Dream thief

16

… EVERY TIME AUGUST ZANDERSON looked at his daughter he saw the image of his insane wife. Ari had grown by degrees more listless and confused as the days passed and she continued to follow Hocking to their secret rendezvous. Each time she returned just a little more forgetful, a little more vague, a little less Ari.

She did not eat well and had grown pale and hollowcheeked. She now slept a great deal, and even when awake seemed lost to the material world. It was as if the young woman was turning into a ghost before his eyes.

He had argued in vain for her to stop meeting Hocking, but he had no control over her. Every time Hocking came she was ready and waiting for him, though he came at odd times of the day and night.

Zanderson had threatened Hocking-also in vain-and had offered himself in his daughter's place. This had brought nothing but mocking laughter and derision. But seeing his daughter wither before his eyes made him determined not to let her go without a fight. He planned to confront Hocking next time he came. He had broken a chair leg and hidden it close to hand in case his point needed driving home with extra persuasion.

Now, as Ari slept like one of night's children, he paced before the door waiting for the summons he knew would come in time. When he heard the rattle of the bolt in the lock of the huge heavy wooden door, Zanderson squared his shoulders and took his place just inside the entrance.

Hocking swept into the room and at first did not see that his way was barred by the form of the director. But their eyes met and flocking seemed taken aback somewhat, though he recovered instantly, saying, "Get out of my way. Get back."

"Ari's staying here, Hocking. Leave her alone."

"Get away, you fool! I'm warning you."

"And I'm telling you it's over. You're not taking her away from here any more. I won't let you."

Hocking's features sharpened at the challenge. "What will you do, Director? How will you stop me?"

"Don't force me to defend myself. I will." Zanderson's voice rose with anger. "I'm warning you. Get out of here and leave her alone."

"Stay out of this. You don't know what you're doing. I'm only trying to help you."

"Help me? Ha! Look at her!" Zanderson waved his hand wildly toward Ari's form. "She's been sleeping all day! She's,exhausted. If this keeps up you'll kill her!"

Hocking glared at the man before him. His hand flattened on.he tray of the pneumochair. "I'm telling you for the last time to yet out of my way."

The director stepped slowly aside. Hocking moved forward to pass him and quick as a flash Zanderson's hand snaked out and matched up the club. He swung it full force at Hocking's skull.

The move was not fast enough. Hocking's finger twitched on his knurled tray at the same instant and the improvised club bounced in the air a bare centimeter from his head and fell away.

Stunned amazement blossomed on the director's face as he watched his well-aimed blow go awry. Hocking's eyes narrowed and his lips drew back in a snarl of rage. "How dare you assault me!" His voice crackled over the chair's audio system.

Zanderson, his determination evaporating, raised his weapon once more and brought it down. He felt the chair leg meet a resistant force which deflected it from its target. At the same moment he felt his fingers tingle and his hand grow numb. The club grew heavy and fell from his hand. The next thing the director knew he was on his knees, his hands clamped over his ears as a high-frequency sound burst through his brain. The sound drained all strength from his body and he toppled heavily to the floor.

"I would have expected better of you, Director. Imbecile! I should squash you like the insect you are." Hocking moved a finger on the tray and the director's eyes screwed shut with pain, and then he rolled on his side and lay still, eyes staring vacantly at the great vaulted ceiling above.

The white ovoid chair spun in the air and Hocking glanced up. Ari stood in front of him with a gentle, almost whimsical expression on her face. Her deep blue eyes seemed soft and unfocused. She looked like a little girl daydreaming.

Hocking noticed that though she must have seen what had happened, Ari seemed not at all disturbed by her father's demise. He quickly recovered himself. "Are you ready, Ariadne?"

"Yes," she said in a voice furred with sleep. "I'm ready. Take me to the dream machine."

"You know the way. You lead this time," said Hocking. "I'll follow." …

DARJEELING WAS AS DIFFERENT from Calcutta as sea from sewer. Fresh, clean, sparkling with quickened vitality, it perched on a steep crown of hill at an elevation that made the visitor light-headed. It was so far from the India Spence had thus far experienced that it might have been on another planet.

Surrounded by imperial mountains-twin-peaked Kanchenjunga the foremost of these kings-and purified by the thin, sundrenched air, Darjeeling glimmered like a rare gem in Spence's eye. A vast shell of blazing blue sky spread over all like a silk canopy, and everywhere he looked tiny blue birds flitted from rooftop to street to rooftop.

The people of Darjeeling-Nepalese, Tibetans, Bhutias, Lepchas, and others of obscure origin-seemed sturdy and healthy and glowing with friendliness. Spence found the city nearly as intoxicating as the altitude, especially after the long string of lowland towns indistinguishable in their filth and misery.

"Darjeeling-jewel of the Himalayas!" crowed Gita. "I never hoped to see it."

They climbed the nearly vertical streets of the carefully terraced city, drawing long gapes and shouts from the colorful inhabitants, many of whom wore centuries-old tribal costumes of silk and feathers and ornamental silver jewelry. Children, seeing the elephant, scampered after them laughing and pointing. Their ascent through the lower portions of the city to the upper brought them and their unofficial procession to the seat of the government. Climbing short flights of steps and landings which seemed to go on without end, they at last came to the handsome goldendomed Raj Bhavan, the Governor's Palace.

Immaculate emerald grounds were enclosed within white brick walls sparkling in the sun with flecks of mica. Hand-pruned miniature trees lined the broad drive leading to the palace itself, a living relic of the British colonial era.

When the elephant arrived in the street before the palace, the guards at the iron gates took one look at the animal and the noisy crowd behind and ran to apprehend them with rifles lowered. They met them yammering and gesturing excitedly. Gita yammered back at them and kept pointing at the palace. After a quick consultation one of the guards ran away to fetch his captain.

While this was going on Spence looked around him as one in a daze. The mountains, so close they seemed within reach, towered up on every side so that wherever he looked he saw a new and striking vista. From this spot on Bicth Hill, the government district, the rooftops of Darjeeling slanted away in descending ranks, giving the impression that one stood on the very roof of the world. The city's busy inhabitants went purposefully about their business with rolling exuberance and toothy smiles in their broad faces.

Spence was enchanted by all he saw and was content lust to stare and drink it in.

"The governor will see you now." The words brought him out of his daydream. He turned around to see a short-all the people of this place were of small stature-but well-built man in a crisp green uniform standing before them. He smiled, showing a row of neat white teeth, but his snapping black eyes spoke of the turmoil their visit had plunged his staff into. "Follow me, please."

The scrolled iron gates creaked open and, with the captain at the elephant's head, they began moving up the tree-lined drive. At the wide palace steps they dismounted and were ushered in through two huge bronze doors. Spence heard a loud trumpet behind him, turned and saw Simba, trunk waving in the air, being led away in the care of two keepers with goads.

"Good-bye, old girl," said Spence. "And thanks for the ride."

"I had forgotten that we would have to give her up," said Adjani sadly. "I was growing fond of her."

Spence sighed and nodded. …

THE GOVERNOR, BY CONTRAST with his subjects, was a tall man of princely bearing. Spence found it easy to imagine that he had somehow been transported back in time and sat in the presence of Indian royalty in the time of the Moghuls.

White marble gleamed at every turn, some of it covered with rich oriental carpets; potted palms sat in great beaten brass jars, and the almond-colored walls were hung with animal skins and carvings of jade and alabaster, ivory and teak. The ceiling, also carved with the intricate stylized designs of elephants, lions, and dancing maidens, glittered with gilt and was supported with large serpentine columns of green marble.

In one of the palace's many audience rooms they sat in an alcove formed by a screen that had been carved from thin slabs of yellow marble in the figure of thousands of intertwined roses. Red silk cushions on great rattan chairs made the travelers feel like members of nobility as they sat sipping tea and conversing with the governor. A hamal of the governor's serving staff hovered nearby with silver plates of small nut cakes and sweetmeats.

"I am very distraught over the attack on my minister's party. Nevertheless, I am pleased to have Ambooli, my elephant, returned and to learn of this outrage against my authority. I am grateful to you for this kindness. It shall be rewarded.

"Is there anything else which I may do to show my gratitude? You have but to speak."

"Thank you, Governor, but your hospitality has been proof enough," replied Adjani.

"It is nothing. It would please me to know that while you remain in Darjeeling you will make my home your own. We seldom receive such auspicious guests, and I would enjoy the pleasure of your company." A quick flick of his wrist with fingers extended sent the hamal scurrying away. "You see? It has already been arranged."

"Governor-" began Spence.

"Please, enough of titles. To you I am simply Fazlul." His smile was gracious, charming, and unaccountably reserved-as if he were playing a game which required him to smile, but obviously felt it an imposition upon his true feelings. Spence noticed that the governor's eyes kept darting to the screens around them as if he expected at any moment to leap up and surprise an eavesdropping assassin. On the whole, Fazlul had about him an air of subtle, crafty meanness which he held in check by diplomacy and refined manners.

Their host looked every inch the ruler of old, capable of presenting his guests with a fair daughter's hand, or sewing them up in goatskin bags with wildcats-whichever fancy happened to strike him at the moment.

"Yes, Fazlul," repeated Spence. "We have heard that there are ruins of an old palace somewhere in the hills near here. Would there be someone who could direct us, do you think?"

"Oh, you are an archaeologist? I thought so the moment I laid eyes on you. Of course, you know that these hills hold many secrets. There are many such sites which might interest you: palaces, temples, cave tombs, shrines. This was once the center of the world, you know. And, I would like to believe, it will be again.

"However, I will assign our state historian to confer with you and advise you. He will provide you with a guide and [am sure will wish to accompany you himself. As you will see, you shall all become very popular visitors. I hope your stay is a long one, because I think you will not have time to accept every invitation which is sure to come your way.

"But tonight you will be my guests at a banquet which commemorates the celebration of Naag Brasputi. It is a local festival. Very colorful. I am sure you will find it amusing."

The governor rose and placed his palms together and raised them to his chin. "Namastey, gentlemen. Until tonight."

The three guests stood and bid the governor good day and watched him walk away-shoulders high, back straight, and hands held close to his sides as if wearing the crown and carrying the scepter of his office.

"I feel like I have just had an audience with the King of Siam," said Spence.

"You are not far wrong," said Adjani. "His is an imperial line that goes back centuries."

"He is a proud and ruthless man," remarked Gita. "Even in Calcutta we have heard stories about him. It would be better for us that he did not esteem our company so highly."