CHAPTER FOUR
Elsdon sat at a broad table usually covered with stacks of documents that needed to be copied or filed by guards who were assisting the Record-keeper as they awaited the arrival of new prisoners. The documents had been shoved aside in favor of a loosely bound record-book, which Elsdon was leaning over to peruse.
Layle Smith
Legal Records: None prior to 338 (see below). Mr. Smith reports his birthdate as being the 2nd month of 320. Records from 338 onwards found within this folder (see summary below).
Medical Records: None prior to 338 (see below). Records from 338 onwards held in the office of the Eternal Dungeon’s Healer.
338 (10th month): Transferred from duties at Blackstone Prison, by recommendation of the Queen’s Secretary. No transfer records from Blackstone Prison. Mr. Smith’s prior legal records and medical records retained by Blackstone Prison. Mr. Smith awarded title of Torturer-in-Training; training to be supervised by the High Torturer.
339 (1st month): Promoted to title of Torturer.
340 (1st month): Status reviewed by the Codifier, at request of the Queen’s Secretary. Satisfactory performance of duties noted.
341 (6th month): Commendation by the High Torturer for performance of duties in the case of Mr. Schrier (see Prisoners’ Records).
341 (12th month): Commendation by the High Torturer for performance of duties in the case of Mr. Bidwick (see Prisoners’ Records).
342 (3rd month): Eternal Dungeon placed in the custody of Mr. Smith during the High Torturer’s illness.
342 (5th month): Commendation by the High Torturer for performance of duties during the High Torturer’s illness.
343 (9th month): Selected by the High Torturer to prepare the fifth revision of the Code of Seeking. Placed on half-time to regular duties during preparation.
344 (4th month): Commendation by the Queen for performance of duties during the revision of the Code of Seeking.
344 (8th month): Commendation by the United Order of Prisons for work done on the fifth revision of the Code of Seeking.
345 (2nd month): Commendation by the Bi-National Council of the Queendom of Yclau and the Kingdom of Vovim for work done on the fifth revision of the Code of Seeking.
345 (7th month): Recommended by the Codifier to receive the title held by the late Mr. Jenson. Recommendation echoed by the Magisterial Guild. Recommendations accepted by the Queen; Mr. Smith promoted to High Torturer.
345 (9th month): Commendation by the Queen for the decision of the High Seeker (formerly the High Torturer) to change the title held by the torturers of the Eternal Dungeon.
346 (4th month): Commendation by the United Order of Prisons for the High Seeker’s assistance in revising the recommended prisoner transfer procedure.
347 (7th month): Commendation by the Queen’s Secretary for the High Seeker’s assistance in revising the Eternal Dungeon’s method of record-keeping.
347 (11th month): Commendation by the Queen for the High Seeker’s work in improving relations between the Eternal Dungeon and the Magisterial Guild.
348 (3rd month): Suspended from duties for three months. Records of suspension sealed; apply to the Codifier for permission to view. Recommendation by the Queen’s Secretary that the High Seeker be permitted to return to his duties in three months’ time, following standard review. Recommendation by the Queen that the High Seeker retain his title. Recommendations accepted by the Codifier, after consultation with the Magisterial Guild.
348 (6th month): Returned to duties by the Codifier.
349 (6th month): Status reviewed by the Codifier. Satisfactory performance of duties noted. Report sent to the Magisterial Guild and to the Queen.
349 (13th month): Commendation by the United Order of Prisons for assistance in reviewing recommended procedures to the order’s member prisons.
The rest of the entries were of the same sort: an unbroken line of commendations for the High Seeker. Frowning with puzzlement, Elsdon flipped through the remaining pages of Layle’s records. Amidst the lengthy and effusive praises of Layle Smith, Elsdon found a letter from the Queen’s Secretary that referred to Layle’s brief period of disgrace, but the letter did no more than to list Layle’s past achievements as reason for permitting him to retain his title.
A hand brushed his elbow as the Record-keeper leaned over the table, placing down three more volumes. “Here are the other records you requested, sir,” he said in a brisk voice, then turned to berate a guard who was not paying sufficient attention to the document he was copying.
Elsdon looked up quickly, but none of the guards around him were paying any attention to the black-hooded man in their midst; Seekers consulting records were apparently common enough to excite no interest. Indeed, none of the guards had even given him the wide space he knew he would have been granted if he had been consulting the records of a newly arrived prisoner, which were closed to all guards except those who served the Seeker doing the searching. The High Seeker’s records, Elsdon guessed, had been well-perused by the guards and the Seekers; the worn pages of the volume attested to that.
He pushed aside Layle’s records and set to work examining the next volume in the queue. This did not take him long, for the records were brief and uninformative, but for a single piece of information that piqued his interest. He opened the second volume, read it quickly, and then opened the third volume cautiously. Though he had half-suspected what he would see there, his breath caught in his throat as he saw the unmistakable black-bordered paper used by the lesser prisons of the Queendom of Yclau.
From behind him, a voice said, “Becoming acquainted with my colorful past?”
He jerked round with such swiftness that the guards nearest to him stared with curiosity before returning to their conversation and their work. Mr. Chapman was standing above him, holding a prisoner’s records. Though Elsdon could not see his face, there was amusement in the older Seeker’s voice as he said, “I’ve read yours as well.”
He reached past Elsdon, glanced at a few of the pages in the volume, then gave a soft snort – apparently still of amusement – and seated himself in the chair next to Elsdon. “My past is less colorful than yours,” he told Elsdon. “‘Defensive slaying’ was the judgment of the magistrate, thanks to the evidence Mr. Smith gave on my behalf. I was released without further imprisonment.”
“But you came back to the Eternal Dungeon.” Elsdon kept his voice soft, though Mr. Chapman had made no effort to lower his. A few of the younger guards were showing interest in the conversation, but the older guards were apparently well fed on this particular gossip.
Mr. Chapman nodded. “I was working at a tanners’ factory at the time; it was labor that brought home money to keep me alive, but it contributed nothing more to the world than that. When I came to this place – where a man’s life could be transformed within the space of a few days – I knew that this was where I wanted to work. I applied for a position here as a furnace-stoker, thinking that helping to keep the prisoners alive and comfortable would be heights enough for me, but . . . Well, it was hard to keep from offering to do new services once I was here. So eventually I was hooded.”
His voice still held some of the accent of his younger days. Unlike Garrett – who had never acknowledged his background to Elsdon, though Elsdon had easily guessed it – Mr. Chapman apparently felt no shame about his lower origins. Elsdon said impulsively, “It must be helpful to you in your work.”
“To have come from the same class as many of our prisoners, do you mean?” The skin next to Mr. Chapman’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “Or perhaps you are referring to my glorious career as a prisoner? I think you’ll find that will indeed be helpful to you in your work.”
“I hope so.” Elsdon glanced at the volumes set aside on the table. “Do many prisoners become Seekers?”
“Not many. You and I are the only ones at present.”
“And we were both searched by Mr. Smith.”
“Yes.” Mr. Chapman’s voice grew softer, nearl
y obscured by the murmur of the guards’ voices.
“So were Mr. Partridge and Mr. Zinner.”
Guards spoke quietly to one another. The nibs of pens scratched upon the paper. Paper rustled as a guard bound documents into a record-book. The Record-keeper spoke sharply to a guard who was twirling a pencil in a playful manner.
Mr. Chapman finally said, “Yes.”
Elsdon waited, but no further information was forthcoming, so he asked, “Did you know them?”
“Not well. Mr. Partridge died of old age several years ago, and Mr. Zinner was only here for five months. He decided to discontinue his training after that. He had not yet taken his oath of eternal commitment, and the Codifier believed that he would not reveal any secrets he had learned during his time here, so he was granted permission to be released into the lighted world. I have heard that he is well on his way now to becoming a magistrate.”
“Do you know why he abandoned his training as a Seeker?” Elsdon spoke in barely more than a whisper, though even the younger guards had apparently lost interest in straining their ears to overhear the conversation.
Another lengthy pause ensued before Mr. Chapman said in a flat voice, “His request for release stated that he had personal differences with the High Seeker which would not permit him to work under Mr. Smith. The Codifier would be able to tell you further details . . . if he believed that your interest warranted release of such information.”
Elsdon felt his face grow flush under his hood. Ducking his head, he murmured an acknowledgment and pretended that all his concentration was now centered upon arranging the Seekers’ records in an orderly stack.
He looked up as a shadow fell over him. Mr. Chapman was standing once more; he said quietly, “I ought not to have disturbed you while you were at your research. I stopped by because I received this note from the High Seeker, and I was wondering whether he had discussed this matter with you.”
He handed Elsdon a piece of paper, which was folded in the distinctive triangular manner that Elsdon had been struggling to learn. Elsdon opened the paper, and in the next moment all of his hot embarrassment was washed away in a flood of icy shock. He stared up at Mr. Chapman wordlessly, who took the note back from him. Nodding his farewell, Mr. Chapman turned in time to meet the Record-keeper, who wished to inform him with polite agitation that he was holding the prisoner’s records in such a manner that they were likely to slip to the floor and be trampled upon.
o—o—o
The High Seeker was not in his sitting room when Elsdon let himself into the cell with his key. He found Layle seated upon his bed, looking down at a book in his lap, which was titled upwards. So absorbed was the High Seeker in his reading that a minute passed before he noticed Elsdon. Then his startled look was accompanied by a fumbling motion in his hidden lap.
Elsdon had arrived hot with anger, but now, envisioning what he had interrupted, he grinned. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing toward the book and speaking in an overly innocent manner. “A book of love poems?”
“Something like that.” Layle’s voice was as cool as though he were on duty, but he leaned over and pushed the book rapidly under the bed, before Elsdon could see its title. “My apologies for not awaiting you. I’d decided you weren’t coming.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and prepared to rise.
Elsdon, who had come forward in the meantime, dropped Garrett’s records to the ground and sat down beside Layle. Layle’s breath hissed inward in apparent protest; then his eyes narrowed. “What are you holding behind your back?” he asked.
Elsdon showed him, and the High Seeker’s face softened. He reached out to touch the satiny object in Elsdon’s hand. “Sweet blood,” he said quietly. “I haven’t seen one of these since – well, since I arrived at this dungeon seventeen years ago. Where did you get it?”
“From Garrett’s love-mate, Chloris,” Elsdon said, passing the delicate object into Layle’s hand. “It turned up in a shipment of herbs that was delivered to the dungeon kitchens, where she works. She gave it to Garrett and— Well, he’s not much of a man for flowers. He gave it to me to do with as I wished.”
Layle drew back his hand from the flower. Where he had been stroking the cream-colored petal, there was now a blue mark. “Thank you,” he said. “It’s lovely.” Taking the flower, he leaned over and placed it upon the table next to the bed.
Watching him, Elsdon said, “You ought to put the flower in water at once, or it will die.”
“We have a different way of caring for cut flowers where I come from.”
Layle began to rise from the bed again, but was arrested as Elsdon abruptly asked, “What’s this nonsense about you wanting to transfer my training to Mr. Chapman?”
Despite the firmness of his wording, Elsdon kept his voice quiet and tentative – it was an instinct for him by now, a survival technique he had learned long ago when faced with danger. He wondered, with sudden curiosity, how Layle would react if he acted toward the High Seeker as he had toward the bullies at his school.
Layle was silent a moment, then said, in the same cool voice as before, “It seems appropriate, under the circumstances. I am in danger of losing my reason when around you, as our last meeting showed, and that could easily lead to me violating the Code when I am in your presence. Mr. Chapman is a well-trained Seeker and has been in the Eternal Dungeon nearly as long as I—”
“No!” cried Elsdon. “Layle, you’re the best person in our profession in the world – everyone says that. I don’t want to be taught by anyone of lesser skill. I want you as my trainer, and I want you as my love-mate.”
Layle went utterly still; his fingers, where they had touched the flower, were wet from its juice. Then he absentmindedly rubbed the juice between his fingers as he said stiffly, “Did you consult Mr. Chapman and read the records I directed you to?”
“I read enough to know that you’re the right person for me.”
Layle let out his breath heavily. “Then you didn’t read enough. Elsdon, we should continue this conversation in the next room—”
“I’m tired of talking,” Elsdon said, and reached for Layle’s lap.
His hand did not reach its goal. Less than a single drop fell from the water-clock in the corner of the room before Elsdon gasped from the grip of Layle’s hand upon his wrist. The High Seeker released his wrist quickly. Layle’s eyes had grown as dark as though his face were covered with his hood.
Elsdon’s memory of the grasp sent waves of pain through him. He said breathlessly, “When you look like that, I remember you’re the High Seeker.”
The darkness in Layle’s eyes disappeared. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “but you very nearly made me lose control of myself. You don’t want to do that.”
“Yes.” Elsdon looked down at his wrist. It was bruised blue now, like the flower, and he felt a wave of sickness go through him. Then he thrust those inappropriate memories away and looked up, saying, “I’m sorry, Layle. But the way you’re acting— I know I’m more ignorant than you in matters of love, but even I know that the sort of thing you’re asking me to do – consult references and records – just isn’t normal. That’s not how people act who have fallen in love; they don’t try to do research on each other’s backgrounds, as though they were Seekers checking the records of prisoners. They go into the love-bond on the understanding that they both have much to learn about each other, and the bond is the way in which they learn more.”
He said nothing about his conversation with Mr. Chapman. He had begun to wonder, since that talk, whether Layle was actually testing him – whether the High Seeker wished to determine if Elsdon was part of the gossip circuit that Layle regarded with such contempt. It did not really matter. For either that reason or the reason Elsdon had stated aloud, consulting Layle’s private records was the worst action Elsdon could undertake. It would show a lack of trust in the man who had saved his life.
Despite his background – perhaps because of his background – Elsdon was de
termined to show that he was as capable of trusting Layle as any other man.
Layle stared at the dull grey wall opposite, saying nothing. Remembering his thoughts from earlier, Elsdon said, “I know I have things to learn about you – well, you have things to learn about me as well. You don’t know all of me, and I’m damned to the Vovimian hell if I’ll give you references and records so that you can research me!”
Layle emitted a touch of a smile then, saying, “Yclau folk don’t end up at Vovim’s hell.”
“Then I won’t have to spend an eternity with barbarians – that’s a relief. Layle, please . . .”
The High Seeker’s smile disappeared. He returned to contemplating the wall, and Elsdon took the opportunity to slip his hand, very slowly this time, into Layle’s lap. Layle removed his hand once more, but gently this time, and Elsdon knew without looking at his face that the battle lines were drawn in his mind.
Layle said after a while, “I’m on duty this evening.”
“That gives you an entire hour,” Elsdon replied in a coaxing manner.
Finally Layle turned his face. It was set so hard that Elsdon could not read the emotions there. The High Seeker said, as though issuing orders, “We kiss. Nothing more than that.”
Elsdon let out the breath he had been holding. “Kissing is good,” he said agreeably. “I like kissing.”
He was sitting very close to Layle, but he waited for the High Seeker to move first. Layle took another look at the wall, which held no object other than the sputtering oil lamp; then he twisted his torso and took Elsdon into his arms.
He did so in a practiced manner, as though lovemaking were as familiar a task to him as torturing, but Elsdon could feel the tension in Layle’s arms. Elsdon was tense himself, but for a different reason. He could barely contain his impatience as Layle slowly brought his lips forward.
Being kissed by Layle was a shock as great as the first lash of a beating. Elsdon had not expected that. He was familiar enough with kissing – if not with what followed – and in his dreamings of Layle he had imagined the kisses as a brief and unsatisfying preliminary to what followed. But all of his weeks of dreamings seemed to explode into that single touch of flesh; Elsdon felt as though his bones had disappeared, leaving him as limp as a rag doll. He leaned in toward Layle. The High Seeker took a firmer grip upon him, but the other man’s hands were still light – he had not forgotten Elsdon’s fear of captivity.
His kiss was gentle too, as soft as the flower petals. Elsdon had thought that a man’s kiss would be harder, but he had known girls at school who kissed with greater firmness than Layle was doing. Elsdon opened his eyes, curious to see what Layle’s face held.
What he saw was a second whiplash through his body. He pulled himself back abruptly, staring. “What are you doing?” he cried.
Layle did not respond. The blood at his throat beat in a steady manner, and there was no sign upon him that Elsdon’s kiss had touched him in any way. His gaze was as cool and detached as though he were searching a prisoner.
“You didn’t enjoy that,” Elsdon said, as though accusing him of a crime.
Layle was silent a moment before saying in a quiet voice, “I assure you, Elsdon, I enjoyed your kiss very much indeed.”
“But not the way I enjoyed yours! You’re holding yourself back, like a Seeker holds himself back from a prisoner – you’re not letting yourself feel the kiss.”
Layle’s gaze wandered to the wall, which was entering into shadow as the lamp ate the last of its oil. “I receive enjoyment from your pleasure.”
“Layle.” It took all of Elsdon’s effort to keep his voice soft. Never, outside of the schoolyard, had he come so close to losing his temper for good reason. “I know that you enjoy my pleasure. You’re a Seeker – it’s in your nature to desire others to receive good. But you’ve forgotten that I’m a Seeker too. I won’t be contented with my own pleasure alone, any more than you would be. I want you to receive pleasure from this as well, or none of this will mean anything to me.”
From where he sat, he could see the big blood-vessel travelling up into Layle’s neck, and he saw the moment at which it leapt. After a while, Layle said, in a voice barely loud enough to be heard, “I don’t think that what you’re suggesting would be wise.”
“It’s what I want.” Elsdon allowed firmness to enter his voice. “I want to be your love-mate, Layle. You can’t hold yourself back from me forever.”
He held his breath for a moment after speaking, wondering whether he was being overly bold. But his firmness was successful: after a minute, Layle nodded to the wall, as though receiving an instruction. Then he turned and took Elsdon into his arms again.
The kiss was different this time. Layle’s grip upon him was tighter than before, and his lips pressed hard upon Elsdon’s. After a brief interval, his tongue darted between Elsdon’s lips, which startled Elsdon – he had never done this to any of the girls he’d kissed, and the girls had either not known enough or not been forward enough to do it to him. For a moment he felt the panic of a virgin being unexpectedly violated. Then he remembered who he was kissing and made himself to relax, enjoying the forcefulness of Layle’s tongue as it plunged still deeper into his mouth, probing.
Layle’s grip was tightening now, and once more Elsdon fought down alarm. He reminded himself that Layle did not know his ways yet, any more than the girls had the first time he kissed them. He drew back, planning to make clear to Layle his limitations.
In the moment that he did so, Layle turned his head away. It was the old, familiar gesture, but so odd was it in this context that Elsdon, after a moment’s hesitation, reached out and turned Layle’s face toward his.
He saw blankness.
It was not the coolness of before; it was more opaque than that. Layle’s eyes gazed at him unwavering, staring not straight at him, but a little aside, as though he were drawn so deep into himself that a glaze had been plastered over his eyes, cutting out all light. He did not blink.
“Layle?” Elsdon said tentatively.
For a moment more, the High Seeker stared blankly, blindly. Then his eyelids flickered rapidly, as though he were clearing them of some obstruction. His gaze turned after a moment toward Elsdon’s eyes.
“Where were you?” Elsdon asked in a hushed voice.
For a few drops of the water-clock, the High Seeker remained silent, like a statue recently woken into life. Finally he said, in a tone that revealed nothing, “Nowhere. Just dreaming.”
“Oh, is that all?” Elsdon’s voice was light with relief. “I’ve done that too, when I kissed someone – imagined myself far away, in some exotic location, like a shoal or a dark forest. What were you dreaming of?”
Again Layle was slow to reply. “I was remembering the first day we met.”
“Oh.” Elsdon’s voice went soft as he smiled. “Yes, that was a wonderful day, wasn’t it? My heart pounded so much when I first saw you that I felt as though my body would burst. I thought at the time it was from fear, but now I think—”
“Elsdon,” the High Seeker cut in. “I have only an hour before my shift. I’d rather not waste it.”
Elsdon’s smile deepened. “All right. No words, just kisses.” And he leaned forward.
But when he drew back a while later, Layle’s eyes were once more covered with the glaze, and for the first time, Elsdon felt the grazing touch of uneasiness.
o—o—o
“But I’m off duty!” cried Garrett.
Weldon Chapman’s face was harder than the metal door he leaned upon. “You’re on duty until I go off duty,” he replied. “Now, deliver the message.”
The message had the High Seeker’s name scribed upon it. Garrett knew what that meant, and knew that his shift would not end once the message was delivered. “But Chloris is waiting for me,” he said, trying to make the Seeker see reason. “I missed my last two meetings with her, and she told me that if I missed another—”
“Mr. Gerson.” Chapman rivalled
the High Seeker in coldness of voice, but he had a less courteous manner of dealing with guards than Smith did. “I am deeply saddened to learn that the needs of my prisoner have interfered with your love-bond plans. Obviously I have been working you too hard, and it is time you took a break from your duties. I suggest that you go to the Record-keeper and tell him that you wish to be suspended from your work for a month.”
A suspension meant no pay, and a black mark upon his record. Not caring whether his hard-hearted Seeker heard, Garrett uttered a curse against the whole Eternal Dungeon and swung on the ball of his foot, heading in the direction of the lettered rooms.
Once out of sight of Chapman, though, he slowed. The end of the corridor he was travelling through led, not only to the lettered rooms, but to the back entrance to the corridor between the inner and outer dungeon. That entrance was used only by Seekers or by guards undertaking urgent business on behalf of Seekers. He knew the guards on duty at the entrance; he should have no trouble getting past them, and from there it was not far to his apartment. He could meet Chloris and—
Tell her what? That he had to break his promise to her again, because a work-happy Seeker had told him to do so? What kind of man would she consider him then? He frowned, contemplating the problem.
And then a thought came to him, straying into his mind like a gift of good fortune. Of course – it would be so simple. Satisfied, Garrett moved toward the entrance door, congratulating himself on his foresight. He had known that the day would come when all the pains he took to befriend a Seeker paid off.
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