From the hints she dropped, he got the impression the food came by underwater, perhaps in a spaceship that crept under the surface of the Seine to Paris and discharged its cargo through a submerged lock. This surprised him, for he thought the Bantus had no complicated craft.
While they talked, the people in the background chanted softly. When the meal was over, and thanks had been given, all the Bantus sang the low hint-of-thunder song that had raised his hackles when he was being led to Anadi. As some cleared away the dishes, the others formed into the same pairings of male and female. This time, they made six concentric circles. Each circle was linked to the next by a man and woman who kept their backs to each other and their palms against the breasts or back of a person in the human rings.
Djouba, on Leif’s other side, shifted uneasily and said, “They might at least have considered me and waited until I was gone. After all I did for them, too.”
He put his spoon down and rose.
Leif said, “What’s the matter?”
He started to rise but was pulled back by his freckled companion.
“Lover, let him go,” she crooned.
“Have some respect for my cloth!” shouted Djouba.
“We love you!” came the response.
“I don’t want that kind of love!”
“We love you!” crashed the surf.
“God forgive you for that blasphemy!”
Unhearing, the circles began to sway back and forth, to rotate in little hops and shuffles.
Jim Crew sprang upon the table that was the center of the six rims. Flinging up his arms, he yelled, “Who’s our lover?”
The throats became one vast megaphone, bellowing in Leif’s ears.
“Jikiza Chandu!”
“And whom do we love?”
“Jikiza Chandu!” ‘
“And who are we?”
“Jikiza Chandu!”
“And who is he?”
“Jikiza Chandu!”
“And who loves Dr. Djouba?”
“Jikiza Chandu!”
“No, no!” screamed the Timbuktuian. “Stop this outrage! Let me out!”
“And who loves Dr. Barker?”
“Jikiza Chandu!”
“And who is Djouba?”
“Jikiza Chandu!”
“And who is Dr. Barker?”
“Jikiza Chandu!”
“And who is the lover and the beloved, the god and the man, the creator and the created, the man and the woman?”
“Jikiza Chandu!”
“And what does Jikiza Chandu say?”
Now the circles were whirling faster, faster, the people who formed them kept from whirling away by linking hands together. Their faces were contorted. Their mouths were wide, lips drawn back. Their eyes were glowing blue ovals. Their nostrils flared and snorted. Teeth shone wetly; spittle flew.
There was a sudden stoppage of the shouts that had echoed and re-echoed from the far-off walls; there was only the stomp and slap of bare feet and the sound of their harsh breathing. Torsos shook so that flesh rippled like groundwaves. Hips rotated or stabbed so violently they looked as if they must dislocate pelves.
Then, following the audible sucking in of breath, the visible swelling of chests, a mighty word was hurled against the walls and against the ears of all doubters.
“Love!”
“Love!” screamed the Brindled Beatrice.
Where he might in a different place and under different circumstances have enjoyed this ardent female, he now had but one idea, and that was the same as Djouba’s— get out!
In about sixty seconds, he’d scrambled, jumped, pushed, crawled and run through the flailing bodies, waving arms and clutching hands. Once he reached haven, he turned and saw that the Chadian was close behind him. His tattered clothes, rent from him by the crowd, were held to his chest in clutching hands.
“God help me!” Djouba panted. “That is a new type of martyrdom!”
Leif had regained some of his detachment.
“You’re a saint now?”
The Chadian adjusted his glasses. Recovered sight seemed to add to his assurance.
“Only a matter of speaking.”
He looked at the room.
“Unspeakable!”
“They’re just expressing their love. And you must admit that not only are they not hypocrites, but they seem to have affection enough for everybody.”
“Gross carnality!”
Djouba shuddered and glanced down at his body.
“We can get clothes for you in the entrance,” said Leif, not unkindly. “They’re rags, but they’ll keep the bold eyes and the chill off.”
“I can’t understand why they did this to me. After all, I kept their child from dying until you arrived.”
“A matter of viewpoint. The whole affair was a thanksgiving because we helped to save her.”
“I note you were just as eager as I to leave.”
Leif shrugged and said, “I’ve been raised in a different culture from yours, but like yourself I failed to adjust to theirs. They must have something. Besides their development of psychosomatic powers, they’ve the most nearly perfect society on Earth. Compare theirs with yours, doctor... you deride their religion and deplore their social customs, yet you’ll have to admit that your native land of Chad has many criminals, murderers, poor and crippled. And theirs has almost none.”
Djouba began searching on the racks for the cleanest clothes he could find. Stiffly, he replied, “That has nothing to do with it. You saw what went on in that room. Do you think the Founder of our church, the One they also claim is theirs, would approve?”
“I don’t know. Who does? Weigh his country and yours in the balance, who sinks, who rises? I say, judge an action by its effect upon people. What they’re doing is hurting nobody in their society. The same behavior in our lands would cause harm.”
“I can see there’s no use discussing this with you. There is an absolute, you know.”
“No, I don’t. Absolute what?”
The answer was an absolute silence that hung heavy until Jim Crew appeared. Contrary to what they expected, he did not look hangdog or exhausted. His step was brisk; his face, beaming.
“Ah, doctors, we hope you enjoyed yourselves. And if ever we can help you, call on us. Love knows no bounds; we must help our fellows. Your escort, Dr. Djouba, will be here in just a minute. And we’ll take you back to the surface, Dr. Barker, by another route. Through the basement of a purification palace reserved for the hierarchy, The Abode of the Blest.”
Chapter 17
IT WAS CLOSE to dawn when Leif walked into the Rigorous Mercy Hospital. The sleepy Uzzite on duty at the personnel door scanned the lamech with his flash and then told the doctor to pass.
Dwelling on the lack of precautions, Leif stepped into the elevator, and shot up to the penthouse. When he walked into the hall, he did not find, as he had expected, another guard before his door. After unlocking the door, he discovered why.
The house was empty; Halla and Ava were gone.
He didn’t waste time but at once QB’d Rachel. Hair in curlers, wrapped in a frayed white gown, she answered. When she saw him, her eyes threw out sleep and widened into wakefulness.
“All right, Rachel!” he snapped. “Tell me quick what happened.”
He did not add that he wanted the information before Candleman could get to him. It was more than probable that an Uzzite was listening in on him at that moment.
Rachel gasped that she’d thought he’d been kidnaped; how in the name of Sigmen had he escaped? When he told her never mind, just give him the developments, she replied crossly that she didn’t know what he wanted to know. He tore his hair and shouted that if she didn’t tell him quick where Mrs. Dannto and Ava were, he would climb through the QB and tear her limb from limb.
Rachel replied that they were in Montreal. After Leif had supposedly been kidnaped by Jacques Cuze, Candle-man had insisted that Dannto and his wife take the Canadian ro
cket. He’d also wanted Ava to go along as the woman’s nurse. All three, he swore, were in danger. And though Ava had refused at first, she’d given in.
Leif thought that Ava must have had strong reasons for doing so. Something must have come up that necessitated her remaining with Halla.
At his request, Rachel left her little room and went into the office. She came back with a book that listed that day’s business. After she’d read the records of the QB calls and the mail, he gleaned one item that interested him. That stupid Z. Roe, as Rachel termed him, had QB’d to find out if he should appear for another eegie in the morning. And she’d denied him twice before.
So Zack was looking for him, eh? Probably with orders for everything from a complete report of what had happened to a request for his appearance at a drumhead court-martial. Leif had long suspected that this grey-headed old man was anything but the cipher he seemed, that he was, actually, Leif’s superior. Though the doctor had always thought of himself as the leader of the Parisian CWC, he had had evidence from time to time that his decisions were being countermanded and that someone was checking up on him. It had been, in a way, laughable that the Marchers should have absorbed so much of the suspicion of the very people they were fighting.
Now, Leif saw little humor in the situation.
“Any messages from Ava?” he asked.
“None, Doctor Barker.”
He looked at Rachel’s unrouged pale face and the curlers and wondered what he’d ever seen enticing in her. “Go back to bed, girl,” he said gently. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
When her image faded, he made himself some coffee and over the searing black liquid decided to contact Zack Roe as soon as possible. Before he’d drained the cup, he heard somebody unlocking his door. It couldn’t be Ava, so he was prepared when Candleman walked in.
The Uzzite’s face was as ever, the long, narrow skull and sweeping jaw forming a bedrock for the rigid flesh above. The thin figure moved a trifle jerkily, reminding Leif of a marionette. Candleman, he imagined, was both master and puppet, part of him poised above himself, carefully controlling the part on the stage, yet never able to conceal the strings nor move the limbs with lifelike smoothness.
Leif, prepared for anything except what happened, was surprised when Candleman calmly monotoned a request for Barker’s experiences with Jacques Cuze.
That put Leif on a tightrope. He could cover up the existence of Jim Crew’s comrades with a lie. On the other hand, Candleman might know more than he seemed to; he might be baiting him.
Leif decided on his story almost as soon as the Uzzite had quit talking and had leaned forward, sharp nose eager, parrot-like beak lips pressed, and grey eyes crouched.
“You are correct, Candleman,” he said, and gave him what he wanted to hear.
The Uzzite stood up. His eyes, usually lusterless as a mouse’s fur, shone, and his voice rose.
“So this fellow that forced you at gunpoint to operate on his daughter called himself Jim Crew? Can’t you see what I see? No? Think, Doctor, think! The initials!”
Leif struck the table with his fist. Collee sloshed over the plastic top.
“Time’s end!” he swore. “So they are!”
“Absolutely. You say these fellows were foreign-looking and they spoke in a tongue neither Haijac nor Hebrew. It must have been French! Sigmen, I wish I knew something of that language!”
I hope you never take the trouble to study it, thought the doctor.
Candleman began pacing back and forth. Lightly, he flicked the seven-thonged whip back and forth.
“Doctor, my natural inclination would be to call together all my available men and conduct a manhunt on a scale never before done. But I’m not going to. Jacques Cuze is a cunning fox; he’ll be hiding low for quite a while. And I’ve no doubt he’s moved from the place you describe.”
At that moment the QB glowed, and the operator’s voice said,”Montreal calling, Dr. Barker.”
Leif acknowledged and saw the cube become a room in which sat the Sandalphon, Halla and Ava. Dannto said, “Barker! Candleman called and told us you were back. Sigmen be praised! No, don’t explain now. You two jump into a special and come here at once. I’ve authorized a rocket to be set aside for you. Your assistant will take over your duties. I want you to look Halla over. She complains of pains in her solar plexus. Also, we can hear your story face to face, and later we can go to Metatron Wong’s big estate in the forest for a little relaxation. That’s all. May your future be real.”
The cube flickered into transparency.
Leif rose to protest, for he wanted to find out about Halla and Ava. Also his heart was tight with longing for the redhaired woman.
Candle man arose and said, “Since his wife’s back, Dannto’s his old self.”
“Since she’s back?”
“Yes, they were separated just before her ‘accident.’ She, I presume, wanted something, and he wouldn’t let her have it. So she moved to another apartment. It’s happened before. And always the Sandalphon gives in.” The Uzzite snorted. “I can remember when no woman would have dared. She’d either have been whipped or sent to H. But this woman has made him lose his senses.”
“You’re criticising the Sturch-head?” Leif asked gently.
“You’ve no record of my words,” said Candleman. “Anyway, Dannto knows how I feel about this woman’s influence on him.”
He said nothing further while Leif packed. Presently, the two of them walked onto the roof of the hospital and waited for the special. When it sank beside them, they entered and sat down side by side. During the entire trip, Candleman was silent. Once he sat up, looking at Leif, and said, “Dr. Barker, you seem to be a very happy, free and easy fellow. Is it because you have a fine wife?”
Then, before the astonished doctor could reply, the Uzzite said, “I withdraw that. Please forgive me. I’ve no business asking.” And he muttered, “Not in the line of duty, you know.”
Barker wondered what was going on behind that blond Dante’s face. He wished he could have put the ’picker on him.
That wish led to another, which was his desire to know whether or not Trausti and Palsson had been questioned. If they had, they must have certified Candleman’s suspicions about Leif’s behavior. Possibly Candleman was taking him away from Paris so that he might not be able to deal with the two informers. And he might have put Dannto up to inviting Leif to Montreal so he could watch him when he was with Ava and Halla.
He dwelt upon the redheaded beauty and just what she might be. He pondered her origins and during his speculations found himself abandoning all except one thought: he was fascinated by her as he’d never been by any other woman, and he had to be with her.
Much as he resented this irresistible attraction, he had to go to her. Perhaps the moth resented his passion for the flame; yet the moth flew headlong into it.
Shortly before they landed at the airport, one of Candle-man’s lieutenants got permission from the two lamechians to switch on the QB for a news report. The gandyman sprang into view in the middle of a sentence. He was describing a recent riot in Chicago in which a man had been torn apart by an infuriated crowd. It seemed the culprit had said that he didn’t think Timestop was at all near. According to Sigmcn, so he claimed, conditions in the Haijac would be perfect before he arrived from his time-voyagings. This man didn’t think that the setup was near perfection.
“Immediately thereafter,” honked the gandyman, “an enraged mob avenged this insult to the Union, to the Sturch and to Sigmen, real be his name. And now, good citizens, we take you...” and the scene in the cube dissolved. When it resolved, it showed a street empty except for a few Uzzites. They surrounded a pool of blood and a leg lying on a curb.
Leif looked at it keenly before the vision blurred. When he sat back, he smiled. His professional eye had noticed at once that the limb had not been torn, but had been expertly severed. Undoubtedly, this was some of the Sturch’s propaganda-pressuring. Faked.
&n
bsp; He doubted that any crowd in the Haijac would be able to whip up enough enthusiasm or organization to lynch a man. The ordinary citizen was too busy working night and day to clothe and feed himself and too scared of going to H to make a move without his gapt’s approval.
To keep from falling asleep, Leif asked Candleman what Mrs. Dannto had told him about her accident. Candleman said, “Her story is about what I guessed it to be.”
He paused to smack his hardshelled lips and continued, “All she knows is that she received a call over the commie. She didn’t recognize the voice, and the man speaking said the QB on his end wasn’t working. She believed him because that frequently happens. He said his name was Jarl Covers—” the Uzzite glanced significantly at Leif— “and that he was a lieutenant of mine. That, of course, was a lie. Mrs. Dannto should have checked to see if there was a Covers on my force.
“He said that he wanted to meet her to discuss a plot against her husband’s life. Covers claimed he’d stumbled across it but couldn’t go to his superiors about it because some of them were the instigators. I suppose the fellow was trying to throw suspicion on me. Since Dannto himself was in Montreal, Covers wanted to talk to Dannto’s wife. She was terrified and unable to think straight. She went out in a taxi to meet Covers. The man I’d detailed to guard her while her husband was gone was answering another call, presumably from Covers’ accomplice. That was his story; he’s being questioned very closely about it.
“That is all we know.”
Leif had wondered what story Halla would give. It was a good one, for it aroused Candleman’s suspicions about Jacques Cuze and threw a hot haze before his otherwise cold and clear thinking. Nor could the story be checked on, because calls to the Sandalphon’s house were not monitored.
There remained one mystery. Who had called the original Halla to her death?
Wondering, he fell asleep. Once, he awoke when the ship landed. Candleman said they’d just received word to go on to the Metatron’s estate in the big woods. Leif drifted back and did not come out of his doze until the door opened. Yawning, blinking, he walked into the hot Canadian noonshine. A runabout picked them up and flew them in a minute to the summer mansion of the political head of North America.
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