The clockwork traitor, p.8
The Clockwork Traitor, page 8
"Behold," the Duke of Kolokov said. "Behold, the Chamber of Angles, epitome of my creations"
The sheer spectacle left the two DesPlainians speechless. The room itself was gigantic; it must have occupied easily half the mountain that was Rimskor Castle. The ceiling was so high that Etienne would have had to strain his neck to try to see it. The base of the room was fully thirty meters across. Sloping ramps led from each of the various entrance ways that were scattered about the perimeter all the way up to near the ceiling, ascending in a series of sharp, zigzag passages. The crazy angles jangled on the optic nerves of any rational human being who looked at them. The ramps were suspended from the ceiling by long stretches of girders, and the entire construction looked structurally unsound, as though a sharp gust of wind might topple everything.
Suspended from the ceiling also were large metal mobiles, seemingly thousands of them, all composed solely of acute angles and each one polished to reflect a jagged image around the room; the entire vast chamber was filled with pulsating, rotating sparks of whiteness that were the reflections of an intense beacon that beamed down from center ceiling. The room was almost hypnotic in its effect, and Etienne found that, after looking at it for only a few seconds he had to turn his gaze resolutely to the polished metal floor. Marcel, possibly because of all his own work with illusions, was able to examine the room more closely, but even he had to bite his lips to keep from letting the vision eat away at his consciousness.
"Remarkable, isn't it?" Duke Fyodor asked proudly.
"It's... stunning," Etienne said, trying hard to come up with the most diplomatic word possible. "There never could have been anything like it before."
Their host took that as a compliment. "What I abhor is not Nature, but inefficiency. To me, beauty is precision. The precision of a machine going perfectly through its paces--or, in the case of your Circus, the precision of human beings performing their elaborate and dangerous acts with a smoothness that beggars the imagination. The Chamber of Angles is dedicated to the spirit of precision, to the mechanical... in short, to perfection."
"I think so much perfection must be an acquired taste," Etienne said. "Would you mind if we continued on with the rest of the tour? I feel so... so overwhelmed here."
"I understand," replied the Duke of Kolokov. "It is an awe-inspiring sight. Let me show you through some of the more prosaic parts of my domicile."
The "prosaic" portions of the castle, while less overwhelming than that chamber of insanity, were all nonetheless masterpieces of applied technology. The enormous kitchen, where meals for up to two hundred guests could be prepared, was a virtual assembly line of food preparation, with computer programs set to fix anything from a single deviled egg to six grosses of royal almondine layer torts. Dozens of little robots scampered here and there, none of them more than a meter high and all of them with at least six constantly busy hands.
"Note the dumbwaiter system," Duke Fyodor said with pride as he pointed to a large opening in one wall. "Food-or for that matter, any sort of package or container-can travel from here to any room in the castle. It's all inside the walls and out of sight. Invisible, efficient, and totally automated. Like the Chamber of Angles, it's my own design-and, if I do say so myself, it's virtually foolproof." The two guests inspected the system and marveled at it, then went on with the rest of the tour.
The bedrooms were harsh and utilitarian, filled with mirrored walls and glaring lights. The constant use of metals made them all seem cold and impersonal, and Etienne doubted he would ever be able to fall asleep in such a room-he would be afraid he'd dream of robot bogeymen crawling out from under the bed and spiriting him away.
The library was imposing but, again, cold. Long shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, housing hundreds of thousands of bookreels with a detached, almost overbearing elegance. The Duke of DesPlaines could not help but be reminded of his own collection of literary works, which traveled with him wherever he went. He collected books, the ancient examples of the art of printing and binding that was almost extinct in this twenty-fifth century. Admittedly, the books were heavier and took up more room than an equal number of bookreels; but there was something solid and substantial about them.
The knowledge they contained seemed so much more real.
No matter how many twists and turns their course took them along, nor how many levels up and down they moved, Marcel d'Alembert's sharp mind kept exact track of where they were. With his inborn sense of direction, he was composing a mental map of the entire layout of the castle's interior. When they returned to the Circus later, he would transfer his map onto paper for the benefit of the assault team that would soon be invading this very stronghold.
"That's about all there is to see," Duke Fyodor said as he brought their tour to a conclusion by leading them back into a large hall filled with other guests. "My Lord Marcel, would you be so kind as to reciprocate by performing a portion of your marvelous act for my guests?"
"I'd be delighted," the magician said. "Just give me a couple of minutes to prepare." Duke Fyodor nodded and went off to find a servant who could make an announcement about the forthcoming entertainment.
To his brother, Marcel added quietly, "There's one area he didn't take us into; it's a big blank on my map. It's on this level, just off the eastern side of that enormous insanity of a room. The blank area's only one or two rooms deep, but it extends upward for at least eight stories."
"Do you think there's something in there our host doesn't want us to see?"
"It bears investigating. He's been eager enough to show us everything else in the place; why not that?" He stopped talking as he heard his name being called out. "That sounds like my cue to go on. Wish me luck."
"You wish me luck. I'll need it more than you will." Etienne smiled at his brother as Marcel made his way through the crowd to the front of the room where an impromptu stage had been arranged for him.
"Thank you for your attention, ladies and lords," the performer began. "I have been called, at times, the greatest magician in the Galaxy. I know it isn't true, but what does my opinion matter against that of so many others? But, if I am a great magician I owe it all to my audiences-to you. You see, no magician could perform without the unconscious aid of the people he's performing for. For instance-you, gospodin," and he stepped up to a man standing in the first row, "I've never met you before, have I? And you think that, because I've singled you out, I'm going to somehow use you to perform a magical feat. Actually-" and here he pulled a large bouquet of flowers seemingly from the ear of the woman standing next to the man "-I'm going to use her. Excuse me, madame, but these are for you." He bowed low and presented the bouquet to the startled matron, to a round of laughter and applause.
"Misdirection is the key," he continued when the reaction had subsided. "I can do anything I choose and you won't ever see it because your attention is focused exactly where I want it to be. That's how you all help me, by following my suggestions so well. Say, for example, that I asked you to watch my right hand." He held up that hand with an exaggerated gesture, and every eye in the room fixed on it. "I want you to look there, because the trick is really being done with my left." To prove it, he held up his left hand, which now held a lighted candle. Again there was laughter and applause.
This was Etienne's cue. As Marcel had said so well, misdirection was the key. While every guest at the party was watching the performance with rapt attention, the Duke of DesPlaines was able to vanish down the hall without anyone's noticing his disappearance.
Moving as quietly as he could down the long corridor, he came once again to the Chamber of Angles. As his brother had pointed out, there was one door on the cast side that appeared to be locked. Etienne walked over to it, but did not touch it or attempt to open it in any way. Instead, he ran the pinkie finger of his artificial right hand around the doorsill, about a centimeter from the surface. Just as he suspected, the sensitive instruments inside that synthetic digit detected an electronic lock and alarm system of a fairly high degree of complexity. He did not have with him the tools he would need to break in there, but that was a minor point-such tools were on hand back at the Circus.
Marcel had said that this locked area extended upward for several stories. Leaning backwards and craning his neck, he tried to see if there was a door leading from this chamber to one of the upper levels. There did seem to be one three floors up, but the very act of looking brought back the panicky sensation Etienne had first felt upon entering this room. The hackles raised on his skin and he had to shut his eyes to avoid the glare and the dizzying effects. Alone, with his eyes closed and the room completely silent, he could sense, rather than hear, the strange vibrations. Subsonics, more than likely, he thought. Vibrations in the air at a frequency inaudible to the human ear but strong enough to affect a person's nervous system. No wonder the room felt eerie-it was all part of Duke Fyodor's plan to impress people. He probably enjoyed putting visitors into an uncomfortable position.
Knowing the room's secret made it a little less frightening, but the subsonics still made him edgy despite himself. He made his way over to one of the ramps that led up to the level of the door he wanted. He checked the metal ramp with his pinkie finger before ascending, but there were no alarms on it, nor was it electrified. The ramps were no more than they appeared to be-a means of going by foot from one level to another.
The ramp swayed ever so slightly as he trod upon it, but otherwise seemed stable enough. He could feel the vibrations of the room coming even stronger through the soles of his feet as he began to climb up the steep slope. The ramp went through four abrupt changes of direction along the path before he reached the level he wanted; four sharp turns through impossibly acute angles. And with each level upward, the vibrations increased measurably in strength, so that by the time he reached the desired height, Etienne felt his body trembling involuntarily. Duke Fyodor had planned the defenses of this room subtly but well.
Much to his surprise, this doorway was neither locked nor switched into an alarm circuit; apparently, Duke Fyodor put enough faith in the subsonics to discourage visitors to the upper floors--or was it that he was sure most intruders would go for the lower door first? Whichever way it was, Etienne was not going to pass up an opportunity to see what lay behind the door in that area where the host would not take them.
He opened the door and saw only darkness on the other side. He didn't dare switch on the light whose button was beside the door, since that action might alert anyone inside. Again, he should leave that job to those who would be following after him; they would be better equipped for this sort of work.
He had just closed the door and started down the ramp again when a loud voice boomed out, "Hey! What are you doing up there?"
The head of the d'Alembert clan raised his right hand and pointed the forefinger in the direction of the sound. That particular digit was a deadly one, concealing a miniature blaster. At any hint of trouble, Etienne was prepared to blast his way out and explain the messy details later.
The speaker had been a robot, one of the tiny machines that had been serving refreshments out in the main ballroom. Since it had a limited function, it probably bad a limited intelligence to go with it, and had probably been on its way to the kitchen when it had spotted him. With any luck, he should be able to bluff his way out.
Lowering his hand, Duke Etienne wavered back and forth and feigned a spell of dizzyness. "I was looking... for a fresher. Saw this door up here, climbed up... feel very weak, dizzy." As he spoke, he began staggering down the ramp, hoping to confuse the dim-witted machine into inaction. Each step away from the door would be a step in his favor; it was proximity to that forbidden portal that was most suspicious, and convincing the robot that he had no sinister intentions would probably mean that the machine would not report him.
"You have no right to be up there," the machine said.
"Sorry, I felt so... so dizzy I didn't know what I was doing." Etienne was halfway down the ramp now, and feeling safer with each step.
"Only authorized personnel are allowed up there," the robot reiterated. It was a machine of limited intelligence but fierce tenacity.
"You're right, of course," Etienne said, reaching the bottom of the ramp. "Whew. I feel much better down here now," he added truthfully. "I owe your master the Duke a profound apology for trespassing in his castle without permission. Would you be so kind as to tell me where he is so that I may go offer my apologies at once?"
This maneuver confused the poor device. If this strange person were a burglar-an as yet unproven hypothesis anyway-then he was not acting in approved burglar fashion. Asking to be told where the master of the castle was didn't seem to be regulation behavior for criminals. After about thirty seconds of whirling that data around in its computerized circuits, the robot decided that the intruder must be what he said he was-a stranger who got lost looking for a fresher. "His Grace the Duke is in the ballroom, watching a magic act," it said, then continued trundling on its way to the kitchen. The matter of the intruder was now banished from its feeble mind.
Etienne breathed a sigh of relief and made his way back to the main entertainment area. His primary mission had been accomplished. Rimskor Castle had been reconnoitered and the approximate location of possible clues had been determined. More fact finding would have to await a more serious assault by a team of d'Alemberts in better condition than the two patriarchs of the clan.
In the meantime, he could enjoy watching the conclusion of his brother's act.
Chapter 7
Stalking
The second day of the Progress looked as beautiful as the first, but the two d'Alemberts were in no real condition to appreciate it. Both had been up most of the night, comparing notes and checking out the premises from top to bottom. Yvette had been along every centimeter of the corridor in the wing of the castle where Edna was staying, her electronic gadgetry out and working. Every crevice, every small hole in the plaster, every picture frame, every piece of furniture was examined in minute detail. She gained some red lines infiltrating the whites of her eyes and an intimate acquaintance with the architecture of Rockhold Castle, but there was no other reward for her efforts.
Jules's search was also fruitless. While Borov was in the hospital for observation on his ribs, Jules took the liberty of going through that candidate's room with his own detectors. He checked all the personal belongings, all the clothing, the luggage, and the furniture in the room where Borov might have stashed a bomb. Nothing. If Borov actually was the assassin, he had taken the bomb with him to the hospital. It would be a dangerous move-but then, the traitor was playing for dangerous stakes.
Of course, it was entirely possible that Borov was not the traitor-in which case, Jules had only a dozen other suspects to worry about.
He and Yvette discussed the problem. "Edna's wing is clean," Yvette said, "and the security is so tight I don't see how anyone could sneak in there to plant a bomb, even a tiny one." She sighed with frustration. "I don't think we're doing so well on this assignment, mon cher frere. There's got to be something we've overlooked, or else the threat is coming from some entirely new direction that we know nothing about."
Jules felt equally frustrated, and pounded his right fist into his left palm. "Maybe. Maybe. I've learned to trust your intuition. But that still doesn't give us any clue about what we are looking for, and until we can come up with something better we'll have to continue along with our only lead."
"And in the meantime we stay around the Princess all day and skulk around the castle all night. If we don't find the traitor in the first three days, I think I'm going to drop from exhaustion."
The two siblings parted then, to return to their respective rooms and try to get at least a couple of hours' sleep before they had to go back on duty the next morning.
At breakfast, Crown Princess Edna was presented with a beautiful paper flower by Choyen Liu. "It's lovely," she exclaimed. "Where did you get it?"
"I made it last night," he replied. "The petals represent the unfolding of the soul around the center of essential being."
"Oh." That was all the Princess could think to say for a long second. "Thank you very much. I appreciate it. It's very much like you."
"You're too kind. It's but a useful object for meditation."
As she sat down to breakfast with Yvette beside her, Edna placed the artificial bloom in such a way that the female d'Alembert could check it out more closely. With seemingly casual gestures, Yvette moved her camouflaged miniaturized sensors to within a couple of centimeters of the object, but it was exactly what it seemed to be. Yvette gave a slight nod of approval, and Edna pinned the paper flower to the shoulder of her tunic.
The previous day's activities at the beach had taken a higher toll on people than they had realized. No precautions had been taken against the solar rays and, as a result, nearly everyone in the party from the Princess on down was complaining of mild sunburn. The only two who escaped that fate were Symond and Liu.
"Anares' sun is green, and hotter than this one," Liu remarked when questioned. "I'm used to far more radiation than I'm receiving."
"My own skin is kind of funny," explained the blond, fair-complexioned Symond in turn. "Either nothing at all happens or else I burn up completely. I guess I was just lucky yesterday." All the others in the party agreed with that assessment.
The activity for the day was supposed to be a hunt in the small forest half a kilometer from Rockhold. When the schedule had originally been made, both Jules and Yvette had protested vigorously the inclusion of such an activity. "It's bad enough," Yvette declared, "that we might have to be dealing with someone who wants to blow you up. But going out in a group of armed people is ridiculous. Jules and Jacques and Yvonne and I-and even your other bodyguards as well-can't keep an eye on everyone at once. One quick shot would be all that's needed."
