Flach put together such a combination of moves and transformations that he doubted that anyone or anything could untangle them. He even assumed bug forms and spied on any Hectare that were outside of their antiseptic chambers. All seemed quiet, apart from the grim business of the takeover itself.
In the course of this, Flach got a fair notion of what the Hectare were doing. They were setting up to exploit the resources of the planet. Crews were being assembled to cut the greatest forests for exportable lumber. That would destroy the environment, and many wild and magical creatures would die. It had been exactly that type of ruinous exploitation that had ruined Proton before, so that life was possible only within the force-field domes, with all else a noxious desert. Other crews were to mine out all the remaining Protonite. That would destroy the magic, leaving the planet completely mundane. What would happen to the starving, magic-gelded creatures? It looked very much as if their flesh would be melted down for protoplasm banks.
Mach was right: it was better that the planet be destroyed, than that the Hectare have their way with it.
The Hectare themselves were true bug-eyed monsters; indeed, the serfs and ordinary folk of Phaze had instantly named them BEMs. It seemed that there were two or more major alliances in the galaxy, one of which was the humanoid. Proton had once been in the humanoid sector, but the pattern of colonization had in due course left it stranded with a few others in alien territory. So there was no hope of rescue by human forces; it would be too costly for them to penetrate this deep with sufficient force to accomplish anything—and even if they did, the Hectare might simply destroy the planet rather than give it up. So Proton was on its own—just as any alien planets were on their own when they had the misfortune to find themselves within human territory.
The Hectare themselves were simply one of a number of species in their alliance. They were the closest, so on them had fallen the chore of exploiting the planet. They had not bothered before, but when it became evident that it had magic now, they had moved it up on their schedule. It wasn’t that they understood magic, but it made the planet intriguing. It was about as easy to take over the planet as to investigate it, so they moved in.
The Hectare of course didn’t think of themselves as bug-eyed monsters, or even as monsters. They thought of human beings as asymmetric few-limbed worm segments. A Hectare was symmetrical, having no front or back or left or right; its eyes surveyed the entire hemisphere (the flat ground and dome of space above it) simultaneously. Its tentacles circled its body like a mantle, and its tread-feet took it immediately in any direction. Flach could appreciate their point of view, though a Hectare remained a BEM to him. According to Nepe, planets colonized by nonhumanoid creatures that found themselves in the human sector of the galaxy were being exploited and reduced just as savagely; there was no special virtue in being human, when it came to galactic power tides. On such planets, the horrible menace was FTS—few tentacled slugs, or human beings. Her sympathy was with the natives, there.
Once Flach was satisfied that there was no pursuit, he started on his mission. He could not go directly to the North Pole, for several reasons. Other planets, he understood, were hot at their equators and cold at either north or south poles; nothing was said about their east and west poles, oddly. But Phaze (and Proton) was hottest at the South Pole and coldest at the North Pole. A trip to the south would be difficult because of the constantly burning heat; a trip north was a similar problem, because of the intense cold. If he conjured himself directly there, he would freeze before he could do anything, unless he was all bundled up or invoked a protective spell. But that was academic, because he couldn’t conjure himself there. His magic was operative mainly within the “normal” range of Phaze, roughly between the White and Purple mountain ranges. Beyond that, the hostile magic of the demons interfered. He might be able to learn snow magic, as his Grandfather Stile had, but that would take time and practice. To the south, below the Purple Mountains, it would probably be all right; as far as he knew, nothing but dragons dwelt there, and they didn’t interfere with magic. But the more potent exercises of magic made larger splashes, similar to those of emotional commitment, that could be detected by others. With the Purple Adept searching for him, a self-conjuration of that magnitude would be folly; Purple would zero right in on it. That was why he had kept his maneuvering small-scale so far; each splash was below the threshold detectable from a distance.
So he would have to make his way to the White Mountain by a series of small conjurations, or by swift physical travel. Once there he would have to enlist the aid of the snow demons, and travel physically the rest of the way to the Pole. Then he would have to see what offered; the message hadn’t told him what he would find there, probably so as not to give it away to the enemy. He didn’t expect the trip to be fun, but it had to be done.
He started out. He assumed his unicorn form, which he could do without any splash of magic, because it was natural; he was half unicorn. He was privately proud of his pretty blue hind socks and glistening black coat. As he trotted, he played his horn to the cadence of his hooves; this enhanced the pleasure of the motion. A unicorn could trot for a long time to its own music, because there was magic in music, and it restored much of the energy expended by the body. Nepe said his horn sounded like the science instrument called the recorder, which was a woodwind related to the flute; it was blown from the end instead of the side, and had a mellower tone. The folk of the science frame tended to classify things in their own terms. His dam Fleta could play two or three notes at once, making duets with herself; that was unusual. He wished he could run with her now, or with his Grandam Neysa, sharing harmonies. Fleta was captive of the Hectare, and Neysa was playing dumb animal so as to be ignored by them. They were depending on him to save the world— or to let it be destroyed.
As night came he assumed his bal form, and used sound to track his course north. He snapped up night bugs as they offered, for though he had magically assumed the form, it didn’t fly by magic. It needed food energy. What he ate as a bat would sustain him in his other forms too, if he consumed enough. Since he could feed without pausing in this form, it behooved him to stuff himself for the next day. He was not a natural bat; he had adopted it as an alternate form, completing the normal unicorn roster of three. Thus this one also was neutral, because it was the unicorn way, and would not make a splash. The nonsplash forms were repeatable, while individual magic was not. Once a unique spell was done, it was finished; if the same thing needed to be done again, it had to be by a different spell. So even Adepts were careful not to waste magic. Fortunately, human ingenuity could devise many spells, so the limitation normally didn’t squeeze.
He had mastered other forms, however, extending his unicorn range. Grandpa Stile had trained him for this, making him the Unicorn Adept. This ability had enabled him to hide from the Adverse Adepts for four years, making a critical difference in the contest for control of Phaze. Now he hoped it made a similar difference, in this contest for the survival of Phaze.
As dawn approached, he shifted to wolf form, and ranged on through the diminishing forestland. He was making excellent time, but he was tiring, for all the forms required rest and sleep eventually. He hoped the ice demons were hospitable, so that he could get some rest there.
Being in wolf form reminded him of his Promised, Sirelmoba. What a fine little bitch she was! He almost wished he had not made the commitment to her, because once they came of age and mated, they would separate and never mate with each other again. If he had taken some other bitch as his Promised, and exchanged name syllables with her, then he would have been free to establish a permanent liaison with Sirel. But of course he wouldn’t have come to know her so well then. The wolf way was a good way, but sometimes hard. And, he had to remind himself, he was not really a wolf; he had joined the Pack when in hiding, but he was more truly a unicorn, or a man.
Finally the great White Mountains loomed beyond the scrub. Now he was glad he was moving rapidly, because even in his furry wolf guise he would have had some trouble with the cold here. Natural wolves got acclimatized, but he had spent his life in the temperate zone and was soft. Also, he lacked his full growth. In the necessary alignment of things, the unicorns and werewolves and vampire bats lived the same ages as humans; a nine-year-old human boy was as young in proportion as a ‘corn or wolf or bat. It had been a job, carrying Lysan! He had had to use supplementary magic to lighten the load.
He came to the base of the mountains. Grandpa Stile had told him of one of the tribes of snow demons he had come to know, because he had played chess against the demon champion, Ice-beard. Even demons loved good games! They had been on opposite sides in the Adept struggle, but demons did not take human altercations too seriously. In any event, they should all be on the same side now: the side of Phaze.
He found the pass leading to the demon caves. He started up, his paws feeling the ice. Soon he would have to change to boy form and invoke a spell of warmth.
A snow demon appeared, and roared a windy challenge. “Away, wolf, ere ) bury thee!” It was no bluff; the creature could set off a snowslide in a moment.
“I be friend!” Flach called in growl-talk. Not all creatures understood all languages, but there was some interaction between wolves and snow demons. With magic he could do for himself what he had done for Lysan: make their languages compatible.
“Demons have no friends!” The demon made ready to start the slide.
“I be grandpup to Adept Stile, come to see Icebeard.”
The demon paused. That name was known here. “Prove it.”
Flach assumed his unicorn form, then his boy form. He made a minor conjuration of clothing, lest he freeze. “Dost see the resemblance?” For he did have a family resemblance to his grandfather, one he had cultivated from pride.
“Aye,” the demon said grudgingly. “An thou dost be faking it, we shall make o’ thee a statue o’ snow.”
“As would be proper.” Flach agreed.
The demon led him on into a cave farther up the pass. Soon he stood before the demon chief, who was a fearsome figure. He was made entirely of ice, with wild icicles for hair and of course matted ice for a beard. He gazed coldly at Flach. “Thou claimest to be the ‘Corn Adept?” he demanded, his breath a freezing fog.
“Aye. An thou wishest, I will perform small magic.”
“Why small? An thou dost be he, thou canst make big magic.”
“And have our enemy spy my location.” Flach replied. “That were not kind to thee or me.”
Icebeard considered. “Dost play chess?”
Flach laughed. “Aye! But I be far from Grandpa’s league—or thine.”
That was a good answer. “What willst thou here?”
“Knowest thou o’ the Hectare?”
“Word reaches e’en the hinter. Thou hast dealings with them?”
Here was the crux. If the demons had sided with the enemy, he would have to risk strong magic to escape. “Aye. I be dealing to destroy them.”
The demon chief smiled. “Then we be together, this time. We ha’ no joy in aliens who would mine out our mounts.”
“Aye, I hoped so,” Flach said, relieved. “My sire the Rovot Adept opposes them, and hides the Book o’ Magic.”
“We remember the Rovot—and Fleta ‘Corn, a mare one could learn to like.” That was strong language, from those who liked no one. Flach’s dam had evidently made a considerable impression.
“Stile be their captive, and most o’er Adepts. Mayhap I alone can implement our defense.”
“And needst our aid?”
“Aye.”
“Shallst have it, ‘Corn. What needst?”
Just like that! Demons evidently wasted no time pondering. “Needs must I go to the North Pole.”
Icebeard was taken aback. “That be one hard haul. I would trust not my cold bones there. The weather be mean.”
“Aye, I fear I can make it not alone.”
“But my daughter be full o’ the flush o’ youth. She will lead thee there, with picked guard.”
“My thanks to thee, chief o’ demons!” Flach said gratefully. A demon squad could handle anything short of Adept magic— and they would not encounter that near the Pole.
“But a caution,” Icebeard said. “My cub be impetuous, and my guards be virile. Needs must a man’s presence keep them in check.”
“I be but boy,” Flach protested. “An I not be the only one remaining, this task were ne’er mine.”
“Thou dost be Adept,” Icebeard reminded him. “Canst do magic we wot not, an we oppose thee not.”
“Aye—but an I invoke it, the traitor Purple be on my tail. I can risk but small spells.”
“Illusion be but small.”
Flach gazed at him, catching on. “Make myself seem older? Maybe twice mine age o’ nine?”
Icebeard nodded. “My cub be twenty. That be close enough. She will show the way. An a guard show interest in her, do thou step between.”
Flach was daunted. “I know not if I—“
“Do thou fashion a seeming o’ robust strength and brief temper. That, plus mine orders, suffice.”
Maybe it would. Flach realized that it would have to be risked, if he was to get to the Pole. “I will try. Chief.”
“Mayhap soon I find suitable match for her. But an she fall for a mere guard, that be complicated.”
Flach could appreciate that. Each group had its own conventions about romance and marriage, and violation of them could be perilous. Flach knew the wolf conventions, and was catching on to the human ones, thanks to Nepe’s information. Icebeard wanted his daughter emotionally uncommitted until there was a good marriage lined up for her. Naturally there was no worry about a relationship with a warm-bodied man; any closeness would freeze him or melt her. There was even less concern about a nine-year-old child. The chief might be taking advantage of Flach’s mission to keep his daughter safely out of temptation until he completed his arrangements for her.
This could be good for Flach, too. Any demon help would be good, but because Icebeard valued his daughter, these would be picked guards, able to handle just about any threat. That, plus Flach’s minor magic, should get them through in good order.
“Methinks it will take thee a day to get the party organized,” Flach said. “I be tired from my trek here—“
“Didst not conjure thyself close?”
“Nay. that be strong magic. I came by land, running day and night and day.”
Icebeard snapped his icy fingers, and a demon female appeared. She was stooped, and her hair was a curtain of icicles, but she was human rather than beastly in general configuration. “Take him to a secure chamber and watch him sleep,” the chief told her.
The woman walked to Flach. picked him up, and carried him out of the room. She was taking the order literally, and taking him as she would a block of ice. He had to do a quick spot spell to prevent their contact from doing each harm.
She bore him to a bubble of air deep in the glacier and dumped him down on a bed of snow. Again he did spot magic to make the interface proper: now the snow seemed like warm feathers, and did not melt under him. He stretched out, ready to sleep for twelve hours.
The demoness stood there, gazing down at him. Time passed, and she did not move. Then he realized what it was: she was watching him sleep, literally.
So be it. He would surely be safe, this way. He closed his eyes and slept.
Next day, refreshed, he conjured some bread to eat, found a crevice for natural functions, and went to see what had developed in the interim.
Icebeard had been busy. A troop of ten stout snow demons had been assembled, and a similar number of demon dogs, also made of ice. Several were to be harnessed to a sled, and the others would range out around the group, guarding it. They were to travel in style.
“Adept!”
He turned. It was a petite young demoness, not greatly taller than himself. He was surprised; he had thought all demons, of any type, were ugly, hideous, or grotesque, but she was a perfect figure of a woman molded from ice. “Aye,” he said.
“I be Icedora, but thou mayst call me Icy,” she said, her voice like the crystalline tinkle of glass dangles. “That be spelled with a c, not a k, for I be not Iky!”
“I can see that,” he said, awed even at his age in the spectacle of her frozen splendor.
“We be traveling together, methinks.”
Icebeard’s daughter! He realized he shouldn’t have been surprised. The demon chief had said she was twenty, which was adult, and that he was trying to set up her marriage, but he had neglected to say she was beautiful by any standard. “Aye,” he said after a moment. “I be Flach.”
“I met thy dam, the ‘corn,” she said. “I were but thine age then, but she were beautiful.”
Flach hesitated, not knowing the appropriate response. ley’s the same! Nepe prompted him.
“No more so than thee,” Flach said.
Icy smiled, and that confirmed the compliment, for her smile made her seem almost warm. “Methinks we shall get along well enough,” she said.
Told you! Nepe put in. Way to a woman’s heart is flattery.
So it seemed. He would try to remember that, for the time when it might count for him. “That should be nice. Who rides the sled?”
“Thou—and I. So we had better get along well!”
“Aye.” He looked around, to make sure that no other demons were listening. “Thy father says I must pretend to be older, so I will make a spell o’ illusion. But thou must remember I be but a child.”
“Aye. But thou dost be distressingly hot. Canst make thyself comfortably cool?”
“Aye. I will seem cold, but will not be cold. I will not melt thee, and thou willst not freeze me.”
“I be glad o’ that!” she said, laughing. “We folk associate not much with thy folk, because o’ their oppressive heat. An they e’er change their ways, all will be cool.”
“Aye,” he agreed, not caring to argue the point.
On the following day they started off. Flach had generated an illusion that doubled his age, so that he looked and sounded eighteen instead of nine. He seemed larger and heavier, but he retained the strength and mind of his true age. His image moved exactly as he did, magnified appropriately. He was rather proud of the spell; he had never done this before.
Icebeard looked him over and cracked a slow smile. “An that not fade in thy sleep, it be suitable.”
“It will remain till I counter it,” Flach assured him. “My spells fade slow. But an I have to do a man’s work, I needs must use magic to amplify my strength.”
“Nonesuch be required. The story be this: my daughter has a mission to the Pole, and thou too, to help her complete it. Thou willst tell her what needs must be done, and she will tell the guards. The dogs not will attack thee.” He paused, then lowered his voice. “Canst tell me what thy business be at the Pole?”
“I know it not, only that I must go,” Flach said, appreciating why he had not been told. He could not blab the secret to anyone. “I hope to discover why when I get there. Then mayhap it will be known to all.”
“Mayhap,” the demon chief agreed, disappointed. “Come, needs must I introduce thee to my cub, lest she mistake thee for other.”
“I met her yesterday,” Flach said.
“In this form?”
“Nay, in mine own.”
“Then the introduction be needful.”
He had a point. Flach now looked completely different. He had the aspect of a powerful young man. He hoped he would be this solid and handsome when he really did grow up!
Icy was evidently impressed when she saw him. “I knew not that warm ones could be so rugged!” she exclaimed, eying him in a way that made him uncomfortable.
You should be! the inner voice that was Nepe told him. Thai’s one ho! snow demoness! She’s going to find out just what is possible, before this trip is done. She formed a mental image of wolves sniffing tails, then making ready to mate.
Flach shrugged. Nothing was possible, of course.
They got on the sledge, which was shaped to allow them to sit comfortably side by side, their backs supported by the supplies behind and their legs moderately bent in front. Icy took the reins. “Mush!” she cried, and the dogs took off.
But they were high on a mountain slope. The sledge careered down and to the side, skidding toward a drop-off. “Yiii!” Flach cried, grabbing on for dear life.
The sledge turned just before the ledge and zoomed along its edge. Flach hung on, afraid to look down into its dark depths. They seemed about to bounce off the snow and tumble right off the mountain.
“Well, now,” Icy said, her frozen breath tickling his ear. Flach opened his eyes.
She was what he had grabbed on to! Hastily he let go, steeling himself to sit upright and ignore the horrendous scene just beyond the sled, and the breathtaking one on it.
The demons skiing behind laughed. So did the racing guard dogs. So, in a moment, did the harnessed dogs. They had done it on purpose, to make him react.
Flach relaxed. If they were so sure of their footing and ley’s safety, he might as well be sure too. They surely knew every inch of these mountain slopes, and could handle them precisely. They had had their fun with him, but he would keep his nerve better from now on.
Soon they were beyond the mountains and heading north across a relatively flat plain. The dogs ran indefatigably, and the skiing demons kept the pace. It quickly got dull.
“Dost know any good games?” Icy asked with a toss of her ice tresses. “We have long to ride.”
“Well, there be tag—“
“And which o’ us gets off and runs to do that?” she inquired archly.
“It were a stupid notion,” he admitted. “I could conjure cards—“
“I have played e’ery game there be for cards!” she said crossly. “A chief’s daughter has much time on her hands.”
There’s one she hasn’t played, I’ll bet, Nepe thought. I don’t know what it’s called, but I remember how it goes.
Flach conjured a deck of playing cards. “Mayhap I have one thou hast not.”
“Willst bet on’t?”
“Bet what?”
“Consequences.”
Flach wasn’t sure he trusted this. “What consequences?”
She shrugged. “I’ll decide, after I win.”
“Suppose I win?”
“Then the consequence be thine to decide, for me.”
“I have a mission to accomplish. I can’t be diverted to—“
“Innocent tasks,” she said. “Like saying ‘I be a warm ogre bottom!’ or mayhap standing on the sledge and sunning the guards.”
“Sunning?”
“Mayhap thy kind calls it mooning.”
This was beginning to sound like the kind of challenge a person of his generation couldn’t turn down. “An thou dost lose the bet, I define a consequence for thee?” he said, making quite sure.
“Aye. So long as it be harmless and delay our travel not.”
This creature is dangerous! Nepe warned admiringly. But you better accept her challenge, or she’ll come up with worse.
“Agreed,” Flach said. “The bet be whether I have a card game thou hast ne’er played before.”
“Aye. Name it.”
“I can’t name it. But—“
“Then thou dost lose!” she exclaimed.
“Nay, that be not the bet!” he protested. “I need not name it, only describe it. An it be a good game thou has played not before, I win.”
She reconsidered. “Aye, that be fair. Describe it.”
Drawing on Nepe’s information, he described it: “Several can play, or only two. The dealer lays down cards according to a secret rule, and first to guess that rule becomes dealer.”
She considered. “I ne’er heard o’ it,” she confessed. “But be it a real game? Who wins it, who loses? How be points scored?
“The dealer wins, long’s he holds his place. It be like king o’ the hill: the one atop wins till he loses. But we could play for points an thou wishest: each wrong guess be the dealer’s point.”
“But the dealer gets all the points!” she protested.
“Aye. but the players can become dealer by guessing right, and get points. When the game end, belike one be ahead.”
“Aye,” she said, considering it. “I like this game. Thou dost win the bet. What wouldst thou make my consequence?”
Flach was tempted to make her sun the guards, but lacked the nerve. “Let’s play the game, and this be my first point.”
She looked at him. “Thou dost be generous, Flach. I would have gi’en thee worse.”
“I lost my nerve,” he admitted.
She laughed. “I like thee, warm one! I will not make thee do aught onerous.”
“An thou dost win.”
“Ne’er fear, I will win,” she said confidently. “I be not Adept, but I be sharp at card games.”
Flach marveled at her certainty. Though his own experience with the Proton Game was slight, Nepe had played it often, and her expertise was his to draw on now that they were merged. Also, he had played games with his adopted sibling wolves, among which guessing games were prominent because they could be indulged while running together through brush in quest of game (the other kind). In short, despite his youth, he regarded himself as a good competitor, quick with his wits. Could this sheltered snow girl be the same?
He shuffled the cards. They were plastic, able to withstand both his heat and her cold. “Wouldst be dealer first?”
“Nay,” she said. “How couldst thou have the first point, and thou not be dealer? Lay me out.”
He glanced at her, unsure of her terminology. She had undone her ice coat, evidently feeling too warm, and had her feather-ice sweater open to view. It was a remarkably shapely sweater, rather like a contour map with two perfectly rounded mountains.
“Some cards,” she clarified, laughing so that the mountains shook. Well she knew the nature of his confusion and his distraction.
When I grow up, I’m going to practice to make my sweater move like that! Nepe thought enviously.
That helped clarify things for Flach. He had found that sweater oddly intriguing, but hadn’t quite realized why. No doubt when he became the age he had made himself appear to be, he would have no trouble realizing why. Apparently there was a greater correspondence between the interests of demons and men than he had appreciated.
“Then thou must shuffle,” he said. “That be standard, to assure I cheat not.”
She laughed so hard that her sweater threatened to ripple apart and hurl the mountains into limbo. “Thou fool! Canst be serious?”
“Aye, serious,” he said, annoyed. “Needs must the game be played fair.”
“Willst bet on that?” she asked, suppressing a chortle.
“Aye! I would not cheat!”
She calmed down enough to face him directly, but the mountains still quivered with merry aftershocks. “This be no random dealing, Flach,” she said. “This be cards laid down by secret rules. How canst thou have a rule, an thou deal randomly—‘less random be thy rule?”
Ooops! She had caught him in an embarrassing blunder. Even his simulated aspect blushed. “Thy point,” he admitted.
Her head darted forward, and she kissed him on the cheek. The magic of the illusion was such that her cold lips scored on his own flesh, though it was not quite where the flesh of the older youth seemed. “But I tike thine honesty,” she said. “Thy foolishness becomes thee.”
That made him blush worse. He tried to ignore it. “Now must I put the cards back in order,” he said.
“Easy, Adept!” she said, taking the deck from him. “Make us a table—a sheet o’ ice will do—and I will play a game o’ clock solitaire.”
“But a game will just mix them up more!” he protested. “And what be this about a clock? Time be not o’ the essence.”
She shook her head wonderingly. “I had thought it to be dull, shepherding a boy into the bleak. Methinks I forget the joys o’ naiveté. Watch—nay, no pun!—and learn, lad.”
He conjured the sheet of ice she wanted, and they laid it across their laps. His woolly clothing and protective spell prevented his heat from melting it, and her body would only freeze it colder, so it was an excellent table. She put the cards down in a circular pattern of twelve piles, and a thirteenth pile in the center. “This be the clock,” she announced. “North be twelve, south be six, and the rest in order. An I complete the numbers before the center, I win—but that be seldom.”
“One chance in thirteen,” he remarked.
“How cle’er o’ thee to figure it!” she said, smiling. He knew she was teasing him, but he felt a surge of pleasure. She’s mistress of her trade, Nepe thought appreciatively.
She lifted the top card in the center pile. It was an ace. She put that face up under the 1 pile just right of the 12 pile, and lifted the top card of that pile. This was a 6, so she put that under the 6 pile, and took its top card.
So it went, from pile to pile, each one showing the way to the next. ley’s snow-white hands flashed cleverly from pile to pile, placing and lifting cards so quickly it was hard to follow. Obviously she had played this game many times before—and many others. She had spoken truly about her experience in this regard.
The first king showed up, and went to the center. Later another, and a third. Then the first of the circle to reach all four cards appeared: the 3 pile. Then, after only a few more moves, the fourth king.
“Hot lava!” she swore. “I be lost ere I have more than one hour on the clock! That be a bad omen.”
“I hope not!” Flach said. Omens were serious things.
She shrugged, and again the mountains moved. “Mayhap not. They say lucky cards, unlucky in love, and I have e’er been luckiest at cards. An my luck turn, my father may find a good demon for me.”
“He can find not a demon for one as fair as thou?” Flach asked, surprised. “Be appearance not the first thing men seek?”
“Aye.” Her hands resumed their motion, as she lifted the top card on the 12 stack and continued the placements. That card was an 8, and the next a 10. “Many be eager enough, but it seems I have a curse.” The 8 pile was completed, then the 2’s, and the 4’s.
“A curse? It be not apparent to me.”
Her quick hands brought up the fourth queen for the 12 pile. “Fire! Lost again.” For the 9’s and 11’s remained incomplete. She took one from the 11’s, and in a moment all the piles were done. Then she picked them up: the four aces, four 2’s, and so on. The deck was in numerical order. “An thou needst suit order, I can play a game for that,” she said.
“Nay, this be good enough,” he said, taking the cards. “But what be this curse on thee?”
“Let me see those,” she said suddenly, taking them back and turning the pack over. “I ne’er looked at the backs! This be one o’ the fairy folk!” For the picture was of a winged girl in gauzy green, flying up to pick foliage.
“Aye. I met her when I was a wolf, so put her on my cards. It were when I was in hiding.”
“Thou wast hiding?”
“From the Adverse Adepts, four years.”
“And they found thee not?”
“They found me after those years. Then it were difficult, till Stile merged the frames.”
“But were thy sire and dam not on our side? My father taught the Rovot Adept to play chess.”
“Aye. I hid from him, till he searched me out.”
“Thou didst have a difficult life,” she said sympathetically.
“Nay, it were a good life, only not with my parents. But why dost thou turn aside the subject when I ask about thy curse?”
“ ‘Cause it be my shame,” she said. “An thou beat me at cards, thou canst make me tell thee for consequence.”
That seemed fair enough. He picked out the 10 of hearts and laid it down. “When thou dost think o’ the rule, make thy guess,” he said. “It must be apparent within four cards, ‘less thou preferest other. An thou guess wrong, my point. An thou not guess it in eight cards, my point.”
“Aye. Lay thy four.”
He put down the 4 of clubs, the jack of diamonds, and the 5 of spades.
“That be not enough to define the rule,” she said. “An I guess a rule that fits, but it be not thine, what then?”
“I tell thee nay, but no penalty. Otherwise it became cumbersome for two. An several play, bad guesses help others to win, so players be cautious. But with two, there be no urgency to guess, so it can be the whole deck before a guess.” He was getting this from Nepe. “So I put limits, but thou canst protest them.”
“Nay, no protest. Thy rule be change color and diminish by six, in circular fashion. Mayhap also repeat not suit till all be used, but that were not certain.”
She had nailed it with alarming accuracy. Flach handed the deck to her.
“My deal be same’s thine,” she said, not taking up the four cards. “But my rule other.”
Flach studied the cards with new interest. “Two-digit number alternating with one-digit number,” he said.
“Nay. No penalty.”
“Lay more cards.”
She put down the 9 of spades, the 3 of spades, the 6 of clubs, and the 8 of clubs.
Flach stared at the cards. The colors no longer alternated, and the numbers no longer descended. There was no consistent pattern of odd and even. He had to admit he was stumped.
“Third card be odd,” she said.
“But the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth cards are odd!” he protested.
“Not odd in total, odd in being different from the first three,” she explained. “See: each has two symbols in top row, till the third, with one. Then two, two, and one.”
He looked, and it was so. She had looked at the cards in a different way, and been more original than he. “Thy point,” he conceded.
They played again. She dealt the 8 of hearts, 11 of spades, 5 of clubs, and 4 of clubs. When he was baffled, she dealt out the 9 of diamonds, the ace of diamonds, 7 of diamonds, and 6 of diamonds.
He was unable to get it. “Alphabetic,” she explained.
“But the ace should be first!”
“That be the one, as in one, two, three et cetera.”
He admitted defeat.
So it went. Icy was immensely more talented than he, in this game. By the time they were ready to camp for the night, he was hopelessly behind on points. Any penalties she had in mind for him were hers to dictate.
“How earnest thou so apt in cards?” he asked ruefully.
“My sire be chess champ o’ demons, and but for thy grandpa, o’ all Phaze,” she said. “From him do I inherit a memory and grasp o’ numbers and positions. None beat me at such.”
“Mayhap that be thy curse!” he exclaimed. “Demons like not to be beaten by demoness.”
She shook her head. “Thinkst I know that not? Were thou a prospective match, thou wouldst ne’er discover so helpless a female, in anything relating to male’s domain.”
It seemed she did know what she was doing. She didn’t need to worry about beating him, as he was in no way a prospect for her. It was foolish, he knew, but he almost regretted that.
They ate supper while riding. Flach conjured cold sandwiches and cold milk for himself, not wishing to upset her by having hot food, and she ate ice cream from her own store. After a while his milk froze, so they traded, and she chewed on it while he had some of her ice cream. If a person was what she ate, he could see why she was sweet.
The demon guards were hunting on the move. They skied down ice rabbits and killed them with ice spears. They fired ice arrows up at ice geese and brought them down. This frozen realm was full of life, when a person knew what to look for. Perhaps the magic that protected him from the cold, and shielded Icy from his heat, also facilitated his perception of the nature of this region. It was far more interesting than he had supposed. Now he saw that there were ice plants, too, ranging from cut-glass blades of grass to snow trees.
“I fear I be losing my touch,” Icy remarked. “Thine eyes be straying across the landscape.” She inhaled. “Dost spy elevations more symmetrical than mine?”
“Thou wouldst not tease me so, an thou knew not mine age,” he accused her.
“Aye,” she agreed, satisfied.
The dogs drew up at a bit of an outcropping of ice, perhaps a glacier that had gotten lost. To the west dark clouds were surging, blotting out the chilly sunset. “There will be nice weather tonight,” Icy observed. “But methinks thou willst prefer to be under co’er.”
“Aye. Snow and ice be not as appealing to me as to thee.”
She smiled obscurely. “Mayhap we shall see.”
The demon guards unpacked a tent made of stitched snow, and stretched it over great long icicles that made fine poles. Icy crawled in, beckoning Flach to follow. She brought out an ice lamp whose central crystal radiated cold blue light, just enough to illuminate the interior.
“There be not enough snow for two beds,” she said, brushing the snow into a central pile. “Thou willst have to share with me.”
“I can make a small spell to make mine own—“ he started.
“Nay, that were pointless,” she said, removing her coat. “Thy spell will stop thy heat from melting the snow.”
“Aye, but—“
“And I like thy company,” she continued, pulling off her fine sweater. “I like not sleeping alone, anyway.”
“But—“
“Get thy clothes off,” she said, stepping out of her layered ice skirt. “Dost want to soil clean snow?”
“But I need my clothes to keep warm!”
“Nay, thy spell protects thee,” she said, removing her scant undergarments and hanging them neatly on an ice hook. Her body was now innocent of apparel, and resembled a glass and alabaster statue animated by the Brown Adept as a lovely golem.
“But a man be supposed not to sleep beside a woman not o’ his family,” he protested.
“But thou dost be no man, but a child. Thinkst thou my memory be so brief?”
“E’en so, it be not right to be naked together.”
“So? Were that the way it be with thine o’er self in Proton-frame?”
She had him as handily outflanked as she had on the card game. Nakedness was the norm in the other frame. Of course Nepe was used to it, but he couldn’t turn the body over to her, because she lacked the magic to confine its heat.
Defeated, he undressed. He was tired, and did need the sleep, and the snow did look very soft and fluffy. Though he was clothed with illusion, his apparel seemed to fit the larger body as well as it fitted him, and when he doffed it his apparent body was as naked as his real one, in a more manly manner.
Icy lay on the bed. “Didst say thou was with a Pack?” she inquired.
“Aye. They were kind to me.”
“Then thou hadst a Promised bitch?”
“Aye. When we come of age, we will mate, and go our ways.”
Icy spread her legs. They were as marvelously rounded and symmetrical as her upper features. “Methinks I will show thee how to do it, so thou dost know, when.”
I knew it! Nepe thought. I saw it coming!
How do I get out o’ if? he thought desperately.
Why bother? It’s good information. I’m learning things from her like mad!
Fat lot o’ help thou dost be! he retorted. Aloud, to Icy, he said: “I thank thee for thy consideration, but methinks I had better sleep.”
“Dost remember our card games?” she inquired, stretching her nicely proportioned arms languorously.
“Aye. But—“ Then he caught her drift. “Consequences!”
“Bright lad! Thou dost owe me a mountain o’ them! Come, Flach, I will hurt thee not. I want only to play with thee.”
“But why? I be o’ no interest to thee!”
“Because,” she said seriously, “an I practice with thee, and find what works, mayhap I can surmount my curse and nab a good match of my own kind.”
“Tell me thy curse, and mayhap I can make a spell to abate it,” he offered hopefully.
“Come to my arms, and I will tell thee, though I owe thee not.”
Flach got down on the bed beside her. She turned over, caught his shoulder and rolled him into her. She was amazingly pleasant to He against. His spell served as a barrier against heat leakage, so that neither could hurt the other, but it allowed all other aspects of touch to register. It enabled him to catch a tactile glimpse of what grown folk found in each other, physically.
“Four times have suitors come my father deemed worthy,” she said. She took a breath, and her softness pressed caressingly against him. “Each were eager to be close to me. But each were stricken at the moment he sought to do with me as I would do with thee. Two died, one went lunatic, and one be yet in coma. Now the suitors be nay so eager, and I fear the onset o’ being an old demoness. It be the curse, that strikes down any who would love me.”
“I checked thee for malign influence when I met thee,” Flach said, trying to focus on his words instead of on her breathing. “That be no distrust o’ thee, but ‘cause my mission be dire, and I fear bad magic ‘gainst me. There be no curse on thee I can fathom, Icy.”
“Kind of thee to say so, Adept,” she said. “But then what struck those suitors?”
“Mayhap I can fathom that. I should be proof ‘gainst it, ‘cause o’ my magic, youth, and not being thy kind.” He hoped; that sounded like a dreadful curse, and the qualities he had named were barely protecting him from her wiles. If the curse turned out to be stronger than her blessings, even his magic might not be enough, since he did not want to make a big splash. “Exactly how did it happen?”
“When I get a demon close,” she said, “and I kiss him like this”—she kissed him on the mouth, and if her prior kiss on his cheek had been pleasant, this was so much more so as to resemble Adept magic instead of minor peasant spells to ward off flies. “And I squeeze him like this”—she pressed him in to the length of her body, and the length of his body responded with such a warm surge of feeling that he feared it would break across the protective spell. “And I whisper in his handsome frozen ear an endearment.” She put her lips to his ear, and breathed, “I love thee,” and though he knew it was merely a demonstration, his heart seemed to swell and burst with responding passion. To love such a woman! What could anything else matter, after that?
“Oh!” she squeaked, horrified.
Flach rolled away and scrambled to his feet, afraid of what had happened. Sure enough, there was a melted streak the length of her beautiful body. His burgeoning heat had broken through and touched her, horribly.
“O, Icy, I be sorry!” he said. “I will make magic to mend thee!”
“The pain be awful,” she gasped. “An thou canst—“
“The burn dispel, and make her well,” he singsonged, willing the healing power. This was stronger magic than he liked to use, but he felt guilty for hurting her, and had to make it right.
A small cloud of freezing vapor appeared, and coalesced against her body. The meltline disappeared. Icy relaxed.
“Ah, thy magic be profound!” she said. “The burn be gone as it never were. I thank thee, I thank thee!”
“Nay, it were my fault I hurt thee. Thy kiss, thine embrace, thy words, they heated me so it burst through the spell, and I harmed thee awfully. I beg thy forgiveness, lovely creature!”
“Nay, apologize not to me!” she exclaimed, sitting up. “I led thee to it, with my foolish game. I tried to make thee hot, as I made the others—“
She broke off, staring. Flach came to the same realization. “The heat!” he exclaimed. “I be warm, but I be but a child. An thou couldst do that to me, what couldst thou do to a grown man?”
“Well, they be o’ ice, like me—“
“But an they heated, they could melt!” he said. “That be no curse—that be o’erabundance o’ passion!”
“But such ne’er happ’d before to demonesses!” she protested.
“There was ne’er a snow creature nor as lovely neither passionate as thee before!”
“Aye,” she breathed, appreciating the validity of his observation. “Then love be my curse.”
“But now the cause be known, can we mute it,” he said. “Needs must I merely put a spell on thee to cap the intensity o’ thy effect on others. Then canst thou love freely and safely.”
“Safe love,” she agreed, delighting in the concept. “Canst do it to me now?”
Even in her innocent expressions, she’s sexy! Nepe noted jealously.
“Aye.” Flach pondered briefly, then singsonged: “Let the lady’s love be cool, not hot; his passion be but half she’s got.” As verse it was nothing, but his concept was true: any male approaching her would find his ardor muted to about fifty per cent, which should be survivable. At the very least it would slow things, and give her time to choke down her intensity if she saw the male becoming uncomfortable.
“But I feel not different,” she said.
“The effect be on thy lover, not thee,” he explained.
“Needs must I verify this,” she decided. “Come here, Adept.”
Oops. And you thought you’d gotten out of it! Nepe laughed.
Well, there were worse fates. Flach lay down beside her again, on the bed of snow. “Mayhap I should increase the power o’ my barrier spell,” he said. “I want not to melt thee again.”
“An thy magic work, no need,” she pointed out. “Thou willst not heat enough to break through. We have found the same passion which melted demons caused thee to melt me; an thou no longer melt me, nor will they melt. That be the test. I want to damp them not down more than be needful.”
He had to concede it was a fair test. Too much damping would be deleterious to her romance.
She took hold of him again and pressed him close. He felt as if he were aging several years: good, manly ones. She kissed him. He felt as if he were floating through a golden radiance of delight. She touched her ice-perfect lips to his ear and whispered, “I love thee, Adept, for the favor thou has done me.” He felt as if he were floating through a golden radiance of delight.
What? That was the last feeling! What about his heart swelling and bursting with responding passion?
It’s the feeling-cap, dummy! Nepe reminded him.
Oh. Of course. “I think thou dost be wonderful,” he told Icy. “But that be the limit.”
“Be that so?” she inquired, feeling challenged. “Mayhap I can show thee a thing or two.” She rolled him over on top of her, spread her legs, and wrapped them around his hips. The legs were evidently the two things she was showing him. She inhaled, causing his body to be lifted by cushions. That made two more things. She kissed him in a way he had not realized was possible. That was two more things, her lips, more amazing than either of the prior sets. “Where be thy limit now?” she whispered.
“I be floating on golden clouds,” he said. “And gazing at a hea’en I long to reach, but can not. I love thee, demoness, but can feel only the part o’ it. I beg thee, tease me not further, lest I find ne’er in the rest o’ my life the like!”
“Then I be proof ‘gainst heating my man!” she exclaimed, delighted. “An this not heat thee, naught will!” She flexed her legs a bit, and took another breath, and squeezed him miraculously tight yet gentle, sending him for a ride on another golden cloud.
“Aye,” he agreed sadly. “Naught will. But had I been the man I look, methinks not e’en the spell would have stopped me from melting thee to a puddle.”
“For sure. Adept,” she agreed, pleased. She let him go, and he rolled over onto his own side of the snow with mixed emotions. “But the demon I take will be ice, and his heart will melt not. He will be reduced to the performance le’el o’ a demon’s way with an ordinary demoness.”
“Aye,” Flach agreed. “Dost that abate the onus o’ all my consequences?”
“Aye, Adept!” she agreed. “But I ne’er meant to make thee pay them; it were but fancy.”
He had suspected as much. Still, it was a relief. “Thank thee, Icy. Methinks I will e’er regret I were not made a snow demon.”
“That be but natural,” she pointed out. “Now needs must we sleep, for the morrow we meet the Pole.”
He had almost forgotten his mission, in the intrigue of his dialogue with the demoness. “Aye,” he said, and closed his eyes.
But it was a while before he was able to make his way down from the golden cloud to the more ordinary bed of snow, and sleep.
The guard demons had to dig them out in the morning, for the storm had buried their tent in snow. Icy sat up and stretched and breathed the horrendously coid air that rushed in as the tunnel reached the tent entrance.
Flach saw the shoveler-demon staring. “Icy, thy clothing,” he murmured “Dost not want thy guards melting before we reach the Pole.”
“To be sure!” she agreed, delighted, and got up to fetch her clothing. Actually his warning was not well taken, because she could no longer cause males to heat enough to melt. But he was mindful of her father’s caution; Flach’s grown image was to discourage the demons from getting ideas about a woman who was intended for demonly princes, not guards.
“And thou too, lover,” Icy said mischievously, glancing back at him.
Now Flach remembered that he was naked too, and that he had the semblance of a grown man. The guard demons could draw only one conclusion about what had gone on in the tent during the night. They would be wrong in detail, but perhaps not in principle. Had he been older, and colder...
He got up and dressed. Then they exited the tent, the demons gazing jealously at Flach, and got on the sledge. They had their breakfasts while zooming on toward the Pole. They played card games, and she skunked him continually. The consequences she demanded were always the same: she would wait till a guard was looking, then make Flach kiss her on the cheek or, sometimes, the lips, while she feigned reluctance. To the demons it would seem as if Flach were the one winning, and demanding the kisses from her. She wanted the world to know that she had made a conquest, and that the man had not died. All true, as far as it went. He wished it could be more than a mere game to her, and more than an impossible dream to him. He had understood the principle of mating, but had never before properly appreciated the intense lure of it, or the utter fascination a woman could represent for a man. Already he knew that it would take a very special woman to fulfill the longings Icy had seeded in him. Would there be any such, when he grew up?
“There it be!” she abruptly exclaimed.
Flach looked, surprised. There in the middle of the plain was a pole sticking in the snow. It was disappointingly simple, a mere column of ice with spiral ridges down its length. The oddest thing was that it was half in shadow. They drew up to it and halted.
“What now?” Icy inquired. “I realize that thy mission must seem a paltry thing, after my love, but surely thou dost have aught to do here?”
The guard demons fidgeted at this seeming confirmation of their suspicions. The demoness was truly enjoying herself.
The problem was that Flach had no idea what to do. The message had simply told him to come here. What now, indeed?
He walked over to the Pole. He touched it.
Immediately the Pole rose. A circular panel of ice came up, revealing a hole beneath. There were stairs going down.
“A cave ‘neath the Pole!” Icy exclaimed, delighted. “Ne’er suspected I this!”
Neither had Flach. But rather than seem uncertain, he squatted, ready to climb down the first big step. There had to be something for him in here.
I don ‘t like this, Nepe thought.
“Adept, ne’er would I gainsay thee, since thou mastered me,” Icy said timidly, for the guards were close by, nervously watching the hole as if afraid a fire-breathing dragon might put its head out. “But I intuit some mischief.”
Flach shrugged as if indifferent to mischief. “Dost think my mission takes me not here?” he asked.
“I fear it as I fear a fire lake,” she said. “It be not hostile, yet it be deadly. O my love, go not into that hole!”
She exaggerated her sentiment, of course, but underneath she did have some concern. He was glad to accept the pretext for caution. “I will humor thee by being most careful,” he said gruffly. The guards nodded; this was the way to handle a beautiful woman with foolish notions.
He peered into the hole, his eyes adjusting to its darkness. Now he saw a rope stretched along the stairs, going down out of sight. Its upper end terminated in a loop. A trap for his foot? Would it close about his ankle and haul him roughly into the depths?
“Willst humor me just a trifle more, my hero?” Icy inquired submissively. He was coming to appreciate just how docile a woman could make herself seem, when she chose. Nepe was making avid notes. “Let me drop aught inside, to see what stirs.”
“What could stir, here at the Pole?” he asked, hoping she had an answer.
“I know not, great one,” she confessed prettily. “But thou hast beaten me so badly at cards, requiring only kisses as penalties, which in truth be not burdensome at all when they be thine—“ Here she paused to bat her fine icy eyelashes at him adoringly. “I feel I must repay thee by in some way ensuring that thy bold foot slip not on those dire steps leading I know not where.”
“As thou wishest,” he said generously. Her worry was infectious; was there some threat there? Then why would his father send him here without warning?
Icy took a handful of snow and dropped it into the center of the hole. It powdered down, drifting slightly in the breeze, half of it bright in the daylight, half fading in the shadow that cut across the Pole, But as it passed ground level, it slowed and then halted.
They stared at it. The trailing fluff continued down, but the leading snow was hovering in place, not landing on the highest step.
Flach peered closely at the phenomenon. “It be moving down, but slowly,” he said. “I pose this as a riddle for thee, fair one: what be the meaning o’ this?” He hoped she had an answer!
“I thank thee for this chance to try my skill at what thou has already fathomed,” she said contritely. “Methinks this be a slowspell, that harms not who enters it, but slows him down so that what seems ten minutes to him be an hour outside, mayhap more. An thou go in there, we could wait long ‘fore thou dost emerge.” She raised her great eyes to him. “My love, I doubt I can wait that long for thee!”
That’s one clever doxie! Nepe thought. A slowspell! She must be right.
“And how wouldst thou have me accomplish my purpose within, timid demoness, an thou be so impatient for my return?” Flach asked sternly. This was a game he could get to like!
“Why, methinks I would have thee pull on the cord,” she said. “And bring out what lies within to thee, here in normal time.”
Flach stared at the loop at the end of the rope. Not a trap, but a pull-cord! That made perfect sense!
“Well, needs must we try it,” he said. “Methinks thine answer be apt.”
Icy downcast her eyes and made a snowy flush: a mirror-gloss formed on her alabaster complexion. How visibly she appreciated the compliment from the master! He knew it was only a game to her, but he couldn’t help feeling masterly.
That creature could give lessons to any warm female in the business! Nepe thought, awed. No wonder she melted males!
Flach reached down to grab the loop. His hand moved swiftly until it reached the region of the slow-falling snow; then it slowed. He felt no different, however; if he hadn’t been watching, he would not have realized that the slowdown had occurred.
But though his hand was slow, his arm was above, in normal time. He shoved it down, and the hand had to go. Thus he was able to pass the snow and reach the loop, thanks to his leverage. But when he closed his fingers on it, they failed to respond. They seemed to flex normally, but he could see that nothing was actually happening. They would react in their own good time— which seemed inordinately slow.
But he didn’t have to wait. His fingers were partly curled already. He moved his body and arm, the hand at the end seeming like a fixed hook, and scraped it across the rope so that the fingers caught in the loop. Then he hauled his hand up, and the rope came with it. In a moment his hand was back in normal time, instantly clenching on the rope, and the loop was in his possession.
But what was on the other end? He saw that the loop was actually part of a continuous cord, the two ends of it twining about each other to make the larger rope. No chance of this coming loose! He hauled on it, and the rope came out, not heavy.
Then it went taut. Flach hauled harder, and it came. By the feel of it there was some kind of animal on the other end, walking forward as it was hauled along. But why would he have been sent here to fetch an animal?
Flach kept hauling, hand over hand. Then the animal came slowly into view.
It was man! In fact, it was the Black Adept! Flach immediately recognized the black cloak and boots. The man had been on the other side in the war of Adepts, but had been fair by his definition. He was made of the line, or the line was made of him; Flach had never quite gotten it clear.
He had been sent here to rescue this man? There had to be a reason! “Icy, caution the demons to make no hostile move,” he murmured. “This be the Black Adept, and he be not good to cross.”
“Aye,” she said, gesturing to the guards, who promptly retreated. All creatures of Phaze had respect for Adepts, having learned it by hard lessons over the decades. Flach’s magic was less potent here, but he was an inexperienced child; the older Adepts would be as dangerous here as elsewhere.
Flach finally hauled the Adept out. It wasn’t by muscle so much as guidance; the man was walking to magnify the tugs of the rope. Soon he stood beside the Pole.
“Adept, I be the so-called Unicorn Adept,” Flach said, somewhat nervously. “We met once—“
“Aye,” the man said, having no trouble recognizing him despite Flach’s added years. It was often that way, with Adepts, who knew each other instinctively. “When thou wast prisoner o’ Translucent, on his ancient isle.”
“Aye. I was sent here, but I know not why. This be Icy, the daughter o’ Chief Icebeard, who guided me here.”
The Adept nodded briefly to Icy. “Thou hast done well, fair creature,” he said.
Icy, evidently in awe and fear of the Black Adept, flushed with a truer mirror-shine than before. “My pleasure, Adept,” she said doubtfully.
“Retreat, ere Green emerge,” Black said.
Icy fled. Black turned and hauled on his own rope, which connected to him like a tail. In a moment a ball of fire emerged from the hole. Once this was in the open air, it coalesced into the form of a stout man in green. Flach recognized him too: the Green Adept.
“We thank thee for thy promptness,” Green told Flach. “It were a slow trek out, on our own, though time seemed normal to us within.”
“The Rovot Adept sent me, but he told me not why,” Flach said, amazed at this development. “Canst tell me?”
“Aye, lad,” Green said. “We set the Magic Bomb.”
“Under the Pole?” Flach asked, amazed again.
“Aye. Know this, tad: an the main ploy fail, the Bomb will destroy all. We detonate it now.”
As Green spoke, Black jerked on his line, and it came out of the hole. Evidently the cord had attached to something.
“Now?” Flach asked, appalled.
“Aye. But it be in slow time, so will break not free for six weeks. That be time enough, an thou perform as well thine other tasks as this one.”
“An I do that, thou willst turn it off?”
Green laughed. “Nay, lad! It can be turned off not. It be in process o’ explosion. None can approach it.”
“But then—“
“This be why thy sire told thee not, lest the enemy learn and come ‘fore we were done: thine other two missions will save Phaze, yea e’en from this. Take care thou dost complete them, lad, lest we all perish.”
“But I don’t know what—“
“Nor do we, lad. But the Book o’ Magic and the Oracle hatched the plot, and thou be the one to implement it. Now listen well: the part o’ Black and Green be done. We made and triggered and placed the Bomb. We be now expendable. We shall guard and hide thee so thou canst proceed about thy next mission. Check it not till thou dost be back in the pleasant latitude. Concern thyself not for us; merely see that thou be not caught.”
“But—“
“The enemy has traced thee, lad, but knows not what we do here. There will be an ambush at the White Mountains. When I signal thee, do thou assume a form none will suspect, and leave us to our fate. We will co’er for thee. Dost understand?”
Flach’s head was spinning. But it made sense, if what Green told him was true. He had to avoid capture, so that he could fulfill the remaining two directives on the message capsule. “Aye,” he said bravely.
* * *
Flach rode the sledge back, seated beside Icy as before. The Black Adept donned a white cape of snow and skied behind, seeming to have no problem with the cold. Perhaps that was because Green, in the form of another fireball, rode with him. It was a strange procession, but no stranger than the discoveries Flach was making.
“Canst tell me what be o’ such import that three Adepts join in it?” Icy inquired. “My female curiosity be about to melt me!”
There seemed to be no harm in the news now. “We have a dire plot to save Phaze from the Hectare,” he said. “An it succeed, we all be free.” He decided not to tell her the alternative.
“Aye, methought it be aught like that,” she said. “Meanwhile, howe’er that turn out, I will be fore’er thankful to thee for curing my curse.”
“Thou didst help me much,” he said. “When I grow up, I will have an awful time finding a creature as wonderful as thou.” He had mentioned this before, but realized that it bore repeating, because she was even nicer to him when complimented. It also happened to be true. Her father Icebeard was one of the finest chess players of the planet; Icy took after him in being one of the most attractive females of the planet. It was obvious that both worked very hard at their specialities.
“Aye,” she agreed complacently. Then she leaned over and kissed him, granting the reward he had hoped for.
When they camped for the evening, the two other Adepts remained apart, evidently able to fend for themselves. Flach shared the tent again with Icy. She did not try to seduce him this time; she merely embraced him and slept. It was about the finest sleep he could imagine. He was quite smitten with her, despite the formidable differences between them; she knew this, and was satisfied. She liked to win, in love as well as cards, and was generous in victory.
On the second day, approaching the White Mountains, trouble came. Geysers of hot gas erupted from the snow, appearing randomly. One formed near a guard, and the demon had barely time to scream before he melted.
“O my love, our geyser enemy be striking!” Icy cried, terrified. “We must away, ‘fore it destroy us all!”
But already the gas vents were behind them; there was no sure way out. Flach, after his association with the snow demons, well appreciated the horror of this threat. Heat was their deadliest enemy. The icedogs were whimpering and milling about, seeking comfort close to the sledge. But he didn’t know how to stop the gas. Had he known about this threat in advance, he could have devised a suitable spell to counter it, but now he couldn’t think of anything.
The Black Adept skied up on his black-line skis. “Do thou do it now!” he called to Flach.
Flach realized that he was referring to the transformation Green had spoken of. He sang his spell: “In co’er o’ fog, exchange with dog.”
Vapor appeared, hiding him. Suddenly he was in the form of one of the icedogs—and the dog was in the form of the man Flach had appeared to be. The dog was bound by the form, unable to leave the sledge—but it was a good place to be, next to Icy.
Then the green fireball sailed up and exploded. Light blinded them all. But in a moment, as Flach and the demons and dogs blinked back their sight, the hot gas vents were gone. Green, the Adept of fire, had taken charge and suppressed them.
“Go on through!” the Black Adept called. “Before the jets resume!”
Icy called to the milling dogs, and they re-formed their lines and forged forward. Flach was one of the loose dogs, running beside the sledge. He saw Icy speak to the man-image beside her, then her surprise as she realized that something had changed, for the image barked in response.
Icy, absolutely no dummy, glanced across at Flach. He nodded his head. She nodded hers, catching on. She pursed her lips in a farewell kiss. Then she turned back to the figure on the sledge, treating it as a companion, while Flach ranged outward as if searching for new threats to guard against. He was glad she understood; with two other Adepts along, and an ambush awaiting them, she knew that he had to hide again. Perhaps he had been foolish to let her know about his change of form, but he thought she would help cover for him, and he didn’t want her believing that he was captured with the others. It was his hope that beneath her humor and games she really did care for him a little. That hope would sustain him for a long time.
The group went to the White Mountains—and the ambush was sprung. Icy had just directed the dogs to skirt a bank of fog, because she did not trust fog in this cold. It might be natural ice-fog, or it might be more hot venting. But before they could clear it, it abruptly expanded, and armed men stepped out of it, forming a semicircle around the sledge. This might be the realm of magic, and the demons might be made of ice, but they knew immediately that they were helpless before this enemy. The men were armed with flame-throwers, the most deadly mundane weapon here.
The Purple Adept stepped out of the fog. “We have tracked you three, and now have you. An any resist, we shall torch the snow demons here and take him anyway; we have set a spell to snare any who try to use magic to flee. What shall it be?”
“Thinkst to employ my specialty ‘gainst me?” the Green Adept said scornfully. “I can douse those flames, or turn them against thee.”
“An thou dost, thy family pay,” Purple said evenly. “And thine, Junior Adept,” he added, looking at the figure beside Icy. “We have all in tow.” He looked at the Black Adept. “And we can cut thy line: a Hectare missile be oriented on thy castle. But the Hectare be indifferent, and will harm none not who resist them not.”
“Thou dost come too late,” Black said. “We have planted the Magic Bomb where none can retrieve it.”
“About that we shall see,” Purple said. “Now, submit yourselves to Hectare power, and it be done.”
Green shrugged. “Methinks this be not the end o’ this.” But the two Adepts went with Purple. Now a Hectare saucer-ship came into view within the fog. This trap had been thorough!
When the two of them, and the man-figure beside Icy, stood with Purple, the snow demons were freed. “Go, maid o’ ice, and tell thy folk to associate not again with enemies o’ the power that be,” Purple cried.
The harnessed dogs scrambled away, hauling the sledge, and the loose ones ranged beyond them, resuming their guard duty. Flach knew he had escaped; by the time Purple discovered his error, it would be too late to do anything about it. He was just one dog, coming into the mountains where thousands were, and no snow demon would betray him.
He hoped Icy did well in her quest for a suitable match. He rather thought she would, now.
The Brown Adept knew it was further folly, but she was quite taken with Tsetse. The woman was beautiful and obliging, and made a perfect servant and companion. Perfect except for the fact that she was a creature of Citizen Purple’s, his former mistress and surely still his spy. It would be her job to watch Brown and report on any deviance. So she could not be trusted.
Yet what did it matter? Purple had finally fathomed Brown’s secret, and required her cooperation with the Hectare invaders on pain of the revelation of that shame. His cynical ploy of assigning a woman who had been the mistress of both a man and a woman demonstrated his complete contempt for Brown. He was happy to facilitate her shame, binding her yet more closely to his fell cause. Brown understood this, but was helpless against it.
Tsetse herself was innocent, being genuinely relieved to have a compatible assignment instead of whatever other horror Purple might have visited on her. She wanted very much to stay here at the Brown Demesnes, and eagerly did anything Brown asked. There really wasn’t much that needed doing, other than going into Proton to check the affairs of Citizen Brown, who of course wasn’t a Citizen any more. She much preferred the isolation of the wooden castle. So Tsetse’s availability for that was nice. If she reported to Purple at the same time, what of it? Brown had never been under any illusion on that score.
But Tsetse as a companion was a temptation it was hard to resist. Tsetse knew the ways of love with either sex, but preferred female. She had made it clear that such a thing would be no sacrifice at all. What was Brown to do?
For days she had stewed over this question, appreciating the horrific nicety of the trap Purple had set for her. If she got friendly with Tsetse, then Tsetse would become a hostage in a way that Brown could not. One Adept could not truly hurt another by magic; some inherent magic in the position of Adept seemed to nullify their efforts against each other. Brown had kept Purple and Tan prisoner, but had not tried to hurt them; now Purple had reversed the ploy, and was making no direct move against her. Of course the Hectare could have her killed, but it was already evident that they preferred to use native talent when they could, and that Purple had promised them to obtain her cooperation. So Purple was working on her—and if she made it too plain that he was getting nowhere, then the Hectare might do it their way.
Brown did not want to die, but neither did she want to betray her friends. She did not know which way she would go, if put to a straight choice between those alternatives. She could only hope it would not come to that. But that hope had never been great, and was diminishing as she saw how methodically the Hectare were consolidating their hold on the planet. Already all but five Adepts were captive, and the hunt was on for those. Clef they would not catch, but the others...
Tsetse hurried up, looking elegant in the temporary robe Brown had given her. “Brown, there’s something in the storeroom!” she exclaimed. “I heard it!” She used her native speech, and Brown used hers, and there was no problem between them on that score.
“Surely not,” Brown said in a businesslike manner. “But needs must we check it.” She hoped it was a certain thing, but did not feel free to speak of it. She walked to the golem storeroom with Tsetse.
Inside were the inactive golems, and the guidebot that had brought Tsetse here. “Thou dost see, all be in order,” she said. “It must have been a mouse. They do get in, and I have not the heart to trap them.”
“But it sounded like a machine!” Tsetse protested. “I heard it from outside, and it frightened me.”
“Well, there be one machine here; I had forgotten.” That was a lie, but a necessary one. “The guidebot that brought thee here; perhaps it were restless.”
“Maybe you should send it back,” Tsetse said doubtfully.
“Yes, surely I should! Unfortunately I have no ready conveyance for it, unless I have a large golem carry it.” She reflected briefly. “Yes, that may indeed be best. Why dost thou not go and fix us something to eat, while I ready a suitable golem?”
“Certainly!” Tsetse agreed readily, and hurried off.
Brown walked around the chamber, looking at golems. Then she came to the guidebot as if to check its size. “Why didst thou return?” she inquired quietly.
“Mach said you did not betray me,” the machine replied as quietly. “Though you did recognize me.”
“Of course I betrayed thee not, thou darling child! Thou knowest I support thy grandfather, as I always have.”
“But Purp will make you,” Nepe said. “I know how.”
Brown stiffened. “Thou knowest?”
“I must ask you to do something awful,” Nepe said, retaining her form as the guidebot. “My father asks.”
“What dost thou know?” Brown demanded, hoping it was something else.
“Brown, not all of us are conservative like Grandam Neysa. We don’t care how you live; we know you’re a good person. But we need your help, and you can do it if you can stand to. It would really make a difference.”
Brown realized that the child did know. “What dost thou want?”
“Do what Purp wants.”
“What?” Brown was horrified.
“Go with Tsetse. Let him blackmail you. Do whatever he says. But don’t tell on me.”
“Betray thy grandfather—to help thee?” Brown asked, appalled.
“Brown, they’ve nabbed Black and Green, but their mission was accomplished. The Adepts covered for Flach, so we could escape. Now it’s just Mach and me, and he’ll give himself up to save me. But we need your help to get Purp out of the way.”
“Thou’rt going after Purple?” Brown asked, amazed.
“In a way. I’d like to wipe him out, but we can’t afford to waste our effort doing that. So we’re just going to punish him a little, and keep him occupied.”
“What dost thou need from me?” Brown asked grimly.
“Take Tsetse with you when you go to the game.”
“What game?”
“The one Purp has to play against the Hectare.”
Brown was astonished. “I understand not!”
“We’re going to throw off the Hectare, and soon, but it’s a plot so tricky that none of us knows the whole. All I really know is that I have three messages, and I must do what they tell me. I have done one. The second tells me to do something more complicated, and that’s what I’m doing now. I need to sneak a person in past the Hectare alerts to fetch something, and this is the best way I can figure to do it. So it won’t be Tsetse with you, really, it will be this other. Don’t tell, and when Tsetse disappears, cover for her. She’ll be back. Do this, and I will accomplish my second task. If I get through all three, Phaze can be saved, I think. If I can’t, then it will be very bad. Will you help me?”
“O’ course I will, dear! But how canst thou know the Purple Adept will—“
“You go with him to his game, and help him all you can, and take Tsetse along and don’t let on about her. I can’t tell you more, Brown, because if this doesn’t work I’ll have to try some other way, and you mustn’t know anything that would hurt us.”
Brown spread her hands. “As thou sayest, dear. But it makes not much sense to me.”
“It should happen within the hour,” Nepe” said. “He’s coming here to put the screws to you. Now you know what to do.”
“An thou be sure—“
“Almost sure,” Nepe admitted.
Brown had mixed feelings. She was appalled by the notion of going along with Purple, and worried about Nepe, whom she had known as Flach, but relieved that she no longer had to choose between life and culture. She could yield to the enemy, yet not betray Phaze! If what the child said was true. And though Nepe was a child, she was a remarkably special one, and surely to be trusted.
“I put mine honor in thy hands,” she said. “I will do as thou dost ask. May it save Phaze!”
“Thanks, Brown!” the seeming machine said. “And oh, don’t tell Tsetse. She must hide, and not know why, until you return.”
“Aye, child.” Then Brown left, closing the door behind her, so that the room would not be disturbed.
She shared the meal with Tsetse. Now that her mind was somewhat at rest, she was able to consider the woman more subjectively. Tsetse was beautiful and docile; it would be easy to love her. Now, perhaps, it was time.
“I have a matter o’ some caution to broach to thee, trusting I give not offense,” Brown said.
“Have I done something wrong?” Tsetse asked, immediately worried.
“Nay, woman! My concern be this: I have by choice no man in my life, but that be not because I be without passion. It be that I prefer mine own gender. I find thee attractive, and would know thee better, an the notion not disturb thee.”
“It doesn’t disturb me!” Tsetse said, and her relief was obviously genuine.
“Yet thou dost prefer employment here, so mayhap dost feel not free to speak thy true mind. I would not seek to play on that to—“
“I’ve had both men and women,” Tsetse said. “But pleasure only with women. I think you’re a great woman!”
“Yet I be concerned. I ask thee to take time to consider, and if thou dost conclude against, I will have no onus against thee. I be minded to send thee on a day-long trip to fetch wood, and if thou dost not reconsider by thy return, we may talk further.”
“I don’t need—“
“But I need, Tsetse,” Brown said. “I am athwart a conflict o’ interest, and needs must give thee time.”
“Yes, of course,” the woman said, always amenable. “I’ll go immediately.”
“The golems know the route, and carry supplies. Thou willst be safe and comfortable. Thou has only to see that they load good wood; they choose not well alone.”
“I’ll do that!” Tsetse was eager to prove herself.
“Methinks Franken be good to lead the party,” Brown said. “He be used to carrying me in his knapsack, and will carry thee in comfort. He will obey thee when thou dost call his name, and keep thee safe. An a dragon attack, say ‘Franken, save me,’ and he will do it. But thou must speak always literally, for he be not smart.”
“Yes,” Tsetse said, less eager but ready.
Within the hour, woman and golems were gone. The large golems hauled a wagon for the wood, and Tsetse rode in Frank-en’s knapsack. There were four hauler golems, and four guard golems; she would be safe enough. There was a magic tent on the wagon, that she knew how to invoke for the night’s repose. Tsetse might not really like being alone with the golems, but it was something she needed to learn if she was to be genuinely useful, and the mission was a valid one.
Not long thereafter, a small aircraft arrived. It was Citizen Purple, as Nepe had predicted. Probably the child had gotten hold of a divination, so that she had known the timing. It had been a fairly near thing.
Purple strode into the castle as if he owned it—which was close enough to the fact now. He wore the ludicrous tentacle-cap of Hectare service. “Have you considered your situation, Brown?” he inquired brusquely. He was in his Citizen aspect, which meant he wouldn’t be using magic. That was a small relief, for a magic check could have spotted the golem party, and it would have been awkward if he realized that Tsetse seemed to be in two places at once.
“At length,” she confessed. “Thou has power now, and canst make my life difficult an I not cooperate with thee.”
“And comfortable if you do cooperate,” he said. “Look, woman, I don’t ask you to renounce your heritage. Just put your golems at our disposal, and swear that you will not allow them to harm any person or thing associated with the Hectare. I know your word is good.”
“I can keep my castle and my privacy?” she asked. There was more to that question than showed, as they both knew. She wanted assurance that her shame would not be advertised.
“Yes. You will answer only to me, and the Hectare, who are not concerned with personal details.”
“My golems I can pledge, but my heart not. I will do what thou sayest, and the golems will obey, but I will betray not my friends.”
“Soon enough there will be none loose to betray.”
“And Tsetse—“
“She’s yours as long as the golems are ours.”
“And that be the whole o’ it?”
“Almost.” He waggled a fat finger at her. “You were a temperate keeper, when Tan and I were your prisoners. But then you were honor-bound to keep us, not to harm us. Now you are not. I want your word that you will obey me personally, and seek no physical or magical harm to me. I know you don’t like me, but you will never try to lead me into harm, or refuse to help me if I am in peril.”
Brown reflected. Nepe had said they were going to punish Purple, but not actually to hurt him, and in any event that was not Brown’s doing. If she saw that Purple was actually being hurt, she would have to try to help him. That seemed to be an appropriate compromise. “An thou keep thy word to me, I will keep mine to thee,” she said. “I will obey thee and seek not to lead thee to harm, but an thou come to it by device other than mine, it will grieve me not.”
“Agreed. Now I have assignments for your golems. I want a complement set to the North Pole to ensure that no other person or creature has access to it.”
“The North Pole!” she exclaimed, surprised. “There be no such Pole!”
“There is in Proton. Now there are four. Can your golems get there and remain functional?”
“If there be no fire.”
“Snow, not fire.”
“Then they can go. I will send a complement. But I must advise thee that golems be not smart; they will prevent thy forces also from approaching it.”
“Understood. Do it.”
“That be the extent o’ mine obligation?”
“For the moment, Brown.” He got up to go.
There was a beep. Purple brought out a holo cube and set it on the table. “Purple,” he said, evidently acknowledging a call.
A three-dimensional image formed above the cube. Brown’s breath stopped. It was a Hectare, one of the bug-eyed invaders. She had shielded herself from such contact, trying to pretend the creatures didn’t exist, but here one was virtually in her castle.
The thing’s tentacles writhed, rippling around what could be its neck section, and there was a faint, unpleasant keening. They spoke by rubbing short tentacles together, she had heard, producing mostly ultrasonic whistles that the human ear could not fathom if it were able to hear them at all. Evidently it was so, for in a moment the translation started.
“I am pleased to accept your invitation to game,” the thing was saying. “A studio is being reserved. Be there with your second in ninety-four minutes.” The image faded out.
Purple’s mouth hung open. He looked as though he had received a death sentence. This communication had evidently come as a complete surprise to him.
Then he gathered his wits. “Do you know what this means, Brown?”
“I knew not e’en the invaders played games!” she protested. “Thou didst ask to play with it?”
He stared at her. “You don’t know that the Hectare not only play, they bet? That they are compulsive gamers who play for keeps?”
She returned his gaze blankly. “I know as little o’ them as I can.”
“Then you shall learn!” he said grimly. “Make yourself ready, woman; you shall be my second.”
“Thy second? I know not how—“
“My adviser, my supporter. You will do your best to see that I win that game.”
Suddenly she remembered what Nepe had said: that Citizen purple would play a game with a Hectare, and that she should go with him, and take the mock Tsetse. How had the child managed this? But she had no time to wonder; she had to do it. “I agreed to do thy bidding. Purple, but must warn thee that I know naught o’ seconding or the game, and may be o’ little use to thee. I may help thee best by urging thee to obtain a more competent second.” Absolutely true!
Purple fixed her with an abruptly steely eye. “Do you know what the Hectare do to losers?”
“Nay. I—“
“They cut off the loser’s hand.”
She stared at him, speechless.
“That is to ensure that no native throws a game to a Hectare. There is no penalty for winning, and no loss to the Hectare for losing, other than its bets. They’re not really good at the game yet, being unused to our conventions, so they often do lose. But they are getting better. They’re not stupid, and they do not forget a ploy that defeats them. It’s like Phaze magic: it won’t work twice. So I have no certainty of winning.”
“But then why didst thou challenge—“
“I didn’t challenge!” he shouted. “But the Hectare evidently thinks I did, so I’m stuck for it. Now, woman, understand this: you will be my second, and you will see that I win. Because if I lose, you lose. Do you understand me?”
Brown didn’t need to ask how she would lose. Her secret was on the line. She would have to do her very best to help him to win. Which was exactly what Nepe had told her to do. She had for the sake of integrity urged him not to use her; now her course was clear.
“Aye,” she said slowly. “But let me bring Tsetse.”
“To remind you what you’re fighting for?” He shrugged. “Bring her, then. But be ready in ten minutes. I’ll be at my plane.” He swept out.
Flustered, Brown went to the storeroom. She opened the door—and paused, astonished.
Tsetse stood there, absolutely authentic. Brown knew it wasn’t her, but the likeness was so good that it was hard to believe. “Thou needs must come—“ she said, faltering as the surprise continued to percolate.
“Yes, of course. Brown,” the woman said in Tsetse’s voice. “Whatever you say.”
Did the woman stand a little taller than before, and was she heavier? Brown peered closely at her, to see whether she had been magnified a size, but could detect nothing. This emulation would readily pass inspection. But how had they managed it?
She decided to treat the emulation exactly as if she were Tsetse, so that there could be no slip. “Something has come up. We must leave for Proton immediately with Citizen Purple. I am to assist him in a game against a Hectare.”
“A game against a Hectare!” Tsetse exclaimed, wide-eyed. “But don’t they make natives—?”
“Aye. Needs must we help Purple win. Now come.”
Tsetse followed her obediently. They went out to the waiting airplane.
“You can keep your clothing. Brown, but she’s a serf,” Purple reminded her as he climbed into the pilot’s seat.
“Remove thy apparel,” Brown told Tsetse. “Thou canst have it back when we return.”
The woman struggled out of her gown, in the confines of the plane. Brown helped her. She still seemed completely real, and even her struggle to get out of the robe was authentic. Her breasts shook and her hair got disordered. But when Brown’s hand touched her body, she found that it was a good deal more solid than it looked.
Illusion! That was the secret! The other person was larger, but looked the same. There should be no problem as long as no one actually touched her.
Purple was taxiing around, getting aligned for the takeoff. By the time Tsetse was bare, the plane had gotten up speed. Purple, concentrating on his piloting, had paid no attention to Tsetse. That was just as well, since he would have caught on instantly had he touched her. He had after all had an affair with her. This remained chancy business!
Soon they reached the Hardom dome, and landed. A Citizen transport was waiting for them. They entered the chamber, and it moved into the hidden transport network of the city.
Purple touched a console. “Replay my engagement to play a game with the Hectare,” he snapped.
A wall became a screen. It was as if they were looking through a picture window to a larger room. There was Citizen Purple, exactly as now, speaking from the screen of a phone. “I crave the honor of engaging my Hectare supervisor in a game,” the figure said politely. “I feel this would benefit our mutual understanding. Of course there is no obligation, if you have other business, and I apologize for intruding on your time.”
That was it. The inset screen clock showed that this call had been made just about the time Purple was arriving at the Brown Demesnes. It was an obvious frame—to those who knew what he had actually been doing.
Brown, true to her agreement, said what she could. “Someone somehow emulated thee, Purple. But that was when thou wast talking with me, as I will attest. If thou dost explain to the Hectare, maybe—“
“Too late for that. Once the Hectare accepted the challenge, that was that. I’m hoist. But once I catch the perpetrator...”
“Methinks only Mach could do it.”
“The tech for the call, yes, Mach/Bane,” he agreed, pronouncing the names as if they were one name, appropriately. “But the emulation, that would be Flach/Nepe. I’ve tangled with that brat before, and she’s more dangerous than any of the rest. I told the Hectare, nail her first, but they didn’t understand. Now she’s getting me back.” He glanced at Brown. “I know you’re on the other side, but this need be no secret. I’ve got a healthy respect for that one, and if I don’t kill her, she’ll kill me. But you have made a deal, and you will not allow her to attack me through you.”
“I made the deal with thee,” Brown agreed. “But that extends not to betraying those who support Phaze.”
“Don’t quibble, woman. If you know where the brat is hiding, you won’t tell me. But if you know the brat is about to do me harm, you will protect me from it. She shall not use you to harm me.”
Brown realized that Nepe had set up the bogus challenge to the Hectare before approaching Brown. In fact, she had probably recorded it, and then her father had sent it at the critical moment. Nepe was using Brown to fight the invaders in some devious way, not to harm Purple directly. But if Purple lost the game, he would be harmed, and Brown would have some share of blame for that, because she was cooperating with Nepe. It was a devious situation, ethically, but as she saw it, she had to make sure that Purple won the game. “Aye.”
“I am sure you have had contact with her,” Purple continued. “Your castle is being watched, but of course she can get around that. It will be thoroughly searched during your absence. But as long as you honor the deal, no harm will come to you. Your chances of inadvertently betraying her are as good as they are of helping her. I figure that balances it out.”
“Aye.” She was developing a grudging respect for Purple. He was an unscrupulous and personally loathsome person, but he had made it possible for her to retain her loyalty and lifestyle while helping him. It was a more generous deal than she might have expected. She knew that Nepe understood that no direct attack on Purple could be tolerated now, however tempting it might be; if such a thing occurred. Brown would be obliged to betray Nepe to the enemy. Perhaps Purple, whose mind was as devious as any, was hoping for that.
The transporter stopped, and the door opened. They were at the Game Annex, about fifteen minutes early.
“Where is the game studio?” Purple demanded of the nearest serf.
“I will lead you there, sir,” the serf replied. “You are expected.”
“My second and her maid are also to be admitted.”
“The Hectare has arranged it, sir,” the man said as he led the way.
Indeed, the Hectare was ready, It stood within the studio, huge and grotesque, its myriad eye facets glinting. Brown did her best to mask the revulsion she felt at its proximity.
“Sir, this is my second, the Brown Adept, and her maid Tsetse,” Purple said.
A man stepped forward. It was Citizen Tan, wearing his tentacle-cap. “I am the Hectare’s second,” he said. “What the hell are you doing, Purple?”
“A frame,” Purple said darkly. “We need better security on the phone system.”
Tan nodded. “The brat—and maybe serf Lysander, who has computer circuitry skills. I want that one myself.” Then he turned to the Hectare. “Sir, Purple is ready when you are.”
The Hectare walked to the console, in its fashion: dozens of fat little tentacles or feet or caterpillar treads buzzed it along quite adequately. There was a chirrup, and the translator spoke. “We shall indulge the Game Computer.”
“Of course, sir,” Purple said, moving to take his place on the other side of the console. He did not look easy, for it was known that the computer could be pixyish in its selections, and if it had a grudge against Purple, he would be finished. Brown hoped it had no grudge.
The Hectare extended a tentacle and touched its side of the console. Then Purple nodded to Brown. “As my second, how would you recommend I play?”
“Thou canst consult openly?” she asked, surprised.
“Yes, the Hectare permits this. It can overhear, of course. What shall I select?”
“But the Game Computer won’t give you what you select!” she said, shifting into her Proton self, because that one was better conversant with the rules of technology.
“It might. So I had better choose well.”
She saw that he had the numbers: Physical, Mental, Chance, and Art. “Avoid Chance,” she said. “And I think avoid Physical, because it might steer it into a contest where tentacles are a decisive advantage. As for Mental—that too is chancy. So it should be Art, where the human interpretations probably still prevail.”
Words flowed across the screen. SO FATSO WANTS TO WAX ARTISTIC, AND THE BEM WANTS TO PLAY WITH MACHINES. VERY WELL, THIS TIME I SHALL HUMOR BOTH. YOU SHALL BECOME ARTISTS OF THE STAGE, WITH HU-MANOID ROBOTS AS ACTORS. SINCE YOU BOTH ARE ARTISTIC CRETINS, I WILL MAKE THE SETTING CRETAN. BEHOLD: THE PALACE OF KNOSSOS, 1550 B.C., WHOSE LABYRINTHINE PASSAGES AND CHAMBERS ARE AN EXCELLENT SETTING FOR A MYSTERY.
The chamber darkened and expanded, assuming the likeness of a great stone castle or palace whose hard walls were brightly painted and whose massive columns were both cylindrical and block-shaped. The pillars were slightly larger at the top than the bottom, enhancing the seeming scale of the building. The thing was a monument to the grandeur of a bygone age that stunned Brown. She knew that much of this representation had to be holographic, for there was no room within the Game Annex for it, but still it was awesome.
Now the Game Computer spoke through its speakers, its voice sounding artificial to only that degree it chose to indicate its origin. “The king has suffered an indisposition, and it has been determined that an attempt was made to poison him. Fortunately he consumed only a trace of the tainted food before his food-taster succumbed, so ceased immediately, and survived. It was determined that the poison was in the dates, and six residents of the palace had access to those dates in the prior day. These are therefore the six suspects. One of them is the guilty party, and will be proffered to the Minotaur for whatever pleasure the bull-headed brute cares to take before it consumes the person. It should be an excellent show, as the Minotaur has been restless lately, tossing his horns about. That is to say, horny. Three suspects will be with each player, and each player will make the case against one or more of the suspects of the other player. The victor will be the one who succeeds in condemning an opposing suspect. Choose your suspects.”
A curtain lifted on a stage that had not been evident before. On it stood an assortment of humanoid robots garbed in the costumes of the time: men with belts and codpieces, otherwise naked, and women with multitiered skirts and breast-baring boleros. Older men wore robes over their briefs, and older women shawls that were allowed to cover their open bodices. All were barefooted. Behind them, a great fresco showed a young man and a young woman engaged in the dangerous sport of bull-leaping, a prominent activity of the day. At the borders were pictures of ornate double axes, religiously significant.
Citizen Purple looked at the prospects. “Take first choice, sir,” he suggested to the Hectare. “I will settle for first move.”
The Hectare moved to the stage. Its tentacles extended and took hold of a lovely damsel whose skirt layers alternated colors: red, blue, white, and tan. Her black hair was bound with chains and beads, combs, and a band above the forehead. One lock passed before the ear to dangle down the side of her face. The Hectare lifted her high and carried her to the center of the set. “So BEMs do lust after femmes,” Tsetse murmured. “I don’t care to watch this.” She backed away, and in a moment was out the door. No one challenged her; if anyone other than Brown noticed her departure, that person didn’t care.
The girl-figure came alive. “Put me down, you monster!” she exclaimed, kicking her feet. She spoke in contemporary Proton dialect, not the ancient Cretan language; the Game Computer could go only so far.
The Hectare put her down. If it felt any affront, it did not show it. Brown realized that the creature was alien to human culture, and did not understand human ways or reactions, and probably would not have cared had it grasped them.
Purple glanced at Brown. “What for me?”
“Chances should be even if you match with a similar suspect,” Brown said. “That may be safest, until we know the Hectare’s strategy.”
“Umph,” he agreed, gazing intently at the young women. He had always had extreme interest in the female human form, Brown remembered; his activities in that respect were notorious. He might want to choose three young women, even though he knew they were only robots. Robots could perform almost any task as well as living folk, and all he cared about was the form and the obedience.
Purple made his selection: a woman whose skirt bands alternated gold with blue, and whose bare breasts were especially robust; they fairly burst out of her bolero. Her hair was styled like that of the first woman, with her dark front tresses trailing down beside her bosom. She wore three separate necklaces of differing sizes, so that one fit close about the column of her neck, a second hung lower, and the third dangled across the upper curvature of her breasts and down between them. “You, cutie.”
The figure animated, and stepped down from the stage, now exactly resembling a living woman. She came to stand near Purple, expectantly.
The Hectare chose a young man. He looked athletic, perhaps being one of the bull-leapers, but his waist was so slender, and cinched yet more narrowly by the belt, that from behind he could have been mistaken for a woman. He wore a pointed cap, but no beads in his hair, which trailed almost to his waist, with a single strand behind each ear.
“Match him?” Purple inquired. He seemed determined to have Brown’s input at every stage, so that if he lost the game, she could not avoid implication.
But Brown was beginning to work out a possible plot for this play. “No. Choose parents for the girl.”
Purple shrugged, and chose a stout older man that vaguely resembled himself.
The Hectare chose a second young man. Now its cast consisted of three youths, two male and one female.
Purple selected an older woman who. Brown realized with dismay, could be likened to herself, if allowance was made for the different costume and hair style. Her breasts made the mandatory appearance, but were modest, and the shawl was a blessing. She had an apron hanging from her waist that overlaid several of the tiers of the skirt, which reached all the way to the floor.
Now Purple’s complement consisted of the elder couple and the young woman.
“You will have five minutes to consult with your seconds privately and establish your strategies,” the Game Computer said. “Then Citizen Purple will make the first statement: why he believes one of the Hectare’s players is guilty of attempting to poison the king. I will serve as referee, but a selected audience who does not know the identities of the players will make the decision as to the victory.”
They withdrew to separate private chambers to their strategy consultations. Their chamber was in keeping with the set: it resembled the architecture of ancient Crete, with a stone floor and a flower mural on the walls. The Game Computer must have been working on this set for some time, Grafting every aspect of the illusion, and had drawn on it when opportunity offered. The onset of magic in Proton had evidently brought creativity to the computer. But Brown couldn’t help responding to the setting; she found herself longing for that culture, four thousand years before, on the distant planet of Earth. She felt the nostalgia of the loss of those artistic folk, perhaps foreshadowing the loss of her contemporary culture. Had the barbarian Greeks overrun Crete and exploited its resources and made of it a secondary or tertiary power—as the barbarian Hectare were about to do with Phaze? Perhaps, but they had been assisted by a volcano, whose horrendous detonation had smashed apart the lovely palaces and buried them in ash. Phaze lacked that excuse.
“Now what are you thinking of, woman, with your family group?” Purple demanded.
Brown was jolted back to the unpleasant reality: she was helping a man she detested to save his hide. She had to succeed, or she would pay a price that horrified her. “A family group would be unlikely to seek harm to the king,” she said. “These must be nobles of the palace, favored by the king, and their highborn daughter can be a prospective match for one of the king’s sons. They would want the king to prosper, and his son after him.”
Purple nodded. “But the Hectare will make the case that the nobleman wanted to take over the throne himself, bypassing the middleman.”
“Yes, that’s an obvious target. So we must prepare a defense, while working out an offense of more devious nature, that may catch the Hectare by surprise and lead to its disadvantage. Your devious mind should be able to craft such an attack. Let me work out the family defense, while you work out the attack.”
“My devious mind,” he said. “I would take that as a compliment, if I didn’t know you.”
“I agreed to help you,” she retorted. “I never agreed to like you.”
“And you will do the one, and not the other,” he agreed. “I would rather have an honest enemy in my camp than a dishonest friend. This is why I chose you, apart from your propinquity.”
She nodded. Purple was awful in every way except cunning. Certainly she was more to be trusted than his ally Tan. His choice of her for his second made sense despite her lack of experience with the game. He had had to make a decision quickly, and it would have taken precious time to run down someone else, while she had been right there. Nepe must have figured on that. Still, Nepe was a nervy player herself.
She gazed at the wall and pondered the play-family situation. Father, mother, daughter, father accused of poisoning the king in order to assume the throne. By the rules of this contest, she was sure, any statement made by a player had to be taken at face value; if the Hectare said the father was next in line for the throne, then it would be so, and they would have to find a way to nullify that motive without denying the connection. They could do that at the outset, as Purple had the first statement, but that would be purely defensive. If they said that the father was unrelated, merely a good friend of the king’s, who had no motive to do him harm, the Hectare might merely modify the charge: the father was doing it because he had no personal ambition, and would be unsuspected; he had a secret reason to promote a third party, who had promised him a much better position. That would be hard to refute, and the effort would keep them on the defensive, a bad position to be in. So the answer must be in the attack: keep the heat on the other side, so that it could not attack the father.
She was discovering that her mind was attuning nicely to this challenge, despite her lack of experience. Perhaps it was the fascination of the setting, whose appeal made her truly want to participate.
“Time,” the Game Computer announced.
“Go for the attack!” Brown said hurriedly. “Never let up! I’m not sure of our defense.”
“My own conclusion,” he said.
They passed through the decorated stone door and reentered the main chamber. The Hectare and Citizen Tan emerged from an opposite chamber.
Now it occurred to Brown that the layout of the palace could be significant; a person could establish an alibi by showing that he was nowhere near the kitchen at the time the dates were poisoned. No, the suspects had already been determined, so must have had access. Still, the complicated network of the palace might figure in some other way; she would keep that in mind.
“We are gathered here in the South Anteroom to determine the truth,” the Game Computer said. “The scenes will be reenacted as described. Players will take turns addressing particular actors. Citizen Purple will make the opening statement.”
“I address the maiden in the multicolored dress,” Purple said.
As he spoke, that one animated, looking at him. “She is the sister of that young man.” He pointed to the narrow-waisted man Brown thought of as the bull-leaper. “She is in love with her brother’s friend, there.” He indicated the other young man. The young woman walked to the young man and embraced him, dramatizing their love. They made a pretty couple. “She wanted to marry him, but the king wanted her for a concubine.” The couple broke, and the woman gazed with evident dismay offstage, where presumably the king was beckoning. “So, in order to protect his sister, the brother tried to poison—“
“Objection!” Tan cried. “He is charging an unaddressed player.”
“Sustained,” the Game Computer said. “Statement must be limited to the addressed player.”
Purple scowled, and Brown, sharing his situation, understood. The rule should have been clarified beforehand. “Still, you can establish the motive by implication,” she murmured.
Purple nodded. “Correction: the young woman knew that the king desired her for a concubine, and that this would ruin her chance to marry her beloved, so she pleaded with her brother to do something to ease her case.” The young woman approached the man designated as her brother, and gestured animatedly as she faced him: her pleading. “She knew he would do whatever it took.” She looked confident.
Brown considered it a good attack. The Hectare could hardly afford to ignore it; even if a motive were established for some other player, that brotherly love would be persuasive. It was also a good animation. She knew that the setting was largely illusion, and that the characters were robots, but everything looked real and alive, and it was easy to suspend disbelief. The drama was coming alive for her.
The Hectare consulted briefly with his second, then made some squeaks. “I address the brother,” the translator said. The indicated young man animated. “It is true that he loves his sister, but his loyalty to his king is paramount. He would do anything to promote the welfare of his sister that does not conflict with his honor. So though she begged him to help her, and he agreed, he stressed that no action could be taken against the king. Instead, he would try to distract the king by proffering another potential concubine, the daughter of respected palace nobles.” A tentacle pointed, and Purple’s young woman animated: she was the one.
“Oops,” Brown murmured, suddenly seeing what was coming.
“Tan’s sharper than I thought,” Purple muttered. “He saw me coming with the brother ploy.”
“So he approached the other woman,” the translation continued, and the young man did just that with Purple’s young woman. “He suggested to her that the king found her interesting, but hesitated to approach her because he did not wish to offend his friend the noble. If, on the other hand, she were to approach the king, she might find a warm reception, and excellent benefits from his favor. She, taken by surprise, agreed to consider the matter. However, her father overheard, and—“
“Objection!” Brown called. “Neither the girl nor her father is being addressed.”
“Sustained,” the Game Computer said.
“As the brother left the girl,” the Hectare translation continued, “he saw her father in an adjacent chamber, separated by only a hanging rug, and realized that the man had been listening to their conversation. That made him nervous, for he knew the father to be a man set in his ways, and there was no telling what he might do if he thought his daughter was about to compromise herself with the king and ruin her value on the marriage market.”
Brown was worried. The Hectare, supposedly not comfortable with human conventions, was addressing them very well. That had to be Tan’s input; he probably was serving the Hectare as loyally as Brown was serving Purple, lest his own hide suffer.
“This I can handle,” Purple murmured. Brown was relieved, because her mind was blank on this one; she realized that she was not good at devious ploys. “I’ll throw him a curve that will scotch this ploy.”
Purple spoke to the stage. “I address the father.” The man straightened up behind the rug. “What he overheard amazed him, but his reaction was not anger but gratification. He had felt subtly alienated from the king recently, and now understood why: the king was developing another kind of interest. But if his daughter were to attract the king’s interest, the father would be right back in the king’s favor. Since the daughter seemed to have no good prospects for marriage, this was an excellent alternative prospect. Meanwhile, this development provided him with a sinister private satisfaction. He was privy to certain secrets of the palace, and knew that the fiancée of the girl whose brother was trying to save her from the king was not the sterling character he seemed. He led a double life, and had had a mistress of lower class whom he had dearly loved—until the king had taken her as a passing concubine, and she had dumped him, the friend.”
“Objection!” Tan said.
“I am not addressing any other character,” Purple said. “I am merely describing the father’s thoughts, which cover his knowledge of palace intrigues and affect his course of action.”
“Overruled.” the Game Computer said.
Purple smiled, and continued. “The father knew that the friend had of course been unable to protest, but nursed an abiding grudge against the king for that episode, though the king had been unaware of his interest in the girl. The friend’s present engagement was a matter of expedience; his heart was not in it, though he said nothing to her brother about that. When the king’s interest in his fiancée developed, the friend realized that the king might do him an unwitting favor to match the unwitting injury before, by breaking up a liaison he had concluded he did not desire. But now the king was about to ruin even that, if the brother’s ploy was effective, and leave him stuck. He realized that it was pointless to allow events to take their own course; if he was going to settle with the king for the prior injury, it had better be now.” Purple smiled. “Such were the thoughts of the father. Of course he intended to protect the king against any such attack, and resolved to watch the young man closely.”
Brown had to admit that Purple was a cunning character; he had figured out how to address two characters at the same time, defending his own and renewing the attack on his opponent’s.
There was a pause while Tan and the Hectare consulted; this one had them in trouble. Then the Hectare squeaked. “I address the friend. So he considered killing the king, but naturally did not care to do it openly. Casting about for some subtle means, such as poisoning, he went to the storage region of the palace, where the king’s special favorite dates were kept for him alone. But as he navigated the tortuous passages, he encountered another person: the girl’s mother. He realized that though her father might approve a liaison between daughter and king, the mother would not. Indeed she would be so set against such dishonor that she might do virtually anything to prevent it. He realized that he did not need to do anything; the woman would do it for him. So he look another passage, and left her to go her way. It seemed that he could not lose: if the woman took out the king, his vengeance would be complete and he would be blameless. If she did not, the king would do him the favor of taking his fiancée off his hands.”
It was Purple’s turn again. “It’s learning,” he muttered with grudging respect. “It’s going along with me, but diverting it. This may get complicated.”
“But the mother won’t have the nerve to kill anyone,” Brown said.
“Sure enough.” He faced the stage. “I address the mother. She did indeed have murder on her mind, to protect her daughter, but her encounter with the friend made her realize that she could hardly sneak in unobserved and poison the dates. Also, the closer she got to the storage room, the more appalling the notion of killing anyone became, especially the king, who was a good friend of her husband’s. She simply couldn’t do it. She would have to talk to her daughter, and persuade her not to do this thing, to save herself for some nice young man who was sure to come along eventually. So the mother set her vial of poison in a niche out of sight, and walked on by the storeroom, relieved that she had found a better way.”
Purple took a breath. “However, it occurred to her in a moment that the vial wasn’t safe there; a cleaning wench might find it. and ask awkward questions, and if they tested it on an animal they would soon know its nature. So she turned about and went to recover it, despite her nervousness about possibly getting caught with it. But to her surprise and dismay she discovered it gone. It had been only a few minutes, and there was no one else in the passage. She realized that only one person could have taken it: the young man she had encountered and walked with briefly. He must have watched her, and then gone to recover the vial the moment she was gone. Was he going to use it himself?”
Purple had turned it back on the Hectare. The mother was innocent, but the friend still had motive and opportunity—and poison now. The finale was approaching, and Purple’s situation was good.
But Tan had evidently been pondering ploys, and came up with a good one for the Hectare. “I address the daughter,” the Hectare squeaked. The daughter turned to face him, her proud breasts prominent above her tiny waist, the sparkle of her necklaces calling attention to her frontal assets. Her skirt bands matched the color of her jewelry, providing her an artistic unity that further enhanced her sex appeal. Even her bare toes showing beneath her skirt contributed, suggesting that her legs were similarly innocent of covering all the way up under the skirt. Brown found herself desiring the girl, despite everything; the humanoid robot had come alive in the play, and become for her the highborn daughter of a Cretan noble. Such a girl could readily be loved.
“This young woman has been misunderstood by all,” the translator continued. “The brother thought to persuade her to attract the notice of the king, and she seemed to be interested. Her father was glad for that prospect, while her mother was horrified. But in truth she had no intention of indulging with the king—or any man.”
Brown felt a chill of apprehension. Purple would keep her secret as long as she supported him, but she had to deal with Tan, who surely also knew her secret. Was he going to throw in lesbianism to mess her up, so that the Hectare could gain the advantage over Purple? If she lost her concentration now, the play might be done before she could regain it. She tried to steel herself.
“For you see, she distrusted men. It seemed to her that they inevitably took unfair advantage of women, and the king was the worst of all, because he had most power. Now her friend’s brother wanted her to distract the king, so that his sister could remain with her fiancé. But that fiancé was false, having secret affairs and no real respect for the woman he was to marry. If she were to distract the king, the fiancé would find another way to get rid of the fiancé. And her own father, instead of protesting the prospect of her liaison with the king, was in favor of it, because it would lend him additional status. Thus all the men were hopelessly corrupt. Only her mother supported her.” As the translator spoke, the named players animated and posed, the three men looking villainous, the mother looking noble.
But maybe he was going another route. Brown thought. Distrust of men was not the same as love of women. Brown herself did not hate men; she had great affection and respect for a number, beginning with the Adept Stile. She just didn’t care to have sex with them, any more than the men would care to have it with each other.
“So she, realizing that her mother lacked the gumption to do the job, and not trusting any man to do it, realized that she would probably have to do it herself. She hated the king and wanted him dead, because of his power over women and the possibility of his deciding to take her as a lover. Now was the time to kill him, because she had seen her friend’s fiancé go to the storerooms, and take the poison—“
“Objection!” Brown cried. “It has been established that only two people were in those halls at the time. There is no way a third could have been there.”
“Sustained,” the Game Computer said.
“She had seen him go there, and saw her mother emerge without the poison, so she knew he had taken it.”
“Objection! She couldn’t know that. He might have—“
“Sustained. A third sustained objection will terminate the turn.”
“Why are you objecting?” Purple inquired quietly. “The Hectare is framing his own character.”
“I don’t trust that,” she said. “Whatever he’s doing, I want to stop it.”
Purple shrugged. “Paranoia is good, in such a contest.”
Brown felt pleased, then condemned herself for it. She didn’t want Purple’s favor! She just had to win this game for him, and go her own way.
“She knew he could have taken it,” the Hectare said through the translator, after a pause for consultation. If it was annoyed, it didn’t show it. “Later she went herself to check, and found no poison, so she believed he had taken it. He was in a position to poison the dates.”
Now even Purple was perplexed. “The Hectare can’t be throwing the game! They play to win, always.”
“That meant that he could be framed,” the Hectare continued. Suddenly Brown appreciated the point: the buildup of the seeming guilt of a character determined to be innocent. Ouch! “So she could steal the poison from him, use it on the dates, and accuse him of the crime. In this manner she could get away with murdering the king, and another bad man would pay the penalty. It would be a double victory.”
“Brother,” Purple muttered. “This will be hard to refute. It’s him or her, and we don’t have room to show much more about him.” For the first time he looked uncomfortable; in fact downright nervous. Brown would have enjoyed the sight, if her own situation had not been on the line too.
She appreciated the problem. How could they explain away that motive, or put the young man into a situation that would make it obvious he was the guilty one? Any new wrinkle they might try could be turned around as another ploy in the frame: he looked guilty but wasn’t. The Hectare was playing with increasing competence and finesse, catching on rapidly to the nuances of the human condition.
They needed to get the girl of the palace, far away at the critical time. But they couldn’t, because she was one of the suspects; she had had opportunity to place the poison. Now she had motive, too; they could not undo that. At this stage, the jury was likely to rule against the girl. They couldn’t even give her an alibi, such as a love tryst at the critical time with her brother, because Tan and the Hectare had cleverly shut off that option by making her distrust men.
Then Brown saw the answer. It was painful for her, but it would do the job. “She was with her girlfriend at the time,” she said. “You know how to play it.”
Purple looked at her. “We made a deal. I need your golems on my side. They won’t be, if I break that deal.”
“There won’t be any deal, if you lose your hand,” she pointed out, amazed to hear herself arguing this case.
He nodded. “Play now, talk later. Maybe it will work.”
“Nothing else will,” she said.
He faced the stage. “I address the daughter,” he said, and the actress faced him, as lovely as before. “She had motive to kill the king, and to frame her friend’s fiancé getting rid of two bad men. She had intent. She had the courage to do it. But something happened at the critical time.” He paused for effect, and the play paused with him.
“As it has been established, she was a most attractive figure of a woman, but she had a grudge against men. That did not mean that she had no romantic life. She cared very much about her gender. So she went to her friend, and told her of the perfidy of men, especially what she knew about both the king and the fiancée. Her friend was not really surprised; she had tried to blind herself to the infidelities of her fiancé, had known he was no good. She had no better opinion of the king. The two women agreed that no man was to be trusted. Their dialogue became more animated and intimate, as they discovered in each other a deep current of compatibility. This became physical, and in the end they loved each other. Because this was their first such experience, it was slow, with many hesitations. As a result, their encounter lasted several hours—the very time that the poisoning of the dates occurred.”
“Objection!” Tan cried. “The exact time can not be specified. Any of the suspects could have done it.”
“Sustained.”
“The time the poisoning was believed to have occurred,” Purple said. “The reason the two women did not perfectly alibi each other was that they did not want to admit openly what they had been doing. So they allowed themselves to be considered suspects. But it seems likely that they had no care for poisoning, on that night.”
“But women don’t—“ Tan said. Then he looked at Brown, and knew that his Hectare’s case was lost. The only truly viable remaining suspect was the fiancé.
The Hectare spoke, through the translator. “I yield the contest. No fault of my second.” Then it departed.
Tan stared at Brown, scowling. Then he shrugged, realizing that it was better to leave well enough alone. The Hectare knew that Tan had tried his best, but their team had been outplayed. He would suffer no consequence if he kept his mouth shut. He followed the Hectare out.
Brown felt weak with relief. Tan wasn’t going to blow the whistle on her! He knew that there was nothing to be gained by it, as she was already cooperating, however reluctantly.
“Well, you came through,” Purple said. “I’m off the hook, and so are you. I don’t think we need that talk. I’ll take you back to your hideout now.”
Brown looked around. “But Tsetse—she got bored and went out. I can’t leave her here.”
Purple was magnanimous in the flush of victory. “She’ll be at the commons, relaxing. I’ll authorize passes out for you and her, and you can have a golem carry you back when you find her.” He raised his voice, addressing the command net. “By order of Purple: release Brown and Tsetse on their request, this day.” Then to her. “Okay?”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“I don’t like you, you don’t like me. But you treated us fairly when you were on top, and I’m treating you fairly now. Just you honor our deal, and maybe we’ll never meet again.”
She nodded again. He left the room, which had reverted to the contemporary type.
“It was a very nice set,” she said aloud.
“Thank you,” the Game Computer replied.
“I wish this were Crete.”
“So do I.”
She left the chamber, wondering about that. The Game Computer was acting more and more like a living thing. It was of course a self-willed machine, but highly programmed; self-will did not mean freedom. Did it now have consciousness and personal desire? What was it trying to do, with its subversion of the normal game grid that had served so well for so long? She hesitated to guess.
She walked lo the commons, looking for Tsetse. She had hoped the figure would be back by the time the game concluded, and had been relieved when Purple had not concerned himself with the matter. Now she just wanted to find the figure and get it home before the real Tsetse returned. If she did not, they could all be in a great deal of trouble. If Purple caught on that she had used him to gain admittance for an enemy of the Hectare...