A. Smith: Royal Road

“Well?”

“One of those men, it turns out, may have come from Arkady.”

“I see.” Duke Harald let his voice go heavy with sarcasm. “You suspect me, then, of engineering this curious, this pointless business? But why? I am at a loss to know what mysteries are hidden here—here, in a center of learning—that the tenuous connection of a broken spy instrument and a vanished and half-mythical Arkadian should lead to such a fanciful conclusion!”

“Your grace,” said Master Elwyn with a reminiscent smile, “in my youth I studied the history of the semantic dark ages of Terra. Your little speech recalls those studies to my mind.”

“Very well,” said Duke Harald. “I have already denied knowledge of this Sonotec. But you, it seems, suspect me in some fashion. Will you, then, enlarge upon your suspicions? I,” pointedly, “am not a telepath.”

“Nor, in this connection,” Master Elwyn said with some asperity, “need I be. If, that is, you are implying that I might have broken the Prime Rule. Let me, then, remind you that there is, at least on Terra, such a thing as a rigorous psychologic science. My suspicion, as you call it, is not based on guesswork—nor on illegal use of esper skills—but on psychomathematical analysis.

“But,” as Duke Harald moved in his chair as though to protest, “let that pass. Without intending any derogation, I’ll not puzzle you with details—save that the P-matrix now includes such matters as the present situation in the galaxy, the interacting roles of Arkady and Terra, and the part that you can play. I note that you are cognizant of some of this. You would not otherwise be wearing uni-form.” And the old adept pointed to Duke Harald’s court tunic.

With an effort the Arkadian kept his face expressionless; he did not trust himself to speak. How, he wondered, could he have thus forgotten that the Terrans were the galaxy’s first masters of psychology? But he had forgotten—and black failure loomed before him like the fall of night. Unless… but Master Elwyn was speaking still.

“This Sonotec—and the vanishing man from Arkady—were but the latest factors to be added to the matrix. It is not complete as yet; more data are required; still, a partial solution could be found.”

“And that concerns me—how?” Duke Harald’s face was rigidly impassive. Knowing the old man’s passion for meticulous detail, he wondered tensely just how “partial” the solution would turn out to be. Probably a fully outlined plan of action, to any other eyes.

Master Elwyn’s bright old eyes seemed to film over briefly; for a moment his gaze focused on the empty air beyond Duke Harald’s shoulder. Then:

“How does it concern you? Why, in this way—at least for the immediate present. You are invited—urged—to enjoy the hospitality of the Institute. To that end, a suite of rooms has been prepared for you in Alpha Residence. Your personal belongings are on their way there now.”

“And if I don’t choose to accept your invitation?” Outwardly relaxed, Duke Harald was alert and poised for action. The adept pressed a button on his desk and pointed to the wall. Duke Harald turned and looked. A large vision screen was lighting up, to show a narrow stretch of corridor beyond the office door. A strip of gray-green wall was visible, and a part of the carved bronze doors of the elevator. And against that wall, and before those doors, stood a pair of husky Terrans fingering needle-guns. A little self-consciously, perhaps, as though unused to such an occupation. But, for all that, with an air of full efficiency.

“I see,” said Duke Harald flatly. And he did see. Perhaps not every detail; but the major elements of the adept’s plan were now becoming clear. A form of house arrest was part of it. That, to give time for further observation of his actions, for skillful, unobtrusive questioning. Despite the adept’s confident demeanor, this implied uncertainty. And a desire to temporize: to weigh the consequence of sterner acts against a duke of Arkady. They did not know that he had been recalled, and that his influence with the council was at its lowest ebb.

Once more he blessed the famous Rule of Privacy. He had wondered how to gain admission to the Institute this night, to witness Melton’s scheduled vigil. And Master Elwyn, all unwittingly, had furnished half the answer! Now, if they but brought his lock-box over. It was ray-proof; it looked innocuous enough; and he had left a blaster openly in his bedroom.

“I am sorry,” said Master Elwyn, and his voice did seem to suggest an honest regret, “that we have had to take this course. There are reasons for it that you do not yet suspect. Nor may I give you fuller explanation at the moment. In the meantime I must ask that you remain within the confines of the Institute. And messages outside are barred. Apart from this, your status has not altered. Your attendance at your usual classes may continue.”

Duke Harald only smiled a little thinly.

“The two gentlemen outside,” said Master Elwyn, “will show you to your quarters.”

A long twilight was deepening slowly into night when Duke Harald noticed first that his “arrest” was scheduled to become more stringent.

It had not been too irksome through the daylight hours. His escort had departed after taking him to his quarters. And he had full freedom of the grounds and buildings of the Institute. He had not tried to determine the full reaches of that freedom. He had kept to a self-imposed seclusion; and had largely occupied himself with writing various formal notes of protest—-copies of which, he thought, would only reach Count Godfrey when and if the Terrans chose.

Now, however!

Partly out of idle curiosity, partly because the half-noted fading away of the Institute’s busy daytime hum had made him restless, he decided to explore. He pressed his door switch. Nothing happened. He pressed the switch again, and yet a third time, holding it strongly closed for seconds. Still nothing; no movement of the door to open; not even the usual motor hum from overhead. A broken power circuit!

Still, that could be accidental. In the dimness—he had not yet switched on his room lights—he felt for the unobtrusive finger slots that made it possible to slide the panel if the power failed. His hand encountered only smooth and highly polished wood. Duke Harald turned the room lights on and let his eyes confirm the evidence of touch. His door had somehow seated too far home; the slots were now concealed within the jamb.

“Locked in,” Duke Harald said then, softly. “But it’s not official. I’ll wager if I called a porter now, I’d be let out, and with apologies for the accident!”

But it was clear he was not being urged to roam the Institute, on this initiation night.

No matter. According to all reports, the ceremony did not start till midnight. He had time; his lock-box had arrived intact; and, even lacking both, he deemed himself a good enough mechanic to restore emergency power to that door.

Thus, well in advance of the striking of the hour of vigil, Duke Harald slid the panel back and stepped boldly into the soft illumination of the corridor. A flat black cap wais on his head; a knee-length battle cloak swung loosely from his shoulders; and a brace of tiny pistolets was holstered at his sides.

Melton’s initiation would, according to old customs, take place within the private chambers of his adept-tutor, Master Elwyn. The never-varied usage was for each successful candidate, at a time when formal graduation was not too distant, to be “received” by his master in a secret midnight rite; and then to spend the remainder of that night in vigil. That, at least, was the publicly accepted story.