Collected Short Fiction, page 692
“In the night.”
“How did you come to be here?”
“A visit, no more.”
“Was there a disturbance?”
“A quarrel between the Rememberer Elegro and the Pilgrim, yes,” I admitted.
“Over what?” asked the Chancellor thinly.
I looked uneasily at Olmayne, but she saw nothing and heard less.
“Over her,” I said.
I heard snickerings from the other Rememberers They nudged each other, nodded, even smiled; I had confirmed the scandal. The Chancellor grew more solemn.
He indicated the body of the Prince.
“This was your companion when you entered Perris,” he said. “Did you know of his true identity?”
I moistened my Ups. “I had suspicions.”
“That he was—”
“The fugitive Prince of Roum,” I said. I must not attempt subterfuges; my status was precarious.
More nods, more nudges. Chancellor Kenishal said, “This man was subject to arrest. It was not your place to conceal your knowledge of his true identity.”
I remained mute.
The Chancellor went on, “You have been absent from this hall for some hours. Tell us of your activities after leaving the suite of Elegro and Olmayne.”
“I called upon the Procurator Manrule Seven,” I said. Sensation.
“For what purpose?”
“To inform the Procurator,” I said, “that the Prince of Roum had been apprehended and was now in the suite of a Rememberer. I did this at the instruction of the Rememberer Elegro. After delivering my information I walked the streets several hours for no particular end, and returned here to find—to find—”
“To find everything in chaos,” said Chancellor Kenishal “The Procurator was here at dawn. He visited this suite; both Elegro and the Prince must still have been alive at that time. Then he went into our archives and removed—and removed—material of the highest sensitivity—removed—material not believed accessible to—the highest sensitivity—” The Chancellor faltered. Like some intricate machine smitten with instant rust, he slowed his motions, emitted rasping sounds, appeared to be on the verge of systemic breakdown. Several high Rememberers rushed to his aid; one thrust jet drug against his arm. In moments the Chancellor appeared to recover. “These murders occurred after the Procurator departed from the building,” he said. “The Rememberer Olmayne has been unable to give his information concerning them. Perhaps you, apprentice, know something of value.”
“I was not present Two Somnambulists near the Senn will testify that I was with them at the time the crimes were committed.”
Someone guffawed at my mention of Somnambulists. Let them; I was not seeking to retrieve dignity at a time like this. I knew that I was in peril.
The Chancellor said slowly, “You will go to your chamber, apprentice, and you will remain there to await full interrogation. Afterwards you will leave the building and be gone from Perris within twenty hours. By virtue of my authority I declare you expelled from the guild of Rememberers.”
Forewarned as I had been by Samit, I was nevertheless stunned.
“Expelled? Why?”
“We can no longer trust you. Too many mysteries surround you. You bring us a Prince and conceal your suspicions; you are present at murderous quarrels; you visit a Procurator in the middle of the night. You may even have helped to bring about the calamitous loss suffered by our archive this morning. We have no desire for most of enigmas here. We sever our relationship with you.” The Chancellor waved his hand in a grand sweep. “To your chamber now, to await interrogation, and then go!”
I rushed from the room. As the entrance pit closed behind me I looked back and saw the Chancellor, his face ashen, topple into the arms of his associates, while in the same instant the Rememberer Olmayne broke from her freeze and fell to the floor, screaming.
XI
Alone in my chamber, I spent a long while gathering together my possessions, though I owned little. The morning was well along before a Rememberer whom I did not know came to see me, bearing interrogation equipment. I eyed it uneasily thinking that all would be up with me if the Rememberers found proof that it was I who had betrayed the location of that compound record to the invaders. Already they suspected me of it; the Chancellor had hesitated to make the accusation only because it must have seemed odd to Elm that an apprentice such as myself would have cared to make a private search of the guild archive.
Fortune rode with me. My interrogator was concerned only with the details of the slaying; and once he had determined that I knew nothing on that subject, he let me be, warning me to depart from the hall within the allotted time. I told him I would do so.
But first I needed rest. I had had none that night; and so I just drank a three-hour draught, and settled into soothing sleep. When I awakened a figure stood beside me: the Rememberer Olmayne.
She appeared to have aged greatly since the previous evening. She was dressed in a single chaste tunic of a somber color, and she wore neither ornament nor decoration. Her features were rigidly set. I mastered my surprise at finding her there, and sat up, mumbling an apology for my delay in acknowledging her presence.
“Be at ease,” she said gently. “Have I broken your sleep?”
“I had my full hours.”
“I have had none. But there will be time for sleep later. We owe each other explanations, Tomis.”
“Yes.” I rose uncertainly. “Are you well? I saw you earlier, and you seemed lost in trance.”
“They have given me medicines,” she replied.
“Tell me what you can tell me about last night.”
Her eyelids slid momentarily closed. “You were there when Elegro challenged us and was cast out by the Prince. Some hours later, Elegro returned. With him were the Procurator of Perris and several other invaders. Elegro appeared to be in a mood of great jubilation. The Procurator produced a cube and commanded the Prince to put his hand to it. The Prince balked, but Manrule Seven persuaded him finally to cooperate. When he had touched the cube, the Procurator and Elegro departed, leaving the Prince and myself together again, neither of us comprehending what had happened. Guards were posted to prevent the Prince from leaving. Not long afterward the Procurator and Elegro returned. Now Elegro seemed subdued and even confused, while the Procurator was clearly exhilarated. In our room the Procurator announced that amnesty had been granted to the former Prince of Roum and that no man was to harm him. Thereupon all of the invaders departed.”
“Proceed.”
Olmayne spoke as though a Somnambulist. “Elegro did not appear to comprehend what had occurred. He cried out that treason had been done; he screamed that he had been betrayed. An angry scene followed. Elegro was womanish in his fury; the Prince grew more haughty; each ordered the other to leave the suite. The quarrel became more violent that the carpet itself began to die. The petals drooped; the little mouth’s gaped. The climax came swiftly. Elegro seized a weapon and threatened to use it if the Prince did not leave at once. The Prince misjudged Elegro’s temper, thought he was bluffing, and came forward as if to throw Elegro out. Elegro slew the Prince. An instant later I grasped a dart from our rack of artifacts and hurled it into Elegro’s throat. The dart bore poison; he died at once I summoned others, and I remember no more.”
“A strange night,” I said.
“Too strange. Tell me now, Tomis: why did the Procurator come, and why did he not take the Prince into custody?”
I said, “The Procurator came because I asked him to, under the orders of your late husband. The Procurator did not arrest the Prince because the Prince’s liberty had been purchased.”
“At what price?”
“The price of a man’s shame,” I said.
“You speak a riddle to me.”
“The truth dishonors me. I beg you not to press me for it.”
“The Chancellor spoke of a document that had been taken by the Procurator—”
“It has to do with that,” I confessed, and Olmayne looked toward the floor and asked no further questions.
I said ultimately, “You have committed a murder, then. What will your punishment be?”
“The crime was committed in passion and fear,” she replied. “There will be no penalty of the civil administration. But I am expelled from my guild for my adultery and my act of violence.”
“I offer ray regrets.”
“And I am commanded to undertake the Pilgrimage to Jorslem to purify my soul. I must leave within the day, or my life is forfeit to the guild.”
“I too am expelled,” I told her. “And I too am bound at last for Jorslem, though of my own choosing.”
“May we travel together?”
My hesitation betrayed me. I had journeyed here with a blind Prince; I cared very little to depart with a murderous and guildless woman. Perhaps the time had come to travel alone. Yet the Somnambulist had said I would have a companion. Olmayne said smoothly, “You luck enthusiasm. Perhaps I can create some in you.” She opened her tunic. I saw mounted between the snowy hills of her breasts a gray pouch. She was tempting me not with her flesh but with an overpocket. “In this,” she said, “Is all that the Prince of Roum carried in his thigh. He showed me those treasures; and I removed them from his body as he lay dead in my room. Also here are certain objects of my own. I am not without resources. We will travel comfortably. Well?”
“I find it hard to refuse.”
“Be ready in two hours.”
“I am ready now,” I said. “Wait, then.”
She left me to myself. Nearly two hours later she returned, clad now in the mask and robes of a Pilgrim. Over her arm she held a second set of Pilgrim’s gear, which she offered me. Yes, I was guildless now, an unsafe way to travel. I would go, then, as a Pilgrim to Jorslem. I donned the familiar gear. We gathered our possession.
“I have notified the guild of Pilgrims,” she declared as we left the hall of Rememberers. “We are fully registered. How does the mask feel, Tomis?”
“Snug.”
“As it should be.”
“Our route out of Perris took us across the great plaza before the ancient holy building of the old creed. A crowd had gathered; I saw invaders at the center of the group. Beggars made the profitable orbit about it. They ignored us, for no one begs from a Pilgrim; but I collared one rascal with a gouged face and said, “What ceremony is taking place there?”
“Funeral of the Prince of Roum,” he said. “By order of the Procurator. State funeral with all the trimmings. They’re making a real festival out of it.”
“Why hold such an event in Perris?” I asked. “How did the Prince die?”
“Look, ask somebody else. I got work to do.”
He wriggled free and scrambled on to work the crowd.
“Shall we attend the funeral?” I asked Olmayne.
“Best not to.”
“As you wish.”
We moved toward the massive stone bridge that spanned the Senn. Behind us, a brilliant blue glow arose as the pyre of the dead Prince was kindled. That pyre lit the way for us as we made our slow way through the night, eastward to Jorslem.
1969
To Jorslem
In the holy city of Jorslem lay the one hope of Renewal. But there was no end of duty for a Watcher who had failed.
I
Our world was truly theirs, now. All the way across Eyrop I could see that, as I made my Pilgrimage toward Holy Jorslem. The invaders had taken everything, and we belonged to them as beasts in a barnyard belong to the farmer.
They were everywhere. Some were sightseers, others were administrators; all Had the look of masters. They walked with cool confidence, as if telling us that the will had drawn favor from us and conferred it upon them. They were not cruel to us, and yet they drained us of vitality by their mere presence among us. Our guilds became nothing. Our elaborate society was again without structure, as it had been in the chaos at the end of the Second Cycle. Our sun, our moons, our museums of ancient relics, our ruins of former cycles, our cities, our palaces, our future, our present and our past had all undergone a transfer of title.
At night the blaze of the stars mocked us. All the universe looked down on our shame.
The cold wind of winter told us that for our sins our freedom had been lost. The bright heat of summer told us that for our pride we had been humbled.
Through a changed world we moved, stripped of our past selves. I who was once of the Watchers who roved the stars four times each day now had lost that pleasure, for there was no more Watching to do. I had passed from that guild to join the Rememberers, but only for a while; and now, bound for Jorslem, I found cool comfort in the Hope that as a Pilgrim I might gain redemption and renewal in that holy city. My traveling companion—the former Rememberer Olmayne—and I repeated each night the rituals of our Pilgrimage:
“We yield to the Will.”
“We yield to the Will.”
“In all things great and small.”
“In all things great and small.”
“And ask forgiveness.”
“And ask forgiveness.”
“For sins actual and potential.”
“For sins actual and potential.”
“And pray for understanding and repose.”
“And pray for understanding and repose.”
“Through all our days until redemption comes.”
“Through all our days until redemption comes.”
Thus we spoke the words. Saying them, we clutched the cool polished spheres of starstone, icy as frostflowers, that all Pilgrims carry, and made communion with the Will. And so we journeyed Jorslemward in this world that no longer was owned by man.
II
It was at the Talyan approach to Land Bridge that Olmayne first used her cruelty on me. Olmayne was cruel by first nature; and yet we had been Pilgrims together for many months, traveling from Perris eastward over the mountains and down the length of Talya to the bridge, and she had kept her claws sheathed. Until this place.
The occasion was our halting for a company of invaders coming north from Afreek. There were I perhaps twenty of them, tall and harsh-faced. They rode in a gleaming covered vehicle, long and narrow, with thick sand-colored treads and small windows. We could see the vehicle from far away, raising a cloud of dust as it neared us.
This was a hot time of year. The sky itself was the color of sand, and it was streaked with folded sheets of heat-radiation, glowing and terrible energy streams of turquoise and gold.
Perhaps fifty of us stood beside the road, with the land of Talya at our backs and the continent of Afreek before us. We were a varied group: some Pilgrims, like Olmayne and myself, making the trek toward the holy city of Jorslem, but also I counted in the band five former Watchers—shorn of their profession, as I had been, by the conquest of Earth—and also several indexers, a Sentinel, a pair of Communicants, a Scribe and even a few Changelings. We gathered in a straggling assembly, awarding the road by default to the invaders.
Land Bridge is not wide, and the road will not allow many to use it at any time. Yet in normal times the flow of traffic had always gone in both directions at once. Here today, we feared to go forward while invaders were this close, and so we remained clustered timidly, watching our conquerors approach.
One of the Changelings moved toward me. He was small of stature for that breed, but wide through the shoulders; his skin seemed much too tight for his frame; his eyes were large and green-rimmed, his hair grew in thick, widely-spaced pedestallike clumps, and his nose was barely perceptible, so that his nostrils appeared to sprout from his upper lip. Despite this, he was less grotesque than most Changelings appear. His expression was solemn, but with a hint of bizarre playfulness lurking somewhere.
He said in a voice that was little more than a feathery whisper, “Do you think we’ll be delayed long, Pilgrim?”
In former times one did not address a Pilgrim unsolicitedly—especially if one happened to be a Changeling. Such customs meant nothing to me, but Olmayne drew back with a hiss of distaste.
I said, “We will wait here until our masters allow us to pass. Is there any choice?”
“None friend, none.”
At that friend, Olmayne hissed again and glowered at the little Changeling. He turned to her, and his anger showed, for suddenly six parallel bands of scarlet pigment blazed beneath the glossy skin of his cheeks. But his only overt response to her was a courteous bow. He said; “I introduce myself. I am Bemalt, naturally guildless, a native of Nayrub in Deeper Afreek. I do not inquire after your names, Pilgrims. Are you bound for Jorslem?”
“Yes,” I said, as Olmayne swung about to present her back. “And you? Home to Nayrub after travels?”
“No,” said Bemalt. “I go also.”
Instantly I felt cold and hostile, my initial response to the Changeling’s suave charm fading at once. I had had a Changeling, false though he turned out to be, as a traveling companion before; he also had been charming, but I wanted no more like him. Edgily, distantly, I said, “May I ask what business a Changeling might have in Jorslem?”
He detected the chill in my tone, and his huge eyes registered sorrow. “We too are permitted to visit the holy city, I remind you. Even our kind. Do you fear that Changelings will once again seize the shrine of renewal, as we did a thousand years ago before we were cast down into guildlessness?” He laughed harshly. “I threaten no one, Pilgrim.
I am hideous of face, but not dangerous. May the Will grant you what you seek, Pilgrim.” He made a gesture of respect and went back to the other Changelings.
Olmayne spun around on me, furious.
“Why do you talk to such beastly creatures?”
“The man approached me. He was merely being friendly. We are all cast together here, Olmayne, and—”
“Man. Man! You call a Changeling a man?”
