"And you?" The old woman was shrewd. "Why should they want to kill you?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "Perhaps because I had been close to the Lady Seena. Perhaps because someone wanted me dead. I think the crone shot at me on the journey but I can't be sure. I am sure that she tried to kill me during the storm."
"So you say," said the Matriarch. Then: "Is that all?"
"Yes, My Lady."
He knew that it wasn't enough.
The Matriarch thought the same but the seed of doubt had been planted and she had to be sure. Unerringly she asked the one question he couldn't answer.
"Where is this man Sime?"
"I don't know, My Lady." He added to the answer, "He is not with the other travelers. I saw no sign of him by the coffin. He could be making his way back to the field or—"
"Yes?"
"He could be hidden in your tents." He realized the emptiness of the suggestion. "I doubt that he is but—"
"Search the tents!" snapped the Matriarch to her guards. "Send outside to find the coffin and bring it within." She returned her attention to Dumarest. "You claim that this girl has been substituted for my ward. Now, if she came from the coffin, as you claim, where is my ward now?"
The cyber gave him no chance to answer.
"Surely that alone proves the fallacy of his claim, My Lady. Assuming the logic of what he says there could only be one place where the real Lady Seena could be hidden. Inside the coffin. I assume that he has not found her?"
"No," said Dumarest shortly. "I have no doubt that she was supposed to be hidden in the coffin after the substitution. No doubt either that Sime, still acting his part, would pretend grief and rage and throw it over the cliffs into the sea." His eyes met those of the Matriarch. "It would be the only safe thing to do," he explained. "The coffin had to be as it was. The weight had to be the same in case anyone was curious. And there would be no need to keep the Lady Seena alive longer than was essential."
"I am the Lady Seena Thoth!" The girl screamed her rage. "Remember that!"
"Quiet, child." The old woman was disturbed. The traveler made good sense, assuming that he knew what he was talking about, and he had never struck her as a fool. But one thing troubled her. "Why? Why have you bothered to tell me all this? What is Kund to you?"
"Nothing. But your charity saved my life after the fight with Moidor. I like to pay my debts."
She nodded. "Then prove what you say."
It had come to the critical point as he knew it must. Suspicion wasn't enough. Her fingerprints and retinal pattern would have been tailor-made to match, the rest of her physique the same. The substitution must have been planned for years—those responsible would have made no obvious mistakes.
"During our journey," he said slowly, "we left the rafts and wandered toward the east. We stood watching and you likened the column to something. What was it?"
"A snake."
"Nothing else?"
"Perhaps, I can't remember. The conversation and the company were not that important."
"And neither is this test," said Dyne. "Without witnesses what can it prove?"
Nothing, of course, her word was as good as his and Dumarest recognized defeat. But he had to try.
"After my fight with Moidor you summoned me and we sat talking. It was just before the phygria attacked. You remember?"
"Of course."
"Yes." He wondered who had briefed her. It had been thoroughly done. "We were talking. About a friend of mine on Quail. Something reminded me of him. What was it?"
"My ring." She held out her hand to show it gleaming on her finger. "You said that the ladies of Quail used them for sport. They filled them with powerful aphrodisiacs." She yawned. "Your friend suffered from their sense of fun."
"That's right," said the Matriarch. Her face was hard as she looked at Dumarest. "If she were not my ward how would she have known that?"
How?
"No, My Lady," said Dumarest softly. "That isn't the question. The real question is how do you know it?"
He watched the answer dawn on her face.
Chapter Fourteen
THE MIRRORS! She turned to where it stood then hesitated with instinctive caution. It would not amuse her ward to learn that she was the target of a spy-device; it would amuse her still less to know that the knowledge was shared by the common guards. But that, at least, could be prevented.
"Leave us," she snapped at the women. "Wait outside."
The room seemed larger when they had gone.
"You!" She pointed at the girl. "Stand back. Right back against the wall."
"My Lady?"
"Do as I say!" The old woman relaxed a little as the girl obeyed. Now, if she were careful to shield the mirror with her body, not even her ward need know of its secret.
"My Lady!" The girl was insistent. "What other proof can I give?"
"A moment, child." The Matriarch's voice was soft but determined. "We shall soon know the truth."
Dumarest watched her as she turned. He frowned, not understanding what she was about, then he saw the old back stiffen, the withered hands clench in a paroxysm of rage.
"You!" She turned, her face distorted, her eyes burning with anger. "You liar! Gua—"
The girl was quick. She sprang forward and to one side, her hand lifting, leveling, something spurting from the ornate ring on her finger. It shrilled across the tent and buried itself in the Matriarch's side. She fell, gasping, still trying to summon her women.
"Guards!"
Dumarest shouted as the hand swung toward him. He ducked, throwing himself forward, flesh cringing to the expected impact. None came. Instead there was a sudden, vicious snarl and the stench of burning. Dyne stood, a tiny laser in his hand, the dead body of the girl at his feet. A charred hole in her temple told of the accuracy of his aim.
"My Lady!" Elspeth thrust into the room at the head of her guards. Her eyes narrowed, grew dangerous as she saw the Matriarch writhing on the floor. "Who—?"
"Get Melga!" Dumarest thrust her aside as he stooped over the old woman. "Hurry!"
The thing the girl had fired still shrilled its deadly vibrations, boring deeper into the flesh, destroying cell, nerve and tissue with its lethal song. Dumarest snatched at it with his left hand, tore it free, flung it aside. Smoke rose from where it fell on the carpet, a ring of flame circling a widening spot of ash.
"A vibratory dart," said Dumarest as the physician knelt beside him. "I may have got it out in time."
Melga pursed her lips as she examined the wound. Deftly she fired a pain-killing drug into the Matriarch's throat. Resetting the hypogun she fired three charges of antitoxin around the pulped place where the dart had struck. An antiseptic spray to cover the raw flesh with a healing film completed her immediate treatment.
"Show me your hand." Her lips pursed even tighter as she examined Dumarest's fingers. They were dark, bruised as if caught in a slamming door, the tips seeping blood. The blast of her hypogun terminated their pain.
"Dumarest!" The Matriarch stared at him, her eyes haunted hollows in the withered pattern of her face. Shock had closed the iron hand of age. She swallowed, weakly, gestured for him to come closer. Her voice was a thin reed of sound. "You were right," she whispered. "That girl is not my ward. She must be made to tell what she knows."
"The girl is dead," he said shortly. "Dyne killed her."
She nodded, fighting the lethargy of the drugs, able to concentrate only on the thing of greatest importance.