Dirk frowned up at him, puzzled-and felt a sudden hollow fear, as he watched the anger bleach out of Gar's eyes, leaving only agony. The big guy looked like a wounded man fighting against a burning pain clawing inside him, able to hang on only because he knew the doctor was coming. "What's the matter with you?"
Gar swallowed thickly again and muttered, "The walls ... agony . . . despair . . ." He turned on Dirk furiously. "Shut up, can't you? You're tearing my ears out!"
Dirk shrank back into a crouch, staring up at the big man as fear scooped out his entrails and jellied his legs. He hadn't been saying anything.
As the light faded, Gar sank back against the walls, lower and lower into a crouch, back plastered flat against the rough stone, staring bug-eyed up at the little, high window across from him, sweat trickling down his face in the chill.
When the sun had set, and the huge stone room was cloaked in twilight, a warder came by with bowls of food-a hunk of stale brown bread, a cup of water, and a bowl of gruel for each man. There were no spoons; the inmates ate with their fingers and drank the gruel, or spooned it up with their hands-or turned it upside-down over their heads.
Gar wouldn't touch his food. He sat on his heels, jaw clenched tight, eyes bulging, sweating. Dirk watched him, and wisely held his peace. At least, he thought it was wisdom.
Clank of keys; a warder stopped in front of Gar. Dirk looked up at a miniature gorilla, obviously chosen for the sensitivity and delicacy of his feelings. He scowled down at Gar. "Come, then-eat! We'll not have you wasting away, and robbing us of the penny a day the King gives us for you!"
But Gar just sat on his heels, staring off into space.
The attendant looked worried. With a shock, Dirk realized the Neanderthal actually had some dedication. He sat on his heels, staring into Gar's eyes. "Come, come, it's not so bad as that. Only eat, and hold onto life, and all will grow better."
Gar's throat muscles worked, but he stayed silent.
The warder scowled, and Dirk remembered that even the finest empathy can be blunted by the wrong environment. He screwed up his courage and reached over to give Gar a shake. "Nay then, coz! Will you not do a king's bidding? His Majesty bids you to eat-why, then, glad fellow, you were ever a man for the trencher! Come, 'tis a fat pullet, and wine from the King's own table!"
The warder's brow smoothed; he nodded approval. "Aye, there, good fellow, talk him into it, if you can."
"To be sure, Majesty, to be sure!" Dirk salaamed, turned to hiss into Gar's ear. "Come out of it, idiot! What're you trying to do-get yourself force-fed?"
Gar's head turned, slowly, almost mechanically, as though it were separate from his body. His voice was a hoarse, grating whisper. "The walls . . ."
"Yeah, the walls. Well, the hell with the walls! Eat the damn food, man, or they'll ram it down your throat!"
Gar's eyes stayed glassy.
Dirk scowled to hide abiding fear. "Come on! What's the matter with you?" He slapped Gar's cheek and cried, "Wake, coz! For the moon, that startled into flight, the sun before him, from the lake of night . . ."
He hoped Khayyam's ghost wasn't listening; but it seemed to work. Something seemed to click behind Gar's eyes; they seemed to focus suddenly. He turned, frowning, to stare at the bowl of food, Then he shuddered and began to eat.
The warder nodded approvingly, climbing to his feet. "You're a proper man, though a daft one," he said to Dirk. "Care for your brother, then. You seem to have wits enough for that, at least."
At the far end of the chamber, a man screamed, rearing up to claw at the air, straining against the chain harnessing his shoulders. The warder looked up in alarm and leaped over to him. Another attendant slammed into the man from the other side. They grabbed the ancient's arms, wrestled them down around behind him. "Come then, old Jean, come," the warder growled in a tone that was meant to soothe. "It'll pass, Jean; it always has. They'll go away . . ."
Dirk turned away, stomach rebelling, as the old man collapsed, sobbing, sliding back down the wall, drooling and trembling. Dirk looked up at Gar, and felt alarm grab him. The big man had frozen again, into stone, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted, breath hissing in and out. Sweat dripped from his temples.
Dirk scowled. "Hey, then! What's the matter with you?"
"I can't . . ." Gar swallowed thickly. His eyes opened; he gave his head a quick shake. "I can't ... not much longer . .."
With a heave, he rolled forward to his knees, rolled back to sit on his heels with only the soles of his feet in contact with the floor. "The stones, dammit! I can't take them! The clamor in here is bad enough, but the stones! Ten times worse-it's too much! They ... the emotions ... screaming ... rage, despair, the . . ." He swallowed, and was stone again, his mouth moving as though trying to force sound out.
Dirk felt a thrill of panic, and under it, the dread certainty that, if Gar hadn't been crazy when he came in here, he would be when he went out. This was just the place for it.
He tried to calm himself-maybe it was all an act. Too good an act, something inside him prodded. He'd heard of such cases-actors who really began to believe they were the characters. And if the character was insane ...
The gloom in, the chamber deepened into night.
A single lamp burned at the far end of the hall, where two warders sat playing cards. The inmates lapsed into slumber-most of them, at least. A few began to moan, rocking themselves from side to side. Several lay huddled against the wall, sobbing with the tearing agony of total despair. Now and again one sprang to his feet with a scream, arms windmilling as he fought invisible demons. The two warders were at his side almost before the first long scream was ended, hedging him in and keeping pace with him as he turned, so he couldn't harm his neighbors, until the spasm passed and the patient sank into a sobbing puddle.
It was a night of nightmare, lit only by the flickering rays of one feeble lamp, filled with wails and the howling of demons-and Gar reached over to slap Dirk on the arm. "Talk-anything! Give me bits, anything to chew on."
Dirk stared.
Then he shook himself; he could remember when he'd needed distraction. "Okay. Obviously there's no psychology here, not even an attempt to understand any of what's in their minds; the authorities stick on the label `mad,' and don't question any further. After all, everyone knows there's absolutely no understanding of a madman's mind, right?"
Gar nodded. "Right. But-common sense, at least? Her!"
He jabbed a finger out into the gloom; Dirk looked across the way, and saw a girl, maybe twenty, who would have been beautiful anywhere else-hair golden under the crust of filth, heart shaped face, high, full breasts and a tapering waist, which were easy to see, because her gray tunic was ripped in a dozen places, shredded. Her eyes were glazed, vacant; and Dirk might have been wrong, but he thought Gar winced as he looked at her. "Don't they wonder why a beautiful girl would despair?" Gar grated. "Can't they see why-"
The girl erupted in a sudden, soundless fury, her face contorted in a silent scream, ripping and tearing at her clothes .as though they were on fire.
Gar snapped his head down, huge fingers digging into his scalp, eyes squeezed shut, body rolled into a tight ball balanced on the balls of his feet, until the girl had relaxed into silent, shuddering sobs. Then, slowly, he looked up, breathing hoarsely.
"What's the matter?" Dirk said gently. "Couldn't you even stand the sight of her?"
Gar shook his head, looking up wide-eyed, gasping. "No. It was ... what was going on in her mind."
Dirk frowned. What kind of figure of speech was that?
"It gets worse." Gar waved vaguely toward the right, past Dirk, not looking. "There's a man down that way who's watching her like a gorgon, and his tongue is thick in his dripping mouth."
Dirk turned and looked, frowning. He could just barely make out the humped body of a Merchant who sat tailor fashion, leaning elbows on knees, staring at the girl in rapt fascination, lips parted, a thin thread of- saliva hanging from his lower lip.
/> Gar hadn't even looked. How had he known? Noticed the guy earlier, probably.
"Don't they see what she's doing to him?" Gar rasped. "The fantasies he's building around her, the constant tension she keeps him at?"
Dirk turned back to him, scowling. "How do you know that?"
Gar shook his head impatiently, went on as though he hadn't heard. "And there's one down beyond him, gene damage-from inbreeding?with only the stump of a leg, and it's not amputation, born that way-and with a piece of his mind missing, too; born without a left frontal lobe."
Dirk peered through the murk, but this one he couldn't see at all. Could Gar have that much sharper eyes?
No. Impossible.
He turned back to Gar. "You can hear their thoughts, can't you? And you can't shut them out-not this many, this strong."
Gar shook his head, staring, glassy-eyed. "That's not what's doing it. Not just that much, alone. It's the stones, you see." He rose into a crouch, shifting from foot to foot, picking first one off the floor, then the other, in a sort of shuffling dance. "It's been stored in the stones of this place, year upon year, agony and despair, piling up into centuries, and I can't get away from them!"
Dirk glanced nervously at the warders. "Keep your voice down."
"If I just didn't have to touch them, if I could get something between me and them, a good thick board maybe, but no, that wouldn't help, they're coming at me from all sides, pushing and shoving into my head, and I can't ... can't ... I can't take it!" He whirled about, clutching at his head, spinning around against the chain. "Stop them, damn it, stop them; shut them up! I can't take it! I've got to get ... out of here!" He grabbed the chain in both hands and set his foot against the wall. -"I can't take it!"
Dirk jumped to his feet, remembering the bars in the arena, as the warders came running up. Gar's body convulsed, straightening out against the chain; metal groaned, screeched-and the warders piled onto him. One threw an arm around his throat, the other bear-hugged his arms to his sides. The giant whirled about, roaring, shaking them like a terrier with rats; then three more warders out of the bunk-room piled on, bearing him down under sheer body-weight. Dirk plastered himself back against the wall, staring, horrified. Then he shook himself, and dived into the churning mass of bodies, throwing his arms around a warder, yanked him loose-and Gar surged up with a bellow, spewing warders out like a volcano, blasting out one huge, blood-congealing shriek that lanced through Dirk's ears down his spine. It echoed, and faded, but the dim light showed a huge, stiff silhouette bowed over backward, mouth gaping, vacant eyes staring up. Then, slowly, the human spring uncoiled, and slowly, slowly, folded in on itself, crumbling; then, in a sudden cascade, collapsed, sprawling trembling limbs and bowed head to the floor.
The warders stood back, watching, faces locked in lugubrious tragedy.
Dirk stepped forward, knelt, reached out a hand toward the huge body.
"Does he live?" one of the warders rasped. Dirk touched the massive shoulder tentatively, then grasped, shook it.
The huge body lifted itself up agonizingly, one leg straight out, the other folded under him. The torso lifted up, leaned back, backward, until shoulders and head fell back against the wall. The great arms lay limp, hands upturned and empty on the floor. The eyes stared upward, blank.
The warders stood in a silent semicircle, their faces grave. Then one frowned, leaning down, and slapped Gar's face. "Now, then, answer-do you hear me?"
The face rocked to the side with the blow; the eyes stayed empty.
"Gone," another warder muttered thickly. All their faces seemed to gel; they turned away, slowly, back toward the light. The warder who had spoken stood over Gar, then turned to Dirk. "He's gone, then, lad. Do you know what that means?"
Dirk remembered he was supposed to be mad. His eyebrows shot up in surprise; he managed a smile. "Aye, Nuncle! Why, 'tis my brother!"
For a moment, the warder's face seemed to soften. "Aye, poor idiot. But is he here, still?"
Dirk turned to look at Gar in surprise. "Why, wherefore not? He is as he has always been, since the day of his birth. Except . . ." He rolled forward onto his knees, thrusting his face to within an inch of Gar's, peering at him from every side while he fought down a sudden surge of nausea. Then he looked up at the guard with a delighted, beatific smile ".. . except he is bigger now."
The warder stood silent for a moment, his mouth working. Then a sad smile won over his face; he turned his head from side to side. "Aye, lad. Aye, he is bigger now. Aye, that is all." He started to reach out to Dirk, as though to pat his head, but thought better of it, and pulled his hand back. "Aye, care for him, then. He is your brother." He turned away, going back to the light.
Dirk watched after him, staring at the feeble glow of the lamp-anything to avoid looking at Gar. Yes, Gar was his brother now. There was a bond between them-now, when it was too late.
And the warder was right again--Gar was gone, or his mind, at least. Catatonic, probably-he wasn't an expert. He couldn't be sure.
And, now that it was too late, he understood. Gar was a telepath; he could "hear" other people's thoughts; but not just that. He could "hear" the thoughts of the dead, too-if he was in the room where the dead had lived. There was a word for it, "psychometry," and even a theory to back it upthat strong emotions made minuscule changes in the electrical potentials of objects within range; and a special kind of mind, "scanning" those objects even centuries later, could still resonate tiny echoes of those long-lost emotions and, through them, of the people who had held those emotions. A really good psychometrist was supposed to be able to pick up a rock, or a cup, or anything, and describe the personality of the person to whom it belonged and the main events in that person's life. And here, in a room that had never held anything but the mentally ill, and had held generations of them, for centuries ... A room in which there had never been anything but strong emotions, and most of them negative ... For a moment, Dirk felt a touch of what Gar must have gone through and shuddered, automatically pinching the sensation off, closing it away from his mind. Gar must have thought he had walked into hell. Presumably a telepath-or any kind of a psi-built up automatic defenses against psionic input, a kind of blocking or closure that would automatically shut out any signals he didn't want to hear, the way most people can be in a room where music is playing and never really be aware of it, until the music stops. But even the strongest dam can be breached. Or overwhelmed ...
And what happens then, when the floodwaters come booming in, and the storm churns throughout the land? Why, you find yourself a bolt-hole, some watertight place in the bowels of the earth, and you go lock yourself in and pull the key after you, so that nothing can ever get to you, ever, ever again.
Somewhere, some cul-de-sac corner of Gar's brain, the giant's mind had retreated into, pulling the hole in after it, leaving the rest of his brain clear, for the demons to play in ...
Suddenly, frantically, Dirk ached for daybreak.
CHAPTER 10
At long last, the huge cell began to lighten with false dawn, gray light filtering down to soothe shuddering forms with cool lucidity. The warders stretched, grumbling, ready to strike out for home as soon as the day shift came in.
A huge, booming knocking sounded from the outside door.
Dirk looked up, hope suddenly spurting in him. Was this it, so soon? But how could they possibly have pulled the army together so quickly? And what about the Bell not having rung?
The chief warder scowled and gestured to one of his men. The attendant turned away, into the tunnel leading to the outside door; Dirk heard the huge bolts grind back, the hinges grate open.
There was the murmur of voices; then the attendant came back, looking singularly baffled. He muttered something to the chief warder, who scowled, puzzled. The attendant held out a sheet of parchment; the chief warder spread it out flat on the desk, scowling over it, lips moving to silently piece letters together. Then he looked up, shrugged in resignation, and nodded. The attenda
nt motioned to two others, picked up a maul and a cold chisel, and strode down the room toward Gar and Dirk.
Dirk's heart hammered. Never had he wanted out of a place so dearly as he wanted out of this one.
The warders came to a halt in front of Dirk and .Gar, and Dirk went limp with relief. Two went to stand to either side of him, ready to catch hold, while the third kneeled down, set the chisel against the chain, and cut through it with two blows. He stood, shaking his head, mystified. "Why His Lordship wants them is more than I can see."
" 'Tis not for us to question," one of his mates growled. "Come, let's get it done." He turned to Dirk, jerked his thumb. "Up on your feet, fellow."
Dirk stood, not understanding what was going on, but not about to worry about it, either. At the last moment, he remembered the act. "Praised be the sun, moon, and stars! The ransom is paid; the King wanders free! Praised be the deliverers, praised be-"
"Yes, yes, I know," the warder soothed. "Stand there like a good fellow, while we get your brother free."
The first warder set his chisel against Gar's chain while the other two watched warily. The maul swung, the chain dropped free; but Gar still sat like a statue, staring forward.
"Up!" The man with the chisel scowled down at the giant, braced for anything-but nothing happened.
Dirk dropped down beside the big man. "Why, come then, Brother! We must up and away! The night is gone; the sun wheels toward day!" He slung the giant's arm over his shoulder, braced himself for a hard haul, and pushed himself to his feet-and almost fell over backward. He'd expected to have to haul the giant up by main strength; but impulse was all the huge body needed; it rose by itself, willingly. But, standing, it just stood.
Dirk looked up at the warders. "Come now, I'll lead my brother. Take us out to the Lord of the Ransom; take us out from the castle of durance vile, ere the ogre returns."
The warders traded a commiserating glance and turned to escort them out.
They went down between the two rows of inmates. The ones who were awake looked up, saw two of their number going toward freedom, and set up a chorus of howls, wailing for liberty. The warders stiffened, but their steps never slackened. Inmates surged to their feet, clawing at the air and bellowing, but the warders plodded on at the same even pace, past the chief warder and into the passageway to the outside door. Dirk breathed a silent sigh of relief, realized he was shaking. He wondered how the warders could take it, and realized it was a miracle they'd managed to keep so much human feeling.
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