The Past Through Tomorrow Page 55

  I was then required to kneel on my left knee, with my left hand supporting the Book, my right hand steadying certain instruments thereon.

  The oath and charge was enough to freeze the blood of anyone foolish enough to take it under false pretenses. Then I was asked what, in my present condition, I most desired. I answered as I had been coached to answer: “Light!”

  And the hoodwink was stripped from my head.

  It is not necessary and not proper to record the rest of my instruction as a newly entered brother. It was long and of solemn beauty and there was nowhere in it any trace of the blasphemy or devil worship that common gossip attributed to us; quite the contrary it was filled with reverence for God, brotherly love, and uprightness, and it included instruction in the principles of an ancient and honorable profession and the symbolic meaning of the working tools thereof.

  But I must mention one detail that surprised me almost out of the shoes I was not wearing. When they took the hoodwink off me, the first man I saw, standing in front of me dressed in the symbols of his office and wearing an expression of almost inhuman dignity, was Captain Peter van Eyck, the fat ubiquitous warden of my watch—Master of this lodge!

  The ritual was long and time was short. When the lodge was closed we gathered in a council of war. I was told that the senior brethren had already decided not to admit Judith to the sister order of our lodge at this time even though the lodge would reach out to protect her. She was to be spirited away to Mexico and it was better, that being the case, for her not to know any secrets she did not need to know. But Zeb and I, being of the Palace guard, could be of real use; therefore we were admitted.

  Judith had already been given hypnotic instructions which—it was hoped —would enable her to keep from telling what little she already knew if she should be put to the Question. I was told to wait and not to worry; the senior brothers would arrange to get Judith out of danger before she next was required to draw lots. I had to be satisfied with that.

  For three days running Zebadiah and I reported during the afternoon recreation period for instruction, each time being taken by a different route and with different precautions. It was clear that the architect who had designed the Palace had been one of us; the enormous building had hidden in it traps and passages and doors which certainly did not appear in the official plans.

  At the end of the third day we were fully accredited senior brethren, qualified with a speed possible only in time of crisis. The effort almost sprained my brain; I had to bone harder than I ever had needed to in school. Utter letter-perfection was required and there was an amazing lot to memorize—which was perhaps just as well, for it helped to keep me from worrying. We had not heard so much as a rumor of a kickback from the disappearance of Snotty Fassett, a fact much more ominous than would have been a formal investigation.

  A security officer can’t just drop out of sight without his passing being noticed. It was remotely possible that Snotty had been on a roving assignment and was not expected to check in daily with his boss, but it was much more likely that he had been where we had found him and killed him because some one of us was suspected and he had been ordered to shadow. If that was the case, the calm silence could only mean that the chief security officer was letting us have more rope, while his psychotechnicians analyzed our behavior—in which case the absence of Zeb and myself from any known location during our free time for several days running was almost certainly a datum entered on a chart. If the entire regiment started out equally suspect, then our personal indices each gained a fractional point each of those days.

  I never boned savvy in such matters and would undoubtedly have simply felt relieved as the days passed with no overt trouble had it not been that the matter was discussed and worried over in the lodge room. I did not even know the name of the Guardian of Morals, nor even the location of his security office—we weren’t supposed to know. I knew that he existed and that he reported to the Grand Inquisitor and perhaps to the Prophet himself, but that was all. I discovered that my lodge brothers, despite the almost incredible penetration of the Cabal throughout the Temple and Palace, knew hardly more than I did—for the reason that we had no brothers, not one, in the staff of the Guardian of Morals. The reason was simple; the Cabal was every bit as careful in evaluating the character, persona, and psychological potentialities of a prospective brother as the service was in measuring a prospective intelligence officer—and the two types were as unlike as geese and goats. The Guardian would never accept the type of personality who would be attracted by the ideals of the Cabal; my brothers would never pass a—well, a man like Fassett.

  I understand that, in the days before psychological measurement had become a mathematical science, an espionage apparatus could break down through a change in heart on the part of a key man—well, the Guardian of Morals had no such worry; his men never suffered a change in heart. I understand, too, that our own fraternity, in the early days when it was being purged and tempered for the ordeal to come, many times had blood on the floors of lodge rooms—I don’t know; such records were destroyed.

  On the fourth day we were not scheduled to go to the lodge room, having been told to show our faces where they would be noticed to offset our unwonted absences. I was spending my free time in the lounge off the mess room, leafing through magazines, when Timothy Klyce came in. He glanced at me, nodded, then started thumbing through a stack of magazines himself. Presently he said, “These antiques belong in a dentist’s office. Have any of you chaps seen this week’s time?”

  His complaint was addressed to the room as a whole; no one answered. But he turned to me. “Jack, I think you are sitting on it. Raise up a minute.”

  I grunted and did so. As he reached for the magazine his head came close to mine and he whispered, “Report to the Master.”

  I had learned a little at least so I went on reading. After a bit I put my magazine aside, stretched and yawned, then got up and ambled out toward the washroom. But I walked on past and a few minutes later entered the lodge room. I found that Zeb was already there, as were several other brothers; they were gathered around Master Peter and Magdalene. I could feel the tension in the room.

  I said, “You sent for me, Worshipful Master?”

  He glanced at me, looked back at Magdalene. She said slowly, “Judith has been arrested.”

  I felt my knees go soft and I had trouble standing. I am not unusually timid and physical bravery is certainly commonplace, but if you hit a man through his family or his loved ones you almost always get him where he is unprotected. “The Inquisition?” I managed to gasp.

  Her eyes were soft with pity. “We think so. They took her away this morning and she has been incommunicado ever since.”

  “Has any charge been filed?” asked Zeb.

  “Not publicly.”

  “Hm-m-m— That looks bad.”

  “And good as well,” Master Peter disagreed. “If it is the matter we think it is—Fassett, I mean—and had they had any evidence pointing to the rest of you, all four of you would have been arrested at once. At least, that is in accordance with their methods.”

  “But what can we do?” I demanded.

  Van Eyck did not answer. Magdalene said soothingly, “There is nothing for you to do, John. You couldn’t get within several guarded doors of her.”

  “But we can’t just do nothing!”

  The lodge Master said, “Easy, son. Maggie is the only one of us with access to that part of the inner Palace. We must leave it in her hands.”

  I turned again to her; she sighed and said, “Yes, but there is probably little I can do.” Then she left.

  We waited. Zeb suggested that he and I should leave the lodge room and continue with being seen in our usual haunts; to my relief van Eyck vetoed it. “No. We can’t be sure that Sister Judith’s hypnotic protection is enough to see her through the ordeal. Fortunately you two and Sister Magdalene are the only ones she can jeopardize—but I want you here, safe, until Magdalene finds out what
she can. Or fails to return,” he added thoughtfully.

  I blurted out, “Oh, Judith will never betray us!”

  He shook his head sadly. “Son, anyone will betray anything under the Question—unless adequately guarded by hypno compulsion. We’ll see.”

  I had paid no attention to Zeb, being busy with my own very self-centered thoughts. He now surprised me by saying angrily, “Master, you are keeping us here like pet hens—but you have just sent Maggie back to stick her head in a trap. Suppose Judith has cracked? They’ll grab Maggie at once.”

  Van Eyck nodded. “Of course. That is the chance we must take since she is the only spy we have. But don’t you worry about her. They’ll never arrest her—she’ll suicide first.”

  The statement did not shock me; I was too numbed by the danger to Judith. But Zeb burst out with, “The swine! Master, you shouldn’t have sent her.”

  Van Eyck answered mildly, “Discipline, son. Control yourself. This is war and she is a soldier.” He turned away.

  So we waited… and waited… and waited. It is hard to tell anyone who has not lived in the shadow of the Inquisition how we felt about it. We knew no details but we sometimes saw those unlucky enough to live through it. Even if the inquisitors did not require the auto da fe“, the mind of the victim was usually damaged, often shattered.

  Presently Master Peter mercifully ordered the Junior Warden to examine both of us as to our progress in memorizing ritual. Zeb and I sullenly did as we were told and were forced with relentless kindness to concentrate on the intricate rhetoric. Somehow nearly two hours passed.

  At last came three raps at the door and the Tyler admitted Magdalene. I jumped out of my chair and rushed to her. “Well?” I demanded. “Well?”

  “Peace, John,” she answered wearily. “I’ve seen her.”

  “How is she? Is she all right?”

  “Better than we have any right to expect. Her mind is still intact and she hasn’t betrayed us, apparently. As for the rest, she may keep a scar or two —but she’s young and healthy; she’ll recover.”

  I started to demand more facts but the Master cut me off. “Then they’ve already put her to the Question. In that case, how did you get in to see her?”

  “Oh, that!” Magdalene shrugged it off as something hardly worth mentioning. “The inquisitor prosecuting her case proved to be an old acquaintance of mine; we arranged an exchange of favors.”

  Zeb started to interrupt; the Master snapped, “Quiet!” then added sharply, “The Grand Inquisitor isn’t handling it himself? In that case I take it they don’t suspect that it could be a Cabal matter?”

  Maggie frowned. “I don’t know. Apparently Judith fainted rather early in the proceedings; they may not have had time to dig into that possibility. In any case I begged a respite for her until tomorrow. The excuse is to let her recover strength for more questioning, of course. They will start in on her again early tomorrow morning.”

  Van Eyck pounded a fist, into a palm. “They must not start again—we can’t risk it! Senior Warden, attend me! The rest of you get out! Except you, Maggie.”

  I left with something unsaid. I had wanted to tell Maggie that she could have my hide for a door mat any time she lifted her finger.

  Dinner that night was a trial. After the chaplain droned through his blessing I tried to eat and join in the chatter but there seemed to be a hard ring in my throat that kept me from swallowing. Seated next to me was Grace-of-God Bearpaw, half Scottish, half Cherokee. Grace was a classmate but no friend of mine; we hardly ever talked and tonight he was as taciturn as ever.

  During the meal he rested his boot on mine; I impatiently moved my foot away. But shortly his foot was touching mine again and he started to tap against my boot:

  “—hold still, you idiot—” he spelled out. “You have been chosen—it will be on your watch tonight—details later—eat and start talking—take a strip of adhesive tape on watch with you—six inches by a foot—repeat message back.”

  I managed somehow to tap out my confirmation while continuing to pretend to eat.

  4

  WE RELIEVED the watch at midnight. As soon as the watch section had marched away from our post I told Zeb what Grace had passed on to me at chow and asked him if he had the rest of my instructions. He had not. I wanted to talk but he cut me short; he seemed even more edgy than I was. So I walked my post and tried to look alert. We were posted that night at the north end of the west rampart; our tour covered one of the Palace entrances. About an hour had passed when I heard a hiss from the dark doorway. I approached cautiously and made out a female form. She was too short to be Magdalene and I never knew who she was, for she shoved a piece of paper in my hand and faded back into the dark corridor.

  I rejoined Zeb. “What shall I do? Read it with my flash? That seems risky.”

  “Open it up.”

  I did and found that it was covered with fine script that glowed in the darkness. I could read it but it was too dim to be picked up by any electronic eye. I read it:

  At the middle of the watch exactly on the bell you will enter the Palace by the door where you received this. Forty paces inside, take the stair on your left; climb two flights. Proceed north fifty paces. The lighted doorway on your right leads to the Virgins’ quarters; there will be a guard at this door. He will not resist you but you must use a paralysis bomb on him to give him an alibi. The cell you seek is at the far end of the central east & west corridor of the quarters. There will be a light over the door and a Virgin on guard. She is not one of us. You must disable her completely but you are forbidden to injure or kill her. Use the adhesive tape as gag and blindfold and tie her up with her clothes. Take her keys, enter the cell, and remove Sister Judith. She will probably be unconscious. Bring her to your post and hand her over to the warden of your watch.

  You must make all haste from the time you paralyze the guard, as an eye may see you when you pass the lighted doorway and the alarm may sound at once.

  Do not swallow this note; the ink is poisonous. Drop it in the incinerator chute at the head of the stairs.

  Go with God.

  Zeb read it over my shoulder. “All you need,” he said grimly, “is the ability to pass miracles at will. Scared?”

  “Yes.”

  “Want me to go along?”

  “No. I guess we had better carry out the orders as given.”

  “Yes, we had—if I know the Lodge Master. Besides, it just might happen that I might need to kill somebody rather suddenly while you are gone. I’ll be covering your rear.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Now let’s shut up and bone military.” We went back to walking our post.

  At the two rnuted strokes of the middle of the watch I propped my spear against the wall, took off my sword and corselet and helmet and the rest of the ceremonial junk we were required to carry but which would hamper me on this job. Zeb shoved a gauntleted hand in mine and squeezed. Then I was off.

  Two—four—six—forty paces. I groped in the dark along the left wall and found the opening, felt around with my foot. Ah, there were the steps! I was already in a part of the Palace I had never been in; I moved by dead reckoning in the dark and hoped the person who had written my orders understood that. One flight, two flights—I almost fell on my face when I stepped on a ‘top’ step that wasn’t there.

  Where was the refuse chute? It should be at hand level and the instructions said “head of the stairs.” I was debating frantically whether to show a light or chance keeping it when my left hand touched its latch; with a sigh of relief I chucked away the evidence that could have incriminated so many others. I started to turn away, then was immediately filled with panic. Was that really an incinerator chute? Could it have been the panel for a delivery lift instead? I groped for it in the dark again, opened it and shoved my hand in.

  My hand was scorched even through my gauntlet; I jerked it back with relief and decided to trust my instructions, have no more doubts. But forty paces north the
passageway jogged and that was not mentioned in my orders; I stopped and reconnoitered very cautiously, peering around the jog at floor level.

  Twenty-five feet away was the guard and the doorway. He was supposed to be one of us but I took no chances. I slipped a bomb from my belt, set it by touch to minimum intensity, pulled the primer and counted off five seconds to allow for point blank range. Then I threw it and ducked back into the jog to protect myself from the rays.

  I waited another five seconds and stuck my head around. The guard was slumped down on the floor, with his forehead bleeding slightly where it had struck a fragment of the bomb case. I hurried out and stepped over him, trying to run and keep quiet at the same time. The central passage of the Virgins’ quarters was dim, with only blue night lights burning, but I could see and I reached the end of the passage quickly—then jammed on the brakes. The female guard at the cell there, instead of walking a post, was seated on the floor with her back to the door.

  Probably she was dozing, for she did not look up at once. Then she did so, saw me, and I had no time to make plans; I dove for her. My left hand muffled her scream; with the edge of my left hand I chopped the side of her neck—not a killing stroke but I had no time to be gentle; she went limp.

  Half the tape across her mouth first, then the other half across her eyes, then tear clothing from her to bind her—and hurry, hurry, hurry all the way, for a security man might already have monitored the eye that was certainly at the main doorway and have seen the unconscious guard. I found her keys on a chain around her waist and straightened up with a silent apology for what I had done to her. Her little body was almost childlike; she seemed even more helpless than Judith.

  But I had no time for soft misgivings; I found the right key, got the door open—and then my darling was in my arms.

  She was deep in a troubled sleep and probably drugged. She moaned as I picked her up but did not wake. But her gown slipped and I saw some of what they had done to her—I made a life vow, even as I ran, to pay it back seven times, if the man who did it could live that long.