"Ubar," said a voice, the voice of Flaminius. "The alarm bars still sound. I submit that attention be given to more serious matters than the apprehension of an elusive brigand."
"I want him found!" screamed Belnar.
"He was wearing robes of white and gold, merchants' robes," said a man to another.
"They were sewn with silver," said another man.
"They were of a Turian cut," said another.
"Ubar," said Flaminius.
"Search the palace!" screamed Belnar. "Find him!"
"Yes, Ubar!" cried men, running from the place.
"Ubar," protested Flaminius.
"Contact the appropriate officers, civic and military!" screamed Belnar. "Issue orders! Are you a fool? Have them see to the safety of the streets, the security of the gates, the search for escaped prisoners!"
"Surely you will take command personally," said Flaminius.
"I have other matters to attend to," said Belnar.
"I will take command then, with your permission," said Flaminius. "Have no fear. I will restore order shortly."
"You will do precisely what I have commanded," said Belnar, "and only that."
"Ubar?" asked Flaminius.
"You will organize matters expeditiously," snarled Belnar. "You will then surrender the supervision of these operations to the city captain. You will then join with men in the search for this Bosk of Port Kar. I want everyone who can recognize him, who knows him, guardsman or not, male or female, free or slave, involved in the search!"
"Is he so important, Ubar?" asked Flaminius. "Ubar?" he called. But I gathered that Belnar had strode from the place already, followed by others.
In a moment, too, Flaminius, his voice fading down the hall, calling to subordinates, had hurried away.
"Where could Bosk of Port Kar have gone?" asked a man.
"I do not like it, at all," said another.
"He is just gone," said another.
"Disappeared," whispered another, frightened. I could have reached out and touched him. To be sure, it would have given him quite a start.
"Let us to our quarters," said one of the fellows.
"Are you not going to join the search?" asked another.
"There are many others who may do that," said the man.
"You are right," said another. They then left.
The illusion, of course, must be carefully constructed. The mirrors must be most judiciously placed. The principle involved is that certain surfaces are reflected in such a way that the observer is led to misinterpret his visual data; for example, he is led to take a reflected surface, a mirrored surface, in a given location, for an actual or real surface in a different location; he normally does not expect mirrors, and does not think in terms of them; and even if he does expect mirrors and understands, in general, the principles involved, he will still "see," so to speak, or seem to see, precisely what the illusionist desires. In this fashion, such illusions can be delights not only to uninformed observers but even to more critical, more informed observers, even, it seems, if carried off with showmanship and flair, to fellow illusionists. To be sure, and I had counted on this, no one was even suspecting such a trick in the hall at Brundisium. If they had been, it could have been found out very quickly by a close, detailed examination of surfaces. But by the time it might occur to someone, recollecting my connections with the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit, that a trick of so devious a nature might be not only practical but, given the peculiar circumstances of my escape, likely, I did not expect to require the eccentric premises of my unusual hiding place.
I was, of course, behind mirrored surfaces, indeed, within an intersection of such surfaces, in one of the niches. The joining of the mirrors, facing outwards, was concealed by a narrow freestanding decorative pole, from which plantings might be hung, which pole, thanks to Boots, was now somewhat recessed in the niche. The casual observer would take the mirrored surfaces of the two opposite walls for a single, solid surface, that well behind the pole, at the back of the niche. The recessing of the pole, with the joining of the mirrors behind it, made it impossible, because of the angles involved, for an observer to see his own reflection in the mirrors unless, of course, he were to come into the niche itself.
The hallway now seemed quiet. I could hear shouting in the distance. I slipped from the bores I wore. Those in the search parties would presumably be looking for a fellow in merchants' robes, yellow and white, perhaps even of a Turian cut or fashion, and sewn with silver. Beneath the merchants' robes I wore that uniform seemingly of an officer of Brundisium. In a city the size of Brundisium, in an hour of confusion and tumult, with soldiers rushing about, coming and going with orders and reports, with agents sometimes in uniform and sometimes not, I did not expect to be easily recognized. Too, I had gathered that many of the courtiers, scions of an ilk not signally noted for its valor, those who had seen me in the hall, had perhaps managed to resist the temptation to join heartily in a search which might be not without its dangers. Better, perhaps, they might reason, to hold themselves boldly in reserve, in their own quarters, sternly readying themselves to sally forth if needed, immediately upon the behest of their ubar. In the meantime, of course, they could keep themselves abreast of the latest news. I prepared to step forth into the hall. With luck I might even be able to commandeer a few soldiers, to form my own search party. That seemed a good way to go almost anywhere. Who knew where that rascal, Bosk, of Port Kar, might be?
I poked my head warily out of my hiding place. The corridor was empty. I stepped boldly forth. I did pause long enough to move the mirrors about a bit, setting them apart from one another. In this fashion a supervisor of cleaning slaves tidying the hall, his whip on his wrist, puzzled by them, by their presence in this place, might have them removed to various individuals' quarters or have them stored somewhere. In a moment or two I was striding boldly along the hall. I could still hear the shouting in the distance. Too, from outside the palace, from the prison area, and from various parts of the city, I could hear the ringing of alarm bars.
19 A Lattice Has Been Forced In, From the Outside
"Hold!" cried a guardsman, one of two, at this post on one of the long, arching, graceful, railess, narrow bridges interlaced among the towers of Brundisium. Such bridges are a feature of many Gorean cities. They are easy to defend and serve to link various towers at various levels, towers which in a time of attack or siege may serve on given levels or in isolation, if the defenders choose to block or destroy the bridges, as independent keeps, each an almost impregnable, well-stocked fortress in its own right. In Brundisium there were eleven such towers.
In many of the high cites there are many more. In Ar, for example, there are hundreds. Other than in their military significance, of course, such bridges tend to be quite beautiful and, functionally, serve to divide the cities into a number of convenient levels. Many Gorean cities, in effect, are tiered cities. Gorean urban architecture, in the high cities, tends to be not so much a matter of flat, spreading, concentric horizontal rings, as in many cities, as a matter of towers and tiered levels, linked by soaring, ascendant traceries. The security-mindedness of Brundisium, incidentally, was manifested also in the tarn wire strung among its towers, extending down in many cases to lower rooftops and even the walls. Such wire can be quite dangerous. It can cut the head or wings from a descending tarn. It is usually strung only in times of clear municipal peril, as when, for example, the city may be expecting an attack or is under siege. If all went well I hoped to be able to use it in my plans.
"Out of the way, fellow!" I said.
"You cannot pass," said he. "This is the bridge to the private apartments of Belnar!"