by Phillip Mann
25
ON BENNET
“It will have made him think,” said Pawl, lying back in his circular room and speaking to the ceiling. Above him the sinuous growths of Wynn’s brain spread like a jungle canopy. “But I must beware the trap of the enigmatic. That will betray me. I have gone as far as I dare. I am stronger now. I think I am beginning to see things clearly.”
“And what do you plan to do, Master Pawl? Take a new wife? Continue to build, that is the best course.”
“That is what you would like, is it, Wynn?”
“It is the best wisdom I can offer you.”
“Well,” said Pawl, speaking very distinctly, “what I intend to do is declare war on all the Families.”
Silence from the ceiling.
“Does that surprise you, Wynn?”
“No. I am hard to surprise. I calculate.”
“I have been hurt.”
“And you will hurt others.”
“Yes. For in love there is no quarter.”
“Rubbish.”
“You do not understand. If you were human you would.”
“Are you taunting me?”
“If you were human you would understand. I will destroy the Families. I will not destroy dignity or a sense of worth. Laurel was killed not because she loved me but because I am who I am. Look at the worlds, Wynn. Humankind should rule only as far as it can walk round in an hour, and that leisurely. Anything more is injustice. Laurel taught me that. I should have left this world and the Paxwax and joined her world … as a fisherman.
“But Wynn, that is not the way things have worked out and so I must attack root and branch. And you will help me.”
“Yes, Pawl.”
“Can I trust you?”
“I am an extension of you. I am your best and worst. I can only do what you want, whether I play pander or lawyer. I am your … servant.”
“So we begin. Make contact with Forge. I will speak with one called Milligan. I want him to contact the Hammer and tell them that Pawl Paxwax would play Corfu with Trader.” Pawl stood up and walked through to the vivante chamber. “Do it now. But there is one other thing, Wynn. Since you are an extension of myself, tell me what my final plan is.”
There was a long silence. Finally Wynn spoke. “Master Pawl, there are many possibilities but no certainties.”
“Spoken like a philosopher. But there is one certainty, if you know me and understand my love, for I cannot live without Laurel.”
“Then I do not know it. You are right. I am not human.”
Later that same day the round-up of the mannikins began. They had served their purpose. They had given his mind focus. Their plastic glamour had rubbed Pawl’s face in the dirty reality that Laurel was dead and that she would not return.
That evening they were dragged to the shore and piled in a heap and put to the torch. Pawl did not stay to watch the plastic blacken and burn. As he climbed the cliff and took the path that Laurel had ridden on her last journey, he could smell the acrid smoke. The flames danced behind him.
Waiting outside the entrance to his Tower was one of the gardeners who was in charge of the tropical nursery. He was holding a bunch of bright pink flowers. “Here, Master Pawl, the first of the season. Mistress Laurel had them imported last year and we’ve just managed to make them bud. I thought you would like them.”
Pawl accepted the flowers and continued up to his circular room.
Odin was in attendance. Pawl had summoned him. While Pawl found a suitable jar for the flowers, Odin eased his way round the room with his short trunk swaying. His mask was off and the red flukes of his body flexed and glistened.
“We have a lot to talk about, Odin. I want to know more about the Inner Circle. But first I want to know why you seem different to me.”
“How do you hear me?”
“Like someone who is out of breath.”
Odin knew. Odin was dying. Ever since the murder of Laurel he was dying. Just as smoke tells of fire, so the change in Odin’s thought told of his crime. But Pawl did not know. “I am not well, Pawl. That is the way with us Gerbes. Our grip on life is not strong. We are not like the Hammer. We are always ready to slip away.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Nothing.”
“I am a friend. Doesn’t that help?”
Silence, and then wearily the thought, “Do not feel sorry for me. It is I who should be sorry.”
“You are talking in riddles. Come, let us talk truth to each other as we did in the old days. Tell me about the Inner Circle. You know, I was brought up to be suspicious of you members of the Inner Circle. My father often said you knew too much. But you were useful. We believed you had managed to endure from the days before the Great Push, that you came from some religious order that had decided to move out into space. Sometimes a member of the order stayed on this Homeworld for months, talking with my father. We were afraid of him … black and masked. But we never suspected there were aliens in the Inner Circle. Now I want to know more. I want to know your strengths.”
Odin settled. He felt his great stem pulse begin to throb. He knew he needed to be careful, as he could not lie much longer. “We are a small brotherhood. We serve the Great Families as diplomats and healers. We help hold traditions fast.”
“Ha!” said Pawl derisively. “Some traditions don’t deserve protecting. But don’t give me answers from the book, Odin. I want truth.” Odin quaked. “You are an alien and a member of the Inner Circle. I met another alien member of the Inner Circle when I was on the Homeworld of the Hammer. Are there many aliens in the Inner Circle?”
“Some.”
“And do you get on well with the humans in the Inner Circle?”
“Well enough. We get on together because we must and we share the same ideals. But some life-forms are incompatible. That is a law of nature.”
“And are some of the Hammer members of the Inner Circle?”
“Yes.”
“And do they sit peacefully with their stings in a lock.”
“The Hammer are a law to themselves.”
“Yes. I believe they are.” Pawl mulled over this thought. He had already spoken with Milligan and arranged for Milligan, much to that man’s consternation, to broadcast the opening moves of a Corfu game. He was hoping that Trader would take his bait. “So, Odin. Here is how I see things. We have an organization called the Inner Circle. It is dedicated to helping the Great Families but yet it contains aliens. In fact it has just helped in the decimation of one of the most vital alien species, the Spiderets. And the heads of the Great Families don’t seem to know there are aliens in the Inner Circle. Quite a few contradictions, aren’t there, Odin?” Odin remained silent. “I can read your silences, Odin. Let me tell you what I think and what I want. I believe that within your organization there are those who would not be unhappy to see a change in the human order. I believe you supported me because, as Laverna Felice would say, I am ‘soft’ on aliens. Don’t worry, Odin, I don’t mind being used and I am grateful to you, for you helped save the Paxwax and gave me some months of happiness with Laurel. But Odin, I want to increase the stakes. I want more from you. I want more from you and from your friends in the Inner Circle. Can you guess my intention?”
“No.”
“I want to undermine the Families. I want to offer my Homeworld to those members of the Inner Circle who want to rebel. Can I still trust you?”
“You can.”
Odin saw everything. He saw it in symbolic terms. Pawl was a great glittering fish nosing through weeds in clear water. And there was a hook with a barb. And the great fish smelled the bait that was attached to the hook and in one swirl accepted it. Most tragic of all, the fish now thought itself well fed. But for how long?
“Can you contact those among the Inner Circle who want their own revenge?”
“If you wish.”
“I do wish.” Pawl was sitting forward eagerly, intently. “Oh, I have great plans, Odin. T
he Families will look back on the day that Laurel died as the day recording all their sorrows. I will hurt them everywhere.” He paused. “I am only surprised that you are not surprised. Had you guessed my intentions?”
“I had not guessed. But yet I know your mind. You burn with a single flame, Pawl Paxwax. You are wholly one. So I am not surprised. But I fear for you.”
“Fear for my enemies.”
After that events moved quickly.
Pawl contacted Helium and spoke to him like a nephew who speaks to a trusted uncle. He confided that Laurel had died, saying only that she had had an accident. He watched closely as Helium reared up out of the water. He tried to detect the slightest flicker that would show complicity. And it was there, all right. Unmistakable. Helium was too upset. Too concerned. He overacted.
Pawl explained that Laurel had been cremated, that he had been overcome with grief. He apologized for the accident with the look-alike mannikin, saying only that he was distraught. Now the mannikins were gone and he, Pawl, an older and wiser man, a sadder man too, was again ready to take his place as Master of one of the Great Families.
Helium accepted his explanation with relief. “We were worried about you, Pawl. Heaven knows we don’t always want to be interfering, and if you want to close down your Homeworld for a while that is your affair but, well … with Toby dead and then all that trouble with the Xerxes … well, we look upon you as something of a son. That’s all.”
Pawl looked at the grey bulk lolling in the brackish water, smoking its pipe among the water lilies. He had not expected that statement. “I’m grateful for your concern. I intend to make the death announcement shortly.”
“Hmm. Have you, er … No, probably too soon.”
“Have I what, Helium?”
“Have you given any thought to a successor? I know this sounds unfeeling, but we are political as well as emotional creatures, and the future must be thought about.”
“I have given no thought to it. Time is on my side now, I think.”
“Time is never on our side. But enough of that. I am deeply sorry, my boy. If Clover and I can do anything … if there is anything the Shell-Bogdanovich Conspiracy can do, you only have to say. And when you have got over your grief, somewhat, I would like to put a little business proposition to you. Tidy a few things up.”
“I shall be glad to hear of business. I intend to drive the Paxwax hard. Business will divert me.”
Helium looked at Pawl with his head slightly on one side, as though weighing him up. “You are a funny lad. You have a strange way of talking. Sometimes you sound as though you are talking in quotations. Do you still put down your thoughts on paper?”
“Not any more. Now I want my thought to be expressed as actions.”
“There you are. That’s what I mean. I don’t know anyone else who talks like you. I can’t tell whether you are teasing or not. It is a strange mind you have.” And then he added, almost as an afterthought, “It is not good, Pawl, to be too subtle with those who care for you. You will end by not knowing how to place your trust. Be not too clever.”
“I am sorry. I don’t mean to be clever. My sadness has made me strange.”
“Enough. Make your announcement. Let the Proctors know as soon as you can. Get a Death Inspector over, just for form’s sake. The Proctors are sticklers for form, you know that. Contact me or Clover if they make any difficulties.” Helium nodded two or three times as though trying to think of something else to say, and then he reached forward and the vivante link was broken.
Pawl sat back at the vivante staring at the empty space. Helium had seemed so sincere. How easy it would be to believe him. Pawl recognized his need to talk to one of his own kind, no matter how changed. For a moment he wavered and his hand rested on the vivante call keys, but then half-remembered lines from the ballad he had heard on distant Lumb drifted into his mind….
Feel no pity for traitors,
Send them all to hell.
They’ll smile to your face,
To love they’ll pretend …
…. and those lines hardened his resolve. He thought perhaps he should call Pettet. But he knew already what Pettet would say. No, his course was set.
Pawl endured a lecture from the Proctor First in person! He had disobeyed the Code. Why had he not contacted the Proctors the instant the woman was found? Why had he not called for a Death Inspector? Had the Inner Circle been informed before the Proctors?
Pawl watched as the Proctor First worked himself into a lather, his great curved golden tusks sawing the air and his mane waving.
“So I am suspicious,” continued the Senior Proctor. “You have done everything wrong. There is something you are ashamed of. Did you kill her yourself? Is that what you are ashamed of? Is that why you burned the evidence? Silly boy. We are broad-minded. We like to know the truth, that is all. The affairs of the Families are complicated enough without difficult questions of succession concerning who is alive and who is dead. Well. You will be punished by confiscation this time. Let me remind you, this is your second major breach of the Code. And one other thing. When you think to take a new bride, you will select from the eligible within the Families. Is that clear? I want no more foolishness like last time. You got away with it once because you were young and we all felt pity for you. But you are older now, and there is no excuse. If I may make a suggestion, I think you should choose several brides. Women seem remarkably vulnerable in the Paxwax household. I remember the activities of your late father. You must broaden your base. At the next Council of the Families I shall confiscate some of the sectors you gained from the Xerxes. They will go to the minor Families. Is that understood?”
Pawl nodded.
“Good. Well, I will arrange for a Death Inspector. I think we will conduct this at a high level. More discreet. No need to revel in the details.”
Pawl raised his hand. “If I may make a request, I would be grateful if Neddelia Proctor could be assigned to us.”
The Senior Proctor thought for a moment and then smiled and nodded. “Yes, Neddelia. Why not? She was a friend of yours from the old days on Lotus-and-Arcadia, wasn’t she?” Pawl could see the man’s political broker’s mind working. “And she handled your father, didn’t she? Yes. I don’t know where she is but I’ll pull her out and send her to you straight away. Then I will make the announcement to the Families myself. There’ll be quite a reaction, I can tell you. You’re causing us a lot of trouble, I hope you realize that.”
Pawl thought the conversation was over but the Senior Proctor hesitated before breaking contact. “How is the killing going?” he asked suddenly.
Pawl’s mind was blank. “Killing?” he asked.
“Yes. The aliens. The Spiderets.”
“Oh. Getting there,” said Pawl. “Progressing.”
26
ON BENNET
Within the hour Neddelia’s black ship, shaped like a rounded dumb-bell, tore a hole in the space above Pawl’s Homeworld and began to descend.
The people who lived on Pawl’s world kept well out of the way. The ship had a menacing presence, partly the result of its size and partly because of its blackness.
It settled, scorching the grass with the power of its anti-gravity units, and when the blue smoke had drifted away a ridiculously small door opened high on its rounded side and Neddelia rode down to the ground.
To Pawl, standing away to the side of the ship, Neddelia looked just the same: bent back, forcing her head down, brilliant mane, red-cover suit … and the same sardonic laughter.
“Well, Master of Paxwax. What have you been up to now?” she called as the transporter touched the ground gently.
“I failed to honour the Code again,” said Pawl. “Last time I married outside the Code. This time I neglected to announce a death. Life is complicated, isn’t it?”
“Not necessarily,” replied Neddelia. “Come on. Let’s get this business over. Tell me what happened. Three sentences only. I can embroider the rest.”
“She went swimming. She drowned. I burned her body.”
“That’ll do. Now let’s see what changes you have made to this place since last time I was here.”
They walked round the grounds. Neddelia admired the flower beds and the new buildings. In her own way she observed Pawl closely. She saw his tight reserve and she saw through it to his pain. Gently she teased him, chipping at his formality, until the man paused under a tree and pressed his forehead against it and stood with his eyes clenched shut.
Later they entered his Tower.
Pawl did not want her to stay. He did not want her to go either.
She stayed on anyway, while outside the shadows began to lengthen.
Pawl spent that night lying still in Neddelia’s arms, with the warmth of her tall body round him. At about four o’clock he began to speak, but she stroked his forehead and whispered, “Hush, philosopher.” At that the tears flowed from him and he held her fiercely, like a man adrift in the sea clinging to a spar.
In the grey light of morning he asked her, “Who killed Laurel?”
Neddelia looked at him with surprise. “It was an accident, surely. Even in the best-ordered lives accidents happen.”
“It was no accident.”
Pawl did not know when he slept, but when he finally awoke Neddelia was already gone.
And so, for the second time within the space of one standard year, Pawl waited for one of the Proctors to announce a death in the Paxwax family. First had come the short messages warning that a major announcement was imminent. Then, timed to the minute, the vivante space became alive and revealed the Proctor First, resplendent in his robes and seated at the ancient heavy throne in the Conference chamber on Central.
He paused, listening while the Paxwax anthem was played, and at its end, he spoke.
IT IS WITH DEEP SADNESS THAT I, SENIOR PROCTOR OF THE PROCTOR FIRST, ANNOUNCE THE DEATH OF LAUREL BELTANE, MISTRESS OF THE PAXWAX, DEEPLY BELOVED WIFE OF PAWL PAXWAX, MASTER OF THE PAXWAX FIFTH.