“I think you talk too much and say too little.”
“A man of action as I had determined. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Shandaha.”
“My jailer.”
“Never that, Earl. You are my most welcome and treasured guest.”
“You own this place?”
“This place, the surrounding area, all that is above the ground and beneath it.”
“And, if I wish, I can leave at any time?”
“Of course. But remember the hostility of the terrain outside. Without provisions, clothing, maps, transport I’m afraid you wouldn’t get very far. But the choice is yours.” He smiled as Dumarest remained silent. “I meant it when I said you were a treasured guest. I could also add that you owe me a small debt of gratitude. I saved your life. In return all I ask is that you entertain me for a while. Shall we begin by sharing wine?”
There were preliminaries, surprises, meandering that Dumarest ignored. The couch on which he had woken had vanished to be replaced by a deep sofa faced by a table bearing familiar items. His clothing, the grey plastic refurbished as new. Pants, knee-high boots, the tunic with the high collar and long sleeves falling to the middle of his thighs. His knife; nine inches of honed and polished steel, curved and balanced, razor-edged and with a needle point. He fingered it, letting his fingers check the band of weld beneath the pommel, satisfied with what he found. As he was when he checked the buckle of his belt.
“You are pleased?”
Pleased and puzzled, he had seen no sign of attendants or activity, yet the furniture had been changed and his clothing set in position.
Shandaha said, “I asked you a question, Earl. Are you pleased?”
“Very pleased.” Dumarest hesitated then added, “My lord.”
“You are courteous, or perhaps merely cautious, but there is no need for rigid formality between us. If you wish to dress do it now. I have arranged refreshment to be served in a smaller chamber. You will find it to your right as you pass through the end door. Join me when you are ready. There is no need to hurry.”
Time gained in which to think and assess what he had learned. A man of power living in an oddly deserted edifice and what had happened to the girl? If he threatened Shandaha would he vanish as Nada had done? Had the offer of freedom been as genuine as it seemed? Yet, without help and supplies escape was impossible. And what had happened to the others?
The Kaldari and the Shining Ones or the creatures aping them. Men he had thought, wearing camouflage and bearing arms. A dozen of them? A score? More? Had they been men? He heard again the chirps, whistles, howls, assorted noises as they had exchanged signals. Felt again the numbing impact of the gas.
He tried to remember what had followed but could only recall scattered fragments of dreams.
Perhaps Shandaha would provide the answers.
He sat in a chamber shaped and glowing like the interior of a gem. Facets reflected soft shimmers, gleams, furnishings, the goblets on the table, the decanters of wine.
Thin plumes of rising smoke held tantalizing odors and gleaming salvers held a profusion of cunningly fashioned delicacies. Nada sat beside him, a vision in white adorned with gold. Next to her another woman, her flesh richly golden, stared with undisguised interest as Dumarest approached the table. Her eyes were darkly enigmatic. Her gown the color of ripened wheat.
“Delise,” introduced Shandaha. “This is Earl Dumarest,” he said to her then, as a man walked into the room, “I think you all know Doctor Chagal.”
He had changed. His face had smoothed to a younger design now clear of strain and fatigue. He walked tall and stood straight but something had gone from his eyes as if a dark secret had been revealed or his innermost privacy had been violated. A strange detachment as if he had looked into the depths of his being and found no reason for respect, pride, hope or virtue.
Dumarest moved to greet him, gripping his hand in the old gesture of mutual trust, then guided him to a chair.
“We’ve a lot to talk about, doctor. Here, have some wine.”
A discourtesy with the host present but Dumarest was beyond caring about the niceties of protocol. As yet he had been fumbling in the dark, unsure of the truth of what he had been told, uneasy at the continued facade of apparent concern and friendship that could mask something far more sinister.
Chagal should be able to tell him what he needed to know.
“Earl!” His hand closed in turn. “It’s good to see you again. “Ladies,” he bowed to them both. “My lord!”
A title Shandaha had rejected when Dumarest had offered it. A politeness offered by the doctor, which he retained. A subtle hint as to their relative standings.
“Here!” Shandaha gestured to Nada. “Earl’s goblet has yet to be filled. See to it. And you Delise, my dear, attend the doctor. Help yourself to anything you desire.” Rising he added, “I must leave now. Entertain yourselves.”
Orders, not requests, and a further hint that the host was not quite all that he appeared to be. Dumarest was not surprised. The rich and powerful had always acted the despot and Shandaha was typical of his kind. A selfish person, his needs, wants, inclinations, paramount to the safety or comfort of anyone else. A man with a charming facade but, because of his position, a dangerous one.
“Tell me what happened.” Dumarest lifted the decanter from the table, ignoring Delise, filling Chaga’s goblet, draining his own.
The wine was thick, rich, bursting with flavor. It clung like blood to the rim of the goblet and left ruby touches on the doctor’s lips. Stains that vanished as Delise plied a napkin.
Chagal said, “They came Earl. The Shining Ones. You remember?”
“Men or things wearing camouflage. They used gas. Yes, I remember.”
“You stood up to them and were the first to go down. The woman was next. Adele, you remember her? The one with the broken spine. She died. I was captured and taken to the wreck. They broke in and cleared it out. It didn’t take long. Then I was gassed and woke up in this place. Shandaha, the same name as the owner. It tells you something.”
“He has pride,” said Dumarest. “He claimed to have saved my life. Did he?”
“Yes. You’d have frozen if they’d left you, but it wasn’t just that. The Kaldari had broken into the arms locker and my guess is they would have shot you on sight. Aside from that some were diseased. They’d hid it but it would have spread. In a few days we’d all have gone down.” Chagal stared broodingly at the contours of his empty glass, then added,
“The injured didn’t survive.”
“And then?”
“That’s it.” Chagal watched as Delise filled his goblet. Dumarest shook his head as Nada offered to serve him in turn. “It’s been a while. I don’t know how long. Time acts oddly here. Drugs, maybe, or something which affects the senses. There are odd blank spots and strange happenings. A day can seem an hour, an hour a day. Especially when Shandaha wants to be entertained.” He stared at Dumarest’s blank expression. “You don’t know? He hasn’t told you yet?”
“He said I owed him a little entertainment. He didn’t explain just what he meant.”
“He wants to live your life. To feel the things you did. Do the things you’ve done. Somehow to connect with your memory and ride with you on your journey through life. I’ve been through it.” Chagal’s hand tightened on his goblet, the crystal quivering, the surface of the wine shimmering with reflected light. “He’s bored,” he explained. “Too much time, too much comfort, not enough people, no distractions, nothing but endless repetition. So he borrows incidents, memories, romances, just as if he’s reading a row of books. But he’s reading lives. He lives them. Feels them.”