Eloise Read online

  She saw his frown and hastened to explain.

  "Everyone gets a number, but no one knows for sure how many are to be Knelled. It could be a couple of dozen, in which case those with numbers above, say, twenty stand a chance. If five are culled before the critical period, the bell will only toll nineteen times." She added, bleakly, "But no one knows for certain how many Camolsaer will take. And you, the prime, will have no chance at all."

  Not unless the full number should be killed before the last day. And even then, there was no assurance of safety.

  Dumarest leaned back, eyes shadowed with thought, assessing the problem, its cause.

  The city was a closed unit; each birth meant that there had to be a matching death. The time in which aggression was allowed a crude device, to ensure the survival of the fittest. Crude because it would never be allowed to work to its logical end. He could kill a hundred men and still be taken; a man too dangerous to be allowed to survive. Only the pretense was provided, the illusion which gave birth to a modicum of strength. He remembered the gymnasium, Sagen's comment. Young men training in order to defend themselves. Older men stiffening muscles, ready for the anticipated encounters.

  "Do the Monitors interfere?"

  "Not during the actual time of combat," said Adara quickly. "But you must realize that many people form protective groupings. Most stay in their rooms."

  "The doors?"

  "Blocked." Adara glanced towards the couch in the bedroom, the furnishings. "On the final day there is, of course, no combat. Then people get together to wait or to enjoy themselves in various ways. To drink, take drugs, make love." He glanced at the woman. "Other things."

  "A pity." Absently, Arbush picked up his gilyre and ran the tips of his fingers over the strings. "A life so pleasant, so full of ease, to be so quickly ended. If I were allowed to die a natural death, I would stay here to the end of my days. Even as it is, there is a chance. A score of men to die. More if necessary, and once again to relax and take what is offered." He lifted one broad hand and clenched the spatulate fingers. "Earl, shall we show Camolsaer how it should be done?"

  "You're a fool!" snapped Eloise. "Do you think they will wait to be butchered? And after, even if you did survive, what of the next time?"

  Dumarest said, ignoring the interjection, "Adara, are weapons provided?"

  "No."

  "Are they allowed?"

  "Only if self-provided." He glanced at the knife showing above Dumarest's boot. "You will have an advantage. None could stand against you-if they allowed you to get within reach."

  Had he been allowed to retain the weapon as an example? Or had it been a test, to see what the introduction of a new element would do to the carefully nurtured residents of the city? Something in the nature of a virus to test the resistance of the culture it contained.

  A question which now could be safely ignored. He watched as the minstrel gave Adara more wine. The man seemed numbed, drinking like an automaton, unnerved by the shocks he had received. A fatal attitude which would make him willingly accept what was to come, welcoming it, perhaps, as an anodyne to his loss.

  "Earl." Eloise moved, crouching at his feet, her arms wrapped around his legs. "We haven't much time, darling. What are you going to do?"

  "What can he do?" Adara blinked, the wine he had taken finally having its effect. "What can anyone do? We are here and that's all there is to it. When the Knell sounds and the Monitors come, all we can do is to submit gracefully."

  "You-not I!"

  "Eloise! Please, I need you."

  A cry from the heart, a man faced with the sure knowledge of oblivion and not knowing which way to turn. A child reaching out for a familiar comfort.

  Dumarest said, "Go with him, Eloise. Take him to his room. Put him to bed."

  "Earl! You ask me to do that!"

  "That and more if necessary," he said harshly. "He saved your life, remember? You owe it to him to provide what comfort you can."

  "But, Earl, I love you."

  "And what does that mean?" He met her eyes, saw the bruised hurt they contained, the bafflement. "Does it mean that, because you say it, I must love you in return? That I have to make an enemy of a man who has done me no harm? Damn it, woman, grow up!"

  She stiffened, face reflecting her anger, her hurt pride; and then, glancing at Adara where he sat, she softened and rose.

  "You're right, Earl. Adara has been good to me. But I meant what I said. I love you. I shall always love you. I don't want you ever to forget that."

  * * * * *

  The room was a clot of shadows; pale starlight, coming from the window in the other chamber, doing little more than haze the darkness; making the bed a darker mound among others, the door itself a pale oblong in which something stood.

  Dumarest rolled, one hand slipping the knife from his boot; rising poised to strike.

  "Please!" The voice was a high, breathless whisper. "Earl, is that you? Please say something if you're awake."

  It was the woman from the party, the one who had invited him to her room. She stepped back as he drew near, her eyes wide, terrified as they looked at the knife. She gulped as he slid it back into his boot.

  "You-I thought you were going to kill me!"

  "Is it allowed?"

  "Not yet. Not until dawn. But you wouldn't kill me, Earl, would you. Not when there are other things to do. So much more pleasant things."

  She had retreated at his advance to stand before the window, pale starlight on her hair, the blonde tresses shimmering as if dusted with silver. A tall, proud, sensuous animal; he remembered how her eyes had clung to him, the naked invitation she had offered.

  "What do you want?"

  "You, Earl. You can stay with me in my room until the Knelling. You are the prime and deserve the best. I shall give it to you. Anything you want will be yours. All I can offer will ease those last hours until the bell."

  Her face held an expression he had seen before. The feral anticipation of sensuous delight; the titivation of yielding to the demands of a man who would no longer have cause to restrain his appetite. Such creatures were to be found at every arena, harpies feeding on overstimulated emotion; willing to be degraded, humiliated, eager to pander to every bestial desire.

  "Earl?"

  He said, coldly, "I'll take you to your room. If I see you again I'll kill you. You had better believe that."

  "You filth!" Anger thinned her lips, tightened the skin of her face so that it looked like scraped bone in the cold light of the stars. "You-"

  "Get out! Now!"

  A woman scorned, the second in a few hours; but where she could be ignored, Eloise could not. Outside in the corridor Dumarest tensed, listening. He heard the soft pad of running feet, a cry, the sound of a scuffle. Turning a corner he caught a glimpse of a running shape; another lying on the floor, groaning, blood making a pool beneath the shoulders.

  The woman had lied. The first day had passed, already the violence had begun.

  As he stepped towards the groaning man, a Monitor stepped before him.

  "Man Dumarest, this is not your concern."

  "The man is hurt."

  "The man is dying. He will be attended to." Other Monitors joined the first, stooping to pick up the injured man. Dumarest followed them to where a passage slanted towards the lower levels. It opened on a chamber containing a closed door. As he watched it swung wide, to reveal a corridor bright with a pale blue luminescence. Before he could enter, the door slammed in his face. One of the ubiquitous Monitors appeared at its side. "Man Dumarest, this area is forbidden. Return to the level above."

  Up past the assembly rooms now deserted, the pool filled with idle water, the gymnasium empty of exercising men.

  Dumarest reached a door, knocked, waited, knocked again.

  "Who is it?"

  "Arbush, open up!"

  The minstrel was cautious. From behind the closed panel came the sound of scraping, then the door cracked open to reveal an eye.

 
; "Earl!" He swung open the door. "Eloise lied to us," he complained. "She said there would be a day of calm. Calm, hell! A bunch of young thugs tried to jump me. I got one and the others ran. What happened to you?"

  "I've been resting. Asleep."

  "Thinking?" Arbush was shrewd. "Earl, did you-"

  "Bring your gilyre," interrupted Dumarest. "I think Eloise would like to hear you play."

  Like the minstrel she had blocked her door, opening it only when she was certain of who stood outside. Adara was with her, his face pale, his eyes haunted with inner trepidation. A decanter of wine, untouched, stood on a small table at his side.

  "Earl!" He rose, hands extended, the palms outward to be touched. "It's good of you to call. This is a bad time to be alone."

  "I thought you'd like some music," said Dumarest. "Arbush, play something loud and cheerful. Very loud and very cheerful."

  "Something like this, Earl?" The minstrel's fingers danced on the strings, notes rising, high, shrill, seeming to hang and quiver in the air; resonance building so that the glasses on the tray rang in sympathy.

  "A neat tune, is it not?" Arbush winked as he played. "I composed it during a time on Helada when I was invited to stay as a guest at the court of King Swendle. There was a girl, a veritable flower, but the old man was jealous and had set electronic guards. Even so, we managed to talk and arrange an assignation. I learned later that his electrician had been whipped for his failure to maintain his equipment." His voice lowered, became urgent. "Talk, Earl. While I play, nothing can overhear us." Dumarest wasted no time.

  "Adara. When you went out to rescue Eloise, how did you travel? Did you walk or fly?"

  "Fly, but why do you ask? What-"

  "Never mind the questions. You flew. With the same attachments as the Monitors use?"

  "Yes."

  "Where did you get them?"

  "The Monitors provided the unit. They got it from a store close to the northern exit."

  "And the weapons they use against the Krim? The missile launchers. The same place?"

  "I'm not sure. I-" Adara frowned, then his face cleared. "Yes. I remember now. The Monitors armed themselves before we set out They took the weapons from the same store."

  Eloise whispered, her breath warm against his cheek, "Earl! Do you have a plan?"

  A bare idea formed while he had lain resting, thinkings correlating every scrap of information he had gained about the city and its occupants.

  "A chance," he admitted, "but the only one we've got. We can't cross the ice on foot. Even if we could cross the ground beyond the city, we could never scale the barrier. And if we could do that we'd never make it to Breen. There could be tunnels running from the lower levels, in fact there have to be; but we'd still have to dig our way to the surface. Flying is the only way out."

  "Simple," she said, disappointed. "All we have to do is to get the units and go. But what about the Monitors? Camolsaer? As soon as we touch the store, it would know about it."

  "Perhaps."

  "It can't be done, Earl." Adara shook his head. "The Monitors would order us away."

  "What if they do? Do you have to obey?" Dumarest saw the man blink, as if at an unheard of concept. "Listen, Adara, unquestioning obedience is the badge of slavery. If ever you get away from here, you'll have to learn how to be free. You may as well start now. I suppose you do want to get away?"

  Adara hesitated, looking at Eloise.

  "I'm going," she said firmly. "I don't care what you do, Adara, but I'm going. If you want to stay here and listen to that damned bell knell away your life, you're welcome."

  "It isn't death," he said weakly. "It's-"

  "Conversion. I know. If you want it you can have it. Me, I'd rather take my chances on a different kind of hell. What do you want us to do, Earl?"

  "Get tools from the workshops. Levers, hammers, wedges; anything to force open that store. Can you do it?"

  "No." Adara was positive. "The Monitors would stop us."

  "Normally, yes," agreed Dumarest. "But times aren't normal. Men are out in the corridors hunting each other down. At any other time the Monitors would stop it, but not now. This is the one chance we have of breaking free. If you take the tools and anything tries to stop you-well, don't be stopped. It's your life, remember. Eloise, you've worked in the gardens, can you get chemicals?"

  "Such as?"

  "Artificial fertilizers."

  "No. The stuff comes through pipes in monitored amounts."

  A pity; with fertilizer and sugar he could have made a crude but powerful bomb. But there were other ways. Keeping his voice below the singing thrum of the strings he said, "This is what you must do. Get tools and take them to the store. When the moment comes, wrench it open and take out flying units and weapons."

  "And?" Eloise met his eyes. "Don't try to con me, Earl," she said. "It isn't as simple as that. If it was, you wouldn't need help. What else must we do?"

  "Create a diversion. More than one if possible. Start some fires, well away from the store."

  "Fires?" Adara looked blank. "How? What with?"

  "I know how," said Eloise. "I was in a house once-well, never mind. But I can start a fire. How about him?" She jerked her head at the minstrel. "What will he be doing?"

  "Helping me."

  "And you?"

  "Me?" Dumarest shrugged. "I'm going to stop the bell."

  * * * * *

  Corridor 137 was deserted, the door to the room in which Dumarest had woken locked. He knocked, waited, knocked again; then slipped the knife from his boot and thrust it into the crack. A heave and the door opened with a brittle snap of metal. Dras was nowhere to be seen. He appeared from an inner compartment as Dumarest tore at the casing of the diagnostic machine.

  "What are you doing?" He stared, voice rising into a scream. "How dare you touch that machine. Help! Monitors! To-"

  He sagged as Arbush slammed a fist against his jaw, the minstrel catching him as he fell. Without a word, he heaved the body back into the inner room and rested the unconscious man on a couch.

  "I was sorry to do that," he murmured as he returned to where Dumarest was working. "In a way he saved our lives. Well, it can't be helped." He sucked at a split knuckle. "Need any help, Earl?"

  Dumarest shook his head. The inside of the machine lay bare; a mass of electronic wizardry into which he probed with questing fingers. As he'd guessed there was a communication unit installed into the machine, a radio-link with Camolsaer. He adjusted it, altering the circuits, seeing tiny sparks flare between poorly made connections. Satisfied, he stepped back into the corridor.

  "Get back to the others," he told Arbush. "Help them. But not yet. First, we have work to do."

  Part of it was done; the readjusted machine was now broadcasting a band of white noise, a stream of static which, he hoped, would disturb the close contact each Monitor had with the others and Camolsaer. A distraction to add to the others, but this one with a more definite purpose. "Now!"

  Dumarest ran down the corridor, Arbush close behind him, a glinting instrument in his hand. A heavy testing device he had taken from the instrument table in the ward. As a Monitor came into sight Dumarest slowed, half-turned, went down as Arbush viciously smashed the tool against his head. It was skillfully done. The blow was struck at the last moment, tearing the flesh at the side of the neck, the lobe of the ear. A minor wound which provided plenty of blood.

  As the Monitor advanced with two others, the minstrel turned and ran back the way he had come. Dumarest didn't move.

  He lay, eyes closed, breathing shallowly; a man unconscious from a blow which had apparently crushed the back of his skull. He felt hands grip him, lift him; a soft humming as the Monitors carried him away from where he had fallen. Through slitted eyes he saw the overhead lights pass, the corridor narrow, the roof descend as his bearers moved to a lower level. Camolsaer would have known of what had happened in the ward; but the radio disturbance would prevent communication with the Monitors who carried h
im and they, obeying previous commands, would take him where he wanted to go.

  Into the sealed, lower regions of the city. Into the heart of Camolsaer itself. He closed his eyes as the Monitors halted, sagging limp in their grasp; hearing the soft sigh of an opening door, feeling the touch of cold air. When next he looked he saw a pale blue luminescence which came from the walls, roof and floor; a shadowless glow he had seen before. A dozen yards and he was dropped on a bench. As he heard the pad of retreating feet, he turned his head and looked around.

  He was in a small room, the sides lined with triple tiers of bunks. Two were occupied, one with a man, the other with a woman; both unconscious, neither dead. The woman stirred as he touched her, moaning, one hand lifting as if to protect herself. One side of her temple was bruised, the broken skin oozing blood. The man had been struck with something long and hard, the white of splintered bone showing at the angle of his jaw. When touched, he didn't move.

  Victims of the pre-knelling, collected for later conversion as he had been himself. Dumarest tried to remember if the man was the one he had seen struck down, but couldn't be sure. There would be other rooms, or maybe the man had already been processed.

  But he was not here to save the fallen.

  The room had no door; only an arched opening which led to the wide passage outside. Dumarest stepped towards it, halting as he reached the opening. A Monitor stood outside.

  It was very still; pale blue light bathing the metal of which it was constructed, blending with that of the wall so that the Monitor was almost invisible. Only the eyes, glowing ruby, could be clearly seen. The eyes and the paint which daubed the mask.

  Red paint, yellow, fashioned to form a clown-like visage; the parody of mouth and nose. A pathetic attempt to regain lost humanity; proof positive of the residual awareness of the fragmented brain which had once known a different life.

  Motionless, Dumarest studied it. The shape was obvious; trial and error over countless years had evolved the human frame into the most highly efficient general-purpose construction there was. To deviate from it would be to lose efficiency. And yet to slavishly copy it held complications.