“Sir, we never fall short!”
“I see.” Kor ground his teeth together and wished mightily he dared probe just once behind that saintly mask.
“Brother Set, what happened to the Scarlet Saint whose See I am taking over?”
Brother Set looked sad. He did feel genuinely sad about it—Sir Ten had been a regular fellow to work with—but, he had to continue playing with the young man across from him.
He said, “The Lord Sun took him Home.”
Kor growled under his breath. This gibberish was good enough to spread before the Trisz, but he, Kor, was a Man! He controlled himself with an effort.
“How was he taken, Brother?”
“Sir Ten Roga loved to ride horseback on the desert. He went one day alone—and vanished.”
That was possible, Kor thought, but not probable. Being a Man, Sir Ten could easily have vanished off the face of the Rth; but also, being a Man, he could not have done so without permission of the Institute…and the Institute would never have permitted it.
“Did you not find his body, Brother?”
“Yes—that is, I think we did. We found his horse’s body, and a few fragments of our Saint’s robe and buskins. The horse had stumbled in a hole and broken its leg. Obviously, Sir Ten was thrown and either killed outright, or injured and made easy prey for the desert wolves.”
Kor was satisfied. Now he knew that Brother Set was a liar and deceiver. No living thing could kill a Man in any way whatsoever without his permission. Sir Ten would instantaneously have compensated for such a fall and been unharmed.
Kor said, “The Trisz murdered Sir Ten!”
Brother Set pursed his lips, shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands expressively.
It was desired that Kor should think so. The Lady Soma thought so also. Only Brother Set knew that Sir Ten had been recalled to the Organization of Men—the underground branch of the Brotherhood—especially to make a place for Kor in this particular See.
* * * *
Kor’s first Chapel day in his new post made him nervous. There was so much to do, so much to attend to. In spite of his training, he was new to it all. Acolytes flew hither and yon in response to Brother Set’s directions. Kor paced his study, preparing himself for his planned address.
A mumbling uproar from outside percolated through the train of his thought and roughened the edge of the fine prose he was constructing. He threw back his shoulders in annoyance and went swiftly into the outer Chapel in search of the Blue Brother.
“Are the People gathering already for the meeting? It lacks still an hour.”
The Brother beamed his saintly smile.
“Some idiot out there is making a fuss about being saved. He has quite a crowd around him, preaching from the Chapel steps.”
“I should like to hear him,” Kor said. “It is possible, Brother, that we might learn something from the simple religious expression of the People.”
“I doubt it,” Brother Set muttered.
He turned back to his interrupted task at the altar. Obviously, Kor thought, the ecstasy of a saved soul bored this good priest.
Kor went to the Chapel door and opened it a crack. A small, shabbily dressed Person stood on the steps a few feet below him, exhorting a sizeable crowd of laborers, merchants, housewives, Triszmen, and a few girls. The man’s voice was high-pitched, filled with fervor and ecstasy.
“—and I would not be here now,” he cried, “if I had not seen with my own eyes the glory of which I speak! No! I was an atheist, I say. But as I entered that room, a criminal, the Lord Sun himself appeared unto me, and spoke, saying…”
The crowd rumbled.
“Proof, fellow! Give us proof!”
“You ask for proof! Very well. I will give you the proof He gave unto me!”
There was a moment of breath-catching silence. The man on the steps drew himself erect. It was a stirring sight. Every eye centered on that slight figure above the crowd, every mind attuned to the mystery of salvation.
As the silence prolonged itself into a hush, the speaker slowly raised clasped hands over his head, and Kor started. Into the astounded eyes of the crowd lanced a brilliant gleam of brightly raying luminescence.
“Putting on a show, is he?” Brother Set asked at Kor’s elbow.
Kor gestured to the crack of the door.
“See for yourself.”
Brother Set looked.
“Well, well. Very interesting!”
“Do you think it a genuine miracle?” Kor asked, making a great effort toward restraining a smile.
“I am a religious man,” replied the Brother, “and I feel that all things are possible to the Lord Sun. But sometimes I wonder about these tattertail prophets and the gimmicks they bring in from the desert.”
“You don’t believe him, I take it?”
Brother Set smiled openly and disarmingly, much like a cherub.
“Frankly, no.” He cast Kor one of his droll looks. “Do you?”
As Kor hesitated, he added, “You needn’t answer that, Sir!” and went quickly back to directing the altar arrangement.
CHAPTER VIII
Kor’s attempt to extrapolate forthcoming events was a dismal failure. He thought that perhaps his divisible mind, an advantage in some ways, now was proving itself a hindrance. Ordinarily, he should have been able to procure a pretty clear picture of events for a period a full day ahead. Beyond that, he should have been able to make a rational prediction with reasonable certitude of exactness for a period much farther in advance.
Instead, the reward of his effort was simply a continued feeling of restless unease, an apprehension on the nonverbal level of menace that lurked in the offing.
About mid-morning a letter came for Kor, delivered by a lackey from the staff of Lord Roen Gol, routed through Brother Set, and conducted upon a silver salver by a blue-robed acolyte into Kor’s study.
Kor broke the seal, unfolded the paper, and scanned the message with pleasure, noting the neat, feminine script, followed by the signature of Lady Soma Gol. Kor read it again, not because his glance had missed anything, but to let his eyes linger like a caress upon this token of her hand. The loops and whorls of her writing acted as a tonic to his feelings, and Kor glowed with a fine sense of well-being.
He tried to appear casual as he strolled out and accosted Brother Set.
“I have just received some sort of an invitation—from the young lady who was here the other day. What’s her name?”
Brother Set arched his eyebrows. “It is an odd thing for a Saint to have a faulty memory, Sir. You doubtless refer to the Lady Soma, daughter of Lord Roen Gol…”
Kor snapped his fingers.
“Yes—yes! Lady Soma. This invitation, it appears, is to some kind of formal reception. Don’t you think it will be a distressing sort of affair?”
The Blue Brother frowned and wagged his head.
“On the contrary, Sir! It is customary for the district Lord to receive the new Man into his See, and distinctly an honor.”
The rotund priest donned his most cherubic smile, but Kor noticed that there was no humor about his eyes. He thought, this could be a trap. A mental picture of the Lady Soma swam in his mind, and he shook his head. She could not be connected with the nefarious activities of this scoundrelly priest.
He said, “Perhaps I had better go.”
“I rather guess you had!” laughed the Blue Brother. “You wouldn’t want to anger our local Lord would you? Not to mention his lovely daughter!”
“The invitation is from the Lady Soma, not Lord Roen Gol,” Kor put in.
“So the Lady Soma is her father’s secretary. What is strange about that? Naturally, she takes care of the details of her father’s social affairs. And it will be an aff
air, you can count on that.”
Kor had known the girl acted only for her father, but he had rather believed otherwise. The fact took away the delightful feeling of intimacy he had experienced reading the invitation. He felt like going away somewhere and counting the electrons in his viscera to make sure they were all there.
“Very well, Brother Set. I will go.”
“Of course you will. Arrangements have already been made.”
“You mean to say you read that note before I did?”
“Certainly. A letter of acceptance has already been dispatched to her ladyship.”
“The letter was sealed,” Kor pressed stubbornly, feeling a slow rise of anger.
“So it was sealed! I can unseal and seal a letter as well as the next. Officially, I am your secretary, and it is my duty—”
“Enough!” Kor snapped at him. “Do you forget who I am?”
“Pardon, your Eminence,” apologized Brother Set, injecting a tone of irony into the ancient and seldom-used title. “We will touch upon the matter later. Right now, we must concern ourselves with the matter of the five hundred colonists. They are embarking today, and you and I will have to be on hand at the spaceport this afternoon to take care of a few last minute matters.”
“What kind of matters?”
“For one, you will be expected to speak to the Colonists.”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“The usual things. Bon voyage—carry on the traditions of Rth—invoke the protection of the Lord Sun. The usual rigmarole.”
“I don’t,” Kor said coldly, “think I like the ill-concealed levity with which you treat matters of this nature, Brother Set!”
* * * *
While Kor busied himself over an address to be delivered to the departing colonists, Brother Set took advantage of the Scarlet Saint’s absorption to mount a carriage and make a hasty side-trip to the residence of Lord Roen Gol, where he closeted himself with his Lordship and the Lady Soma. At the conclusion of their brief interview, the three shook hands solemnly around.
“Neither of you will have a moment to lose,” the Blue Brother warned. “Lord Roen, Sir, are you sure all is in readiness?”
The Lord, a tall, bluff man with iron-gray hair and piercing, inquisitive eyes, nodded shortly.
“The fastest horses in my stable have been made ready, Brother. When the time comes, I shall act without a moment’s hesitation.”
“You realize that it means losing everything?”
Lord Roen Gol looked around him, as if piercing the walls with his sight and appraising the length and breadth of his holdings. He shrugged, and a slight smile tinged his stern lips.
“What is it to lose everything—when everything is as nothing compared to the greater goal?” He stroked his daughter’s hair fondly. “So long as I do not lose my dearest possession…”
The Lady Soma smiled quickly up at him, green eyes alight.
“You know I can take care of myself, Father! And I will see you again—afterward.”
Brother Set laid a finger against his lips.
“Tut! Let us not dwell on the unpleasant aspects. Now, I must hurry back and whip my boy some more.” The Blue Brother chuckled at Soma’s suddenly startled look. “Must keep him on the qui vive, you know. It would never do to let him become complacent. My whip, of course, is only metaphorical, but I have been laying it on heavily.” He looked momentarily unhappy. “Perhaps too heavily—but no. It is essential that he thoroughly dislike and mistrust me. He must depend entirely on himself. Well, tonight’s the affair, and I can keep him busy this afternoon. After that, it’s up to you two—we may not meet again.”
He turned suddenly and put his back to them. His voice came muffled over his shoulder.
“Maybe I’ll get used to carrying on alone, but I doubt it.”
* * * *
The Trisz spaceport was located within the tallest and broadest of the buildings within the city. From their cradles deep within the monstrous edifice, the magnetically operated space ships of the Trisz took off for far worlds; and as quickly as they were gone, the cradles received those coming in from the deeps of space.
Mostly, these were supply vessels that kept linked the worlds under the domination of the Trisz. A very little space travel was permitted, but not enough to constitute a tourist condition. Men of business and trade occasionally traveled to other worlds, and rarely, extra-terrestrials arrived at one city or another on Rth to observe methods, look after legal or financial interests, and so forth. Mass travel was prohibited by the Trisz, in keeping with their policy of division among their subjects.
Kor had once or twice amused himself watching the ovoid vessels rise from the spaceport and waft gently upward toward the stratosphere. Once in space, of course, the vessels lanced into light-year-devouring overdrive; but at top speed, their pace was a snail’s crawl compared to the almost instantaneous maneuverability of the Men.
Kor had wished to observe these vessels close at hand, and he was disappointed to find that he must speak to the colonists many floors below the spaceport levels, where the entire group was contained in a great hall. As Kor spoke, his voice was carried to the farthest reaches of the hall by spaced amplifiers.
He searched the crowd casually with his glance, wondering what type of People these were who willingly abandoned their homes and their world to embark into the unknown. Mostly, they were rough Outlanders, shabbily dressed and ill fed. Life was hard and poor in the Outlands. On the other hand, some appeared to be devil-may-care young blades, obviously of wealth and background, enlisting for the promise of adventure, tired already in their young lives of an existence grown stale on Rth. The crowd was about evenly divided between the sexes, and not all of the women were young. Apparently age did not constitute a matter of preference.
A blinding ball of light waxed in the far corner of the hall as Kor concluded the formalities. He got down quickly from the speaking platform and sought out Brother Set, who was talking over lading details with a section of the Triszman guard.
“You remember the convert with the glowing hands, Brother? He is in this crowd.”
Brother Set smiled angelically.
“Indeed, Sir? Apparently the Lord Sun has work for him on other worlds.”
“It is strange…” Kor began.
“What is strange about it? There is room in the colonies for the godly, as well as the ungodly!”
Kor hesitated and bit his lip. He recalled the interest the Trisz had taken in the man with the glowing hands. Had the fellow willingly volunteered for this mission? Or had other methods been resorted to? Kor did not know, but he could guess that the man’s presence had made the Trisz nervous…was it his obvious connection with Kor? Kor would have liked to speak with him, but it was already too late. The crowd surged toward the elevators for the swift upward journey to the spaceport.
“Shall we go?” Brother Set murmured beside him. “There are so many bodies here—and so few of them wash.”
* * * *
Kor decided to walk to Lord Roen Gol’s reception that evening. He told himself that this was the safest course. If that villainous priest intended to have him ambushed on the way, he was safer selecting his own way and not entrusting himself to a carriage driver obviously under the Blue Brother.
Brother Set protested this arrangement.
“I can take care of myself,” Kor observed pointedly.
Brother Set shrugged and sighed.
“It is not propriety, Sir, that our Saints gallivant the streets alone by night. Which route do you take?”
“As the Lord Sun directs,” retorted Kor, filching a leaf from Brother Set’s own book. “As I am a Man, my way is my own. Good evening, Brother Set.”
Lord Roen Gol’s imposing residence lay at the northward
edge of town, a distance of over a mile from the Scarlet Chapel. The Sun had barely set when Kor started out, and the western sky was a cauldron of seething scarlet, banded bright pink and streaming with wretched green. Sand clouds high in the atmosphere were responsible for the colors, both by refraction and reflection. Mirages, too, were common in the desert air, and fantastic lights were often seen to play far up above the surface for the space of an hour or so after sunset.
Kor strode along, past lamp-lit windows and open doors that exhaled a breath of the day’s heat, drawn out by the encroaching chill of night. The air was odorous, baited with cooking smells and the sour stink of synthetic beer, vibrant with a continuous vociferation and clack of conversation.
It was amazing, Kor thought, in how short a time he had become accustomed to the sights and clamor of the world. His years at the Institute had faded into the background of his consciousness, and seemed now scarcely ever to have been. In those years, the People had been nothing to him save statistics in a book—a meaningless dream for which he had been supposed to exist, a noble concept that he had failed to visualize in symbols of flesh and blood.
Now he had seen the People at their everyday life, and it occurred to him that there was less difference than he had thought between the Men and the People. It was borne in upon him as in no other way it could have been, that they were of common stock, he and these People of Rth, firmly bound by their relationship of mutual humanity.
True, the Men were superior to the People. But no longer in the connotation he had formerly cherished. The Men were people of a different order, trained to bring out their latent capabilities, given direction and set upon a lasting purpose in life. The People lacked both direction and purpose. They simply existed, quarreling, fighting, loving, being gay and sad by turns, being completely human.
It had been Kor’s own good fortune that he was descended of a long line of Men. He thought of Jon Moran, and experienced a tug at his heart. Poor Jon had been—next to Kor himself—the most promising of the graduate Men. Jon had been born among the People. He had seen only one Scarlet Saint in all his life before entering the Institute. It was the sight of that noble Man in the scarlet cloak that had infused into the boy a desire to emulate. And his parents had entered him—for death on a distant, dismal planetoid!
The 7th Golden Age of Weird Fiction MEGAPACK®: Manly Banister Page 32