Undying World Part 6

"You risk our lives, master. She is Jantor's child and favorite. When you strike her, you strike Jantor. Please, master, I beg you. No more. It is sure to get back to Jantor and-"

One of the Gnomen women was waiting just outside the door. She had been waiting a long time, first in a long line, and she had grown impatient. When she heard the screams she could not control her curiosity and stepped through the hangings to see her herself.

When Blade saw her, he lost his temper. He released the screaming Alixe and pointed at the woman. "OUT!"

The woman scuttled for safety. Seconds later she told the other Gnomen females what she had seen and it pa.s.sed down the line.

Alixe sought the safety of a corner and sulked, rubbing her bottom. Blade glowered at her. Sart trembled and sweated. He would have fallen to his knees except that Blade hated that, and at the moment he feared Blade even more than Jantor.

Fury and frustration burned in Blade. He dressed rapidly and spoke curtly to Sart. Pointing to Alixe, now quiet and watching with a cat-cunning smile, Blade said, "I am going out for a time. Take that little devil in charge while I am gone. If she causes trouble, you have my permission to beat her."

Sart stared at him. "Going out, master? You cannot. It is forbidden."

Blade used some Home Dimension words that Sart could not comprehend. "Forbidden or not," Blade insisted, "I go. I will try to see Jantor." He pointed to Alixe. "You are a curse and I can endure you no longer."

She made a face at him.

When Blade stepped outside his apartment, there was a ripple of sound from the waiting line of women. He regarded them distastefully. How he loathed women-all women.

There was but a single entrance to his apartment. The tunnel outside it had a dead end and at the other end was a subchief with a guard of twenty Gnomen armed with the spear bars. Blade strode toward them. The tunnel was narrow, not more than five feet across, and as Blade approached the subchief moved to block it. He leveled his bar at Blade, point first. Behind him his men moved into position, all with their cruel bars at the ready.

The subchief was taken by surprise. He had his orders concerning Blade, he knew how precious this big stranger was because he carried viable seed, and he knew that if anything happened to Blade that he, the subchief, must answer to Jantor. Until now Blade had caused no trouble. The subchief had scarcely seen him. His main task was to keep the women in order and see that there was no cheating in the line.

The subchief thrust his spear bar to within an inch of Blade's chest. "You cannot pa.s.s. It is forbidden."

Blade halted and scowled. He put his hands on his hips and stared at the man. "Take me to see Jantor. At once!"

The Gnoman shook his head. "That also is forbidden. You cannot go to Jantor when it pleases you. Jantor is king. Jantor will send for you when it pleases him."

Blade gazed past the man at the guard. Twenty of them. "You have plenty of men to guard me," he said. "You can spare one. Send him to Jantor. Tell him I must see him. Either I go to him or he comes to me."

The Gnoman, like all Gnomen except Jantor, had a low level of intelligence. He scratched the hair on his chest, made the sign of the fylfot on his bald head, and regarded Blade with dull eyes.

Blade put everything to the test. He pushed the man's spear bar aside with disdain and took a step forward. "You dare not kill me without orders from Jantor. You know that. Or perhaps you do not fear the five-mile pits?"

A moment of silence. For an instant Blade thought he had gone too far, that the man would impale him on the bar. Then the Gnoman lowered his weapon.

"I will send a man. But take another step and I will have you killed and face the penalty. You understand this?"

Blade smiled. He was already beginning to cool down. "I understand that. But I would ask a favor. I am sick of my apartment and sick of women-"

One of the guards laughed and said: "I wish I might share that sickness."

The subchief frowned and there was silence in the ranks. He turned to Blade again. "I am sorry for that, but I cannot help you."

Blade turned on his charm. "You could permit me to stroll a bit, to stretch my legs and free my brain, to cleanse my nostrils of the stench of women." He pointed to the main sewer just beyond the guard station. "A few paces up and down, what could it matter? And I have Jantor's ear, as you know. I could speak well of you, or ill."

Still the subchief hesitated. Blade cajoled. "Even if you send a man to Jantor you still have twenty, counting yourself. Ten before and ten behind. What can I do? How could I escape or cause you trouble even if I had a mind?"

The subchief pondered this for what seemed to Blade an eternity. This Gnoman, like all the ordinary ones, thought in slow motion. But at last the man nodded. "All right. A few paces up and down, no more."

Blade thanked him and added, "I will see that Jantor hears of your kindness."

Torches flared up and down the main sewer. The tunnel itself was very like the one into which Blade had first dropped. As he walked slowly up and down-he managed nearly a hundred yards before he was prodded back-he noticed one of the huge sewer lids overhead. There would be a kiosk up there, he supposed, and leaning against a nearby wall was a ladder. As he strolled past it a second time he examined it carefully. It would just reach the sewer lid. This must be one of the sally ports by which Jantor's men left the sewers and invaded the city above. Blade remembered the surprise he had felt when Jantor informed him that he had been watched from the beginning. How stealthy they were, these Gnomen, when it suited their purpose. But for that single clanging lid he might still be ignorant of their existence.

He paced the permitted distance a dozen times before the messenger returned, breathless from running. Blade watched as the man spoke to the subchief. They were again at the entrance to the tunnel leading back to Blade's apartment. The subchief came to Blade.

"Jantor has sent his answer. He cannot see you now. He is displeased that you sent to him. But he believes you that it is important and he will come to see you later. At no fixed time, but when he chooses. He warns you not to repeat this thing. He sends his love and desire to Alixe and longs to see her soon. That is all. You are to return to your apartment at once."

Blade, having worked off his anger, felt that he had won a small victory, unimportant as it was. He had lost his head and his temper, but nothing had had come of it. He was content. He smiled at the subchief and thanked him and once again promised that Jantor would hear good things of him.

As he made his way down the tunnel, past the waiting line of women, he could hear them whispering among themselves. None would meet his eye. They were a mangy lot, dirty and stupid, and he s.h.i.+vered a bit with apprehension. He could not keep up the stud game much longer. If only Norn would bring him word that Sybelline was ready to see him, and if only he could figure out a way to meet the white-haired woman. He was near the breaking point and something must be done. He could not straddle the fence forever. He must soon commit himself, to either Jantor or Sybelline, and if all he heard was true, only Sybelline knew the secret of the power.

When he entered the apartment there was no sign of Sart or the child Alixe. Child? Blade scowled. Vixen. A b.i.t.c.h of tender years.

There were no sounds in the apartment. He went straight to his bedroom and undressed. Might as well get on with his duties, he thought. Sart was probably sleeping or busy with his household duties. Alixe was no doubt sulking in her own chamber. There were nine rooms in the apartment, but Blade, apart from the bath, bedroom, and the eating room, had paid them little attention. He had never been in Sart's room; beyond that lay several other chambers he had not investigated.

When he was ready he went to the door and called to the single guard who monitored the line. "Send the next one in.

He serviced three of the women, taking a brief respite between them, and knew he was through for the day. He was sure that he would never achieve another erection. He spoke to the guard. The women were sent away grumbling.

Blade called for Sart. He wanted food, a bath and sleep -long and blessed sleep.

Sart did not answer after repeated calls. Blade went looking for his man. He was not in the kitchen nor the bathroom; not in his sleeping chamber. Blade stroked his beard, puzzled. The man had to be here. There was no way he could get past the guards or pa.s.s through the only entrance without Blade knowing.

He took a torch from a wall sconce and went back along a dark corridor to the rooms he had not yet explored. With the torch flaring before him, he stalked through the gloom to the rearmost chamber.

"Sart?" he called.

From a dark corner came a whimpering sound. Blade thrust the torch in that direction. Sart was on his knees, cowering and groveling, covered with sweat and blood. On his s.h.i.+ny bald head were b.l.o.o.d.y streaks where he had made the fylfot sign. Blade came to stand beside him. His temper had grown short again.

"What is it now, fool? Get up. Why did you not answer my call?"

Sart whimpered and would not look at Blade. Blade nudged the Gnoman with his foot. "Get up, I said. What is it? What's wrong?"

Sart groveled, moved obscenely on his knees and tried to embrace Blade's legs. The great brute was crying. "Save me, master. Save me. I did not mean to do it. I swear I did not. But she taunted me. She would not leave me alone. I-"

Blade's brain went cold. He pushed Sart away from him, held the torch high and swept it about the chamber. Alixe was in a corner, broken and crumpled, her head twisted, her childish b.r.e.a.s.t.s bitten and b.l.o.o.d.y. Her slim thighs were covered with blood.

Blade went to stand beside her. He knelt and held the torch close. Her features were pulped and her mouth gaped toothlessly. Sart must have struck her a terrible blow with his fist. Blade made sure that she was dead and then turned to Sart.

The man wriggled toward Blade on his knees and began to beat his forehead against the sandy floor. He trembled, sobbing and crying.

"I did it, master. I cannot remember much now, but I did it. She taunted me and I begged her to stop but she would not. When at last I made to take her, she laughed and struck me and said she would tell Jantor and have me sent to the pits for daring to touch her."

Blade had seen worse things in Dimension X, but not much worse. He felt ill. He kicked Sart away from him and said, "Get on your feet. Stop crying. And be quiet. I must have time to think."

He did not look at Alixe again. Poor stupid, spoiled little b.i.t.c.h. She had asked for it, no doubt of that, but none of that mattered now.

Blade was responsible for his slave. That was Gnomen law. He thought fast. As precious as he was to the Gnomen, he did not believe that it would counterbalance Jantor's first wild rage when he found out what had happened to his daughter. He was likely to have Blade slain on the spot or sent to the pits. As for Sart, that miserable creature was doomed beyond all saving.

Sart lumbered to his feet. He watched Blade, cringing and continually making the sign of the fylfot on his bald head, but now there was a crafty gleam in his reddish brown eyes. Suddenly Blade realized what was happening. Sart was thinking.

Gnomen did not weigh or consider words or ideas. A rare thought, when it came, was blurted out.

Sart said, "You must help me, master. Save me. Else I will swear that you did this thing."

Blade struck him, a terrible blow that knocked Sart sprawling across the chamber. He made no effort to rise but spat out teeth and looked up at Blade.

"I will, master. Blows will not change it. You must kill me or help me, or I will swear to Jantor that you killed his Alixe. He will believe me, for you have been seen quarreling with her. Remember the woman who entered unbidden and saw you striking her?"

Blade regarded him calmly, chin in hand. He was back in control of himself now. There was truth in what the man said. He had quarreled with Alixe and he had struck her; the impatient Gnoman woman had been a witness. Whether she would remember or not, or if her story ever reached Jantor's ears did not much matter now. The die was cast and the crunch was upon him.

Jantor was coming. He had sent word to that effect. Soon or late made no difference. Jantor was coming and he would expect to see his Alixe. Whether or not Sart's story was believed made no real difference. There was the Gnomen law-Blade was responsible for his slave's act.

Blade looked at Sart with distaste. He must use the slave as best he could, for what he had in mind could not be done alone. This was going to take all his skill and cunning and strength.

He kept his voice as calm and friendly as possible. He told Sart to get up. When the man shambled to his feet, looking distrustful, Blade continued in the same calm tone.

"You are right in one thing, Sart. I am in as much trouble as you are so something must be done. Are you man enough to fight for your life?"

Sart nodded. "I will fight, master, but how? We have no bars. We are prisoners. The guard outnumber us many to one. How can we fight?"

"Come," ordered Blade. "We will speak elsewhere. I do not like this place."

He lighted the way out of the chamber. He saw Sart glance once at the slight body in the corner and again make the sign of the fylfot. Blade led the way to Sart's chamber, a small barren room with only a sleeping pad. He thrust the torch into an empty sconce.

"From this point on," said Blade, "we will forget what you have done. No word of it will be spoken. Do you understand that?"

Blade meant it. Recrimination or squeamishness was a luxury one could not afford in Dimension X.

Sart mumbled that he understood, but his eyes s.h.i.+fted and he did not look Blade in the face. He was thinking again and Blade left him to it.

"Time is important," Blade explained. "Jantor is coming to see me."

Sart trembled and nearly went to his knees again. "Jantor-here, master? When?"

"I do not know that. Late or early. Let us hope it is late. We must not be here when he comes."

Sart nodded. That he understood well enough. "But how, master? How can we escape? There is but one way out and twenty guards. They have arms and we have none. It is certain death."

Blade laughed at him. "It is certain death if we stay, for me, at least, and certainly either death or the pits for you. Do you think, Sart, that even if Jantor believes your lie that he will spare you? Think again, man! You are long overdue in the pits. Only the fact that I took you for slave saved you. Can you remember that far back?"

Sart let out a bubbling moan. "Not the five mile pits, master. I beg you kill me here and now. With blows or strangle me, anything, but I cannot go to the pits"

Blade smiled cruelly. "Yes. You would like me to kill you, and you would gain by it. But I would lose. I would then face Jantor alone. Who knows what he would believe? And I need you. You are going to fight for your life, Sart, as I must fight for mine. If you do not, if you fail me, then I will kill you."

Blade watched Sart's face, saw the small intelligence at work, waited patiently while the slave figured it out. At last he saw submission and resignation. Blade nodded. From now on Sart was only an extension of Blade and, out of fear and hope, would do as he was told.

"But how?" Sart asked again. "If I had a spear bar-"

"You will get one," said Blade grimly, "as I must, from the guards. Now listen well to me. You will approach them first, for you are a Gnoman and they will not be so suspicious...."

CHAPTER 10.

Sybelline moved the mirror in her chamber and stepped into a narrow pa.s.sage behind it. She readjusted the mirror and began to follow the pa.s.sage on an upward slope. After a time she climbed a circular iron stair, removing a small iron lid, similar to a manhole cover in Home Dimension, and emerged in the bas.e.m.e.nt of an upper-world apartment building. She paid no attention to the maintenance sleepers scattered about in their quasi-death. She had seen them a thousand times.

The service elevator, crammed with dustbins and a sweeping sleeper, was stalled between floors. Sybelline climbed six flights of stairs and let herself into a large, well-furnished apartment. She took a deep breath and sighed. This was her rightful place, here in Morphi luxury with fine clothes, servants, jewels and all the handsome men she wanted. Here she belonged.

She went to a window and stood looking out over the endless city. The silence hung like a pall; only her own movement disturbed it. She stood there for a long time gazing out at the pallid light, at the twilight world, at the sleepers and their plastic city. She had hated the Morphi all her life and still hated them. They had condemned her to the sewers because her mother had been raped by a Gnoman. How sweet it would be to repower them and then to rule them with an iron hand, to use them, to condemn some of them to the sewers and the five mile pits. It might be done. It could be done. But not yet. The Selenes, the orbfolk, were her masters. First that yoke must be broken. The man Blade might help her in that when the time was ripe.

She went to a closet and wheeled out a machine that much resembled a television set, but it had no wiring connections. She put it in the middle of the room. Next she found a long metal pole and joined it in telescopic sections. To the end of this, she attached a small mirror. She thrust the mirror end of the pole out of the window into a beam of light from the Moon and snapped the other end of the pole into a slot on the machine. She pressed a b.u.t.ton; a needle-thin antenna rose from the machine. On its end was a ball mike. She watched the plastic screen of the machine. Nothing.

Sybelline twisted the mirror end of the pole, adjusting it until the screen began to glow. The Selenes used their powerful searchlights for messages as well as for illumination. She stood close to the screen and the ball microphone.

The face of Onta appeared. He was a bearded, placid-looking man with a high forehead, curly gray hair and narrow eyes. Like all Selenes, his head was much too big for his body and his neck accordingly thick to support it. His voice was gruff, fiat and toneless, though this was probably due to the machine. She had never seen Onta in the flesh, nor any of the Selenes.

"Reverse," said Onta.

Sybelline pressed a b.u.t.ton. Now the machine was picking up her image and transmitting it along the light waves to the Moon.

"What of the stranger?" Onta stared at her from the screen.

Sybelline was most careful. Onta could read facial expressions as easily as she read Morphi script.

"I know little of him," she said. "I have sent Norn to him to spy and sound him out, and I think I can control him when the time comes. But in the meantime Jantor has him captive and he is hard at work making babies."

Onta stared at her. "That does not suit our purpose. We wish the Gnomen race to die out. If this stranger is fertile and produces children, he will set our planning back many years. Even worse if he makes intelligent children. How is he called, this one?"

"Blade. Just that. I have had no chance to speak with him and have only seen him once. He is a killer. He killed two of the Gnomen that day. Jantor was there and I had no opportunity to learn more. Why do you not invade, Onta, as you have been promising for so long? Then you could question the man Blade to your heart's content. I grow weary of waiting. You make promises and do not keep them and-"

Onta held up a hand. The look in his eye silenced her. Sybelline caught herself and composed her features. She was still afraid of Onta and the Selenes. Rebellion was in her heart, but it was not yet time and he must not guess it. But when she had the man Blade on her side it would be different. She promised herself that.

Onta was watching her. He was head of the Department of Brain Secrets for the Selenes, and she knew how clever and ruthless he was.

"I will tell you one thing," said Onta, "and you had better listen and understand. Nothing must happen to this stranger Blade. Our scientists want him for study. This is of utmost importance. It takes precedence over everything. You understand?"

Sybelline kept her tone meek and calm. "I understand, Onta. I will see to it. What I do not understand is why you keep delaying the invasion. Are your promises so worthless? I have done my share, carried out my tasks, and for this I was to be made Queen of the Morphi when they are repowered. How much longer must I wait?"

Onta never smiled. Now his thin lips did move in a quirking motion. "You must learn patience, Sybelline, as we Selenes know it. We plan a thousand years ahead while you plan for a day. We will keep our promise when we are ready to keep it."

He read her face-she could not totally disguise her rage -and added, "But I can give you some comfort. The time grows near. The time when we will have need of the Morphi power. When that time comes you will be informed, and if you carry out your duties all our promises will be kept. Until that time nothing you say or think will change anything. Adjust yourself to that. Now, to more important business. Listen well and then see to it."