The Visitor (25 page)

The doctor was not a fool, but he could possibly be wild. He had wild, clever eyes surmounted by thick eyebrows of the same steel gray as the abundant hair that curled about his large, almost lobeless ears. Though she could see only his upper body, his shoulders were broad and, since his shirt sleeves were turned back, she could see that his arms looked well muscled.

“He is attractive, clean, and respectful,” she decided, filing him in her
unobjectionable male
category, along with Arnole and Michael. Poor Owen had not been attractive; the teacher at the Faience school had been quite objectionable; and this list included all her male acquaintances.

The doctor asked half a dozen questions about things she had no reason to know about but did, in fact, know quite a lot about, such as the habits of birds and frogs and the geology of Bastion. He also asked her what she thought of demons, and she said she had had no opportunity to think about them, which was more or less true. He asked for a brief history of the Spared Ones, both the received version and whatever other versions she knew.

The received version for the layman was that there were no other humans than the Spared. Outside the lands of the Spared there were only demons or others of that ilk. There seemed no point in denying that she knew of other peoples who not only existed but also traded with Bastion, particularly since Colonel Doctor had already said he knew she had
been told a great many things not allowed by the Dicta. Possession of non-Dicta information seemed to enhance her desirability—in a strictly professional sense—for the job the Colonel Doctor had in mind.

“On occasion, I travel along the borders of Bastion, talking with other peoples who live near there, in an effort to learn everything I can about their healing materials and techniques. You know that the demons provide us with certain supplies?”

“Yes, Colonel Doctor.”

“One or the other, Citizen Dismé, if you don't mind.” He found her quietness charming. She sat simply, relaxed, without fiddling about, and the Colonel Doctor admired that in anyone, especially in a woman. Besides, she was wonderful to look at. That calm face spiked by those huge, watchful eyes. Like an old painting from before the Happening. “Call me either Colonel or Doctor. Hearing both titles gives me a split personality, the two philosophies differing so widely. It is medicine's philosophy that lives should be saved, of all sorts. It is our military's philosophy that as long as a few cells are kept alive, actual lives may be dispensed with. A few inches of gut in a bottle is not, to my mind, a life, no matter what theological contortions one puts oneself through. I would prefer the company of even a cantankerous, obstinate, and opinionated old geezer to any number of bottle walls.”

She smiled widely, without thinking.

“You are amused?”

She flushed. “You were describing my friend, Arnole.”

“Ah. The one who vanished. A geezer, was he?”

“Cantankerous, Colonel…that is Doctor Ladislav.”

“I do prefer doctor, yes. As I was saying, I travel about, but a man traveling alone is somewhat suspect. He might be a scout for a raiding party, for example. A man traveling with a wife and one or more children, however, is merely a traveler. I need a traveling companion with a certain flexibility of mind.”

She could not keep the surprise from her face, or the shock.

He nodded. “Your maidenly sensibilities are stirred. Have no fear. I have no designs upon your virtue. On these journeys the essence of prudence is not to be distracted. Fi-noodling of the sort you momentarily suspected—I am sure you are too nice-minded to have thought of it more than momentarily—would be a distraction. Besides, if we are to act like old married persons, we should be quite bored with one another. I'm sure I can bore you, given only a little time. Just a few lectures on medical oddities or the sniping among Regimic officialdom should do it.”

She smiled, quite without meaning to. “Is that all I am to do? Ride along with you and be bored?” Even she heard the disappointment in her voice, and it made her blush.

“Certainly not,” he said in a shocked tone. “That is only what you are to appear to do. Really, of course, you will be collecting data, just as I do, only you will be collecting it from women and children and any others who might be reluctant to confide in a male person, often for very good reason.”

“Data on technology, about which I know nothing.”

“Data on flora and fauna, local culture and habits. I do not expect you to learn about technology, for I have spent some years trying and still find it incomprehensible. Also…”

He shut his mouth abruptly. He had been about to mention that he intended to warn the people over the borders about the general's new plans. It was too early to tell her that, but he would test the waters.

“I will, Citizen Dismé, make a confession to you, one I hope you will keep completely confidential.” He achieved a quasi-serious face by lowering his eyebrows and leaning his chin on a fist, the knuckle of his index finger pushing up his lower lip, thus slightly reducing his expression of cheer. “I have reason to believe there is a technological survival out there.”

She frowned. “Isn't that a heresy?”

“To believe there is one?”

“To believe there
can
be one? Isn't that Scientism?”

“Do you worry about Scientism?” he asked, slightly concerned at this trend of the conversation.

“No,” she confessed. “But my friend Arnole told me about Scientism, and if there's technological survival, that means some scientists were spared also, and believing scientists survived would deny the Dicta's words that only the Spared survived.”

He relaxed, allowing his face to resume its usual expression. “We wouldn't know a survival was heretical until we found it. It might exist under the personal direction of the Rebel Angels. I do hope to find out.”

“I know so little,” she murmured.

“Better admit you are up to your neck in ignorance than stand upon a pinnacle of misinformation,” he said firmly. “For the immediate future you are hired as my assistant. If asked what you do for me, you say research. If asked research on what, you say, whatever Colonel Doctor tells me. If pinned down, you say you are reading nakity-nakity, blah blah, whatever it is you are reading that day—which will always be a pre-Happening book as they are less suspect than post-Happening ones…”

“Why is that?”

He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Pre-Happening books are very hard to read. The words are almost the same, but the spelling is different. Few if any of the people here in Hold have either the patience or inclination to burrow through them. I, myself, struggled to acquire the skill. As a result of my struggle, I can offer you a key to spelling changes which much simplifies the task.”

Dismé did not mention that she already knew about reading pre-Happening books. She merely nodded, to show she understood.

He went on, “Also, everyone knows the former world was full of heresy, but since all the heretics are dead, they and their books are historic. Anything historic is tolerable. A book written post-Happening, however, would have been written by one of the Spared—since according to the Spared, only they exist—who would not have dared be heretical. If you follow me.” He cocked his head questioningly.

She nodded to show she understood him.

“Now, as I was saying, if they ask why you are reading nakity-nakity, you say you don't know, ask the Colonel Doctor.”

She almost chuckled. “I see. Am I to infer that some of what you do is not approved by the…powers that be?”

His eyes opened wide, his eyebrows rose, he appeared extravagantly shocked. “You wouldn't want to infer that, would you? If you made any such inference, your conscience would require you to report me at once to the Office of Investigation, Department of Personnel. To make any such inference would imperil you, because you are associated with me. You must not, therefore, allow yourself to infer anything to our mutual detriment. It will be far safer to assume I am perfect in every regard, that everything I do or tell you to do is commanded directly by the Rebel Angels.” He scratched one ear, thoughtfully. “Or perhaps the Regime, as the angels may have no particular interest in minutia, as why on earth should they?”

She caught her breath and forbid herself to laugh. “Yes, Doctor.”

“Very good. You will begin working for me only when you have settled into your own quarters. Today, you will be allocated living space and you will fill out request forms for whatever furnishings and supplies you will need. Remember to be detailed in your requests. First requests are usually filled with only moderate obfuscation and delay. Subsequent requests are met with disbelief. If you forget to ask for a chamber pot the first time around, no amount of explanation will get you one later.”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“While you have that expression on your face,” he said, “it is appropriate for me to emphasize once more the imprudence of inference. Don't infer from my manner and deportment that others in my office share my opinions, my vocabulary, or my intentions.
It is also unwise to seem personable
. Toward others here in Hold you must convey a presence that is both dull and demure. You have, I note, a face which can be virtually vacant. Keep it that way, but do not turn off the mind behind it.”

“Yes, Doctor,” she said, smoothing her brow, slightly compressing her lips and half lidding her eyes.

“Excellent. Your eyes are now remote, your lips make a formidable barrier against confidences, your demeanor conveys an unqualified indifference. See that you maintain that expression as you take this note down to the supplies office on the first floor, and fill out form eleven A five thirteen.”

He shooed her as he rose to open the door and put his head out. “Who's here?” he asked the air. “Ah. Trublood. Would you take Citizen Dismé to the housing office, please? Thank you.”

The young officer stood up as she came out of the Doctor's office, nodded in a peremptory manner, and started out at a fast pace down the corridor. It was all she could do to keep up as they covered three hallways and two sets of stairs.

“Down there,” he said, pointing.

“Thank you,” she murmured breathlessly, reminding herself not to smile at him.

“Don't mention it,” he said, nostrils pinched in annoyance. “We have pages who lead people about and fetch tea and the like. Colonel Doctor Ladislav never seems to remember that.” And he went angrily back the way they had come while Dismé continued to the indicated door. The room was divided by a counter, the area behind it occupied by two men at large desks and two women at small ones. Dismé vacated her face as she approached the counter. She murmured a toneless, “Good morning.”

One of the women cast a glance at the nearest large desk, holding herself ready to move or not, as indicated. The large man looked up briefly. Dismé had vacated her face by the time he saw her, and he muttered incuriously, “See to her Miram.”

“Yes, Captain,” she said, rising and advancing on Dismé with a slightly worried expression. “What?” she asked.

“I have just been hired on as an assistant to Colonel Doctor Ladislav,” Dismé said in a deadly monotone. “He told me to come here and you would assign me quarters.”

Miram fetched a book from a nearby shelf and turned to
a set of plans showing floors and corridors and rooms, each room with vertical lists of names neatly printed in, some with all names crossed out, some with all but one or two. “Women's corridors,” she muttered. “Let's see, vacant, vacant. I've got 306 or 415. You can have your choice; Elida Ethelday was in 306, she's gone back to Comador, and her room's nearest the stairs; 415 is in the corner tower, so it's not as warm, but it has a nice view.”

Increasing the distance from the stairs would also decrease traffic in the corridor outside, Dismé thought. She didn't mind a cool room, and quiet was something she preferred.

“Four-fifteen,” Dismé said. “May I look at it before I go to the supply officer?”

“Oh, of course, of course. I've got the key here, but first I have to put your name down.”

Dismé wrote her name and job and watched while it was inked in minuscule letters at the bottom of the 415's list of tenants.

“Key,” said Miram, handing it to her. “You go out and turn right to the main corridor, where the town flags are. Turn left there and take the first stair to your left. There's a sign that says women's corridors. Go up three flights, tell the fourth floor keeper who you are, she'll put you on the roll.”

“Keeper?” murmured Dismé.

“Women's corridors have keepers,” said Miram, surprised. “To protect their tranquility. Of course.”

“Oh, of course.” She followed directions, main corridor lit by a skylight five stories up, three flights of stairs lit by inadequate lanterns. The sad-faced keeper had a few candles and a little alcove at the head of the stair where she could see anyone who came up or went down. Dismé introduced herself, was properly enrolled, and was read the rules:

“No men visitors in your quarters, not even relatives. Women relatives who visit may stay overnight if you're not on duty. No pets except birds in cages, small ones. Inspection irregularly, at least every twenty days, with reprovals for untidiness. Five reprovals equals a beating, and I don't
recommend it. Keep food put away, it attracts mice. You're lucky, there's a slop chute right next to your door on the outside wall. Chamber pots are to be emptied and rinsed out promptly. You can get reprovals for smelly quarters.”

The room at the end of the hall was shaped like a fat raindrop, with the door almost at the angle of two right-angled straight walls, a third wall curving into the three-quarter circle of the tower at the corner of the building. The curved wall had a narrow window in each quarter-circle arc, each with a separate view across the city and surrounding countryside. Dismé carried pen, ink, and paper in her bag, and she sat down to make a list. The room already had a bed, a chair, and a wash stand. There was room for a desk, a bookshelf, and a commode. A stove stood between two windows on the curved wall. When she had her list complete, she asked the keeper how to find the supply office and went there.