
Kickaha asked if the cord could be taken off him. Orc said, “Why not? You can’t get out of here, anyway. The cord was just an extra precaution.”
One of the kilted men touched the shackle around his leg with a thin cylinder. The shackle opened and fell off. While the two men backed away from Kickaha, Orc strode out of the room. Then the door was shut, and Kickaha was alone.
He spent the rest of the time thinking, exercising, and eating lunch and supper. Then he bathed and shaved, exercised some more, and lay down to sleep. He would need all his alertness, strength, and quickness and there was no use draining these with worry and sleeplessness.
He did not know how long he had slept. The room was still lighted, and everything seemed as when he had lain down. The tray with its empty plates and cups was still on the table, and this, he realized, was a wrong note. It should have been gated out.
The sounds that had awakened him had seemed to be slight tappings. When coming out of his sleep, he had dreamed, or thought he dreamed, that a woodpecker was rapping a tree trunk.
Now there was only silence.
He rose and walked toward the door used by Orc and his servants. It was of metal, as he had ascertained after being loosed from the cord. He placed his ear against it and listened. He could hear nothing. Then he jumped back with an oath. The metal had suddenly become hot!
The floor trembled as if an earthquake had started. The metal of the door gave forth a series of sounds, and he knew where the dream of the woodpecker had originated. Something was striking the door on the other side.
He stepped away from it just as the center of the door became cherry red and began to melt. The redness spread, became white, and then the center disappeared, leaving a hole the size of a dinner plate. By then, Kickaha was crouching behind the sofa and looking out around its corner. He saw an arm reach in through the hole and the hand grope around the side. Evidently it was trying to locate a lock. There was none, so the arm withdrew and a moment later the edge of the door became cherry red. He suspected that a beam was being used on it, and he wondered what the metal was. If it had been the hardest steel, it should have gone up in a puff of smoke at the first touch of a beam.
The door fell inward with a clang. A man jumped in, a big cylinder with a bell-like muzzle and a rifle-type stock in his hands. The man was one of the kilted servants. But he carried on his back a black bell-like object in a net attached to the shoulders with straps.
Kickaha saw all this in a glance and withdrew his head. He crouched on the other side, hoping that the intruder had not seen him and would not, as a matter of precaution, sweep the sofa with the beamer to determine if anyone would be behind it. He knew who the man now was. Whatever he may have been, he was now the Black Beller, Thabuuz. The mind of the Beller was housed in the brain of the servant of the Lord, and the mind of the servant was discharged.
Somehow, the Beller had gotten the bell and managed to transfer his mind from the wounded body of the Drachelander to the servant of the Lord. He had gotten hold of a powerful beamer, and he was on his way out of the stronghold of Red Orc.
The odor of burned flesh filled the room; there must be bodies in the next room.
Kickaha wanted desperately to find out what the Beller was doing, but he did not dare to try to peek around the corner of the sofa again. He could hear the man’s breathing, and then, suddenly, it was gone. After waiting sixty seconds and hearing nothing, Kickaha peeked around the corner. The room seemed to be empty. A moment later, he was sure of it. The other door, the door by which Kickaha and Orc and his men had originally entered, was standing wide open, its lock drilled through.
Kickaha looked cautiously around the side of the opposite door. There were parts of human bodies here, arms, trunks, a head, all burned deeply. There seemed to have been four or five men originally. There was no way of telling which was Red Orc or if he was among the group, since all clothes and hair had been burned off.
Somewhere, softly, an alarm was ringing.
He was torn between the desire to keep on the trail of the Beller so that he would not lose him and by the desire to find out if Red Orc was
still alive. He also wanted very much to confirm his suspicions that he was not on the Earth he knew. He suspected that the door through which he had entered was a gate between the two worlds and that this house was on Earth Number Two.
He went into the hallway. There were some knives on the floor, but they were too hot to pick up. He went down the hall and through a doorway into a very large room. It was dome-shaped, its walls white with frescoes of sea life, its furniture wooden and lightly built with carved motifs he did not recognize, and its floor a mosaic of stone with more representations of sea creatures.
He crossed the room and looked out the window. There was enough light from the moon to see a wide porch with tall round wooden pillars, painted white, and beyond that a rocky beach that sloped for a hundred yards from the house to the sea. There was no one in view.
He prowled the rest of the house, trying to combine caution with speed. He found a hand-beamer built to look like a conventional revolver. Its butt bore markings that were not the writing of the Lords or of any language that he knew. He tested it out against a chair, which fell apart down the middle. He could find no batteries to recharge it and had no way of knowing how much charge remained in the battery.
He also found closets with clothes, most of them kilts, sandals, beads, and jackets with puffed sleeves. But in one closet he found Earth Number One type clothing, and he put on a shirt and trousers too large for him. Since he could not wear the big shoes, he put on a pair of sandals.
Finally, in a large bedroom luxuriously provided with alien furniture, he discovered how Red Orc had escaped. A crescent lay in the center of the floor. The Lord had stepped into a circle formed of two crescents of a gate and been transported elsewhere. That he had done so to save himself was evident. The door and the walls were crisscrossed with thin perforations and charred. It was not likely that Orc would be caught without a weapon on him, but he must have thought that the big beamer was too much to face.
He had gated. Where? He could have gone back to Earth Number One but not necessarily to the same house. Or he could have gated to another place on Earth Number Two. Or, even, to another room in this house.
The World of Tiers Volume Two: Behind the Walls of Terra, the Lavalite World, Red Orc's Rage, and More Than Fire Page 13