Verrick nodded. "Moore was his immediate superior and in charge of the project."
"If Benteley killed Moore, and Moore had betrayed you..." Shaeffer turned to Judge Waring. "It sounds as if Benteley acted as a loyal serf."
Verrick snorted. "Moore betrayed me afterwards. After Benteley——" He broke off.
"Go on," Shaeffer said.
"After Benteley killed him," Verrick said woodenly.
"What's that?" Judge Waring asked testily.
"Tell him what the project was," Shaeffer suggested mildly. "Then he'll understand."
Verrick studied the table in front of him. "I have nothing more to say." He got slowly to his feet. "I withdraw the material relating to Moore's death. That isn't relevant."
"What do you charge?" Cartwright asked.
"Benteley left the job I had assigned to him, the job he took on when he swore loyalty to me."
"It was either that or death," Cartwright pointed out.
"He should have stayed, it was his job."
Cartwright rose. "I have nothing else to say," he said to Judge Waring. "I accepted Benteley because I considered him freed from his prior oath to Verrick. I considered the oath broken by Verrick. A protector isn't supposed to send a serf to involuntary death."
Judge Waring's beard bobbed up and down. "A protector can destroy his serf on an involuntary basis only if the serf has broken his oath. In breaking his oath the serf forfeits his rights but remains his protector's property." He gathered up his law books. "The case here rests on one point: if the protector in question broke his side of the oath first, the serf in question was legally within his rights to drop his work and leave. But if the protector did not break his side of the oath prior to the serf's departure, then the serf is a felon liable to the death penalty."
Cartwright moved towards the door. Verrick followed, hands deep in his pockets. "That's it, then," Cartwright said. "We'll wait for your decision."
Benteley was with Rita O'Neill when the decision came, hours later. Shaeffer brought the news. "I've been scanning Judge Waring," he said. "He's made up his mind."
Benteley and Rita were sitting in a bar, two vague shapes in the dim colour-twisting shadows that enveloped their table. A single aluminium candle sputtered between them. Directorate officials were sitting about, murmuring, gazing vacantly ahead, sipping drinks. "Well?" Benteley said. "What is it?"
"It's in your favour," Shaeffer said. "He'll announce it in a few minutes."
"Then Verrick has no claim over me," Benteley said wonderingly.
Shaeffer moved away. "Congratulations."
Rita put her hand on Benteley's. "We should celebrate," she said.
"Yes, I'm where I wanted to be." Benteley sipped his drink. "Working for the Directorate. Sworn to the Quizmaster. This is what I set out for."
Rita tore apart a match folder and fed the fragments to the metallic candle. "You're not satisfied, are you?"
"I'm as far from satisfaction as it's humanly possible to be."
"Why?" she asked softly.
"I haven't really done anything. I thought it was the Hills, but Wakeman was right. It isn't the Hills—it's the whole society. The stench is everywhere. Getting away from the Hill system doesn't help me or anybody else." He angrily pushed his glass away. "I could simply hold my nose and pretend it isn't there. But that isn't enough. Something has to be done. The whole thing has to be pulled down. It's rotten, corrupt... ready to fall on its face. But something has to be built in its place. Tearing down isn't enough. I've got to help build up the new. I'd like to do something that will make it different for other people. I have to do something to alter things."
"Maybe you will."
"How? Where'll the chance come from? I'm still a serf. Tied down. Under oath."
"You're young. We both are. We've got years ahead of us in which to plan things." Rita lifted her glass.
Benteley smiled. "I'll drink to that." He raised his own glass and touched hers. "But not too much." His smile ebbed. "Verrick is still hanging around. I'll wait until he leaves before I do my drinking."
Rita stopped feeding bits of paper to the white-hot candle flame. "What would happen if he killed you?"
"They'd shoot him."
"What would happen if he killed my uncle?"
"They'd take away his power-card. He'd never be Quizmaster."
"He won't be Quizmaster, anyhow," Rita said quietly.
Benteley roused himself. "What are you thinking?"
"He won't go back empty-handed. He can't stop at this point." She glanced up at him, dark-eyed and serious. "It's not over, Ted. He has to kill somebody."
At that moment a shadow touched the table. He glanced up, one hand in his pocket, against his gun.
"Hello!" Eleanor Stevens said. "Mind if I join you?"
She sat down facing them, hands folded in front of her, a fixed smile on her lips. Her green eyes flashed brightly at Benteley, then at Rita. In the half-shadows her hair glowed a rust red, soft and heavy against her bare neck and shoulders.
"Who are you?" Rita asked.
Green eyes dancing, Eleanor leaned forward to light her cigarette from the candle. "Just a name. Not really a person any more. Isn't that right, Ted?"
"You better get out of here," Benteley said. "I don't think Verrick wants you with us."
"I haven't seen Verrick since I got here, except at a distance. Maybe I'll leave him. Everybody else seems to be doing it."
"Be careful," Benteley said.
"About what?" Eleanor blew a cloud of smoke. "I couldn't help hearing what you were saying. You're right." Her eyes were fixed intently on Rita; she spoke rapidly in a sharp, brittle voice. "Verrick wants you Ted, but he'll make do with Cartwright if he can't get you. He's down in his quarters trying to make up his mind. He used to have Moore handy to arrange things in a neat mathematical equation. Assign an arbitrary value of plus 50 for killing Benteley. But minus 100 for being shot in retribution. Assign an arbitrary value of plus 40 for killing Cartwright. But a minus 50 for losing his power-card. Both way he loses."
Benteley agreed warily. "He loses both ways."
"Here's another," Eleanor said brightly. "I thought this one up myself." She nodded merrily to Rita. "I mean, you thought it up. But I made up the equation. Assign an arbitrary value of plus 40 for killing Cartwright. And then try this. Assign a minus 100 by Cartwright for being killed. That takes care of that part; that's for Reese. Then there's my own, but that's not much."
"I don't understand what you're talking about," Rita said indifferently.
"I do!" Benteley said. "Look out!"
Eleanor had already moved. On her feet like a cat, she grabbed up the aluminium candle and ground the tube of bubbling flame into Rita's face.
Benteley slammed the candle away. With a tinny grumble it rolled from the table and clanked on the floor. Soundlessly Eleanor slipped round the table to Rita O'Neill, who sat pawing helplessly at her eyes. Her black hair and skin were smoking and charred; the acrid odour of seared flesh filled the air. Eleanor tore the woman's hand away. Something glittered between the girl's fingers, a scarf-pin that came swiftly up at Rita's eyes. Benteley hurled himself at the girl; she clung to him desperately, clawing and stabbing blindly until he shook her loose. Green eyes wild and glazed, she spun away and vanished into the black shadows.
Benteley turned quickly to Rita O'Neill. "I'm all right," Rita said between clenched teeth. "The candle went out and she didn't get me with the pin. Better try to catch her."