Flammarion paused again and went surging through the powder. “Thinking to employ my talents in foreign parts of the galaxy, I traveled to that region where humans dwell. Here I was commissioned by the Duke of Koss to build an aegis for him. I labored mightily, constructing, I believe, the best example of my skills so far. Finally the work was finished, the duke took up residence, and after a decent interval to allow inspection, I presented myself before the gate to collect my fee: two tons of heavenly water, a rare commodity much prized by my kind.”
The voice of the alien became burdened with dole. “His answer was direct and most unkind. ‘If the Aegis is truly invulnerable as claimed by you and specified by contract, you have no means by which to enter and extract payment. You cannot hurt me; here I shall remain forever. Begone!’ Oh, cruel injustice! Since then I have remained nearby, trying by this stratagem and that to force payment from my client.”
Matello chuckled. He plainly enjoyed the tale. “Someone should have warned Flammarion about the man he was dealing with. What a churlish, unjust, detestable fellow he was! And that, mind you, was fifty years ago. So you can see how long poor Flammarion has been waiting.”
“Fifty years?” Rachad echoed.
“Yes. Flammarion built the Aegis for the old duke. A very strange man, driven by an incomprehensible hatred for everything and everyone. There was no one he did not treat with the utmost contempt, even the king, and he earned literally thousands of enemies. Even now, countless families bear him a grudge. His final act of contempt was to shut himself away in the Aegis and to ignore all of existence. He’s dead now, of course, and his son rules the Aegis as Duke of Koss. But he seems to have inherited everything from his father—his habits, his temperament, his interests, and also his enemies, including Flammarion, whose grudge is perfectly straightforward.”
“Does the younger duke never venture outside either?”
“He’s never been outside the Aegis in his life, to my knowledge. He was born there. It’s his world.”
Rachad pondered. “But how long can Flammarion wait?”
“He has a long life. And he comes from a race that never accepts a bad debt—it’s a peculiar psychological obsession all his kind have. For a bargain to be reneged on is a completely unacceptable tragedy.”
“And you are helping him to collect his fee?” Rachad said. “That’s very noble of you.”
Now Matello laughed loudly, and plumped himself down in a nearby chair, signing Rachad to another. Looking perplexedly at Flammarion, Rachad obeyed.
“With your innocence you could be the king’s own clown, Rachad! No, our partnership is based on mutual advantage, for there is much at stake for me, too. You see, the duke’s behavior has become a matter of serious concern for King Lutheron. The Kerek threat looms large, and Maralia faces the biggest threat yet to her existence. The king cannot afford to see so large a dukedom as Koss left in neglect, unable to come to the nation’s aid with all the strength it might. And meantime the duke ignores all messages and will admit no one—not even the king himself.”
“Then why doesn’t the king deprive the duke of his domains, and given them to someone else?” Rachad asked.
“Ah, there you’ve put your finger on it. That is what the king would dearly like to do, but he dare not. The other nobles jealously guard their rights, and would never permit such a precedent, even against one they hate. The king would face rebellion. But there is something else the king can do. He can declare the duke fair game. That is, any man of noble blood who can dispossess him, by killing him or taking him prisoner, comes into his title and all his worlds. This the king has done—and that’s what I am about. I aim to make myself Duke of Koss!”
The baron’s eyes blazed. “The king would be glad to see a man of my experience take over the dukedom. I understand military matters. I’ll soon knock it into shape.”
“Are there other contenders, my lord?”
“Not one!” Matello tittered. “The task is regarded as impossible. The king’s declaration was made more in desperation than in hope. But I have a plan.”
Matello leaned forward, his arm on his knee, wagging his finger at Rachad. “Nothing in the whole cosmos will lure the duke out of his Aegis. We have to get inside somehow. But how? There’s only one possibility. We have to get it opened from the inside, by someone in our pay.”
He sighed. “The gods know we’ve tried. Now and then the duke’s servants emerge on various errands, but only those who were themselves born in the Aegis, and they are all damnably loyal to him. No, we have to find someone—a stranger—whom the duke will actually invite into the Aegis, of his own free will.”
“You mentioned a mission for me, my lord,” Rachad said with a feeling of apprehension. “Do I come into this somehow?”
“You do.” Matello leaned close to Rachad, fanning his cheek with his wine-laden breath. “Among the duke’s passions is an interest in alchemy. It’s he who possesses the other half of the book we took from that temple in Kars.”
He leaned back, grinning. “Do you begin to get my meaning? The last man to be taken into the Aegis was an alchemist, about ten years ago. Amschel is his name. The duke recruited him to try to perfect the Philosopher’s Stone in accordance with the book he had, though I don’t know where he got it. But obviously he’s failed, because for two or three years past the duke’s agents have been looking for the missing part.”
Matello broke off his tale to walk to the table, where he refilled his goblet and came back swigging it, the flagon in his other hand. “It was then we had a bit of luck,” he said. “Flammarion here had already heard of the whereabouts of this book, over a hundred years ago. He’s a much traveled being, you see. Probably nobody else in Maralia knew of it.”
“So that’s why you wanted the book.”
The baron nodded. “The duke has already let one alchemist into his fortress. He’ll do the same for another—if it’s somebody who’s bringing him what he’s looking for.”
“I?…”
Matello nodded again.
“My lord, I’m not sure I can pass myself off as an adept.”
Matello guffawed, his eyes twinkling. “Now the truth is out! But you know some of the pattern, which should suffice for a while. The Root of Transformations is your real passport into the Aegis, the rest is just decoration. I’m absolutely sure the duke will fall for it—but I can’t use one of my own men or his agents might get wind of the deception. It’s got to be somebody like you, from a distant, unknown place, and with that peculiar foreign accent of yours. Flammarion will tell you what you’re to do once you’re inside.”
Suddenly Matello emptied his goblet, filled it again and handed it to Rachad, himself sipping from the flagon. “Well, what do you say? I won’t compel you to it, because this is a job that has to be done willingly. But I’ll be damned annoyed if you refuse.”
Rachad thought over the proposal. It frightened him. But at the same time the idea of such an adventure, of playing such a role in Maralian power politics, was almost irresistible.
“Do you trust me, my lord?” he had the temerity to ask. “What if, once in the Aegis, I sided with the duke?”
“Unlikely,” Matello rumbled. “I can’t see you wanting to spend the rest of your life in an adamant fortress. If you crossed me, your life would be worth nothing outside it. Besides, you have so much to gain, young Caban. You’ll be able practically to name your own reward. Both halves of the book will be yours. I’ll send you home to Earth with a hundred tons of gold, if that’s what you want. Or you can stay here in Maralia, where King Lutheron will no doubt heap honors upon you.” The baron’s voice became silkily persuasive. Rachad thrilled.