A thrill of excitement went through me… who could it be, whom the savant held captive? If Hoom spoke the truth, and if a citizen of Phaolon was secreted somewhere within the Scarlet Pylon, he could perchance lead me back to the realm of my lost princess!
I fixed a stern eye upon the fat little man in robes of shimmering opalescence.
“I think you lie, Hoom; for I have searched the tower of my master from base to crest, discovering no human captives.”
He shook his head as if bemoaning my distrust of his motives.
“Your suspicions are unfounded, and I regret heartily that you mistake me for a prevaricator! You will find the last of a party of explorers from Phaolon concealed in a wall compartment on the seventeenth tier of your master’s edifice, in a soundproof cubicle marked with a symbol—thus and such—which may be opened for view and converse in such-and-such a manner… “
I listened to him closely, reserving my trust until he should be proved innocent of my suspicions. The mere fact that he knew of the Elixir of Light and its dangerous unpredictability alone partially convinced me; but his motive for apprising me of my present danger was still unclear. I inquired sharply on this point.
“Common humanity, my lad, impels me to this act of simple charity! However, my humane instincts go even further than this, and I am anxious to assist you in escaping from the toils of this cruel and cunning monster who masquerades self-interest behind the guise of altruism. But I fear there is no safety for you, my dear child, until the unscrupulous Sarchimus has met his just deserts…”
“In other words, you suggest I should kill the one who saved my life?” I asked.
He bemoaned my cynicism, but applauded my perceptiveness.
“A fitting end,” he observed, “betrayed by one whom he would himself betray!”
I considered the situation thoughtfully, and said; “Well, it’s true enough that I wish to escape from the tower. But I need a map of this part of the world, with nearby cities clearly marked, and some method of swift transport—a saddled zaiph, perhaps…”
From beneath his robes, Hoom smilingly produced a tightly-rolled scroll of parchment. “I have anticipated your desires;” he wheezed, eyes shrewd. “Not for nothing am I called ‘Hoom of the Many Eyes’; I have observed your fruitless search of the librarium, deduced that you desire orientation in order to attempt the journey to a friendly kingdom, and have myself prepared a cartographic guide. As for a steed, one is already to hand that is swifter and more tireless than any zaiph yet bred; I refer to the aerial contrivance which rides a magnetic flux.”
“The skysled? But I don’t know how to operate it!”
“That, too, I have anticipated, and this document provides clear instruction into the modes of piloting the vehicle,” he said.
“What is your price for these gifts?”
He shrugged, spreading both pudgy hands.
“The death of Sarchimus. For too long has he lorded the superiority of his accomplishments over we lesser students of the ancient mystery-science! With the demise of Sarchimus, the worthiest and most intellectual of his competitors can hope to inherit his secrets.”
“I gather you refer to yourself.” I smiled.
He beamed with smug aplomb, but did not deny it.
“Well, I will accept these documents—as presents, not as bribes,” I said finally. “As for slaying my master, well, I will do what has to be done in order to protect myself from treachery; more than that, I cannot promise.”
“No more than that is needed,” said Hoom of the Many Eyes. “For a youth as perceptive as yourself has doubtless ascertained by pure logic that there is no safety in flight unless he who would pursue is—ah—unable to do so.”
I nodded without further words and accepted the map and the instructions to operating the skysled. But privately I determined that, rather than commit cold-blooded murder on one who, after all, had rescued me from certain death and nursed me to health again, I would simply free Zarqa and escape in the skysled. Since there was only one such vehicle in the Pylon, Sarchimus would be unable to pursue me and my safety was thus insured.
I returned to the Scarlet Pylon with the crystals, my mind busy with plans and conjectures, anxious, first of all, to discover if Hoom had been accurate in stating a Phaolonian prisoner was concealed in the tower. Finding him was the first item on my agenda; flight and freedom, the second.
Chapter 10
JANCHAN OF PHAOLON
There came on the very next day the opportunity for which I waited. The brain crystals had matured in the breeding vats, and the power crystals I had procured on my mission beyond the tower fitted their mountings perfectly; so for the entire day Sarchimus was fully occupied in vitalizing and testing his new army of automatons. Since there were so many of these, he selected the largest single chamber in the Scarlet Pylon for that purpose, said chamber being, of course, the immense hall in which I had earlier discovered the host of white crystalline statues which were, in actuality, the petrified Kaloodha.
Once my master was engaged in this activity, I wasted no time in descending to the seventeenth tier and seeking out the apartment sealed with the Scarlet Hand. I found it a clutter of apparatus of inexplicable design and purpose, but, scrutinizing the walls, I found behind a gorgeous tapestry a panel marked with the small, unobtrusive symbol Hoom had described; operating the catch according to his instructions, I fitted my eye to a small hole thus revealed and peered within.
A young man of noble demeanor and handsome visage reclined on a divan within the secret compartment. From his jeweled trappings I knew him at once for a courtier of Phaolon, although, as it chanced, not one with whom I had become acquainted during my former incarnation at the court of Niamh the Fair.
Below the eyehole was a small speaking-tube into which I spoke. The young man sprang to his feet, staring around in a bewildered fashion.
“Have no fear,” I said through the speaking-tube. “I am not your captor, but a captive like yourself. My name is Karn the Hunter, the son of Athgar, of the Red Dragon nation.”
Pressing my ear to the orifice, I discovered I could hear the young man clearly enough.
“I know not where you are concealed,” he said in a pleasant baritone, “nor how your voice addresses me from empty air in this manner, but I greet you in comradeship, my fellow captive. I am Prince Janchan of Phaolon, of the House of the Ptolnim.”
“How did you come into your present captivity?” I inquired.
“The Princess of Phaolon disappeared on a hunting expedition to observe the Dance of the Zaiph,” he said. “It is believed that she fell prey to a tree monster, and it remains unknown as to whether she lives or has been slain. But we among her loyal courtiers, knowing her to have vanished in the company of that greathearted hero, the Kyr Chong, believe that a chance exists that she yet lives, and have sworn to search until finding proof positive of her woeful demise. I left the Jewel City in the company of a score of youths of noble or aristocratic birth, all sworn to the quest of the princess. Alas, those who survived the perils of the wild were taken captive by this vile enchanter, who benumbed our senses with a narcotic aroma and who has held us prisoner here for an unguessable period. One by one my brave comrades have vanished from their compartments, to venture to an unknown fate; and of all our company, I fear I alone am left.”