The door closed; Father Faine departed, back into the building.
Tinbane roared up into the sky, away from the Flask of Hermes Vitarium. For the time being.
Seeing Father Faine re-enter the store, Sebastian Hermes noted his troubled, dour expression and said, "He must have some problem."
"We all do," Father Faine said vaguely, opaque in his thoughts.
"Let's get down to business," Sebastian said, to him and to Bob Lindy at work at his bench. "I've been monitoring the bug I put on the Anarch Peak's grave and I believe I've picked up heartbeats. Very faint and irregular, but my intuition tells me there's something there; we're very close."
"Ought to be worth a million poscreds," Lindy said.
Sebastian said, "Lotta picked up a good deal of info at the Library. She did us a good job." He had wondered, in fact, how, given her timidity, she had managed. "I know about all there is to know regarding this Anarch Peak. He was a really great man. Nothing like this Ray Roberts; the complete opposite, actually. We'll be doing the world a service and in particular the population of the Free Negro Municipality." He inhaled cigaret smoke vigorously, in agitation; the cigaret in his hand grew longer and longer. "The trouble is," he declared, "she's got to go back to the Library again; this time I want all she can get on that nut Ray Roberts."
"Why?" Bob Lindy asked.
Sebastian gestured for complete attention. "Roberts is both a threat and at the same time potentially our greatest buyer." He turned to the expert, R.C. Buckley. "Aren't I right?"
R.C. digested the subject in his mind for a time. "Like you say, we'll know better if Lotta can get us more background on him; a lot of what you read in the 'papes about TV stars and politicians and religious figures just ain't so. But yes; I think you're right. The Anarch founded the Udi Cult; it's reasonable that nobody'll want him as badly as they." He concluded, "Of course, as you point out they may kill him again right away."
"Is that our worry?" Lindy said. "What they do with the Anarch after they get him isn't our affair; our responsibility ends when we transfer ownership and collect the fee."
Cheryl Vale, listening, said, "That's awful. The Anarch was such a good man."
"Wait, wait," Sebastian said. "Wait for what Lotta brings back from the Library. Maybe Roberts isn't that bad. Maybe we can do perfectly legal, ethical business with him." His instinct--that they had on their hands a possibly monumental strike-- remained undimmed.
Father Faine said, "Lotta isn't going to enjoy that, having to go back to the Library again. That place has traumatized her."
"She did it once," Sebastian said. "And it didn't kill her." But underneath he felt guilt; maybe he should go himself. But--the Library baffled him, too. Perhaps, he reflected moodily, that was why he had dispatched his wife to do the research job in the first instance... his job, actually. And Lotta would know it; yet still she went.
That quality in her made her appealing. And yet it offered a way by which to take advantage of her, a way he had to guard against and decline. The decision lay with him, not with her. Sometimes he declined successfully and other times, as in the case of the Library, he yielded to his own fears; he spared himself and let her suffer. And for this he periodically hated himself... as, to a certain extent, he did now.
"One thing," Father Faine was saying, "that may not have occurred to you, Sebatian. Allowing for human jealousies, Ray Roberts may resent the rebirth of Anarch Peak, but in his organization there may be those joyfully anticipating Peak's return."
"A splinter group," Sebastian said, mulling.
"Through your police buddy, Officer Tinbane, perhaps you can get in touch with them." To R.C. Buckley, Father Faine said, "It seems to me that's your job; that's what we pay you for."
"Sure, sure," R.C. agreed, nodding vigorously; he got out his notebook, made a few jottings. "I'll look into it."
Bob Lindy, wearing the earphones of the monitoring device which Sebastian had installed at the Anarch's grave, said suddenly, "Hey, I think you're right. I do pick up heartbeats; like you say, irregular and weak, but they're getting stronger."
"Let me listen," R.C. Buckley said, going over to Lindy impatiently. He, too, like Sebastian, scented the quarry. "Yep," he agreed, after a time; he removed the earphones, offered them to Father Faine.
Sebastian said abruptly, "Let's go dig him up; let's not wait."
"It's against the law," Father Faine reminded him, "to do any excavating prior to hearing the actual and perfect very voice."
"Laws," R.C. said disgustedly. "Okay, Father, if you want to obey the letter of the law then let's contact Ray Roberts; according to law we have the right to sell to the highest bidder. That's established business practice, in this business."
At the store's vidphone, Cheryl Vale called to Sebastian. "Mr. Hermes, I have a long distance call for you personally." She put her hand over the receiver. "I don't know who it is. All I know is that the call originated in Italy."
"Italy," Sebastian said, puzzled. To R.C. Buckley he said, "Take a look in our inventory card-file and see if we own anybody of Italian extraction." He walked over beside Miss Vale and took the receiver from her. "This is Sebastian Hermes," he said. "Who am I speaking to?"
To him, as to Cheryl Vale, the face on the small screen was unfamiliar. A Caucasian with long, neatly waved black hair and an intense, thorough gaze. "You don't know me, Mr. Hermes," the man said, "and up to now I have never had the pleasure of speaking to you." He had a mild Italian accent and his speech was formal, measured. "Nice talking to you, sir."
"Nice talking to you, too," Sebastian said. "You are Signor --"
"Tony," the dark-haired Italian said. "Never mind my last name; at the moment it isn't important. We understand, Mr. Hermes, that you own rights to the late Anarch Peak. Or the _formerly_ late Anarch Peak, if that's the case. Which is it, Mr. Hermes?"
Sebastian hesitated, then said, "Yes, my firm owns the rights to the individual in question. Are you in the market for him?"
"Very much so," Tony said.
"May I ask whom you represent?"
"An interested principal," Tony said. "Not connected with Udi. And that's important. You understand, don't you, that Ray Roberts is a killer and it is essential to keep the Anarch Peak out of his hands? That there is a law both in the Western United States and in Italy which makes it a felony to transfer ownership of an old-born to anyone you reasonably anticipate might harm him? Are you conscious of this, Mr. Hermes?"
"I'll let you talk to Mr. Buckley," Sebastian said, nettled; this part of the enterprise was not his pipe of sogum. "He's our sales representative; just a moment." He passed the receiver to R.C. who at once sprang into action.
"R.C. Buckley here," he intoned. "Uh, yes, Tony; your source of info is accurate; we do have the Anarch Peak in our inventory; he's currently recovering from rebirth pains at the finest hospital we could locate for him. Naturally I can't tell you its name; you understand that." He winked at Sebastian. "May I ask, sir, what your source of information is? We've kept this matter somewhat private... because of various conflicting interests involved; as an instance Ray Roberts, whom I believe you mentioned." He paused, waiting.
Sebastian thought, _How could anybody know?_ Only the six of us here, our organization, know. Lotta, he thought, then. She knows, too. Could she have told anyone? Well, it had to come to light eventually, if they expected to sell the Anarch. But this soon, before they had actual physical custody--this made it imperative, he realized, to get the Anarch out of the ground with no delay, law or no law. I'll bet it was Lotta, he thought. Damn her.