R.W. III - The Dark Design

by Philip José Farmer

  Joe was saying something, his mouth wide open and working furiously. Sam stabbed a finger at his ear, indicating that he couldn't hear. Joe kept on yelling. His skin was cut in a hundred places.

  Later, after everybody had calmed down, Sam decided that just one of the bombs must have gone off. The force of its explosion should have set off the other three, but it surely had not done so.

  Nobody had been killed, but several score had been severely wounded. Luckily, the explosion had failed to set off the rockets aboard.

  Detweiller was the worst casualty, but by the third day he was up and walking. The boat was still close to shore, anchored next to the stone that had provided breakfast. A wide gangplank was built so the crew could walk ashore. The damage was repaired, and the crew took turns on shore leave. Sam decided that now would be a good time to make more alcohol and gunpowder. Arrangements were made to trade tobacco and some of the whiskey and wine provided by the crew's grails for wood and lichen from the area.

  Von Richthofen was dead. The only survivors of the Minerva were Samhradh and Hardy, Newton having drowned while still unconscious. Sam wept when the German's body, wrapped in a weighted bag, was dropped into The River. He had been very fond of the ebullient, happy-go-lucky fellow.

  "I know why Greystock did this," Sam said. 'John Lackland made him an offer he couldn't resist. And the double-dealing swine almost did the job, too. I thought Greystock was a cruel man, like all of his kind, but I didn't think he'd be disloyal. Still, if you've read your history – you, Marc, not you, Joe – then you'll know that the medieval noblemen were notorious for treachery. Their god was Opportunity, no matter how many churches they built for the glory of Church and God. They all had the morals of a hyena."

  "Not all of them," de Marbot said. "There was William Marshal of England. He never switched sides."

  "Didn't he serve under King John?" Sam said. "He must've had a strong stomach to stick with him. Anyway, John has tried once and almost got away with it. What bothers me is, how many other saboteurs has he planted? You see now why I've insisted on double guards at every vulnerable point. And four outside the armory and ammunition hold.

  "That's also why I've ordered that every man jack aboard, and jill, too, report any suspicious conduct they see. I know it's made some people jumpy. But I've had to be realistic."

  "No vonder you got nightmareth. Me, I don't vorry about thuch thingth."

  "That's why I'm captain and you're only a bodyguard. Say, don't you worry about protecting me?"

  "I chutht do my duty and vorry only about the long time betveen mealth."

  A few minutes later, the chief radio officer reported that she was in contact with the Parseval. By the time Sam was through talking to Gulbirra, he felt as if he were walking through a minefield. Treachery, lies, frustration, uncertainty, confusion, and misdirection were waiting to explode under his feet.

  Smoking like a dragon though the cigar tasted bitter, he paced back and forth. So far, there were only two on the boat who shared the secret of X with him – Joe Miller and John Johnston. There were, or had been, eight who to his knowledge knew about the Stranger: Miller, Johnston, himself, Firebrass (now dead), de Bergerac, Odysseus (who'd disappeared long ago), von Richthofen (now dead), and Richard Francis Burton. The being whom Clemens called X or the Mysterious Stranger (when it wasn't son-of-a-bitch or bastard) had said he'd elected twelve to get to the polar tower. X was supposed to return in a few years and give Sam more information. So far he had not shown.

  Perhaps the other Ethicals had finally caught him, and he was – where?

  Sam had told Miller and von Richthofen about the Stranger. So that left six of those informed by X unknown to him. Though it was possible that they were all on this boat. Why had X not given each one a sign or a codeword of recognition? Maybe he meant to do so but had been delayed. X's schedule was about as uncertain as that of a Mexican railroad.

  Cyrano had told him about Burton. Sam didn't know where Burton was, but he knew who he was. The newspapers had been full of his exploits during Sam's lifetime. And Sam had read his Personal Narrative of a Pilgrimage to El-Medinah, First Footsteps in East Africa, The Lake Regions of Central Africa, and his translation of the Arabian Nights.

  Also, Gwenafra had known him personally, and she had told Sam all she remembered about him. She had been only seven or thereabouts when she had first been resurrected. Richard Burton had taken her under his wing, and she had traveled with him on a boat up-River for a year. Then she had been drowned, but she had never forgotten the fierce, dark man.

  Greystock had also been with them. But neither he nor Gwen were aware of the Stranger. Or way Greystock an agent?

  That fellow Burton. On Earth he'd led an expedition to find the source of the Nile. Here, he was as passionately involved in getting to the headwaters of the Nile, though for a different reason. De Bergerac had said that the Ethical had told him that, if he found Burton, Burton would pretend to have lost his memory of anything related to the Ethicals. Clemens should tell him that he knew better, and Burton would then explain why he was pretending to have amnesia. Very curious.

  Then there were Stern, Obrenova, and Thorn. And Firebrass. Their roles were as clandestine as those of X and his colleagues. On which side were they?

  He needed help in untangling the warp and woof of this crazy tapestry. Time for a conference.

  Within five minutes, he was closeted in his cabin with Joe and John Johnston. Johnston was a huge man, massively boned and muscled. His face was handsome though craggy; his eyes, a startling blue; his hair, bright red. Though he towered above other humans, he looked small beside the titanthrop.

  Sam Clemens gave them the news. Johnston did not speak at first, but then the mountaineer was not one to talk unless there was extreme occasion to do so. Joe said, "Vhat doeth it all mean? I mean, the gateway through vich only Pithcator could pathth?"

  "We'll find out from Thorn," Sam said. "For the time being, what worries me is Thorn and the rest of that filthy crew."

  Johnston said, "Ye don't think Greystock was an agent for them Ethicals, do ye? I think the polecat was just one of King John's men."

  "He could have been that and also an agent," Sam said.

  "How?" Joe Miller rumbled.

  "How do I know? Anyway, you mean why. That was really what the thief said to Jesus while he was being nailed to the cross. Why? That's what we should be asking. Why? Yes, I think Greystock could have been an agent. He just fell in with King John's purpose because it suited his own purpose."

  "But them agents don't use violence," Johnston said. "At least, that's what ye told me X told ye. They not only hate violence, they don't even like to touch human beings."

  "No, I didn't say that. I said violence was unethical for the Ethicals. At least, according to X. But I don't know that he wasn't lying. For all I know, he may be the Prince of Darkness, who was, if you remember your Bible, the Prince of Liars."

  "Then what're we doing?" Johnston said. "Why're we following his orders?"

  "Because I don't know he's lying. And his colleagues haven't had the courtesy or decency to speak to me. He' s all I have to go on. Also, I said that X seemed rather reluctant to have me get too close. Like the abolitionist who aired out his house after he'd had a black to dinner. But I didn't say that the agents were Brahmins, too. Thorn and Firebrass certainly weren't. I don't know. Anyway, Joe has a nose for X. He came into my hut once right after X had left. And he said he smelled somebody not human."

  "Hith thtink vath different from Tham'th," Joe said, grinning. "I didn't thay that Tham thmelled any better, though."

  "You're a thly one, ain't you?" Sam said. "Anyway, Joe has never smelled anyone else like that. So I presumed that the agents are of human origin."

  "Tham thmoketh thigarth all the time," Joe said. "I couldn't thmell a thkunk around thothe weedth."

  "That'll be enough of that, Joe," Sam said. "Or I'll run you back up the banana tree."

  "I never
thaw a banana in my life! Not until I came here and my grail gave me vone for breakfatht. Even then I vathn't thyure it vathn't poithon."

  "Stick," Johnston said.

  Sam's eyebrows curved like the backs of recoiling caterpillars.

  "Stick what? I hope . . ."

  "To the point."

  "Ah, yes. Anyway, I'm sure that there are agents around. The boat may be crawling with them. The question is, whose? X's or the others'? Or both?"

  Johnston said, "They ain't seemed to interfere so far. Not with the boat, anyway. But when we get close to the headwaters . . ."

  "I don't know about interference. Even though he never said so, it's safe to assume that X bored that tunnel and left that rope for Joe and his Egyptian friends. But there's no evidence that the others are particularly against us mere Earthlings getting to the tower. They just don't want to make it easy for us. Again, why not?

  "Also, what about Odysseus? He showed up in the nick of time and saved us when we were fighting von Radowitz. He told me he was one of the twelve picked by X. I assumed at first that it was X who'd sent him. But no, Odysseus said it was a female Ethical. So, is there another one of them in on this? Another renegade who's X's ally? I asked him about her, and he just laughed. He wouldn't tell me.

  "But maybe the woman wasn't X's pal. Maybe she was an Ethical who'd gotten wind somehow of what was going on. And she sent Odysseus, who may have been an agent posing as the historic Odysseus.

  "I say that because I've run into two Mycenaeans who were actually at the siege of Troy. At least, they claimed to have been. There are so many phonies on The River, you know. Both said that Troy wasn't where Odysseus said it was. He had told me that Troy was much further down in Asia Minor than the archaeologists said it was. The two Greeks said that it was where everybody had always said it was. Near Hissarlik, Turkey. Well, they didn't identify the town and country under those names, of course. Neither was in existence in their day.

  "But they did say that Troy was near the Hellespont, where Hissarlik was later built. Now, how about that mess?"

  "If that Greek feller was an agent," Johnston said, "why would he make up a lie like that?"

  "Maybe to convince me that he was the real stuff. That he was the dyed-in-the-wool original. He wasn't likely to encounter anyone who could call him a bald-faced liar. For one thing, he didn't stick around long enough to be challenged.

  "Here's another thing. The scholars of my time had all said that the wooden horse of Troy was a myth. The story was about as credible as a politician's campaign promises. But Odysseus said that there was a wooden horse, and he himself proposed it, just as Homer said he did, and it did get the Greek soldiers into the city.

  "But then maybe it was a double-ply lie. By telling me that the scholars were all wrong, he made it sound as if he'd really been there. Anybody who could stand there and look you in the eye and tell you the scholars were full of sawdust and mouse droppings, because he had been there and they hadn't, would convince me. The scholars are always sailing out, looking for a textural Northwest Passage, trying to navigate with a sextant in a snowstorm, not sure whether the bowsprit is on the fore or the stern."

  "At least, they tried," Johnston said.

  "So did the eunuch in the sheik's harem. I wish I had some idea of what's going on. We are in deep waters, as Holmes said to Watson."

  "Who're thothe guyth?" Joe said.

  The giant mountaineer growled. Sam said, "Okay, John, sorry. I was hoping we could follow at least one thread through in this tangled warp and woof. Hell, we can't even find the end of one thread!"

  "Maybe Gwenafra thyould be in thith," Joe said. "Thyee'th a voman, vhich you may have notithed, Tham. You thaid vomen can pertheive thingth men can't becauthe they got female intuithyon. Anyvay, thye doethn't like being left out in the cold. Thye ain't no dummy. Thye knowth there'th been thomething going on for a long time that you've been hiding from her. Right now, thye'th thulking in the main lounge. Thye hath the red athth every time you run her out tho ve can have a conferenthe about thith thubchect."

  "I don't believe in women's intuition," Sam said. "They're just culturally conditioned to observe different patterns of action and speech, different gestures and inflections from those men observe. They're more sensitive to certain subtleties because of this conditioning."

  "It'th the thame thing in the end," Joe said. "Vhat do ve care vhat ith'th called? I thay, ve been beating out our brainth on thith. It'th about time ve had a new dealer in on thith poker game."

  "Squaws talk too much," Johnston said.

  "According to you, everybody talks too much," Sam said. "Anyway, Gwen is as smart as anyone here, maybe smarter."

  "It'll end up with the whole world knowing about it," Johnston said.

  "Well, if you think on it," Sam said, "why shouldn't everybody know? Ain't it everybody's business?"

  "The Stranger must have his reasons for wanting us to keep quiet."

  "But are they good reasons?" Sam said. "On the other hand, if we did blabber about this there'd be a mob trying to get to the North Pole. The '49 Gold Rush couldn't hold a candle to it. There'd be hundreds of thousands wanting to get to the tower. And a million hanging around to exploit them."

  "Let'th take a vote on Gven."

  "You ever heard of a woman at a council of war? The first thing you know, she'll be wanting to run us. Them petticoats take an inch if ye give 'em a mile.''

  "Women don't wear petticoats anymore," Sam said. "In fact, they don't wear much of anything, as you must've noticed."

  The vote was two to one. Johnston said, "Okay. But you make her keep her legs crossed when she sits down, Sam."

  "It's a strain just getting her to cover her breasts," Sam said. "She's a caution. But it ain't her fault. Anyway, just about everybody swims naked. So what's the difference if she is a little careless about how many square inches of flesh she exposes?"

  "It ain't the flesh, it's the hair,'' Johnston said. "Don't it bother you none?"

  "It used to. After all, I lived about the same time as you. But I didn't spend my life among the Rocky Mountain Indians. We've been here thirty-four years, John, on a planet where even Queen Victoria is traipsing around in an outfit that would've given her heart failure followed by diarrhoea if she'd seen it worn in front of Buckingham Palace. Now nudity seems as natural as sleeping in church."

  Chapter 64

  * * *

  Gwenafra, forewarned by Sam, was wearing a loincloth under her kilt. She sat in a chair and listened wide-eyed while Sam explained why she had been admitted to the council.

  After she had heard Sam out, she sat silently for a while, sipping from a cup of tea. Then she said, "I knew more than you thought I did. You've talked a lot in your sleep. I knew you were keeping something very serious from me. That hurt me very much. In fact, I was going to tell you, Sam, that you must tell me what was going on. Otherwise, I was going to leave you."

  "Why didn't you say so? I had no idea you felt that way."

  "Because I supposed that you must have a very good reason for keeping it from me. But I was getting to the point where I couldn't stand it anymore. Haven't you noticed how cross I've been lately?"

  "It hadn't escaped me. I thought you were just being moody. One of the mysteries of woman. But this is no place to discuss our personal affairs."

  "What is the place, then? I know I would have said something if you'd been so irritable. Anyway, women are about as mysterious as a tin mine. All you have to do is carry a lantern into the dark places, and you see everything. But men like to think women are the eternally mysterious. That saves men the trouble of asking questions, taking a little time and effort."

  "The eternally loquacious, then," Sam said. "You take as long to get to the point as a broken pencil." "You're both gabby," Johnston said, scowling.

  "There are other extremes," she said, glaring at Johnston. "But you're right. Maybe 'there's one thing that you could consider as a key to the mystery of the tower. Th
at is, what kind of a person was Piscator?"

  "Ah, hmmm," Sam said. "I see what you mean. Why was he able to enter the tower while the others couldn't? Well, for one thing, he could have been an agent. But if agents can get through the barrier, why couldn't Thorn?

  "Besides, why should Thorn have to Use the Parseval to get to the tower? The Ethicals and their agents have their own methods of transportation, some kind of flying machine."

  "I don't know," Gwenafra said. "Let's concentrate on Piscator. How was he different from the others? It couldn't be a physical element – clothing, say – that was the key to entry. All tried to get in naked, yet only Piscator got in.

  "Also, there was a difference in how far each was able to advance into the entrance. What were the elements in character that made some advance further than others?"

  "We'd need a computer to figure that out," Sam said. "However, Gulbirra knows the men in the airship. She can describe them when she gets here. Anyway, to be scientific, the exact distance each person traveled would have to be known. And that would have to be compared to each person's character. Nobody was taking measurements there, so that's out."

  "Just consider Piscator then."

  "He was one of them samurai," Johnston said.

  "I don't think race would have anything to do with it," Sam said. "So far we haven't uncovered any Mongolian agents, though I suppose there could be plenty. Consider this. Thorn did not want Firebrass and Obrenova to get into the tower. So he cold-bloodedly blew them up, not to mention the innocents with them. Maybe, though, Thorn didn't know Firebrass was an agent. If so, he got two for the price of one."