Джон Вэнс - Scanned by Highroller

« 'Materialism' meaning 'distribution of the profits,' « suggested Joe, «Or maybe 'incitement to rebellion.' «

«Life is a threshold to glory,» said Elfane. «Life is the effort which determines one's place on the Tree. The industrious workers become leaves high in the Scintillance. The sluggard must grope forever through dark slime as a rootlet.»

If Materialism is the sin you seem to believe it is– why do the Druids eat so high off the hog? Which means, live in such pampered luxury? Doesn't it seem strange to you that those who stand to lose the most by 'Materialism' are those most opposed to it?»

«Who are you to criticize?» she cried angrily. «A barbarian as savage as the Ballenkarts! If you were on Kyril your wild talk would quickly be shut off!»

«Still the tin goddess, aren't you?» said Joe contemptuously.

In outraged silence she stalked ahead. Joe grinned to himself, followed her back to the ship.

The lock into the ship opened. Elfane stopped short. «The Son is lost–probably destroyed.» She looked sidewise at Joe. «There is no reason why I should continue to Ballenkarch. My duty is to return home, report to the College of Thearchs.»

Joe rubbed his chin ruefully. He had been hoping that this aspect to the matter would not occur to her. He said tentatively, not quite sure how much anger she felt toward him, «But you left Kyril with Manaolo to escape the life of the palace. The Thearchs will learn every detail of Manaolo's death through their spies.»

She inspected him with an expression unreadable to his Earthly perceptions. «You want me to continue with you?»

«Yes, I do.» «Why?»

«I'm afraid,» said Joe with a sad droop to his mouth, «that you affect me very intensely, very pleasantly. This in spite of your warped philosophy.»

«That was the right answer,» announced Elfane. «Very well, I will continue. Perhaps,» she said importantly, «perhaps I'll be able to persuade the Ballenkarts to worship the Tree on Kyril.»

Joe held his breath for fear of laughing and so offending her once more. She looked at him somberly. «I realize you find me amusing.»

Hableyat stood by the purser's desk. «Ah–back, I see. And Manaolo's assassins have escaped with the Son of the Tree?»

Elfane froze in her tracks. «How did you know?»

«My dear Priestess,» said Hableyat, «the smallest pebble dropped in the pond sends its ripples to the far shore. Indeed, I see that I am perhaps even closer to the true state of affairs than you are.»

«What do you mean by that?»

The port clanged, the steward politely said, «We take off in ten minutes. Priestess, my Lords, may I web you into your berths against the climb into speed?»

Joe awoke from his trance. Remembering the last awakening he jerked up in his web, searched the cabin. But he was alone and the door was locked, bolted, barred as he had arranged it before taking the pill and turning hypnotic patterns on the screen.

Joe jumped out of the hammock, bathed, shaved, climbed into the new suit of blue gabardine he had bought at Junction. Stepping out on the balcony, he found the saloon almost dark. Evidently he had awakened early.

He stopped by the door to Cabin 13, thought of Elfane lying warm and limp within, her dark hair tumbled on the pillow, her face, smoothed of doubts and prideful mannerisms. He put his hand to the door. It was as if something dragged it there. By an effort of will he pulled the arm back, turned, moved along the balcony. He stopped short. Someone sat in the big lounge by the observation port. Joe leaned forward, squinted into the gloom. Hableyat.

Joe continued along the balcony, down the steps. Hableyat made a courtly gesture of greeting. «Sit down, my friend, and join me in my pre-prandial contemplations.»

Joe took a seat. «You awoke early.»

«To the contrary,» said Hableyat. «I did not submit to slumber. I have been sitting here in this lounge six hours and you are the first person I have seen.»

«Whom were you expecting?»

Hableyat allowed a wise expression to form on his yellow face. «I expected no one in particular . But from a few adroit questions and interviews at the Junction I find that people are not all they seem. I was curious to observe any activity in the light of this new knowledge.»

Joe said with a sigh, «After all, it's none of my business.»

Hableyat waggled his plump forefinger. «No, no, my friend. You are modest. You dissemble. I fear that you have become very much engrossed in the fortunes of the lovely young Priestess and so cannot be considered dispassionate.»

«Put it this way. I don't care whether or not the Druids get their plant life to Ballenkarch. And I don't quite understand why you are so cooperative toward their efforts.» He glanced at Hableyat appraisingly. «If I were the Druids I'd reconsider the whole idea.»

«Ah, my dear fellow,» beamed Hableyat, «you compliment me. But I work in the dark. I grope. There are subtleties I have not yet fathomed. It would surprise you to learn the duplicity of some of our acquaintances.»

«Well, I'm willing to be surprised.»

«For instance–that bald old woman in the black dress, who sits and stares into space like one already dead, what do you think of her?»

«Oh–harmless unprepossessing old buzzard.»

«She is four hundred and twelve years old. Her husband, according to my informant, evolved an elixir of life when she was fourteen. She murdered him and only twenty years ago did she lose the freshness of her youth. During this time she has had lovers numbered by the thousands, of all shapes, sizes, sexes, races, bloods and colors. For the last hundred years her diet has consisted almost entirely of human blood.»

Joe sank into the seat, rubbed his face. «Go on.»

«I learn that one of my countrymen is a great deal higher in rank and authority than I had assumed, and that I must tread warily indeed. I find that the Prince of Ballenkarch has an agent aboard the ship.»

«Continue,» said Joe.

«I learned also–as perhaps I hinted before the takeoff from Junction–that Manaolo's death and the loss of his flowerpot was perhaps not an unrelieved tragedy from the Druid standpoint.»

«How so?»

Hableyat looked thoughtfully up along the balcony. «Has it ever occurred to you,» he asked slowly, «that Manaolo was an odd choice for courier on a mission of such importance?»

Joe frowned. «I rather imagined that he fell into the commission through his rank–which, according to Elfane, is–was–rather exalted. An Ecclesiarch, right under a Thearch.»

«But the Druids are not completely inflexible and stupid,» said Hableyat patiently. «They have managed to control five billion men and women with nothing more than a monstrous tree for almost a thousand years. They are not dolts.

«The College of Thearchs no doubt knew Manaolo for what he was–a swaggering egocentric. They decided that he would make the ideal stalking-horse. I, not understanding the intricacy of the plan, decided that Manaolo in turn needed a decoy to divert attention from him. For this purpose I selected you.

«But the Druids had foreseen the difficulty in the mission, and had made arrangements. Manaolo was sent out with a spurious seedling with exactly the right degree of ostentatious stealth. The real Son of the Tree was conveyed in another manner.» «And this other manner?»

Hableyat shrugged. «I can only theorize. Perhaps the Priestess has it cunningly concealed about her person. Perhaps the shoot has been entrusted to the baggage car–though this I doubt through fear of our spies. I imagine the shoot is in the custody of some representative of Kyril. Perhaps on this ship, perhaps on another.»