Foster, Dean - Spellsinger 02 - The Hour of the Gate

eye on the guards and any group of pedestrians who came

near.

Following Caz and Clothahump, me travelers made their

way toward the entrance. There was an anxious moment

when they stepped from paving to cement, but no one

challenged them. The guards flanking the approach kept their

attention on a point a few inches in front of their mandibles.

Then it was through the encircling ring, which likewise did

not react. They were a couple of yards from the entrance.

Jon-Tom had the wild notion that they might simply be able

to march on into the palace when a massive beetle slightly

taller but much broader than Caz lumbered out of the shadows

to confront them. He was flanked by a pair of pale, three-

foot-high attendants of the mutated mayfly persuasion. One of

them carried a large scroll and a marking instrument. The

other simply stood and listened.

222

THE HOUR Or THE GATE

"State your business, citizens," demanded the glowering

hulk in the middle. He reminded Jon-Tom of a gladiator ready

to enter the arena, and pity be on the lions. The extra set of

arms ruined the illusion.

With the facility of an established survivor, Caz replied

without hesitation. "Hail, citizen! We have special, urgently

requested information for the sorcerer Eejakrat, information

that is vital to our coming success." Not knowing how to

properly conclude the request he added blandly, "Where can

we find him?"

Their interrogator did not reply immediately. Jon-Tom

wondered if his nervousness showed.

After a brief conversation with the burdenless mayfly the

beetle gestured backward with two hands. "Third level,

Chamber Three Fifty-Five and adjuncts."

Politely, he stepped aside.

Caz led them in. They walked down a short hallway. It

opened into a hall that seemed to run parallel to the circular

shape of the building. Another, similar hall could be seen

further ahead. Evidently there was a single point from which

the palace and thence the entire city of Cugluch radiated in

concentric circles, with hallways or streets forming intersecting

spokes.

Jon-Tom leaned over and whispered to Clothahump. "I

don't know how you feel, sir, but to me that was much too

easy."

"Why shouldn't it have been?" said Talea, feeling cocky

at their success thus far. "It was just like crossing the square

outside."

"Precisely, my dear," said Clothahump proudly. "Yousee,

Jon-Tom, they are so well ordered they cannot imagine

anyone stepping out of class or position. They cannot conceive,

as that threatening individual who confronted us outside

cannot, that any of their fellows would have the presumption

223

Alan Dean Foster

to lie to gain an audience with so feared a personality as

Eejakrat. If we did not deserve such a meeting, we would not

be asking for it.

"Furthermore, spies are unknown in Cugluch. They have

no reason to suspect any, and traitorous actions are as alien to

the Plated Folk as snow. This may be possible after all, my

friends. We need only maintain the pretext that we know what

we are doing and have a right to be doing it."

"I'd imagine," said Caz, "that if the spoke-and-circle

layout of the city and palace is followed throughout, the

center would be the best place to locate stairways. Third

level, the fellow said."

"I agree," Clothahump replied, "but we do not wish to

find Eejakrat except as a last resort, remember. It is the dead

mind he controls that must remain our primary goal."

"That's simple enough, then," said Mudge cheerfully.

"All we 'ave t' do now is ask where t' find a particularly

well-attended corpse."

"For once, my fuzzy fuzz-brained friend, you are correct.

It will likely be placed close by Eejakrat's chambers. Let us

proceed quickly to the level indicated, but not to him."

They did so. By now they were used to being ignored by

the Plated Folk. Busy palace staff moved silently around

them, intent on their own tasks. The narrow hallways and low

ceilings combined with the slightly acidic odor of the inhabit-

ants made Jon-Tom and Flor feel a little claustrophobic.

They reached the third level and began to follow the

numbers engraved above each sealed portal. Only four cham-

bers from the stairway they'd ascended was a surprise: the

corridor was blocked. Also guarded.

Instead of Ihe lumbering beetle they'd encountered at me

entrance to the palace they found a slim, almost effeminate-

looking insect seated behind a desk. Other armed Plated Folk

stood before the temporary barrier sealing off the hall beyond.

224

THE HOUR Or THE GATS

Unlike their drilling brothers marching single-mindedly out-

side, these guards seemed alert and active. They regarded the

new arrivals with unconcealed interest. There was no suspi-

cion in their unyielding faces, however. Only curiosity.

It was Clothahump who spoke to the individual behind the

desk, and not Caz.

"We have come to make adjustments to the mind," he told

the individual behind the desk, hoping he had gauged the

source correctly and hadn't said anything fatally contradictory.

The fixed-faced officer preened one red eye. He could not

frown but succeeded in conveying an impression of puzzle-

ment nonetheless.

"An adjustment to the mind?"

"To Eejakrat's Materialization."

"Ah, of course, citizen. But what kind of adjustment?" He

peered hard at the encased wizard. "Who are you, to be

entrusted with access to so secret a thing?"

Clothahump was growing worried. The more questions

asked, the more the chance of saying something dangerously

out of sync with the facts.

"We are Eejakrat's own special assistants. How else could

we know of the mind?"

"That is sensible," agreed the officer. "Yet no mention

was made to me of any forthcoming adjustments."

"I have just mentioned it to you."

The officer turned that one over in his mind, got thoroughly

confused, and finally said, "I am sorry for the delay, citizen.

I mean no insult by my questions, but we are under extraor-

dinary orders. Your master's fears are well known."

Clothahump leaned close, spoke confidentially. "An attri-

bute of all who must daily deal with dark forces."

The officer nodded somberly. "I am glad it is you who

must deal with the wizard and not myself." He waved aside

225

Alan Dean Foster

the guards blocking the doorway in the portable barrier.

"Stand aside and let them pass."

Caz and Talea were the first through the portal when the

officer suddenly put out an arm and touched Clothahump.

"Surely you can satisfy the curiosity of a fellow citizen.

What kind of 'adjustment* must you make to the mind? We

all understand so little about it and you can sympathize with

my desire to know."

"Of course, of course." Clothahump's mind was working

frantically. How much did the officer actually know? He'd

just confessed his ignorance, but mightn't it be a ploy? Better

to say anything fast than nothing at all. His only real worry

was that the officer might have some sorceral training.

"Please do not repeat this," he finally said, with as much

assurance as he could muster. "It is necessary to apfrangle

the overscan."

"Naturally," said the officer after a pause.

"And we may," the wizard added for good measure,

"additionally have to lower the level of cratastone, just in