Helm

by Steven Gould

  There was no outcry from the inn. The distant noises of revelry continued unabated.

  Sylvan wiped his dagger on the clothes of the dead man, then took his gloves off, carefully holding the bloody one by an unsoiled edge. Almost casually, he dropped them on the corpse’s face. He turned and locked eyes with the agent.

  After a moment the guide lowered his eyes, turned to the other man in the room and said, “Dispose of the body. Remove all traces of identity—disfigure the face.”

  Then he turned and led Sylvan from the room.

  Chapter 11

  SETSUZOKU: CONNECTION

  The chancellor looked distracted when he met Leland in the hallway to the Great Library. After a minute he said, “Although I’m delighted you could come, Warden, I would be doing us both a disservice if I did not warn you of some changes.” The old man paused then as if unsure how to continue. “I was visited this morning by the Gentle Guide Margaret de Jinith, an old friend of mine and, she tells me, a new friend of yours.”

  Leland nodded, “The gentle guide has been very kind to me.”

  Cornelius nodded back. “To come directly to the point, she told me to invite the Gentle Guide Marilyn to dinner, as well. I hope you’ll understand when I tell you that her requests, both as an old friend and the sister of the high steward, hold some measure of weight with me.”

  “As they should,” Leland said quietly. His stomach felt odd.

  “Despite this, I have not told the gentle guide that you are here yet. If, at this time, you wish to decline my invitation, I would if not understand at least respect your wishes. I could then tell Marilyn that a last-minute duty kept you from coming.”

  Leland was moved. “I hardly know what to say, Guide Cornelius. Your willingness to bow to my mindless and aberrant behavior is the heart of tolerance itself. If you and the gentle guide can be so tolerant, I can hardly avoid an attempt at the same.” He took the man by his arm and said, “If you’ll lend me some of your courage, I’ll brave the gentle guide.”

  “Of course, Warden.”

  They walked slowly through the Great Library. The books, dimly seen things in the evening dusk, comforted Leland with every step. The chancellor, sensing some of Leland’s unease, began talking about inconsequential things. “I remember, back when I was your age, sitting at the table and trying to calculate the number of words this library holds. A silly thing. The figure I eventually arrived at was nine billion plus or minus fifty million. Not exactly a precise number.”

  Leland said, “Interesting to think on, though. What a structure we could build with nine billion bricks.”

  “Yes, but it would collapse under its own weight. I sometimes wonder if knowledge is like that. Oh, well. A word is a great deal lighter than a brick. And then again, sometimes the right word is heavier than the world.” He shrugged expressively.

  Cornelius and Leland entered the faculty dining room a few minutes later, arm in arm, laughing. Cornelius looked up to see a half smile fight a frown on Marilyn’s face. Both men made the mistake of stifling their laughter immediately, making the elderly chancellor and youthful Leland look like schoolchildren caught in some prank.

  The frown became predominant. “Talking about me behind my back?” she asked severely.

  Guide Cornelius, who’d known Marilyn all her life, saw the corners of her eyes crinkle, not in eye-narrowing anger but with repressed laughter. He covered his mouth to keep from laughing again.

  Leland, though, bowed and spoke quickly. “Forgive us, Gentle Guide. It’s true that the chancellor was talking about you, but it was in no way derogatory. He was telling me the text you chose for your Rites of Thirteen reading.”

  Marilyn rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Not that again? Really, Cornelius. You might as well have told him about the time I wet your lap as a baby. I don’t see what the big fuss was. It’s not as if the thing had been in the original Ger…man?” She stumbled over the pronunciation, using a hard G.

  Leland said, almost automatically, “Juh, Gentle Guide, like ‘germ.’” This earned him an immediate glare.

  Cornelius laughed out loud. “You have to admit that the Tractatus Logico Philosophicus might as well have been in the original for all your audience understood it. I’m always surprised at the books included by the Founders and the books not included.”

  Leland nodded. “I would have liked to see their faces when you read the first line, Gentle Guide. Taken literally, they probably thought it was an attack on the Founders.”

  Marilyn stared at Leland. “Where did you read the Tractatus, Warden? I didn’t see a copy in Laal’s library and I looked.”

  “Uh, I’m not exactly sure.” He frowned in thought.

  “You’re not sure? You must have read it somewhere. You’re certainly right about the first line.”

  Leland scratched his head. “Maybe I’m thinking about a different work. The piece I’m thinking about begins, ‘Die Welt ist alles, was der Fall ist.’”

  Cornelius raised his eyebrows. “What did you say, Warden? What language is that?”

  Leland played the words back in his head. “I’m sorry. I meant to say ‘The world is everything and that’s all there is.’”

  Marilyn narrowed her eyes. “Was that German, Warden? Was that the original text?”

  Leland blushed. “I suppose it is.”

  “Do you speak German, Leland?” asked the chancellor.

  “No, sir,” Leland said. “I must have memorized the phrase.”

  Marilyn stared at Leland hard. “The only copy of the Tractatus I’ve ever seen is in English. Is there another copy somewhere? One with both languages perhaps?”

  Leland blinked, opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it again. Finally he said, “I don’t remember.”

  He was saved further discomfort by the arrival of dinner and the other guests. Cornelius did his best to put Leland at his ease, but during the first part of dinner, Leland didn’t say much, fidgeting in his chair and only toying with his food.

  Later, though, he seemed to relax a bit, although he confined himself to asking questions instead of answering them, drawing the others out about their work and fields of interest. By the time dessert was served, his anxiety seemed to have left him. He was relaxed and smiling, clearly enjoying himself, even offering a small joke here and there.

  Marilyn, Cornelius observed, seemed constantly on her guard, treating Leland with an odd mixture of attention and reserve.

  The other faculty, charmed by this intelligent and ready listener, talked freely, even passionately, about everything from engineering to education. Cornelius, sitting quietly at the head of the table, wondered if the rest of the faculty were noticing what he was.

  Leland’s questions revealed almost as much as his earlier, unguarded statements.

  There was a broad spectrum of interests, displayed by those gathered at the table and Leland was able to ask questions that showed more than passing familiarity with every field discussed.

  When the table had been cleared and wine and tea distributed, Cornelius moved the conversation to less elevated planes. “Have you been enjoying our city, Warden? I hope you’ve seen more of it than the Laal estate and the library.”

  Leland smiled. “The Great Library alone would be worth any journey. However, I’ve seen the palace briefly during a visit to Gentle Guide Margaret, and Laal’s factor here has shown me a few of your justly famous restaurants.”

  “What of the cliff gardens, Warden?” Marilyn asked. “Have you seen them?”

  “I haven’t even heard of them.”

  “Well, then, you should be enlightened. If you’ve time tomorrow I’ll make it my business.”

  Leland looked down at his wine. His voice was almost hoarse when he answered, “I would be honored, Gentle Guide.”

  “One o’clock, then. If you’ve time afterward, perhaps you can join the chancellor and me for tea?” She paused and sipped from her wineglass. “I understand that I’ve missed the honor of
your company at tea once already.”

  Leland, Cornelius observed, was not too old to blush.

  Halvidar Gahnfeld gave instructions to the orderly not to wake Leland for breakfast. “He didn’t come back from the university until three in the morning. Don’t disturb him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Leland, lying wide awake in bed, heard this quiet exchange and smiled. He’d slept four hours and then woken, preternaturally alert, his brain swimming with ideas, concepts, and questions. And then there were feelings and desires, too.

  Besides solitary excursions better characterized as sexual scratching, Leland’s only sexual experiences had been with a servant girl, several years older than him, when he was fifteen. There had been three encounters in dark storerooms behind the kitchen that had scared him more than anything. She’d left shortly thereafter to marry a soldier. Though Leland tried hard to be heartbroken, he had to admit, after kicking around Laal Station for a few days, that he was mostly relieved.

  Now, though, he found himself wishing he’d studied this boy/girl thing more closely. Like all people raised with a reverence for the customs, he was familiar with the human reproductive cycle and those methods available to avoid or achieve conception. But he wasn’t at all sure what sort of things a man says to a woman that might lead to needing this knowledge.

  Besides, he wasn’t the one betrothed to Marilyn.

  He got out of bed, robed himself, and marched down to the baths. There was hot water available, but he didn’t use it.

  Dressed, but still shivering slightly, he walked into his father’s office and began reviewing the reports Gahnfeld had left him on such matters as supplies, training, and punishment detail. Unsure of what was normal and what wasn’t, he called out, “Orderly!”

  The trooper on duty stepped in and bowed, “Yes, Warden?”

  “Where is the staff halvidar?”

  “Teaching sword work, sir, to the Third Hundred.”

  “Please ask him to join me here for lunch at half-past eleven. Then find Coronet Sanchez and have him report to me now. When you’ve done that tell the cook about my lunch plans.”

  “Yes, Warden.” He left the room quietly, but Leland heard his steps pound down the stairs at a run. He smiled briefly.

  Sanchez arrived ten minutes later, a bundle under one arm. “You must’ve read my mind, sir.”

  Leland raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

  “This prototype of the poncho just arrived from Grissom & Sons. They must have had someone working around the clock.”

  They examined the garment carefully. Leland had Sanchez wear it, first green side out, then light brown side. They tested the waterproofing with a splash of tea. He examined its length and width. Then he had Sanchez walk around to see how much noise it made.

  “Good,” he said. “Is their messenger still here?”

  “Yes, Warden.”

  “Tell them to proceed as is. If they need the poncho back, send it. Otherwise bring it back here.”

  Sanchez bowed on his way out. “Yes, Warden.”

  When Gahnfeld arrived and the lunch was laid out, Leland dismissed the orderly and the waiter, having them shut the door behind them.

  They sat and Leland said, “I hope, Myron, that I didn’t pull you away from anything important.”

  Gahnfeld looked around at the closed door, then relaxed visibly. “To tell you the truth, Guide, I needed the exercise. We’ve competent instructors but I’ve been sitting behind that desk too much.”

  Leland smiled. “I’m sure it does the men good to see you show a personal interest. I asked you to eat with me, though, because I will be in the city this afternoon and I wanted to go over these reports with you.”

  “Is there something wrong with the reports?” Gahnfeld asked, frowning.

  Leland raised his hands. “How would I know? That’s the point. I’d like you to tell me what, in these reports, is normal, what isn’t, and even if there are things not covered here that should be.” He pointed at the stack of papers. “You’ve been doing this sort of thing for years. I’ve been doing it for weeks. I know you said to leave the routine to you, and I intend to do that. I just want to know what the routine is.”

  Gahnfeld nodded. “Okay. Forgive me for being frank, Guide, but there are other areas of your education that are equally lacking.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sword work, sir. Should the enemy break through, what chance do you have of defending yourself? Your brothers have been studying the sword for years; what about you?” Gahnfeld paused. “I am not without some experience in this. If you wished, I could tutor you privately.”

  Leland stared at him for a moment, then said, “Thank you, Myron. I appreciate your offer, but I’m not one of my brothers. The time to fit me to that mold was years in the past, and it wasn’t done. You’ll just have to make sure the enemy doesn’t break through.” He toyed with his fork. “What other areas of my education are deficient?”

  Gahnfeld looked down at his plate. “Well, you’d better learn the battle fan, so you can give commands at a distance. And you should learn what your troops are capable of and, more important, what they’re not able to do.”

  “All too true. That’s part of what we’re doing right now. I’ve actually read the Laal signal manual. I promise to practice them, as well.”

  Gahnfeld nodded. “Yes, Guide.”

  “How are the soccer games? Are they screwing up your training?”

  “No. Except for the occasional injury, I think it’s enhancing the unit competition. We should make a weekly judgment, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. Perhaps tonight?”

  “Certainly, Guide.”

  “I’ll design a pennant for the top unit. Oh, by the way, I’ve ordered eight hundred and thirty of these.” He got up and showed Gahnfeld the poncho. “They’ll help keep our lads warm and dry. They might also help in a scheme I have in mind.”

  The halvidar fingered the cloth then tried it on. He pulled the hood back and drew his sword from its back scabbard up through the neck hole. “They’ll need some practice drawing.” He tried a few cuts and thrusts. “And if they’re not careful it will get in their way.” He twisted suddenly, bringing the edge of the poncho swirling up. “It could come in handy, though, to snare the enemy’s blade, maybe even blind him.”

  Gahnfeld scowled for a brief minute, then suddenly grinned. “I’ll confess, Guide, that my conservative mind is leery of new innovations, but then I remember you moving the Eight Hundred to Laal Station from the Black River in under ten hours. Even if they don’t work in your scheme, these things will keep the men warm.”

  “I don’t care if he wants to go riding, I’ve a previous appointment,” Marilyn said calmly to the servant who’d carried Sylvan’s invitation. “Perhaps if he’d care to find out what my plans are ahead of time, we’ll be able to arrange something.” In a less serious tone of voice she added, “Make it sound good, though. You know, ‘Heartbroken regrets, but duties makes it impossible to accept your invitation. Inescapable duties.’ That sort of thing.”

  “Yes, Gentle Guide. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  As the servant left Marilyn muttered to herself, “I doubt it.” Inescapable duties. Where did I hear that before?

  She checked the pendulum clock on the wall. It would be time for Leland to arrive soon.

  She went to the mirror and examined herself carefully. She frowned. Why am I primping? The thought didn’t stop her from unbuttoning the top of her dress two stops, just enough to show a hint of cleavage. She blushed at the image in the mirror but didn’t refasten the buttons. She found the bottle of scent given to her by Aunt Margaret the season before. It was still sealed, never before used. She opened it carefully and applied just a touch behind her ears.

  She felt strangely nervous, her hands flying this way and that as there was suddenly no proper way to hold them.

  Center yourself!

  She picked up a boo
k but couldn’t concentrate. The words seemed to crawl across the paper like bugs. She snapped it shut with a curse, but continued holding it to give her hands something to do and sat, seiza, and tried to concentrate on her breathing.

  Why did I invite him? Was I just being polite? She paced to the window and stared blindly out at the mountains.

  “Gentle Guide,” Dora, her maid, called from the door. “The Warden de Laal is in the reception hall.”

  She dropped the book on a table, scooped up her light cloak, and ran down the hall. Had she noticed, Dora’s look would have told her volumes. She had the sense to slow to a walk before entering the reception hall, but she was still flushed from the dash down the stairs.

  Leland had trouble taking his eyes from her.

  “Oh,” said Marilyn, affecting a pose of indifference. “There you are. Ready?”

  Leland bowed. “Certainly, Gentle Guide. Do we ride to this marvel or walk?”

  Marilyn indicated a door. “Walk.”

  She led him down a hall to the back of the building, through a small landscaped courtyard with high walls, and out the back gate of the palace. The guards there bowed low when they saw her. She smiled and called them by name.

  “Does your father know every guard’s name, as well?”

  “My father is a busy man.”

  The gate opened onto a street, narrow, but lined with the rich homes of the Noram guardianship. Several persons sketched half bows as they passed or called out respectful greetings. A short walk later the street ended at the western edge of the plateau. A waist-high balustrade terminated the cobbled avenue. Benches were placed so a person could sit and admire the view. To one side a gap in the stone led to a descending stone stairway carved out of the cliff itself.