Had he sent the woman to him?
It was possible, and Dumarest had considered it from the first. The blatant suggestion that he should take power, a willing tool to be used in a game of violence, to be tested and trapped, perhaps, revealed for a potential assassin. And yet the woman had held her own motivations, using the order for her own ends, as devious in her own way as her master. A prison, thought Dumarest, not just of walls of stone and watchful guards, but a mental conditioning which held everyone in a mesh of conflicting emotions.
A deliberate state induced by Chan Parect to ensure his own safety. When none could trust another, rebellion was impossible.
"Earl!" Lisa Conenda moved toward him, purposeful, her breasts rising prominently beneath the thin fabric of her gown. "Earl!"
Another test? A man in passion was careless of his tongue, and ambition, once aroused, demanded an outlet. Or was she merely succumbing to the emotion he had sensed, the intensity of natural passion? In this place of madness who could be sure?
He said quietly, "I think it best that you leave now, my lady."
"What?" She stared her disbelief.
"I am being cautious. It would not be wise for us to be so intimate."
"You are concerned with my reputation?" Her laughter was deep, rich, genuine. "Have no fears, Earl. We shall not be disturbed. And I have no jealous lover and no husband who might call you to account. And if they should exist and show hostility, what then? You could take care of them, of that I am sure."
"Even so…" He broke off as sounds came from beyond the door. A girl's voice, the deeper tones of a man. In three strides he had reached the panel and jerked it open. Zenya Yamaipan stood outside.
She was not alone. A guard stood beside her, tall, neat in his serpent-blazoned tunic, a dagger at his waist and a staff in his hands. He said plaintively, "My lady, please understand. My orders-"
"To hell with your orders!" She glared at him, head thrown back, red patches on her cheeks, dusty beneath the bronze of her skin. "How dare you bar my way? Me, a blood noble of the Aihult! How dare you!"
Dumarest said sharply, "Don't blame the man for obeying his orders. Why are you here?"
"To see you, Earl." She turned to face him, her anger evaporating. "I must talk to you. That monk, the one who came to dinner, he wants to see you."
* * *
Brother Eland sat in a small room Just within the main gate, a bleak place more like a cell than anything else, a place, Dumarest guessed, where uninvited visitors were housed until a decision had been made as to their disposition. He rose as they entered, staggering a little and leaning his weight against a wall.
To the girl he said, "My lady, you are most kind."
Dumarest caught the thin arm, forced the monk back to his seat. "What is wrong, brother? Are you hurt?"
"Bruised, but the ache will pass."
"What happened?"
"I ate here, as you know and also, as you heard, was refused a place at the field. On my return, I found desolation. Brother Wen had been attacked by men wearing the symbol of a grasping hand. Others waited."
"The Leruk," Zenya whispered.
"They had questioned Brother Wen as to his standing, and accused him of having no place in this society. He had no money and belonged to no clan." The thin hand touched the homespun robe. "They refused to accept this as a sign of our allegiance. They had destroyed all we possessed, and then they beat me with staves. And then they left me."
An old man, without resources or known friends, hurt and alone. Dumarest drew in his breath.
"Why?"
"The Leruk," said the girl, as if that explained everything. "It is their task. Beggars are not allowed; you heard my grandfather talking. Without money, what else could the monk be?"
Without looking at her, Dumarest said, "What will happen to him?"
"He will be sold at auction. If he has skills, he will get a good price. If not, then he will end as a worker in the fields or in a factory." She added wonderingly, "I can't understand why they let this man go free. Logically, they should have taken him also."
Dumarest could guess why they hadn't. To the monk he said, "You asked for me, brother. How can I help?"
"You are a traveler, brother, and known to the church. As I said, all we possessed has been destroyed. The church is nothing, poles and thin coverings, easily replaced, but the benediction light is another matter. That we cannot replace. If you would carry word to another world, we would be grateful. Just relay the message to any monk you may happen to meet. Tell him what has happened here; he will do the rest."
Using the hybeam radio concealed in every benediction light to pass on the word. Dumarest knew of the secret, knew too of the close-knit mesh of communications binding all monks together and to the great seminary on Hope, the heart and center of the Universal Brotherhood.
"Please, brother!"
The monk sagged a little. One or more ribs, if not broken, had been cracked, and it was painful to breathe. His stomach throbbed and his kidneys burned from the impact of savage blows. Bruises mottled his skin, and it was hard to stand. A harsh world, he thought, but he was used to harshness, as he was accustomed to deprivation. Even the pain he suffered was not new; he had known pain before, as he had known other things. Disappointment, abuse, scorn, indifference-all these things were an integral part of the life he had chosen. But the church must not be allowed to wither on Paiyar. Not if an appeal could save it. And no monk could afford the luxury of pride.
"Please, brother," he said again. "I realize that you cannot help Brother Wen. He will be sold, and he will do what he can. As I will, should I be taken in turn."
Dumarest said, "Zenya. How can they be helped?"
"What do you mean, Earl?"
"This is a world of clans. How large must a clan be before it is recognized? Ten men? Five? Two? How many?"
"I don't know." She looked baffled. "I've never thought about it. Everyone wants to join an existing house, not set up on their own. Even those who work for the civil authority are always eager to change."
"We studied the customs of this world before coming here," said the monk. "There are no regulations as to what constitutes a clan. However, any group must be self-supporting and strong enough to resist aggression." He added bleakly, "Also, by definition, a clan is a group of more than one person. At this moment I am alone."
"But not for long," said Dumarest. "Zenya, how much would Brother Wen fetch on the block?"
"Not much, I would think. A monk can't be of high value."
An error Dumarest hoped others would make. Every monk was trained in medical skill and the basic necessities of survival. They could take a desert and cause it to bloom, use a cunning balance of ecology to change hostile environments, teach a dozen crafts.
He said, "Zenya, you owe me five hundred cran, your grandfather five thousand. I want it."
"I haven't got it, Earl."
"You have jewelry. Get it. Sign a witnessed deposition that you freely give it to the monk, Brother Eland. Hurry!"
She was stubborn. "No, Earl. I can give you the five hundred, and that's all. Chan Parect owes you the rest."
"And he will pay it." His eyes met hers, cold, hard. "If he doesn't, I will. I ask you for a loan, no more. The jewelry can be redeemed. Now, do as I say."
As she left he said to the monk, "You will take the money and buy your companion. And then, if you've any sense at all, you'll get off Paiyar as fast as you can. If the girl is right there will be enough left for Low passage, or maybe a captain will let you ride High for the sake of charity."
"Thank you, brother."