Seeker (33 page)

"Phoo! That's all nonsense! She's making it up to save her skin."

"Like she made up the writing on the leaf? Like she made up the bracelet on the cat?"

"What does she know about the right hand of the king?"

"Why don't you ask her?"

"Very well. I will."

This was in fact the conclusion Cheerful Giver had reached himself. He would question the child one more time, and then reach his final decision. So after a short and unsatisfactory breakfast, he and his wife carried a tray of food down the cellar steps to their puzzling tribute.

Morning Star was ready for them. She had had as much time as Cheerful Giver to think about what she would do today, but she had thought to rather more purpose. She had no clever surprises to spring. She must rely on her instincts. But she did have a plan.

As soon as Blessing and Cheerful Giver entered the cellar, she sensed the tension between them; and of course, she could see it. The wife's colors were a dusty yellow, made up both of pity and self-pity, with a rim of red, which showed she was angry. The husband's colors were mostly the angry red, but here and there were flickers of green, the color of uncertainty. From the very first moment, Morning Star watched Cheerful Giver's colors with care and adjusted her words accordingly.

"Any more dreams?" said Cheerful Giver roughly. "Any more cats? Any more commands?"

"I've brought trouble into your life," said Morning Star, bowing her head humbly. "That was not my purpose. Please forgive me."

"It's my name day, that's all." Cheerful Giver's anger turned to petulance in the face of Morning Star's humility. The red aura softened into gray. "I have a position to keep up. Certain things are expected of me. It's not easy."

His wife too sensed that his stubborn refusal to change his mind was weakening.

"Husband, ask her. Perhaps she has had another dream."

"Well?" he said, not very graciously. "Have you?"

"I think my dreams make you angry, sir. Perhaps it would be best if I were to be returned to the source of all life and all power, as you had intended. Then the message I came to deliver can pass through another child, of another family."

"What message? What other family?"

"I don't choose the family, sir. A greater power than me decides who is worthy of that honor. I was told only that this was a family that has given notable service to the people of Radiance, and to their king, and to their god."

"And so I have! Why, my oil presses supply half the oil of the empire!"

Morning Star noted the change in his colors. His aura was now tinged with orange. He was becoming competitive.

"What is the message, child?" This was Blessing.

"The message is for the ears of the king only."

"For the king!"

"At the time of the evening offering."

Cheerful Giver's colors radiated a sudden muddy brown. He had become suspicious again. She added hastily,

"I have been sent, as your child, to bring you great honor in the eyes of the king."

As he heard this, his colors modulated again, turning to the brighter yellow of self-satisfaction. Morning Star could see him running the calculation of risk and advantage through his mind. Would the king think better of him for offering so fine a tribute on his name day, or for bringing this so-called child of his with this unknown message?

"Oh, husband!" cried Blessing, clasping her hands together and rolling up her eyes. "What did I tell you? All things happen for a reason! I longed for a daughter, and now a daughter has been given to me, who will bring honor to all the family!"

"What sort of message is this message?" said Cheerful Giver.

Morning Star saw that she was going to have to give him more proof of her divine mission. Since she had no prearranged surprise to reveal, her only option was to make some intelligent guesses. She had already picked up that there was competition at court for the favor of the king. Where there was competition, there was also suspicion.

"There are some who are close to the king," she said, "who are not his true friends."

Cheerful Giver's yellow aura turned at once to pulsing orange. Morning Star had touched a nerve.

"Can you name them?"

"I know no names. But there is one who is very close to the king indeed."

"She must mean the High Priest," said Blessing. "Who else is so close to the king?"

"Hush, wife!" said Cheerful Giver. But he couldn't help adding, "I've always known that man was a snake."

The priests, Morning Star knew, wore gold robes.

"He glows with a golden light. But his heart is dark."

"It's him!" said Blessing. "His golden robes!"

"What is it he plans to do, child?"

"My message is for the king alone. But you are to take me to him."

Cheerful Giver's aura was still pulsing orange. Morning Star knew he was now hooked. She allowed herself a little game-playing, to lock him into his decision.

"But I do understand how much you had hoped to present the king and the High Priest with a willing tribute on your name day. I'm sure the High Priest will thank you for your offering."

"I don't see why the High Priest should think I do it for him."

"I think," said Morning Star slowly, "he is a very clever man. But he is—No, I can say no more."

"Damn him!" Cheerful Giver's aura went a dark red. "I won't have him standing there smirking as if it's all for his benefit! I've known for years that he's not to be trusted! I'd give a lot to wipe that smile off his face!"

Blessing took Morning Star in her arms.

"Child, he has seen the light. You'll come with us this evening and speak to the king."

Her aura, a soft prayerful blue shading into the green of stupidity, wrapped round Morning Star also. Morning Star let herself be petted, and watched the master of the house.

"Here's what I'll do," he said, speaking more to himself than to either of the others. "I'll go to the tanks and pick out the best of what they've got there. I'll have to pay a guard or two. And a priest or two as well, I've no doubt. But that way I'll have something for my name day."

"How wise you are, husband! What an inspired solution!"

"As for the child." He turned to look at her. She gazed back at him from within the embrace of his wife's arms, making her eyes as round and innocent as possible. His aura softened to a red that was almost affectionate. She knew then that she had won. "As for the child. Wife, get her some clothes to suit her position as a member of my family. She will come with us to the king this evening. And we will see what we will see."

As soon as the working day began, Evor Ortus called on the High Priest and told him that he had recruited a suitable volunteer. The High Priest already knew about the boy from Anacrea. He also knew, which the professor did not, that Soren Similin had returned to Radiance with a volunteer of his own.

"Already!" The scientist went pale. "So we're too late!"

"Not at all. You still control the device, I take it?"

"Yes, of course."

"Tell our ugly young friend that some small repair is needed. Tell him the device will be ready tomorrow."

"Ready tomorrow?"

"And this evening, while our friend is at the ofFering, put the boy into the device. How long do you need?"

"A few hours."

"Then later tonight—shall we say at midnight?—I'll have a boat waiting to take him to Anacrea."

"To Anacrea!"

Their eyes met, and they both smiled.

Soren Similin kept Blaze alone and in hiding in his shuttered apartment all through the long hot day that followed their arrival in Radiance. He himself felt it necessary to report to the king that he was back and that his mission had been successful. Blaze seemed unconcerned. He sat and stared at nothing and showed no interest in his surroundings.

"I'll return as soon as I can," said Similin. "Will you be all right on your own while I'm out?"

"Yes," said Blaze.

"What will you do?"

"Nothing."

The boy has as much drive as a sack of bran, thought Similin. Stop pushing him and he just sits there. Well, that has its uses.

"When I return, I'll show you something you've never seen before. Something that will amaze you. Something that will give you the power to strike the greatest blow ever struck for justice."

"That will be nice," said Blaze.

The secretary had to be content with that.

Shortly after noon, Cheerful Giver paid a visit to the public tanks. He paced up and down the iron walkway, peering down through the bars at the miserable prisoners below, accompanied by an officer of the guards and a priest.

The prisoners did their best not to attract attention. They knew that whoever was chosen would go up the rock that very day. Only the Wildman refused to be cowed. He yelled out insults and challenges, he banged on the bars, he taunted the other prisoners with their cowardice; he even reached his arms up through the grid to snatch at the ankles of the guards as they passed by.

"Come and kill me! Come on! What are you waiting for?"

Then he turned on the cowed spikers in the tank and shouted at them.

"You blobs of blubber-piss! You're going to die! We're all going to die! That's why we're here! So don't make it easy for them! Yell! Kick! Scream! What are they going to do? Kill you? Don't you get it?
They're not allowed to kill us!
They're not even allowed to hurt us! They have to keep us alive so the priests can take us up the rock!"

The other prisoners were impressed. They admired the Wildman's craziness, and his courage. And he was, in his way, a source of entertainment.

"Take him," said the officer in charge, pointing to the Wildman. "He's young and healthy. A fine offering."

"Take me!" screamed the Wildman from the tank. "Take me! I'll rip your heart out!"

"No," said Cheerful Giver. "I want a willing tribute."

"Give me five minutes alone with him," said the officer. "I'll make him willing."

"I'm sure you will, Officer. But will he be able to walk afterwards?"

The priest pointed out an extremely fat lady huddled in one corner.

"There's one with some flesh on her," he said. "The crowd always cheers for a fat one."

Cheerful Giver shook his head irritably.

"This is my name-day offering. I want style."

As he spoke, his scanning eyes fell on Mercy. She sat quietly, on her own, her hands folded on her lap, still wearing the white dress of a lady.

"You," he said, pointing.

She looked up. Her eyes were calm and free from both the fear and the hatred he saw on every other face. She had dignity, and she was good-looking. Clean her up, put a new dress on her, and she'd do very well.

The priest had also had his eye on Mercy ever since she'd been brought in. He had an arrangement with one of the tribute traders for those rare occasions when a good specimen showed up in the tanks. He slipped the specimen out to the trader, and they shared whatever price he got.

"She's not available, honored sir."

"You're a thieving rogue!" said Cheerful Giver.

"His Holiness himself has marked her out for the next Festival of Light."

Cheerful Giver ground his teeth.

"I will of course make a donation to temple funds."

"His Holiness was saying only this morning that a tribute such as this is a rare and precious jewel."

Cheerful Giver scowled.

"A jewel of great price," added the priest.

"Yes, yes, yes. I'm not entirely stupid." He lowered his voice so that he could speak to the priest without the officer of the guards hearing. "A hundred shillings."

"Honored sir!" The priest sounded shocked. "I would not dare to tell his Holiness that I had let so precious a jewel go for so insignificant, so imperceptible, so invisible a sum!"

"Name your price."

"A thousand."

"Five hundred."

The priest turned away with a shrug. The officer came up, smiling, as if to help. He too was after his cut.

"Very well," said Cheerful Giver to the priest. "As you wish." To the officer he said, "Assist this godly gentleman. He is following my instructions." He slipped five ten-shilling coins into the officer's waiting hand. And turning back to the priest, "The temple will receive my donation after the evening offering."

The priest inclined his head. Cheerful Giver added with a tight bright smile,

"Guide me with your wisdom. Protect me with your power.

Then he turned and left, adding as he went another thousand to the immense sums he had already laid out in obtaining a suitable tribute for his name day.

"Chuck-chuck-chicken!" cried the Wildman after him. "You want your neck slit? Heya, bravas! Do you love me? Do you lo-o-ove me?"

Mercy gazed back at him with a smile, unaware that her fate had now been decided. She loved to watch the beautiful golden-haired youth and to hear his unbroken spirit crying out.

"Yes," she said. "I love you."

At the end of the afternoon, Soren Similin too passed by the tanks, leading Blaze over the iron walkway to the secret laboratory. He found the blinds closed and the big space in deep shadow. Professor Ortus came hurrying forward, a smile of welcome on his face. Similin was too bent on his own plans to stop to consider how uncharacteristic this was.

"Why aren't you charging the device?" he said.

"It is fully charged," said the scientist, "but we have had to interrupt the power while we work on a small repair. A fault in the flow valves. Nothing serious, I assure you. We'll have it fixed by tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning!" Similin frowned with vexation. "I had hoped to proceed tonight. Can't you work faster?"

"Perhaps," said the scientist, "if we worked through the offering..." He closed his eyes and made calculations in his head. "Perhaps we could be ready by midnight."

"Midnight, then," said the secretary. "That way our new friend here doesn't have too long to wait."

Ortus studied the young stranger by the secretary's side. He was not impressed. The fellow looked like a half-wit.

The king's secretary now made a speech to the assembled team.