The Warlock Wandering (7 page)

"Yeah, if the government doesn't rev up the printers!"

"Ah, but the government doesn't exist anymore." Yorick held up a finger. "It can't inflate the currency now."

"Nice bit of irony." Rod smiled. "The IDE's currency is more sound now that the government that made it has disappeared, than it was while that government was alive and kicking."

"Mostly kicking, at least toward the end. I mean, they were even doing everything they could to bump"off Cholly, over there, just because he came up with some wild theories."

"Cholly?" Rod turned to stare at the barkeeper. "Mr. Nice 50 Christopher Stasheff

Guy himself? Why would the IDE want to kill him off?"

"Well, not the IDE, really—just the LORDS, the majority party that engineered the big coup d'etat, and set up the Proletarian Eclectic State of Terra."

"Before they even came to power?"

Yorick nodded. "And SPITE and VETO are still trying to finish the job. That's one of our agent's main jobs—

protecting Cholly and his establishment."

"What's so important about a tavern?"

"Oh, the tavern's just a front. His real establishment is just an idea and a method, with a set of tried-and-true techniques. People who need a reason for living take his method and go out and do the same kind of work, all on their own." Yorick grinned. "Drives PEST crazy. They keep trying to find out how his organization works—who gives the orders, and how they're transmitted—but there isn't any organization! Just ideas..."

"Sounds fabulous. What's his real work?"

"Mass education—without the masses realizing they're being educated. Cholly is Charles T. Barman, Major." Rod froze, staring at the cheery tavemkeeper. "That!?!

That is the man who created the educational system that gave birth to the Decentralized Democratic Tribunal?"

"Yeah, but he's only just now doing the creating, so the DDT's very vulnerable right at this time-locus, five centuries before it'll be bom. If anything happens to Cholly, the DDT

'revolution' might never happen. You see why we don't want to compromise our agent here. Don't stare, Major—

it makes you conspicuous. Shall we go?"

"Uh—yeah." Rod turned away, feeling numb. "Yeah, sure. Let's go."

"Nar, let's not," rumbled the sergeant. He wasn't all that big himself, but the troops behind him filled the doorway. Rod stared, shocked—it was the slob from the Wall that morning. Thaler's buddy. But he'd gone through a complete metamorphosis, and maybe even a shower. His uniform was neat and crisp, his cheeks were

shaven, and his hair was combed. "Amazing," he murmured. Behind the bar, Cholly looked up and saw. "Here, now!" he cried, and the whole tavern fell silent. "We'll have no violence in this house!"

"That's up to him," the former slob growled. "Come along to the General nice and peaceablelike, and there won't be no trouble."

Rod frowned. "The General?"

"Aye. You're under arrest."

Rod stood very still. The sergeant grinned.

"Not quite what I had in mind," Yorick muttered.

"Wherefore are we arrested?" Gwen asked. The sergeant shrugged. "That's for the general to say. Are you coming peaceably, or not?" The glint in his eye said he hoped "not."

Rod sighed and capitulated. "Sure. I always cooperate with the authorities."

"Well, almost always," Yorick muttered.

"Converse with the General was enjoyable," Gwen agreed. Behind her, most of the soldiers' faces broke into slow, sly grins.

"A woman can't say anything around here without being suspect," Rod sighed. "Of course, they didn't stop to think what kind of a woman would find a masochistic general to be pleasant company."

The grins vanished; the soldiers stared in horror. Rod nodded, satisfied. "I don't think you'll have any trouble around here, dear. Now we can go."

They might have been the dregs of military society, but they marched very nicely—all the way down the street, into the headquarters building. They came to a halt while the sergeant knocked on Shacklar's door, and'"the receptionist (human—it was a frontier planet; and male—it was a military prison) officially told him he could enter. Then they marched right into the office, and came to a stamping 52 Christopher Stasheff THE WARLOCK WANDERING 53

halt in front of Shacklar's desk.

The General looked up from his paperwork and smiled warmly. "Very good. Sergeant." He saluted. "Dismissed." The ex-slob stared. "But, General... these people, they're..."

"Very pleasant conversationalists," the General assured him. "I've spoken with them already this morning. I'm sure there won't be any problem—especially with the Chief Chief available." He nodded toward a purple Wolman who stood beside his desk.

The sergeant looked the Wolman up and down, and did not seem assured. "If'n it's all the same to you, sir..."

"But I'm afraid it's not." Shacklar's tone was crisp, but polite. "That will be all. Sergeant. I thank you for your concern."

The sergeant and all his troops eyed the Wolman, Rod, and Yorick warily—and Gwen almost with alarm. But the sergeant barked, "About/are/ For'ard harch!" dutifully. The squad pivoted with a multiple stamp, and marched out. The sergeant lingered in the doorway for One more glower, but Shacklar met his gaze, and the man turned and disappeared. On the other hand, he didn't close the door.

Shacklar ignored it. He turned to the Gallowglasses, beaming. "A pleasure to see you again. Master Gallowglass, Mistress Gallowglass." He turned an inquiring glance to Yorick. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure?" Rod gestured toward the ape-man. "Oh, this is..." But Yorick cut him off. "Ander Thai, General. But I used to be a comic actor with a two-bit rep company, so they call me..."

"... Yorick," Rod finished. He swallowed. "Uh, General—has it occurred to you that you might be in a rather dangerous position?"

"Outnumbered, you mean? And both of you with weapons?" Shacklar nodded. "I'm aware of it, yes."

"It... doesn't bother you."

"Not particularly. I'm trusting to your honor, old boy." Rod stared. Then he said, just by way of information,

"You're a fool, you know."

"I'm aware of that, too." Shacklar smiled up at him. Yorick locked glances with Rod, and his thoughts were loud. This man is vital to the future of democracy, Major. If you so much as lay a finger on him... At which point the mental signal deteriorated into some rather gruesome graphics.

Not that Rod needed the urging. He gazed at Shacklar's warm, open countenance, and sighed. "I never kill fools before dinner-time; it's bad for the digestion." Ruefully, he was remembering a few occasions when he'd played the same gambit himself; but it had worked, he had gained trust...

... and it was working again, now.

Shacklar wasn't the only fool in the room, he decided. A faint smile touched the comers of the General's mouth; he relaxed. "I don't believe you've met this gentleman—

Chief Hwun, of the Purple tribe—and acclaimed as Chief of all the Wolman tribes."

"No, I don't believe I've had the pleasure." Rod tried to remember how the salute went—crossed arms, fingers touching the shoulders...

Before he could try it, the big Wolman said, "Them doum it—this man and woman in-um funny clothes." Rod stared.

Then he said, "Not much on courtesy, is he?"

"Uh—" Yorick glanced about, then at the General. "I know it's none of my business, but... what does the Chief think M... Mr. Gallowglass did?"

Rod caught the near slip, and gave Yorick points; he'd realized the hazards of having Shacklar think he might be entitled to give Rod orders. "Why, trespassing^ of course, on Wolman land." He turned back to Shacklar. "But we cleared that up a couple of hours ago."

"Well, yes—but the Chief's now charging you with an additional transgression."

54 Christopher Stasheff

Rod frowned. "Isn't that 'double jeopardy,' or something?"

"Not at all, since it's a crime you weren't charged with before."

"What crime?"

"Murder."

Rod set a mug of ale down in front of Gwen, then turned back to the bar. "Two of whatever passes for whiskey here. Doubles."

"Done." Cholly thumped two heavy glasses down on the bar, and upended a bottle of vaguely brownish fluid over them. "So he let you loose on your own recognizance?"

"Yeah." Rod shrugged. "We just promised not to kill anybody before dawn tomorrow, and he said, 'Excellent. Why don't you have a look around the town, while you're here?'... That's enough!"

"As you will." Cholly waited a second longer, till the brownish fluid was almost up to the rims, then set the bottle down. "Yer trial's tomorrow at sunrise, then?"

"If you can call it that." Rod frowned. "Isn't that a little lenient, for a couple of suspected murderers?" Cholly nodded. "Even here. I'd guess the General doesn't think you're guilty."

Rod nodded. "Is he hoping we'll escape, or something?"

"Where to?"

"A good point." Rod pursed his lips. "So we're just supposed to relax and enjoy life, huh?"

"That—or find evidence to clear yourselves. Hard to do that inside a cell. yer know."

Rod frowned. "It is, now that you mention it. We were planning to do something of that sort, anyway."

"Well, then." Cholly beamed. "The General knows his man, don't he? Let me know where I can help."

"Thanks. We will." Rod turned back to the table, set one of the glasses down in front of Yorick, sat himself down across from Gwen, and took a hefty swallow. Then he sat

very still for a few minutes, waiting till the top of his head settled back on and the room came back into focus. When it did, he exhaled sharply. "What do they make that out of?"

"Something almost compatible with Terran biochemistry, I'm sure." Yorick looked a little defocused himself. Rod took a deep breath, then a very cautious sip. He set the glass down gingerly, exhaled carefully, and sat back.

"Now!" He looked from Yorick to Gwen and back. "You were both there; you heard everything I did. What was all that about?"

Gwen shrugged. "We chanced to be in a position suspect at a time when a man was slain, my lord."

"Yeah, but I highly doubt we were anywhere near this

'Sun-Greeting Place,' or whatever it is. Also, I don't believe in coincidences, especially not when they're so convenient." Gwen frowned. "In what way dost thou think them opportune?"

"For our enemies."

"I'll drink to that." Yorick lifted his mug, also his glass.

"You'll drink to anything." But Rod clinked glasses with him, anyway. "Here's to the enemy—may he be confounded."

"Whoever he is." Yorick drank, then set his glass down and leaned forward. "But I'll agree with you. Major, somebody's definitely out to get you." Rod stared. "When did I say that?"

"On our way from the castle," Gwen explained.

"Oh." Rod frowned. "Yeah, I did say something of the sort then, didn't I?"

"Does he get this way often?"

"Off 'n' on," Rod answered; but Gwen assured Yorick,

"'Tis only when matters of great moment preoccupy him."

"Oh." Yorick turned back to Rod. "Is that when you get paranoid, too?"

Gwen frowned."What is the meaning of that word?"

"Suspicious," Rod explained. "He means that I feel as 56

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though everybody's out to get me."

"Oh!" Gwen turned back to Yorick. "Nay; he is always in that condition."

"But this time, he's right."

They turned in surprise; that voice hadn't been one of theirs.

The newcomer was slender, and wore the same uniform as all the other troopers, but she made it look totally feminine. It couldn't have been deliberate: her blond hair was shorter than most of the men's, cropped close and showing her ears; but there was something in its styling, something about the way she held herself, something in the delicacy of her features that made her very clearly female.

"That's a professional opinion," she added. "They're out to get you."

"Who?" Rod demanded; but Yorick said, softly, "What profession?"

"Secret agent," she snapped, "spy." And to Rod, "You should be able to say better than I can. Who'd rather see you dead than alive? Not that it matters much; on this planet, anybody who's getting hassled is my friend." Rod just stared at her, but Gwen pushed a chair out. "Sit, an it please thee."

The woman sat, scowling. "You've got a funny way of talking."

Rod said, "I hate to be blunt, but—who are you?"

"I'm Chomoi Shershay—and you'd better hear the whole of it. I was a government spy, up until about five years ago."

"Five years." Rod frowned. "That was just about the time of the PEST coup, if I remember..." He managed to bite off the sentence just before he said, "... my history rightly."

"Yeah." Chomoi nodded. "I was a secret agent for the LORDS party, digging up information for them and helping set up assassinations on some of their more outspoken enemies. I knew I was helping kill people, but I never saw it happen, so it didn't bother me much. I didn't think it would, either." Her face lost expression. "But after the coup, I suddenly found out I was part of the secret police, and the bosses ordered my squad to go hunt down a professor." Her mouth twisted. "He was a gentle old duffer, quiet and humble, and you could see from his house that he and his wife took good care of each other. We yanked him out of bed in the middle of the night, and kicked him out of his house into a darkened floater—and he was terrified, scared stiff but he never blamed us. Not a curse, not a word of anger, just stared at us with those wide, frightened eyes that knew, and understood..." She shuddered. "So they laid into him harder, of course. Even on the way to HQ, they were working him over. It was cruel, vicious beating until he was out cold. I was lucky—I only had to drive. But I still had to hear it....

"Then we landed on top of Base Building, and I had to help carry him inside. His face was so bloody and swollen that I wouldn't have recognized him. We laid him out on the table, ready for the sadists." Her face worked, then was still. "Oh, they try to pretty it up by calling it 'interrogation,'