The Temble of Truth dot-31 Page 8

  A loss of memory in which she left reality. A safeguard against her betraying secrets-but there were ways to break such conditioning. Had Ishikari found such a method?

  Dumarest looked at the man. The wine he sipped was a demonstration of its harmlessness or an act to lull Dumarest's suspicions. As his own demonstration of violence had been designed to gain quick answers. If nothing else it had brought his host running, eager to guard the woman or the knowledge she held.

  He said, bluntly, "Can you?"

  "Answer the question? No, but I can guess. When young, perhaps only a child, she was bound to the temple. Later she was forced to leave or she may have escaped. When my agent found her she was working with a fortune teller who claimed the ability to predict the moment of death. You are aware of her talent?" As Dumarest nodded, Ishikari continued, "It is wild but was good enough to impress the clients of the charlatan. My agent bought her and sent her to me. Once she was established I tried to question her but-" His shrug was expressive.

  Dumarest said, "Then you have no real proof she was ever connected with the temple."

  "There is the tattoo. Twelve petals surrounding a circle quartered by a cross. You know what that signifies. Look closer and you will see that the cross is set within a pentagram. Five sides, one for each of the senses, the common hallmark of humanity. The curlicues resemble schematics. The twelve petals symbolize-"

  "The Sign of the Zodiac," snapped Dumarest. "That still isn't proof. Anyone can copy a tattoo."

  "I have other evidence. The association is undeniable. She was attached to the temple and must know what it contains."

  The answer to where Earth was to be found but, Dumarest sensed, Ishikari hoped for more. He stood by the table, apparently calm, but the wine in the glass he held quivered a different message. Then, as if aware of the betrayal, he set down the container.

  Dumarest said, "Was Karlene indentured? You said your agent bought her."

  "The charlatan claimed debts due to maintenance. It was easier to pay than argue. She was found on Threndor-a world of the Sharret Cluster."

  "I want to see her."

  "No. She must not be bullied."

  "I want to apologize, not threaten. I was a little rough with her." A mistake, the shock hadn't achieved its objective. Dumarest added, "I might even be able to find out what you want to know."

  "I told you-"

  "Fugue, yes, but there are more ways than one of reaching the truth. I could be lucky-and what have you to lose?"

  * * *

  She sat in her room like a broken doll, a toy used and discarded, slumped on the edge of her bed, head lowered, face hidden by the cascade of her hair. Dumarest touched it, caressed the fine strands, the soft flesh of her naked arms. Beneath his fingers he felt the jerk and twitch of muscles. A woman locked in the grip of conflicting emotions. A child, lost, bewildered, needing help.

  To the maid standing by he said, "Leave us."

  "But-"

  "Do it!"

  As she obeyed Dumarest sat at Karlene's side, his thigh touching her own, one arm around her shoulders, the other parting the hair before her face. Tears marred her cheeks and her lips held the moist looseness of a frightened child.

  "Karlene." His tone was gentle, soothing. "Come back to me, darling. Come back now. Wake up and join me. I need you. Come back to me. Karlene, come back to me."

  "Earl?" Her voice was small, empty. "Earl?"

  "You're safe, darling. Nothing can hurt you. There's no need to hide." He continued speaking, words which formed a comforting drone as his hands stroked her hair, her body. The treatment he would give to a frightened animal. "Come back to me, Karlene. Come back to me."

  "Earl?" Her voice was stronger as she turned toward him. Emptiness vanishing as if she woke from sleep. "Is that you, darling?" Her hands groped, found his, closed with crushing intensity. "You attacked me. I thought you were going to kill me. A dream. Was it a dream?"

  "I asked you a question. Don't you remember?"

  "No."

  "It seemed to upset you."

  "Why should it do that?"

  "I don't know. Tell me about your life on Threndor. The man you worked for before you joined Ishikari. How did you meet?"

  "He found me. He must have found me. I was lost and cold and frightened and… and…" She shook her head, frowning. "I can't remember."

  "Never mind. Did he ever talk about your past? Ask what you'd done before you met?"

  "I don't think so. No."

  "Wasn't he curious?" Dumarest waited then said, gently, "Surely he must have wanted to know something about you. A beautiful young girl. Others could have been looking for you. There could have been the possibility of a reward." Casually he added, "How old were you when you met?"

  "I don't know. I don't think he liked me much. Not before he found out about-" She fell silent then, in a different tone, said, "I don't want to talk about it."

  "Then we won't."

  "Not now. Not ever."

  "I understand." Dumarest freed his hand from the woman's grasp. "I wish you could trust me as much as you trust Ishikari."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Surely he must have asked you about your past? He took you in, looked after you. Maybe you're related in some way. Why did he send you to Erkalt?"

  "I was working. With Hagen. You know that."

  "But you told Ishikari about me. Why?"

  "You needed help. He said he could help you. You agreed to meet him. You know all this."

  Dumarest said, "What I don't know is what he wants. What he hopes to find. Why is he so interested in the temple?" He saw the sudden blankness of her eyes. "Karlene! Stay with me!"

  "I'm sorry." She drew a shuddering breath. "I feel confused. All these questions. Earl-what do you want of me?"

  "Answers. About Ishikari. Don't you remember the questions he asked? The details he wanted?"

  Her face gave the answer. She remembered Ishikari's probing no more than she remembered his own recent violence. The fugue into which she escaped blurred the cause of its creation and turned real events into the figment of a dream.

  Chapter Seven

  By day the church was bright with pennons of blue and white; colors of purity and hope. At night lanterns of the same hues signaled to all that here was to be found help and comfort both of body and mind. And, always, throngs came to partake of both.

  Brother Tessio walked among them, tall, austere in his brown robe and sandals. A costume designed for utility, devoid of ostentation. Not even the heads of the great establishments wore a different garb. Not even those who ruled the great seminaries on Peace and Hope. The Church of Universal Brotherhood had no use for hypocrisy; a jewel would buy food for the starving, gold braid provide medicine for the sick, expensive fabrics make a mockery of the humility which alone could alleviate the suffering of humanity.

  "Brother." A woman caught at his hand. "Please help me. My child-" The small bundle beside her stirred with a fitful wailing. "Please!"

  "You will be seen," promised Tessio. "And the child will be helped."

  With medicines, antibiotics, drugs. With the skill of monks trained in manipulation, hypnosis, natural healing. As the others waiting in the annex would be helped and sent on their way. Some would leave a donation; others, too poor to give even that, would mouth thanks; and some would offer their labor at menial tasks.

  But none would ever be refused.

  Tessio sighed as he reached the far end of the room and passed through a door into a passage. From behind drawn curtains he heard the murmur of voices and lingered at the cubicle containing Brother Vendell. A good man, if inclined to be impatient. One who chafed at the irksome necessity of making haste slowly.

  "Look into the light," he heard the monk say to the suppliant kneeling before him. "Relax. Concentrate on the colors. See how they shift and change. The patterns they make. Try to follow them. So soft. So restful. Watching them makes you feel so relaxed, so tired… so tired… tired…"
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  There was the hint of the mechanical in the voice and Tessio made a mental note to speak to Vendell about it. To deal with the endless line of suppliants could not help but be boring but never, ever, should it be shown as that. Each was an individual and needed to be reassured of his or her particular importance.

  Pride, concern, consideration-words Tessio turned in his mind as he went on his way. Pride in personal ethics, concern for the general environment, consideration for all other individuals. If men would keep their word, cease from wanton destruction, have the imagination to realize how their actions affected others. If each could look at others less fortunate and say "There, but for the grace of God, go I," the millennium would have arrived.

  Something he would never see. No monk now living would ever see-men spread too fast and wide for that. Yet it was the objective for which he strived and to which the Church was dedicated.

  "Brother!" The monk was young, still idealistic, yet to experience the full measure of pain and degradation which was the inevitable price paid by all who aspired to wear the brown robe. "You have visitors."

  They waited in a small room containing a table, chairs, a patchwork rug on the floor. The walls were bare aside from a crude painting, a mask carved from wood, a bundle of thin reeds, a knife made from flints set into a scrap of wood. Mementos, each with its history and each punctuating a period of his life. Tessio would use them if the need arose; making conversation, illustrating various points as he strove to reach the heart of a problem. No monk of his standing was less than a master in applied psychology.

  Dumarest saved him the trouble. Rising to his feet as the monk entered, he said, "Brother, we need your help."

  "We?" Tessio glanced at Karlene where she sat. "You speak for both?"

  "Yes." She met his eyes, her own direct. "I am under no duress but-" She broke off, hands together, knuckles taut beneath the pallor of her skin. "Earl, do you think this wise? I mean-"

  He said, abruptly, "Tell me about Cerevox."

  Tessio inhaled as she slumped, face lax, eyes rolling upward beneath her lowering lids. Dumarest caught her, steadied her in the chair. His touch, Tessio noted, was gentle, almost a caress.

  "An illustration," said Dumarest. He straightened, one hand holding the woman upright in her chair. "Do you know what you're looking at?"

  "Fugue." Tessio touched the pale skin of her throat and forehead, lifted an eyelid, pressed a finger beneath the cascade of her hair. "A natural infirmity?"

  "Artificial."

  "Conditioning?"

  "Yes. She has been deliberately sensitized against certain words or concepts and acts, as you have seen, when stimulus is applied. I want you to remove that sensitivity." Dumarest saw the doubt in the monk's eyes. "Listen," he said urgently, "She is under no duress-she told you that. She is here of her own volition. She is sick and asks for your help. If what you believe has any validity at all-how can you deny her?"

  A good question but the answer was not so simple. The man was what he appeared to be but the woman wore fabrics of price and could be under emotional constraint. Too old to need the consent of a guardian but should he arouse the anger of her family the Church would suffer. If it was abolished from this world who would help those now waiting for succor?

  One against many and yet… and yet…

  There, but for the grace of God, go I!

  Dumarest said, quietly, "If I brought you a bird with a broken wing what would you do? Kill it? Heal it? Ignore it and leave it to suffer? Tell me."

  "This woman is not a bird."

  "She is still a cripple. An emotional one, true, but a cripple just the same. I'm not asking you to find out who applied the conditioning, or when, or why. I'm asking you to remove it. To heal her as you would heal an injured bird. To make her whole again. To give her free choice. To restore her pride."

  Pride which, if it became overweening, would be a sin. As concern for another would become if allowed to grow into interference. As consideration could never be.

  Could he show less consideration to a woman than he would to a bird?

  Tessio said, "I can promise nothing. I will do my best but my skill is limited. You must understand that."

  "You will help?"

  "I will do what I can."

  Dumarest waited in the annex, striding down the rows of those wanting aid, disturbing them and the attendant monks both. A thing he recognized and he left the church to stand looking at the field. The perimeter lights made a harsh circle of brilliance around the area, small glitters reflected from the barbed points of the mesh. A hard fence to climb; too high to jump and the barbs would rip flesh and clothing. Guards stood at the gate and others, not so obvious, stood close in the shadows. Men without uniforms but with watchful eyes and Dumarest had no doubt as to their orders. They, the lights, the savage barbs were all a part of his cage.

  As was Karlene herself.

  He moved on, edging around the church as he thought of her. Imagining her face beneath the glowing, ever-changing colors of the benediction light. Tessio would be using his skill and trained ability, questioning, suggesting, directing. Easing the burden others had clamped on her mind. The guardians of the temple? The charlatan she had worked for? Others?

  A wall rose before him and he turned to retrace his steps. It would have been easier for the guardians to have killed. Safer, too, if their secrets were so important, her knowledge so dangerous. The charlatan would have had no reason. A pretense? The fugue had been genuine enough. The conditioning was real. But who had established it? And why?

  "Brother?" A young monk headed toward him. "If you would return to the church?"

  Karlene waited in the room in which he had left her. She turned as he entered, radiant, smiling, arms lifting to merge into his embrace.

  "Darling! I feel so well! So alive!"

  "I'm glad." Dumarest touched the softness of her cheek, her hair, his fingers imparting kisses. They were alone. Tessio, as well as being a psychologist, was also a diplomat. "Tell me about Cerevox. The Temple of Cerevox."

  "What?" She stared at him, frowning, and for a moment he wondered if the monk had failed. But there was no sign of withdrawal. No hint of fugue. Then she smiled. "Cerevox? Of course, darling. What do you want to know?"

  * * *

  It was the fabrication of a dream; a mass of chambers and passages, of halls and promenades, open spaces and soaring pinnacles. An edifice of stone which had grown during the course of time to rest like a delicate flower in the cup of misted hills.

  Dumarest pictured it as he sat in the tavern to which he had taken Karlene. A mental image enhanced by the dancer who spun with a lithe and supple grace to the music of pipe and drum. The fabrics she wore echoed the vibrant hues of gems set to adorn arch and pillar, the tinkle of her bells the clear chimes of instruments stirred by the wind. The pipe and drum matched the tramp of marching feet, the chant of devoted worshipers. Even the serving maids emulated young and nubile priestesses.

  "It is beautiful," said Karlene. "I can't begin to tell you how beautiful it is. The wind is always gentle. The air is always warm. At night the sky is a blaze of stars. There are two moons and, when they are close, there are ceremonies."

  "Special ones?"

  "Yes. To the Mother."

  "How about those who live there?"

  "All are bound to the Temple. Some gather fruits and tend the land. Some build. Others weave fabrics for robes and garments. The elders teach. Those who come to make their devotions bring offerings. Usually it is money or goods of value. Sometimes they offer the fruit of their bodies."

  "Children?"

  "Those barely able to walk. They are examined by the priests and, if found to be without flaw, are bound to the Temple." Her hand rose to touch the place above her left breast. "If accepted they bring honor."

  Dumarest said, "Who are these devotees? The Original People?"

  "Who are they?"

  "A religious sect with a mania for secrecy. They neither seek
nor welcome converts; new adherents are gained from natural increase." Watching her, he quoted, in a tone which held the roll of drums, "From terror they fled to find new places on which to expiate their sins. Only when cleansed will the race of Man be again united."

  Karlene said, frowning, "What does it mean?"

  "It's part of the creed of the Original People. Do you recognize it? No? A pity. Once things happen as they say there should be a paradise like the one you've described. The Temple," he explained. "I can't understand why anyone should want to leave it."

  "Are you saying I lie?"

  "I'm saying I'm curious. You agreed to talk. What happened? Why did you leave?"

  "I didn't fit. I wasn't wanted." Her tone was tense, hurt. "And I grew worried. I kept feeling that thing in my mind. At first I asked about it then I just kept it to myself."

  "Why?"

  "They told me I was imagining things. That I was contaminated. I knew what happened to contaminated things and I was frightened it would happen to me. I thought it was going to happen, that I was going to die in the fire like the other things. The dead animals and spoiled fruits so… so…" She broke off and took a deep breath. Then, in a calmer, more adult tone said, "So I left. I disguised myself and mingled with a bunch of worshipers. I was lucky-when a man discovered I didn't belong I made him believe I was on a secret mission for the Temple. He aided me."

  As had others in ways and for reasons Dumarest didn't go into. The charlatan had provided a temporary refuge. Rauch Ishikari a more permanent one. But what was his real interest in the Temple?

  "He wanted me to describe it," said Karlene when he asked. "In detail. He wanted to know all about me, everything I'd done. He made me tell him about the rituals and-"

  "Made you?"

  "He kept on and on. It was easier to talk than remain silent. Anyway, I owed him. He was good to me. I wanted to help as much as I could. Then, I guess, he must have lost interest or grown tired of asking questions because he let me live much as I wished."