Earth is Heaven

Chapter Five

Blue luminescence reached for the sky as Dumarest walked toward the landing field, the glow echoed by the thunder of parting air; echoes which rolled and died into silence as the blue shimmer vanished into space. A vessel lifted on its way to another world. It had escaped the trap which held the Erce.

"The Nairn." The man spoke from shadows. "It brought a cargo of stolen wares and leaves loaded with the sweat of broken men."

"So?" Dumarest looked at the indistinct figure. "Who are you?"

"Does it matter?" The figure, robed and cowled, remained in the shadows. Beyond him, ringed by lights, the field stretched within the confines of its fence. "You arrived with almost empty holds. As yet you've bought no cargo."

"Knowing so much you must know more," snapped Dumarest. "I needed repairs and-"

"You have no money to pay for them. A bad situation to be in here on Krantz."

He was aware of that. Dumarest looked at the man, took one step forward then decided against further action. Men who lurked in shadows could carry guns beneath their robes. Always they had things to hide and usually it was best to let them retain their anonymity. But he didn't have to stand as an easy target.

"Sir!" The man called after him. "A word-please!"

"You want something?"

"To know if you are open to charter."

Dumarest said, "I'll listen to anyone who has money-but first I want to see the cash."

"To buy your way free of Krantz. I understand. If it could be arranged would you be interested in a proposition?"

"I've said so." Dumarest turned to move but hesitated long enough to add, "The next time we talk, my friend, I want to see your face."

He walked on, mulling the incident, which was common enough on many worlds especially those suffering under harsh restrictions. Men looking for a vessel to lift contraband or import proscribed items. Entrepreneurs sounding out a possible ally or potential dupe.

Police setting a trap so as to make an easy arrest and so enhance their record; a man tainted by greed would make a weak and easy victim.

But, on Krantz, there were no restrictions as to cargo-so what had the man really wanted?

A question dismissed as Dumarest reached the Erce. The vessel was locked; the port yielding to the pattern of his hand. Inside the air smelled sweet and the ship was clean- Batrun had insisted the workers clear up their debris. Closing the port Dumarest moved through the vessel-too big and too empty. Small echoes rose to accompany him like the ghosts of crews long gone. The silence hung like a brooding miasma.

"Ysanne!"

Her cabin was empty and not just of her presence. The cabinet was devoid of clothing, the drawers of her personal possessions; paints, oils, perfumes. A place abandoned in a hurry. A slashed pillow told of her rage.

"She's gone." Batrun was in the passage, calm, his fingers steady as he lifted snuff to his nostrils. "I tried to reason with her, Earl, but you know how she is."

Strong-willed, stubborn, a creature of impulse. Dumarest looked at her bed, the pillow they had shared-had she seen his image when using her knife?

"How long?"

"She came back at dusk. I heard her and came to talk. She didn't want company so I left. The next thing I knew she told me she was quitting. That was about an hour ago."

"Did she say where? With whom?"

"No. Just said she'd had a gutful of you, the ship, the whole damned thing. I quote, you understand. I did my best but she wouldn't listen."

And was now gone, perhaps in the Nairn-if so, gone forever. But if not, there was still a chance.

Batrun said, quietly, "No engineer and now we've no navigator."

"And no money to pay for repairs. So?"

"Captain Grausam of the Sharma made a suggestion. The loan of a crew in return for half the profit in a mutual enterprise."

"Slaving?"

"He would call it the recruitment of involuntary labor." Batrun added, "I'm passing the message. If you want to join him he'd better find you a new captain while he's at it."

"I'd rather sell the Erce. When Ysanne came back what did she do?"

"Stayed in her cabin."

Brooding, sulking, seething with rage. An anger which had finally destroyed the pillow and sent her storming from the ship. Too long a wait if she'd found a new berth on the Nairn.

"What are we to do, Earl?"

"Find her." Dumarest looked at the captain. "What else?"

She was in a tavern close to the field, a rough place with tamped dirt for a floor and stained beams supporting a sagging roof. One used by spent-out spacers and the scum always to be found near the fence. Men who sat in shadowed corners, watching, harlots studying the market, pimps looking for prey. At a table Yssane sat with two men. From her eyes Dumarest knew she was far from sober.

He said, bluntly, "I've come to take you back."

"Go to hell!"

"Get up and-"

"No!" She looked at the man to her right. "Tell him, Brad."

"That's right, Captain, tell him." The man to her left was big, confident in his strength, sardonically amused. His eyes, beneath heavy brows, held the feral anticipation of a tiger.

Dumarest looked at him, at the table, the mugs it carried, the bottles. Three were empty. Wine stained the bottoms of the thick, earthenware beakers.

He said, "Tell me what?"

"You've lost your navigator," said the captain. "I've given her a berth on the Gora. We leave at dawn." He leaned back, smiling, his left hand resting on the table, his right below the edge and out of sight. "I'm Brad Dwyer. That is Shiro. We know about you."

"Not enough," said Dumarest. "Or you'd know you're not going to get away with this."

"You're going to stop me?" Dwyer shrugged. "Tell him, Ysanne."

"I've quit," she said. "You, the Erce, the whole damned thing. I told Andre that. I'm leaving and there isn't a damned thing you can do about it."

"You've a share in the ship. We're partners."

"Not any longer. You can have it all. Now get the hell out of here and leave me alone!"

"You heard the lady." Shiro rested both hands on the table and made to rise to his feet. "Beat it-or do I have to break both your arms?"

Dumarest moved as the man heaved himself to his feet, reaching for the mug he had noted, sending it to smash against Shiro's temple. As the beaker splintered he was around the table, knife glinting in his right hand, the edge coming to rest against the captain's throat.

"Your hand," he said. "Your right hand-show it!"

Dwyer heaved, froze as the razor-edge sliced skin.

"Your hand," said Dumarest. "I won't ask again."

The captain lifted his hand, the gun it had held falling to the dirt of the floor. He said carefully, "There's no need for more. You've made your point."

"You don't want her?"

"I've a full complement." Dwyer gasped his relief as Dumarest moved the knife. He dabbed as his neck and looked at the blood staining his hand. "Fast," he said. "Too damned fast. I didn't even see you move."

"This over?"

"Hell, yes! No woman's worth that much. You could have killed me." The captain touched his throat again. "A fighter." he said, bitterly. "She had to be mixed up with a fighter. Well, I made a mistake. It happens."

"And you leave at dawn?"

"At dawn." Dwyer looked at Ysanne. "Without her."

Back in the Erce Ysanne threw her bag on the slashed pillow and said, "Property! You treated me as if you owned me! Damn you, Earl, no man does that!"

"We made a bargain. You're keeping to it."

"Shares in the ship and to guide you to Earth. Some bargain!" She glared at the pills he handed to her. "What's this for?"

"You're drunk."

"Like hell I am!" She swayed and almost fell; then, from the support of Dumarest's arm, said, "Did you have to cut him? Brad seemed decent to me."

"Would he have let you go otherwise?"

"No, I guess not." With a sudden reversal of emotion she giggled. "He was right about the way you moved, though. God, I bet he was surprised. And Shiro-that mug hit him like a bomb. He'll have a hell of an ache when he wakes up."

"So will you unless you get these down." Dumarest pushed the pills into her mouth, followed them with water, holding her lips closed with the pressure of his hand, then he relaxed as she swallowed. "Better?"

"I will be."

"What made you do it? Why run?"

"Do you care?" Then, as he made no answer, she said, "I was trying to help and you made me feel like dirt. Then, later, I heard about what happened in the Mart. That bitch you rescued. The high-born slut who took you back home so as to give you your reward." Her hand rose to touch his bitten mouth. "I see she was generous."

"You see all she gave."

"A disappointment. You hoped for more?"

"Of course."

"Earl-"

"Not what you're thinking." He touched the wound sharp teeth had made. "The gratitude of princes-I hope to collect."

"From her?"

"From Vruya. The head of her Family."

She could be willing to pay well for services rendered.

Ysanne looked at Dumarest, smiling, warmed by the sudden realization of his true motives. Warmed too by the fact that he had come looking for her, had fought for her-and won.

"Cash," she said. "Money to escape this damned trap we're in. But you won't be able to see him yet, Earl." Her eyes strayed to the bunk, the ruined pillow. "We've time-"

"Yes," he said. "We've plenty of time."

Vruya bore the likeness of the doll, his thin features pinched, sunken, dominated by the beak of his nose, the burning intensity of his eyes.

"Dumarest," he said. "You are in trouble."

"Is that why you sent for me, my lord?" Guards had come to the Erce to collect him. But he was not a prisoner.

"An odd reply-another man would have asked what trouble he was in. But Eunice told me you would be unusual. Unusual and, she said, interesting."

Dumarest said nothing, looking around the room. It was large, high, the walls bright with paintings. Small reflections glimmered from the polished wood of the floor and, through high windows, shone the warm brightness of the midday sun.

"Some wine?" Vruya gestured toward a table bearing bottles and glasses. "Help yourself."

"And, for you, my lord?"

"Some of the lavender. It comes from Amnytor, a world close to the Brannhan Rift. You know it?"

Dumarest shook his head, pouring two glasses full of the lavender fluid. If Vruya had chosen it it should be safe-an elementary precaution which the old man recognized.

"Your health!" Vruya added dryly, "You have nothing to fear. If you thought otherwise why try to see me?"

An audience refused. Dumarest said, "I was concerned about the health of Eunice."

"So why not visit her?" Vruya supplied the answer. "A matter of caution. You have had experience with Family culture before. One wrong word, a wrong look, and some fool with inflated ideas would scream 'insult'! Am I right?"

"She is to be married, my lord."

"Yes." Vruya looked at his wine. "You still haven't asked me about the nature of the trouble you're in. I shall tell you. The owner of the mutant you killed demands recompense. How do you suggest I determine the situation?"

"The thing broke free from its chains. Two men were hurt."

"Killed," corrected Vruya. "But they were of the Ypsheim."

And so didn't count-his tone made that clear. As his eyes told Dumarest that this was some form of a test. As, perhaps, was the whole interview.

"If I hadn't acted, Eunice would have died." A fact Dumarest wanted to make clear. "As it was she suffered fear and trepidation, was put to medical expense, and so should be recompensed. And I should be paid for having ended a threat."

"No one asked you to do that."

"True, there was no commission." Dumarest shrugged. "The onus rests with the owner of the mutant."

"He is of the Quelen and was absent at the time."

"And ordered the thing to be chained. The chains proved inadequate."

"They were supplied by a merchant." Vruya met Dumarest's eyes. "The merchant?"

"Is he of the Quelen? No?" Dumarest sipped at his wine. "There we have the answer, my lord. A stern reprimand, a fine, and all are satisfied. Of course some would say he should be sentenced to the Wheel, but who is to mourn a dead mutant?"

"And to show mercy is the prerogative of authority." Vruya nodded, tasting his wine, thin fingers supporting the fragile crystal of his glass. "Eunice was right, Earl. You are a man of unsuspected ability."

The familiarity eased the tension and Dumarest sensed that he had passed the test if test it had been. Certainly this was the initial stage and he wondered what it had all been about.

"Eunice," said Vruya suddenly. "Tell me what you think of her."

"A charming young woman who-"

"There is no need to be diplomatic. I would appreciate the truth."

If so he was unique. Dumarest said, carefully, "I can only give my impression. She's young in attitude and outlook and has a deep affection for you and others of her family. A little spoiled, perhaps, but who in her position is not?"

"Urich? What of him?"

"We barely spoke. Older, more mature and far more serious. He would not take marriage lightly."

"Ambitious?"

Dumarest sipped at his wine, gaining time to think. The man was only a captain but in such a society none outside the actual ruling class could hope for high position. Yet he was old and had waited too long if he had the normal spur of desire for gain.

Lowering his glass he said, "Not overwhelmingly so. He seems too vulnerable-a truly ambitious man must be touched with ruthless self-interest. Patient, yes, and hopeful-once married he will be content."

"A good guess if you are guessing. But don't underestimate him. Once Urich marries Eunice he will be of the Quelen. He will become a Marshal of the Yekatania. He will share a fine house with a high tower. Once he fathers children he will be respected, rich and secure." Vruya moved to a desk, set down his glass and began to toy with a carved image lying on the surface. Without change of tone he said, "If you were he and Eunice turned toward another man what would you do?"

"Fight."

That was the answer Vruya wanted to hear. "Yes," he said. "Fight. As our forefathers did in their early days on Krantz. Fighting the elements, the environment, each other when the need arose." The small image fell to clatter on the desk. "The basic rule of life-only the strongest deserve to survive."

And, because they survived, they were the strongest.

Dumarest said, "Strength is relative, my lord. The coward who runs lives to breed while the brave stand and die."

"Meaning?"

"We are talking of survival-not heroics."

"But you were heroic in the Mart. You moved in to kill while others stood in shocked helplessness. Risking your life to save-" He broke off, eyes narrowing, suddenly shrewd. "Fast," he mused. "I have received the reports. You moved like the wind and the mutant had its back toward you. Had its hands wrapped around Eunice's throat. One blow and the thing was done."

"And Eunice lived, my lord."

"True." Vruya blinked, shaking his head as if to clear it of fog. "What matter the means if the end is achieved? Some would say that you saw an opportunity, assessed the risk, acted from motives of self-interest. That may be so-but Eunice lives when she could have died. And, had she died…"

His voice trailed into silence as Vruya moved about the chamber touching a vase filled with delicate blooms of stained crystal, a small statuette, a block of clear plastic containing the swirling hues of a rainbow. A man seeking reassurance in familiar things.

"Survival." He spoke as if to a portrait on a wall; one of a woman with a wealth of blond hair and eyes like sapphires. "We came to Krantz in order to survive; the Harradin, the Duuden, the Marechal, the Yekatania. The Quelen who made this world their own. Others came later but we were the first. Ours the victory-and ours the cost."

He moved on, touching the worn hilt of a knife, a stone laced with gold and emerald, a tuft of brightly colored feathers.

"Too few marrying too close," he said. "Too much fighting, too many feuds, too much good blood wasted in futile quarrels. And, always, there is the fury from the suns-the Chandorah is rife with dangerous radiation." The tuft of feathers fell from his hand and he turned to look at Dumarest. "We are dying, Earl. The Quelen is dying. Too few children are born to us and of those, too few survive. Once we were strong, now we are weak, decadent." His shrug was expressive. "You have seen those who haunt the Mart."

The product of inbred frailties accentuated by progressive degeneration; moronic, viciously cruel, retarded, sterile, insane.

"New blood is needed," said Vruya. "But the Quelen are proud. They think that to marry outside is to demean their status."

"But not you, my lord."

"A start must be made. Once the children arrive-strong, healthy offspring, the sense will be obvious. A matter of fashion, Earl. Of reeducation." Vruya glanced at the woman's portrait. "Unless it is done and soon the Quelen will cease to exist within five generations." He shook himself as if to fight off a sudden chill. "But enough of that. Pour more wine, Earl, and let us enjoy the moment."

She had the hair, the blood, the saliva gathered when he had dabbed her handkerchief against his wounded mouth. She had skin caught beneath the fine-edged nails of her hand; small flakes of dead epidermis but it was enough. Her skill would provide the rest-and the doll would take little time.

It grew beneath her hands, the puttylike substance formed to an ancient recipe, mixed to the incantation of esoteric spells, fashioned into a male likeness, its body containing the blood, hair, skin and saliva won from the man who had saved her life.

One she was now making her own.

Smoke rose from the ornament of brass and Eunice sucked it deep into her lungs. Pungent fumes scented with strong herbs, blended with selected chemicals, drugs, compounds which aided the direction and detachment of the mind. Already the world had taken on a blurred image, lines and planes distorted as if seen through flawed crystal. On the open tome the skull stared at her with sympathetic amusement.

The doll was finished, the lineaments of face and body carefully detailed with the skill of an artist. One bearing grey garments, hastily made, but good enough to emphasize the similarity.

"Earl," she whispered. "Come to me. Come to me, my darling. Come to me."

A command repeated until it took on the monotonous drone of a chant-conducted to the soft pound of her fist on the floor as, squatting, she yielded to the miasma spreading from her mind.

"Come… come… come to me, Earl. Come… come… come to me, Earl."

A command he must obey for she had his blood, his hair, his skin and saliva. And, as the whole was a sum of its parts, so a part was representative of the whole. Ancient magic culled from the tomes she had studied, applied with studied art, backed by a rigid conviction.

"Come… come… come to me, Earl. Come… come… come to me, Earl."

And he came.

He stood within the door of her chamber looking down at her where she squatted on the floor.

"My lord!" The woman who had guided him was of the Ypsheim-of middle age with a smooth, round, emotionless face. "It is not a good time. Perhaps it would be better for you to leave and return later."

Dumarest said, "Is this common?"

"It happens, my lord."

When the sun was close or the stars in a certain order or the wind from the sea. A madness which struck as a fit would strike and then he saw the doll and recognized the similarity and knew that this madness was a thing as ancient as time.

"Earl!" She rose and stepped toward him, arms extended, the doll lying forgotten on the floor. "Earl!"

A woman with the face of a child, empty now, vacuous, the lips moist with the saliva which had dribbled down her chin. Her eyes held secret torments.

"Please, my lord." The woman who had guided him touched his arm. "It would be best for you to leave."

A maid, an attendant-one who now acted the nurse. Dumarest watched as she moved toward Eunice, her voice low, soothing. A voiceless croon which the other obeyed as, like a rag doll, she allowed herself to be led from the chamber.

Alone Dumarest looked at the dolls, the limpid pool of the mirror, the fuming incense, the ancient tomes. Echoes of the woman who owned them. One soon to be married. To Urich Sheiner-who knew of Earth.