My heart beat violently at this report. Well did I know of these events—I who had been the Lord Chong in my previous incarnation on the Green Star World—I who had followed my beloved into peril and who had protected her as best I could from the thousand dangers of the giant trees, until the treacherous blow of a cowardly foe struck me down in the moment of ultimate hazard. Often had we speculated, Niamh and I, while roaming the branches of the mighty trees or enjoying the temporary haven of the Secret City of the Outlaws, that courageous and noble chevaliers of Phaolon were even at that same moment combing the great forest for some trace of our whereabouts. My heart went out to the bold young princeling, Janchan, for his dedication; and I resolved to delay my escape until I should be able to effect his release as well as Zarqa’s.
In few and hasty words I told him of the events leading to my own captivity, and of the supposed motives of Sarchimus in holding us, and informed him of the suspected fate of his missing comrades. I also conveyed to him something of my plans for escape, but, upon the attempt, I could find no means of securing entry into the cell wherein he was confined. I searched as long as I dared, without managing to locate a catch or lock, and was eventually forced to abandon my quest. Bidding a hasty adieu to Prince Janchan, I told him I would return for a further try later.
My master Sarchimus was still busied with the vivification of his horde of automatons, who clanked noisily about the enormous hall, bumping into balustrades, clumsily smashing the statue-like forms of the petrified Kaloodha, and getting in each other’s way.
Assuming that it would be an hour or so before my master had completed his tasks and had brought the brain crystals of the metal creatures into attunement with the vibrations of his own will, I ventured to the private suite where Zarqa himself was confined within the force-prison. I found the sad-eyed being much the same as on my earlier visit, and hastened to apprise him of the swift march of events. He evinced no surprise at the warnings of Hoom, gloomily admitting he had guessed the savant had captured me so that I could serve his needs as an extra test-subject.
While I have thus far withstood the torments and deprivations he has visited upon me, the gaunt, bewinged Kalood said mentally, somewhat of the formula for the Elixir is known to Sarchimus. That is, he knows the ingredients—all save one—although he does not know the proportions of the mixture, or the timing and interval and duration of the admixing process. I had not known of the human captives, but had deduced from hints he let fall that he had tested provisional versions of the recipe upon hapless subjects of some kind.
The Winged Man was unable to be of any material assistance to me in my scheme of escape. He himself was unable to escape from the energy web which held him prisoner, whose lock was attuned to the personality of Sarchimus himself; neither could he explain how to set free the Phaolonian princeling, whose cubicle was doubtless secured in a similar manner. I left after this, promising not to flee until I had assisted my comrades in misfortune to escape with me. But how I might work this was still unknown.
That night my master surprised me by an unwonted display of amiability. He invited me to share his evening repast in the sumptuous apartments given over to his personal uses. Generally the savant kept quite aloof from my company, so this gesture of friendly hospitality was quite unusual. I accepted his invitation to dine with him gratefully; for it might yet prove that he was not so vile and despicable a villain as the cunning words of Hoom would make him out to be. On this point I determined to reserve all judgment.
The dining alcove was a chamber hung with cloth-of-silver draperies whose glimmering highlights were eerily akin to the strange quicksilver eyes of Sarchimus himself. My master was robed in soft purple stuff, and, for this occasion, had set aside his customary cold aloofness of manner; we conversed on a variety of subjects, reclining on divans drawn up to a metal taboret laden with rare delicacies. His manner was, if not actually ingratiating, at least animated and sympathetic. He questioned me at length concerning my birth, my former life in the wild, and such inconsequential matters as childhood diseases and the average state of health my parents had enjoyed.
I found his choice of conversational topics unusual, to say the least, but set the matter aside as due merely to his solitary habits, which had given him little experience in social mixing.
The foods were deliciously spiced and mostly unfamiliar to my palate. The principal beverage was a bitterly chilled wine likewise unfamiliar, although thoroughly delicious.
After fruit and pastry, Sarchimus invited me to sample a rare liqueur, and produced a green, effervescent brandy of extraordinary bouquet. I sipped it cautiously, found it heady and delicious, and drank it to the lees.
A numbness ran through me; my limbs became leaden; the empty goblet fell from my nerveless fingers to thud against the deep-woven carpet.
“What…” I gasped. The science magician smiled, his glittering eyes hooded and unreadable.
I attempted to struggle to my feet, but found myself bound as if with invisible chains to the divan. In a moment I was incapable even of speech and could only lie there, helpless though fully conscious, staring with an expression of astonishment at the savant.
He rose to his feet and approached my couch. Bending over me, he seized me by a handful of my tousled gold mane and pulled my face around so that I was staring directly up into his own. Then he struck me a sharp blow across the mouth. The pain that must have flickered in my eyes seemed to please him, for he smiled slightly.
“Excellent! The drug has caused complete paralysis, with no loss of consciousness, and you are fully capable of experiencing pain. Now, at last, comes the moment I have waited for!”
He picked me up in his arms and strode into an inner chamber, which I saw was outfitted like a chemical laboratorium. Flasks and canisters and quantities of spiral glass tubing littered porcelain tables drawn beneath long windows, heavily draped.
I was completely incapable of speech or movement, and helpless to resist him in the slightest. With rough but impersonal hands he stripped away my tunic, and spread out my naked body on the floor of the chamber in an area bathed with brilliant light from a lamp suspended from the ceiling above. The strangling collar was still clasped about my throat, for he had not seen fit to remove it upon my return from my mission into the Dead City. Now he neutralized its gripping reflexes by a touch from the electrical rod cased against his thigh, stripped the loose, wormlike plastic thing away and tossed it into a corner.
I lay naked, spread-eagled in the pool of merciless light while he bound my wrists and legs to rings of steely glass set in the floor. There seemed no possible reason for binding me, as the narcotic had me completely paralyzed, but he did it nonetheless.
Then he crossed the room to the porcelain tables and busied himself preparing a flask of some lucent and sparkling fluid that seemed to glow with an inner luminosity of its own. The chemical mixture was clear as water, but heavy as oil or mercury, and imbued with glittering motes of incandescent light. With a sinking heart I guessed its nature and my own fate—against which, it is true, I had been warned.