Judith had already been given hypnotic instructions which—it was hoped-would enable her to keep from telling what little she already new 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 kick-back 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. Magdelene 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-centred 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 fй, the mind of the victim was usually damaged, often shattered.