The Chalice of Death: Three Novels of Mystery in Space

by Robert Silverberg

  Navarre leaned forward, suddenly serious. “So Jorus and Kariad are at the edge of war over six ships that they think were destroyed. Do you think it’s a wise move to let such a war take place.”

  Helna said, “Of course not. But if I can keep them at the verge of war—if I can foment constant uneasy friction between the two systems—it’ll keep their minds off Earth. Marhaill’s a weak man; he’ll listen to me. And he fears Jorus more than he does Earth. I knew I had to drive a wedge between him and Kausirn, and I succeeded.”

  “Kausirn’s in charge, then?”

  “Evidently. Joroiran is hardly seen in public any more. He’s still alive, but completely in the power of the Lyrellan. Marhaill’s aware of this.”

  Navarre clenched his fists angrily. He still had a mild liking for Overlord Joroiran, spineless, incompetent ruler that he was. And he disliked the Lyrellan intensely.

  “Why did you came back, now?” Helna asked.

  “I was afraid Kausirn might be stirring things up to send a Joran fleet to Earth. Six ships couldn’t hold off the full force of the Joran navy any better than six sheep could. But if Jorus and Kariad are going to go to war with each other—”

  Helna shook her head quickly, an expression of inward doubt appearing on her face. “Don’t be too confident of that.”

  “What do you mean? I thought—”

  “The public attitude is an unhealthy one. But I think Kausirn suspects that he’s being hoaxed. I know he’s been negotiating with Marhaill for top-level talks, face to face.”

  “Well? Can’t you take advantage of your rank to head such talks off?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve warned Marhaill against a possible Joran assassination plot, but on this one thing he doesn’t seem to listen to me. I think it’s inevitable that he and Kausirn will get together and compare notes despite me. And then—”

  “And then what?”

  “And then Jorus and Kariad will undoubtedly sign a treaty of mutual harmony,” Helna said. “And send a combined fleet out to crush Earth.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Two weeks later, Navarre left Kariad at night, in a small ship bearing the arms of the Oligocrat Marhaill. His pilot was a member of Marhaill’s Secret Service, hand-picked by Helna herself. No one had been on hand to see him off; no one checked to see his passport, no one asked where he was going.

  His flight clearance papers bore the code inscription XX-1413, signed by Marhaill, countersigned by Helna. That was enough to get him past any bureaucrat on Kariad; the translation of the double-X was, Special Secret Ambassador for the Oligocrat, do not interfere.

  Navarre chuckled every time he had occasion to glance at his image in the ship’s mirror, during the brief journey between the worlds. He could hardly recognize himself, after the job Helna had done.

  His youthful crop of brown hair had been shaven once again; to his bald scalp had been affixed a wig of glossy black Kariadi-type hair, thick-stranded and oily. His normally high cheekbones had been lowered by an overlay of molding plastic; his eyebrows had been thickened, his lips built up into fleshiness and his jaw-contour altered, his ears drawn back and up by a simple and easily repairable bit of surgery.

  He weighed twenty pounds more than he had the week before. His skin-color was bright blue.

  He was Loggon Domell, Ambassador from the Court of the Oligocrat Marhaill to the Court of Joroiran VII, and only a skilled morphologist could have detected the fact that behind the outer layer that called itself Loggon Domell was one Hallam Navarre, Earthman.

  This was the second time he had masqueraded as a Kariadi, but Helna and her technicians had done an infinitely more painstaking job than he had, earlier, when he had passed himself off as Melwod Finst. “Finst” had simply looked like Navarre with his skin died blue and his scalp wigged; Domell was an entirely different person.

  It had all been remarkably simple. Helna had persuaded Marhaill that it would be well to send an ambassador to Jorus to discuss the galactic situation with Joroiran and with Kausirn; Marhaill, busy with his drak-hunting and his mistresses, had agreed, and asked Helna to suggest a man capable of handling the job.

  “I have just the man,” she had said. “One Loggon Domell, of this city. A wise and prudent man who will serve Your Majesty well.”

  Marhaill had nodded in agreement. “You always are so helpful, Helna. Send this Domell to Jorus!”

  The little ship landed in midday at the Jorus City spaceport. By prior arrangement, a government car was there to meet him at the edge of the landing apron. A high-ranking Joran named Dilbar Loodig had been chosen as the official greeter.

  Navarre knew this Loodig; a hanger-on at court, a man with a high hereditary title and little else to commend him. Loodig’s boast was that he knew everyone at court by the slope of their shoulders and the angle at which they held their necks; Navarre wondered whether Loodig’s ability would stand him in good stead now. It would cost the courtier his life if unhappily he were to recognize Navarre.

  But Loodig gave no outward sign of recognition, and the Earthman knew he was not clever enough to have masked his true feelings had he detected Navarre behind the person of “Domell.” Navarre presented his papers to the courtier; Loodig riffled through them, smiled ingratiatingly, and said, “Welcome to Jorus. Is this your first visit to our planet?”

  “Hardly,” Navarre replied smoothly. “In the old days before the present difficulties I spent many happy holidays here. I once had a summer cottage in the highlands of Veisk, overlooking the river.” The microscopic distorter in his throat did curious things to the sound of his voice, making it lighter in texture, supplying a deep gravelly rasp as well. He spoke in pure Joran, but with a slight lilting inflection and a distinctly alien shift of the full vowel values.

  “Indeed?” Loodig said, as they entered the car. “The highland country is some of our most beautiful. You must have enjoyed your stay there.”

  “I did,” Navarre said gravely, and repressed a snicker. The car threaded its way rapidly through the city, onward to the palace. He noticed an escort evidently following; they were taking good care of the alleged Kariadi ambassador, it seemed.

  At the palace, Navarre was ushered speedily through the outer rooms.

  “Will I be able to see the Overlord shortly?” he asked.

  “I’ve notified him that you’re here,” Loodig said. “The Overlord is not a well man, these days. He may not be able to see you immediately.”

  “Oh. How sad!”

  “He’s been in poor health quite some length of time now,” said the courtier. “We here are all extremely worried about him.”

  I’ll bet you are, Navarre thought. If something should happen to Joroiran, Kausirn would jump at the chance to name himself regent for the heir apparent. The boy is only eight, now.

  Loodig excused himself, disappeared for a moment, and returned shortly after, smiling.

  “The Overlord will see you, I’m happy to report. Please come this way.”

  Loodig led him down the narrow winding passages toward the smaller throne room Joroiran customarily used for private audiences. It was not nearly as magnificent a hall as the main throne room, of course, but it did serve amply well to awe visitors. Periscopic viewers allowed Security men to observe the course of the Overlord’s audiences and protect him from harm.

  They reached the door. Loodig knelt, making ceremonial gestures, while Navarre remained erect as befitted his rank as ambassador.

  “His Excellency, Loggon Domell, Ambassador Plenipotentiary from Kariad,” Loodig announced.

  “Let him enter,” Joroiran responded, in a pale, almost timid voice.

  Navarre entered.

  The Overlord was plainly showing the effects of his virtual captivity. A small, ineffectual man to begin with, he had hardly bothered to take the steps he once took to cover his deficiencies; instead of the magnificent framework-robe that provided him with his regal public stature, he wore only an embroidered cloth robe that added li
ttle to his appearance. He had looked poorly the last time Navarre had seen him, nearly a year before; now, if anything, he looked worse.

  Navarre made the ambassadorial bow, unfolded the charter of credentials Marhaill had given him, and offered them to Joroiran. The Overlord scanned them briefly and put them aside. Navarre heard the door slide gently closed behind him, leaving him alone with Joroiran.

  There was no indication that the Overlord recognized him; instead, Joroiran fixed his gentle, washed-out eyes on a point somewhere above Navarre’s left shoulder and said, “It pleases me that I can speak with someone from Kariad. This present friction has long distressed me.”

  “No more so than it has troubled the sleep of Marhaill,” Navarre said. “It seems that groundless enmity has sprung up between our worlds. I hope my visit will aid in restoring harmony.”

  Joroiran smiled feebly. “Yes. Indeed.” He seemed to be at a loss for his next words. Finally he burst out, “My adviser—Kausirn—he should be here, now. We really should wait for him. He’s made a much closer study of the situation than I have.”

  It was pathetic, Navarre thought. Kausirn had so puppetized the Overlord that Joroiran seemed totally incapable of conducting the business of the realm without the Lyrellan. But it was just as well. Navarre knew it was necessary to have Kausirn on hand when he made his play.

  “The Lord Adviser is a man I’ve heard much about,” Navarre remarked. “He seems to be a gifted administrator. He must take much of the burden of government from Your Majesty’s weary shoulders.”

  Joroiran seemed to flinch at the telling thrust. He nodded tiredly. “Yes, he is a great help to me. A ruler has so much to think about—and Kausirn is indispensable to me.”

  “I’ve often heard Lord Marhaill say the same about his adviser—an Earthman. He finds her an absolute necessity in the operation of the government.”

  “I had an Earthman adviser once,” said Joroiran distantly. “I thought he was loyal and trustworthy, but he betrayed me. I sent him on a mission … but he failed me. His name was Navarre.”

  “I often dealt with him when he served Your Majesty,” Navarre said. “He seemed to me to be utterly loyal to Jorus. This comes as a great surprise to me.”

  “It was a blow to me, too. But luckily, when Navarre left me I had one such as Kausirn to take his place. Ah, he comes now!”

  The door opened. Kausirn entered, smiling coldly. The deathly pallor that stamped his race lent contrast to the richness of his robes. Indeed, he was more finely dressed than Joroiran himself; the Lyrellan bore himself confidently, as if he and not the other sat on the throne.

  “Your pardon, Majesty. I was unavoidably detained.” Kausirn turned to Navarre and said, “You are Marhaill’s ambassador? I give you welcome. I am Kausirn, Adviser to the Overlord.”

  “Greetings, Kausirn.”

  The Lyrellan’s twenty fingers curled and uncurled tensely; his eyes seemed to be boring through the layers of plastic that masked Navarre, to expose the Earthman who skulked beneath.

  “Let us go to the Council room,” Kausirn suggested. “There we three may talk.”

  It took them perhaps ten minutes of uneasy verbal fencing in the small, well-lit room before they actually came to grips with the subject at hand. For first they were obliged to exchange pleasantries in true diplomatic fashion, approaching the topic circuitously, leading up to it in gradual and gentle manner.

  Navarre let the Lyrellan control the flow of discussion; he had learned never to underestimate Kausirn, and he feared he might give himself away if he ventured to steer the conversation in some direction that might appear characteristic of Hallam Navarre.

  He toyed with the drink-flask at his right hand, parried Kausirn skillfully, replied with grace to the inane questions of Joroiran. Neither of them seemed to suspect his true identity.

  At length the Lyrellan leaned forward, spreading his ten-fingered hands wide on the burnished cupralloy meeting-table. With the tiny flicker of his eyelids that told Navarre he was choosing his words with particular care, Kausirn said, “Of course, the chief item of curiosity is the encounter that presumably took place between three Joran ships and three of Kariad, some eight months ago. Until the vaguer aspects of this matter are satisfactorily resolved, I hardly see how we can discuss any reaffirmation of ties between Jorus and Kariad.”

  “Of course,” added Joroiran.

  Navarre frowned thoughtfully. “You imply, then, that your three ships and three ships of Kariad fought a battle in space?”

  Kausirn quickly shook his head. “I draw no such implications! But there are persistent rumors.”

  “May I ask just where the three Joran ships were supposedly stationed at the time of their alleged destruction, Lord Adviser?”

  The Lyrellan nibbled a thin lip. “This infringes on highly secret information, Ambassador Domell.”

  Navarre rose swiftly from his seat, saying, “In that case, Adviser Kausirn, I fear we haven’t much else to talk about today. If on this essential matter secrecy is to be maintained between our worlds, I hardly see how we can come to agree on any other major topics of current dispute. Of course—”

  Smoothly, Kausirn said, “Again you seem to have drawn an unwarranted implication, Ambassador Domell. True, these matters are highly secret, but when did I say I would withhold knowledge of them from you? On the contrary: I summoned an ambassador from Kariad for the very purpose of revealing them.”

  He’s falling into the trap, Navarre thought joyfully. He took his seat once again and glanced expectantly at the Lyrellan.

  Kausirn said, “To begin with, there was a traitorous Earthman in this court once, a man called Hallam Navarre. This Navarre has been absent from this court for several years. He’s a dangerous man, Milord, and a clever one. And he has rediscovered Earth!”

  Navarre’s eyes widened in mock astonishment. “No!”

  “Unfortunately, yes. He has found Earth and established a belligerent settlement there. His intention is to conquer the galaxy—beginning with Jorus and Kariad!”

  “And why, then, were we not informed of this?”

  “Patience, good sir. When we of Jorus learned of this, we immediately dispatched a punitive mission to Earth—three ships, under the command of our Admiral Drulk. A preventive measure, you might say. We intended to wipe out the Terran settlement before they could make their attack on our systems.”

  “A wise move.”

  “But,” said Kausirn, “our ships vanished. So far as we know, they reached the region of Earth, but that’s the last we know of them.”

  “No dispatches whatsoever from them?”

  “None.”

  “Strange,” Navarre mused.

  “Now,” Kausirn went on, “we learn that the Grand Fleet of Kariad suffered an oddly similar loss—three ships vanished without trace while on maneuvers.”

  “And how was this fact learned?” Navarre asked, a trifle coldly.

  Kausirn shrugged apologetically. “Let us cast diplomacy aside, shall we? I’ll tell you quite frankly: our spy network brought us the word.”

  “I appreciate frankness,” Navarre said.

  “Very well, then. Jorus sends three ships out to destroy Earth; the same month, Kariad sends three ships out on maneuvers to points unknown. By some coincidence none of these ships is ever heard from again. The natural conclusion is that there was a battle between them, and all six ships were destroyed. Now, Milord, Jorus has no hostile intent against Kariad. Our fleet was on its way to Earth when the incident occurred. I can only conclude that, for reasons beyond us, Kariad has committed an unprovoked act of war against Jorus.”

  “Your logic is impeccable,” Navarre said, looking at Joroiran, who had been following the interchange like a bemused spectator at a kinetics match. “But faulty, nonetheless. Why should Kariad attack Jorus?”

  “Exactly the question that troubles us. Now, the rumor is rife that such an attack was made on our ships by Kariad. To be frank, again—our spy ne
twork can find no possible motive for the attack. We have no reason to suspect Kariad.” Kausirn paused and drew a deep breath. “Let me present my real conclusion, now. The Joran ships were not destroyed by your fleet. Instead, both fleets were destroyed by Earth! The Earthmen have concealed strengths; we sent a ridiculously small contingent and it met destruction. Perhaps your fleet on maneuvers blundered accidentally into Terran territory and was destroyed as well.”

  Navarre said nothing, but stared with deep interest at the Lyrellan.

  Kausirn continued, “I prefer this theory to the other, less tenable one of unprovoked assault on our fleet by yours. Therefore, I wish to propose that we end quickly the animosity developing between our worlds—an animosity engendered by baseless rumor—and join instead in an alliance against Earth, which obviously is stronger than we suspected.”

  Navarre smiled blandly. “It is an interesting suggestion.”

  “You agree, then?”

  “I believe not.”

  “What?”

  “Such an alliance,” Navarre said, “would involve the necessity of our denying that our fleet had attacked yours. This, we are not in a position to do.”

  Kausirn looked genuinely startled. “You admit the attack, then? It was Kariad and not Earth who destroyed our ships?”

  Smiling, Navarre said, “Now you draw the unwarranted implications. We neither affirm nor deny that our fleet and yours had an armed conflict provoked by us.”

  “Your silence on the subject amounts to an admission of guilt,” Kausirn said stonily.

  “This does not concern me. I act under instructions from Oligocrat Marhaill. I am not empowered to enter into any sort of alliance with Jorus.”

  For the second time, he rose from the table. “We seem to have reached an impasse. You boast of your spy system, Adviser Kausirn; let it discover our motives, if it can. I feel that I would not accomplish anything further by remaining on Jorus. Would you see that I am conveyed to the spaceport?”

  Kausirn was glaring at him in glassy-eyed bewilderment. It was the first time Navarre had ever seen the Lyrellan truly off balance. And small wonder, he thought: Kausirn had hardly been expecting the Kariadi ambassador to reject the chance of an alliance in favor of what amounted to a declaration of war by implication.