Sleep was in snatches and seconds that night. Clothahump woke them to a soggy sunrise.
Ahead in the morning mist-light lay a great open squarepaved with triangular slabs of gray, black, purple, and blu" stone. Across this expansive parade ground, populated nov only by early risers, rose a circular pyramid. It consisted of concentric ring shapes like enormous tires. These tapered to a smooth spire hundreds of feet high that pierced the mist like a gray needle.
Half a dozen smaller copies of the central structure ringed it at points equidistant from one another. There was no wall around any of them, nor for that matter around the main square itself.
Despite this the driver refused to go any further. His determination was so strong even Clothahump's hypnotic urgings failed to force him and his wagon onto the triangular paving.
"I have no permit," he said raspily, "to enter the palace grounds. It would be my death to be found on the sacred square without one."
"This is where we walk again, my friends. Perhaps it is best. I see only one or two wagons on the square. We do not want to attract attention."
Mudge let himself over the back of the wagon. "Cor, ain't that the bloody ugliest buildin' you ever saw in your life?"
They abandoned the wagon. Clothahump was last off. He whispered a few words to the driver. The beetle moved the reins and the wagon swung around to vanish up the street down which they'd come. Jon-Tom wondered at the excuse the unfortunate driver would offer when he suddenly returned to full consciousness at his delivery point after nearly a week of amnesia.
"It seems we need a permit to cross," said Caz appraisingly. "How do we go about obtaining one?"
Clothahump sounded disapproving. "We need no permit. I have been observing the pedestrians traversing the square, and none has been stopped or questioned. It seems that the threat is sufficient to secure the palace's exclusiveness. The permit may be required within, but it does not seem vital for walking the square."
"I hope you're right, sir." The rabbit stepped out onto the paving, a gangling, thoroughly insectoid shape. Together they moved at an easy pace toward the massive pyramidal palace.
As Clothahump had surmised, they were not accosted. If anything, they found the square larger than it first appeared, like a lake that looks small until one is swimming in its center.
From this central nexus the spokes of Cugluch radiated outward toward farmland and swamp. The city was far larger than Polastrindu, especially when one considered that much of it was hidden underground.
Thick mist clung to the crests of the seven towers and completely obscured the central one. Nowhere did they see a flag, a banner, any splash of color or gaiety. It was a somber capital, dedicated to a somber purpose.
And the massive palace was especially dark and foreboding. Here at least Jen-Tom had expected some hint of brightness. Militaristic cultures were historically fond of pomp and flash. The palace of the Empress, however, was as dull as the warrens of the citizen-workers. Different in design but not demeanor, he decided.
The lowest level of the circular pyramid was several stories high. It was fashioned, as the entire palace complex no doubt was, of close-fitting stone mortared over with a gray cement or plaster. Water dripped down its curves to vanish into gutters and drains lining the base. There was a minimum of windows.
The triangular paving of the square ceased some fifteen yards from the base of the palace. In its place was a smooth surface of black cement. That was all; no fence, no hidden alarms, no hedgerows or ditches. But on that black fifteen yards, which encircled the entire palace, nothing moved save the stiffly pacing guards.
They formed a solid ring, ten yards from the palace wall, five yards apart. They marched in slow tread from left to right, keeping the same distance between them like so many wind-up toys. As near as Jon-Tom could tell they ringed the entire palace, a moving chain of guards that never stopped.
At Clothahump's urging they turned southward. The guards never looked in their direction, though Jon-Tom was willing to wager that if so much as a foot touched that black cement, the trespasser would suddenly find himself the object of considerable hostile attention.
Eventually they stood opposite an arched triangular portal cut from the flank of the palace. The entryway was three stories high. At present its massive iron gates were thrown wide. A line of armed beetles extended from either open gate out across the cement to the edge of the paving. The unbroken ring of encircling guards passed through this intercepting line with precision. The moving guards never touched any of the stationary ones.
"Now wot, guv'nor?" Mudge whispered to the wizard. "Do we just walk up t' the nearest bugger an' ask 'im polite-like if the Empress be at 'ome an' might we 'ave 'is leave t' skip on in t' see the old dear?"
"I have no desire to see her," Clothahump replied. "It is Eejakrat we are after. Rules survive by relying on the brains of their advisors. Remove Eejakrat, or at least his magic, and we leave the Empress without the most important part of her collective mind."
He gazed thoughtfully at Caz. "You have laid claim to a working knowledge of diplomacy, my boy, and have shown an aptitude for such in the past. I am reluctant to perform a spell among so many onlookers and so near to Eejakrat's influence. I've no doubt he has placed alarm spells all about the palace.
They would react to my magicking, but not to your words. We must get inside. I suggest you employ your talent for extemporaneous and convincing conversation."
"I don't know, sir," replied the rabbit uncertainly. "It's easy to convince people you're familiar with. I don't know how to talk to these."
"Nonsense. You did well with that curious woodcutter whom we encountered during our descent. If anything, the minds you are about to deal with are simpler than those you are more familiar with. Consider their society, which rewards conformity while condemning individuality." "If you want me to, sir, I'll give it a try." "Good. The rest of you form behind us. Pog, you stay airborne and warn us if there is sudden movement from armed troops in our direction."
"What does it matter?" said the sorrowful bat from inside his disguise. "We'll all be dead inside an hour anyway." But he spiraled higher and did as he was told, keeping a watchful eye on the guards and any group of pedestrians who came near.
Following Caz and Clothahump, me travelers made their way toward the entrance. There was an anxious moment when they stepped from paving to cement, but no one challenged them. The guards flanking the approach kept their attention on a point a few inches in front of their mandibles.
Then it was through the encircling ring, which likewise did not react. They were a couple of yards from the entrance.
Jon-Tom had the wild notion that they might simply be able to march on into the palace when a massive beetle slightly taller but much broader than Caz lumbered out of the shadows to confront them. He was flanked by a pair of pale, threefoot-high attendants of the mutated mayfly persuasion. One of them carried a large scroll and a marking instrument. The other simply stood and listened.
"State your business, citizens," demanded the glowering hulk in the middle. He reminded Jon-Tom of a gladiator ready to enter the arena, and pity be on the lions. The extra set of arms ruined the illusion.
With the facility of an established survivor, Caz replied without hesitation. "Hail, citizen! We have special, urgently requested information for the sorcerer Eejakrat, information that is vital to our coming success." Not knowing how to properly conclude the request he added blandly, "Where can we find him?"
Their interrogator did not reply immediately. Jon-Tom wondered if his nervousness showed.
After a brief conversation with the burdenless mayfly the beetle gestured backward with two hands. "Third level, Chamber Three Fifty-Five and adjuncts."
Politely, he stepped aside.
Caz led them in. They walked down a short hallway. It opened into a hall that seemed to run parallel to the circular shape of the building. Another, similar hall could be seen further ahead. Evidently there was
a single point from which the palace and thence the entire city of Cugluch radiated in concentric circles, with hallways or streets forming intersecting spokes.
Jon-Tom leaned over and whispered to Clothahump. "I don't know how you feel, sir, but to me that was much too easy."
"Why shouldn't it have been?" said Talea, feeling cocky at their success thus far. "It was just like crossing the square outside."
"Precisely, my dear," said Clothahump proudly. "Yousee, Jon-Tom, they are so well ordered they cannot imagine anyone stepping out of class or position. They cannot conceive, as that threatening individual who confronted us outside cannot, that any of their fellows would have the presumption to lie to gain an audience with so feared a personality as Eejakrat. If we did not deserve such a meeting, we would not be asking for it.
"Furthermore, spies are unknown in Cugluch. They have no reason to suspect any, and traitorous actions are as alien to the Plated Folk as snow. This may be possible after all, my friends. We need only maintain the pretext that we know what we are doing and have a right to be doing it."
"I'd imagine," said Caz, "that if the spoke-and-circle layout of the city and palace is followed throughout, the center would be the best place to locate stairways. Third level, the fellow said."
"I agree," Clothahump replied, "but we do not wish to find Eejakrat except as a last resort, remember. It is the dead mind he controls that must remain our primary goal."
"That's simple enough, then," said Mudge cheerfully. "All we 'ave t' do now is ask where t' find a particularly well-attended corpse."
"For once, my fuzzy fuzz-brained friend, you are correct. It will likely be placed close by Eejakrat's chambers. Let us proceed quickly to the level indicated, but not to him."
They did so. By now they were used to being ignored by the Plated Folk. Busy palace staff moved silently around them, intent on their own tasks. The narrow hallways and low ceilings combined with the slightly acidic odor of the inhabitants made Jon-Tom and Flor feel a little claustrophobic.
They reached the third level and began to follow the numbers engraved above each sealed portal. Only four chambers from the stairway they'd ascended was a surprise: the corridor was blocked. Also guarded.
Instead of Ihe lumbering beetle they'd encountered at me entrance to the palace they found a slim, almost effeminatelooking insect seated behind a desk. Other armed Plated Folk stood before the temporary barrier sealing off the hall beyond.
Unlike their drilling brothers marching single-mindedly outside, these guards seemed alert and active. They regarded the new arrivals with unconcealed interest. There was no suspicion in their unyielding faces, however. Only curiosity.
It was Clothahump who spoke to the individual behind the desk, and not Caz.
"We have come to make adjustments to the mind," he told the individual behind the desk, hoping he had gauged the source correctly and hadn't said anything fatally contradictory.
The fixed-faced officer preened one red eye. He could not frown but succeeded in conveying an impression of puzzlement nonetheless.
"An adjustment to the mind?"
"To Eejakrat's Materialization."
"Ah, of course, citizen. But what kind of adjustment?" He peered hard at the encased wizard. "Who are you, to be entrusted with access to so secret a thing?"
Clothahump was growing worried. The more questions asked, the more the chance of saying something dangerously out of sync with the facts.
"We are Eejakrat's own special assistants. How else could we know of the mind?"
"That is sensible," agreed the officer. "Yet no mention was made to me of any forthcoming adjustments."
"I have just mentioned it to you."
The officer turned that one over in his mind, got thoroughly confused, and finally said, "I am sorry for the delay, citizen. I mean no insult by my questions, but we are under extraordinary orders. Your master's fears are well known."
Clothahump leaned close, spoke confidentially. "An attribute of all who must daily deal with dark forces."
The officer nodded somberly. "I am glad it is you who must deal with the wizard and not myself." He waved aside the guards blocking the doorway in the portable barrier. "Stand aside and let them pass."
Caz and Talea were the first through the portal when the officer suddenly put out an arm and touched Clothahump. "Surely you can satisfy the curiosity of a fellow citizen. What kind of 'adjustment* must you make to the mind? We all understand so little about it and you can sympathize with my desire to know."
"Of course, of course." Clothahump's mind was working frantically. How much did the officer actually know? He'd just confessed his ignorance, but mightn't it be a ploy? Better to say anything fast than nothing at all. His only real worry was that the officer might have some sorceral training.
"Please do not repeat this," he finally said, with as much assurance as he could muster. "It is necessary to apfrangle the overscan."
"Naturally," said the officer after a pause.
"And we may," the wizard added for good measure, "additionally have to lower the level of cratastone, just in case."
"I can understand the necessity for that." The officer grandly waved them through, enjoying the looks of respect on the faces of his subordinates while praying this visitor wouldn't ask him any questions in return.
They proceeded through the portal one by one. Jon-Tom was last through and hesitated. The officer seemed willing enough.
"It's still in the same chamber, of course."
"Number Twelve, yes," said the officer blandly. Clothahump fell back to match stride with Jon-Tom. "That was clever of you, my boy! I was so preoccupied with trying to get us in that I'd forgotten how difficult it would be to sense past Eejakrat's spell guards. Now that is no longer a constraint. You cannot teach deviousness," he finished pridefiuly.
"That is instinctive."
"Thank you, sir. I think. What kind of corpse do you think it is?"
"I cannot imagine. I cannot imagine a dead brain functioning, either. We shall know soon enough." He was deciphering the symbols engraved above each circular doorway. The guarded barrier had long since disappeared around the continuous curve of the hallway.
"There is number ten… and there eleven," he said excitedly, pointing to the door on their right.
"Then this must be twelve." Talea stopped before the closed door.
It was no larger than any of the others they'd passed. The corridor nearby was deserted. Clothahump stepped forward and studied the wooden door. There were four tiny circular insets midway up the left side. He inserted his four insect arms into them and pushed.
The spring mechanism that controlled the door clicked home. The wood split apart and inward like two halves of an apple.
There was no light in the chamber beyond. Even Caz could see nothing. But Pog saw without eyes.
"Master, it's not very large, but I think dat dere's someting…" He fluttered near a wall, struck his sparker.
A lamp suddenly burst into light. It revealed a bent and very aged beetle surrounded by writhing white larval forms;
Startled, it glared back at them and muttered an oath.
"What is it now? I've told Skrritch I'm not to be disturbed unless… unless…" His words trailed away as he stared fixedly at Clothahump.
"By the Primordial Arm! A warmlander wizard!" He turned to a siphon speaker set in the wall nearby. "Guards, guards!" The maggots formed a protective, loathesome semi circle in front of him.
"Quick now," Caz yelled, "where is it?" They fanned out into the chamber, hunting for anything that might fit Clothahump's description.
One insectoid, one mammalian, the two wizards faced each other in silent summing up. Neither moved, but they were
battling as ferociously as any two warriors armed with sword and spear.
"We've got to find it fast," Ror was muttering, searching a corner. "Before…"
But hard feet were already clattering noisily in the corridor outside. Distant cri
es of alarm sounded in the chamber. Then the soldiers were pouring through the doorway, and there was no more time.
Jon-Tom saw something lying near the back wall that might have been a long, low corpse. An insect shape stepped up behind him and raised a cast-iron bottle high. Just before the bottle came down on his head it occurred to him that the shape wielding it was familiar. It wasn't one of the insect guards who'd just arrived. Before he blacked out under the impact he was positive the insectoid visage was that concealing Talea's. The realization stunned him almost as badly as the bottle, which cracked his own false forehead and bounced off the skull beneath. Darkness returned to the chamber.
When he regained consciousness, he found he was lying in a dimly lit, spherical cell. There was a drain in the center, at the bottom of the sphere. The light came from a single lamp hanging directly over the drain. It was windowless and humid. Moss and fungi grew from the damp stones, and it was difficult to keep from sliding down the sloping floor. Compared to this, the cell they'd been temporarily incarcerated in back in Gossameringue had been positively palatial.
No friendly Ananthos would be appearing here to recfify a mistaken imprisonment, however.
"Welcome back to the world of the living," said Bribbens. Good times or bad, the boatman's expression never seemed to change. The moisture in the cell did not bother him, of course.
"I should've stayed on my boat," he added with a sigh.
"Maybe we all ought to 'ave stayed on your boat, mate," said a disconsolate Mudge.
It occurred to Jon-Tom that Bribbens looked like himself. So did Mudge, and the other occupants of the cell.
"What happened to our disguises?"
"Stripped away as neatly as you'd peel an onion," Pog told him. He lay morosely on the damp stones, unwilling to hang from the fragile lamp.
Clothahump was not in the cell. "Where's your master?"
"I don't know, I don't know," the bat moaned helplessly. "Taken away from us during da fight. We ain't seen him since, da old fart." There was no malice in the bat's words.
The Hour of the Gate Page 19