But Osric, that dandy, would not be drawn. He smiled and bowed a trifle and flicked his mustache again, all courtesy, but it was evident that he would not be sorry to be rid of his charge. And this time, as he spoke, his hand rested on the hilt of his rapier. Blade marked it and wondered if he had underestimated Osric. He chided himself. He had made enough mistakes on this mission.
«The Goddess Juna,» said Osric, «warned me that you might be difficult, sir. My task is to cope with you, and so I shall do. And answer your questions, as I was also instructed to do. There are no such penalties as you describe in Patmos, sir. We have crime, as do Thyme and Samosta, but we do not punish as they do. We do not, in short, resort to crime to cure crime. If you take my meaning, sir?»
Blade, cooling a bit, and interested, took up the point at once. «But you have prisons. I am being taken to prison now, unless you have lied.»
Osric smiled and pointed ahead of them. «We also lie in Patmos. We lie a great deal, especially the upper classes. It is a way of life and necessary for survival.»
Osric preened his mustache and feed Blade with a bored gaze. «And who is to say, after all, what is a lie and what is truth? They change from day to day.»
Blade was about to ask to be spared the philosophy when Osric. pointed ahead. «There is the prison. I will leave you and bid you good fortune.»
«That is a prison?» Blade could not believe it.
«Aye,» said Osric. «Another of the things you will find strange in Patmos. Our problem is not to keep men in prison, but to keep them out. Once they have spent a little time here they do not wish to leave. But if you observe, and think it through, sir, you will find it not such a paradox after all.»
The cart rolled through the gates into a vast courtyard. There were fountains and flowers everywhere scattered on lawns as green and finely clipped as putting greens in Home Dimension. Here and there was a music kiosk with the strange harmonies emanating from it. There were numerous benches and tables for games and in the distance a group of men were kicking a ball around. The complex of buildings was low and scrubbed to a glistening sheen.
The cart stopped and Osric leaped down. The guard detail had halted at the gate. Blade looked around for other guards, for prison personnel of any kind, and could see none. He did see Gray People, both men and women, tending lawns and clipping hedges and carrying pots and pans about. The prisoners-or what he took to be the prisoners-were dressed in short white kilts and sleeveless singlets. They all wore red sandals. None of them paid any attention to Blade and — none 'of them seemed to be doing any work.
Osric started toward one of the buildings, then turned back. He held out a hand to Blade. «You may not think it, sir, but I am your friend. It is enough for me that you are friend to Juna, whom I worship. And she is also your friend. Remember that, sir. This will be our last word in private, so hear me welclass="underline" you have been brought here at Juna's command and for your own protection. She has not forsaken you. Bide patiently and wait for her to work out matters in her own way. It will be to your advantage. Above all you must trust Juna.»
Osric glanced around, then stepped closer to the cart and lowered his voice. «Juna has loved me in the pastand cast me aside. This was when I went with messages to Thyme. Now all that is over and I bear no malice. It is you whom Juna wants now, and I will aid her in this all I can. But it will not be easy.»
Blade glowered at the dainty officer and shrugged his big shoulders. He did not trust either of them, but he forebore the saying of it. He nodded and said, «As an exlover of the goddess, Osric, I can understand that you should want to help me. That makes a deal of sense.»
Osric.shrugged in his turn and ignored the sarcasm. «We have a saying in Patmos-when love is dead friendship begins. Farewell, sir. I must go now and obtain a signature for you. You are free to come and go as you choose.» '
It was true. Blade leaped from the cart and strolled a bit. He was sure that he could have walked out the gate and no one would have tried to stop him. So he did not walk out the gate. There would be time enough for that when he had thought 'matters through and knew what he was going to do.
He found a bench near a group of men who were playing what looked like chess, except that all the pieces were of black stone and carved to represent various flowers. He had watched for less than a minute when he knew something else, something not mentioned by Osric. These men, these prisoners in their neat white clothes, were penthe eaters. It was apparent in their vacuous stares and slow, drugged movements. Penthe. Blade nodded in realization-they either took the stuff voluntarily or it was administered to them. His smile was grim. That was why there were no prison walls. These poor fellows-once their minds were captured there was no need to chain their bodies.
For nearly an hour Blade sat on his bench, brooding and observing, before anyone came for him. He reached one-sure conclusion-this was a political prison. The men around him, his fellow prisoners, did not have a criminal look about them. All of them, — without exception, had the look of intellectuals, of quietists, and most of them were elderly. He guessed that many of them had been in this place for years and that most would not leave it alivewould not want to leave it. This model prison was home to them now, all the security they had, and it was doubt-
ful if many, in their penthe ridden brains, remembered the offense that had brought them here in the first place.
Blade spat and knew how careful he must be. Juna was playing some sly game of her own and Osric was her creature. He scowled. He had no doubt that she had admitted the officer to her bed, now and again, as payment. But what plans had she for Blade? He could not guess and he did not have time to wait or to speculate-he must somehow gain an audience with the Pearl of Patmos, with Izmia, with the old woman who was grandmother to Juna. For it was there the real power must lie. But how to accomplish this, and with what speed, he did not at the moment have any idea.
He was still deep in thought when one of the Gray People came for him. He was a fat little man dressed in the customary gray breeches and blouse, but wearing a chain of office and looking more alert than the other serfs Blade had seen. For so he thought of them by now. Serfs. Slaves kept in order and obedience by good treatment and the drug.
The fat man bowed low. «Welcome, sire. I am come to serve you. I am 00610. If you will come with me I will arrange a bath and fresh clothing. Then a 'meal and, if it pleases you, a woman for company. We have many to choose from today, sire. A new troop of women has just been brought in from the countryside.»
«I wish no woman,» growled Blade. He followed the fat little man along a path of crushed stone. «You say you are 00610? You have no name?»
The man turned to give Blade a cherubic smile. «Oh, no, sir! None of the Gray People have names. Numbers only. A number is as good as a name, sir, in the long run. And much more convenient. Makes it easier to keep files and records, you see. This way, sir, to the bath.»
Blade wondered which came first-the penthe or the numbers? Not that it mattered much. The dehumanizing factor was the same. He supposed they were bred to specification, the Gray People, and allotted tasks according to their intelligence. He speculated on how long this had been going on. His guess was for centuries. His guess was also that the ruling class of Patmos had outsmarted itself; they lived a placid and sybaritic existence, supported by serfs, and they no longer bred warriors if, indeed, they ever had. They lived for music and flowers and other sensual pleasures, an assured and comfortable existence from cradle to grave. Sooner or later such a life schema would have to be fatal, to prove its own undoing.