Next to him stood a vibrant thing which keened; an alien creature from some distant world. It's owner jerked at its leash and, as it reared, snarling, displaying fangs and claws, yelled of its value as a watchdog.
Beyond, a cripple lifted the stump of an arm.
"Lost in the Zhenganian conflict. Supply a prosthesis and I will serve you for a year."
A woman, veiled, silent, the card on her breast telling all she was a bountiful nurse.
Another, young and lissom, who smiled at Dumarest with frank admiration. "My lord? I am trained in the dressing of hair. A seamstress. Hire me for your lady and she will thank you."
He said, "I have no lady."
"Then, perhaps, the greater need of my services. Who else to tend your clothing and give you equanimity of mind?" She stepped a little closer. "Hire me for a month. Test my abilities. A week? A day?" She sighed as he shook his head. "Remember me should you have need."
Dumarest moved on to a plaza where stalls sold refreshments and beggars lay in wait.
"My lord! Give of your charity!"
A man with a face raw with oozing pustules, the orbs of his eyes white with a nacreous film. His bowl remained empty; there were a dozen ways of counterfeiting such sores and the membrane of an egg would emulate true blindness. Another, legless, had better luck. A monk better still.
He stood, his bowl of chipped plastic in his hand, tall and gaunt in the brown homespun of his robe. His feet were bare but for sandals. His hair, cropped, surmounted a face too old for his years. One with cheeks sunken in deprivation, eyes which stared with compassion at the universe.
"Thank you, brother." He looked at the coins Dumarest had dropped into his begging bowl. "You are generous."
"Your name?"
"Fassar."
"Are you in charge of the Church here?"
"No. Brother Tessio leads us." He added, "Should you wish to ease your heart the church is close to the field."
The usual place but Dumarest had no intention of kneeling beneath the benediction light, of confessing his sins and receiving subjective penance and absolution. Never had he gone through the ritual of a suppliant, not even for the sake of the bread of forgiveness given at its termination. The wafer of concentrate which, to the hungry, was reason enough to feign true remorse.
The monks did not object-each who knelt beneath the benediction light was hypnotically conditioned never to kill. A fair exchange.
Dropping another coin into the bowl he said, "Perhaps you could help me. Cerevox." He repeated the word. "Does it mean anything to you?"
"Cerevox?" The monk thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No."
"Would the others know?"
"I can ask them."
"Please do. Just the monks. I'll ask later at the church."
Dumarest moved on. To one side a stall sold skewers of meat, pasties, spiced bread in flat wedges. It was busy and he passed it then halted at another selling mulled wine. Holding the mug he stood beneath a lantern which bathed him in violet brilliance.
Had Ishikari lied?
If he had he had done it with professional skill. An actor, judging time and emotion, triggering reactive patterns as if he played an organ. Building on Dumarest's natural relief of being freed from the chair and seeing a display of his old things, the talk concerning the computer and then, as if by happy chance, the book and papers and the old volume and the verses it contained.
The temple of Cerevox.
Cerevox?
An odd name but one with a haunting sense of familiarity. Dumarest ran it through his mind; cerevox… cerevox… cerevox… cerevox. Cere. Vox. Cere? Cere?
Erce?
A simple anagram-was that the answer? No, the change made no sense. Ercevox? Vox? Vox?
The monk stood where he had left him. Without preamble Dumarest said, "Vox. The word Vox. What does it mean?"
"I'm not sure. It is very old but, I think, yes, it means voice or voices. I will check if you wish."
"It doesn't matter. And forget the other. Cerevox. Forget it."
Two words, not one, and the simplest of anagrams. Had the meaning intended to be hidden? Or was it a secret known only to those who knew more than most? Earth had more than one name. Terra was another. Erce yet another but with a slightly different connotation. Not just Earth but Mother Earth. And Vox?
Earth voices? No. The voices of Earth? Not that either. What then?
Dumarest halted, mind alight with sudden understanding, careless of the crowd around him, the man who bumped into him and swore then moved quickly away as he saw his expression.
The Cerevox Temple.
The Voice of Mother Earth!
* * *
Karlene's room was on an upper floor, the servant who had guided him running, squealing away as the panel burst open beneath his boot.
"Earl!" Karlene turned from where she stood at the side of her bed. Her eyes widened as she saw his face. "Earl! For God's sake! Don't look at me like that!"
She backed as he closed the gap between them, her legs hitting the edge of the bed, her body toppling, hanging suspended as he caught her arms and held her against the pull of gravity. In her eyes he could see the snarling image of his face.
"I want the truth," he snapped. "All of it. What is Ishikari to you?"
"A friend. I-" She gasped as he set her jarringly on her feet, mouth opening with terror as steel shimmered in his hand. "No! Please, no!"
"Talk!" Light shone from the blade as it neared her throat. An empty threat but she couldn't know that. "Tell me about Ishikari!"
"He helped me," she said. "A long time ago now. I was in trouble and he helped me."
"And?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did he send you to Erkalt?" He read the answer. "Why?"
"I had-" She broke off, swallowing. "Please, Earl. You're hurting me."
With the threat of the knife, the fingers which left ugly welts on the delicate pallor of her skin. The threat vanished as the blade slid into his boot. The welts would take longer.
He said, less harshly, "He gave you instructions, right? And you can't tell me about them. But you can tell me if you left instructions with the Hausi on Oetzer to use hybeam to radio ahead so that we would be met. Did you?" Her nod was an admission. "Did you tell him to radio anyone else? The Cyclan?"
"No. No, Earl, I swear it!"
"What do you know of the temple?" He saw the sudden laxness of her face. "Damn it, girl! I won't hurt you. Just tell me about Cerevox."
From behind him Rauch Ishikari said, "You're wasting your time, Earl. She can't."
He stood within the room, guards flanking him at the rear, the snouts of their weapons ready to lower a barrier of destruction from either side.
Dumarest said, "If they fire they will kill the woman. You wouldn't want that."
"Would you?"
"No."
"Then we are agreed." Ishikari stepped to one side his hand gesturing toward the door. "I can find us a better place in which to talk. If you will precede me?"
A matter in which he had no choice; beneath the empty courtesy lay the cold determination of steel. The passage was empty, a door standing open a short way down. The room held a table, chairs, ornaments, a flagon of wine and glasses on a tray. Wine which could have been drugged. Dumarest shook his head as Ishikari gestured for him to help himself.
"I'd rather talk."
"About Karlene? What do you want to know." Before Dumarest could begin Ishikari lifted a hand. "First let me explain something. There are certain things she cannot talk about. I mean that literally. As a child she was conditioned never to reveal certain things about herself. You have seen her tattoo? Asked her about it? She couldn't answer you. Couldn't remember. Am I correct?"
"Perhaps. She dodged the question."
"As she did when you asked her about the temple?" Ishikari stepped to the flagon and helped himself to wine. Lowering his glass he said, "She cannot answer that question. Demand a reply and she will escape into fugue."