Demon princes 01 05 the.., p.57
Demon Princes 01-05 The Star Ki, page 57
The best method of ingress to the apartments of Viole Falushe was from above, Gersen had no stomach for another climb around the cliff. He landed the air car beside the stone castle, and went back into the saloon All was as before Navarth sat glaring at the three captives, who regarded him with loathing.
Gersen gave Navarth one of the projacs “If there is difficulty kill all three I go to look for Drusilla and Jheral Tinzy You must guard them with care.”
Navarth laughed wildly “Who can trick a mad poet? I know him this instant I intend to keep the weapon at his throat.”
Gersen could not restrain a sense of misgiving Navarth was not the most stable of guardians “Remember—if he escapes, we are lost. He may want a glass of water, let him thirst. His bonds may be too tight. He must suffer. Show no mercy if there is interference from outside Shoot all three.”
“With pleasure.”
“Very well Keep your madness in check till I return.” Gersen went to the door through which three weeks previously the sodden band of pilgrims had entered. The door was locked, he blasted away the hardware and entered.
There was no sound. The dank rooms were empty Gersen went down the hall, descended by the way the girl in blue velvet had taken him, and finally found the banquet room, now dim, smelling faintly of perfume and wine.
Gersen moved more cautiously. From the banquet room a way led down to the garden Another must lead to Viole Falushe’s apartments.
Gersen checked the walls, and finally behind a hanging he found a narrow door of heavy wood barred with metal. Once again he burnt his way through.
A spiral staircase led down into the chamber to the back of the circular foyer Gersen searched the room. He found a black leather notebook containing exhaustive notes upon the psychology of Jheral Tinzy, and the various methods by which Viole Falushe hoped to win her. It seemed that Viole Falushe wanted more than love he wanted submission, abject quivering abasement derived from a mingling of love and fear.
So far, reflected Gersen, Viole Falushe had fallen short in his goal. He tossed the portfolio aside. On the wall was a telescreen. Gersen turned a knob Drusilla Wayles wearing a white robe sat on a bed. She was pale, thin, but apparently unharmed.
Gersen turned the knob. He looked out upon a gloomy area of sand among tall rock pinnacles. To the back were five dark deodors and a little cabin hardly larger than a doll house Sitting on a bench was a girl about fourteen years old, a girl almost identical to Drusilla. She wore a transparent white gown, her face had a peculiarly sweet, peculiarly pensive expression, as if she had only just awakened from a pleasant dream From the side came a tall non-human creature, walking on thin black-furred legs. It stopped beside the girl, spoke in a thin high-pitched voice. The girl responded without interest.
Gersen turned the knob again, to bring into view a terrace in front of what appeared to be a temple Inside could be glimpsed the statue of a divinity. On the steps stood another Drusilla, this one sixteen years old, wearing only a kirtle, and a copper fillet to confine her hair Elsewhere were other men and women, similarly dressed. To the side was the suggestion of a shore, with water beyond.
Gersen turned the knob again and again and again. He looked into various environments, various types of rooms and cages They contained an assortment of boys, girls, youths, maidens, young men and women, sometimes separate, sometimes together. Here were Viole Falushe’s experiments, from which he evidently extracted a voyeur’s pleasure Gersen saw no more versions of Drusilla.
Urgency prickled at his nerves, stemming from his lack of faith in Navarth. He set off along the hall, and crossing the bridge he entered the laboratory section to the west Here was the locale of the experiments—in cages and chambers behind one-way mirrors.
Gersen found Retz, the stoop-shouldered technician, sitting in a small office. He looked up, startled at the sight of Gersen. “What do you do here? Are you a guest? The master will be displeased.”
“I am master now.” Gersen displayed the projac “Where is the girl who resembles Jheral Tinzy?”
Retz blinked, half-defiant, hair-doubtful “I can tell you nothing.”
Gersen struck him with the gun “Quick. The girl who came here three weeks ago.”
Retz began to whine. “What can I tell you? Viole Falushe will punish me.”
“Viole Falushe is a prisoner.” Gersen leveled the gun “Take me to the girl, or I will kill you.”
Retz made a despairing sound “He will do terrible things to me”
“No longer.”
Retz waved his arms, walked down the corridor Suddenly he stopped, turned around “You say he is your prisoner?”
“He is.”
“What do you plan to do with him?”
“Kill him.”
“And what of the Palace?”
“We shall see Take me to the girl.”
“Will you leave me here, in charge of the Palace?”
“I will kill you unless you make haste.”
Disconsolately Retz moved on Gersen spoke to him. “What has Viole Falushe done to her?”
“Nothing yet.”
“What did he plan?”
“An auto-fertilization—a virgin birth, so to speak. In due course she would bear a female child precisely like herself”
“Jheral Tinzy gave birth to her in this way?”
“Exactly.”
“And how many others?”
“Six others Then she killed herself”
“Where are the Other five?”
“Ah. As to that, I can’t say.”
Retz was lying, but Gersen allowed the statement to go unchallenged.
Retz paused by a door, looked craftily over his shoulder. “The girl is within Whatever she reports, you must remember that I am only an underling here, I only obey orders.”
“Then you’ll obey mine Open the door.” Retz hesitated a final instant, with a glance over Gersen’s shoulder down the hall, as if hoping against hope for succor. He sighed, slid back the door.
Drusilla, sitting on the bed, looked up with alarm. She saw Gersen, her expression changed from astonishment to joy. She jumped up from the bed, ran to Gersen, sobbed in relief “I hoped you’d come They’ve done such dreadful things to me.”
Retz thought to take advantage of Gersen’s distraction and started to slink away Gersen called him back “Not so fast I have use for you.” He spoke to Drusilla “Has Viole Falushe shown himself to you? Will you recognize him?”
“He came to stand in the doorway with the light at his back. He did not want me to see him. He was savage, he hated me. He said I had been faithless I asked how this was possible since I had promised him nothing. He became absolutely cold. He said that it had been my duty to wait, to maintain my ideals, until he had come. And even then, he said, I had played him false, at Navarth’s party and also on the journey.”
Gersen said, “One thing is certain then he is Tanzel or Ethuen or Mano Which did you like the least?”
“Tanzel.”
“Tanzel, eh? Well, Retz here will show us certainly which is Viole Falushe, will you not, Retz?”
“How can I7 He has never shown himself to me, except behind the glass of his office.”
Unlikely, thought Gersen, still, not impossible “Where are the other daughters of Jheral Tinzy?”
“Six there were,” muttered Retz “Viole Falushe killed the two oldest. There is one on Alphanor, this one”—he indicated Drusilla—”was sent to Earth. The youngest is to the east of the Palace, where the mountains meet the sea. The next is priestess to the god Arodin, on the large island directly to the east.”
“Retz,” said Gersen, “I hold Viole Falushe a captive I am your new master Do you understand this?”
Retz nodded sulkily “If this is how it must be.”
“Can you identify Viole Falushe?”
“He is a tall man, he has dark hair; he can be harsh or soft, cruel or easy Beyond that I do not know.”
“These are my orders to you Liberate these poor captives.”
“Impossible,” fluted Retz. “They know no other life than their peculiar environments. The open air, the sun, the sky—they would go mad!”
“This is your task then. As gently and easily as possible, bring them forth. I will return shortly and see how well you have done your job. Further, make known to the folk in the garden that they are no longer slaves, that they are free to go or to stay. Mind you, I will pen you in, closet and punish you for your crimes if you do not obey me.”
“I will obey,” muttered Retz. “I am accustomed to obedience; I know nothing else.”
Gersen took Drusilla’s arm. “I worry about Navarth. We dare not be gone too long.”
But when they returned up through the castle and out to the air car, circumstances were as before. The three captives were secure and Navarth held the weapon unblinkingly at their heads. His eyes glowed at the sight of Drusilla. “What of Jheral Tinzy?”
“She is dead. But she had daughters. There are others. What has transpired while I was gone?”
“Talk. Blandishments. Persuasion. Threats.”
“Of course. Who was most insistent?”
“Tanzel.”
Gersen turned Tanzel a cool inspection. Tanzel shrugged. “Do you think I enjoy sitting here trussed like a chicken?”
“One of you is Viole Falushe,” said Gersen. “Which? I wonder—Well, we must undo more of the dreadful mischief performed in the name of love.”
He took the air car aloft, cruised slowly east over the mountains. At the ocean’s edge, where the crags submerged into the water, a gloomy defile opened upon a narrow gray beach. Behind was a sandy open area perhaps an acre in extent. Gersen lowered the air car into the shadows and landed. He jumped out.
Drusilla IV, the youngest of the group, came slowly forward. From a fissure to the back, two non-human nursemaids made angry chattering sounds. The girl asked, “Are you The Man? The Man who is coming to love me?”
Gersen grinned. “I am a man, true enough, but who is The Man?”
Drusilla IV looked vaguely toward the fissure. “They have told me of The Man. There is one of me, and one of him, and when I see him I must love him. This is what I have learned.”
“But you have never seen this man?”
“No. You are the first man I have ever seen. The first person like myself. You are wonderful!”
“There are many men in the world,” said Gersen. “They told you a falsehood. Come aboard, I will show you other men, and a girl like yourself.”
Drusilla IV looked around the dreary defile in alarm and bewilderment. “Will you take me from here? I am frightened.”
“You need not be,” said Gersen. “Come aboard now.”
“Of course.” She took his hand trustingly and entered the saloon. At the sight of the passengers she halted in astonishment. “I never knew so many people existed!” She examined Mano, Ethuen and Tanzel critically. “I don’t like them. They have foolish wicked faces.” She turned to Gersen. “I like you. You are the first man I have ever seen. You must be The Man, and I will stay with you forever.”
Gersen watched the faces of Mario, Ethuen and Tanzel. This must make poor hearing for Viole Falushe. All sat stony-faced, glaring at Gersen with equal degrees of detestation—except at the corner of Tanzel’s mouth, a tiny muscle twitched.
Gersen took the air car aloft and flew out toward the largest of the islands. Almost immediately he spied the temple looming above a village of cane and frond. Gersen landed the air car in the square, while villagers watched in amazement and alarm.
From the temple sauntered Drusilla III, a girl confident and self-possessed, exactly identical to the other Drusillas, vet in some sense different, as the other two were different.
Once more Gersen alighted from the air car. Drusilla III inspected him with candid interest. “Who are you?”
“I come from the mainland,” said Gersen. “I come to speak to you.”
“You want a rite performed? Go elsewhere. Arodin is impotent. I have beseeched him to send me elsewhere, among other boons. There is no response.”
Gersen looked into the temple. “That is his likeness within?”
“Yes. I am priestess to the cult.”
“Let us go to look at the image.”
“There is nothing to see—a statue sitting on a throne.”
Gersen went into the temple. At the far end sat a figure twice as large as life. The head was rudely defaced: nose, ears, chin broken away. Gersen turned to Drusilla III in wonder. “Who damaged the statue?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“I did not like his face. According to the Rote, Arodin must come in the flesh to take me for his bride. I am enjoined to pray to the statue for the earliest nuptials possible. I broke the face to delay the process. I do not like being a priestess but I am allowed to be nothing else. I hoped that after I denied the image another priestess might be appointed. This has not occurred. Will you take me away?”
“Yes. Arodin is no god, he is a man.” Gersen took Drusilla III into the saloon, pointed out Mano, Ethuen, Tanzel. “Observe the three men. Does one of them resemble the statue of Arodin, before you defaced it?”
One of the men blinked.
“Yes,” said Drusilla III. “Yes, indeed. There is the face of Arodin.” She pointed to Tanzel, the man who had blinked.
Tanzel cried out, “Here, here. What’s going on? What are you trying to do?”
“I want to identify Viole Falushe,” said Gersen.
“Why pick on me? I’m not Arodin, nor Viole Falushe, nor yet Beelzebub, for that matter. I’m good old Harry Tanzel of London, no more no less, and I’ll thank you to take these ropes from my arms.”
“In due course,” said Gersen. “In due course.” He turned to Drusilla III. “You’re sure that he is Arodin?”
“Of course. Why is he tied?”
“I suspect him of being a criminal.”
Drusilla III laughed, a clear merry sound. “What a dreadful joke! A man like that putting up a statue to himself and calling himself a god. What did he hope to gain?”
“You.”
“Me? All this effort for me?”
“He wanted you to love him, to worship him.”
Again Drusilla Ill’s laughter ran through the ship. “A great deal of wasted effort.”
And Gersen, watching closely, thought he saw a pink flush seep across Tanzel’s face. “You are ready to leave here?”
“Yes ... Who are these other girls who so resemble me?”
“Your sisters.”
“How strange.”
“Yes. Viole Falushe—or Arodin, if you prefer—is a strange man.
Gersen took the air car aloft, set it to cruising slowly on the automatic pilot while he cogitated. Still no absolute proof to the identity of Viole Falushe. A twitch of the mouth, a seep of color, a defaced countenance; interesting but hardly incontrovertible evidence ... Essentially he was no closer to the identity’ of Viole Falushe than when he set out on the journey. He looked back into the saloon. Navarth had become bored with his duties and was watching the girls with a half-expectant, half-forlorn expression—perhaps by some miracle they would merge to become his own Jheral Tinzy.
Gersen sifted his courses of action. They were few. If he had access to one or another of the truth drugs, Viole Falushe’s identity would emerge swiftly enough ... There was no one at the Palace of Love who could recognize Viole Falushe, probably no one at Atar or Kouhila. On Earth, Navarth knew Viola Falushe’s call-code ... Gersen rubbed his chin. “Navarth1”
Navarth came into the pilot’s compartment Gersen indicated the communication system and gave instructions. Navarth grinned from ear to ear.
Gersen went back to the saloon, seated himself near Tanzel. He looked through into the pilot’s compartment, nodded to Navarth.
Navarth tapped Viole Falushe’s call-code. Gersen bent forward. At the lobe of Tanzel’s ear sounded a faint whir—an almost imperceptible vibration. Tanzel jerked, strained at his bonds.
Navarth spoke softly into the forward microphone. “Viole Falushe. Can you hear me? Viole Falushe.”
Tanzel jerked around to meet Gersen’s appraising stare. There could be no more dissembling, Viole Falushe was unmasked. A look of desperation came over his face, he writhed against his bonds.
“Viole Falushe,” said Gersen. “The tune has come.”
“Who are you?” gasped Viole Falushe. “IPCC?”
Gersen made no answer. Navarth came back.
“So this is he. I knew it all the time. He inflicted me with chill. Where is Jheral Tinzy, Vogel?”
Viole Falushe licked his lips. “You two have plotted to kill me.”
Gersen and Navarth carried him forward, into the pilot’s compartment, closed the door communicating with the saloon.
“Why?” cried Viole Falushe. “Why must you do this to me?”
Navarth turned to Gersen. “Do you need me?”
“No.”
“Good-bye, Vogel,” said Navarth. “You have lived a remarkable life.” He went back into the saloon.
Gersen slowed the air car to a hover. He opened the port. Ten thousand feet below spread the ocean.
“Why? Why? Why?” cried Viole Falushe. “Why do you do this to me?”
Gersen spoke in a dry voice. “You are a monomaniac. I am the same. When I was a child, the five Demon Princes brought their ships to Mount Pleasant. Do you recall?”
“Long ago, oh so long ago.”
“They destroyed, they killed, they enslaved. Everything I loved:
family, friends, all destroyed. The Demon Princes are my obsession. I have killed two of them. You will be the third. I am not Henry Lucas the journalist. I am Kirth Gersen, and all my life is aimed toward—this.” He stepped toward Viole Falushe, who made a terrible wrenching exertion. His bonds snapped; he lurched, flung out his arms and toppled back and out the port. Gersen watched the long figure drifting down toward the ocean, until it passed from sight. Then he closed the port and returned to the saloon. Navarth had already released Mano and Ethuen.
