Jack of Swords

Chapter Fourteen

The chamber ended in a combination of smoothly concave surfaces blending into the mouth of a rounded opening giving on to more chambers, different this time, larger, the thin tracery of black lines almost covering the floor in their elaborate profusion. A ramp led up from the dust and again they plunged into a maze, simple this time, the walls forming broken barriers between chambers which grew higher and wider as they progressed.

Embira paused, wincing, one hand lifting to her forehead. "Close," she whispered. "Earl, it's so close!"

"In which direction?" He followed the gesture of her hand. "Blank it out, Embira, if you can. Stop hurting yourself."

"Earl, you care?"

"Need you ask?" His hand closed on her own. "We need you, girl."

From behind them Sufan Noyoka said, "Hurry. The treasure must be close. Hurry!"

"Why?" Usan Labria leaned against a wall, panting for breath. "No one is going to steal it, Sufan. No one but us."

"If there's anything to steal. Our dead captain could already have emptied the nest." Marek was cynical. "Prepare yourself for a disappointment, my friend. We could be too late."

A reminder which the man didn't appreciate. He snapped, "Don't try to be funny, Marek. Use your talent. If it has any value you should be able to tell us the location of the treasure."

"Why ask me when we have the girl? Can't she tell us, Earl?"

"She's done enough," said Dumarest. "And she has never claimed to be able to solve puzzles. That is why you are here."

"That's right, Marek, or did you come just for the ride?" Pacula, in defense of the girl, was quick to attack. "It's your turn to guide us."

"And I shall. Did you guess that I was proud? To be ignored can be hurtful to a man of talent. Given time I would have guided you, but I was not given time. And it amused me to know that, at any time, danger could have awaited in each and every chamber. A complication which, so far, we have been spared. But consider, my friends, would treasure be left unguarded?"

A question posed without need of an answer and Dumarest wondered at the spate of words. Was the man simply wasting time in order to gain an opportunity to arrange his thoughts? Or was he pressing their patience, risking anger and potential violence? A facet of his character which could never be forgotten. His whim could lead them into danger for the thrill of it. To toy with death to assuage his secret yearning.

Pacula said, "Must we have a lecture?"

"You want a simple answer?" His sudden anger was the flash of a naked blade. "There!" His hand lifted to point ahead. "At the heart of the city you will find the treasure-if it is to be found."

"You doubt?"

"Everything. Your smile, my dear, your greed, you concern. Nothing is wholly what it seems. This city, a place built for men or for what? Built to house or to hold? To guard or to retain? Every coin has two faces-must we only look at the one we find most pleasing to our eyes? Solve me a puzzle, you say, and do it now. Am I a dog to be ordered at your whim?"

An old wound opened by an unthinking comment. Dumarest said, "We need your skill, Marek."

"Have I denied it?"

"Then tell us, in your own way, what you have determined."

"Let us talk of treasure." Marek sat and took a sip of water from his canteen. From the way he tilted it Dumarest knew that the contents must be low. "What is treasure? To one it could be a bag of salt, to another a bow, a knife, a prime beast. Values vary, so what do we hope to find?"

"Money," said Usan curtly. "Or something we can turn into money."

"Works of art? A discovery which can be carried in the the mind or a heap of stone a hundred men couldn't lift?"

"You try my patience!"

"The voice of aggression," he said calmly. "Who are you not to be denied? A woman, old, dying. What challenge do you offer? None. And you Sufan. You too are old and consumed by greed. Why should I obey you? How can you make me?"

Dumarest said, "He can't. No one can. Now tell us what you know."

For a moment Marek remained silent, then he said in an altered tone of voice, "For you, Earl, yes. At least you are a man, and I think, one with understanding. Now consider this. Where in a normal city would you find the greatest concentration of treasure? On a commercial world it would be figures in a ledger or items in a computer-the interflow of credit and debit. A more primitive world and metal and gems would be stored in some vault. A religious one and the altar of the largest place of worship would be garnished with things of price. A military world would value weapons. An artistic one volumes of poetry, perhaps, or paintings."

"So?"

"The consideration determines the keeping. Now some rumors have it that the wealth of Balhadorha is the loot of a ravished world. The wealth of a planet heaped like a mass of stone, dumped and left to be found by any with the courage to look for it. We know better. It must be at the heart of this city. But is it large or small? If small then it could be anywhere within the central spire. If large then at or below ground level. Was it to be seen? Adored or examined, touched by the populace, or something hidden?"

Dumarest said, "The chambers we passed through were all devoid of ornament."

"A shrewd observation. Which leads us to the conclusion that the inhabitants of this city had no time for artistic appreciation. Perhaps they were incapable of it. And they must have left centuries ago-otherwise they would not have permitted the dead man to remain where we found him. Where did they go and why did they leave?"

"If they left at all," said Dumarest. "But we're not interested in the city as such, only the treasure."

"But all are parts of the puzzle." Marek took another drink of water. "Down," he said. "I am sure of it. Down and at the center. It will be found, I am sure, at a point below the present ground level." Smiling, he added, "If there is anything there to find."

One day, thought Dumarest, the man's sense of humor would kill him. He would take one chance too many and the death he was in love with would reach out and take him. As Marek led the way Dumarest glanced at the others. Pacula, as had grown normal, guided the girl. Usan panted, coughing, her eyes bloodshot, streaks of red matching the flecks on her lips. The gun slung from her shoulder was forgotten. Sufan Noyoka's was not. He kept his hand on the weapon, the muzzle lifting to aim at Marek, falling as if by an effort of will, lifting again as if with a life of its own.

"No," said Dumarest.

"What?" Sufan turned, startled, his eyes a liquid darting. "What do you mean?"

"Don't hold your gun that way. There could be an accident and Marek is in the line of fire."

"He-"

"Annoys you. I know. And you must know that is exactly what he intends to do. He can't help it-but again, you know that."

"I do." Sufan lifted his hand from the gun and looked at it. The fingers trembled. "If we could do without him. The girl-"

"Can't lead us as he can. And with Jarv dead we still have to navigate the Cloud. She can help but only to a point. Control your anger."

"Yes, Earl, you're right, and you can see now why I needed you. At times like this tempers get frayed and no loyalty can be relied on. I don't trust Marek, he needs to be watched. If the whim takes him he will plunge us all into danger."

"Tell me of his past."

"I know little. He was a brilliant student and gained a high place in the Frenshi Institute. He married, had a child, and then something happened. Both died. Rumor hinted that he was responsible, a faulty judgment of some kind. After that he traveled for a time. You understand that I have no firsthand information."

"And?"

"We met. He was interested in Balhadorha. He could help. That's all."

A man tormented by guilt; it would account for his courting danger. A complex means of committing suicide, a psychological quirk-if Sufan was telling the truth. If he was, then Marek was more dangerous than a short-fused bomb.

Dumarest joined the man as he reached the opening. Beyond lay another chamber, long and narrow, an elongated bubble which ran to either side, each end marked with an opening. On the floor the tracery of thin black lines ended in a single complex pattern running evenly along the major axis.

"A dead end," said Marek. He looked at the blank wall facing them. "The end of the line."

"The treasure?"

"Lies beyond that wall, Earl. On a lower level, perhaps, but still beyond."

Dumarest looked upward. Lacking the other's talent, he could only guess, but he estimated that they must be either at the edge of the central spire or very close. The tracery of lines also offered a clue. The ending could be a line of demarcation.

"We must try one of the openings," he said. "Which? Left or right?"

For answer Marek dropped his hand to the gun slung over his shoulder, lifted it, cradled it, and clamped his finger on the trigger. Sound roared through the chamber as the muzzled vented a hail of bullets, slugs which struck to ricochet in whining, invisible death.

At the entrance Pacula cried out, threw herself before Embira, and hurled the girl to the ground. Sufan Noyoka, snarling, threw himself flat, his own gun lifting. Usan Labria slumped, a streak of red marring the line beneath her hair.

"Marek!" Dumarest lunged at the man, his hand gripping the barrel, lifting it as his stiffened palm chopped at the wrist. "Stop firing, you fool!"

"The wall-" Marek blinked at it as he rubbed his bruised arm. "I thought it would yield!"

A lie. The man hadn't thought, the action had stemmed from frustration and anger. A child kicking at an obstacle or a man seeking his own destruction. Dumarest tore the magazine from the weapon, threw both it and the gun aside, then ran to where Usan lay, eyes closed, blood staining the floor beneath her head.

"He killed her." Sufan Noyoka rose to his feet, his eyes blazing. "Earl-"

"She isn't dead." Dumarest lifted his canteen and poured water over the lax features. Carefully he examined the wound, the skin had been torn but the bone was unbroken. Beneath the impact of chemical vapors she stirred, opening her eyes, sitting upright with the help of his arm, wincing.

"Earl, what happened?"

"Marek tried to kill us all," snapped Sufan. "The fool must have known the bullets would ricochet. Pacula?"

"I'm all right." Gently she helped the girl to her feet. "Embira."

"What happened? There was noise and then something threw me down. Earl?"

"Marek lost his head. It won't happen again."

Sufan said, "He tried to kill us. Had he turned and lifted his gun I would have shot him. He knew that, so tried a more subtle way."

"I made a mistake," said Marek. "If I had wanted to kill you, Sufan Noyoka, you would be dead now. But if you demand satisfaction? On Teralde the duel is common, I understand."

"There'll be no dueling," said Dumarest coldly. "And there will be no more stupidity." He glanced at the wall, the surface was unscarred. "You should have warned us, Marek, given us time to take cover."

"As I said, Earl, a mistake."

"Make another and it could be your last." Dumarest lifted the old woman to her feet. "Take care of Usan and guide us. Which way should we go? Left or right?"

Marek looked at the floor. The little pool of blood shed from Usan's wound lay at his feet like a crimson teardrop.

"The floor isn't level," he said. "Or the blood would not have run. We must follow the descent. To the right, Earl. The right."

Three hours later they looked at the treasure of Balhadorha.

The chambers had followed the path of a spiral, each slightly curved, all following a subtle gradient, the last ending in a room pierced with rounded openings. Beyond them lay a vast colonnade. Dumarest led the way across the smooth floor and halted at the far edge.

Beside him Sufan Noyoka sucked in his breath. Usan said uncertainly, "Is this, it, Earl? The treasure?"

"The treasure." Marek was positive. "There it is, my friends, the thing you have risked your lives to gain. The fabulous treasure of a fabled world." His laughter was thin, cynically bitter, devoid of genuine mirth. "So much for legend."

"But there's nothing," said Pacula. "Nothing!"

Nothing but an area wreathed with mist which stretched before them and to either side. A circular space ringed by the vast colonnade, the curved arms diminished by distance, arches and pillars taking on the appearance of a delicate filigree. Overhead light glowed from the surface of an inverted cone; the interior of the central spire. Dumarest stared up at it, his eyes blurred by the coils of rising mist, a thin vapor which turned in on itself, to fall, to rise again, to seeth in restless motion.

"Nothing," said Usan Labria. She sagged, leaning against a pillar, dwarfed by its immensity. "Nothing but dirt and mist Earl, there has to be a mistake. There has to be!"

"We've been misled." Sufan Noyoka's voice betrayed his anger. "There should be-Marek, is this your idea of a jest?"

"I tried to warn you," said Marek. "But you refused to understand. What is treasure? It is and has to be something which men hold to be valuable. But even men have different concepts of value. The bone of a martyr to one could be a thing beyond price, to another nothing more than a scrap of useless tissue. A set of coordinates, to Earl, would be worth all he has and could hope to possess. Usan wants to be young. Pacula wants to find her child. And you, Sufan, what did you hope to find? Cash? The realization of a dream? A new discovery?"

Dumarest said, "And you, Marek? Peace?"

"Peace." For a moment he looked haggard, his face bearing his true age. "A word, Earl, but can you realize what it means? Can anyone? To be at rest, to be free of regret, never to be tormented with doubt, to be sure and never to wonder if only- Peace, Earl. Peace."

Dumarest said quietly, "The past is dead, Marek."

"Gone, but never dead, Earl. And I think you know it. Always it is with us in our memories. A glimpse of a face, the touch of a breeze, the scent of a flower, the echo of a song, and suddenly the past is with us. A thousand things, tiny triggers impossible to wholly avoid, and those gone rise to live again. To live. To accuse!"

"Marek!" Pacula moved forward to lay her hand on his arm. "Marek. Please!"

He stood a man transfigured, one grown suddenly old, his shoulders stooped, his face ravaged, stripped of the cynical mask. His hands were before him, slightly raised, the fingers clenched, the knuckles white with strain. A man exposed, vulnerable, and a little pathetic. More than a little easy to understand.

To die by his own hand would be too easy and never could he be sure that, even in death, he would find the peace he sought. It was better to tempt danger, to risk the destruction dealt by others and so, always, he invited punishment.

Watching him Pacula realized it and, realizing, understood how much they had in common. She, too, lived with guilt Had she been a little more attentive, a little less easily persuaded, Culpea would be alive now. Alive and grown and at her side. A girl of twelve, one at puberty, blossoming from child into woman and needing a mother's love. If only-

"Marek," she said again. "Please don't hurt yourself."

He stiffened a little, shoulders squaring, the mask falling over his face and eyes. Deliberately he unclenched his hands and looked at the fingers as he flexed them. A moment and he had become a stranger, but she had seen and recognized the real man and her hand did not fall from his arm.

Usan said, "Earl, my head. It aches like hell and I'm tired. To have come so far for so little. Nothing but dirt and mist." Her laughter was strained, artificial. "An old fool," she said. "That's what they called me. Well, maybe they were right after all. I'm old, certainly, and there is the evidence that I'm a fool." Her hand lifted to gesture at the open expanse, the mist. "We are all fools."

"No." Sufan Noyoka was insistent. "There has to be a mistake. The rumors must have some foundation. We must keep looking. Somewhere in the city we shall find it. The real treasure of Balhadorha. It has to be here."

"You are stubborn, Sufan." Marek dropped his hand to cover Pacula's, his fingers tightening as if he found a comfort in the warmth of her own. "I've solved the puzzle. What you see is the only treasure you will find. I swear it."

"You're mistaken! You have to be! I-"

"You're tired," said Dumarest sharply. The man's voice had risen to poise on the edge of hysteria. "We all are and Usan's hurt. She needs to sleep. Later we can examine the area. There might be something in the mist."

"Yes." Sufan snatched at the suggestion like a starving dog at a bone. "Yes, Earl, that must be it. The mist, of course, it would hide the treasure. We must look for it."

"Later," said Dumarest. "First we sleep."