The Spell-Bound Scholar

by Christopher Stasheff

  "Aye, but only because he would not travel at a relativistic speed. If his velocity did approach that of the speed of light, he would indeed never attain the tortoise's position—which is analogous to light-speed."

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  "I am satisfied of your knowledge of modern physics," the computer answered, "yet the fields in which you requested information were neurology and psychiatry. Have you any knowledge of those areas?"

  Gwen expelled an explosive sigh. "I have."

  "What is the central nervous system?"

  "The brain and the spinal chord." Gwen blessed the Order of Cassettes and Father Ricci for the information.

  Then she began to wonder if she was doing this entirely on her own.

  No, of course she wasn't. Thousands of human beings had contributed to this knowledge down through the centuries. No human endeavor could really be said to be accomplished by one single person, could it? Certainly not.

  It was her turn to ask a question. "Are the psychodynamic theories of Sigmund Freud valid?"

  "It is impossible to know," said the computer, "since most of them, by their very nature, cannot be tested. What is a synapse?"

  And so it went for a dozen questions more. Gwen grew more and more tense; the answers and the unfamiliar words began to spin in her brain until she wondered if she were making sense. Panic seized her; she visualized Gregory and the woman who slept by him and felt renewed determination. Her thoughts stopped whirling as she clamped down on them with rigid control and answered yet another question. "The time machine was invented by Dr. Angus McAran in 1952."

  The computer was silent for a far longer time than usual. Then it said, "That information is under the most restricted classification; not even my former captain knew it. How did you learn of it?"

  "I travelled in time and met Dr. McAran," Gwen answered.

  "I am satisfied of your right to know," the computer said. "What information do you require?"

  CIJfiPTER

  -14-

  Finister woke as she always did—carefully. For a few minutes after consciousness returned, she forced her body to stay relaxed while she probed her environment, first with her mind, then with her senses.

  Her mind met the usual plethora of small and wild thoughts—sharp hunger from predators, contented feeding from earthworms, anxious concern from parent birds, voracious competition from their hatchlings as a beak came in view with a tasty grub. But there was a hole in this background, a psychic vacuum that puzzled her until she recognized it as Gregory's mind. This time, though, that dark spot seemed to radiate anxiety and concern. For a moment, she was astounded to realize his concern was for her. Then her familiar cynicism came back, bearing the thought that he was, after all, entrusted with bringing her alive to Runnymede and was no doubt concerned that he fulfill his mission.

  She let her eyelids flutter open, frowning as though puzzled as she looked about her, and heard Gregory's sigh of relief above. "Afternoon ..." she said, not looking at him.

  "It is indeed," he answered. "You have slept long."

  "Why . . . ?" Then she remembered the burst of light, her own mind-bomb reflected back at her, and fought to keep her expression confused while she trembled with anger. The swine, to strike at her so! The viper, to have seemed so enamored of her, so overcome with desire, but still be alert to attack!

  "You are cold," Gregory said, and whipped his cloak from his shoulders to tuck about her.

  Whom did he think he was deceiving? A master telepath certainly could not have mistaken the reason for her trem-

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  bling! Then she realized that she had felt no mind probe, that he had only listened to such thoughts as she had chosen to let escape, which was to say only a sense of confusion. The more fool he, to let himself be so duped! Yet he seemed to have done so again and again—his foolish ethics, when anyone could see that the only ethic was to win!

  But doubt crept in as quickly as anger had come. He had outtricked her before and might do so again. Was he truly ethical or only seeming to be so? Certainly he was never off his guard! She would have to ward herself very carefully from now on.

  And dissemble even more carefully. "What... why ..."

  "Bandits came," Gregory told her. "When the fighting and the outlaws sped, you most suddenly collapsed."

  Again—whom did he think he was deceiving? Did he truly think she did not remember, never would? Or could it be that his defenses had been so completely automatic, so unconscious, that he had never even realized she had attacked?

  She liked the sound of that, liked it very much and embraced it—but with a reserve of caution. Still, it would do no harm to let him think her completely taken in.

  What persona had she been using? Oh, yes—the village girl, seduced and abandoned as a sacrifice to the outlaws ... Peregrine! That had been her name! What now, though? Peregrine had only been designed to last until the bandits' attack, and Gregory's lowering his guard enough for her assault. What now?

  There, that was it! "What. .. now ..." She murmured, then buried her face in the crook of her arm and wept.

  She could feel the wave of Gregory's distress wash over her. "Damsel... be not so saddened. You are well, you are alive—and free!"

  "And homeless," she sobbed. "My village will not take me back for fear of the bandits. 1 have no family, no husband, no home, no wealth. Where shall I go now?"

  Gregory was silent a moment, then said hesitantly, "Travel with me. You shall not be alone, you shall not want for food or drink. Travel with me until we can find you shelter!"

  Yes, such as the Royal Coven, she thought with her old

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  cynicism. If he had pierced her disguise, he might quite easily and amicably take her to imprisonment, for surely the royal witches would know her for what she was!

  But he sounded so shy and so timid that there was a chance he might be sincere, might not know her for who she was—or might not care. She felt a thrill of victory and promptly quashed it out of caution; she would need proof before she let herself take a higher hand with him. She kept those thoughts internal and unvoiced, let only her distress and a wild thread of hope escape to be read—but it seemed that Gregory read her thoughts anyway, for he spoke a little more boldly. "You need not fear to be alone with me. I seek a witch named Moraga who was supposed to travel under my protection. If we encounter her again, we shall journey as a threesome."

  Too auspicious, too appropriately said! But if he thought she believed his charade, his guard would be down a little. Peregrine sat up, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and sniffling—and realizing that she was playing a game of bluffs and hidden knowledge, of "He didn't know that she knew he knew what she knew ..." And on and on in a circle, till one of them took action and the other revealed what he or she truly did know! But the game was worth the candle, so she said in a choked voice, "I thank you, sir. If you do not mind being encumbered, I shall gladly travel with you."

  "Encumbered? I shall rejoice in your company!" Then, quickly, as though he had revealed too much, "The road grows lonely, after all, and a companion is much to be prized."

  "I shall certainly find it so," she said softly, head bowed, looking up at him through her lashes.

  He reached down to help her rise; she took his hand and stood, stumbling to lean against him. He braced her a moment and she clung to make it last, alarmed that the stumble had been real—how long had she lain unconscious, anyway? But she might as well turn the accident to good effect, so she turned to press against him—and my, he seemed to be much more substantial than he had been! Perhaps she had been so

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  intent on slaying him that she had not noticed—though that was very much unlike her....

  With an effort, she pulled her thoughts back to her masquerade, saying, "Your pardon, sir. I seem to be still weakened."

  She looked up at him, eyes wide and innocent, and heard his muffled gasp
with vindictive satisfaction. He stared down into her eyes, amazed, so she lowered them and pushed away, tottering a little, then standing firmly. "There now, I seem to be recovered. I can walk." She took an unsteady step.

  "You shall not have to." Gregory guided her to a horse, a palfrey who turned to watch her with gentle eyes. Beyond it stood his own mount.

  He had managed to hold on to their horses! Or to call them again. Now that Finister thought of it, that shouldn't have been hard for a telepath. She wondered why she hadn't considered it herself.

  "You have only to cling tightly enough so that you shall not fall off," Gregory assured her, "and I shall ride closely enough so that I may catch you if you grow faint."

  With any other man, his motives would have been suspect, but Finister was all too much afraid that Gregory meant what he said—so she was shocked when his hands closed about her waist, more surprised to find that they actually met. "Sir!"

  "Your pardon, damsel," Gregory said, his face turning impassive. "Are you ready to mount?"

  That impassivity was surely cloaking a thrill of pleasure at touching her. Again Finister suppressed a smile of triumph and said faintly, "As ... as you wish, sir. But I have not ridden much."

  "You have only to hook one knee over the sidehorn. Ready? Up you go!"

  She did indeed, seeming to float through the air to land gently on the saddle. She stared down at him, amazed that so bookish a man had such strength. Then she blushed becomingly and looked away, hooking her knee over the sidehorn, spreading her skirts to cover it, and taking up the reins. "I—I think I can ride, sir."

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  "I shall be beside you in seconds," Gregory promised and turned away to mount. He brought his horse around beside hers, saying, "Let us be off!"

  They rode away into the forest along the northward trail. Finister consoled herself with the thought that she still had several hundred miles to work on him.

  She was quite surprised to find that Gregory, so taciturn earlier, had become quite the conversationalist. When she had asked questions before, he had either answered in very few words or had given her lectures, always managing to avoid talking about himself and switching the topic to science or philosophy. Now, though, he replied with tales from his own experience, then asked a question of her in turn. At first she was quite pleased to find him opening up, even a little, but soon began to grow suspicious, even though his questions were about her opinions or tastes or village life versus city life, and not about her politics or her past. Several times she had to bite back a revealing comment and decided that he had only resolved on a different and more effective method of learning her criminal history. She never did quite realize that they had reversed positions, she talking about impersonal topics and he becoming quite convivial.

  When they camped for the night, she resolved to see if his attitudes toward physical intimacy had changed, too, though she doubted it—he might have decided to work at being more human and better company, but she was sure he had his limits.

  Sure enough, when they had scoured their plates and stored them, he gave her a friendly smile and said, "Sleep well, maiden. You need not trouble yourself about keeping watch; I shall hold vigil."

  As always, Finister thought, but as Peregrine, she said anxiously, "Are you certain, my lord? Surely you shall grow weary, if not tonight, then tomorrow!"

  "My vigil will refresh me as much as your sleep," Gregory assured her.

  How well Finister knew that! But the day had given her such hopes of actually generating interest in herself as a

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  woman that she was loathe to give up the golden hope of persuading Gregory to hold her while she slept, whereupon Nature might actually take its course—so she protested, "Surely there is no need for you to forgo your rest, good sir! The bandits are schooled; I am sure they will not trouble us further." Being their boss, she was sure of it indeed. "Without their threat, this is not a very dangerous area—there is no wild beast larger than a fox nor any lesser outlaws, since all who were not of that robber band fled for fear of them. Stretch your length on the greensward, do!"

  "The bandits might rally and seek to recover their pride by attacking me," Gregory explained, "and one never knows when a bear or wolf may wander into a new part of the forest. I thank you for your concern, damsel, but I must stay on guard."

  "You must sleep some time!" Peregrine protested.

  "Perhaps, in a week or so," Gregory said judiciously, "but certainly not in a day. My vigil is meditation and renews my body as much as ten hours' sleep."

  Finister did indeed know the restorative powers of Gregory's trances—and how impregnable they were! Still, she had never made any but the most casual effort to distract him. Why not give it a good, solid try? Accordingly she sighed and said, "Good night to you then, sir—but if you grow weary, do wake me for my turn!"

  "I shall," Gregory promised, "though I doubt I'll have need. Dream sweetly, damsel."

  Finister closed her eyes but had no trouble staying awake— her whole body thrummed with the excitement of the chase. He might have been immune to the distractions of talk and a light touch or two, but surely he could not resist extended caressing!

  She waited half an hour until she was sure he was too deeply entranced to surface quickly enough to push her away. If she played upon his body as surely as she knew she could, by the time he returned to his senses he would be far too much aroused to be able to resist her!

  When his breathing had slowed and lightened so much that she was no longer certain he was alive, she rose from her

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  pallet and stalked him on hands and knees like the wildcat she felt herself to be. Her pulse sped faster and faster with the excitement of the chase; she felt the glow of warmth within, felt her heart pounding within her breast, and knew she had taken on the glow that no male eye could resist.

  Except Gregory's.

  She made sure she was within his direct vision, but he showed not the slightest sign of recognition. Piqued, she nestled up beside him and reached out to stroke his arm.

  It was like rubbing wood.

  Unable to believe her senses, she pulled up his sleeve and tried to pinch his forearm, but his flesh had grown so hard that she could gain no purchase. Seeking softer flesh, she pulled his sleeve all the way up—and stared at the huge bulge of his biceps. Unbelieving, she probed his underarm and found the triceps equally swollen. An excitement of a kind she had rarely felt tingled within her, for though she projected sexuality, she rarely felt any percolating of pleasure herself except the thrill of the chase. Only Gregory's brothers had been well enough formed to kindle any inner sensation—they, and one or two others. Surely she had never expected it of this retiring scholar! But he, too, seemed able to inflame her. Whether it was the challenge, or the surprising swell of his muscles coupled with the handsomeness, almost beauty, of his face, she knew not, but the excitement was there and could not be denied.

  The muscles may have bulged, but so did a burl in a stick of wood, and that was exactly how it felt. Unbelieving, she yanked open his robe and stared at the swelling pectorals and the layers of muscle revealed between neck and shoulders, and felt a stirring inside her that made her very impatient indeed. She reached out to caress but found those pectorals oaken. She reached for flesh that she knew should be delicate, his minuscule nipples, which she had found to be sensitive even in men—but his felt like those of a statue.

  Peregrine knelt directly in front of Gregory, bending forward to make sure she exposed her cleavage thoroughly, and glaring into his eyes, she tried a telepathic probe. It proved informative but worthless; she learned only that he had set

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  his mind to register outside stimuli but ignore them as unimportant—unless, of course, they were threatening. That he managed to keep ignoring her meant that he must have had more sexual experience than she had thought, for if he was the total innocen
t he'd seemed, surely he would have interpreted her advances as threats, or at least something to fear! There was no sign of such fright, though, no response at all to her presence other than a mere noting and setting aside of her actions. Most of his mind was in a strange sort of ecstasy, contemplating the union of the four major forces of the universe, mathematical equations springing into life and flashing past, merging one into another too quickly to follow, though her masters had trained her in modern physics. She couldn't probe deeper than the surface of his mind, of course, but that was certainly enough—how dare he find nuclear forces and gravity more interesting than herself! What kind of man was he, if the interplay of mathematical functions intoxicated him more than a woman's caresses? Was he really a man at all?

  With an imprecation, she pushed him as hard as she could; if he toppled, surely he would waken. But he didn't even rock—his folded legs gave him a damnably secure seat!

  Seething with frustration but not daring to curse for fear he should hear, somewhere inside that wooden facade, Fin-ister went back to her pallet and lay down—but her night's sally had left her every bit as agitated as she had wished him to be.

  Relentlessly aroused, she passed a very restless night.

  Sunlight made the world turn scarlet, and Finister squinted, then realized she was awake. That meant she had finally slept—but if the sun's rays had penetrated this grove, how late was it?

  She forced her eyes open, squinting against the light, and saw that execrable Gregory sitting by a fire and a steaming kettle, looking as fresh as the dew and as tranquil as a sated lover.

  He saw her movement and smiled at her. "Good morn, damsel."

  An acerbic retort sprang to her lips, but she bit it back and

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  forced a smile that she managed to turn sweet. "Good morn, sir." She glanced upward, saw that the sun was halfway to the zenith, and gasped. "You have let me sleep far too long!"

  "You have been through an ordeal that would have exhausted a man of iron," Gregory said with ready compassion. "I trusted your body's wisdom."