The Parallel Man (5 page)

I was tired enough of his hunting tales to pretend more interest than I really felt. I made some noncommittal noise, which encouraged Benton to go on. “Story just broke,” he said, “but it should be in the fax by now. Let’s see.” He touched something on the arm of his chair and from a slit in a bow table by his side came a thin sheet of some flimsy parchment-like material, covered with writing. “Ah yes, here it is on the first sheet,” said Benton, “with a backup on another sheet, which I’ll key if you’re interested.” He handed me the sheet, which was covered with writing in small square characters which it took me a moment to master, though I am a fair scribe. In large letters at the top of the sheet were the words, “CLU Head Accuses Academician,” then my hand clenched on the sheet, crumpling it in involuntary betrayal of my emotions. For under those words were two pictures, more vivid and lifelike than any painting I had ever seen in church or castle. One showed the face of Justinian Droste looking as I had seen him from my bed soon after I awoke. The other face, staring out at me from the picture with a saturnine glower, was that of my tutor and guardian, Mortifer the Enchanter!

After the first shock, it almost seemed inevitable. Mortifer was an enchanter, I was in a land of enchanters, so surely he must have played some part in bringing me here. I had never entirely trusted Mortifer, despite my respect for my father, who had trusted the enchanter so well that he set him over me as my tutor and guardian. Despite his outward suavity and respectful air, Mortifer had always struck me as a cold man who regarded other people only as pieces in some elaborate game. Perhaps he had brought me to this land to play some part in some game of his; well, he would find me an unwieldy tool. I remembered that as a youth I had sometimes outwitted better players at board games by moving my pieces about almost at random and letting them wrack their brains to discover the elaborate stratagems they thought lay behind my moves. I was doing much the same in this deadlier game, keeping on the move and in disguise, hoping that one of my random moves would lead to some advantage for me.

Benton had not noticed my agitation, for he was intent on another sheet of the same kind as the one he had handed me. “Doesn’t really say much,” he complained. “The backup is all details on the careers of the two men and the original story didn’t say all that much either, just hints that Mortifer had been caught more or less red-handed experimenting on humans and that Droste had the alleged subject of the experiments. Then there was a late break saying that the man had disappeared, with Droste all but accusing Mortifer of kidnapping or worse.”

“This Mortifer,” I said as casually as I could manage, om where does he come, of what Academy is he a member?”

Benton chuckled. “By the Mercy, you’re right. If a man’s an academician there must be an academy about somewhere. Well, let’s see, must be on the fax here somewhere. Ah yes; Royal Academy of Life Sciences of Carpathia.”

I nearly blurted out that if there were any “Royal Academy” in the land of Carpathia, I, the Prince Royal of Carpathia, should know of it; but I restrained my tongue. Whatever lies Mortifer had told he had at least used the name of my homeland in those lies and this gave me a reason to put the question I was burning to ask: “And where is this place Carpathia?” I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could.

But Benton’s answer made little sense. “One of those little star systems out on the Tail, I think,” he said with a shrug. “One terranorm planet which went pretty well back to nature during the Wars of Unity. Fairly flourishing place, now, I believe—reasonable amount of trade. Would have thought that you’d know more about it than I, since you’re a star-trader. Shouldn’t be more than a few days’ flit from Home in a modern starship.”

He was looking very slightly puzzled, a puzzlement that might turn to suspicion, and much as I longed to press my questions I shrugged and turned the conversation to his obsession, knowing that it would distract him.

“Ah well,” I said, “can’t remember everything. I’ve forgotten already how many boars you told me you had.” He was off at once on questions and stories about hunting which lasted until his flying pavilion came to earth with a very slight jarring sensation. Out of politeness, I had not even been able to read further on the lettered sheet he had given me, but I folded it and shoved it in my pouch for future reading.

The flying pavilion was grounded beside a sort of lodge, a rustic enough place but with some dignity. There were blue-capped serfs to meet us at the door and, to my joy, a blazing fire on the hearth in the great hall. Benton smiled at the pleasure I did not try to hide. “Try to keep up the old ways here,” he said. “I’d like you to try some of my venison, you’re hungry, and some Napa I have laid down here.” I agreed heartily since only the edge had been taken from my appetite by the snacks served at Flavia’s gathering. A table was set for us before the fire, but we had hardly-begun to eat when a slim green-clad figure appeared at the entrance hall, obviously feminine, despite red hair cut like a boy’s. She had a bow in her hand and a dagger at her belt. Benton rose to his feet with a smile. “Mirianne,” he said. “Nice to see you up here. Mirianne, this is, er, Casmir Thorn. Casmir, my sister, Mirianne, who laughs at my hobby but drops in on me when she needs a change from her usual pursuits.”

“Pursuits is right,” said the girl. “Nice to be the hunter instead of the hunted for a change. At least the men you bring up here are interested in hunting animals rather than heiresses— usually. But welcome to Benton Hall anyway, Casmir Thom.” Her eyes met mine as her fingers rubbed the violet-colored circle on her earlobe in a gesture that seemed unconscious, but may have been meant to give point to her words.

I grinned at her; there was something rather engaging about this forthright young heiress. “Why lady,” I told her, “I am not here to hunt for an heiress, only for a little sport with your brother’s boars. But I can see the attractions of—nobler quarry.”

She laughed at that, and fell into easy conversation with her brother and myself. I asked what sport she had found with her bow, and from that the talk turned to archery. Before long we were shooting her hunting arrows at targets here and there in the hall, as men will do sometimes in a hunting lodge after the evening meal when no ladies are present. Here the lady was the worst of us, and crowed with laughter when we lodged an arrow in the mouth of a deer head hung high on the wall or shot a shaft into the opening of a wine flagon held presented toward us by a serf. There is a knack to this kind of indoor shooting, usually done with the bows at half-pull and I can usually put an arrow where I want it every time in such games, though at real shooting out of doors I do not rank with best. By the end of the evening Benton and his sister were well pleased with me for slight enough reasons, and I went to bed well pleased with the evening and with their company.

In the morning we broke our fast with bread and sweet preserves, along with a hot bitter liquid that was refreshing once you got used to its wry taste. Benton showed me his arms room and I belted on a short sword and dagger, feeling foolishly relieved to be armed again, though I knew that edged weapons would be of little use against the enchanter’s weapons I had seen. Benton had spears of various patterns and I showed him the right length for a boar spear and where to place a cross-bar. Benton summoned a man in brown, who carried off the spear and returned surprisingly quickly with several made to the same pattern but with cross-bars.

Carrying the spears, we set off down the hill upon which the lodge was built to look at the thickets where the wild pigs had established themselves. Benton had whistled up a dog, which seemed more a pet than a hunter and Mirianne had her bow and a quiver of hunting arrows, but it was more an amble and an exploration than a hunt. As we reached some broken ground, small hillocks overgrown with underbrush, Benton hesitated. “There’s a sonic fence along here,” he said, “and the beasties we’re after are inside it. We’re not really prepared . . .” Just then the dog by his side began to bark noisily. Then, his excitement growing, the beast sprang from Benton’s side to chase something that scuttled away in the underbrush. “Oh damn,” said Benton, “he’s got a neutralizer in his collar; he’s right through the fence. Ranger! Come back here, you idiot!” He ran forward, shouting and whistling, with Mirianne and me at his side. For a second I had a feeling of panic, then felt a sort of vibration deep in my bones, but in a stride I felt normal again.

“If you hadn’t spoiled him . . .” Minanne had begun when there was a sharp yipping sound and the dog ran back toward us, his tail between his legs, followed by a long lithe form that was chillingly familiar.

“Young tusket,” I told my companions. “Most dangerous kind. Keep your spear pointed at him.” I fell into a guard stance, tracking the boar with my spear-head, my hands in position on the shaft to thrust or take the shock of an impact. An old boar will stand his ground and threaten, a sow is usually dangerous only when she is defending her young, but a young boar is as dangerous as he is unpredictable.

This one slashed at the dog, and then, as I had feared, swerved toward us. “Spread out,” I called to the others. Mirianne was carrying a spear and I had to treat her as a hunter, not as a lady to be protected. With the three of us to choose from, no longer in a clump but spread out in a line, the young boar hesitated. If he wanted to run between us and escape, I for one would let him; I had no need for meat or trophies and here among strangers I had no reputation to maintain. A prince must be first in the chase, as in all things, but a private person may choose not to compete.

The best thing would be for the boar to attack me; I could dispatch him with the skill of long practice. The worst would be for the boar to go for Mirianne; she had spirit but even if she had the skill she did not have the weight to stop the beast. Neither the best nor the worst happened; the boar went for Benton. “Shoulder,” I shouted and he shifted the aim of his spear-head from the head, an almost impossible target, to the shoulder. The spearpoint skidded over the rough skin of the boar, then caught, and pierced through the ribs just behind the left foreleg. If the boar had the cunning to swerve away from Benton it could simply run off the point and be free to attack again. But with the insensate fury of its kind it tried frantically to reach the target it had picked.

As it scrabbled its way toward Benton the spear pierced its internal organs, but it must have missed the heart, for the creature’s strength seemed unabated. When it reached the cross-bar its full weight bore on Benton for the first time; he staggered backwards a few paces. “Down,” I cried, “ground the spearbutt if you can.” It would have been best if he had thrown his weight at the boar, almost as if he were as eager to get at the boar as the boar was to get at him, but that was not something I could explain in a few shouted words. He did almost as well, though, by bearing down with his weight on the spearbutt until he had got it lower than the point which was deep in the boar’s guts. Helped by a small hillock behind him he grounded the butt and let the boar pump out its blood and life against the unyielding toughness of the spear.

I had been ready to run full tilt into the boar’s side with my spear if Benton had not held him, but now I relaxed a little, shifted my spear to my left hand and drew my shortsword. So long as Benton was holding him all was well. If Benton weakened I could hamstring the boar and end it. Mirianne moved up beside me, pale but in control of herself. She looked at the thrashing boar with horrified fascination, but she neither shrank back from it nor gloated at its overthrow. My liking for her increased and I gave her a quick smile. “Almost over now,” I told her and then called to Benton, “Shall I finish it for you?” He gave a jerky nod, as his muscles still strained against the boar’s struggles, and I darted in, grabbed a foreleg and flipped the boar on its back. A quick hard slash and the throat was cut. Blood flowed; the limbs thrashed more slowly and stopped. There was a stink of death as muscles relaxed. I grinned at the exhausted Benton. “Now you know how to kill a boar,” I said.

He stood up, working his cramped fingers. “By the Mercy,” he said, and it was half a prayer and half an oath. He smiled at me and said with fair pretense of jauntiness, “Thanks for letting me have this one. But if we meet another one today, 1 think I may let you kill it.”

I shook my head. “The boar chose you. And you did very well for your first. Next time bear forward with your weight and try to use the leverage of the spear to get the beast off its feet . . .” I went on with my advice until he had recovered his breath and his composure. Then I tactfully urged him toward the lodge, on the pretext of sending serfs back for the meat. If I judged him correctly, Benton’s courage was of the sort that rises to meet a challenge, but leaves the man shaken afterward. I remembered young knights with that temperament, vomiting after a battle, their bodies taking revenge for the strain that had been put on them.

When we arrived back at the lodge, Benton left Mirianne and me with a murmured apology. Mirianne turned to me and said in a low voice, “Thank you for what you did; and for what you didn’t do. He’s too hard on himself in many ways, but I think that for once he feels he’s done well. I don’t know what you are, Casmir Thom, aside from being a very cool and professional huntsman, but if we can do anything for you . . .”

I smiled at her and said lightly, “At the moment I could do with a change of clothing and to have my man, Pellow, found and sent to me.”

“Of course,” she said. She looked at me searchingly, then touched my arm lightly and went on into the lodge. I found my own room and stripped off my garments and relayed in a stream of water in the “convenience.” It was a pleasure; it would be easy to get used to and I wondered if something of the sort could be devised at Castle Thom if I ever got back there.

When I had dried myself on towels that looked rough but were marvelously smooth, Pellow appeared at the doorway, carrying an armload of clothing. He looked at me with an enigmatic expression and laid his burden on the bed. “From the lady of the house,” he said. “You’re in high favor it seems. I’ve been evading questions about you; my ignorance was taken for great discretion. Apparently you really do know about hunting. If I hadn’t seen holos of him, I’d begin to think that you were really Fenric.”

I smiled grimly. “Hunting is probably the only thing that Fenric and I have in common,” I said.

Pellow looked at me speculatively. “Here at Home and on most planets I know of hunting as an amusement for the very wealthy,” he said, “and yet the C and C chip of yours looks plain, ordinary green to me. Or is that a fake too? And if it isn’t, what in the Mercy’s name were you doing under that fake blue dome?”

I looked into his eyes which were a dark gray. “Suppose you tell me your story first,” I said. It would be a lie of course, but the sort of lie it was might tell me something about the man.

He looked down at his hands, then looked into my eyes again with a good imitation of candor. “My name is Joseph Pellow,” he said. “Pellow with a ‘w.’ I was a starflitter once, but I got into trouble on a Szilar planet and the lizards got me Banned. Took my free ride Home and squandered the ecus I’d been paid off in trying to forget my Banning. Tried to get more and only got into trouble. Finally, the only thing for it was to go under the dome. What I want now is to get out to one of the newer human colonies. Things are too rigid here at Home; no scope for an enterprising man. With my share of the ecus in that pouch . . .” His eyes flicked over to where I had left my soiled clothing.