by Джеффри Лорд
What was going to happen «in time» obviously concerned those secret plans of Mir-Kasa's. And it was obvious that whatever changes in the scheme of things in Melnon the Queen might be planning, doing anything for most of the Low People wasn't among them. At least «the present batch» of Low People. Mir-Kasa was not interested in reform or freedom or revolution. She would not have recognized any of these things if they had come up to her and bitten her on the ankle. She was interested in power-power for the Tower of the Serpent among the Towers of Melnon, power for herself in the Tower of the Serpent. That became even more obvious after Blade's next exchange with the queen.
«Why does everybody practically jump up and down and scream with fright or rage when they think of somebody helping the Low People?»
«Why shouldn't they? In all of the towers except the Leopard, the Low People outnumber the High at least five to one. Thanks to the War Wisdom the High People have only their swords and the Administering Wands. And there is one Wand for perhaps every ten of the High People. If the Low People ever got the notion we respected or feared them, they might begin wondering why they live as they do? They might even begin wondering how to get up to the High Levels and attack us there. And if they did that, we'd have to kill every one of them before they did the same to us.»
«I see.»
«Do you, Blade? Sometimes I wonder. No matter, if you do what I say, I care not what you think. Just keep your thoughts to yourself.»
That was advice that Blade had been giving himself at periodic intervals ever since he arrived in this dimension. It was getting harder and harder for him to follow it. He decided to switch the subject, at least partly.
«Aren't all those Low People a terrible expense? I should think there would be cheaper ways of doing the few chores they seem to do.»
His efforts to try arguing the matter logically were not very successful. Mir-Kasa snorted like a horse and made a rude noise in Blade's ear. «Once more, you're talking nonsense. What would we be, without the Low People to minister to us? And what else can a person win among us, except the right to have more Low People serve him?» She shrugged her bare shoulders. «The War Wisdom keeps our wars cheap and the Peace Wisdom keeps our wants few. If we had no Low People to order around, we might start making our wars bigger. We might start all dressing differently, or trying to furnish our chambers with many pieces of furniture, or eating bigger meals than our neighbor. We cannot live long that way.»
Blade could not resist putting in, «We manage to live fairly well that way in England.»
«Yes, and they have no Low People in England, to hear you tell it. Well, you don't need them. But we do. Without the Low People, the Towers of Melnon would fall down into the dust and weeds of the Waste Land, and men would soon forget that Melnon ever stood upon the land.»
Blade was beginning to feel that to fall and be forgotten was all that Melnon deserved. He was far from sure that anybody in any of the Seven Towers had anything worth bringing home, learning about, or even looking at. Their lives seemed to be a dreary round of stylized wars, petty politics and gossip, frugal meals (ninety different kinds of synthetics), and trying to dress distinctively when it was illegal to wear a color other than that of your Tower. It was a miracle that all the people of all seven towers had not long since died of sheer boredom.
Perhaps Queen Mir-Kasa was right. Perhaps the chance to order around, browbeat, torture, and kill the Low People who served them was all that kept the High People of the towers sane. Certainly Blade could see that working off their blood-lust on the Low People would make the warriors more willing to abide by the War Wisdom. If, when you felt really furious, you could borrow an administering wand and watch some Low People girl writhe in agony, you were less likely to run wild on the Plain of War. Blade sighed. The position of the Low People made the way Melnon was run more logical. It didn't make it any more appealing to him, though.
Blade did not find out for several weary weeks what Mir-Kasa's plans actually were. These weeks were not entirely disagreeable, for Mir-Kasa apparently could not get enough of his lovemaking. He could quite cheerfully have got enough of hers, however. Out of all possible bed partners, he would not have chosen a woman nearly as large as himself, whose appetites were insatiable and whose notions of love-play sometimes resembled all-in wrestling. By the end of the second week, Blade had bruises in every place that Mir-Kasa could get a firm hold on him. Fortunately she did not mind being bruised in return, or Blade's head would have rolled many times over. He could not help wondering whether Mir-Kasa's psychological make-up was sadistic, masochistic, or an alternation between the two.
Apart from making love to the queen, there was little for Blade to do. His household duties as Steward were negligible; professional masters gave all the necessary orders to keep the domestic arrangements running smoothly. He did make one change, assigning a master of the First Rank to administer erring Low People, rather than following custom by doing it himself. He had to admit that he was not tough enough to watch people scream and writhe under the pulses of the wands-at least to himself. But he could hardly admit this to Mir-Kasa.
Instead he gave her a long line about notions of honor as a warrior that had been deeply ingrained into him in England. «It would be repugnant to my honor, my dignity, and my self-respect to wield the administering wand. It is not a warrior's weapon, for it is useless against a man or woman willing to either fight or flee. It is only an instrument for punishment»-he nearly said «torture» — «and execution of criminals. It can be nothing more.»
«You think it can be nothing more, eh? Is that your objection to it?»
Feeling that Mir-Kasa was playing games with him, Blade nodded slowly.
She smiled. «Perhaps one day I can make you change your mind.»
«I doubt it,» said Blade stubbornly.
«You would,» said Mir-Kasa. «You have very strong notions of what is right and wrong. Too strong, sometimes. But I think someday the wand will get around those notions, and you will find one in your hand.» She gave him another cryptic smile, and drew his hands down to cup her breasts. Blade wondered what she might be getting at for several days, then he forgot the matter almost entirely.
Being a man of comparative leisure, he had a good deal of time to explore the tower, at least all the levels where the High People normally went. He was particularly interested in the work chambers, where complex machines produced all the food, clothing, and other necessities apparently out of basic elements brought from God knows where. Blade was not sure that the current inhabitants of the towers could have created this advanced technology, but he had to admit that they were using it well. The workers, the lowest-ranking class among the High People, seemed to be the most sensible among them as well.
He also had time to keep his hand in as a warrior. He fought at least one practice bout a day against a good opponent. And although he fought in no wars, he did learn the fine art of using the lifters. In fact, he learned them so well that he occasionally struck poses while rising or descending, convincing Pen-Jerg among others that he did indeed have «a strong heart.»
There were also the meetings of the Council of Wisdom, which Blade could not help feeling was rather ill-named. It consisted of the five high officials of the Tower-First Warrior, First Scribe, First Surgeon, First Worker, and First Master-and six women representing the rest of the High People. The six were elected annually. After seeing and hearing them, Blade could not help suspecting that they were elected largely for the number of their chins and the number of words they could get out without saying anything.
Not that anybody really needed to say anything in the Council. The work of the Council was by and large cut out for it by the War Wisdom and the Peace Wisdom. The only decisions that had to be made were whether a given action was or was not permitted by the relevant Wisdom. Nine times out of ten, it was not. Blade began to wonder if the concept of «crime» existed in the towers, apart from violations of the Wisdoms:
Tha
t kind of violation was comparatively rare, but it was punished with terrifying severity when it occurred. The case of a violation of the War Wisdom arose during Blade's second meeting. A warrior was accused of having tried to get behind his opponent in the war fought the day before. The wretched man tried to defend himself, but was shouted down by the First Warrior with terrible curses. He was sentenced to be publicly stripped of armor and weapons, given ten minutes of Medium Administration (also in public), then degraded to the Low People for life. From the talk he heard after the prisoner had been hauled out, this was not a rare or unusually severe penalty.
That night he could not help raising a question with Queen Mir-Kasa. «Is it altogether wise, to send so many warriors and other able High People down among the Low People? After all, they do not lose their abilities simply by being degraded. It would seem to me that there is some danger of their someday getting together, finding a leader, and raising the Low People in that revolt you fear so much.»
Mir-Kasa laughed harshly. «You do not understand how the minds of the High People work, Blade. To go down among the Low People kills their spirits and whatever abilities they may have possessed as High People. They are only shells of their former selves, perhaps less than the Low People who have lived down there all the days of their lives.»
To Blade's trained ear, however, those words did not carry complete assurance. Mir-Kasa sounded as if she were addressing a public meeting rather than stating what she knew-or at least felt-to be true. He could not help wondering, and being silently suspicious.
His suspicions proved justified. One night a week later Mir-Kasa herself led Blade down into the low levels. And that night Blade finally learned the details of Mir-Kasa's plans-for Melnon, for her tower, and for the High People and the Low alike.
Chapter ELEVEN
Blade and Mir-Kasa were lying in the queen's great bed, amid tangled sheets and tumbled pillows. The queen lay sprawled on her back in a gloriously wanton pose, eyes glazed and dark hair spread out in a fan against the white sheets. Any stranger looking at her would have called her an absolutely satiated woman, beyond all thoughts of sex.
Blade knew better. He knew that those glazed eyes were deceptive. The real clues lay in the quivering red mouth and the long-fingered hands that plucked at the sheets-and occasionally wandered over to pluck at Blade's flaccid organ. He hoped it would not stay flaccid long. One of these days Mir-Kasa was going to demand of him more than he had it in him to give. That might easily be the end of his power in Melnon and perhaps even of his life. Certainly it would be the beginning of the end.
There was a peculiar five-beat knock on the door. Blade rolled out of bed, reaching under his pillow for the short sword he kept there. «Who goes there?» he called out sharply.
His voice awoke Mir-Kasa from her erotic daze. She sat up and shook her head, then made a placatory gesture with one hand. «Do not worry, Blade. It is the man sent by Bryg-Noz. Clothe yourself and bring me my black robe from the closet.»
Blade did as he was ordered, but the name «Bryg-Noz» started his mind churning. Bryg-Noz, the elder brother of Kir-Noz, sent down among the Low People some years before? It could hardly be a coincidence. But then what was a disgraced and degraded former warrior doing sending messengers to the queen herself? Blade had a feeling that the mysteries were getting more instead of less numerous.
When both he and Mir-Kasa were fully clothed, she signaled him to open the door. A Master of the Third Rank entered, bowing deeply.
«Blessings of the night upon Your Splendor,» he said. «Bryg-Noz bids me say that all is in readiness.»
«Good.» Mir-Kasa went to a cabinet and drew out a broad green belt with two daggers on it. «Blade, arm yourself. We go to the lower levels now. I think most of your questions about my plans for Melnon will be answered there.»
«I will follow where you lead,» said Blade. It was a polite remark, carefully chosen to conceal his own excitement. Now perhaps he could start to make some sense of the mad ways in which the Towers of Melnon ran their affairs.
Following where Mir-Kasa led meant following her out of the bedchamber, out of the queen's chambers, and into the shaft of the queen. The car there was smaller than the one in the shaft of the warriors, and decorated in Mir-Kasa's favorite silver gray. But it dropped just as fast. Only a few minutes later they were at the level of the balcony, in the center of the network of corridors that ran out from the shafts to the doors that led on to the balcony itself.
Blade expected Mir-Kasa to lead the way down one of those corridors and out on the balcony. But instead she went only a few yards before turning into a side passage that led off into total darkness. Both the queen and the master seemed to know the way, but Blade could not fight back a moment's uneasiness. Could this be a trap for him?
Then he shook off the thought. Mir-Kasa would hardly have needed to roam about the tower in the middle of the night to get rid of him if she had so wished. No, she was telling the truth. Tonight he would find out her plans-or at least as much of them as she chose to tell him. And perhaps a little more besides, since he was determined to keep his eyes open.
After perhaps fifty feet the master came to a stop, and walked over to the wall of the passage. Again that peculiar five-beat knock sounded. This time a section of the wall moved aside with a faint hiss. A dim greenish light flowed out of the opening. In the glow Blade could see a long flight of well-worn steps spiraling downward.
«Do not fear, Blade,» said Mir-Kasa. «What I plan to do must be prepared altogether in secret.» Blade nodded and followed the master and Mir-Kasa down the stairs.
He expected that the stairs would come to an end after about two hundred feet, when they reached the level of the Waste Land. But they did not. They kept on going, and Blade realized that they must descend deep into the foundations of the tower.
Very deep indeed, for it was at least another two hundred feet farther down before another door opened in front of the party. Again the master knocked, again a door slid open with a faint hiss. But this time a human figure was visible in the dimness beyond the doorway. As they stepped forward toward it, Blade saw that it must be Bryg-Noz.
The family resemblance to Kir-Noz was unmistakable. Bryg-Noz was two inches or so taller than his brother, though, and some pounds lighter. Good living was hard to come by among the High People in Melnon, let alone among the Low People. His hair showed more gray and his eyes showed more strain than his brother's but they might otherwise have been twins.
Bryg-Noz's voice was cool as he addressed the queen. Obviously he stood in no awe of her, for all his low station and ragged and soiled garments. «So this is the mighty stranger who bested my brother. Are his wits as fast as his swords?»
«You have my word for that, Bryg-Noz. You know well that I am a good chooser of men.»
«Of men for one of the uses of men-yes. Of men who can think as well as please you-we shall see.»
«You bandy words with me, Bryg-Noz,» Mir-Kasa's voice held a note of gentle reproach. That was surprising. Had anyone else attempted to «bandy words» with her this way, Mir-Kasa would have flown into a screaming fury and had them punished memorably and painfully. But with Bryg-Noz she was almost gentle. Well, they had been lovers once. Some of the old bond must still link them.
Bryg-Noz shrugged. «I try to make sure you see clearly, Your Splendor. But I can only do so much. Now-is this man Blade-Liza to see tonight's test?»
«Yes. I suspect that he may be able to give good advice about using the Great Wands. His own people, the English, have strange ways of war. I believe they use such devices commonly.»
Bryg-Noz looked inquiringly at Blade, who nodded. He could not have understood less of the conversation if it had been in Mongolian. But it seemed wiser to say yes when in doubt.
«Good,» said Bryg-Noz. He turned his head away and called softly into the darkness. «Kun-Rala, prepare the testing.»
«That I will do,» came a clear female voice from the darkness. The
n the master shut the stairway door behind all of them. In the next moment another pale green light glowed in the darkness.
Blade saw that they were standing on the hard earth floor of an immense vaulted chamber. As the glow lit up the walls and ceiling, he saw the chamber was two hundred feet wide and a hundred or more high. Its walls and ceiling were not the universal green. They were raw, rough, stonelike material, sullen gray even under the green light of the torch, and grimed and crusted with age. Down here in the depths of the Tower of the Serpent there was no need to color things green or keep them clean. Then Blade saw the people standing nearby.
There were five of them, four of them wearing the loose work tunics of the Low People and one, a girl, entirely nude. One of the Low People stepped forward and raised a hand in salute to Bryg-Noz and the queen.
«We are ready,» he said.
But it was a she. It was a woman's voice, clear and cool. Blade could see the lift of breasts under the ragged and dirty green tunic-and the two short swords worn at a slender waist. A woman of the Low People, wearing swords and giving and receiving orders in the presence of the queen! Definitely the Peace Wisdom was not being followed here tonight!
One of the other Low People had a large sack slung over his shoulder. Now he lowered it to the ground and opened it. From it he took out a device somewhat like one of the administering wands. But this one was twice as long and twice as thick as the ones Blade had seen. It was silver gray instead of green, and around its butt end were a number of foot-long cylinders, like gigantic flashlight batteries. The man handed it to the girl Kun-Rala, who ran her fingers quickly over it, like an expert rifleman checking a newly issued weapon.