Clyon’s eyes snapped open, suddenly wide awake and alert.
“To go free? Do you mean they are permitting the animals to escape?”
“So it seems, lord. The savant Kalistus, only twenty minutes ago, rose from his rest and unlocked the cage wherein the winged monster was being held for the ostensible purpose of dissection. Then the winged monster got into the antique flying craft and flew to the gardens adjacent to the apartments of Ralidux. The creature then opened the cubicle wherein Ralidux kept the two test-subjects, they exchanged jabbers and squeals for a time. Then Ralidux rose and dressed, was joined soon after by Kalistus, and the two, accompanied by the winged monster, descended to the pens where the rest of the beast-creatures are kept—”
“Enough, enough!” snapped Clyon, waving his hands in agitation. “Let me see for myself.”
He hurried to the instrument, sat down still in his sleeping-robe, and peered eagerly into the vision screen to ascertain the latest doings of the two heretics. This would mean their death, he was certain of that. The taint of heresy had diseased both of their minds, there was no longer any question of it. This would constitute a major blow to the prestige of the Thallian faction, and might very well bring about the very downfall of Prince Thallius.
Especially if Ralidux and Kalistus did indeed manage to let the beast-creatures escape.
The thought came to him unbidden. He blinked, stunned at the beauty of the notion, and sat there smiling a small, gloating smile, while waves of triumphant excitement went through his being.
Of course, of course! It was of no conceivable importance whether or not the beast-creatures actually did escape from Calidar. There were plenty of others penned in the central chamber. What was essential was that the two young Thallian heretics were instrumental in setting them free. With this accomplished, the case against them would be ironclad. The argument would go thusly, he phrased it out in his mind… he would argue eloquently, before the closed, impassive faces of the Inquisitors; diseased to the point of madness from the infection of their heresy, the two deranged Thallians, utterly convinced against all logic and reason and approved doctrine that the squalid beast-creatures were rational beings, were so solicitous of their well-being that, to prevent them from being dissected in the laboratories, they set the beasts free. Thus, to the catalog of their crimes is added the colossal enormity of treason. How much further, among the ranks of the Thallian faction, the noisome infection of heretical error may by this time have spread, I cannot of course, my lords, dare even guess. But the import and sacred significance of the L-sequence is so high, that, to avoid repetition of heresy, the experiments should—nay! must—from this point forward be conducted under the cool, uninfected, doctrinally correct eye of true Pallicratian savants…
He giggled to himself with sheer blissful glee, did Clyon, hunched over the luminous octagonal viewplate of the receiver.
The downfall of the despised and ineffectual Thallius was a sure certainty from this hour.
A touch at his elbow. He twitched irritably, glancing up to see the grim, hard face of one of his attendants.
“Lord, should I not give the alarm and inform the thought-police?”
Clyon was horrified at the very thought.
“Certainly not! The very idea! Go to bed—you and your crew are relieved of all further duties this night. Leave me, I say. l will do what needs must be done… !”
He watched them go, a gloating smirk creasing his thin lips.
Then he bent to peer into the vision screen. Very near his hand lay the alarm button that would summon the thought-police.He glanced at it thoughtfully, frowning.
The fellow had been right, after all. Of course, he could not permit the heretics to let the dangerous beasts escape, without summoning the thought-police, for he needed impartial witnesses to prove that Ralidux and Kalistus had in truth conspired to free the animals, conceiving, in the extremity of their madness, that they were rational creatures.
Without the thought-police on the scene, it would be only his word against theirs. And it was known that he was devoted to the cause of the Pallicratians.
His hand inched toward the alarm button.
The thing must be timed with exquisite care.
The thought-police must arrive on the scene just as the creatures were making their escape.
Just in time to blast their minds into writhing agony under the concentration of pain-rays…
After an eternity of waiting, Arjala gasped with relief as the entry panel slid open, and the two expressionless black savants entered, conducting Zarqa and Niamh, wrists bound behind their backs, leashes tightly fastened behind their necks.
With them, however, was a third captive, whom Arjala and Janchan recognized with surprise as the ancient philosopher, Nimbalim of Yoth. The ancient man was jubilant as a boy, and his frail form trembled with excitement.
The Princess Niamh prevailed upon me to have sympathy on the philosopher and set him free as well, Zarqa smiled, noting the surprise in the faces of the two.
“Well, why not! Of course we cannot fly to freedom and leave the old gentleman behind,” Janchan cried heartily. “Welcome, sage Nimbalim, to our company.”
The eyes of the old man were brimming over with tears, which he kept blinking back. It was obvious that he had long ago lost all hopes of ever attaining freedom. So intense was his emotion that he did not trust himself to speak, merely nodded happily at their welcome.
And now we had best be gone from here, said Zarqa. They went into the garden where dead flowers lay, black and withered, mantled in ice crystals. There was not quite room enough on the sky-sled for the five of them to lie comfortably, but they managed somehow to all crowd on the sleek, curved craft.
It quivered and rose a little way into the air, with Zarqa at the controls. But its responses were sluggish, and in striving to clear the garden way, it skewed about, nearly ramming into the rondure of an enormous ceramic urn.
It is as I feared, Zarqa said sadly. We are too many for the sled to lift.
A long moment of silence followed this dire pronouncement.
Dismay was etched on their faces, as the five stared at one another.
Again Zarqa strove to lift the craft from the tier into the open sky. A second time it failed to respond with its usual alacrity to his touch, or, rather, responded with a sluggish wallowing that seemed dangerous to all.
Then Janchan climbed down to the floor of the garden.
“You go on,” he said. “I will remain here.”
Niamh touched her mouth with trembling fingers. She started to speak, to say that all would go, or none. But the young prince bade her be silent with a gentle gesture.
“I swore to give up my life in the attempt to find you, my princess, and see you safely restored to your realm. I am proud to lay down my life, knowing that Zarqa will see that you return to Phaolon.”
That I will, or die myself in the attempt, said Zarqa.
And then a cry was torn from deep within Arjala. They turned in surprise to see the rare spectacle of the Goddess in tears.
“I, too, will stay,” she said brokenly. “For if Janchan perishes, then I do not care to live on.”
They stared at her speechlessly, profoundly moved. None, however, was more deeply moved than Janchan of Phaolon.
Her cheeks wet, her eyes red, Arjala did not now look anything like a goddess. But she looked very much like a woman, and most of all like a woman in love.
“In the last few minutes I have discovered something within myself I never knew was there,” she said breathlessly. “I don’t think it was ever really there, till now. Oh, I’m babbling, I know, but I don’t care! Now that it is there, within me, I do not wish to live without it, ever again. Can you understand what I am saying? I know I sound foolish…”