by Jeff Sutton
The Strangler had entered the main tent, where he had no business being.
The lion had killed him. From the position of the body and the fright etched into the dead face, he could picture the performer's terror-stricken flight across the main ring, the big cat in pursuit.
The ending, he thought sardonically, had been pure justice.
But who had loosed the lion?
The boy, of course. He'd glimpsed him fleeing from the scene. More to the point, why had he loosed it? To protect himself from The Strangler; there was no other answer. Conscious of a mounting excitement, he deliberately backtracked to fit the pieces together.
The boy had the stone! He felt more certain of that than ever. Somehow Clement had managed to slip it to him before his own death at Gurdon's hands.
That tied in with Clement's flight into the Ullan Hills -- the boy's appearance, shortly afterward, from those same hills. Clement had given him the stone!
Faust closed his eyes, concentrating against his mounting agitation. His mind reeled. Jedro had the stone...had the power...was the one to whom the stone would respond. It had to be that way.
Destiny had jabbed a finger at the boy; now destiny had brought the boy to him.
His head jerked up.
Had The Strangler been after the stone? The thought jolted him. That would explain the performer's presence in the big tent, the boy's desperation in loosing the lion. He contemplated his reasoning nervously. The assumption that The Strangler had known of the stone held frightening implications that he couldn't afford to disregard.
The implications were obvious. The Strangler was too stupid to have acted on his own, hence he'd been sent by someone else; ergo, that someone knew of the stone. Barracuda? The Human Pincushion? The two had been closest to him. He clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms.
Aside from Gurdon, how many people knew of the stone? He had assumed that Clement had Page 65
been alone in the knowledge, but no longer. The Strangler's death had shattered that belief. He returned his thoughts to The Tattooed Man.
Although Gurdon knew of the stone, he had no knowledge of its real potential.
Neither would he have mentioned it; he was too closemouthed for that. Yet someone knew!
The realization brought a quiet desperation. Immortality! He wouldn't be cheated of that. He'd all but had the stone once, then had allowed Clement to escape. He didn't intend to make the same mistake twice. Yet if others were after the stone, time was precious. He had to move fast, yet carefully, and totally without mistake. First he had to grab the boy.
The boy was the key; of that he had no doubt. Suddenly everything was drawing together.
Far-flung happenings in time and space were rushing into focus. The time for waking Holton Lee was now; Jasper Gollard had admitted that. And the person who had the power to make the stone respond, tell where
Holton Lee was hiding, had been spirited away to Doorn, his mind blanked -- it all tied in with what he knew of the boy. A boy who could predict storms, who made friends with savage lions!
An orphan without a past! Now he had, or almost had, both boy and stone. Immortality awaited but his grasp.
What power had the boy? He mulled the question uneasily. The power to make the stone respond. Gollard's words! But Gollard also had said that the person with the power was a sensitive. A telepath? Jasper Gollard hadn't known. Of one thing Faust felt certain: there was no power of the mind that couldn't be controlled through hypnosis. He'd proved that with Jasper Gollard, with Clement. The greater the talent, the more he could make it work for him.
The boy would discover that soon enough. So would Holton Lee.
Immortality! To live forever, to stride down through the ages, laughing at the impermanency of life around him; to watch it unfold, bloom, and wither while he himself remained strong and virile -- he gloated at the prospect.
Immortality! He could sense its presence, an aura that filled the air around him. Of all imaginable gifts, that was the greatest, for then a man could vie with the gods. He forced his mind back to the tasks at hand. He had to play it step by step, with no room for error. He had to concentrate on each move, relegate everything else to the shadowy future. Find the boy, get the stone, make the boy talk; that was the immediate now. Later he would find Holton Lee, take hypnotic command of his mind, strip him of his secret -- rid the universe of him so that the secret would remain his alone. Immortality!
But first he had to find the boy.
"Get Gurdon," he barked to one of the roustabouts. Casting a contemptuous glance at The Strangler's torn body, he returned to his trailer to lay his plans.
The Tattooed Man was not long in appearing.
"Where's the boy?" demanded Faust.
Gurdon shrugged.
"He has the stone; Clement slipped it to him. I want it now! Both the boy and the stone."
Gurdon's dark eyes remained expressionless.
"You'd better find him fast," Faust said softly. "My guess is that he saw Clement die."
"He won't have that knowledge for long."
"I want a breathing body, not a corpse!"
"And afterward?"
"He's yours, when I'm finished with him."
Gurdon nodded.
"He couldn't have gotten far," observed Faust. "He's probably hiding in one of the wagons or booths. My guess is that he'll try to wait for night."
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Gurdon didn't answer, nor did Faust expect him to; he rarely spoke.
Faust said, "We'll use the girl to draw him out." He explained his plan, relaxing as he spoke.
With the long search drawing to a close, he could all but feel the prize in his hand. He had but to close his fist.
After The Tattooed Man departed, Faust prepared a hypodermic injection and laid the syringe on the table. Pouring himself a stiff drink of creel, he sat back to wait.
In the silence he heard the muted thunder of the rain beating against the tent, a lonely sound. He sipped the creel while reflecting on his future.
Years, centuries, millennia -- it seemed an impossible dream. But was that any more impossible than that old Holton Lee, still alive in his cryogenic bed, should be awaiting the day of his awakening? What might a man do in a hundred years, a thousand, a million? There would be nothing he couldn't do. He could know every experience, every pleasure -- tread every inch of the universe save for the burning suns themselves. Would he ever tire of life? No more than the gods, he thought.
He walked restlessly to the door to peer out. The night-light, moving through small arcs on the swaying center pole, shown down on a starkly empty sawdust ring; The Strangler's body had been removed. He glanced at the lion cage. Taber paused in his prowling to gaze at him through the bars.
He turned back to his dressing room to examine his image in the wall mirror. His hair, still dark, was thinning, and a few crinkles were visible at the corners of his eyes. All in all he looked in quite good shape. If he couldn't have youth, he could have eternity. Nor was it the kind of body he would mind taking through all the millennia to come.
What would he do with the boy and girl once he learned the secret? He returned to the other room to pour another drink. He'd committed the boy to
Gurdon's eager hands, but the girl was equally dangerous, or could be.
Obviously he couldn't risk turning her loose. A doubleheader, he reflected.
Gurdon would like that.
He smiled faintly. Strange how people were driven by different things.
The Strangler had lived to torture, Gurdon to kill. Himself? He lived to live.
He lifted the glass to his lips. Forever.
Moments later Gurdon returned with Kathy in tow. She was pale and frightened. Faust pushed aside his glass and rose. "Did you walk her past every booth and wagon in camp?" he demanded.
Gurdon nodded.
"Good, that'll draw the boy out." He rubbed his hands. "Get out there and nab him when he shows up."
"Please, Dr.
Faust," Kathy began.
"Sit down," he interrupted brusquely. He pointed to a chair across from him. She sat slowly, her face fearful. Gurdon vanished noiselessly. Faust stared at her for a long moment, then abruptly asked, "Where's the boy?"
"Jedro?" She wet her lips nervously. "I don't know," she whispered.
"Don't lie," he snapped.
"I'm not lying, Dr. Faust."
"When did you last see him?"
"Just before breakfast." Her eyes appeared enormous against the pallor of her face.
"Where?"
"He stopped by at the booth."
Faust leaned toward her. "Why?"
Her mouth worked convulsively.
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"Answer me," he directed curtly.
"He...said he was leaving." She tossed her head in defiance. "He's gone now."
"Oh?" He studied her musingly. Rather a pretty thing. Soft yellow hair, a slender face, blue eyes that mirrored her worry, yet held a certain wariness. "Why did he leave?"
"He didn't say."
"Just said good-bye, eh?" He laughed, a soft, high laugh, filled with derision. "I believe it's time we got to the truth." He rose and got the hypodermic syringe.
"What are you going to do?" she cried. She leaped up, terrified.
He grasped her arm. While she screamed, trying to jerk free, he plunged the needle into her flesh, holding her while he completed the injection.
"There, now sit down," he commanded.
She stared at him. "What was it?" she whispered.
"A little something to quiet you."
"I'm going to leave."
He caught her again, this time holding her more gently. "Sit down." he repeated.
"I want to go."
"No, Kathy."
"But I..." Her words slurred off and she shook her head, blinking bewilderedly.
"Sit down and rest," he urged. He watched her subside slowly into the chair, then quickly put her into a light trance. When he judged her suitably susceptible, he continued, "We are going to talk about Jedro, Kathy."
"Yes." Her voice held a dreamy quality.
"Why did he run away?"
"He was...afraid."
"Of what?"
"The Strangler."
"Why?" He leaned forward expectantly.
"I...don't know."
"Nothing at all?" he asked sharply.
"He was afraid of him...and The Tattooed Man," she added.
"Gurdon?" He felt a shock.
"Yes, Gurdon."
"Did he say why?"
"He saw Gurdon kill a man."
Faust sat back. Although he'd suspected that, the confirmation came as a jolt. The boy must have gotten the stone only moments before Gurdon arrived on the scene. And certainly Clement wouldn't have relinquished the stone unless...Faust's thin lips curved into a smile. That verified that the boy had the power. Everything was falling right into his hands. How much did the girl know? He asked, "Where did the killing occur?"
"Where Jedro used to live."
"In the Ullan Hills?"
"Yes, that's the name."
He watched her carefully. "Did he say who it was that Gurdon killed?"
"No." She shook her head.
Faust wasn't surprised. The boy had struck him as being closemouthed. He asked, "Did Jedro tell you about the stone?"
"Stone?" A puzzled expression crossed her face.
"Didn't he ever mention one?"
"A stone? No."
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"Did he mention having anything of value?"
"No."
Faust considered her answers, then backtracked. "Did he say why The Strangler was after him?"
"He said it would be...dangerous."
"For you to know?"
"Yes." She spoke tonelessly, neither her actions nor her eyes acknowledging his presence. He studied her. What she had revealed added up to one thing: The Strangler had been after the stone, hence Clement's secret wasn't so private after all. He'd have to remember that.
"Why, after all this time, did he suddenly become fearful of Gurdon?" he asked. "Did he say?"
"He didn't explain."
"Nothing at all?"
"Only that they were both after him."
Faust frowned. The boy had known of Clement's murder for months, yet only this morning had displayed his fear of Gurdon. What had transpired to bring it on? He had the feeling of events beginning to crescendo. But more important: Who had sent The Strangler to get the stone?
He renewed his questioning, to no avail. Finally satisfied that the girl had told him all she knew, he had her move to another chair at the far side of the room and put her into a deep sleep. While he reloaded the syringe, he reviewed what he'd learned. He had to admit that it wasn't much, yet it did substantiate his belief that Jedro had the stone. His witness to Clement's murder was the clincher.
How much had Clement told him? If the boy's memory banks had been blanked, as Jasper Gollard had claimed, he perhaps knew very little. Neither would the power of the stone come to him all at once: Gollard had been quite explicit on that point. He'd worry about that when the time came, he decided.
If necessary, he'd keep the boy locked in a cage until the stone did respond.
He had plenty of time, or would have. For the duration of the universe, to be exact.
He heard a scuffling on the outside steps and sprang to his feet as the door burst open. Holding Jedro's arm in a cruel hammerlock, Gurdon propelled him into the room.
"Ahhh!" Faust rubbed his hands gloatingly. "I knew the sight of the girl would bring him out."
He reached for the hypodermic syringe.
Jedro tried to jerk his arm free at the bite of the needle. "What are you doing?" he yelled. He was both angry and frightened.
"Merely a tranquilizer to calm your nerves," explained Faust. "You're excited."
"Why did you bring me here?" He looked wildly around, his eyes falling on the sleeping girl.
"What have you done to her?" he cried.
"She's resting. I had to soothe her." Faust completed the injection and jerked the needle free.
"You can't keep us here," he shouted.
"No?" Faust smiled cruelly. Jedro felt a quick consternation. From the instant he'd seen The Tattooed Man walking Kathy through the camp he'd realized the purpose was to draw him from hiding. Despite that, he'd trailed them back into the big tent, where Gurdon had been waiting.
He should have been more careful, he thought bitterly.
With a flash of dismay, he remembered the stone. His hand instinctively shot toward his pocket.
Faust smiled.
"Sit down." He gestured toward a chair.
"I won't!" While trying to stem his despair, Jedro became aware that something was happening to his body. A strange numbness pervaded his legs and he felt a light, floating sensation, coupled with an onslaught of drowsiness.
The drug! He couldn't allow himself to sleep, couldn't allow...
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"Sit down," repeated Faust. His voice seemed to come from across a great void.
Jedro stumbled into the chair while fighting to retain some clarity of thought. Faust was a master hypnotist! The knowledge edged into his consciousness. Faust intended to search his mind! He struggled to rise and a hand pushed him back down.
"Relax," Faust said soothingly. "There's no reason to be alarmed. Relax and sleep."
"No! No!" He tried to shout, sensing that it was scarcely more than a whisper.
"Relax, boy, you're in good hands."
"Kathy! Kathy!" He shouted her name in his mind, at the same time trying to stave off the euphoric feeling that told him to stop battling, that everything would be all right. "Kathy, wake up! Wake up!"
"Sleep, sleep," encouraged Faust. His voice held a lulling note that was as soft as a caress.
"Don't sleep, don't sleep," he told himself desperately. The floating sensation became stronger and with it he lost the desire to fight. Dimly he real
ized that he was submitting. He had the strange feeling of watching the scene as a bystander. There at one side of the table, leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes glittering, was Dr. Faust. Off to one side, her eyes closed, her face serene, was Kathy. Behind her, his hideous head and body splotched in gaudy colors, was The Tattooed Man. Sitting rigidly in another chair, his face white and drawn, was...himself!
"Wait in the next room." The carnival owner's curt command penetrated his consciousness, followed by the awareness of The Tattooed Man brushing past him. A door creaked, then slammed. In the silence that followed he heard the distant sound of drumming rain.
"Kathy, wake up! Wake up!" He shouted in the silence of his mind as a device to maintain his small spark of awareness and to keep from falling under the carnival owner's spell. If he could fill his mind, keep Faust out...
Distantly he felt his own despair. When he'd entered the tent, had seen Gurdon, why hadn't he raced to the lion's cage? If he could have gotten to Taber...No, the cage would have been locked. Fill your mind! Fill your mind!
"Granny! Taber! Kathy!"
The stone! He moved his hand sluggishly, putting it in his pocket.
There, he felt its smoothness, its warmth. "Kathy, wake up!"
Faust leaned toward him. "I am your friend, Jedro."
"Yes," he answered reluctantly. (Why did he agree?)
"I am trying to help you."
"Yes..."
"You have been carrying a tremendous burden, Jedro. You need to share it."
"Share it," he echoed. The words seemed to come from some deep corridor in his mind.
"You saw Clement die, didn't you?"
"Yes." He felt himself shudder.
"Don't fight yourself," Faust said soothingly. "You're safe now, Jedro.
You've been running for a long time, but you're safe here. I am your friend."
"Friend..."
"You've been afraid, Jedro, terribly afraid. But all that is past.
There's no longer a reason for fear. I'm here to help you."
"Yes." (Why was he compelled to answer? Why? Why?)
"Clement gave you a stone," whispered Faust. "He gave it to you to bring to me."
"No!" The denial spilled from his lips in a strangled cry. He knew that wasn't true.