Lloyd Biggle Jr. - The World Menders

“It was still a wasted opportunity,” Jorrul growled.

“One of the critical things you didn’t know,” the coordinator went on, “is that an IPR agent never allows himself to be trapped in a crowd. That’s why you lost Gayne. As soon as he saw what was happening he worked his way sideways and managed to stay near the entrance to the square—where he could be one of the first to leave. By the time he noticed that you weren’t following him, you’d disappeared.” He turned to Jorrul. “There’s no point in speculating what might have happened with someone else. A trained agent would have been on his way home before the priests moved into the crowd. A trained agent would have quietly removed the gift wrapping when the crowd’s attention was on the priest. No, this opportunity could only come to someone who wasn’t prepared to accept it. I think Farrari did well.”

Farrari said dryly, “I’d still like to know what it was that I did.”

“We had fourteen people in the crowd, not counting you,” the coordinator said. “We had one inside the temple, and we shot long-distance teloids from three different locations. When the teloids are processed and all of the reports coordinated there won’t be much that we won’t know about the succession of a kru, but we already know a lot more than we did this morning. One of the things we know is that as soon as the kru and the nobility enter the temple for the coronation ceremonies, delegations of priests are sent into the streets to do two things: to find a commoner to present a gift to the new kru, a very important ceremony that probably dates from some remote time when the commoners had a role in the selection of the kru and affirmed their choice with a gift; and also to bring loaves of fresh bread from the city’s bakers. The first person to appear with a gift was to be taken directly to the temple, the only time, apparently, when a commoner is admitted there. Others were to be taken to the palace to present their gifts in the usual manner at a special audience. And you, Farrari, you dislocated their program. The delegations went forth to cry, ‘Gifts for the kru, ’ through all the streets of Scorv, and one of them found a commoner with a gift waiting almost at the temple door. Since he couldn’t possibly have known about the ceremony in advance, it was considered an extremely auspicious sign.”

“Not by me,” Farrari growled.

“But it was. So they rushed you to the kru, and the gift turned out to be—bread!”

“Cake,” Farrari protested.

“Bread,” the coordinator said firmly. “Not even Borgley knows why that cake is baked the same shape and size as bread, but that’s the tradition. One of the kru’s ancestors was fond of it, the bakery reserved the recipe for him, and it became known as the kru’s cake—but probably no kru since then has ever tasted it. Because of its appearance it would be mistaken for bread, and few food gifts to the kru are actually eaten. The kru couldn’t eat all of them, and it’d be sacrilege if anyone else did. Anyway, the cake looked like bread, the priests and everyone else were thinking of the bread the delegations were to bring, and they immediately concluded that the cake was bread. And because it was an especially fine-grained cake, it virtually fell apart when you hit it with the sword.”

“At which moment they should have known it wasn’t bread,” Farrari observed.

“What does it matter what it was after the ceremony? If the Holy Ancestors by some miracle changed the bread to something else to bring about the prophecy they desired, that was no more than to be expected on a day of miracles. First, a citizen was waiting with a gift. Second, the gift was bread. Listen. A group of carefully selected young priests had been practicing, since the day of the kru’s death, to develop skill at cutting a loaf of bread with a sword. According to tradition, each would have an opportunity, and the one who produced the longest, cleanest cut would be made the kru’s priest—a special position and potentially one with great power and influence.”

Jorrul muttered something.

“So the first gift was bread. Through some obscure tradition or maybe a whim—remember, it’s our first succession—it was decided that the humble young donor should have the honor of wielding the sword of prediction first, on his own bread. That was done. Only it wasn’t bread and you cut the thing completely in two, which is impossible. Not even a skilled baker could bisect a loaf endwise with a sharp knife.” He paused and then said resentfully, “You still don’t understand what you did? Listen, you young idiot—by slicing that loaf neatly from top to bottom you guaranteed the new kru a reign of unending glorious achievement—and eternal life! No wonder they canceled the performance by the other candidates and immediately made you kru’s priest! Who could have improved upon that?”

“I could have botched it,” Farrari said regretfully. “But I sort of had to guess what they wanted, and since I hadn’t any previous experience I was just as surprised as they were.”

“Never mind. The final miracle was your disappearance, which set them thinking, and one of the things they thought was that all the time you were there you didn’t utter a sound. Now they’ve concluded that you yourself were the divine omen. They may trace you to Borgley, in which case he’ll have a lovely story ready, but I think they’ll be well satisfied with what they have and therefore won’t want to look too deeply into this miracle. Of course you had to escape—you couldn’t possibly have survived as the kru’s priest. A mysterious omen who promptly disappears can remain mute, but an ordinary mortal priest, even if the kru’s, has to master large quantities of dogma and incantations. You did well. But come with me I want to show you something.”

He led him to the roof of the mill and raised a tarpaulin. His handlight traced out the synthetic bas-relief that Isa Graan had made. The olz, twice as large as life-size, peered forlornly out of the slab of plastic. Five men, leaning on the sticks with which they scratched the soil, conveyed an impression of apprehension, as though momentarily expecting a durrl’s whip to terminate their stolen leisure. Three crouching women were sorting tubers; a fourth stood at one side, her arms outstretched to an ol child who seemed dubious that this uncouth creature was his mother.

“Magnificent!” Farrari exclaimed.

“Isa liked it,” the coordinator said. “So much so that he made a smaller one for his office, and now everyone at base is culling favorite teloids to pick out something that would make a good relief casting.”

“We couldn’t have used it anyway,” Farrari said. “You knew that?”

“Yes. We’d have to make the substitution before the ceremony begins, rather than at the proper place, and that would be tampering with a religious ceremony. It’s an ingenious idea, though. I marked my statement of intent for maxiinum circulation, and there may be other worlds where it can be used immediately. It’s in good hands; it won’t be wasted.”

They returned to the basement room. Rani Holt intercepted Farrari and asked, “What did you do with the robes they gave you?”

“Left them there,” Farrari said. “I thought I’d be much less conspicuous going out the window in this clothing, and if I’d walked through the streets as a priest someone might have asked me for a blessing, or something.”

“Too bad you didn’t bring them,” she said. “It’s difficult to duplicate a garment when you don’t have a model, and someday we might want to dress an agent as the kru’s priest.”