by Джеффри Лорд
Blade grinned and asked about the flowers. Osric smiled in return, twirled his splendid mustache, and pointed out women in gray smocks working in the flower patches.
«Loci gatherers,» explained Osric. «Gray People, of course, but only unmarried girls are permitted in the fields. The loti is crushed and refined and made into penthe.»
«Penthe?» Blade was not breathing so deeply of the heavenly air now. Suspicion mounted in him and he breathed through his mouth and did not inhale deeply. He had already guessed that Patmos was a slave culture-was it also a drug culture?
Osric waved a languid hand and the cart stopped. «You shall see for yourself,» said Osric. He made a sign to his sub-officer and said to Blade, «It is halfway through first music, and that is penthe time for the gray people.»
It was only then that Blade became consciously aware, for the first time, of the music. So subtle, so sweetly insidious, that he had taken it for the sea wind. Now, as he cocked a conscious ear and really listened, he found that it was the wind, a continuous zephyr soughing over the land and bearing music to blend with the wondrous effluvium and drug the senses.
At that moment Richard Blade came alert to his danger and began to fight back. He understood the purpose of the flowers and the music, and the deadly beguilement thereof. And became aware also that Osric, for all his Ianguid airs and ennui, was watching him closely. The better, Blade thought, to report back to Juna.
Blade masked his thoughts and played the simpleton. He said, «Why are we stopping? And whence comes the music?»
Osric smiled and flicked a finger at his mustache. It was apparent that he had been instructed to answer Blade’s questions, at least to a point. To lift a hand to point to the horizon seemed to tax his strength, yet Osric managed it. Blade, following that limp hand, saw a black cone on the far, far edge of flower fields. The cone was flattened at the top, scooped out, and scalloped at the sides and ringed with snow. A faint coil of dark smoke drifted from the crater as Blade stared. A volcano. Still very much alive, if the smoke told truth. Patmos, in addition to all else, was a volcanic isle.
Blade shaded his eyes and stared long at the black cone. The snow reflected sunlight in a dazzle of gold. Blade turned at last back to Osric. «The music comes from that mountain?».
The officer smiled and nodded. «It does. Ask hie not how, nor why, for I do not know. Only the Pearl knows that secret. But come it does, through pipes of wind to Cybar and all of Patmos. It never stops, though at times it is louder than at other times, and the legend is that when the music stops Patmos will cease to exist. But enough of. that-you asked why we stopped? Look for yourself, then. It is midway through first music and time for the Gray People to have their second penthe of the day.»
This Blade understood. He watched intently as a soldier passed among the Gray People and handed out small cakes of the stuff. Each cake was the size of a yeast cake in HD, and of the same smooth white color, wrapped in a single leaf. The Gray People, all men, grabbed eagerly at the penthe and chewed it rapidly while still staring at the ground or, vaguely, at the loti fields around them.
Blade, listening to the faint strange harmony and watching the Gray People partake so eagerly of what he knew must be a will-eliminating drug, decided to test his own position. He wanted a reaction. When the soldier returned with the leather box containing the penthe Blade held out his hand. The soldier looked startled, then glanced at his officer.
Osric nodded. «If you like, sir, you are welcome to the penthe. You are a guest of honor and the orders of Juna are that you have every desire.»
Blade took a cake of the stuff and examined it closely. Osric watched. Blade smelled the stuff and crumbled it in his fingers. -It was moist and velvety in texture and had the same perfumed odor as the fields around ‘him. He put a fragment on his tongue and found it flat and tasteless. He smiled at Osric and flung the penthe away. «I do not think I would like it.»
Osric smiled-obviously he could not have cared less either way-and waved a hand to his sub-officer. The cart began to move again.
Blade calculated that an hour had passed before they entered the outskirts of Cybar itself. He was much impressed by what he saw. This city had been planned by a genius. There were broad avenues and spacious squares, long vistas where flowers bloomed and fountains played, and scores of small green parks where children ran and played. And music everywhere, traceable now to small white kiosks in the squares and at the corners of the avenues. From vents in the pointed tops of these kiosks the music leaked into the air. Again he was impressed-music somehow piped in from a volcano! Music such as he had never heard before; music that promised and lured and lulled; ineffable and treacherous, sinister in its very sweetness; Pied Piper music, at once compelling and enervating, insistent that the listener swoon and surrender and forget.
Blade began to feel sleepy again. He clawed at his flesh with his ragged dirty nails, inflicting pain, and deliberately seeking cause for anger and affront so that he would not lose his senses. Turning on Osric he demanded harshly how much farther it was to the prison.
«I itch,» Blade complained, «and I have great hunger and thirst. I would have fresh clothing. If we do not reach this prison soon it may enter my mind not to accompany you at all.»
It was an empty threat and Blade knew it. So did Osric, but with his customary politeness did not point this out. Instead he gestured down a long colonnade, flanked by myriad fountains and flower beds, to where an enormous palace glistened white in the sun. From a pinnacle there floated an enormous white banner decorated with a scarlet flower. Blade recognized the ioti bloom and his mood turned even grimmer and more sour-this sweet smelling blossom against the evil circled snake. There could be little doubt of the outcome. Unless he, Blade, could do something and, at the moment, he did not see any great possibilities. What could he, one stranger in a land of flowers and drugs, where intrigue must be as omnipresent as the seductive music, what could he do to prevent the victory of the ringed serpent?
Blade shook his head savagely and told himself that this was negative thinking. But that was the troubleeverything in Patmos, so far at least, was negative. He had been ashore little more than two hours and already he could see that-Patmos was a lazy land where matters were let slide and even efficiency, though it did exist, was muted. Blade frowned in near despair and paid some attention to Osric, who was still talking about the palace.
«It is the home of Kador and Smyr, our king and queen. It is possible that you will one day meet them, though such things are not for me to speculate on.»
Blade gave him a savage leer, quite prepared to force a quarrel now, no matter where it led; anything to cast off. the opiate of this place, the will-and strength-sapping effect of the sensuous air and music that promised paradise and, for all Blade knew, might even deliver it.
So he scowled and gibed at Osric. «And yet you do speculate, Osric. I have no doubt that that must be a crime of sorts in Patmos-for it involves thinking. And, from what I have seen, and smelled and heard so far, that must be the greatest crime of all. Thinking! Tell ‘me, Osric, what is the penalty for that? For thinking, for using your own brain? The gallows? The axe? Or perhaps more subtle ways? Locked away in solitary with a lifetime supply of penthz and that cursed music piped into your cell? Answer me, man, and when you do, try to stand like a soldier at least and do not lollygag so.»
But Osric, that dandy, would not be drawn. He smiled and bowed a trifle and flicked his mustache again, all courtesy, but it was evident that he would not be sorry to be rid of his charge. And this time, as he spoke, his hand rested on the hilt of his rapier. Blade marked it and wondered if he had underestimated Osric. He chided himself. He had made enough mistakes on this mission.
«The Goddess Juna,» said Osric, «warned me that you might be difficult, sir. My task is to cope with you, and so I shall do. And answer your questions, as I was also instructed to do. There are no such penalties as you describe in Patmos, sir. We have crime, as do Thy
me and Samosta, but we do not punish as they do. We do not, in short, resort to crime to cure crime. If you take my meaning, sir?»
Blade, cooling a bit, and interested, took up the point at once. «But you have prisons. I am being taken to prison now, unless you have lied.»
Osric smiled and pointed ahead of them. «We also lie in Patmos. We lie a great deal, especially the upper classes. It is a way of life and necessary for survival.»
Osric preened his mustache and feed Blade with a bored gaze. «And who is to say, after all, what is a lie and what is truth? They change from day to day.»
Blade was about to ask to be spared the philosophy when Osric. pointed ahead. «There is the prison. I will leave you and bid you good fortune.»
«That is a prison?» Blade could not believe it.
«Aye,» said Osric. «Another of the things you will find strange in Patmos. Our problem is not to keep men in prison, but to keep them out. Once they have spent a little time here they do not wish to leave. But if you observe, and think it through, sir, you will find it not such a paradox after all.»
The cart rolled through the gates into a vast courtyard. There were fountains and flowers everywhere scattered on lawns as green and finely clipped as putting greens in Home Dimension. Here and there was a music kiosk with the strange harmonies emanating from it. There were numerous benches and tables for games and in the distance a group of men were kicking a ball around. The complex of buildings was low and scrubbed to a glistening sheen.
The cart stopped and Osric leaped down. The guard detail had halted at the gate. Blade looked around for other guards, for prison personnel of any kind, and could see none. He did see Gray People, both men and women, tending lawns and clipping hedges and carrying pots and pans about. The prisoners-or what he took to be the prisoners-were dressed in short white kilts and sleeveless singlets. They all wore red sandals. None of them paid any attention to Blade and — none ‘of them seemed to be doing any work.
Osric started toward one of the buildings, then turned back. He held out a hand to Blade. «You may not think it, sir, but I am your friend. It is enough for me that you are friend to Juna, whom I worship. And she is also your friend. Remember that, sir. This will be our last word in private, so hear me well: you have been brought here at Juna’s command and for your own protection. She has not forsaken you. Bide patiently and wait for her to work out matters in her own way. It will be to your advantage. Above all you must trust Juna.»
Osric glanced around, then stepped closer to the cart and lowered his voice. «Juna has loved me in the pastand cast me aside. This was when I went with messages to Thyme. Now all that is over and I bear no malice. It is you whom Juna wants now, and I will aid her in this all I can. But it will not be easy.»
Blade glowered at the dainty officer and shrugged his big shoulders. He did not trust either of them, but he forebore the saying of it. He nodded and said, «As an exlover of the goddess, Osric, I can understand that you should want to help me. That makes a deal of sense.»
Osric.shrugged in his turn and ignored the sarcasm. «We have a saying in Patmos-when love is dead friendship begins. Farewell, sir. I must go now and obtain a signature for you. You are free to come and go as you choose.» ‘
It was true. Blade leaped from the cart and strolled a bit. He was sure that he could have walked out the gate and no one would have tried to stop him. So he did not walk out the gate. There would be time enough for that when he had thought ‘matters through and knew what he was going to do.
He found a bench near a group of men who were playing what looked like chess, except that all the pieces were of black stone and carved to represent various flowers. He had watched for less than a minute when he knew something else, something not mentioned by Osric. These men, these prisoners in their neat white clothes, were penthe eaters. It was apparent in their vacuous stares and slow, drugged movements. Penthe. Blade nodded in realization-they either took the stuff voluntarily or it was administered to them. His smile was grim. That was why there were no prison walls. These poor fellows-once their minds were captured there was no need to chain their bodies.
For nearly an hour Blade sat on his bench, brooding and observing, before anyone came for him. He reached one-sure conclusion-this was a political prison. The men around him, his fellow prisoners, did not have a criminal look about them. All of them, — without exception, had the look of intellectuals, of quietists, and most of them were elderly. He guessed that many of them had been in this place for years and that most would not leave it alivewould not want to leave it. This model prison was home to them now, all the security they had, and it was doubt-ful if many, in their penthe ridden brains, remembered the offense that had brought them here in the first place.
Blade spat and knew how careful he must be. Juna was playing some sly game of her own and Osric was her creature. He scowled. He had no doubt that she had admitted the officer to her bed, now and again, as payment. But what plans had she for Blade? He could not guess and he did not have time to wait or to speculate-he must somehow gain an audience with the Pearl of Patmos, with Izmia, with the old woman who was grandmother to Juna. For it was there the real power must lie. But how to accomplish this, and with what speed, he did not at the moment have any idea.
He was still deep in thought when one of the Gray People came for him. He was a fat little man dressed in the customary gray breeches and blouse, but wearing a chain of office and looking more alert than the other serfs Blade had seen. For so he thought of them by now. Serfs. Slaves kept in order and obedience by good treatment and the drug.
The fat man bowed low. «Welcome, sire. I am come to serve you. I am 00610. If you will come with me I will arrange a bath and fresh clothing. Then a ‘meal and, if it pleases you, a woman for company. We have many to choose from today, sire. A new troop of women has just been brought in from the countryside.»
«I wish no woman,» growled Blade. He followed the fat little man along a path of crushed stone. «You say you are 00610? You have no name?»
The man turned to give Blade a cherubic smile. «Oh, no, sir! None of the Gray People have names. Numbers only. A number is as good as a name, sir, in the long run. And much more convenient. Makes it easier to keep files and records, you see. This way, sir, to the bath.»
Blade wondered which came first-the penthe or the numbers? Not that it mattered much. The dehumanizing factor was the same. He supposed they were bred to specification, the Gray People, and allotted tasks according to their intelligence. He speculated on how long this had been going on. His guess was for centuries. His guess was also that the ruling class of Patmos had outsmarted itself; they lived a placid and sybaritic existence, supported by serfs, and they no longer bred warriors if, indeed, they ever had. They lived for music and flowers and other sensual pleasures, an assured and comfortable existence from cradle to grave. Sooner or later such a life schema would have to be fatal, to prove its own undoing.
Blade grinned like a wolf. It would be sooner-Hectoris, the barbarian, was all but at the gates.,
He was bathed in a steaming perfumed pool and given a prison uniform. Much search was required before a kilt and singlet could be found to fit him. He took the largest red sandals they had.
When he was offered a sumptuous meal he would not eat. This visibly dismayed the little fat man who, for short, Blade had taken to calling 610.
The dining hall was cool and spacious, and the meal tempting, for Blade was ravenous, but he would not touch it. 610 wrung his chubby hands. «But you must eat, sire. You must! It is a rule. Every prisoner must eat such a meal when he first arrives.»
Blade laughed at him. «You are the warder, no? Then summon your guards and force feed me. Why do you hesitate? I am only a prisoner like the others.»
There was ‘more hand wringing. «But I cannot do that, sire. Violence is also against the rules. Not that the matter ever arises-we do not need violence or coercion. We never have-«
Blade crossed his mammot
h arms and stared the little man down. «Until now,» he said cheerfully. «Now, if you expect me to eat, you need it.»
He added, «You had best bring a dozen of your best men, little. 610, for you are going to need them.»
Blade stalked toward the door. He did not trust himself if he were forced to smell the food much longer. Penthe or not, he would be tempted to gulp it down.
610, moaning and complaining, came along to show Blade to his room. He took some audible comfort in the thought that Blade would be even hungrier by the time of the evening meal and would cease to be a problem. As they walked down a long corridor, past open windows where flowers bloomed on the sills, Blade said, «I would have a room to myself, 610. I am very tired and would sleep long. I also require shears and a razor, for when I awaken.I wish to trim my hair and beard.»
610 smiled eagerly. «I will send a barber at once. It just so happens that we have a new girl who is skilled
«No girl,» Blade said harshly. A woman, in certain circumstances, could be as deadly as the penthe. At the moment he wanted only to be alone, to sleep and then, his brain refreshed, to think. Think how to gain audience with the Pearl of Patmos-and how best to use that audience when he had gained it.
«You cannot be alone,» said 610 sulkily. «That is also against the rules. All newcomers must share a room with another newcomer. And that, sire, is a rule I cannot break even for you.»
610 indicated the stone floor of the corridor and, with a pettish smile, said, «Of course I cannot force you to share a room. If you prefer the hard floor to a luxurious bed so be it. That is your privilege as a prisoner, sire. I am only a poor Gray Person and a warder.»
Blade grunted. «I will share the room, 610.» And added with a leer, «I do not wish to become a problem for you.»
610 patted his hands in approval. «There-there. That is better. I did think for a few minutes, sire, that you were going to be a problem. I was, in fact, warned that you might be. I am glad to see that you are not going to be much of a problem. As for eating-you will come to it when you are hungry enough.»