“So, Zala Embuay, what shall we do with you?”
“I—don’t know,” she wailed, so pitifully that neither of us could be completely unmoved by her evident misery and low self-esteem.
“The best we could come up with, I’m afraid, is a rather outdated concept where you both come from,” Korman continued, sounding cold and businesslike. “With Lacoch’s permission, I’d like to propose you become his wifemistress.”
She gave something of a gasp and I kind of started myself. “Wifemistress?” I echoed.
He nodded. “I’m rather embarrassed to bring it up. In effect it’s a sort of chattel slavery. You would be pledged to Lacoch absolutely. You would live with him and be totally dependent on him for your living quarters and provisions. In exchange, you will learn and practice basic skills—cooking, cleaning, mending. Many of the villagers will take you in hand and show you these things. You will also clean and run errands in his office, whatever he requires you to do. And if need be, you may be called upon by any of the Companies or the town for supplementary labor in the harvest or maintenance.”
She looked startled. “That almost sounds like a service robot.”
“Something like that,” Korman agreed. “But there are no robots here. Other than as a subject for experimental research, there’s little we can do with you.”
She started at that “Exper… you mean like some kind of animal?”
He nodded gravely, then looked over at me. “Would you accept this arrangement?”
I was in something of a quandary. For anybody but Zala it sounded horrible, dehumanizing, demeaning in the extreme—but what else could she do? “If she’s willing, I’ll go for it,” I told him.
He shifted his gaze back to her. “Well?”
“I—I’d like to go with Park, but I don’t know whether I can…”
Korman grinned, made that magical wave and produced a vial of reddish-colored liquid. He handed it to her. “The oldest sorcerer’s gift in magical history,” he said. “If you decide to go along, both of you go up to your room and when alone, Embuay, drink this. It is pleasant-tasting and won’t hurt a bit, but it’ll make things a lot easier on you.”
She took the vial and looked at it curiously. “What—what is it?”
“A potion,” he replied. “As I said, the oldest basic formula. A love potion, the ancients would call it. Just be sure to drink it when the two of you are alone, maybe just before going to sleep.”
Suddenly, again, that wall of silence and isolation came down and Korman and I were effectively alone.
“Is that really a love potion?” I asked him.
He chuckled. “Not to you or me if we drank it. Tastes a little like licorice. But I have prepared her mind for it, and it’ll be quite effective with her because she will believe in it and that will trigger my patterns in the Wardens of her brain.”
“Which one?” I couldn’t resist it.
“Actually, that should be interesting,” he replied, taking no note of the sarcasm. “The emotional centers and hormonal responses are in the animal, not the human part of the brain. Theoretically it should affect her no matter what—I hope. But don’t count on it. If that other brain’s as good as I think, it can probably control and suppress almost any emotional response.” He paused for a moment. “See that she drinks it. And—well, good luck.”
“I’ll need it,” I assured him, and I sure would. Still, all in all, things had gone better so far than my wildest dreams. If what was going on could be taken at anything close to face value, they suspected someone other than me of being, well, me; and they’d assigned me to keep watch on their mistaken notion. They had practically forced me into the camp of what would seem to be a natural ally-1-Koril—and given me the option of joining a local super-powerful resistance devoted to my own cause or betraying it, giving me entre into the presence of my quarry, Aeolia Matuze, as a trusted confidant. Hell, I couldn’t lose!
Zala, though, was still and always the unknown factor. The more I analyzed her, the more I began to believe that she couldn’t be what she seemed. Such a weak ego was unthinkable on the civilized worlds.
Later, back in our room, we sat and talked for a while. It had not been pleasant having her low self-worth so coldly and completely analyzed in the open, even if it was obvious.
“I want to go with you,” she told me sincerely, “but—people as property! It’s barbaric!” She took out the vial and looked at it oddly.
“You don’t have to take that,” I assured her. “Just come along.”
She shook her head slowly, still looking at the vial. “No, I know what would happen. I’d rebel, or go crazy, and wind up worse than I am now. Maybe… maybe this is best for me.”
“That stuff might not even work,” I noted. “Not only is the idea pretty insane—a love potion—but it seems to me that it’s like everything else on this crazy world—a love potion only if you think it is.”
“I wonder what he meant by love potion, anyway?” she mused. “As in making love?”
“No, I don’t think so. It’s an ancient romantic concept. Somehow I doubt that any little bottle is going to revive that.”
She removed the stopper and sniffed. “Smells like candy.”
I sighed and relaxed back on the bed. “Look, stop it up for now and let’s get some sleep. Bring it with you it you want. But let’s get some sleep—we’ve got a big day ahead tomorrow.”
“I—I suppose you’re right. But damn it, Park, I’m scared! Scared of me, scared of that town, scared of… living.” That last was said slowly, strangely, as if only now she was accepting the truth. I watched, curious, as she suddenly pulled the stopper back off and raised the bottle to her Ups… and froze solid. It was odd, as if she’d made the decision, started to drink, and then become petrified in mid-motion. Still, there was movement, of a sort. Her hand, and only her hand and arm that held the vial, trembled, the little vial rising ever so slightly, then falling slightly more, as if it were at war with itself, receiving two totally different sets of commands.
I rose a bit and watched, fascinated. Two minds, Kor-man had said. Two minds, one central nervous system. Abruptly, the struggle stopped, and, without a word, her body seemed to relax, but her face seemed vacant, expressionless. Wordlessly she stood up, walked over to the basin, and poured out the contents of the vial. Then, after putting the vial on the commode, she turned, returned to her bed, and lay down.
“Zala? Are you all right?” I asked gently, finally getting up when I had no response and going over to her. She was asleep, breathing regularly and rhythmically.
I stood there a few moments, just staring. Finally I said, aloud, “Well I’ll be damned,” snuffed out the light, and got into my own bed. I found it hard to sleep. It had started raining again, but the regular sound of the drops hitting the roof hardly bothered me at all.
What the hell had I just witnessed?
CHAPTER SIX
The High Road to Bourget
In the morning, Zala had no memory of the internal struggle I had witnessed, and she seemed surprised to see the goop still in the basin, practically accusing me of doing the deed.
“You did it—I watched you,” I assured her. “It’s for the best anyway.”
She stared at me in disbelief. “I did? You’re not just kidding me?”
“No, no kidding. Honest.”
She shook her head for a moment, as it trying to remember. Finally she just sighed and shrugged. “Well, let’s get on with it”