"Peaceful?" Dumarest was curt in his interruption. The thing had been decided-it was time to end the useless argument. "I think you are mistaken, my lady. If they are so peaceful then why are they importing guns?"
"Guns?" Roland was incredulous. "Earl, are you sure?"
"How can he be sure?" Lavinia was equally as disbelieving. "How?"
"I've seen them." Dumarest looked from one to the other, remembering the story he had told to account for his being in the crate. "I was stranded on Harald as I've told you. I broke into a warehouse intending to hide in some cargo and so gain passage to another world. To become a stowaway. I had to be careful, the penalty if discovered is eviction."
"And?"
"I checked the crates. One of them was filled with guns. I resealed the crate and opened another-and the rest you know."
"Were the crates bound for Zakym?" Roland pressed the point. "Were they?"
"Yes."
"Was it marked in any way? The crate holding the guns, I mean?"
"A symbol," said Dumarest, slowly. "The sign of an axe crossed with a scythe."
"The whole enclosed in a circle?" Roland glanced at the woman as Dumarest nodded. "Gydapen's mark."
"Gydapen." Her finger traced a random pattern in the litter of crumbs. "But what use would he have for guns? Mining machinery, yes, that would be expected, but guns? Why guns?"
"They are usually needed in order to fight a war," said Dumarest, dryly. "But wouldn't you know about his intentions? As his proposed wife wouldn't he have confided in you?"
"They all ask that," she snapped. "The answer is no. The marriage, if ever it takes place, will be a political one. I know nothing about his guns, his sheds, his men out marching. Nothing about his ambitions. Only his threats."
"Sheds?" Dumarest glanced at Roland, listened as he explained. The journey over the wastelands, what had been spotted from the raft. "Long sheds like extended huts?"
"Yes."
"And were the men marching in line or column? Did they act oddly at times-all moving in unison for example? Were others standing to one side?"
Roland nodded and said, "You suspect something, Earl. What?"
"In my experience guns and sheds and marching men usually add up to one thing. Someone is training a group of men to follow orders. The sheds are to house them and the guns are to arm them when they are ready to fight."
"To fight?" Lavinia looked from one to the other. "To kill, you mean? No! It's unthinkable. You must have made a mistake. Not even Gydapen could get his men to kill others."
"You would be surprised at what men can be persuaded to do," said Dumarest, dryly. "And it takes little to point a weapon and pull the trigger. To many it isn't killing at all. It is just a sport and their victims moving targets. After the first time it comes easy. The more so if a bonus is paid to every good shot."
"It's disgusting!"
"Yes, but it happens."
Roland said, "I was talking to the agent. Gydapen had a score of crates delivered. If they all contained guns he would have enough to arm every man on his estates. But why?" He found an answer as he voiced the question. "To stop us preventing his mining operation. He's determined to break the Pact no matter what the Council may decide. The others must be warned-but how to stop him? What to do?"
"You have guns," said Dumarest. "Enforce your will."
"Demand that he obeys?" Roland shook his head. "Our arms are limited. We have a few lasers, some hunting rifles and little else. We depend on moral persuasion. Against Gydapen it will not be enough."
"Then steal his weapons. A night attack would catch him by surprise. The guns are still probably in their crates. They could be found, used if necessary. Darkness would cover the operation."
"No, Earl. Not at night. That would be impossible."
"But it would give you the best chance." Dumarest glanced at the woman and saw her determined expression. "No?"
"No, Earl. As Roland says it is impossible."
"But why? If-" Dumarest broke off and shrugged. "Well, it's none of my concern. Tomorrow I leave for the town."
"Earl!"
"He intends to leave," said Roland. "We had come to an understanding. I would like to cancel it, Earl, if I may. Instead I would like to offer another. Help us and I guarantee you the price of a dozen High passages. More if possible."
Money to buy passage, to pay for computer time, cash to open the door to the whereabouts of Earth. And to earn it?
"We need peace," said Roland. "We need to borrow your strength. Gydapen must be stopped. Unless he is-" his voice broke, recovered with an effort. "Those guns-the Pact-who can help us if you will not?"
Chapter Thirteen
A spider had cast its web in one corner of the room, that or some ancient tremor had cracked the plaster into the resemblance of lace and, lying on the soft comfort of the wide bed, Dumarest studied it through half-closed eyes. In the flicker of lamplight it took on new and more fantastic configurations; the shape of an engine, a face, a pair of intermeshed hands. The blur of a spectrogram, the straggle of a dead man's hair, the pattern of a retina.
A mystic symbol seen by chance and which could hold all the secrets of time.
As the castle held mystery.
It was sealed tight, no means of egress left unbarred, the upper stairs blocked as was the shaft beyond the window. Life, on Zakym, ceased at sunset or, rather, grew introverted with each making his own entertainment, small groups congregating, guests caught by the approach of darkness willingly found accommodation as if the night held dreadful peril.
Another delusion as was the belief in the dead rising to live again?
If it was a delusion.
How could he ever be sure?
Yet there could be no denying Roland's panic at the mention of the guns or of the woman's fear of what they could portend. A fear which added her voice to the man's as, together, they had pleaded for him to stay. To help. To die, perhaps, in their cause.
Suddenly impatient, Dumarest rolled from the bed and rose to his feet. He had lain down fully dressed and now stepped quietly towards the door. Outside the passage was silent in the dull glow of shaded lamps. One end led to a stair which, as he knew, was barred. The other met a descending way. As he reached it, Lavinia appeared from her room.
"Earl? Is that you?"
"It is, my lady."
"This formality!" She made an impatient gesture. "It stifles me. I thought we had settled that. Why are you here? Can't you sleep?"
"No."
"Why not?" Her slippers rustled as she stepped closer towards him. She wore a robe of diaphanous material belted at the waist and her hair, like a gleaming waterfall striped with silver, rippled over the smooth rotundity of her shoulders. The hand she rested on his arm was a sculptor's delight. "Earl?"
"I need to plan but there is too much I don't know. The lie of the land, distances, numbers-have you maps of the area?"
They were in a room redolent of dust and mildew. Thin sheets crackled as they were unrolled, marked with carefully drawn lines, various areas marked in differing colors, small pennants set above miniature castles.
"Here!" The tip of a finger marked a point. "This is where we are. Over here lies the domain of Khaya Taiyuah. This is the estate of Fhard Erason. Here-"
"Gydapen's lands?"
"Suchong's. This is Gydapen's and here are the wastes where the hutments are to be found."
Dumarest studied them. "Water? Is there a stream close to hand?"