Jack of Swords

Chapter Twelve

Timus Omilcar poured himself wine and said bitterly. "Over a hundred pounds of explosive and nothing to show for it but a hole in the ground and a missing captain. Want a drink, Earl?"

"That damned wall." The engineer lifted his glass, swallowed, sat scowling at the bottle. "We can't drive a pick into it, we can't touch it with lasers, and we can't blow a hole through it. The city's there-but how the hell do we get inside?"

A problem Dumarest was working on. From metal rods he had fashioned a grapnel, the tines curved, sharpened, a hook-eye supplied for a rope. He fitted it as Timus reached for the bottle.

"A hundred feet, Earl," he reminded. "A hell of a throw."

And no surety the tines would catch, but it had to be tried. At the foot of the wall Dumarest studied it, eyes narrowed against the glare of the red and yellow suns. With legs braced be swung the grapnel, threw it, the barbs hitting well below the summit of the smooth expanse. Another try threw it higher, a third and it was close to the top. On the second following try the hooked metal fell over the edge, to fall as Dumarest gently tugged at the rope.

A dozen attempts later he gave up. The summit of the wall was too smooth to offer a hold and he was sweating with the effort of casting the grapnel. Dropping the rope he rested the side of his face against the wall and studied the unbroken expanse. Light shimmered from it as if it had been polished. Even at the place blasted by the explosives it resembled the sheen of a mirror. Against his cheek it felt neither hot nor cold, the temperature equal to his own.

Entering the ship he heard voices raised in argument.

"Do you think I gimmick the fuse?" The engineer's voice was a roar. "Is that what you're saying?"

"I'm trying to understand." Usan Labria was sharp. "You gave him the detonators and fuses, right?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't go back with him when they failed to work. So-"

"So you think I refused because I knew the charges would blow? Woman, you're crazy! You know anything about explosives?"

"A little."

"Then listen. The stuff was safety plastic and you could hit it with a hammer and it would remain inert. Earl shot at it with no effect. The detonators were chemical-cascade; three units-the first blowing the second, the second the third, the third doing the job. "Got that?"

"The fuse?"

"Again chemical. Regular burn and normally you could set a watch by it, but things can happen. A fuse can volley- burn faster than expected, the flame jumping at accelerated speed. Or it can die, but when it does there's always the chance that it's still alive. The flame just moves slower, that's all. Acilus knew that but he was too damned impatient." Timus ended bleakly, "It cost him his life."

They were all in the salon aside from Embira, Usan Labria breathing deeply, the locket containing her drugs clutched in one hand. Pacula rose as Dumarest entered.

"I'd better go and look after the girl."

"Leave her." Marek toyed with his cards. "She isn't a baby."

"She's blind. Have you forgotten?"

"We're all blind when asleep, my dear." He turned three cards, pursed his lips, then gathered up the deck. "You worry about her too much."

"And you too little."

"Not so." Marek smiled, his teeth, sharp and regular, flashing in the light. "I think of her often and, when she is close, it is easy to forget her disability. Her charms negate her lack of vision and it would be no handicap. After all, are not fingers the eyes of the night?"

"You're vile!"

"No, my dear," he said blandly. "Not vile-human. She is a woman, is she not? And I am a man."

"Degenerate filth!" She stood looking down at him, her eyes cold. "I warn you, Marek Cognez. If you touch her I'll-"

"Do what?" He rose to face her, his eyes as hard and bleak as her own. "You threaten me? That is a challenge I am tempted to accept. And if I should take the girl what could you do? Nothing. Nothing."

"Perhaps not," said Dumarest. "But I could. Touch Embira and you'll answer to me."

"A challenge multiplied." For a moment Marek held his eyes, and then abruptly, shrugged and smiled. "You make the odds too great, Earl. A woman, what is that to come between friends? And we are friends, are we not?"

Dumarest said, "Pacula, if you're going to the girl go now." As she left the salon he sat and looked at Marek. "One day you'll go too far. And you're wrong about Pacula not being able to take revenge. Any woman can use a knife against a man when he is asleep. She may not kill you, but she could ruin your face and teach you what it is to be blind."

"And you, Earl?"

"I'd kill you."

A cold statement of fact which the man accepted for what it was. Even so, the devil within him forced him on.

"An interesting development, Earl. Had another man made that threat I would assume him to be in love with the girl. Or are you anticipating the future and the enjoyment of unsullied goods?"

Timus said quickly, "Be careful, Marek."

"Another warning? This seems to be a time of warnings. Even the cards are full of dire prophecy. A pity the captain had no trust in my skill. But then-one less and the more to share."

"The more of what?" Jarv Nonach gestured with his pomander. "As yet we have found nothing, and unless we can break through the walls, we'll remain empty-handed. Did you have any luck?"

"No," admitted Dumarest.

"Then what is left?" The navigator looked from one to the other. "I say we should leave here and return later with rafts and-"

"No!" Sufan's hand slammed on the table. "No!"

"What point in staying? With the captain dead I am in command of the Mayna. I am a fair man and as eager as any of you to find treasure, but the wall beats us. How long are we to sit looking at it? I say we leave. With rafts and other equipment we could crack that city open like a nut."

"We stay!" Sufan Noyoka was trembling with passion. "To have come so far, to have risked so much-we stay!"

"For a little longer." The navigator rose, his face drawn, determined. "But not for too long. I command the Mayna now and when I leave you may come or stay as you wish."

Dumarest said, "We are partners, Jarv. Sufan Noyoka leads this expedition."

"Then why doesn't he accept the obvious? It's our lives as well as his. Acilus is dead-how many more must follow him? Without equipment we haven't a chance. No, Earl, I've decided. One more day and then I leave."

A threat he might have carried out had he been allowed, but when the blue sun rose and the yellow sank he was dead.

Dumarest heard the cry and was running, catching Usan Labria as she fell, following the finger of her pointing hand.

"Earl," she gasped. "I found him. The navigator-under that bush."

She was quivering, her lips blue, pain contorting her raddled features. Dumarest passed her to Timus as he came running, Marek at his side.

"Earl?"

"Take her back to the ship. Get hold of Pacula, she knows what to do."

"And Jarv?"

"I'll see what's wrong."

There was nothing he could do. The man sat with his back against a bole, his head slumped forward down on his chest, one hand clenched at his side, the other open, the pomander lying an inch from his fingers. Dumarest halted Marek as he moved forward.

"Wait. Look around. See if you can spot tracks of any kind."

"On this moss?"

"The stems could be broken. Look."

A heavy weight would have left an impression but nothing could be found aside from the marks of the navigator's footprints and those left by Usan and themselves. Dumarest quested in a wide circle, frowning as he rejoined Marek.

"Nothing?"

"No."

"Which means nothing jumped him from the vegetation," mused Marek. "He must have come out here to sit, maybe to think and plan, resting his back against the bole and then something happened. But what? There seems to be no sign of a struggle. Poison of some kind? Those blooms, Earl! The bush he is under bears blossom. Could they have emitted a lethal vapor of some kind?"

"Perhaps." Dumarest glanced at the sky. This world was strange, beneath the varying influence of the suns anything could happen. "Be careful now, don't get too close."

Holding his breath he lifted the dead man's face. It was tranquil, the open eyes glazed, the lips slightly parted. The skin was cool and a little moist. Death had come quickly.

Marek said, "Shall we bury him, Earl?"

"If you want to, go ahead."

"And you?"

"I've work to do in the ship."

A plan he had made and devices he and the engineer had worked on while the others rested. The navigator was dead-left or buried, to him it was the same, but the living still faced a problem.

"Do you think they'll work, Earl?" Timus looked dubiously at what they'd made; soft hemispheres of rubber backed by a stronger layer and fitted with loops. Gekko pads to fit to wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles, any six of the suction cups sufficient to hold his weight.

"It's a chance," said Dumarest. "The wall is smooth and the cups should hold if we figured right."

"If they don't we're stuck, Earl. I don't know what else we can do. Jarv was right in a way. We need rafts and special equipment. Sufan Noyoka should have thought about it Well, it's too late now, but maybe Jarv had the right idea. You burying him?"

"Marek's seeing to it." Dumarest anticipated the obvious question. "No sign of what killed him, but he went peacefully."

"His heart must have given out." Timus rubbed his hand over his chin. "He was always sniffing at that pomander and it was only a matter of time before the drugs got him. "Two down," he said. "And it's my guess the old woman will be next."

Pacula was with her, sitting beside the cot, bathing the raddled face with water. Usan's breathing was labored, her fingers twitching, plucking at her dress. Weakly she tried to smile.

"Age, Earl. It's beating me. Jarv?"

"Dead and being buried. His heart must have given out. There was no sign of any attack." Dumarest touched the woman's throat, his fingers resting on the pulse. "We don't want you going the same way. It would be best for you to sleep for a while. Pacula?"

"I'll see to it. Earl."

"No!" Usan clenched her hands, eyes brimming with tears at her own weakness. "Damn this body! I don't want to sleep. I want to see what's in the city."

"If we manage to get inside you'll be with us. That's a promise."

"You're kind," she whispered. "I'll hold you to that. But can you get inside?"

Dryly he said, "There's only one way to find out."

Sufan Noyoka's dry voice issued a list of instructions as they headed toward the wall.

"Remember to fix the rope as soon as you reach the top, Earl. Make no attempt to get into the city until I am with you. Are you armed?"

"He's armed." Timus handed Dumarest a machine gun. "Hang this around your neck, Earl. It's cocked and ready to fire on full automatic."

Dumarest weighed it in his hand then handed it back.

"I'll pull it up if and when I reach the top," he said. "I've enough weight to carry as it is."

His own body, the pads, the rope wrapped around his waist, the grapnel swinging between his shoulders. Reaching the foot of the wall he looked upward. Every spot was the same and one was as good as another. As the others watched he stepped close to the smooth expanse, lifted his arms, slammed the pads against the wall, followed with a leg. With the pads holding he lifted his free leg and set it higher than the other. Then an arm pulled free, lifted and made fast. The other leg. The other arm. A leg again.

Slowly, sprawled hard against the wall, each limb moving in turn, he inched upward.

He could see nothing but the wall inches from his eyes, feel nothing but the drag at his arms, the awkward twist of his legs. Each time he freed a pad meant a cautious twisting, to fasten them a careful movement Sweat began to run from his forehead into his eyes and he felt the clammy touch of it beneath his clothing.

Grimly he climbed on, inches at a time, muscles aching in thighs and groin, cramps threatening his shoulders and calves.

From below came the encouraging voice of the engineer.

"Keep going, Earl! You're doing fine!"

"How high am I?"

"Maybe thirty feet!"

Less than a third of the distance covered. Thirty feet out of a hundred and already the strain of hauling his body up the sheer wall was beginning to tell. Pausing, Dumarest hung to rest, turning his head to see the sea of vegetation, the ship rearing against the sky. The light from the suns was dazzling, reflected from the wall it hurt his eyes. Closing them he released one leg, flexing it to ease the strain.

"Up!" snapped Sufan Noyoka. "Earl, what are you waiting for?"

Dumarest made no answer, easing each limb in turn, then doggedly continued to climb. At sixty feet progress slowed, the pads seeming to slip, and after another five feet he was sure of it. Watching, he placed his arm into position, heaved, saw the attachments move down the wall as if they glided on oil.

Cautiously he moved to one side, tried to climb again but with no better result. Tilting his head he looked at the top of the wall. He was two-thirds of the way up, a little more and he would be home, but the last few feet were impossible to cover.

Timus caught him as he dropped from the wall.

"Earl? Are you all right?"

"Cramp." Dumarest doubled, kneading his legs. His shoulders ached and his arms burned. He had climbed mountains with less bodily fatigue. "Maybe something in the wall. I don't know."

"So you failed." Sufan was bitter. "A few more feet, couldn't you make it?"

"I tried." For too long and too hard. The red sun was setting, the yellow taking its place. "The wall won't hold the suction cups up there. They slip."

"And?"

Dumarest shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe Marek has an idea."

He sat as usual in the salon, toying with his cards, his face smooth, apparently unconcerned, but one whose brain was never still. A man who had boasted of his talent, one who had now to prove his claims.

"A problem," he said. "A puzzle, and each tackles it in his own way. Acilus tried brute force, you were more subtle, Earl, but with no greater success. Yet such attempts had to be made and the use of suction cups was clever. A lighter person, perhaps? But no. You alone have to have the physical attributes necessary for such a climb. What else? Well, first let us study the situation."

"We've done that," said Sufan curtly. "A city locked behind a wall."

"Exactly, a wall." Marek turned some cards, his eyes bland. "Now, what is a wall? It is a barrier set to keep others out. But that same barrier will keep others in. Perhaps the city is a prison built to contain some criminal form of life. A possibility, you must admit, and one which must be considered. For while every prison must have a key it is equally true to state that no prison can be entered without it having a door."

"I have no patience to listen to abstruse meanderings, Marek."

"Yet patience in this matter is essential. Earl advised it, Acilus rejected it, and by so doing, lost his life. Jarv also was impatient and Jarv is dead." His voice hardened a little to take on an edge. "I have no wish to join them, Sufan. Not yet. And not because you refuse to wait."

"Then tell us how to enter the city."

"Find the door."

"What?" Sufan frowned, his eyes coming to rest, sharp in their anger. "I warn you, Marek-"

"Again a warning!" Marek threw down the cards. "I grow tired of warnings. You have seen what I have seen, know what I know. The city is an enigma. To understand it I must study it. Why are the mounds set in such a fashion? What is the purpose of the spire? Why is the wall so high and why does its surface alter toward the summit? Why the clearing?"

"That is to keep the vegetation from growing too close to the wall. That's obvious."

"But not necessarily true." Marek leaned back, resting the tips of his fingers together, an attitude Dumarest found at variance to his character.

He said, without irony, "Is the puzzle too simple, Marek?"

"Earl, you have it! What could be more simple than an apparently impenetrable wall? You, at least, do not fall into the common error of believing that complexity makes for difficulty. The reverse is true; the more complex a thing, the more parts there are in relation to each other, the more simple it is to determine an answer. Find me the door and I will lead you into the city. But first I must locate the door."

"But how?" Timus was baffled. "We've looked, there is no door. Earl?"

Dumarest said, "You think about it, Timus. I need a shower."

Embira was waiting as he stepped from the cubicle. She wore a close-fitting gown of silver laced with gold, a perfect accompaniment to her skin and hair. She moved toward him, one hand trailing the wall.

"Earl?"

"Yes." He took her hand. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was, but I've rested long enough. Take me outside, Earl. The metal," she gestured toward the hull, "cramps me."

Outside the air was brooding with a heavy stillness, the sky painted with a profusion of light. The red sun was low on the horizon, the yellow on its upward climb, the blue barely visible. Three suns that bathed the city with light. From the summit of the mound Dumarest looked at it, then at the girl. She was frowning.

"Something wrong?"

"What is out there, Earl? What do I face?"

"The city. You have seen-faced it before." Curious, he added, "Can you krang the wall?"

"The wall? No. There is only something-" She broke off, shivering. "Something I don't understand. It isn't familiar, Earl. I don't like it."

"The wall, Embira." He took her head between his hands and guided her sightless eyes along its length. "Can you isolate it as you can the hull?" He frowned at her answer. "No?"

"No, Earl. But there is something there." She pointed with her arm. "I can krang it. It isn't like what lies beyond." She added uncertainly, "I can't remember it being there before."

A manifestation of the triple suns? If so, time was limited, there was no way of knowing when all three would be in the sky at the same time again. A mistake? If so, nothing could be lost by trying.

Back at the ship Marek said incredulously, "A door? Earl, are you sure?"

"No, but it's worth the chance. Embira spotted something, an alteration. We must investigate. Get the others and follow."

"But-"

"Hurry! The red sun's setting. Once it has gone the chance could be lost!"

A chance which seemed less possible the closer they approached the wall. It hadn't changed. At close hand it seemed as firm and as unbroken as before. To normal eyes, at least, but Embira lacked normal vision. Walking steadily in the lead she made directly toward a certain point. Dumarest, Usan Labria cradled in his left arm, followed. From the rear of the little column the engineer voiced his doubts.

"A door? Earl, that wall's solid. How the hell can we pass through it?"

"Walk. It's a chance, but what have we to lose? Embira will guide us. Touch the one in front, close your eyes, and follow." Dumarest set the example, resting his free hand on the girl's shoulder. Behind him Pacula sucked in her breath and he felt the touch of her hand.

"Like this, Earl?"

"Yes. All in contact? Then close your eyes."

The dirt underfoot was smooth, there was no danger of stumbling, and Dumarest made a conscious effort to forget the presence of the wall. It didn't exist. Nothing existed aside from the warmth of the flesh beneath his hand, the body of the girl in the lead. The blind leading the blind-but she had her talent, and without vision, they were more crippled than she.

Five steps, ten, twelve. Dumarest concentrated on the girl. Another three steps, five, seven-and he felt a mild tingle. Eight more and the girl halted.

"Earl. It's behind us. The thing I could krang."

A risk, but it had to be taken. Dumarest opened his eyes.

Behind him he heard Pacula gasp, Marek's voice, high, incredulous.

"By God, we've done it! We've passed through the door! We're in the city!"