CHAPTER TWO
Heads turned as Weldon walked down the corridor. He tried to ignore them. It did no good; he saw one of the dungeon's lamplighters step toward him, eager interest in his face. Weldon gave him an icy stare, as best he could from through his hood. The man took the hint and stepped back. One man conquered; several hundred men and women left.
Another man was headed toward him – this one a Seeker. Bloody blades; a Seeker wouldn't be put off by cold expressions. Weldon turned and began walking in the opposite direction. He could no longer remember where he was headed. It hardly mattered.
He passed a guard. Bracing himself, he looked over at the passerby – a man with quiet eyes, about his own age – but the guard simply nodded a greeting at him and passed.
Weldon turned and caught hold of him. As the guard looked back, Weldon said, "You didn't ask."
"I assumed that if anything important had happened, you would have announced it," the guard replied.
"You're the only one who has assumed that," Weldon said grimly. He glanced round at the peering gazes and decided that an armed guard was just what he needed. "Come walk with me," he said in a low voice to Seward Sobel, the High Seeker's senior night guard. "We can talk on the way to your destination."
"My destination is wandering aimlessly in circles, feeling useless," Mr. Sobel said with a quirk of a smile.
Despite himself, Weldon felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. "Mine as well."
They travelled for some time in silence. The dungeon was abnormally quiet; even the prisoners seemed to have caught hold of the atmosphere of waiting. After a while, Mr. Sobel said, "There's no change, then?"
"Only for the worse." Weldon kept his voice soft. He was conscious of eyes following his progress. "He hasn't slept for two days. He has replaced sleep with his dreamings."
Mr. Sobel let out his breath slowly. "Is he in bed now, then?"
Weldon shook his head. "In a prisoner's cell." As Mr. Sobel turned startled eyes toward him, he added, "With Mr. Taylor. Mr. Taylor is continuing to search his prisoner each day, and of course he can't allow Mr. Smith to remain alone during that time."
"Of course," murmured Mr. Sobel. He cast a look at Weldon, and Weldon wondered whether the blackened skin under his eyes showed through the eye-holes of his hood. The guard said, "At least Mr. Taylor has managed to convince him that it's folly to withdraw into his dreamings."
"The knowledge comes too late to be of use to him." Weldon felt his hands tighten. "He can no longer stop himself from entering into his dreamings. They have overmastered him."
This was old news; the guard made no reply. They had taken a dozen more steps before Weldon hissed, "This is my fault."
Mr. Sobel offered a look of query, and Weldon added, "I advised Mr. Taylor two months ago to continue searching his prisoner. I thought it was what the High Seeker wanted. But those long hours while Mr. Taylor is searching the prisoner are the hours when Mr. Smith is most likely to enter into his dreamings. If I had not meddled . . ."
Mr. Sobel, seeing a fellow guard begin to approach, put his hand lightly to his dagger. The other guard raised his eyebrows but stayed back. Mr. Sobel waited until they were beyond the intruder before saying, "Sir, one thing I've learned in my years of working with the High Seeker is that, if he wants something, no power in life or death will hold him from taking it."
"And what he wants is for Mr. Taylor to place the best interests of his prisoner first." Weldon sighed. "Mr. Sobel, am I the only man who finds it ironic that the High Seeker is being unmade by his sense of duty as a Seeker? This is not how one would expect the darkest Seeker of the Eternal Dungeon to destroy himself."
Mr. Sobel was silent a moment before saying, "Perhaps I can talk to him – make him see that the prisoners of the Eternal Dungeon will be far worse off if he is lost than if Mr. Taylor transfers his prisoner to another Seeker."
Weldon said wearily, "You can try. He hasn't spoken to anyone but Mr. Taylor for days, but perhaps he will listen to you. . . . If that bloody prisoner would only confess!" He caught Mr. Sobel's look and said more quietly, "I know – that isn't a Seekerly remark, is it? I ought to be hoping that Mr. Taylor's patient questioning will reveal information that will save his prisoner from the hangman. If the prisoner— What the bloody blades . . . ?"
He had been alerted, not by what stood forth in the corridor, but by Mr. Sobel's hand moving to his dagger. Weldon found himself looking around automatically to see which other guards were close by. That was old training. The last time he had witnessed this scene, a prisoner had murdered his Seeker.
Elsdon Taylor's night guards were not in front of his cell. That in itself was not unusual; the guards might be inside the cell, assisting Elsdon with a punishment. But the junior night guard was standing in front of the cell next door, peering through the tiny watch-hole. As Weldon and Mr. Sobel ran forward, he looked up and said to the Seeker, "Oh, sir, I'm glad you're here! Mr. Taylor told me to call him if there was any change, and I'm not sure—"
Weldon elbowed him aside, and in the next moment he underwent a feeling he had not experienced in twelve years. The last time had been when he was in training, and was placed on the rack.
"Get Mr. Taylor!" he snapped at Elsdon's guard, but when he turned his head, he saw that Elsdon had already left his prisoner's cell and was running forward. Mr. Sobel, the most alert of guards, had finished unlocking the cell in front of which Weldon was standing. The High Seeker's guard waited until Weldon stepped back; then he swung the door open.
By this time, a small crowd had gathered. And so it was that Weldon did not need to issue his next report to the dungeon. Which was just as well; it was a scene he could not have easily put into words.
Elsdon dropped down to one knee before the High Seeker, who was curled in a ball upon the floor. He spoke softly the High Seeker's name and touched his hooded head. The High Seeker turned his eyes toward Elsdon. But the eyes were blurred with visions, and the rest of his body did not move. He remained as he was, staring blankly at Elsdon, as somewhere behind Weldon, one of the onlookers began to sob.
"Fetch Mr. Bergsen," Weldon said quietly to Mr. Sobel, and then he did the only other thing he could: he closed the cell door, leaving the High Seeker alone with his love-mate.
o—o—o
Elsdon Taylor was worried about his prisoner. Though inexperienced as a Seeker, he sensed that the prisoner was reaching a breaking point – but whether it was the breaking point Elsdon sought, he wasn't sure. It might have been the wrong sort of breaking, the type that would drive the prisoner back from all the progress they had made together. And if such a breaking occurred, it would be Elsdon's fault, for allowing the High Seeker to stay in the cell during the prisoner's searching.
The prisoner was terrified of the High Seeker, that was clear. How could he not be, witnessing Layle as he was sucked into his dreamings each day? And so, when Layle shattered in the midst of a searching and flung away his writing board – it landed mere inches from the prisoner – Elsdon knew that he was faced with the crisis he had envisioned in his nightmares: he must choose between helping his prisoner and helping Layle.
When he went over to Layle, the High Seeker whispered to him that he would attack the prisoner in the next moment. Elsdon knew there was no truth to this; if Layle had not attacked anyone by now, he never would. But Layle was frantic to be away from the prisoner, the prisoner was frantic to be away from Layle, and Elsdon had no idea what he should do.
"Lock me in a cell," Layle begged in a whisper. "Now!"
And so Elsdon did. He placed Layle in the neighboring cell and sent his senior day guard to fetch Weldon Chapman. Since Weldon was on duty, the guard should be able to find the senior Seeker within a few minutes. Elsdon debated staying with Layle until then, but Layle was hoarsely exhorting him to return to his prisoner, and Elsdon found himself wondering whether his few minutes' absence from the cell would destroy months' worth of work. And if it did, and he must search the prisoner yet lon
ger, at Layle's expense . . .
He returned to the cell, but not for long. The prisoner's anxiety had grown to such a degree that he refused to permit the searching to continue that day. Under ordinary circumstances, Elsdon would have coaxed him into continuing; a prisoner could not be allowed to decide when he was or wasn't searched. But these weren't ordinary circumstances. Elsdon left the cell, relieved to be able to return to Layle.
He was too late.
o—o—o
Layle Smith's head did not move. It remained turned, at an awkward angle, toward the bedroom doorway, through which could be seen the figures of Elsdon Taylor and the dungeon healer, leaning toward one another as they talked in low voices. Layle, normally a man who could not bear to be talked about without participating in the conversation, stared with glassy eyes at the exchange and remained where he was, seated in the armchair placed in the bedroom.
Weldon realized that he was staring, and tried to occupy himself by examining the night-table where Elsdon had placed Layle's hood. It contained several other items belonging to the High Seeker, lit by the lamp above the bed. In the midst of them lay a familiar black volume.
Weldon flipped open the book and realized, in the next moment, that in this book were the marginal notes that he had dreaded. The notes consisted of a single word, repeated over and over: "Yes."
"The best interests of the prisoner must always be placed first." "Yes." "At all times a Seeker must put aside his own feelings and needs for the sake of the prisoner." "Yes." "A Seeker must be willing to suffer for the prisoners." "Yes, yes, yes."
Weldon looked up at Layle. The High Seeker had shown no interest in this inspection of his private belongings – had not even turned his head to look at Weldon. His gaze remained fixed on Elsdon.
Weldon laid the Code of Seeking softly down, then noticed the pitcher and cup on the night-table. A second glance told him that Layle's lips were cracked and dry.
As the corridor door closed behind the dungeon healer, Weldon poured a cup of water, then stepped over to the High Seeker. Layle did not resist as Weldon lifted the cup to his lips, any more than he had resisted when Weldon and Elsdon had pulled him to his feet in the empty cell and guided him back to his own quarters, through silent, staring crowds of dungeon inhabitants.
"No!" The cry came from the doorway as Weldon began to tip the cup. In the same moment, with a swift blow, Layle knocked the cup from Weldon's hand, drenching Weldon and the floor nearby. Layle's gaze did not move from the doorway.
Elsdon came forward to hand Weldon his dry handkerchief. "He won't drink," he said in a weary voice. "Vovimian torturers won't drink unless they've prepared the drink themselves. The drink might be poisoned."
Weldon looked over at Layle, whose head had finally turned. The High Seeker was watching the progress of the junior Seeker, though Layle's blank eyes saw more than what was in this room. "Did he tell you that?" Weldon asked.
"No," said Elsdon, kneeling down to wipe off the water from Layle's lap. "My torturer did."
Weldon's hand paused in the midst of tossing away the soaked handkerchief. Elsdon's head was bowed as he did his work, but in the light from the bed-lamp, Weldon could see the dark smudges under the other Seeker's eyes. Two days Layle had gone without sleep; two days Elsdon had gone without sleep.
Sweet blood, the young man had undergone too much in life already. Bound and beaten by his father every week for fourteen years; sent to the Eternal Dungeon as a prisoner and placed on trial for his life; tortured and raped in Vovim; and now this. How long would it be before Elsdon also broke down under the weight he was carrying?
Weldon found himself wishing that pity had the power to destroy envy. He could feel the black jealousy still. It was there with each dab of Elsdon's cloth as he wiped Layle's lap; it was there as the junior Seeker rose, leaning upon Layle's motionless arm to support himself; it was there as he pushed back the hair from Layle's eyes. It was there as Layle's gaze remained unwavering upon his love-mate.
Weldon came over to Elsdon and gently forced the junior Seeker to sit down on his bed. Glancing at the High Seeker again, Weldon asked, "Can he hear us?"
Elsdon nodded. His own gaze had not moved from Layle from the moment he had entered the bedroom. "He's like this when we're together. When we make love. He can see us and hear us; he's incorporating bits of our conversation and actions into his dreamings."
Weldon tried to imagine which of his actions during the past few minutes Layle would use; then he felt his stomach roil at the thought. He looked toward the sitting room, but Elsdon, noticing his movement out of the corner of his eye, said softly, "I don't want to leave him by himself. We may be the only thing that's keeping the door open for him between his dreamings and this world."
"My presence or absence is of no importance. You're what's keeping him here." Weldon sat down heavily beside Elsdon on the bed. After several minutes of silence, he asked quietly, "What does Mr. Bergsen say?"
"That he can do nothing more for the High Seeker. That we can only wait. For as long as we have."
"As long as we—?" Weldon's gaze shifted abruptly to the pitcher, sitting abandoned on the floor next to Layle. "Elsdon," he said slowly, "when did he last drink?"
"This evening, before I went on duty." Elsdon's hands were tight fists in his lap. "He wasn't hungry, but I made him drink a cup of water – just in case."
Weldon said nothing more. Elsdon knew how long a man could survive without water; during the young Seeker's training, Weldon had told him the methodology of foreign torturers, since Vovim's torturers used such deprivation as a form of torture. Brief torture.
It was like seeing a hangman walk into the room. So little time left.
For a moment, he envisioned himself pouring water down the throat of the resisting High Seeker; then he shook himself away from that thought. This was not Vovim, where food and drink was forced on those who resisted. Making the High Seeker feel that he was a Vovimian prisoner could well ensure that his mind never returned to this world. Weldon did not have to ask to know that Layle would prefer death to endless madness.
"Can I do anything to help?" Weldon asked, trying to keep desperation out of his voice.
Elsdon nodded, not shifting his eyes from his love-mate. "I need guards at the doors to this cell for the next few hours."
"I'll see that they're set here," Weldon replied promptly. "No one is likely to disturb you, though."
"I need you to give the guards orders that no one, not even themselves, must enter this cell. Not under any circumstances."
Layle's eyes danced, shifting past Elsdon to something behind him. Under the light from the lamp on the wall above the bed, his eyes glowed, like that of a predatory cat.
Weldon said, "Elsdon, this is a matter for the Codifier."
"I spoke to him a few days ago. He gave me permission to take whatever measures I considered necessary – if all else failed."
Elsdon's tone was as weary as before; his own lips were parched. Weldon spent a long moment watching Layle, whose gaze was still caught upon something invisible behind Elsdon. Then Weldon laid his hand on the young man's arm. "I'll set the High Seeker's own guards at duty here," he said quietly. "You won't be disturbed."
Elsdon nodded. As Weldon got up and walked to the door leading to the outer dungeon, he glanced back. Elsdon had not moved. He remained where he was, his gaze fixed upon Layle's dancing eyes.
Weldon felt something touch his envy, nudging it.
The Eternal Dungeon: a Turn-of-the-Century Toughs omnibus Page 30