He looked up at the ceiling. It was vaulted and groined in an archaic style which belonged more to a edifice of stone than to a vessel designed to traverse space. It was a clue which had eluded him and made everything fall into place.
"Well?" Adrienne was watching him with her bright eyes, her cheeks flushed a little as if from inner excitement.
"It is strange, my lady," said Dumarest slowly. "I have never seen such decoration before in a space ship. It is as if someone had recreated the interior of a study belonging, perhaps, to some old stronghold."
"A museum," she said, suddenly bitter. "A collection of worthless rubbish."
"Far from worthless, my lady," corrected Dumarest. "There are those who would pay highly for such items."
"Lovers of the past," she said. "But what is the use of that? The past is dead, only the future remains of importance."
My future, she thought. With my son heir to both worlds, myself as his regent. Jocelyn's child. Or was that so essential?
She looked at Dumarest, conscious of his strength and determination. He had courage, and that was a quality admired on Eldfane. Her father would have lifted him high-or broken him on the wheel for having dared to say what he had. Jocelyn? Only he knew what thoughts coiled in his brain. Did he consider it a jest? Would his peculiarities descend to his child?
Dumarest met her eyes. "The future, my lady, is the result of the past. As the child is the fruit of the father, so today is the child of yesterday. Actions done today have their effect tomorrow. That is why there are many who respect what has gone before."
"Pour me wine," she demanded. Had he been able to read her thoughts? "The green wine, not the blue. Join me if you will."
He leaned across the small table and lifted the decanter. Red fire shone from his ring as he passed her a glass. "That ring," she said abruptly. "A gift?"
Dumarest nodded.
"From someone special? A woman?"
He looked down at it, rubbing his thumb over the stone. "Yes, my lady," he said quietly, "from someone very special."
A mane of lustrous red hair, eyes like sparkling emeralds, skin as soft and white as translucent snow.
Kalin!
"Rings?" Jocelyn turned from the cyber. "Is there a mystery about them? The man you killed, Heldar, had rings also. Where did he get them?"
"From the woman he killed, my lord." Dumarest was curt.
"And she?"
Dumarest shook his head. "I do not know. Gifts, perhaps; who can tell?"
"They had red stones," said Jocelyn thoughtfully. "I saw them after you had given them to the monk. Is there something special about such rings? If so, then be wary, my friend." He rose from where he sat. "You are excused, cyber. Adrienne, I think it time you retired."
Dumarest rose together with the scarlet figure.
"Not you, Earl," said Jocelyn. "We yet have unfinished business."
* * *
It was going to happen now, thought Dumarest. The talk and preliminaries were over. Soon the guards would come, the crewmen and Ilgash, the bodyguard who had brought him the invitation to the meal. It had been out of curiosity, Dumarest suspected. It seemed to be something new to relieve the monotony of bored and jaded aristocrats, condescending to eat with a traveler, but not an ordinary man, someone who had recently killed and who might be expected to talk about what he had done. But who had, instead, insulted his host.
Dumarest tensed in his chair. Anger warmed his blood, already tender with memory. If they thought he would be easy to take, they were due for a surprise. This was Scar, not Jest. Once out of the ship, he could laugh at them all and kill them if they came for him. He could kill those who might be eager for a possible bribe. Kill all the smug, gloating, self-satisfied fools who regarded those less fortunate than themselves as animals, beasts without feeling or emotion. Kill!
He caught himself, trembling, wondering at his rage. The wine? Has something been slipped into the wine? The sweetmeats? He thought of the woman, of the thing he had seen in her eyes, the interplay he had sensed. Had she primed him with some drug to explode into a mindless fury, to kill her husband?
"Drink this," said Jocelyn. He stood beside Dumarest, a glass of foaming effervescence in his hand. "Drink," he said sharply. "You ate and drank an unusual combination; the effects can sometimes be peculiar." Dumarest gulped the foaming liquid. "Adrienne has a peculiar sense of the ridiculous," said Jocelyn conversationally. "I think she must have acquired it on her home world; Eldfane is a barbarous place. Have you been there?"
"No, my lord." Dumarest rose. "With your permission, I think I should go now."
"And, if I refuse?" Jocelyn smiled. "But why should I refuse? If you wish to leave, none will prevent you. But I should regard it as a favor if you stay." He poured two glasses full of sparkling red wine. Here." He held them both at arms length. "Take your choice." Their eyes met. "You are well to be cautious," said Jocelyn. "But I give you my word as the ruler of a planet that you have nothing to fear, from me, at least." I cannot speak for others."
Dumarest took one of the glasses. "From the Lady Adrienne, my lord?"
"I was thinking of the cyber," said Jocelyn. "You don't like him, do you?"
"I have reason to detest his breed."
"So we have at least one thing in common." Jocelyn sipped, his wine. "Yeon is a gift, a part of Adrienne's dowry. Often I wonder as to the generosity of my father-in-law. The services of the Cyclan do not come cheap."
"There is a saying, Beware of those bearing gifts!"
"A wise adage." Jocelyn put down his empty glass. "Tell me, Earl, do you believe in destiny?"
"Fate? The belief that a thing must happen, no matter what a man does to prevent it? No."
"Luck then, surely you must believe in that."
"Yes, my lord."
"Forget titles. If you believe in luck, then why not in fate?"
"Are they the same?" Dumarest paused, looking at his host. The man was serious. "Luck is the fortuitous combination of favorable circumstances," said Dumarest slowly. "Some men have it more than others. From what I know of fate, it is evenly spread. A man has his destiny; all men have theirs. What will be will be. But if that is so, why should anyone strive? Where is the point of a man trying to better himself, to gain more comfort for his family, perhaps, or build a fortune to safeguard against bad times?"
"Let us talk of Heldar," said Jocelyn. "You blame me for what happened, but be just. It was his fate to die as he did."
"And the woman he killed?"
"That also."
Dumarest was bitter. "Justification, my lord?"
"Fact." Jocelyn took a coin from his pocket, spun it and caught it without looking. "Heldar's fate rested on sheer chance. Had his luck been good, I would have healed him. It was bad. He could not escape his fate." He added, "Because of that, both he and the woman met their destiny."
"Why?" Dumarest put aside his wine. "I do not think you are a cruel man; why play such games?"
Jocelyn turned and strode to the far side of the room; then he turned again to face his guest.
"A man must believe in something," he said. "He must have some sure guide in a world of insane confusion. Jest is such a world. There are three suns, overlapping magnetic fields, cosmic flux in a constantly changing set of variables. We are poor because we are cursed. Astrological influences are strong: men forget, women forget, children die of starvation because they are not remembered, things are left half-built, roads lead to nowhere, diseases change, no two harvests are alike, and everywhere grows a power with a narcotic scent, nepenthe weed. Inhale the fumes and reason takes wing-madness, Earl, madness!"