Demon princes 01 05 the.., p.39
Demon Princes 01-05 The Star Ki, page 39
“An impressive accomplishment,” said Gersen. Alusz Iphigenia remained silent.
Edelrod went on: “We are frequently asked why we persist in deriving our poisons from natural sources. Why do we not immure ourselves in laboratories and synthesize? The answer is of course that natural poisons, being initially associated with living tissue, are the more effective.”
“I would suspect the presence of catalyzing impurities in the natural poisons,” Gersen suggested, “rather than metaphysical association.”
Edelrod held up a minatory finger. “Never scoff at the role of the mind. For instance—let me see—there should be one somewhere near. Yes. See there—the little reptile.”
Under a mottled white and blue leaf rested a small lizard-like creature.
“This is the meng. From one of his organs comes a substance which can be distributed either as uigar or as furux. The same substance, mind you. But when sold as uigar and used as such, the symptoms are spasms, biting off of the tongue and a frothing madness. When sold and used as furux, the interskeletal cartilage is dissolved so that the frame goes limp What do you say to that? Is that not metaphysics of the most exalted sort?”
“Interesting, certainly . . . Hm ... What occurs when the substance is sold and used as, say for the sake of argument, water?”
Edelrod pulled at his nose. “An interesting experiment. I wonder ... But the proposal encases a fallacy. Who would buy and administer an expensive vial of water?”
“The suggestion was poorly thought out,” admitted Gersen.
Edelrod made an indulgent gesture. “Not at all, not at all. From just such apparent folly come notable variations. The graybloom, for instance. Who would have ever suspected the virtue to be derived from its perfume, until Grand Master Strubal turned it upside down and left it in the dark for a month, whereupon it became tox meratis? One waft will kill; the venefice need merely walk past his subject.”
Alusz Iphigenia stooped to pick up a small rounded pebble of quartz. “What horrible substance do you produce from this stone?”
Edelrod looked away, half embarrassed. “None whatever. At least none to my knowledge. Though we use such pebbles in ball mills to crush photis seed to flour. Never fear; your pebble is not so useless as it seems.”
Alusz Iphigenia tossed it away in disgust. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, “that people should dedicate themselves to such activity.”
Edelrod shrugged. “We serve a useful purpose, everyone occasionally needs poison. We are capable of this excellence and we feel duty-bound to pursue it.” He inspected Alusz Iphigenia with curiosity. “Have you no skills of your own?”
“No.”
“At the hotel you may buy a booklet entitled Primer to the Art of Preparing and Using Poisons, and I believe it includes a small kit of some basic alkaloids. If you are interested in developing a skill—”
“Thank you. I have no such inclination.”
Edelrod made a polite gesture, as if to acknowledge that each must steer his own course through life.
They continued; in due course the forest thinned, the path turned out upon the steppe. At the edge of town stood a long eightconed structure of iron-bound timber with ten iron doors facing to the steppe Across an area of packed clay were hundreds of small booths and shops. “The caravanserai,” explained Edelrod. “This is the seat of the Comenance, from which the judgments come.” He pointed to a platform at the top of the caravanserai, where four caged men gazed disconsolately down into the square. “To the far right stands Kakarsis Asm.”
“Can I speak to him now?” Gersen asked.
“I will go to inquire. Wait, if you please, at this booth, where my grandmother will prepare you a fine tea.”
Alusz Iphigenia looked dubiously at the appurtenances of the booth. On a plank a brass urn bubbled furiously, flanked by brass drinking pots. Shelves displayed a hundred glass jars containing herbs, roots and substances impossible to identify.
“All clean and salubrious,” Edelrod declared cheerfully. “Rest and invigorate yourselves. I will return with good news.”
Alusz Iphigenia wordlessly seated herself on a bench. After consultation with Edelrod’s grandmother, Gersen procured pots of mildly stimulating verbena tea. They watched a caravan trundling in from the steppe, first an eight-wheeled wagon carrying the shrine, the cabin of the hetman and brass tanks of water. Behind were several dozen other wagons—some large, some small—motors rumbling, clacking, whining. All carried astounding superstructures at the very peak of which were tented living quarters, with goods and bales loaded below. Some men rode motorcycles, others lounged on the wagons, which were driven by old women or slaves of the tribe. Children ran behind, rode bicycles or dangled perilously from the understructure.
The caravan halted; women, children arranged tripods, hung up cauldrons and began to prepare a meal, while slaves unloaded goods from the wagons: furs, rare woods, bundles of herbs, chunks of agate and opal, caged birds, tubs of raw gums and poisons, and two captive hankap, the near-intelligent creature which furnished the Sarkoy sport known as harbite Meanwhile the men of the tribe gathered in a quiet suspicious cluster to drink tea and glower toward the bazaar where they expected to be cheated.
Edelrod stepped briskly forth from the caravanserai. Gersen grumbled to Alusz Iphigenia, “Here he comes with six reasons why the business will cost more money.”
Edelrod procured an infusion of scorched ajol from his grandmother. He sat down and silently began to sip.
“Well?” asked Gersen.
Edelrod sighed, shook his head. “My arrangements have been for naught. The Chief Monitor declares the interview impossible.”
“Just as well,” said Gersen. “I only wished to bring him the condolences of Viole Falushe. It will make small difference one way or another. Where will he cooperate?”
“At the Poison Inn, as diversion for the Convenance, which currently is in residence at Paing.”
“Perhaps I will have a chance to utter a few words there, or at least make a reassuring signal,” said Gersen. “Well, then, let us look through the bazaar.”
Subdued and depressed, Edelrod took them through the bazaar. Only in the Poison Quarter did he recover his animation, and pointed here and there to bargains and especially noteworthy preparations. He seized a ball of gray wax. “Observe this deadly material. I handle it without fear: I am immunized. But if you were to rub it on an article belonging to your enemy—his comb, his earscraper—he is as good as gone. Another application is to spread a film over your identification papers. Then, should an over-officious administrator hector you, he is contaminated and pays for his insolence.”
Alusz Iphigenia took a deep breath. “How does a Sarkoy survive to become an adult?”
“Two words,” Edelrod replied, holding two fingers didactically high. “Caution, immunity. I am immune to thirty poisons. I carry indicators and alarms to warn of cluthe, meratis, black-tox and vole. I observe the most punctilious caution in eating, smelling, donning garments, bedding with a strange female. Ha-ha. Here is a favorite trick, and the over-impulsive lecher finds himself in difficulties. But to go on. I am cautious in these situations and also in passing downwind of a covert, even though I have no fear of meratis. Caution has become second nature. If I suspect that I have or am about to have an enemy, I cultivate his friendship and poison him to diminish the risk.”
“You will live to become an old man,” said Gersen.
Edelrod reverently made a circular motion with his two hands, moving in opposite directions, to symbolize a halting of Godogma’s wheel. “Let us hope so. And here”—he pointed to a bulb containing white powder—“cluthe Useful, versatile, effective If you need poison, buy here.”
“I have cluthe,” said Gersen, “though it may be somewhat stale.”
“Discard it, or you will be disappointed,” Edelrod told him earnestly “It will merely provoke suppurating sores and gangrene.” He turned to the dealer “Your stock is fresh?”
“Fresh indeed, fresh as the morning dew.
After a bout of heated bargaining, Gersen bought a small casket of cluthe. Alusz Iphigenia stood with her back turned, her head at an angle of angry disapproval.
“Now then,” said Gersen, “back to the hotel.”
Edelrod said tentatively, “A thought occurs to me. Were I to bring the monitors a cask of high-quality tea, at a cost of perhaps twenty or thirty SVU, they might well allow your visit.”
“By all means. Make them such a gift.”
“You will naturally reimburse me?”
“What? When you already have been conceded a lavish hundred and twenty SVU?”
Edelrod made an impatient gesture “You do not realize the difficulties.” He snapped his fingers petulantly “Very well. So be it. My friendship for you impels me to sacrifice. Where is the money?”
“Here is fifty. The remainder after the interview.”
“What of the lady? Where will she wait?”
“Not here in the bazaar. The nomads might consider her part of the merchandise.”
Edelrod chuckled “Such events have been known. But have no apprehension. She is under the aegis of Submaster Iddel Edelrod. She is as safe as a two-hundred-ton statue of a dead dog.”
But Gersen insisted on hiring a conveyance and sending Alusz Iphigenia back to the Poison Inn. Edelrod then conducted Gersen into the caravanserai, through a set of halls, up to the roof. Six monitors hulked on stools beside a bubbling cauldron. Hitching fur collars up around their necks, they glanced incuriously at Edelrod, then turning back to their tea, muttered among themselves evidently a satiric observation, for they all gave hoarse caws of amusement.
Gersen approached the cage of Kakarsis Asm, one-time Master Venefice, now condemned to cooperation Asm was somewhat taller than the average Sarkoy, though still bulky through chest and belly. His head was long, narrow in the forehead, broad at the cheekbones, heavy at the mouth. A thick black pelt grew low down his forehead, his lank black mustache drooped dispiritedly. In keeping with his criminal status, he wore no shoes, and his feet, tattooed with wheels in the traditional fashion, were mottled pink and blue with cold.
Edelrod addressed Asm in a peremptory voice “Villainous dog, here is a nobleman from off-world who deigns to inspect you. Be on your best behavior.”
Asm raised his hand as if he were casting poison, Edelrod jumped back with a startled oath, and Asm laughed. Gersen turned to Edelrod “Wait to the side I wish to speak privately to Master Asm.”
Edelrod grudgingly withdrew. Asm, seating himself on a stool, inspected Gersen with eyes like flints. “I have paid to speak to you,” said Gersen “In fact I come from Alphanor for this purpose.”
Asm made no response.
“Has Viole Falushe made representations on your behalf” asked Gersen.
A gleam shone behind the near opacity of the eyes “You come from Viole Falushe?”
“No.”
The gleam died.
“It would seem,” said Gersen, “that having involved you in wrongdoing, he should likewise be here, sentenced to cooperation.”
“There’s an agreeable thought,” said Asm.
“I don’t fully understand the crime You were caged and sentenced because you sold to a notorious criminal?”
Asm snorted, spat into a corner of the cage “How should I recognize him as Viole Falushe? I knew him long ago under a different name. He has changed, he is unrecognizable.”
“Why then should you be sentenced to cooperation?”
“The decretal was clear enough. The Guild-master had prepared a special price schedule for Viole Falushe All unaware I sold him two drams of patziglop and a dram of vole, little enough, but there can be no remission. The Guild-master has long been my enemy, though he has never dared to test my poisons.” He spat again, glanced reflectively sidewise at Gersen. “Why should I talk with you?”
“Because I will undertake that you die by alpha or beta, rather than cooperation.”
Asm gave a sad sardonic snort of regret. “With Guild-master Petrus on the scene? Small chance. He wishes to test his new pyrong.”
“Guild-master Petrus can be persuaded. By money if no other means.
Asm shrugged “I expect little, but what then? I lose nothing by talk. What do you wish to know?”
“I take it Viole Falushe has departed the planet?”
“Long ago.”
“Where and when did you know him previously?”
“Long ago. How many years? Twenty? Thirty? A long time. He was then a slaver, but very young. No more than a boy. Indeed, he was the youngest slaver I had yet known. He arrived in a rickety old ship bulging with young girls, all fearful of his wrath. Would you believe it? They were happy to be sold to me.” Asm shook his head in wonder. “A terrible young man. He quaked and quivered with the force of his passions Today he is different. The passion is still terrible, but Viole Falushe has grown to surround it. He is a different man.”
“What was his name when you first knew him?”
Asm shook his head. “It escapes me. I do not know Perhaps I never knew. He traded two fine girls for money and poison. They cried with relief to leave the ship. The others cried from their ill fortune. Ah, what sobbing.” Asm gave his head a wry shake. “Inga and Dundine were their names. How they would chatter. They knew the lad well and never tired of reviling him.”
“What became of them? Do they still live?”
“There I am ignorant.” Asm jumped to his feet, strode back and forth, returned as abruptly to his stool. “I was called south to Sogmere. I sold the girls. There was little depreciation, I had only used them two years.”
“Who bought them?”
“It was Gascoyne the Wholesaler, of Murchison’s Star. I can tell no more, for this is all I know.”
“And where was the first home of the girls?”
“Earth.”
Gersen ruminated a moment. “And Viole Falushe as he is now—what is his description?”
“He is a tall man, well-favored. His hair is dark. He has no remarkable or distinguishing features. I knew him when his madness was rampant, when it altered the look of his face. Now he is careful and polite. He speaks softly. He smiles. His condition might never be known, unless, like me, you had known him as a lad.”
Gersen asked further questions, Asm was unable to augment his remarks. Gersen prepared to depart Asm, feigning indifference, said, “You intend to speak to Guild-master Petrus on my behalf?”
“Yes.”
Asm thought a moment. He opened his mouth and spoke, as if it were an effort. “Be careful. He is a positive man, and baleful. If you thrust at him over-strongly, he will poison you.”
“Thank you,” said Gersen. “I hope to be able to help you.” He signaled Edelrod, who had watched with poorly disguised curiosity. “Take me to Guild-master Petrus.”
Edelrod led Gersen down into the caravanserai, through one crooked hall after another, finally to a room hung with yellow silk. On a cushion sat a thin man with intricately tattooed cheeks examining a row of small flagons “An outworld gentleman to speak to the Guild-master,” said Edelrod.
The thin man hopped erect, approached Gersen, carefully smelled his hands, patted his garments, inspected his tongue and teeth. “One moment.” He disappeared behind the silks. Presently he returned to signal Gersen. “This way, if you will.”
Gersen entered a high window less chamber—so high indeed the ceiling could not be seen. Four spherical lamps hanging low on long chains threw an oily yellow light. On the table the ubiquitous brass cauldron bubbled. The air was heavy with warmth and odor. must, fabric, leather, sweat, the sharp dry exhalation of herbs. Guild-master Petrus had been sleeping. Now he was awake, and leaning forward from his couch, tossed herbs into a pot and prepared an infusion. He was an old man with bright black eyes, a pallid skin. He greeted Gersen with a quick nod.
Gersen said, “You’re an old man.”
“I have one hundred and ninety-four Earth years.”
“How much longer do you expect to live?”
“Six years at least, or so I hope. Many men wish me poisoned.”
“On the roof four criminals await execution. Are all to cooperate?”
“I have a dozen new poisons to test, as have other Masters of the Guild.”
“I have assured Asm that he will die by alpha or beta.”
“You must have the gift of perceiving miracles I myself am a skeptic. The arrogance of Asm has long been a blemish upon the region. He now must cooperate with the Guild Standards Committee.”
Gersen eventually paid 425 SVU that Asm might die by alpha.
Edelrod, somewhat sulky, met Gersen in the hall. They set off through Paing by streets lined with tall timber huts on stilts, the facade of each hut constructed to represent a visage doleful, saturnine or astounded, and so they returned to the Poison Inn.
Alusz Iphigenia was in her room; Gersen decided not to disturb her. He bathed in a wooden vat, went down to the lobby to look out across the steppe. Dusk blurred the landscape, the wheeled poles were black intricate silhouettes.
Gersen ordered a pot of tea and with nothing better to do reflected on the condition of his life By ordinary standards he was a fortunate man, wealthy beyond the grasp of the mind What of the future? Suppose that by some freak of fortune he was able to achieve his goal, with the five Demon Princes destroyed, what then? Could he integrate himself into the normal flow of existence? Or had he become so distorted that always, to the end of his days, he must seek out men to destroy Gersen gave a grim chuckle Unlikely that he would survive to confront the problem. In the meantime, what had he learned from Asm? Only that twenty or thirty years ago a young madman had sold a pair of girls, Dundine and Inga, to Asm, who later sold them to Gascoyne the Wholesaler of Murchison’s Star Next to nothing Except that Dundine and Inga knew their kidnapper well and “never ceased to revile him.”
Alusz Iphigenia appeared. She ignored Gersen and went to look out over the dark steppe, where now one or two far lights flickered. In the sky appeared a purple glow, a bank of white lights, and a packet of the Robarth Hercules Line descended to the field Alusz Iphigenia watched a row moments, then turned and came to sit by Gersen, holding herself stiffly erect. She shook her head at his offer of tea “How long must you stay here?”
